We wished to address a relationship between “English” as a world dominating language and the “other” language. This relation is something that cannot be simply described as a question of mere translation, but rather a state of communication which cannot so easily be differentiated from our lives, bodies and minds as globalised individuals.

At first, the differences between the two English versions might seem to to be able to mark something which is both highly individual (a question of vocabulary and writing styles of the translators) as well as very general; between different cultures, linguistic logics, contexts and geographical positions. I cannot read Japanese, and Yasuko can not read Danish. But could these traces – the residues from the languages our common text has gone through – suggest other kinds of differences, gaps or vacuums that could reveal something more about Danish or Japanese than just grammar and vocabulary?

Only while reading, it becomes known that the “original” text itself has in fact been written in English; but in an "English" between the two of us – i.e. full of mistakes, accents, dialects and twists – a language that is not visible in the presentation of the piece. All there is left are the two "correct" officially translated versions. What was incorrect and in-between will have to be imagined.

Installation:
In the space we also each placed a photo of different everyday situations from our own everyday experience: A local movie theatre, a glance into the fridge, unmade beds, our work desks. We each made a video consisting simply of a daily train- or car-ride we each undertook in order to go to work. Again the photos as well as the video monitors were placed in pairs, parallel or next to each other, as if to suggest the possibility of a a comparative analysis.

Above: two version of "a gaze into the fridge".
Below: two versions of "milk on kitchen table" and two versions of "unmade bed".





The two texts:
(should be read in the space each as one very long line; the lines running parallel on the walls)

1)
Of course, there was no physical pain. It just looked a little strange. After arriving she had arranged that they would meet in an invisible way. They had only decided on the place and time, and that she was just to follow her from behind. She had already received a list of instructions from her about what to do. There was a chance she would not know her. All she knew was that she was to follow her from behind and give her instructions. She stopped me from doing it. I haven't dyed my hair since I was 18 years old. I like imposing rules on myself. After entering art school I saw lots of male students who had more grey hairs than me. It was a big shock. From that time on I stopped dying my hair. Anyway, once I turned 23 the number of grey hairs had decreased a little. We will definitely not meet as I said we would meet. How odd it is. If you were to make for me a special time schedule, I would adhere to it to the letter. I like hard schedules. If you give me instructions I will try anything as a concept for an artwork. I'll try becoming you. That's fine with me. I remember that once a month, at night, just before having a bath, my mother would dye my hair for me. But sometimes we forgot. What are you thinking now? About the translation you talked about: What text are you thinking of using? My parents used to think that the cause of my grey hairs was my "practise". Once it had dried, the smell disappeared. The method is to make two similar (but completely individual) texts from the same text. Only our native languages will separate them. We're just using English with each other. The Second World War still exists in our everyday. I eat while typing at the computer. And afterwards we will translate that text into our respective native languages. And then ask a professional translator to translate them into English. - Of course, there is no physical pain. It just looks a little strange. I'm the same; I work and eat at home. Last night, at about 2am I saw a lot of shooting stars. That's right. There are many battles within words. Please take me to a movie. When I was 15 I changed the type of hair dye I used. The new dye was better than the old dye, but the smell was terrible. Because it was made of ammonia. But it only smelt while you were applying it. When it dried the smell disappeared. 2am? That's fine with me. And I will also ask you to buy some milk from the local shop. I always forget to buy milk. I like imposing rules on myself. All the hairs are a different colour here. But afterwards, everyone must look the same, one more time. Not equal, just the same. As a concept, I'll try becoming you. By the way, which city are you in? Did you know that grey hairs are thicker than hairs that are other colours? And they're also more likely to curl. Why do you think that is? As far as you understood it, was it another method? Was it the opposite? Show me the map. When I was eleven I decided to pull out the grey hairs by myself. I decided that each evening I would pull out 100 hairs. I like imposing rules on myself. Unfortunately my mother saw me doing it. Later on I will send a fragmented email. But please continue. Should I make it fact? Or should I make it fiction? At the school in my area there was a rule that students who rode bicycles had to wear helmets. I always wore a helmet when I rode my bike to school. I hated looking at the inside of the helmet. Because it was stained with hair dye. "Wow!" You said, "wow," so I became a bit unsure myself. Perhaps I exaggerated? Maybe I should have said 10%? To be honest, I couldn't see how much grey hair I had myself. I was told I had a lot on the back of my head. There's a knack to using one mirror to look at your reflection in another mirror. Occasionally boys would make fun of me because of my grey hair, but it wasn't too often. I had a feeling that those boys actually liked me. People are attracted to weakness. I was an optimist. When I was a child I would worry about the colour of my hair. About 30% of my hair was grey like that of an old person. Of course, there was no physical pain. It just looked a little strange. From about the age of seven the number of grey hairs began to increase noticeably. Until I heard strangers gossiping about my hair it didn't bother me at all. How should I begin? Should I make it fact? Or should I make it fiction? OK, tell me that story.



