Read the very first chapter of The Project – Confessions of an Art Wh*re by Ronja Brainstorm. It’s the story of how a hot, young artist dares to catapult herself into making her own life subject in her art, risking both her friendships and her own sanity. Every encounter and interaction taking place in Ronja’s life is now material for The Project, ultimately pushing the boundary between the authentic and the artificial.
The first chapter of The Project – Confessions of an Art Wh*re is titled Birth of Baby. It is a novel in 5 episodes, which will all be published through Felten Ink once a week, followed up by more short stories by Ronja Brainstorm.
Thursday, 13.2.25:
“Sorry, not sorry”, I say to Unicorn Creature and Radiant Boy. They’re standing on the stage we’re supposed to perform on together, in front of a live audience in three hours from now, all ready to get to work. Our wooden, colourful, spacey-looking operating table stands between them. The big, pale pumpkin, our patient, peacefully placed on top of it. Stage lights installed. Video camera on a tripod. Two big speakers and a bunch of cables. Paintings and prints of our colleagues hang on the walls around us.
Unicorn Creature makes a somewhat despairing gesture with her arms, “Girl, don’t say ‘not sorry’, just say sorry.” Radiant Boy is silently calm, probably fearing another dispute between Unicorn Creature and I. “No, cause I actually don’t have to apologise for this”, I respond, “I just really have to take care of my video work right now, I’ll be back.” I leave the room, peel off every layer of distress and worry that doesn’t have anything to do with my video, ‘my Baby’, shed it off, tune in, full focus. I run down to German Tech Nerd, our university’s audio guy. His office houses an endless amount of electronic devices, and I have no idea what they are. I try to explain to him what it is that I need to complete the installation of my video upstairs: Some cable to connect the DVD player to the headphones. I rushed out and bought them a few hours earlier when I realised that the sound coming from the TV won’t be loud enough for the viewers to hear my work. Communicating with him is challenging to me. I do speak German, but I don’t speak audio equipment, certainly not in German. German Tech Nerd is a competent audio guy, though. He understands what I need, which is not what I thought, and starts looking through his massive system of boxes full of cables and things. He sends me on my way with his own, private amplifier (“If it gets stolen, you buy me a new one”), some kind of crucial cable, and a tiny, golden adapter thingy that I’m more worried about losing than the amplifier.
I run upstairs again, feeling lost and determined at the same time. I see Former Cool Crush smoking in the hallway, my classmate who also happens to be a very competent audio guy. I used to have a huge crush on the now Former Cool Crush. During my first semester of studying at this university, we were sort of dancing around each other, subtly flirting, seeking out each other’s company during class meetings and courses, whenever we could. Then we got involved in a collaboration together, renting an underground off-space in a gloomy basement in Leipzig with other fellow artists. We were gonna do different performances and exhibitions down there together, over the course of two months. And during that time, quite abruptly, his energy towards me completely changed, without further explanation or words, as it so often happens in these times, in this scene, when people suddenly decide they don’t like each other anymore, and without further reflections break contact, full of entitlement and self- righteousness. And as a result, I was left wondering what the hell had happened. “He thinks you’re too bossy”, Unicorn Creature had told me months later over lunch, as I openly reflected on my long-gone crush-vibe with Former Cool Crush. Aha. I understood, how disappointing. While Former Cool Crush is acting like this progressive, aware, woke, good guy, he still has a problem with “bossy” women? How very conservative of him. I then confronted him a few days later: “I thought we were getting along?” I asked him as we were installing another class exhibition together. “Yes, but I also don’t have a problem with you”, he said, numb, boring, and I decided to leave it there. Though he did become the person in class I turn to whenever I have a technical issue with a project of mine, him being this competent audio guy and all. And now, half an hour ago, when I suffered a light panic attack as I realised the sound problem with my video, Former Cool Crush had sent me on my way to German Tech Nerd to go get that cable he thought I needed. “Look, I got some stuff, can you come with me quickly and help me figure this out?” I ask Former Cool Crush. He ashes his cigarette and gets up, “Sure”. We pass by a large, abstract painting, stoically placed on the wall by its creator Eccentric Sloth. While I was hectically rushing around the building yesterday, dealing with technical issues, missing screws, wrong drills, DVD-burning and