Es verging bisher kein Morgen, den ich nicht eigentlich, auf eine gewisse Weise, gerne länger schlafend verbracht hätte. Wenn um fünf Uhr früh ist, scheint auch halb acht durchaus verlängerbar. Aber immerhin, ich schlafe.
Zudem lebe ich mich ein, einleben heißt auch - schlafen.
Auf dem Campus der Universität bin ich gewesen und habe meinem Professor davon erzählt, wie ich das erste Mal, als ich wirkliche Palmen sah, beinahe geschrien hätte. Auf dem Campus befindet sich auch das Diasporamuseum - Beit Hatfutsot, neben dessen Eingangsdesk eine Wand ist, mit Videobildschirmen, auf denen ständig wechselnde Portraits zu sehen sind. Darunter steht: "You are part of the story". Mit Noam habe ich mich dort getroffen, der da auch arbeitet, und gemeinsam waren wir in der Ausstellung "Andy Warhol and Israeli Artists Present: Jewish Icons" .
War gut. Sehr.
Es ist noch immer sehr heiß.
Noch immer war ich nicht am Hafen.
Und auf den Weg nach Jaffa muss ich mich auch noch machen.
Aber ich war im Tanztheater. Mit hübschen Tänzern und guter Musik. "Distanz" im Tzavta. Gut. Weil gestern Freitag gewesen ist, fing die Vorstellung schon um zwei Uhr nachmittags an.
So ist das.
Nachher Volkstanz am Strand.
Früher Vogel geht schwimmen
Gegendarstellung
starting this post with an image seems counterstating the counterstatement of gegendarstellung by lose combo which premieres friday june 4th in berlin's sophiensaele.
do come and see the unseeable.
there might be no unsaying.
---
GEGENDARSTELLUNG
Performance . Installation . Konzert
4./5./6. und 8./9./10. Juni 2010, 20 Uhr, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte
Während die VeranstalterInnen der bevorstehenden Fußball-WM kraft der Medien ein weitgehend widerspruchsfreies Bild des Gastgeberlandes zu verbreiten suchen, hinderte die raue gesellschaftliche Wirklichkeit die LOSE COMBO 2008 bei einem Südafrika-Aufenthalt mancherorts sogar daran, Bildmaterial für ihre künstlerische Arbeit zu sammeln. Eindrückliche Fremderfahrungen jenseits des touristischen Mainstreams, verblüffende Begegnungen und verstörende Erlebnisse sind deshalb allein aus der Erinnerung gespeiste Tatsachenbehauptungen geblieben. Ihnen geht GEGENDARSTELLUNG jetzt auf den Grund.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG ist eine Re-Visualisierung zersprengter Erfahrungen mit Hilfe entwendeter Massenmedienbilder, ist polyphones Geflecht aus freien musikalischen Improvisationen, Erinnerungsberichten und Reflexionen, dem via Skype aus Kapstadt, Johannesburg, Zürich, Amsterdam oder Sylt zugeschaltete „Südafrika-ExpertInnen“ ihren aktuellen Stempel aufdrücken.
Im Foyer ist das Video CiTi lives (2009) von Ulric Roldanus (NL) zu sehen, das durch die äußerste Zurücknahme des Dokumentierenden ein multiples Selbstportrait Kapstadts und seiner Einwohner zeichnet.
---
GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT)
Performance . Installation . Concert
4./5./6. and 8./9./10. June 2010, 8 pm, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte
While the organizer of the forthcoming FIFA World Cup try to convey a largely consistent and harmonious picture of the host country in the media, the harsh social reality prevented the LOSE COMBO during their stay in South Africa from collecting visual material for their art work in a number of places.
Impressive experiences of alienness far from tourism mainstream, astounding encounters and disturbing incidents have therefore remained asserted facts only fed by memory. GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT) now tries to get to the bottom of them.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG is a re-visualization of fragmented experiences with the help of purloined mass media images, it is a polyphonic network of free musical improvisation, memoranda and reflections on which “South-Africa Specialists” attending via Skype from Cape Town, Johannesburg, Zurich, Amsterdam or Sylt will put their up-to-date mark on.
