Atlas of Emotions – caracter and person in digital space 2009–2020
In Atlas of emotions, Jari Silomäki investigates the turning points in the lives of people who post on internet discussion forums from behind their alter-ego screen names. Silomäki went deep into the archives of the internet, spending hundreds of hours searching for the writings of anonymous people from around the world.
Silomäki strives to present some central strain in each writer’s life, and to repeat the feelings and events of the original post as accurately as possible. Silomäki edited the internet posts together into a manuscript and staged the authors’ homes in his studio, based on clues in the texts themselves. Actors then interpreted the reimagined scenes.
The writings on the surface of the work are extracts from the lives of anonymous people, in their own native languages. Sílomäki has blurred, altered, and edited some details to protect the identities of the writers. The work transports the viewer from the general to the specific and private: people’s fears, desires, and dreams. It is important to Silomäki to expand the concept of a documentary and to globally record events and emotions of our times.
Pseudonym: Armeijakaveri
– Portrait of a friend
My army buddy is a masculine man, tall and handsome, full of attraction. I have seen women show interest before he said a word. When the man starts a conversation, the woman is sold right away. And not just any woman, but a smart and beautiful older woman. When my army buddy has sex, it’s not an experiment. He hasn’t taken anyone’s virginity and he never cheated on his partner.
In the army, he took care of the others, including me. He told clever stories. He’s smart, but not in the way people with university educations are smart. My army buddy knows the practical stuff; he can make and repair all sorts of things. He has leadership qualities, reasoning and problem-solving abilities. I’ve never met anyone like him before.
With my army buddy, what matters is what I want to be. Other people’s attitudes depend on how we appear in their eyes. Theo Fleury, the best man ever to play for the Calgary Flames, has ruined two marriages, his finances, and his health. Ice hockey is the only thing he has. And he doesn’t really have that anymore. Theo has won the Stanley Cup, led the player statistics, and broken NHL records. He’s a beloved player that I will appreciate forever.Pseudonym: 来小姐
–Loneliness in a relationship
He asked me: “What are you feeling now?” I told him I didn’t feel anything. He said he looked down upon me. I said that was his business. It was raining outside.
I walked into a little restaurant that serves breakfast and chatted with the owner. She asked me something private, like what my husband does for a living, how much money my husband gives me every month, and so on. Honestly, I didn’t like these questions but I answered them all patiently. I was haunted by loneliness.
Pseudonym: MansMaikls
– The death of Michael Jackson
Michael Jackson’s music hit me like a tidal wave. His music had me caught in a dream for ten years. It was through Jackson’s lyrics that I learned English. For Michael, I bought big speakers and turned up the volume until my body quivered down to my diaphragm. I never read the crap that was written about him in Russian and Latvian. I listened to the truth of his words and his music. Every day, I dreamed of meeting him.
Then came a miracle. Michael Jackson was going to organize a 50 concert tour, and one of the venues would be in London. I booked tickets, flights, and a hotel room for the whole family. I could hardly believe that all this was happening to me.
I imagined myself sitting in a big auditorium with that most beloved singer standing before my eyes. I was sure that no power in the world could get in the way of my dream.
Until I glanced casually at the internet on the morning of June 25th, 2009.
Then the safe world I had known collapsed. My dreams were broken and my head spun with conversations from which I couldn’t free myself. A week of mourning became a summer of weeping, and finally a whole year of tears. I could no longer listen to his songs, or even look at pictures of him. I could think of nothing except that he was dead; the man was no more, and I would never see him perform.
I get up in the morning and in the evening I go to bed. In between, I cook for the family; I eat; I walk the dog. I do all this in a slumber. I used to run five kilometers every day. Now, I just do thirty-five minutes on an exercise bike. I can only wait for my soul to settle and the wounds to heal.