conflict-avoidance surrounding the collaboration with Unicorn Creature, Eccentric Sloth came by in the late afternoon with a bag full of joy- bringing snacks, a few nails and a hammer, gracefully hung her work on the wall, and chit chatted a bit from the couch where she enjoyed her rice pudding. Her physical movements bearing witness to the level of chill she was operating on. “Why couldn’t I have just painted one painting, put it somewhere on the wall, and called it a day?”, I think to myself, realising already halfway through the sentence how pointless it is for me to think that way. Minimum effort for the sake of staying “chill” is anti-ambitious. And I’m ambitious. It wouldn’t be natural. I could try it out as an experiment one day, though. Performing to try to be someone I’m not. But wouldn’t that be acting then? Also, it’s not that Eccentric Sloth is not ambitious. She’s just committed to painting as her primary medium, which is complicated enough in itself. “Why do you put so much effort into this exhibition? It’s just a student’s show”, Unicorn Creature had asked me a few days earlier in the midst of all of my 400 different preparations for this show: The video installation, two sculptural works, the performance, the reading, the photo-survey. “Cause it’s what I do. Other than my friends, my work is what I have. If I don’t put maximum effort into my work at any chance I get, who would I be?” I’d told her. Former Cool Crush and I are standing in the narrow black tent I built for the exhibition of my video work.
The tent, or maybe it’s more precisely described as a cubicle, is 2 meters tall, 100 cm deep, and 80 cm wide. I had the wooden construction built in the wood workshop of our university, then bought a bunch of black, heavy textile and attached it to the wood, providing these kinds of protective curtains around the TV and the DVD player. I’ve screwed the TV to the wall, it’s encased by the black textile as well, the cables discretely hiding behind it. The DVD player is subtly situated in the corner underneath the TV. It all looks slight and thorough. The cubicle is exactly large enough to house two average-sized people, if they stand close to each other. This is the first time Former Cool Crush and I are this close to each other, and while he’s plugging the cables into the right outlets, turning some knobs and pushing some buttons, I notice the lack of physical tension between us. As I was still crushing on him back then, I’d imagined a moment like this to be the moment we would finally give in to our secret desire for each other. We’d be tripping all over each other, overwhelmed by clumsy excitement, and before we knew it, we’d be lying next to each other outside in green grass, our bodies beaming with delight, right there in the sun.
But in the dark cubicle, Former Cool Crush gives me the headphones and presses play. The video starts, and I hear the sound of the introduction song through the headphones. What a relief. I take off the headphones and smile at Former Cool Crush. “It works! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”. He smiles back at me and gives me a formal, but kind hug, then exits my cubicle. I watch my whole video through again. It’s a good piece. A good cubicle. A good installation. Good work. It’s brutal honesty bears witness of not only my personal experience, but also of my own courage and my insistence on trusting my own intuition. I feel relieved and re-energised as I leave my Baby to go back to Unicorn Creature and Radiant Boy, who are still waiting for me in the stage room. “You’re done? Did it work?”, Unicorn Creature asks. “Yes. Done. Let’s get to work.”
The room is full of people. Silent people, either sitting or standing. The audience is focused on us, as we’re focused on the pumpkin while cutting small pieces out of it. Rubbing lotion on it. Inserting a vibrator into it. A song comes on, and we start dancing. “Don’t you want me, baby, don’t you want me aaaaaah”. As I dance through the room, I’m thrown out of my own movements for a split second as I see B standing in the audience, looking directly at me. In slow motion. For a moment, everyone else disappears, and it is only he and I in the world again. It all happens so fast, the time span of our eye contact can’t be more than a second, but still this second of connectedness thrusts into my conscience so deeply that I’m thrown out of time and place and into infinite B & me – space before I return to my physical reality again: People starring at me. Unicorn Creature and Radiant Boy are dancing around. The song is playing. The pumpkin is full of broken glass and shaving foam. The pink vibrator. But even if I stopped my movements for that one second, no one would notice, and no one would think twice about why. There’s no way they can see what that gaze is doing to me. Or can they? I feel a change of spirit, something turning on inside of me, and I start dancing more confidently and passionately around, expanding my territory on the floor with my arms and legs, my movements much less constricted to quirkiness and weirdness now.
