Little girls want to be princesses, grown up girls want to own a rich husband. In a windowless office-like space on the fifth floor of Pakhuis de Zwijger in Amsterdam, on the dark grey carpeted floor, stands a small (1,5 x 2 metres) house made of old, partly painted wood, dirty roof tiles and a second hand door with a dusty window, bathing in the yellow light of fairy tales. Attached to it is a box made of wood, paper and branches cut from cardboard.
When going through the door one steps on an old oak floor, in an empty room. Looking out the window one sees a jungle of happy couples cut from magazines: photo-models, celebrities, actors, etc. They are glued together to form new connections, the hands of one man touching the crotch of someone else’s husband, different brands of watches turning out to publish exactly the same advertisements. These tree-like shapes are situated behind each other for a 3-dimensional peepshow effect.
With this overwhelming amount of magazine-clippings I wanted to question the message we receive through the media that finding true love is the ultimate goal that will end all our troubles. Because what if we do find our soul-mate and we don’t have the money to go on romantic outings? Or one of us gets ill, or we don’t have the energy, or we’re just plain bored? Does that mean we should buy more stuff? That there’s something wrong with us? Or that this shiny happy version of love never existed in the first place? We are always outsiders, looking in on other people’s happiness.