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So often when I am looking for an interpretation of a work of art on the Internet,
I find the same remarks over and over again.
In the case of this video, I repeatedly found a simple description of form and content,
highlighted with the remark that this video is dealing with sexist MTV culture.

As it is so often the case,
the reviewers aren’t willing to deal with the actual content of a piece of art.

Art often takes its effect on a level below the rational,
it takes its effect on a level the recipient may study, but doesn’t have to.
To reach this level, you have to become conscious of your own feelings and spontaneous reactions,
just to connect them with the piece of art that provoked these reactions.

This step many seem to be unwilling to go, as if they would be afraid to enter insecure terrain.
But how can you write bout art, neglecting your own background,
the basis on which you are interpreting reality, and sometimes art.
And how do want to write about art, if you shrink away from the nonverbal.

Reality is obviously distorted in Pipilotti Rists video.
The course of movement is slapstick-like, rendition of reality,
being out of focus and using a clearly defined scope of colors,
has painterly qualities.

Nobody would call this video a documentary.
But it might be worthwhile to pretend that it is just that.
Let us assume, that neither the voice of this woman is being distorted,
nor her movements.


She wears a dress that could also be worn by a little girl,
if not for the plunging neckline.
She is hopping and fidgeting like a small girl
who has been give an overdose of amphetamines,
and who is desperately trying to give the impression of being cheerful.

However, particularly in the beginning sequence,
her voice looses all of its strength,
it becomes squeaky,
as if just starting to cry,
and tilts towards toddler-like babbling.


Profound sadness and loneliness are the marks of this woman,
and refer to a childlike condition that turns up like a memory
and connects the present to the past.


This desperation only dissolves in the end,
the lyric-melancholic quality of John Lennon’s song surfaces the first time;
the woman changes her clothing and leaves the room.
Everyday life could be taken up again,
but the leading lady takes up her main and only utterance,
generally ignored by the reviewers, again:

„I’m not the girl who misses much.“

Actually she misses something,
but she acts as if everything would be alright.

I imagine her acting like this,
because she is at loss.
Because she doesn’t know what would happen,
if she would let herself go.

She dresses like a girl,
and plays with charms of her femininity.
The show must go on.

Nothing has happened.