2)

Of course it wasn't a physical pain. It just looked a bit strange. She arrived; they had agreed to meet, but "invisibly": they had arranged a time and a place, but agreed that she should simply follow her - spy on her. She had already received instructions from her about what she should do. She would not recognize this other person, only know that she was following her and gave her orders. She forced me to stop. I haven't dyed my hair since I was 18. I like to make rules for myself. After I started at the Academy of Art I saw a guy whose hair was much greyer than mine, which made a deep impression on me. So I stopped dyeing my hair. At all events, when I turned 23 it was as if it stopped a little. As I said, we mustn’t meet. - How odd. If you give me a special timetable I'll try to do everything I can to follow it. I prefer strict schedules. If you guide me in everything I'll try, as a concept, to become you. Okay. I can remember that my mother dyed my hair once a month, in the evening, just before she took a bath. But sometimes we forgot. What are you thinking about now? About the translation you were talking about: what text were you thinking of? My parents thought I had gone grey because I practiced too much. After it had dried the air vanished. That way we move from one text to two, almost - but not quite - identical texts. Only each of our languages has come between. When we only have English in common. The Second World War is still here in us every single day. While I wait for the computer I eat some food. Then we each translate the same (English) text into our own languages, and we each ask a professional translator to translate it back into English. - Of course there's no physical pain involved, it just ends up looking a little different. The same with me; I work at home too while I eat. Last night, around two, I saw incredibly many shooting stars. Yes, there have been many wars in that language. Go with me to the movies. When I was 15 I changed my hair colour. The new one was much better than the old one, but the smell was worse. It came from the ammonia. All the same, that was only when you were dyeing. When it had dried, the smell vanished. Two in the morning? - Okay, I'll ask you to fetch me some milk from the nearest kiosk. I like to make rules for myself. People's hair probably has more different colours here. Yet people should preferably look the same. Not identical, just the same. I will try, as a concept, to become you. By the way, what city are you in? Did you know that grey hair is thicker than dyed hair? And it has a tendency to be more wavy. Why?? Is it true that you read the other way - in the opposite direction? Please show me a map. I was maybe ... 11 years old when I began to pluck out my grey hairs, myself, during the night. 100 hairs. I had decided to pluck 100 hairs out every day. I do like making rules for myself. Unfortunately my mother found out what I was doing. She forced me to stop it. I will send you sentences, fragmented, later. But do go on. Should it be truth or fiction? In my school district there was a rule that pupils should use a safety helmet when they cycled. Since I cycled to school, I always had to wear a helmet. I hated to look inside it. There was dye all over it. - Wow! Because you said "Wow!" I had some doubts. Did I exaggerate? Should I say 10 per cent? Tell me the truth - I can't see for myself how much white hair I have. I've been told there's more at the back. It's hard to see for yourself; to handle two mirrors. It takes technical dexterity to see one mirror reflected in the other. And I would also have to hold the light at the same time as I looked in the mirrors. Sometimes there were boys who teased me about my hair, but that wasn't so often. I believed intuitively that they were in love with me. I thought that weaknesses would attract a particular kind of person. I was optimistic. As a child, I was very frustrated about my hair colour. Almost 30 per cent of it was white, like an old person. Of course there was no physical pain. It just looked a little strange. When I turned 7 the white hairs clearly increased. I didn't care at all myself, until I heard some strangers talking about me. How should I begin? Should it be truth or fiction? Tell me a story now.