THIS SONG IS FOR …

2019 -

 

In This song is for… Gabrielle Goliath returns to and re-performs the popular convention of the dedication song, in collaboration with a group of women and gender-queer led musical ensembles.

Playing sequentially within the immersive, sonic space of the installation is a unique collection of dedication songs, each chosen by a survivor of rape and performed as a newly produced cover-version. These are songs of personal significance to the survivors – songs that transport them back to a particular time and place, evoking a sensory world of memory and feeling.

A sonic disruption is introduced at a point within each song; a recurring musical rupture recalling the ‘broken record’ effect of a scratched vinyl LP. Presented in this performed disruption is an opportunity for listeners to affectively inhabit a contested space of traumatic recall – one in which the de-subjectifying violence of rape and its psychic afterlives become painfully entangled with personal and political claims to life, dignity, hope, faith, even joy. 

 
 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

NONDUMISO MSIMANGA

Bohemian Rhapsody (The Braids version, original by Queen)

Performed by Monk Phiri & Dion Monti

“I tried to kill myself. 

I still want to kill myself.

I have to fight to not want to kill myself. 

I don’t want to just die. 

I’m a fighter and everyday I’m fighting for my life; 

fighting for it to matter. 

Here’s to the good fight!”

watch video

 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

a woman who chooses to withhold her name

Uyesu Ulithemba Lam (Xhosa traditional hymn)

Performed by Msaki, featuring 

Lebogang Ledwaba & Thembinkosi Mavimbela

“But I am praying, and I am very strong and God is

going to answer me one day… 

You must fight for life.”

watch video

 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

FLOW

Everybody Hurts (by Solange)

Performed by Dope Saint Jude & BUJIN

“Death knocked on my door

He took away my innocence for sure

Death left me on the sewer floor

With a soul no more”

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THIS SONG IS FOR …

A WOMAN WHO CHOOSES TO WITHHOLD HER NAME

Ave Maria (by Charles-François Gounod)

Performed by Jacobi de Villiers & Eric Dippenaar

“What shall I say, what shall I write? I have deleted my words several times, written and rewritten them, tried again and again, but I know that even if I delete them, they will be an eternal replay…

An eternal retracing of feelings and of what I relive day after day. The smear is there, it stares at me every day, it forces me to have to confront it straight on, from the side, from the back…there is no getting away from it.

Today I am able to own it without guilt – I was abused. I felt guilty for years and wanted to prove to the world that everything was alright! But deep inside I was shattered.

My wounds will never ever heal completely, and I grow them (I have grown roses in this garden of mine). I care with much tenderness for this little corner of myself, because I know there is no cure, there are but ‘remedies’ taken in small doses to alleviate the symptoms of this silent wound.

Women: water your gardens and fertilize this incurable wound with self-love.

I will not write of the depths I have sunk to.

I simply sing, meditate, pray…

Sing, meditate and pray for us!

One day at a time…”

watch video

 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

SINESIPHO LEKANI

Save the Hero (by Beyoncé)

Performed by The Wretched

 

“The 19th of April 2014 was a holy Saturday for others and not so holy for me. What was meant to be an academic transition turned out to be a bitter life transition when I was kidnapped and raped in a taxi in the third month of my first year in university. Later in the same month, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. 

All I prayed for was to come back to my family alive. I saw my life flash before my eyes when they said, “We need to get rid of the evidence”, simply meaning I should be killed. In the same rhythm as his first stroke, I uttered “Dear God...” and my heart spoke the rest.

My self esteem, the love for myself, everything in me died. With every tear I shed. The minute I was thrown out of that car. I no longer look at myself the same. 

The fact that I never got to meet my offender face-to-face, that justice was never served, is the main reason for the delay in my healing.

Some days are better than others. 

One day Iʼm happy, positive and ready to fight and conquer, then the next I battle anxiety. 

watch video

All I ever want to do is end it all. Put a stop to this misery. 

For the longest time Iʼve used the desire to be wanted sexually to escape reality. Getting through days is a struggle. I live my life in fear. Making it home safe is a daily prayer. Waking up still breathing is an achievement. 