In the foyer the video CiTi lives (2009) by Ulric Roldanus (NL) will be shown which by complete withdrawal of the chronicler himself depicts a multiple self-portrait of Cape Town and its inhabitants.
Geduldig sitzen im Hinterhof, wenn wir Glück haben, scheint die Sonne, oder eben - Es gibt Kunst
Ich schreibe dir hier, vielleicht sehen wir uns auch früher, als dich dieses Schreiben erreicht. Kannst du dir vorstellen - einmal, nicht allzu lange her, da kannte ich eine Vogelwiese. Ich konnte hingehen und sein, so wie ich dachte, zu sein. Auch wurde mir gesagt, sei, wie du denkst, dass du bist.
Jetzt bin ich in Eile, weil ich doch in das Institut reisen muss, heute, wieder. Immer wieder. Da reise ich dann hin und unterwegs, wie gestern, vielleicht, kommt ein Mann mit Krücken, mit zugewachsenen Ohren, mit beinahe ganz zugeklebten Augen, mit geschwollenen, sich ihrer Form (sowas wie der eigentlichen?) entwachsenden Händen und Füßen. Der, ich weiß nicht seinen Namen, hätte ich ihm nicht auch nur einen weiteren Stachel ins verbrannt wirkende Fleisch gerammt, wenn ich ihn rufen würde damit, der, gehört der dahin, in die Bahn?
Immer dieses Eilen.
Also, zu deinem Bild, du weißt ja nur, dass ich es mag. Mag ich es so, wie ich die Vogelwiese mag, mochte, ist es vorbei mit dem Mögen? Du kennst ja nur dies Bild, von der Vogelwiese hast du keinen Schimmer, das macht nichts. Jedenfalls dies Bild (weißt du, natürlich kannte ich deine Texte, die sind doch in dem Buch drin, was dieser Verlag nun setzt), konntest du dich einfach für diesen Vogel entscheiden? Als wir saßen bei dir, da hatte ich die Genealogie der Installation so greifbar vor mir. Und hier, hier lässt du mich, aber jeden Anderen, wieder, darf ich wieder sagen, allein. Wenn Vogelwiese ein Ort wäre, könnte ich sagen, ich hänge Patio da auf. Ertragen, auch Geduld Geduld Geduld. Das wäre wie dies Bild "Straßenszene" zu nennen, glaube ich. Es ist ja doch ganz spezifisch dein Hinterhof. Würde ich über (merkst du, die ganze Zeit, die ganze verdammte Zeit über rede ich von ich. Aber du weißt, was gemeint ist, was ich meine) die Steine fahren mit einem haptischen Werkzeug meiner Erfahrung, so wie über Birkenrinden fahren (wirklich 40 Arten unbekannter? Diese beschränkten Perspektiven) - würde ich sagen müssen, taktil ereignet sich mir dein Hinterhof? Auch der im Bild? Auf eine Weise ist es ganz schlecht, dir hier darüber zu schreiben, wir werden uns ja vielleicht auch sehen. Aber du weißt, als wir gesprochen haben über die Hermetik dieser, für den Moment sage ich auch - unserer - Arbeiten, oder des Arbeitens, wie ich dir sagte, es wächst sich in deinem Haus, das hast ja auch du gesagt, so eröffnend auseinander, ineinander, miteinander. Es spricht sich und mich und dich und jeden Anderen an. Wie in den Wald gehen und dann merken, es sind 40 Arten von Birken.
Ist es nicht bezeichnend, dass diese Arbeit sowohl den Hof, als auch die Geduld evoziert. Das ist toll, das mag ich. Das ist wie einen Schlüssel in fünfeinhalb Metern Höhe hängen zu sehen. Aber wir haben ja geredet. Sieh, was ich meine, für diesen Moment, der mich noch immer in Eile trifft, wir sind eben Hinterhofkinder (wir gehören in die Stadt! Wir gehören in die Stadt?). Die Leute, die uns sehen wollen, haben eine große Menge mehr Schwellen und Rahmen (auch die der Türen, der verschlossenen) zu überschreiten. Das hängt sich ja nicht ins Schaufenster (Wäre ich ehrlich, wieso schreibe ich dir hier?) - so, dass der Andere nur Glas dazwischen hat (erlaube mir den Totenglockenscherz, ob eine Birke auch so klingt, so wie eine Totenglocke, was antwortet sie?) - wie im Museum, oder eben im Mausoleum. Aber wir haben uns im Hinterhof vergraben.
