Van kunst kijken naar kunst schrijven: 47 stemmen, 1 winnaar

Medewerkers van CANPACK uit verschillende landen lieten zich inspireren door het werk en de ideeën van Abakanowicz. In essays en gedichten schreven zij over mens-zijn in de hedendaagse wereld: over kwetsbaarheid en veerkracht, verlies en verbondenheid, en de relatie tussen mens en natuur. De inzendingen laten zien hoe kunst kan aanzetten tot reflectie en hoe persoonlijke verhalen, ondanks culturele verschillen, vaak dezelfde vragen en gevoelens delen. Uit alle inzendingen koos een internationale jury uiteindelijk twee winnende bijdrages: een essay en een gedicht. Hieronder lees je de winnende teksten

Winnaar van de essay (Engels)

My mom passed away on 25/11/2024. It's been almost a year.

At 54 years old, this tragedy made me truly understand the meaning of these words: death, passing, absence… I discovered that death is part of life. And yes, we all have an expiration date.

This painful certainty offers me a new way of understanding the human condition and my place in the world. This existential shock forced me to face what I had always avoided: my own end. Before, I lived as if time were infinite, as if each day were a meaningless repetition. My daily life was light and easy. I was just living…Since then, every moment has gained weight. The ordinary has become precious. Simple gestures like cooking a meal with my husband, shopping with my children, being part of their daily lives, have taken on a new depth.

It's as if death, by entering my life, gave meaning back to everything that once seemed obvious. This
awareness also made me confront the definition of the word 'to live.' How do we 'live' in a world where everything is temporary?

In our era marked by speed, work performance, and consumption, it’s easy to get lost. We chase after a daily grind that exhausts us, imposed goals, always waiting for validation. But in the face of death, all of that is so futile. If only we could see it.

What remains are the connections, the memories, the traces we leave in the hearts of others. We don't live just for ourselves, but also for those we love and will leave behind.

That's why now, thanks to my mom's death, this forced and painful awakening pushes me to live with more presence, to pass on values and guidance, to show more love to those around me and whom I love.

But the downside of all this is that I've also come face to face with another truth: the fear of illness. The slightest physical sign—a pain, a fatigue—triggers disproportionate worry in me. As if every sensation were a warning of something serious. I didn't have this fear before. It was born with the realization that I have an END, a deadline. That’s why now, again thanks to my mom's death, I’ve learned to listen to my body better, to take care of myself. I've understood what it means to 'have a healthy lifestyle.' And no, my body is not invincible, contrary to what I thought BEFORE. Life is fragile.

Since then, I eat better, sleep more, move and try to exercise more. I no longer want to neglect my well-being, because every day counts. So I try to pass this on to my children too, but they don't really embrace it, because they’re in that phase where death seems abstract, life feels infinite, their parents seem invincible, and time is an inexhaustible resource. We're no longer on the same side of the mirror, but that's normal—it's the process of life. It's okay. The most important thing is to give love and take care of others and oneself.

I thank you for this challenge, which allowed me to lay out what I was feeling inside. This essay will surely help free me not just from the grief of losing my mom—which is nothing compared to the radical transformation of my perception of life. It’s not the mourning that hurts me, it’s this inner shift. This passage from a world where we believe we have time to a world where every moment counts. And I believe that’s where one of the deepest truths of the human condition lies.

- Sandrine Lehmann

Winnaar van het gedicht (Engels)

Some nights, my mind forgets to rest.
It keeps replaying old scenes,
rewriting things I never said,
turning silence into storms.

People tell me, You think too much.
Maybe they're right ,
but how do I stop,
when my thoughts run faster than time?

I smile, I work, I act fine,
but somewhere inside,
a part of me keeps whispering,
Don't fall apart.

I've learned to hide my noise behind words,
to turn pain into poetry,
because sometimes,
writing listens when people don't.

This world moves like a race
that never ends.
Everyone rushing to appear okay,
no one stopping to breathe.
And in that rush,
I keep searching for a quiet corner
not to escape,
but just to exist.

Healing, I've realised,
isn't some perfect sunrise.
It's waking up tired,
but still choosing to try again.
It's breaking quietly,
and still believing that one day
the pieces will make sense.

They say men should stay strong
but strength doesn't always roar.
Sometimes it's silence,
and the courage to go on once more

So yes, I still overthink.
I still feel too much.
But maybe that's what makes me human
the ache, the hope, the heart.

And even when my thoughts are loud,
a small voice still whispers
you'll be okay.
And somehow, I believe it.

- Rahul Kumar Chaudhary (The Noise Inside My Head)

Magdalena Abakanowicz: Human Nature

De Poolse kunstenaar Magdalena Abakanowicz (1930–2017) hoort bij de grootste kunstenaars van de vorige eeuw. Ze wordt gezien als een van de grondleggers van de installatiekunst. Met haar indrukwekkende sculpturen raakte ze onderwerpen die nu nog steeds belangrijk zijn. Haar werk inspireert kunstenaars wereldwijd tot op de dag van vandaag. Het Noordbrabants Museum, TextielMuseum en het provinciehuis Noord-Brabant brengen samen haar bijzondere verhaal tot leven.