Oh how I want to end it all. But with everything going on in the country, all these women getting kidnapped, raped, then killed, makes me appreciate having survived. But again I am forced to relive the moment every time I hear a story of a raped woman.

What time was it? 

Are you sure you were not revealing?

Maybe you were drunk? 

You should have cut off his manhood. 

Society raped me more.

My life has never been the same, Iʼm broken, and my sin, my only sin, was being a woman.”

 
 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

GABRIEL XAVIER

Something from Nothing (Foo Fighters)

Performed by Desire Marea & Nonku Phiri

 

“It hurt, that is what I can say about what happened, it hurt emotionally and physically. It wasn’t something I understood at the time, nor did I understand it for a long time.

It was about 8 years ago, I was only 10. At that age, there are many things you don’t understand, you are still sheltered, secluded; a time for video games, cartoons and games. At that age you don’t really understand the weight behind things, innocence is still everything.

With an event of this significance, somehow you still think it is alright, and that it will all work out. Particularly when it is with someone you know, in your home, with your parents in the living room. Someone you trust, somewhere safe and protected by your parents.

I only understood the seriousness of all this when I was 15. Before that, at 13, we had learned about such things in a sex education class. But it was only when the teacher defined the word rape, that I felt as if I had been hit in the face. I can say that ‘everything went sort of dark’, and that is when the burden of it all really got to me. I was screaming inside, I ran to the bathroom and stayed there for an hour recalling what had happened.

watch video

I carried on denying it for a few years, pretending it hadn’t happened. I had never told anyone up until two years ago. There was a time when I doubted my own sanity, that it was all a figment of my imagination. That I was telling myself a lie.

But it truly happened.

It started with an invitation, for him to come and sleep over at my house, I was 10, he 15/16, what started out as a bit of fun, ended up being the trauma of my life.

The most difficult part was to face it, and the telling of it is incredibly difficult. I told my father: he threw in my face that it was a lie. I faced that relative: He said that it had never happened. As far as they were concerned, I didn’t know what I was talking about.

It is an emotional pain, much worse than physical pain, something you don’t know how to tell, something you try not to think about - you can’t bring yourself to talk about it.

What I can say is this: make yourself heard, face yourself, you know what happened and what goes on happening in the world, sadly.”

 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

Deborah Ho-Chung

Everybody Hurts (by REM)

Performed by Msaki, featuring 

Lebogang Ledwaba & Thembinkosi Mavimbela

 

“I’ve been struggling these past few days...

Struggling to stay focused.

Struggling to smile.

Struggling to remember the good things in my life.

It’s just way too easy to have a pity party I find.

And this frustrates me no end...

“You have so much to be thankful for”

I find myself saying over and over again.

“Look around you”

I say as I drive through a predominantly ‘Coloured’,

gang infested, drug soaked township on my way to work.

And it is exactly this dichotomy of my life that frustrates me.

The poverty and hopelessness I see around me

leaves me inspired to share my message of hope,

but it also drags me down into a dark pit of gloom and self-pity.

When I see boys as young as twelve smoke and drink behind a wall,

and little girls dance suggestively just a few meters away from them,

I know what the outcome is going to be.

watch video

And I pray for those little girls to be able to hold onto their innocence for just a few more years

just until someone...

a teacher... an older sister... or cousin...

comes along and tells them there is more to life.

More to life than smoking

and drinking

and boys

and dancing

and sex.

“The children don’t want to listen to us”

say my staff at work.

I share my story and that of my grandmother with them.

I’m doing what I can... where I can,

in the hope that they will share that message with their children.

But apparently pretty words can’t compete with the good feelings drugs and alcohol and sex provide.

And my frustration and impatience sends me tumbling into a deep dark vacuum.

What good was my suffering if I can’t help others lead a better life?

What purpose did it serve?”

 
 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

COREY SPENGLER-GATHERCOLE

Fight Song (by Rachel Platten)

Performed by Desire Marea, featuring Izimakade

 

“To my rapist

You were my friend, I trusted you and you stole my innocence.