Aber dann.
Es wird Zeit.
grischa lichtenberger 0310_11_patio aus andyrchie iv_block I
"Auferstehung"
Die Statue mit dem Namen Auferstehung (1933/34) von Georg Kolbe, sie, die Frau, zieht die Schultern merklich hoch. Ihr nach oben gerichteter Blick aus den weiten Augen fragt und hat er etwa Angst? Ganz leicht zieht sie auch das eine Bein an das andere Bein. Die Finger sind aneinandergelegt, die Hände leicht gekrümmt, zum Körper, dem nackten, geöffnet. Alles mutet geradeaus und gespannt. Sie weiß nicht, was kommt. Auch sowas wie Schulterzucken - "Was habe ich denn getan, dass ich hier entblößt vor dir stehe?" Vielleicht auch ein Frieren. Ein nicht wissen, was kommt. Auch eine Gelassenheit - "Ich nehme an, was kommen mag, auch wenn es mich in der Erstarrung trifft." Vielleicht sieht sie gar nicht nach oben, sondern nur der Kopf, seine Haltung, deutet diese Blickrichtung an. Eher vielleicht ist der starrende Blick auf etwas weit entfernt Stehendes, sich Befindliches, gerichtet. Ihren Blick und sich und ihre Erwartung kann sie nicht davon lösen, sie ist eine Statue. Zustand der Spannung und Kompliziertheit, in dem sie gefangen ist. Alles könnte kommen, und sie kann doch nicht reagieren, sie ist eine Statue. Selbst der ambivalent anmutende Mund könnte sich womöglich nicht zum Lächeln finden, auch wenn dies vor der Erstarrung eine Richtung schien. Vielleicht soll genau dieser Moment des "Gleich lächle ich, weil ich weiß, was kommt, und es ist gut" gehalten werden, diese Versprechung von Bewegung und Leben. Das, was auch Lächeln machen wollte.
Die Aufgabe der Blumenleichen
Worte zerblühen sich
im provisorisch gezimmerten
Himmel.
Ein Hüttchen
unweit der Mauern
des Hauses.
Die Fenster Spiegel.
Drinnen bald nurmehr
ein Misthaufen.
Es fault und gärt
und wuchert zu.
Nebel einander,
der Worte Hauch.
Vergaste Haufen
- nicht mal Asche.
Es gibt da
- Blumenleichen.
Unzerrissene Kragen,
Schalen von
zu nackter Haut.
bild: miriam eichner - blumenleichen
passing futures
zuhause
february 28th 2010
after 11 days in israel i am back in berlin, readjusting - no snow any longer, but piles and piles of rubbish that was covered in ice. maybe like this, or not: 
the expedition
dotan&perry
basically, i went for the closing workshop encounter of a gif-funded project called poetics and politics of the future which, for the last 3 years, brought together israeli and german theatre scholars and phd students from tel aviv and berlin free university. we had some more formal discussions and talks, but also academical forms that sought to maybe enable encounters on a more personal, individual level. not hammering in on a mass of people like with conferences (or teaching, for that matter) but disseminating knowledge or variations of that through a rather uneconomical version of black market (which is not unlike speed dating, but longer). anyways, how nicely weird meeting berlin colleagues in tel aviv. for me, getting to know some of the israeli group a bit better, namely in the person of freddie rokem, was very nice and created some interesting talks and inspiring discussions about my thesis, which i am going to write in israel/palestine on forms of performing senses of self and other - on the streets and in the sheets, sort of. the initial abstract thought of focusing on street art, which seems to say only so much. interestingly, we saw a nice amount of performance art in very private spaces, homes of people, where you would think that negotiations about self and other are slightly different from discussing them in public spaces. but, we'll see. more on that a little later.
