"Sensitive Skin"
Video 2008
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Jonas Vansteenkiste’s Sensitive Skin (2008) is a video work that invites the viewer to do more than just watch. It draws us into a quiet, poetic world where time feels suspended and space becomes soft and dreamlike. Instead of telling a clear story, the video shows a series of simple, delicate images: a fragile hand, a white curtain moving in the breeze, soft walls in the color of embroidery nut. These elements create a calm but emotionally charged atmosphere.

The video doesn’t explain what is happening. There is no beginning or end, no action or climax. Instead, the viewer is encouraged to feel the work rather than understand it in a traditional sense. This is what makes Sensitive Skin so powerful—it opens space for reflection and emotional engagement without giving everything away. The stillness and slowness of the images highlight the fragile beauty of small moments.

The look and feel of the video gently refer to the style of the Pre-Raphaelite painters, who were known for their romantic and emotional imagery. Like their paintings, Vansteenkiste’s video explores themes of beauty, silence, and emotion. However, instead of oil on canvas, he uses video to create a moving image that sits between painting and film.

There is a constant tension in Sensitive Skin between movement and stillness. The curtain moves slightly, the hand shifts gently, but nothing dramatic happens. This makes the viewer slow down and notice the small changes, much like how we might pause in front of a painting or remember a moment from the past. The work focuses on those moments where nothing happens, but everything is felt.

The title Sensitive Skin points to both physical and emotional sensitivity. Skin is our boundary with the world—where we feel, where we are touched. The video shows this kind of vulnerability. The images are soft, almost transparent, and they suggest something deeper, perhaps a memory, a loss, or an emotional state.

This work can be linked to the ideas of philosopher Gaston Bachelard, who wrote in The Poetics of Space about how spaces like homes, corners, and rooms connect to our inner thoughts and feelings. Though Sensitive Skin doesn’t show a full room or house, it gives us the feeling of being inside a quiet, private space—one that reflects the inner world of the person we do not fully see.

In the end, Sensitive Skin leaves an impression not through a story, but through atmosphere. It reminds us of how delicate our experiences can be, and how much can be felt in silence and stillness. The viewer is not just watching a video, but entering a space where thought, memory, and emotion gently unfold.