I am a subsidized artist. My teenager son wonders, whether waking up at 8 am is early. Yes, it is. I don’t need an alarm clock. Look at me now, I’m at work, making pancakes for you and eating them myself, and it’s almost ten o’clock in the night. Actually, I am a morning person. And I have a sleeping problem. I fall asleep easily, but I keep waking up too early all the time, in the middle of the night, at four, five. Still, eight o’clock is early for me. Especially in the winter, in Finland.

I am a subsidized artist. I’ve got time. To sleep. If I could. I’ve got time to cook food. I cook better than in restaurant. I am dreaming of a café, which would be open, in weekdays, from ten in the morning til seven in the evening, and in three nights a week I would show non-commercial art til eleven in the night. The sign is ready, it says: Lokaal. I’ve got so much time, that I can’t think of being in the same place, at the same time, week after week. I tried to go to taiji, and I succeeded in doing it a couple of years ago, because they offered four alternative times to be in the same place, at the same time, week after week. Then I went working abroad in the winter, so it was adios taiji. That’s why I do yoga at home, alone, whenever I feel to. I’ve got so much time, that I let go my Saturday night prime-time sauna turn, and go to Sauna Arla, whenever I want to.

I am a subsidized artist. I got a three-year grant from the Finnish Cultural Foundation in 2008. I must write a report once in a year, but it’s not a big deal. It means, that I don’t have to do anything, or I can do whatever I want to, and one and half thousand euros come to my bank account every month. It makes sixty thousands in three years. For doing nothing, that is to say, whatever I want to, for taking it easy, for relaxing, for sleeping a lot, for having ten premieres, for watching football, for translating Hungarian poetry, for watching out of the window and counting clouds.


I’ve got a record company. I’ve published twenty records, in five years. I had to start a company, because it was more reasonable. Well, I had the studio, and I wanted to publish. I play this tuba on many records, well, I haven’t published my own stuff, practically only other people’s stuff. All the stuff, I think, that should be published on record. For instance, a solo of a five-string kantele. Or Carelian yoik. You can imagine, what best-sellers my publications are.

Generally, you take a thousand copies of a record. And quite easily you sell, or give away, few hundreds, or 500. Let’s say that 500 are left of each edition. 20 times 500 makes 10000. It means that I’ve got ten thousand records at home. Just for my own use.


A man, with two socks in his hand, takes a ride. The driver asks, where the man wants to go. The man answers, well, where to go. You say where we go. They drive for half an hour, and the man gets out in the same place where he got in.

Two men take a ride from liquor store on Yliopistonkatu. First stop a kiosk. The taxi stays waiting. The men come back, sit in the car, and show the driver a machete. Isn’t it great, the men ask. Next stop a barbershop. The driver and the other man wait in the car. The men get out at the corner of the Old Markethall. You are the best taxi driver we ever had, the men praise, and pay the ride. The driver cleans pills from the floor, and turns the taxi light on.

A man takes a ride in the front of Lost & Found bar. The driver asks, where we go. The man says, to Kallio. He’s talking in phone. With his girlfriend. The taxi comes to Helsinginkatu. She dumps him. The man says, that now he must get in a bar. It’s three am., Manala is under renovation, the driver suggests Lost & Found, and the man bursts out crying.

A group of American tourists take a cab at Hotel President. They head for the airport. The girl stares at the driver, and asks, did you perform in the opera last night? Yes, the driver answers. At the airport a group shot is taken: I, the black cab and American tourists. A sharp girl.

Art taxi: Taito drives, and Juha is taking ride, his dick in his hand.

–Why don’t you put it back into your trousers.