As a rape survivor, my role in the rape is often questioned, but what about your role? Yes, I was with you willingly and I went into the hotel room willingly, but that was because I trusted you. You knowingly set a trap for me and sadly I fell into it as I trusted you. You weren’t brave enough to do it alone, so you brought a friend along. I had just turned twenty-one, so in your books it made me an adult and as you said that night, “This is what adults do so get used to it”. I never asked you to betray my trust but that night you taught me that even someone you have known for about seven years could not be trusted. You tried to break me in your attempt to initiate me into adulthood. Then you felt guilty or were scared of the consequences, so you offered me money. Why would I want your money, I was not a prostitute, paying me wouldn’t make it all go away?

After that night I felt broken, lost and empty. Something special had been stolen from me and I could never get it back. I took you to court but I was let down by the justice system and after almost four years of my life I watched you celebrate as the magistrate gave both you and your accomplice three years house arrest, as he felt somehow that it was the alcohol that raped me, and not you. I was in tears as all I wanted to do was stop you from doing this to someone else and I felt like I had failed.

Even after all this I refused to let you steal anything else from me. It took time, but I started to pick up the pieces you left me with and rebuild the puzzle that was my life, even though the puzzle looked very different. I could never be the same person, as what you did to me changed me in so many ways, but today I am stronger. I want you to know that you were not able to break me and that I am still standing and that I will fight for all women who are hurting because of someone like you. 

Regards,

A strong rape survivor”

watch video

 
 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

Gabriel Xavier

Black Hole Sun (by Soundgarden)

Performed by Nonku Phiri & Dion Monti

 

“It hurt, that is what I can say about what happened, it hurt emotionally and physically. It wasn’t something I understood at the time, nor did I understand it for a long time.

It was about 8 years ago, I was only 10. At that age, there are many things you don’t understand, you are still sheltered, secluded; a time for video games, cartoons and games. At that age you don’t really understand the weight behind things, innocence is still everything.

With an event of this significance, somehow you still think it is alright, and that it will all work out. Particularly when it is with someone you know, in your home, with your parents in the living room. Someone you trust, somewhere safe and protected by your parents.

I only understood the seriousness of all this when I was 15. Before that, at 13, we had learned about such things in a sex education class. But it was only when the teacher defined the word rape, that I felt as if I had been hit in the face. I can say that ‘everything went sort of dark’, and that is when the burden of it all really got to me. I was screaming inside, I ran to the bathroom and stayed there for an hour recalling what had happened.

watch video

I carried on denying it for a few years, pretending it hadn’t happened. I had never told anyone up until two years ago. There was a time when I doubted my own sanity, that it was all a figment of my imagination. That I was telling myself a lie.

But it truly happened.

It started with an invitation, for him to come and sleep over at my house, I was 10, he 15/16, what started out as a bit of fun, ended up being the trauma of my life.

The most difficult part was to face it, and the telling of it is incredibly difficult. I told my father: he threw in my face that it was a lie. I faced that relative: He said that it had never happened. As far as they were concerned, I didn’t know what I was talking about.

It is an emotional pain, much worse than physical pain, something you don’t know how to tell, something you try not to think about - you can’t bring yourself to talk about it.

What I can say is this: make yourself heard, face yourself, you know what happened and what goes on happening in the world, sadly.”

 
 
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THIS SONG IS FOR …

KAREN HOWELL

Ben (by Michael Jackson)

Performed by The Wretched


 “My Name is Karen Howell and this is a story of rape, yet not of rape but of justice, survival and persistence. 

