Sky is the limit

2015, print, installation, text.


stood on the great plain in the falling snow;

ten thousands soldiers marched to and fro;

looking for you and me

once we had country and we thought it fair

look in the atlas and you'll find it there;

we cannot go there now.

we cannot go there now.

in the village churchyard there grows an old yew,

every spring it blossoms anew.

old passports can't do that.

the consul banged to the table and said:

If you have no passport you are officially dead,

But we are still alive.

We are still alive.



" There were 205 of us in the sea, including children. The UN didn't help us. The Red Cross din't help us. The coastguard din't help us, twice. 

They sent helicopter, filmed us and went away. Our Syrian boys went to reception centre as soon as we phoned them and kicked up the fuss. We were drowning. All the Syrian boys were in front of Lampedusa reception centre. They asked to speak to UN and to the Red Cross and they told them 'our families are drowning there in the sea'.

That hurts, it really hurts.

The Coastguards took two hours to get there. We were drowning, real shipwreck. And as for the coastguards.. basically it was beyond their dignitty to come to us. And this was after four or five hundred people had drowned off Lampedusa.

It is a tragedy, The boats of death.

Then, before my wife got into the boat she asked me: 'can it be possible that somebody pays a thousand dollars to die?'".


He was my north, my south, my east and my west.

My working week and my sunday rest.

My midnight, my talk, my song.

 I thought that love would last forever;

I was wrong.

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.


instalation for "hey do you speak favorite" show in Tilburg Kunstpodium T as a part of Master and Apprentice project.

First photography by: Amber Dijs

© Copyright 2004-2017 Jan Martinec
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