Nests come in many shapes and forms. Some animals nest inside trees or in the ground, using their natural sha- pe or opening their holes, some use organic materials like wood, grass and wool to build structures. Other creatu- res like to nest next to bodies of water like rivers or falls, they take refuge in cavities on the stone or build dam-like constructions over the current.
Cup-shaped, round, shiel- ded or exposed, they are fabrications that provide them with shelter, communal benefits or intimacy innuendos. Even after all the effort that finding a suitable haven im- plies, some animals surrender their original nests for mul- tiple reasons, weather, and lack of resources, some are forced to migrate because the conditions are too brutal and unkind.
They go away leaving traces and affections behind, embarking on a journey only taking memories, stories and recipes as baggage. Confronted with new environments holding nothing but the knowledge they carry, they feel themselves being al- tered by the unfamiliar conditions.
They are intimately trying to navigate the dynamic flow between relinquishing and discovering, remembering and invoking, relating and learning. Despite all attempts, new nests never seem to be like old nests.
Only after settling with this fact, can a fabric be rebuilt from composite identities that start branching out, unear- thing, connecting and problematizing the collective expe- rience of non-belonging, to root in a different way, resilient to seemingly all impulses, building with traces, working with suggestions, functioning with parts. With its intricacy and uncertainty, the act of nesting could be seen as an endless effort.