Part One - Physical Rape 

Whoever thinks it could happen to them? A door slams. I am jolted out of a deep sleep. Sitting upright on my bed I just know something is wrong, yet it is the middle of the afternoon. Tentatively I walk down the passage and I am instantly grabbed by two men. The ring leader, whom I get to name “Manchester”, glares at me with such malevolence in his eyes. I know they mean business. I know, I know, I know I am going to be raped, or die or both. Absently my mind tries to figure which one I prefer…With my heart in my mouth, barely able to breath, I freeze, my wrists are immediately tied together. I make no move as I feel the cold blade of a knife against my throat and the deadly whispers from “Manchester”: “If you make a noise, I WILL kill you!!” This sets my mind straight. I have to survive this as my child has nowhere to go if I am not here anymore. Whatever they do, I have to survive this. Terrified, I’m pulled and dragged around my home. Cupboards are ransacked, draws emptied, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The nylon rope around my wrists cuts deeply into my flesh as they tug and drag me around. I have a flicker of hope that this is just a robbery and I may yet escape without harm, but that hope dies when I see their faces as they find nothing of value. I try to negotiate with them, offering to take them to an ATM to draw money. This falls on deaf ears. My next attempt to deter them is to tell them I have Aids…this doesn’t faze them in the least. At first I try to fight them, but what match is a woman against one man, let alone two? They take turns invading my body, but I will not allow them to invade my soul. I remain calm, going into another world, yet taking it all in.  

Part Two – Institutional Rape 

In a daze I am taken to the police station where I am told to sit in a small room with no windows. Feeling claustrophobic, a woman police officer attempts to take my statement. Not hospital first, but a cold impersonal noisy police station, filled with in-considerate, disinterested and unsympathetic men. Even the woman that tries to take my statement has zero empathy. Her chatting to friends and ordering KFC is vastly more important than comforting a woman victim of the single most degrading and invasively violent crime imaginable. This is Africa. Rape is commonplace and regarded as petty by some. Why would they be concerned with my emotional state? Constant interruptions of people in and out of the small room, laughing, organizing food amongst themselves. Two hours go by and she has managed only the most basic of statements, all of half a page long. At the hospital we spend another half an hour trying to find my Investigating Officer who has been assigned to my case. Eventually we find him lazing in a chair seemingly in a world of his own. He now attempts to get a statement from me, but is not even able to get my name correct! I want to scream…To make things worse, he is 6ft4, and is almost sitting on my lap invading my personal space as he attempts to take down details that I later discover were totally incorrect. I also found out later on, that the police were to send me to a clinic somewhere in Hilbrow that does not even have Rape Kits! Thank goodness a friend intervenes and I get sent to Olivedale Hospital. Oh no…Seriously…a male doctor to conduct the very invasive and intimate examination of a rape victim? The procedure is two hours long…almost as invasive as the rape itself. After the exam is completed all I want to do is have that shower that my body and mind have been screaming for!! At the hospital is the biggest and best shower I have ever seen in my life. Feeling half human again, I am offered counselling at the hospital. Although exhausted, I think maybe this would be a good idea. Fifteen minutes later an elderly male comes rushing into the room apologising for keeping me waiting, but he has just had to leave a patient dying to come and see me…Are you kidding me?? Now not only am I made to feel guilty, I’m saddled with another male!! What could he possibly know or even understand about what I have just endured?? I am out of there! It is now ten hours after the rape and my daughter and I fall into bed exhausted at a friend’s house. 

Part Three – Judicial Rape 

The following day I arrange finger print experts and forensic experts to come to the scene of the crime to collect evidence. Me. Not the cops, but me. I sit back and wait for justice. My broken body healing, my soul needs to heal and I crave justice. 

Exactly one week after the rape… No! It couldn’t possibly be…could it? Sitting on the pavement across the road from my home isn’t “Manchester” but my other rapist, almost basking in the spring sun…not a care in the world! I contact the police, but by the time they arrive, he is long gone. I am outraged by his nonchalant attitude and sheer lack of fear of being caught! This however makes me even more determined. I create a network within my suburb, talking to people, finding out about other crimes in the area and creating awareness.

Another week goes by and I am back at the hospital. With bated breath I am handed my results of the first batch of blood tests. Blood tests to see if I have been infected with the HIV/Aids virus.