“Do I want to prove something to him? Do I want to be sexy to him? Is this what it’s about for me right now?” I think before the song fades out and we return to investigate the pumpkin on our operating table. The next time I look through the audience, B’s nowhere to be found. Go figure.
I’m wearing red pantyhose and a short denim skirt. Black top. Knee-high boots. The wild makeup Unicorn Creature did on me for our performance still smothered all over my face. It’s now post-performance, pre-party, and I’m trying to have a good time. That is, I’m trying to relax, and liberate myself from feeling responsible for anything or anyone. Liberate myself from caring about where he might be now, what he might think. I drink a warm, Polish beer and smoke one cigarette after the other, as I try to place myself somewhat comfortable, unsuccessfully, cause really I just feel exhausted and distressed. I ask my friend, Friendly Filmmaker, to buy me a drink while I go to the toilet. Having fought my way back and forth through the crowd of drunk people, I return half an hour later. Friendly Filmmaker hands me a paper cup with something that looks like white foam in it. I’m about to take a sip, then look closer into the mysterious content of the cup.
“What is this? What did you buy me?”, “It’s a gin & tonic”, Friendly Filmmaker says, his eyes hidden behind large, square sunglasses. He’s also wearing a red sequin tie. He looks like a bad Elvis Presley impersonator, and I’m loving it. No one else in the whole building looks like him. “No, it’s not”, I say, and I realise he brought me a cup of salt. Everyone around us laughs about it, an honest mistake, how dumb, but although I’m also laughing, it’s hard for me to hide my irritation. Just get me a fucking, decent drink when I ask you to. How hard can it be? Jeez.
The evening evolves. I dance with Radiant Boy and yell at Melancholic Provocateur for acting like a drunk idiot towards me in the bathroom, then dance with him as well. I pretend to be interested in having a conversation with Empty Eyes and his girlfriend. I suddenly find Undercover Bearded Man really hot as we randomly end up in the bar sharing a piece of carrot cake. What a mysterious, hot weirdo he is. “Wonder if he’d be a good lover”, I think to myself before I share another piece of carrot cake with Tiny Painter Elf and confess to her my secret: “I’m the whole time a slightly preoccupied girl. Why do I keep thinking about where B is? I feel like I’m looking over my shoulder every fifteen minutes to see if he’s near me. It might have something to do with my video work. I feel extra exposed towards him right now, cause, well; I have exposed myself. He probably won’t even watch it, though. That would probably be the best possible outcome for me anyway. And I don’t think I even want him to watch it.”
I stop myself as I realise the lie I just told. “What do I do?” I ask her. She thinks for a minute, chews her cake, then looks at me and says in her thick, French accent: “You make yourself a promise: If you do end up interacting with him tonight, it’s only to punch him directly in the face”. I love her for saying that. “Ok. Promise”. She then goes on to tell me about how hard it is for her to quit smoking. I get bored and move on.
Smart Romantic is drunk and wants some drugs (“Any kind of drugs”), so I take her and Radiant Boy to Hot Initiator cause he told me earlier that he’d brought MDMA. Hot Initiator is wearing a giant fur coat and looks really good in it, kinda like how I imagine a pimp to look. “I just sold all of my drugs to someone here,” he says, and I feel disappointed and relieved at the same time. Unicorn Creature joins us, and we stand around, talking and laughing/ We’re a small group of people, I like everyone, and I’m finally starting to feel more at ease. We want to go to the club and are discussing how to get there. “I can drive us!” I suggest. “I’m in!”, Unicorn Creature immediately responds, but everyone else protests: “Never, you’ve been drinking, let’s take a cab”. I feel light-hearted and bubbly as I halfway seriously try to convince everyone to jump into a car with me. Friendly Filmmaker joins us, still wearing the sunglasses. Before we all leave the building, I go to my cubicle to turn off my video for the night. I put on the flashlight on my phone and look around the tiny space. Cigarette buds on the floor now. I remove them. Other than that, everything seems to be in order.