we also did a tour through tel aviv with some person from the municipality, about architecture and restauration and stuff. it was very entertaining, as you can see here:
as it was my third time in israel, being back in a foreign or strange place in some situations wasn't so strange any longer, especially with regards to language and understanding, the initial blurry bliss when encountering layers and layers of unknown or incomprehensible words was pretty diminished. which is not at all saying that i understand, not even a little, but there's hints of known, that i clutch to desperately but lose nonetheless ... this will surely be an interesting problem when encountering such situations on a day to day life (now, said that, thinking you've grasped something and losing it again, is not honestly something so very outlandish, is it). but, yes.
him with the red shirt
february 22nd 2010
one encounter that haunted me for two days was initially taking place on the harbour promenade. i sat there, read, donated money for mentally disturbed kids and just generally enjoyed being bathed in sunlight and a fine mist that was blown over from the heavily breaking waves. anyhow, there came a young kid, maybe 17, who knows, light blue jeans, red shirt, dark hair, confusion, desperation and aggression written in his face, carrying a plastic bag full of clothes. he approached me and started talking in hebrew, which i could follow at first, and sat next to me. not so long after, i was becoming more and more frustrated and repeated that i would not want to go anywhere with him, even if that meant missing out on ahava, chaver, masagim, and generally really did not understand what he was saying. he kept insisting on talking in hebrew and i felt increasingly uncomfortable when he asked if i was cold and whether he could touch my knee. so i left. and he sort of went in the same direction northwards. he went on one of the outer piers, though, lucky me, and i sat, relieved, in a café and scribbled some notes, enjoying the sun and wind, and the lively talk of two elderly men next to my table. every now and again their hebrew was interrupted by german words and phrases. well, i sat, and after a little while this guy came, again. i saw him approaching other people, too, and hoped he wouldn't see me. which was not the case, of course. so he came and i basically yelled that i did not want to do anything, nor go anywhere. he insisted and i asked the men next to me if they could maybe translate and find out what he wanted. and it turns out, for then, that he was lost (i gathered as much), somewhat mentally disturbed (see, even before meeting, i donated ...) and basically looked for an occupation, help in a general (and not sexy fun related) sense of the word. i was irritated, thanked them, he left.
well, then, the following day, watching the sun set, a northern shadow approached me, i looked up and thought "no". there he was, again. i felt angry, irritated, whatnot. he actually managed an english sentence "look for fun". as i am not generally a fun person, i declined. he left very soon after that.
what you can encounter on the street in front of dizengoff centre in tel aviv, is a man, regularly singing there. it seems strangely lost, especially this song, there, maybe the young kids don't remember. at least, most passed. maybe the addition to am israel chai with be'seret is actually a valuable assumption. in the mirroring shop windows - all one shiny surface, whereas in the flesh, everyone on their own. somehow, that is not a statement limited to israel. are we not all caught in representational threads and threats, diminishing our ability to humanly interact? or to interact at all ...
now, to art, we need strict borders, so that they can clash and dissolve, do we not. as i wrote, a lot of performances we saw, were somewhat related to ha'dira - the flat - die wohnung. yes, for example we went to see a production titled ha'dira by the arab-hebrew theatre of jaffa, performed in the flat of the set designer, if i remember correctly, of the theatre, in tel aviv. an israel-palestinian adaptation directed by michael ronen to requested program - wunschkonzert by franz xaver kroetz with sara von schwarze and salwah nakkra. the play, consisting of stage directions only, and actually written for one actress was performed in an interesting way on several levels, and i may very well quote, as i had, basically, the same thought "one flat for two women like one land for two nations ... a fascinating happening which is developing like a musical fugue ... the great merit of this original performance is that the political meaning is implied and hidden in favor of the human message" (zvi goren, "habama" site). basically, we, as an audience, shared the same space with the two performers, said flat, and were not interactively involved in any way. salwah nakkra entered the flat first and followed (i presume) the stage directions of the play, undressed, cooked some dinner ...). she was, after a short time gap of about five minutes followed in action by sara von schwarze who performed, obviously in a different interpretation (she had sushi instead of bread), the same stage directions. well, there were cats, too, impressive acting (both cats, and actresses), no interaction whatsoever, and to make a long story short, the both end up dead, obviously.
