‘Maintenance is a drag; it takes all the fucking time. Clean your desk, wash the dishes, clean the floor, wash your clothes, wash your toes, change the baby’s diaper, finish the report, correct the typos, mend the fence, keep the customer happy, throw out the stinking garbage, watch out don’t put things in your nose, what shall I wear, I have no sox, pay your bills, don’t litter, save string, wash your hair, change the sheets, go to the store, I’m out of perfume, say it again - he doesn’t understand, seal it again - it leaks, go to work, this art is dusty, clear the table, call him again, flush the toilet, stay young.’

Mierle Laderman Ukeles, Maintenance Manifesto, 1969

A week to dive in the everyday of maintenance. Each day begins with a routine, a daily warm-up: sweep the floor, tidy the room, seal that crack, scrub this window.
At 3am, we sneak into the building to observe the miracle happening every night, the hidden labour bringing the school building back in pristine condition, ready to host a new day of academia, muddy shoes, spilled coffees and dirty art works. At tea time, we pause for our reading club, discussing works of Martha Rosler, Agnes Varda and Chantal Akerman.
Each group develop a project from this economy of care; a love song to cleaning the toilets, a network of thread turning the damage plaster of the facade into an abstract pattern, the school’s printers spitting out spontaneously the forgotten history of the building.
Rinse and repeat