The Waiting Room is a container of the past and the future, memory and imagination, limitations and potential.
What if the space in which you live is suddenly no longer accessible? Due to the measures that were taken as a consequence of the coronavirus pandemic, the scope of the space in which we find ourselves was limited overnight. Suddenly, this former space became inaccessible to us, and the present became a spatial intermezzo between the past and the future: The Waiting Room. Although the effects hereof differed per person, the same restrictions applied to everyone, and
no one knew what the duration of this period would be. This forced mobility created an interesting form of intimacy: though our waiting rooms differed in size and meaning, it required us all to adapt and to redefine our new space. The space in which we live determines who we are and who we become. It forms, among
other things, our identity.
The room in which I slept, worked and lived, transformed into an apartment exhibition, referring to Soviet Russian underground apartment galleries, in which the process of looking at my (personal) and our (global) spaces in the past, present and future are exhibited. Making this waiting room tangible visualizes the process of my research, but also sets an example and provides guidance on how
to deal with so much sudden uncertainty. Creating this apartment exhibition was
a manner of processing this period.