another, very interesting thing we saw, was maya zack's short film mother economy that might deal with questioning gender roles at home and work, in a basically rather enigmatic way, a beautifully filmed meditation on absences, if of nomoi, topoi, oikoi, hard to say.
maya took some of us to several adorable places afterwards (well, after a fantastic dinner in barbounia restaurant): the corridor, the riff raff and the texidermi, all being sort of rather berliny bars with gorgeous peeps and decoration. and - she took us to lital dotan's and eyal perry's the glasshouse on hashomer street number 3, where on the flat's corridor a 24 hour long performance took place. basically, what lital and eyal seem to do, is living in their art and considering their art as their living. which, as a general statement might very well be considered hippiesque nonsense. but, we beg to differ, it was really quite impressive and in a certain way innocently aware and cautious. a great sense of hospitality and openness transferred to me. well, we saw this performance, in which lital was not allowed to leave the corridor, about five meters long, one and a half maybe in width. at the end of the corridor two signs on a table said "nail me to the wall" (displaying nails and a hammer) and "make me grid" (white colour and a knife). this short video documents one of these actions.
apparently, what they also do (but you might wanna check their website which is informative in many regards) is inviting people over to share their bed with lital for a night. i thought that an intriguing idea and found the initial question of whether or not two strangers in a sort of intimate setting would change their patterns of behaviour while asleep, sort of interesting (...). so, one night, wednesday, i went to their flat at about 11 p.m. lital and i had little talk, about their project, my project, art in general, upcoming things. maybe, we were getting to know each other a little better, maybe. eyal was not present in our conversation, which i initially thought a bit strange, but okay. in the morning he explained that this not getting to know the person that sleeps over before makes it easier for him to not overreact in an emotional way when he sees them sharing the bed with his partner. so, yes, we talked, and as lital had to get up at six in the morning ("but you can sleep longer if you want"), we decided to go to bed at about half past 12. the following frame was to be: we are naked, there is no sheets for covering, there is an infrared camera above the bed that documents the whole night, eyal is going to come in every hour to change the tapes. "i have to warn you, it is not comfortable, it's very cold."
the decision to go and do it, was somehow very rationally and easily done, of course i was wondering how that would feel, but fine, no problem, with a somewhat clinical ease (or not) we took off our clothes and laid down. it was incredibly hot in the room, about 30°c and radiators on each side of the bed were directed at us. we did not talk much and basically went to sleep (...). well, that is easier said than done, really, after about half an hour i started feeling really cold, especially my feet were icy. i went to the bathroom (it's what i usually do when sleeping in other people's beds), went back, it was incredibly hot again, tried to sleep, thought, cold, again. lital was having difficulty sleeping, too, but we did not consciously interact, neither verbally nor physically; later i wondered if the initiation for a closer bodily contact is "the job" of the guest, so to speak, she did not initiate, i did not, so we both laid there, cold.
the first hour passed without a second of sleep, it sort of was very good to know that it was not going to be a too long night. though i did not feel discomfort in a strict sense of the word, i wasn't comfortable, more restless and forced to think because i couldn't sleep. well, coming back from the bathroom in the second hour (it is actually quite funny to measure your experience by the intervals in which somebody is coming into the room and changes the tapes of a camera that records you being exposed), i took off my ring because my hands were swollen and put it on the nightstand. five minutes later, due to a combination of thoughts of restlessness and the ever-present camera, i somehow wondered how weirdly familiar that might look on the pictures. as if somebody takes off their individual past and bindings to anything else that is not that specific situation. bare yourself for encountering a stranger in an intimate setting. it sort of felt, at times, quite familiar, this laying next to a stranger, thinking "what the fuck am i doing here, why am i not leaving". in fact, not unlike a one night stand situation in which you find yourself wishing to leave, but you can't, maybe there's no taxi, who knows, or you think, "well, maybe if i stay it won't feel as detached in the morning and our shared intimate encounter will lead us to a mingling of spirit, body and soul", that sort of rather irrational and hopeless patterns of behaviour that some of us might find themselves in more often than others.