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My stomach is in a knot as I tentatively open the envelope with shaking hands. With a sigh of relief, and a silent prayer of thanks, the results are negative, but this is only the beginning. This process would go on for a year. The next thing my phone is ringing. It’s one of my contacts that I have been networking with! My heart skips a beat as I answer my phone. Hello? “Madam, come quickly!!” I rush to my car, so many thoughts going through my mind. As luck would have it, every traffic light turned red, every truck seemed to be in front of me. I remind myself to take deep breaths and calm down. I have no idea what to expect. Not 300 meters from my home, I am to find a security van on the pavement, and a police van in the middle of the road. I explain my story to a very disinterested police officer and request the back door of the van to be opened. Weak at the knees, heart pounding, the back of the van is opened. My eyes immediately lock on one of the two men sitting in the back of the van… “Manchester”. My entire body goes into shock and I can’t stop shaking, barely able to hold my phone. With “Manchester” in the police van, my neighbour drops me off at the police station, just 3 km away from my home with the promise that a lift would be organized once my statement had been taken.

Hello…I’m here. You have my rapist in custody! But it is like I am a salt pillar. I am being ignored like a stop sign. My whole being shouts with the joy of impending justice! But, it’s only me. The cops are not interested at all!! He was caught 300 meters away from my home! He is going to jail! Two hours later I find a lift home. My statement sadly remaining in my head. No-one took notice of me, No-one is interested. It’s only rape after all. My soul screams in torment. Another couple of weeks go by. No way…there he is again. “Manchester” is now in custody, but my second rapist is still out on the street…my street, again!! This time not sitting on the pavement, but going through rubbish bins across the road from my house! The difference this time is that I am not going to let him out of my sight. Sitting in the car next to me is my five year old daughter, Keara. We are on the way to nursery school. I tell her to hang in there baby, as we have a job to do…to catch the bad man! I phone the sector vehicle numbers that have been given to me, but surprise, surprise I get voice mail. Somehow I dig deep and remember the main landline number. I drive around following him; waiting for the police to arrive…instead I get a phone call from them asking me where Boundary Road is…seriously?? The police station is just off that exact same road not 3 km from me! Eventually they arrive. I park my car and Keara and I both jump into the police van. Still rummaging through the trash we pull up to him, and I positively identify him as my second rapist! Back to the police station yet again. And yet again, this time with my daughter in tow, I am left standing in a passageway unattended…un-noticed, unimportant and just another rape victim. An hour goes by and Keara is now frightened and confused. We leave and I take her to school, go home, have a shower, contact my Investigating Officer and give him the good news and go back to the station, all-guns-blazing to wait for him…well…as we speak I am still waiting for him to arrive!! I have had about enough of nobody taking me seriously, so I take action and speak out! I discover that there is only one holding cell at the station. It has been known to happen that lawyers come to the cell looking for work. Because my statement has not yet been taken, identifying him as one of my rapists, he could have been released on that basis…he can’t go to jail for going through the trash! I ensure my rapist is now taken from the holding cell and locked in a room where nobody can get to him, or allow him to be released “by mistake”. But yet again, I have to leave unsatisfied, with only a small victory. The next day I receive a phone call from my Investigating Officer. 

YES! Things are happening, I’m getting JUSTICE! He is calling, asking me about where “Manchester” has been taken to…are you kidding me? The low my soul goes after such a high is devastating! Especially as I realise that my statement wasn’t taken after him being arrested and taken to the station…he also would not go to jail for an attempted break-in on the day he was arrested…maybe he’s been set free! The adrenalin that pumps through my veins almost makes me pass out. Hours go by. Much later I find out to my relief that he has been taken to the Randburg holding cell. My nerves are shattered…I leave numerous messages for the Brigadier with not so much as the courtesy of a return phone call. Fed-up with the incompetency of the station, I now barge my way into the Brigadier’s office. I’m a woman on a mission. Full of fire and fury, I’m out to get JUSTICE. He has no choice but to hear me out! With as much diplomacy as I can muster, I tell him about the many blunders his men and the station have made to date…with the hope that if he is aware of them, changes will be made – requesting, more like demanding, a new Investigating Officer to be assigned to my case. Needless to say, my speaking out and making the Brigadier aware of what was happening at his station, has resulted in them making some remarkable changes. After a lot of chaos and red tape, I have a new IO and a six page statement, as opposed to the half a page done previously at the police station, which would never have been enough as evidence to stand up in court.

The court case begins. Bail is denied for both of the suspects as they are illegal immigrants. I start to feel that I may be vindicated, but I temper my hopes.


