Braid

Nevena Ekimova is artist in residence at Lademoen Kunstnerverksteder (LKV) from March to May 2026. For her exhibition at BABEL she will build a new sculptural work together with the audience. This work in progress is open for participation throughout the exhibition. You are all welcome to contribute.

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The most famous pair of braids in the world (or at least in my world) are the ones gracing the head of Astrid Lindgren’s Pippi Longstocking. Her fantastical story also happens to be the main reason I went into Scandinavian studies two decades ago, as an awkward teenager with no clue what I wanted to do with my life but the vague idea of adventure in foreign lands and shops that only sold candy (we had none of those).

I’m unsure when exactly the visual image of a braid popped up, but it was somewhere during a lengthy email thread with Petter, director of BABEL. The exhibition space used to be a school gymnasium, so I imagined the inside of a simple parallelogram. I saw something pushing out from the emptiness, weaving its way along the walls, literally growing out of them, until it became its own thing. It would have to be a growth, a gradually emerging presence. The opening would take place less than two weeks after my arrival, so a show as such, containing anything ready to be shown on opening night, was out of the question.

I always surprise myself when I find out I’m still into diving in head first. I’ll build something on the spot, I say. Open doors, everyone is invited to join in. Start small and see how big it gets, I guess.

I remember the flower crowns we used to make with daisies in the springtime. You start with three, and add one on each strand as you weave. Soon the braid gets fat and heavy and starts resembling the spine of a slithering creature. Similar to braiding hair, fishbone style. When I was very young I learned to do it on my own head without looking, just feeling it take shape under my fingers. Then I would braid every other girl’s hair, a useful skill for making friends, impressing them with speed and precision during school breaks.

Making friends nowadays happens mostly around making art. I thought new friendships were a school thing, but I’ve come to know and love so many of my colleagues. Last year I hired a whole bunch of new assistants to help me finish a large public artwork. Despite the humble wages and repetitive tasks, everyone looked surprisingly happy. And it felt like I’d finally made it somehow. It gave meaning to this counterintuitive ambition of mine to always go big, bigger, twice my size, to outdo myself, to pull off unexpected stuff. To dive in head first. To lift a horse. To be liked and make friends. Wait, is that the real reason I do things? Making friends?

Anyway, I’m back in Norway, after having had what seems like a whole life there, years ago. Back and forth, or maybe it’s a circle, or a spiral. Or a braid. Adding new strands, getting bigger and bolder, until, like finishing a daisy chain, I go back to the beginning. My art career started here, by chance, really, thanks to an exchange program that happened to offer some art classes at a folkehøgskole.

Even though (or maybe just because) the soft local dialect and all the other memories are still lurking somewhere inside my head, it’s kind of sad to be the new kid in town again. But my delusion is that I’m the world’s strongest girl. I’ll make friends out of nothing. I can pull that off, too. I’ll invite everybody. I’ll build us a playground. You just wait.

Best,

Nevena
Written on the road between Gabrovo (Bulgaria) and Trondheim (Norway), 23.02.–01.03.2026.