well, at some point, i somehow managed to fall asleep lightly, i guess. in the morning lital got up, i dozed a while longer, thought that, in the form of this filmed documentation "there's your lonesome stranger, left behind by the one they shared a bed with" ... of course, that is not per se how i necessarily felt, but maybe i couldn't help thinking out a narrative for the camera.
well, i got up, too, eyal made me a lovely toast, we chatted a bit; apparently i was the first woman in a row of until now 12 men, who all were, in different stages during the night, sought physical contact.
a very detached intimacy. i was so cold.
the green bed and the mirror
february 20th 2010
well, there were a lot more things. but, maybe that's enough for now. i went back to jerusalem for some days, were the gates to (or of?) heaven opened, it rained and stormed and thundered for two days, tiny ways in nachlaot neighbourhood became rapid streams.
one night, i went to the western wall and left an impossibility. going back unseeing made me feel like the angel of history. my little impossibility will impalpably get lost in the heap of history.
also, i went to the synagogue for shabbat. felt very intrusive. left soon. natu was reminded of his past by the singing that was the same as in his shul. the singing made me sad. on the rainy way home, through some window, i heard "rainy days never say goodbye to desire when we are together. rainy days growing in your eyes, tell me where's my way". i was reminded of the piano.
due to the rain, or general lazyness, hila and i've watched candy by neil armfield. and i thought of doing something on being willing but as troubled as the time and the circumstance. being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the desire to halt and contemplate. or the desire for pain and pleasure. or the need to risk. or the resignation and fear that comes with it. i did all my best to smile and not be drowned in sorrow. this is the result and it is for you:
meet lenor.
one video of one situation lars and i have installed with "rabenkinder" during hörspielfest altzella. big thanks to the organisational team of the festival! and for invaluable support thanks to my parents, sylvia arnhold, angelika diedrigkeit, stefan heyn, susann starke and thomas starke/probau kugel.
the tragedies of late june
- a wine that is incredibly good but not appreciated.
- the lack of interest for the weather with politically concerned individuals of my acquaintance
- the incapability of last.fm and my ipod to scrobble my playlists. which in fact means 200 turns less of patrick wolf's "the bachelor" than i actually listened to.
- billionaires that are impolite
- drunkards that are impolite
- billionaires and drunkards in the same place and hardly different in a crowd of impoliteness.
- the politically concerned hazard of a digital bohème that suddenly lives in tehran and is all green.
- the death of kings and angels. and seeing how many people suddenly are religious monarchists whilst not saying that this is not a good thing under the circumstances.
and a fairytale. just for you.
märchen eins
may 25th 2009
unveiled and feeding the hungry leopard
kader attia's ghost
sun yuan's and peng yu's old persons home
after a little vacation in sunny london and cambridge i am back here and find myself facing the fact of having lost a majority of my intellectual property (...). anyhow, england was gorgeous, clearly demonstrated by the display of yet another fabulous levi's ad (see below) that (partly) did not make it to berlin (as of yet) and the (see above) unveiled exhibition in saatchi gallery in their fancyful building near sloane square.
basically, i was relaxing, enjoying the lovely weather, meeting nice people, catching up with old friends, reading - holidays in a very nice sense of the word! as i did in the picture below in hammersmith with luci, audrey and adrian after a long and beautiful walk through richmond, kew and chiswick. actually walking was what i did a lot, also in regent's park, in the docklands, battersea park, mayfair and beloved soho.
all expanded
trying for the third time to start this post i realize that maybe there is nothing much to say besides stressing the notion of expanded in my current life.
