We see what we want to see, and specially what we don’t want. As I brushed my hair one day this is what I saw in the mirror: my beheaded swinging head.

I enter in the space with a large sheet of plastic and a black chair. It’s dark and cold November in Helsinki. I ask the audience to put their winter hats on. I pull out a nylon thread and start sewing all of them together, but leaving them on the spectators heads. Only people with no hat can move freely now. At least that’s the sensation. After this, things go faster and get more easily mixed up in my memories. I lay the black chair on the floor and place a bright pink orchid on it. I spray it all black and ask someone from the audience to take the hair dryer and to dry the paint. I lay down on the floor and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. With the hair in my hand pulling upwards, I put as much bubble gum as I can in my mouth and chew. My face acquires different shapes and expressions. A young woman takes my hand and I give her a hammer. We nail the orchid to the chair, which still lies in a horizontal position. We reposition the chair so that it is upright and holds the black orchid in a horizontal position now. The woman steps on the chair, turns back to the audience and holds my hair up, tight. I form small balls from a mixture of the transparent plaster, bubble gum from my mouth and bits of my hair and skin. I throw them one by one to the concrete floor. They bounce and get lost in the space. I take scissors and cut my dress around the neck while the woman on the chair still holds my hair tight. I slip out of the dress divided in two and go towards the floor on all fours. Now my hair is loose and the woman dismissed. I take a neon pink spray can and paint the orchid flowers. I ask for some help, and pull the nylon thread, collecting the hats. The thread is much too weak and the collected hats are too heavy for the fishing line. Eventually, it breaks and the hats fall on the floor. The performance is over as I return the hats to their owners.