Outside, it’s cold and snowy. Students and visitors of the exhibition are all standing around in front of the university building, contemplating where to go and what to do next. Our little group is now joined by my friend Sparkly Harbour, we’re all exchanging quick comments and laughing while waiting for our Uber. I’m excited to go to the club with my friends, and want to hit the dance floor and shed off the last flakes of fragility, throw myself into blissful unawareness, finally. Then I see him. B. wandering around, alone. His skinny legs, big shoes, still in the large Canada goose winter coat he’d found outside last summer. He’d shown it to me one afternoon as we were hanging out in his apartment. He’d put it on in front of his mirror, and made that repulsive mirror face that makes no sense. Everyone has one of these, I know I do too, but his is extreme. His face literally just completely changes in front of his own reflection: He sucks in his cheeks, pouts his mouth into a tiny, round hole, raises his eyebrows, widens his eyes, looking like a fucking buffoon. And it all happens automatically as well, like he has no control over his facial muscles when confronted with his own reflection.
“Why am I in love with this man?” I’d think to myself during those mirror moments. I’d told him to wash the coat before using it, but other than that, it suited him. Then we went outside, walking hand in hand in the sun. We were going to the cinema to watch a movie with Kristen Stewart as a lesbian bodybuilder. The Canada goose coat is open as B wanders around the crowd of people in front of the building. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He’s walking that way, looking around, like he’s searching for someone, hoping for something to happen, but only backs turned against him. He’s longing for an adventure, for social inclusion. And at the same time, giving off this creepy, predatory vibe. I know what kind of adventure he’s looking for. An ice-cold shower of compassion whips me right out of my joyful mood. I feel like I’m being pushed off a building inside of myself. The very building I’ve spent all evening climbing through to the top, where the air is fresh and the view is prosperous.
“The Uber is here!” someone says, and I see myself from B’s perspective, surrounded by people, happily jumping into a taxi, driving off into the night, sparkly, bubbly, and carefree. I’m not even sure he sees me, though. I don’t think he does. But here’s hoping. I remain silent in the car while the others try to connect a phone to the car speakers via Bluetooth and discuss what songs we should be listening to on our way. And I’m still plunging. I’m not even trying to save myself anymore at this point. Soon I’ll be crashing directly into the basement of the basement, and there’s nothing to do besides deciding where I’d rather be when this happens: In the club, surrounded by noise, colourful lights, and wasted people talking to me. Or at home in my bed, surrounded by eternal, silent darkness, only my obsessive thoughts whispering at me. Attempting escapism or accepting defeat? We pull up in front of the club, and apparently, while I’ve been silently contemplating my own messy reality, a dispute has evolved between Sparkly Harbour and Unicorn Creature. Something about how to pay for the Uber. Paypal, transactions, 20 Euros divided by how many people, who has some cash? I can’t be bothered, have nothing but indifference left to contribute with, turned off, tuned out, offline, gone, knocked out. Farther and farther away.
Unicorn Creature and I skip the line. “Do you have a guest list too?” she asks, seems surprised. “Yes”, “Oh, why?”, “I guess they just like me in there”, I shrug, and before we walk in, the bouncer explains to us the rules of the club and something about the awareness team: “Don’t take photos inside, and if you’re for some reason feeling uncomfortable and/or if anyone’s bothering you, you can come straight to me or anyone else working at the club and inform us, and we’ll help you out. Viel Spaß”, Unicorn Creature and I then each pay Awareness Man 12 Euros and go to the wardrobe. About to leave our coats and bags to dive in, freely, I see red lights emerging from the depths of the building, heavy bass tones. The ephemeral escape route now right in front of me, lazily greeting me welcome. I make a quick decision, coat still on. “Girl, I’m out, not feeling it, see you tomorrow”, I say and give Unicorn Creature a kiss on her lips before I return to Awareness Man and ask for my 12 Euros back. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” he asks, looking baffled. “No, I just changed my mind”, I say and leave the club.
