the unsafe team
the unsafe house
The Unsafe House: A Manifestation Beyond the Veil of Sanity
From the nameless voids of pandemic desolation, from the scorched sands of Arabia, and from the labyrinthine agonies of academia, the entity known as the Unsafe House clawed its way into existence in the accursed summer of 2021. It was in this fateful season that the first architects of this anomalous space Tarik Sadouma, Ruth Spetter, and Maria van der Velde convened in ritual to conjure forth an exhibition of the works of Sadouma.
Yet, in the course of their preparations, the unhallowed studio at the eastern edge of Amsterdam began its transformation. No longer a mere warehouse, it became something other, a realm vibrant yet foreboding, a haven for the forsaken, the wandering, and the restless. An eerie magnetism took hold; figures of disparate origins be they curious, abandoned, exiled, fevered with inspiration, or driven by motives more insidious were drawn inexorably to the Unsafe House’s threshold. Some sought nothing more than the solace of coffee, yet others, enthralled or doomed, forsook their prior dwellings entirely, binding themselves to this peculiar hearth.
As the first gathering subsided, those at the House’s core beheld an unsettling truth: the hunger it had awakened would not be sated, the current of possibility would only swell. And so they resolved to continue the rites to wield these gatherings as conduits through which the multitudes might engage with art, and over time, be subsumed into the larger, more eldritch design of the Unsafe House.
Here, amidst these gatherings, strange alliances are formed; lost souls and countercultural seers recognize one another by the gleam of shared understanding in their eyes. Blood is spilled, bonds are forged, and discourse unfolds with all the fury of an ancient storm. The stifling conventions of the cultural order, intolerant of moral ambiguity, have rendered this place a sanctuary for those deemed too perilous, too radical, too unsafe. It is no longer merely a space it is a force, a whisper on the lips of the unseen, a name spoken with reverence and unease by those who have witnessed its workings.
a Vision from Beyond the Threshold
The Unsafe House was not conceived, it was summoned. By what hand, by what cosmic accident, none can say. Yet the forces at play were undeniable: a gravitational pull of minds unmoored, of voices long silenced, of ideas too volatile for the tepid salons of polite society. Within these walls, contention and communion intertwine, and the friction births something neither wholly tranquil nor wholly chaotic, but deeply real.
We are haunted still by the echoes of the recent past, by the sudden, disquieting ease with which the world was reshaped into something grotesque and unfamiliar. A stark dichotomy emerged those who conformed and those who, resisting, were cast into madness. But we, the artists, the outcasts, the watchers at the precipice, see through this illusion.
Some believe that to forestall the unraveling of existence, they must clutch their principles as a lifeline, oblivious to how it carries them ever farther from the shores of reality. We hold a different creed. We do not resist the acceleration, we embrace it. We bear witness to the spiraling entropy, the shifting constellations of thought, and we distill it into art, into expression, into echoes of the great unknowable.
The Unsafe House stands, not as a bastion of safety, but as a beacon to those unafraid to peer beyond the veil. And for those who enter, there is no promise of return.
The Unsafe House is no mere institution it is an ever-hungering, ever-shifting entity, a mythological Gesamtkunstwerk with an insatiable maw, ceaselessly seeking fresh souls to ensnare. It is not a place one merely visits, but a force that devours, assimilates, and transforms. Yet, within this chaos, five figures stand as its architects: Tarik, Ruth, Maria, Ben, and Maud. We are the cult, the core around which the rest revolves.
Beyond us lies an ever-expanding web of minds and hands: intellectuals who sharpen our discourse to a razors edge, craftsmen who fortify our foundations, wanderers and zealots who bear our sigil into the world. Friends, family, acolytes, and the unsuspecting alike are drawn into its gravity, their fates entwined with ours whether by volition or by fate. None are safe. None are spared.
The Mythos of Jaafar El-Hazred: A Descent Into the Abyss
At the heart of this madness writhes a singular vision: the mythology of Jaafar El-Hazred. This is no mere story, no idle fantasy it is a prophecy, a warning, and a blueprint all at once. It speaks of Jaafar’s terminal acceleration toward oblivion, a delirious descent into ecstatic ruin. Within the festering carcass of his crackship, he drifts through the dying embers of a ruined Earth, gooning mindlessly into the abyss.
Yet he is not alone. Encircling him, a harem of AI-born phantoms conjurations of the most sordid depths of human depravity moan and writhe, their existence distilled from the shattered psyches of the tortured and the lost. In them is encoded a filth beyond reckoning, a grotesque culmination of suffering and perversion, a final, unholy hymn to a world that has already burned.
This is the vision we seek to realize not as a mere tale, but as an all-consuming artistic odyssey. Through sound, image, word, and ritual, the Unsafe House breathes life into this mythology, dragging it from the fevered dreamscape into the waking world. And as we build, as we summon, as we enact the rites, the question remains:
