Miriam Bäckström
B. 1967
Dear Miriam,
Did I tell you the truth about my dream? I was in Zurich to see your works at Mai 36. I was thirsty and they gave me something to drink out of a thermos. I looked at the books they had on display behind the table at the entrance, some titles seemed familiar but not the editions, something about the typeface and format confused me but I was not able to formulate exactly what it was.
-People do not live their biographies, said the gallery assistant as she started to walk me up the staircase. We took the corridor to the left and entered a room without windows. There hung your images, clearer than I remember them from the installation shots you sent me. Eight simultaneous photos in white frames, all taken from different perspectives.
The model, a well-known actress is appearing in the role as her self. But I can’t see her as one being. She appears to have numeral potentially ipseities. Hippolyta, Sheila O'Connor and Masja are just but a few of them. The gallery assistant has left the room and I am standing there alone. For a short moment I saw the eyes of Elena Andrejevna in her eyes, and then it changed into your eyes. Miriam, my beloved friend, I am sure it’s you in those photos.
Yours sincerely,
Niklas
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