lucky me shared a car for the openings on friday with team of forum expanded, stefanie, nanna and uli, expanded by barbara hammer and michael snow, later marie losier and sebastien sanz de santamaria. what i loved when i actually saw the exhibitions was pavel büchler at tanya leighton gallery and i am very much looking forward to being at the artist talk with them tomorrow. karoe goldt's piece in galerie antje wachs was sort of really sad. eyes die. i find that utterly disturbing.
a must see - ludwig schönherr. i love his work. the exhibiton (as the installation in filmhaus and the filmprogramm curated by marc siegel) in halle a/14 is really something else, seriously. anything structural/chaotic that resonates within you should call you to that place. and once you're there, have a closer look at bill viola's "transfiguration" in haunch of venison. it is beautiful beyond belief.
being 'inside' the festival as somebody working there makes me feel like michel de certeau again ... no kidding, looking down at potsdamer platz from the office is ridiculous sometimes and you wish corporate design was never created, though i do believe that this year's design is sort of sweet and subliminally very much fitting the notion of unified masses hustling down unified streets in their unified ways of feeling utterly busy and important.
but tv-man on super-big screen inside sony centre said "die stimmung ist gut am potsdamer platz".
i'll go get some sleep now and hopefully will dream of that summer day when there's nothing to do besides having eyes and heart open again. maybe there will be water, too, a lake with a view or a drenching curtain that'll transfigure me back into something b/w.
you can have a look at the other forum expanded events (films, exhibitions, performances, talks, tours ...) here. don't miss "farewell" by stefan zeyen in the black box at filmhaus! and - do enjoy marie losier's gorgeous "movie boxes".
oh bliss
two excellent new records on the shelf ...
the froosh's new lp the empyrean leaked. it is brilliant. oh so brilliant. so conceptual. so perfectly mastered. so brilliantly played. so brilliant. so surprisingly surprising.
to think how brilliant can one bass-line be: dark light
to cry with: song to the siren - what a cover!
antony and the johnsons' the crying light is difficult and beautiful. somehow and that seems weird the old material from the debut is rougher and edgier but still resonates within me far more than these songs here. it seems that the development through i am a bird now was to have structures that are most definitely less edgy. also i am not sure about the whole environment things to be perfectly honest. but - this is not to say that it is not beautiful. i think it is. but it needs replay, lots of replay. strangely enough. ha! and i will see them live in edinburgh :)
besides new music there are many things. many indeed.
i work with the forum expanded of the berlinale this year.
and - next weekend 23rd til 25th the margins student conference will take place at the institute for theatre studies at fu berlin. program on paradisaical states (paradiesische zustände) is online here. i will show an installation sui_site or how to disappear completely. please come and be with us.
that for now.
have worked a great deal on installation for margins for which we also have the programm scheduled now and you can see that here. my work "sui_site or how to disappear completely" will be shown as a video loop with performative side shows in a durational installation.
a still: 
exactly
find myself agreeing with deviant kgullholmen.
but like things, too. i.e. my internship. and this gadget that makes my pics go *weeeeee* ... 
quiet and slow and not
imagine a quiet and slow place. a quiet and slow time. a surrounding of quietness and slowness and all that twice within two days. have i met my personal paradise? or is it rather only the hope of having found it that makes me all romantic and blind for its loud and fast paces that undoubtedly must have been there as well.
well, i went to two performances and liked them.
first was heiner goebbels' i went to the house but did not enter shown during spielzeit europa in haus der berliner festspiele. he directed this scenic concert performance/installation which he also composed the music for. said music was sung by the hilliard ensemble and was brilliant. the sung texts were eliot's love song of j. alfred prufrock, blanchot's madness of the day, kafka's im gebirge and beckett's worstwards ho. the whole performance very much used a filmic setting in a sense of space and maybe depth of perspective. there were always the outsides which the people (the four singers) referred to by example singing out of the window, but those outsides were not really seen. so it sort of felt very hermetic. the texts, too, are maybe not the most open texts themselves. but instead of using this spatial and textual hermetics to sort of 'show' 
something to the audience it rather felt as if it was displayed in a panorama of associations that were not forced upon us. the only thing i felt forced by was the head of that woman in front of me who was very eagerly following every tiny action and movement on stage by moving her head and upper body constantly which is a great joy for the person sitting behind in haus der berliner festspiele, i can assure you. the sounds have been amplified incredibly good so that every quietest tone could be heard - the rustling of wrapping paper, the folding of tablecloths, their breathing. it looked sort of flat but was deeply audible.
