I started hanging when I was 36. Probably I’ve hung before, but not as intentionally nor as intensively as I did the past few months. It all started on a holiday to South-Africa. I had exactly 11 hours on the plane to imagine my upcoming holiday. I pictured myself and the ocean, my glorious waving hair in front of a mountain, me and my rented car with a dangerous animal on top of it. While sipping my second glass of wine, I decided not to be just the next tourist sipping wine in a far away country. I wanted to blend in, feel the soil and see the country from another perspective. And that’s how I started hanging.
(It is also likely that I started hanging after I tripped over a small rock and figured no one would notice if I decisively said ‘Yes, you can take that hanging picture now!’) Anyway, in my -from time to time blueish- head, hanging became the ideal act of disobedience and resistance.
Now once you get the hang of hanging, it is not as difficult as it seems. You can hang FOR something or AGAINST something or just because you need to throw up. For example I hung AGAINST glutenintollerance, blind consumerism and inequality and FOR more long-term goals for the human race, more sunny days and more random singing at family dinners. All is possible. I repeat all is possible.
There are however a few important rules concerning hanging.
Rule n° 1: Never hang in order to kill yourself. Hanging is fun.
Rule n° 2: Always wear underwear.
Rule n° 3: Do not hang immediately after dinner. Except when
attempting a Heimlich manoeuvre by yourself.
Contact me if you have any trouble hanging. Me or my imaginary colleague will talk you through it. In the meantime: hang in there.
( Pictures taken by the magnificent standing Leen Verhenne.)
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