Veronika Froch

I always thought I would understand this language. My memories blur between Christmas traditions and summers spent in Poland, in my grandmother’s small village. In the area of “Orzech”, which translates to “nut”, you come across many stone coal mines. The houses and our mucosa membranes took on the color black. When I was younger, I pretended to understand the conversations of the adults. Maybe I actually did. Today I paint a blurry picture in my head of this country, assembled from stories, my childhood and my family. Now I live 750 km away from my parents while they live 690km away from their own parents and I 835 km from them. This emotional distance is almost equivalent to the spatial distance. Why can I then not ignore this part of my identity? My grandfather asks about us on the phone, my grandmother has dementia. No longer do I receive letters from them, that my mother would have to translate for me. Will I grieve when they disappear? The work was developed during the month of March till June of 2020 in the bathroom of my flat in Hamburg. There is nothing in there, that reminds me of my roots. This intimate room is a constant spacethat I inhabited when I was alone.