State Of Words Festival — Linnéa Nirell

State Of Words Festival

Each year, Berghs throws a festival around one word. In 2025, the word was WORDS. Yeah. Meta.

So, we sat down — student agency mode on — and cracked it open. A big subject. Language. Big, messy, loud. Used by everyone, owned by no one. Looking at the world of words today, both online and off, we ended up talking about power, censorship, freedom — and how words are constantly in flux. Bent. Broadcast. Blocked.
So we asked: How are words doing, really?

That question sparked our concept. We turned Berghs into its own nation: The State of Words. A free zone for language. No filters. No borders.

For two days, we ran the place. A (very unofficial) state. People came. Words flew. A ten-year record shattered. Turns out, language just needed a little room to play.

8 artists. 11 installations. 21 grad exhibitions. And one very cool tattooer named Alex.

Magnetic words with magnetic meaning scattered across whiteboard blocks.
Words hold value. Some are priceless. Here, you found plenty — yours to piece together, rearrange, rethink. People created sentences, rewrote truths, coined new phrases. What they said here was theirs — but it might have become someone else’s meaning the next day.

Hand-printed pieces of fabric hanging from the ceiling.

What are you holding on to?
This installation invited you to pause and reflect. Fleeting words — suspended like thoughts we hadn’t quite let go of. Some heavy, some light. You walked among them. Let them brush against you. Held on — or perhaps, let go.

Yup, it was exactly what you think it was.

A chance to take a piece of the state home with you. Limited-edition merch and memorabilia from the place where words were set free. because meaning shouldn’t be left behind.

Souvenir shop

Like a regular word search — but way larger.
We are always searching for something. Here, it was hidden in plain sight.
People found substance — word by word. Because not all meaning is immediately visible. Some of it has to be found.

Large-scale plywood letters.
People sat down on a monumental word — a literal structure.
They pondered their words, or someone else’s.
They took a load off, but didn’t lose the weight of what they were carrying.

A classic game of table tennis (or ping-pong — we weren’t exactly in agreement about it).
People played around. Served a point. Scored.
This wasn’t just a game — it was meaning in motion.
They bounced between interpretations. Ping-ponged ideas. Spun them. Returned with intent.

A projection of words we project.
Do we always mean the words we say? Or does truth live beneath them?
This room split meaning in two — what you read, and what you heard.
One thing showed. Another told.
Which version would you believe?

You guessed it. It was a karaoke room.
People stepped into a room without judgment — just feedback.
This was a space to say the words out loud. To say them wrong.
But most importantly, to sing them like they meant them.

A collaborative word chain on lines of meaning.
A living installation of language in flux.
Here, words hung in the balance — clipped to lines, waiting to be reinterpreted.
People read what was left behind. Rearranged it. Rewrote it.
They began with a phrase, a memory, a piece of slang — and let others carry it forward, one word at a time.
Because what’s forgotten by one might be transformed by someone else.

Public restroom meets public discourse.
This was a designated space for voices that wanted to reach across lines.
People pointed their pens toward their point of truth. Inked their thoughts. Shaped their feelings.
They wrote the phrase that lingered — or something they simply wished to wash away.

An undercurrent of meaning. A trail of what’s unsaid.
People hopped on the Subtext Line — and stuck with it.
This long, winding line travelled across the underground, revealing what lay beneath what we say.
They read closely. Felt the gaps. Let meaning shift as they moved.