In two weeks’ time, when I’ve got day off, I’ll organize my record shelf. Two weeks tick by. The day off comes. I drink coffee, and surf in the tv. The evening comes. Little before I fall asleep, I think, that in two weeks I’ll have three days off. Then I’ll organize the records, and go skiing. Two weeks tick by. The three-day holiday comes. I drink coffee, and surf in the tv. I’ve got heartburns. In the evening of the third day I lie in my bed, thinking that in three weeks I’ll have a week off. Then I’ll organize the records, go skiing and install the new kitchen cupboard. Three weeks tick by. The week-long holiday comes. I drink coffee, and surf in the tv. I’ve got heartburns. In the middle of the week I look at the record shelf. I feel joy of making it, thinking, soon I’ll have a shelf, with records in order. On Sunday night, before falling asleep, I think, that in two months I’ll have two weeks off. Then I’ll organize the records, go skiing, install the new kitchen cupboard, and ask Pertti for beer. Two months tick by. The two-week holiday comes. I drink coffee, and surf in the tv. I’ve got heartburns. I look at the record shelf. The skis are in the outdoor storage. I think that I should ask Pertti to help me in installing the cupboard. I sleep five days. I call Pertti, and cancel our meeting. The last night, before falling asleep, I think that it’s only three months to the midsummer. My summer leave starts, and after that the half a year sabbatical. (The summer leave starts, and I’m not going to return to the work afterwards. I’ll turn a new page in my life. In this age it’s still possible. I’ll travel to Spain, borrow a suggestopedagogic quick course in Spanish from the library and study the language, change the landscape, get tanned, swim and move, eat well, sleep enough, get rid of the undereye bags and love handles. I ponder what to do; I could become an entrepreneur, café or astanga yoga and fitness or organic tomatoes or vineyard or retreat. I’ll found a retreat center for rich Finnish pensioners on the Sunny Beach. But before Spain I will clean up, organize the records, install the kitchen cupboard, put the checks in order in the folder, sell everything I don’t need in the flea-market, take a pension insurance, and ask Pertti for beer.) In two weeks they start sacking people at Matti’s work, the company goes into liquidation, Matti’s open-ended sabbatical begins straight away. Future, here I am, just another Monday, a thought: tomorrow I’ll put an announcement to the net auction – ”For sale, a chaotic record shelf”.


I am standing in a lift. I smell parfume and sweat, child is crying, the lift stops for nothing. I am waiting for a bus. I am smoking a morning cigarette on a balcony. I am fishing on ice, and waiting for moose to show up. I am standing in the checkout line, passport control line, check-in line in the airport. I call to the service number, queuing is for free. I drive straight road for five hundred kilometers. At the car check station, I wait for my number to turn up. I am standing on the stage. Clinging on benji rope. I am watching the news. Listening to the radio. Waiting for the performance to begin, the entrance to the space. I am waiting for a call. For dawn. I am waiting for death. For birth.


I bought a mobile phone in 1994. I became client of Tele. Later Tele became Telia-Sonera. I’ve been DNA’s and Saunalahti’s client too. In 2007 I became client of Elisa.

In winter 2011 my phone was working normally but my friends started to say that they can’t call me, that my number is not in use. I called to Elisa client service where they were really surprised, because the calls I made went through Elisa while the calls I got went through Sonera. The client service promised to fix it. In two hours’ time my phone didn’t work at all anymore. I called back to the client service, and they urged me to contact Sonera because it looked like my number had moved there. The clerk I was talking with couldn’t believe it and said that it is impossible and there must be some sort of misunderstanding. Further calls and emails cleared out that Elisa had dismissed my number because of unpaid bills, my number had been declared closed and it had returned there where I had got it 17 years ago, that is to say, to Sonera. I asked if there were unpaid bills there, and the answer was no, there were not.

A month before there had been some unpaid bills. Then the phone had been closed because of them. I had paid the bills and client service had promised to open the number. They had said that it was a bit problematic situation but not impossible. I had got frightened and asked, if I could keep my number, which I had had for 17 years. All is ok, don’t worry, the clerk had said. And the number had been opened again. And Elisa had sent me a welcoming letter. At that moment my friends had started to ponder whether my number was in use or not. Soon I couldn’t make any calls either. My last call to the Elisa client service ended abruptly: You are not Elisa’s client anymore. Too many people has handled your case already. Contact Sonera. Make a written reclamation, if you are not happy.

I called Sonera and asked, if my number was there. The client service answered joyously, yes, here it is, what kind of package would you like to have?


MMCA, Seoul

20-22 September, 2019

Heidelberg, Heidelberger Stückemarkt

27-28 April, 2014

Nordwind, Hellerau, Dresden

23-24 November, 2013

Seurasaari, Helsinki

10 July, 2013

Bastard, Trondheim

13-15 September, 2012

Baltoscandal, Rakvere

5-7 July, 2012

Kesäkatu, Viiala

16 June, 2012

Göteborgs Dans & Teater Festival

23-26 May, 2012

PAZZ, Oldenburg

21-29 April, 2012

brut, Vienna

January 19-21, 2012

Spielart, Gasteig, Munich

November 18-23, 2011

Homo Novus, Esplanade Park, Riga

September 7-8, 2011

Runoviikko, Kauppatori, Kajaani

July 8-9, 2011

Baltic Circle, Sepänpuisto, Helsinki

November 17-21, 2010


Juha Valkeapää

Performance is co-produced by