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High Heel Sisters

Page history last edited by Malin Arnell 10 years ago

During a five year period, 2002–2007, Malin Arnell (S) Line S. Karlström (S/D), Anna Linder (S) and Karianne Stensland (N) workt together in the feminist performance and artist group High Heel Sisters.


High Heel Sisters' work took as its starting point the mutual and diverse experiences of being taller than 178 cm, taking a larger shoe size than 41 and being older than 30. Through our work High Heel Sisters investigated and renegotiated our own as well as society’s expectations and norms. Using feminist analysis, issues of aesthetics and privilege in the public space pertaining to gender, sexuality and class, were being discussed and reworked. We used to say: ”We work with poetic politics! It is not about right or wrong. For us it is about power; to have or to not have access to the privileges that determines our position in society. Our possibilities to act within and to interact with the system that sets the limits for the change we wish to make possible.”





Malin Arnell, Sweden.

Line S Karlström, Sweden/Denmark.

Karianne Stensland, Norway.

Anna Linder, Sweden.




High Heel Sisters (Scandinavia)


To take up space, to occupy.

We drink spirits and we scream rock'n roll.

We like saws, microphones and electric whisks.


The sound of our heels towards the asphalt, without the red carpet, but still in the fotsteps

of princess Märta Louise of Norway.


The blast of our heels hitting the asphalt in Stockholm Helsinki Essen Cardiff, in London.


The tone of strong beer in big mouthfuls in a foajé and wanting to hit all artists in their stomach's, but instead rattle out on Sergels Square and hit each other hard with heavy feather pillows. Our hollows and heels rattling across the square.


Each a bottle of Coca Cola in big mouthfuls (vomit sounds), each a bottle of vodka (tears).


The clamour of electric whisks into meat and the smell of three dead pink fishes. The slam of six spectators leaving the room. Flanger effects on micked up bowls and yellow hearing protections. We're rapping YOU BASTARDS/WE LOVE YOU. We belch.


We run a 400 meters track in black darkness, wearing forehead lamps. Only small dots of lights visible.

Our screams and paces, heels sinking into the sand by the ocean in Helsinki.


The cacophony of chickpeas hitting the walls in a space in Cardiff. The howl of war, it's us against the audience.

Towards mouths pipes.


On a mountaintop, we scream naked and roar pee, or first we pee, then we scream against all borders towards the horizons.


We dream of the sound of barking Doberman dogs, ten dogs in a cage and pieces of meat in our hands.

We dream of taking down trees with chain saws, creating a glade, building a stage and singing for the animals.

We are sawing a table until it breaks and we jump on it in our red transvestite high heeled shoes.


An egg watch rings after 15 minutes of standing still.


We make sounds as Knak, KRACH MACHEN, explosion, revolution, FART, bowwowwow, woaaaaaaaaaaa.

We are turned on by Die Krakeelerei, Störningsjouren and Das Rundumgeräusch.

We dig silence, punk and applauses.



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