I walk through the industrial area, cross the snow-covered train racks, I feel strong and vulnerable at the same time. And so utterly alone. I look at the time, 2 o’clock. Who’ll pick up the phone at this hour? If my friends aren’t inside that club, they’re probably sleeping. I try Good Friend. “Hey girl”, she replies almost instantly. “Oh, thank god you’re picking up!” I burst out. “All good?” she asks. I tell her no. I tell her what happened. I tell her everything. Everything is flowing out of me in a consistent stream. Including one, fatal lie: “I felt so sorry for him, seeing him walk around alone like that. Why do I still feel so much empathy towards that man? I’d honestly rather have seen him with another woman tonight than see him that alone. Then at least I’d know he’s not totally lonely, “Hm, well, I saw him with some people tonight. I don’t think you have to worry”, Good Friend tells me, “I even saw him sitting on a couch with another woman, if you must know”. The street I’m walking on is silent, dark, and cold. Empty of people. At the end of it, there is the place I call home. Snowflakes are breezing through the air. Steep decline inside of myself now.
“Like, in a romantic way?” I ask, voice shaking, heart trembling. “Yes, I think so. He was sort of stroking her hair away from her face, tenderly”. Crash, point of no return, basement of the basement, rock bottom. Or wait, let’s see if rock bottom has a rock bottom: “What did she look like?”. My words are like tiny, crumbly paper planes, reluctantly dropping out of my mouth. “I only saw the back of her head, but her hair looked a bit like yours. For a second, I even thought it was you”. Hush. Steps. The sounds of my heels stomping into the grey ground, rhythmically. Keep on walking. Good Friend’s breaths through my phone. The wind was biting into my cheeks. Complete apocalypse inside of me. Rock bottom of rock bottom has been set on fire, and now no one is coming to save me.
“IT’S REALLY FUCKED UP THAT YOU JUST TOLD ME ALL OF THAT!”, I scream out as the tears burst out of my insides, an overflow of agony, as I can’t contain all of this anymore, impossible. “But you asked for it!”, Good Friend replies, and I know she’s right, but, “You should know me better than this!”, I continue yelling and crying. I’m literally in pieces. What will I be when I finally arrive home, where is the shore in this fucking hell hole? With shaking knees and Good Friend still on the line, I walk into Grill King and order some fries. They have the best fries at Grill King, or at least sometimes they do. Good Friend hears how I order and pay for the fries, sobbing, swollen. “Would you like mayo or ketchup with them?” the grill man asks. “Both”, I reply, “But not directly on the fries, on the side, okay!”. Good Friend laughs, and the world’s thinnest silver lining to what feels like the world’s biggest, personal tragedy is that I have enough cash to pay for the fries, thanks to my decision to leave the club.
As I get home, I have a throbbing headache and immediately swallow two of my strong anti-migraine pain killers. I then go to my bed and eat the fries while texting friends, whoever. Lovely Soft Face is obviously disappointed in me for not being that present and friendly earlier after my performance. Sister Toughie is at the club partying. Everyone else doesn’t reply. I wish I weren’t alone. The image of him on that couch stroking the beautiful hair (did she have to have hair like me?) of some other woman has crashed into my conscience, a fresh, open wound, and no amount of painkillers can soothe the burning despair I’m feeling. My headache has vanished, though. I lay down. Sleep. Just sleep. Just need to be unconscious for a while. Then I can wake up tomorrow and continue the shit show, but at least I’ll be well rested.
After what feels like eternity, I’m still not unconscious. My heart is beating abnormally fast, and my loneliness is pulsating like an infected wound. I realise that those anti-migraine pain killers of mine are filled with caffeine, and I start crying again. This kind of night reminds me of those nights with B. Nights of endless suffering, waiting for the day to arrive, well knowing that very day will be as much of a struggle as the night, just with more distractions, less suffocating stillness, but more spotlight on my sad and tired face. I lay around in the dark, sulking in endless jealousy. I decide I can’t do this alone anymore, and I go to wake up my roommate. Slight is looking even tinier in the dark, as she gets out of her bed to come with me to mine. Sitting across from each other in the fuzzy darkness, I explain to her what’s going on. She hugs me and talks to me, and it’s actually working. I feel some kind of soothing going on inside of me, calming down, soft strokes on my ragged emotions. Slight is my voice of reason. She’s diplomatic and always on my side. Whenever she’s on my side and reasonable at the same time, I know I’ve won. After a while, she tucks me in and goes back to her room. I put on Seinfeld and try to enjoy it. At dawn, I finally get to escape my reality completely. The last thought I have before falling asleep is: “If I didn’t have to go turn on my video work again tomorrow, I could just stay in bed all day. Everything else doesn’t matter, but I should probably tend to my Baby”.
