It is thought that the month of January - the doorway to a new year - was named after Janus, the Roman god of beginnings, duality, gates, passages, time and transitions. Janus is generally depicted as having two faces, both looking into the past as well as into the future. He lives in the in-between space of the threshold. Not surprisingly, the Latin word for the entrance to a home or a city ‘ianua’, as well as the English word ‘janitor’, both come from Janus too.
This first issue of //\ hoekhuis, is dedicated to the first room of the house: the entrance. The entrance marks the transitory space between a world inside and outside. It’s where we prepare for what is out there, and anticipate what we will encounter. It is the room where we return and re-enter our domestic spaces, where we transform into who we are at home, a little less burdened by the demands and expectations from the outside world.
Usually, we don't spend much time here. We enter. We leave. We turn and we return, because we forgot to bring our belongings. We also interact with others. On the doorstep we find ourselves half inside, half outside, in between public and private space. Neighbours ask us for a favour. Parcel deliverers are in a rush and hand us the materials that don't fit our mailboxes. Friends pass by, whether we invited them or not. The door opens and closes. We escape or find shelter.
The entrance also marks new beginnings. It’s where new routes and journeys begin. Not only when we leave, but also when we return. We enter the house and its rooms, and while we undo ourselves from coats and scarves, we call out to our roommates, pets or walls to let them know we returned safely.
This issue of //\ hoekhuis examines ‘the entrance’ from multiple angles, times and perspectives, through conversations, music, reflections, (moving) image, and works of fiction. It starts with Side A, a composition by Inne Eysermans, with whom we talk about cassette culture and modes of working collectively in pandemic times. Next is an essay by Sjaak Douma, that dissects a key scene in Giuseppe Tornatore’s film The Legend of 1900, or La leggenda del pianista sull'oceano.
We continue with a work of fiction by Traumnovelle named The Janitor. Inspired by the typology of the Arch of Janus in Rome, and Thomas Cole’s series of paintings The Course of Empire (1833-1866) that show the evolution of a civilisation in five different stages, Traumnovelle made a series of collages, as a way to address today’s extreme polarization of the world and of the people. Here, the space embodies the figure of a Janitor personification of the State. Finally, designer and artist Kirsten Spruit contributes to this issue with her work 100 minutes, part of her ongoing series of dot drawings. We have a conversation with her about breaking walls and communal genius.
The issue doesn’t end here. On the contrary, the collection of works and conversations aim to start an exchange on the entrance as a metaphor: for new beginnings and moments of transition, and - like Janus - both looking into the past as well as into the future.
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