The Wolves


Clay, wood, metal, fabric
Video: 6’22”


Two clay walls forming a corner are displayed in one room of a museum. Visitors to this room are allowed to build further on this “clay corner,” with clay blocks and clay mass being made available so that they can stop and continue building on the existing walls, becoming participants in the original project. As creative stimulation and historical clarification, a video is played in the room, showing the creation of a clay house (model: housing in Iraq/the artist’s family house). A bed hung with sheets is shown on one of the clay house’s roofs. The bed and towels are reconstructions that loosely represent memories of Kurdish rooms, however, they are also universal “memory rooms” that evoke in the viewer associations and interpretations of a biographical nature related to the subject of bedrooms.

While the viewer tries to fill in the “empty spaces” as a means of interpreting and comprehending the space, they are confronted with text projections on the cloth. The text renders the words of a Kurdish mother who, while putting her children to bed, is explaining the meaning of the gunshots that they can hear in the mountains.

The bed shakes. We glance at mother.

“The Men and Women are fighting. We’re fighting {wolves/wild dogs}.”

“{Wolves/wild dogs}? Do they exist in the mountains?”

“Yes, they are in the mountains, not far from us. They don’t belong there. Who knows how they got there, who helped them?”

“Will the {wolves/wild dogs} also come to our streets?”

“No, the men and women are fighting them. Some stayed with their families. They are in the mountains today.”

“Listen for a moment:”

A gunshot.

“If it’s just one gunshot, they’re trying to scare away the {wolves / wild dogs}.”


Two consecutive shots.

“They have found them.”

“Now there are three gunshots … The wolves want to go into the streets. The families here are being warned. Stay awake.”

“I can’t hear anything anymore.”

“Now you can see green shots. The wolves are retreating. Look at the stars. Somewhere, the gunshots will be heard. Maybe help will arrive.”

“Are the stars here the same as in Eshanbia?”

“I don’t know. I have been watching this sky for a long time now; every night. All I know is that our stars won’t be bright.”

“Three consecutive red shots.”

Clay on My/Her Finger • A Picture of a Mud House