The road is still going to be a long one, but the tiny flame of hope keeps my spirits up. I may prevail after all. I may get a chance at healing. Three months later and the court case begins. The case is extended for yet another two years, exacerbated by incompetence and compounded by a lack of interest. Documents go missing, prosecutors are chopped and changed, the original IO has done an incompetent job and the chain of evidence is broken. I am being violated yet again. The judicial system is raping and raping me…in what is commonly referred to as secondary rape. Interpreters do not pitch, witnesses are not available, the suspect’s attorney is ill, then the stenographer machine breaks down, or no stenographer is available! Postponement after postponement after postponement…but I never missed a court hearing. I willingly submit to the rape in order to have that glimmer of hope, the chance to heal, the chance for justice. I developed a relationship between my expert witnesses and IO and my prosecutor…whom I am still friends with today! I face the rapists in court, over and over again. Being raped every time, but I hold onto that hope… Two years later and finally it is time for the verdict. The mixture of emotions overwhelms me.

Fear...exhilaration...trepidation. How will my life change if they are not found guilty? After two years of judicial procedure the state only has some evidence against “Manchester” and my word against theirs. Will it be good enough?? Will I experience the final and ultimate rape? As the only person that was a witness for the state…it is my word against theirs…I had to prove that it was not consensual and that I had not invited them into my home. Will the sentence be further rape or will I be vindicated? Will I complete the path of healing and be free? The court room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. All I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears!! The magistrate’s voice fills the room. Accused No 2, Kululanie Sabanye…on both charges against you…you are found guilty…and sentenced to 40 years imprisonment, to be served consecutively. Accused No 1, Philip Mabasu (“Manchester”), on all four charges against you...you are found guilty…and sentenced to 59 years imprisonment, to be served consecutively. The feel-ing of relief and closure overwhelms me…I can’t believe what I have just accomplished. The court room erupts with applause!! Perseverance, determination and a need for justice is what drove me…to be an example to the other women out there…to be the woman to accomplish what I did despite all the frustrations of the police not doing the basics, the court system and the emotional trauma experienced. 

Part Four – The aftermath 

Now it may sound like I totally dislike the police. Well that’s not true. They are not all incompetent or disinterested in their cases. In fact there are many, many police men and women that are fantastic at their jobs. I believe I was given the worst of the worst scenarios in experiencing the journey that I did. How else would I be able to pass on the knowledge and show you that no matter the odds stacked against you, be it the police, the lack of support or the slow judicial system, feeling like you just want to give up…Don’t! If you speak out, you will get a brilliant Investigating Officer, a fabulous Prosecutor at the courts, just like I did. Sometimes you need to make it clear that you are not going to accept anything less than what you deserve, fight for what you are entitled to. Sometimes YOU need to make it happen! The rape happened in September 2011 and the sentencing in October 2013. It has now been just over five years...did I find healing, have I found peace? Yes I have…and now I want to help others speak out! I believe God was with me the entire time, protecting me and giving me the strength to endure all the things that went wrong for me to be able to help others. 

People often ask me how I got over it:

  • Knowing that I did everything in my power to assist the police in my case towards getting justice.

  • As a result of that, my rapists were convicted and given heavy sentences.

  • I have prevented these men from hurting anybody else.

  • The police station involved got to improve their service.

  • The silver lining in all of this is that my daughter was not with me!!

I am grateful it happened to me. People look at me like I’ve lost the plot, but I firmly believe God had a plan for me when I experienced this. He is the one that gave me the strength and the guidance to figure things out when everything went wrong, in order to be able to pass this knowledge on to others. If people are empowered with the knowledge of what they can do…what their rights are, and not to just leave everything up to the police, but to help them and also to SPEAK OUT!! Yes, it has changed my life. Through God all things are possible. Empower yourself. Knowledge is power. Never give up, believe and you will receive whatever it is you need. My life will forever be changed…but I am victorious…I am FREE!!!

My name is Karen Howell…and this is MY story!”

 
 

This song is for... Pinchuk Art Centre, Kiev, Ukraine, 2019, Installation views, Photos by Maksim Belousov