Of the years, I've been learning to cope with the guilt that comes from isolating myself from everything to immerse obsessively in my inner self. Systematically, when I start working, I am overwhelmed by a sense of guilt for not being involved in external life: in the important dates of my country's recent history, in dedicating time to friends, in living experiences with my partner, and in not taking enough care of my sick mother. This struggle has been—and sometimes still is—really difficult. That is why my boxes not only contain what is inside but also all the immensity that has been left out.
However, the pain of renouncing that immensity is always surpassed by the immense and inexplicable pleasure I feel when delving into the construction of one of my assemblages. These are my reward for having known how to defend and keep art alive within me.
Each box holds a sacred character for me, as they are depositories of profound work with myself. I start by pulling on an emotional thread that leads me to the unconscious until I find a feeling, and once there, I settle into it. I explore it, get to know it, and come to understand it. The boxes allow me to be aware of my underground currents, set my beliefs in motion, transform repetition into a more creative solution. Thus, we dance together during the creation process, where each piece shapes me as much as I shape it.
My boxes allow me to combine the mental—the intangible—with the material. I can think in terms like "malleable, fragile, or resistant" while feeling it in my hands. In this way, understandings also sediment through the body. I can sew, file, cut, or paint emotions until they take on a definitive physical form. In each box, I entrust something that profoundly affects me, something with which I have learned to live. The boxes are a map of my life trajectory.
Perhaps in my compulsion to give a second life to found objects or the seemingly insignificant pieces of my assemblages, a discreet rebellion against indifference is hidden. The beauty of these fragments—and especially their potential—prevents me from discarding them. Some have been with me for 25 years; they have survived my changes of country, my moves, and my need to get rid of many other things to try to lighten and simplify my path of uprooting. They are still there because nothing is as comforting and intimate for me as one day remembering that piece of metal, that scrap of fabric, that plastic figurine I found, and knowing that finally, the time has come to work with them to together find a new meaning, a new beginning.
-
Heidi Hassan was born in Cuba in 1978. She is a Cuban creator who currently resides in Madrid. Filmmaker, visual artist and cinematographer. Her work has been awarded at prestigious film festivals such as the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam IDFA ( Netherlands) , the International Festival of New Latin American Cinema in Havana ( Cuba), the Malaga Film Festival (Spain), the Tel Aviv International Documentary Film Festival, the HFF New York (USA), Bilbao International Documentary Film Festival -ZINEBI (Spain), etc.
In 2000, she first studied Cinematography at the International School of Cinema of San Antonio de los Baños, Cuba (EICTV). In 2008, she completed her professional training with a diploma in Directing at Head/Geneva.In the last 15 years she has participated in several international events in Latin America, North America, and Europe. Her plastic work has been exhibited in Cuba, Canada, Switzerland, Santo Domingo, the United States, and recently in the Vienna Art Week in Austria.