left sort of satisfied and sad. satisfied because i really enjoyed the brilliant music and performance with its quietness and slowness. sad because the texts seemed to stir something in me and that, i thought, was sad because it was sad texts by 'old men' and on stage were only 'old men' and heiner goebbels may also be an 'old man' ... but then, i learned afterwards that prufrock for instance was written by eliot aged 23. don't know it sort of made me even sadder.
from the love song of j. alfred prufrock by eliot:
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use;
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
from the madness of the day by maurice blanchot:
I am not learned; I am not ignorant. I have known joys. That is saying too little: I am alive, and this life gives me the greatest pleasure. And what about death? When I die (perhaps any minute now), I will feel immense pleasure. I am not talking about the foretaste of death, which is stale and often disagreeable. Suffering dulls the senses. But this is the remarkable truth, and I am sure of it: I experience boundless pleasure in living, and I will take boundless satisfaction in dying.
I have wandered: I have gone from place to place. I have stayed in one place, lived in a single room. I have been poor, then richer, then poorer than many people. As a child I had great passions, and everything I wanted was given to me. My childhood has disappeared, my youth his behind me. It doesn't matter. I am happy about what has been. I am pleased by what is, and what is to come suits me well enough.
Is my life better than other peoples lives? Perhaps. I have a roof over my head and many do not. I do not have leprosy, I am not blind, I see the world—what extraordinary happiness! I see this day, and outside it there is nothing. Who could take that away from me? And when this day fades, I will fade along with it—a thought, a certainty, that enraptures me.
I have loved people. I have lost them. I went mad when that blow struck me, because it is hell. But there was no witness to my madness, my frenzy was not evident: only my innermost being was mad. Sometimes I became enraged. People would say to me, Why are you so calm? But I was scorched from head to foot; at night I would run through the streets and howl; during the day I would work calmly.
second was maybe forever by meg stuart and philipp gehmacher (who both danced) shown in volksbühne theatre with fantastic music by niko hafkenscheid whose music was sweet and melancholic (sort of reminded me of vincent gallo) and sad and sorrowful but never failed to grab you, and the two dancers, with its progressing ever so slightly promising rhythm (waltzes, mainly). the set design here was also very flat, a half circle marked by dark green curtains which were, towards the end, opened a little. in the center there was a big picture of a dandelion clock, halfway blown away, that was sometimes in a sepia shade, sometimes almost colourful and bright and shiny. the dancers were sort of repetitive in their movements and the music, repetitive, too. but then those subtle changes, a hand here a minor chord there. shifting from something you think you recognize to something that seems very strange to you back to something you feel sure is directly performed for you. the strange thing was, you felt lulled and lured into it and only at points could realize the subtle shifts. then those came as a big surprise. (which now, as i write this reminds me of a thought i had on the sublime and subliminal. etymologically somehow connected, it seems contradictory and paradox to think of the sublime as something you would only be aware of subliminally. but then again, maybe it's those surprises you're facing with incredibility, those that found their way subliminally into your sub_conscience. once you focus (again and maybe consciously), they're there and struck you as incredible, maybe even sublime.)
today at hamburger bahnhof
kult des künstlers:
(ayse erkmen)
(?)
(sarah lucas)
(rodney graham)
(not really beuys)
nay, seriously, what a coincidence
mueck's big man with nico's janitor of lunacy. hah, and that song is covered by soap&skin as well.
Janitor of lunacy
Paralyze my infancy
Petrify the empty cradle
Bring hope to them and me
Janitor of tyranny
Testify my vanity
Mortalize my memory
Deceive the Devil's deed
Tolerate my jealousy
Recognize the desperate need
Janitor of lunacy
Identify my destiny
Revive the living dream
Forgive their begging scream
Seal the giving of their seed
Disease the breathing grief
mueck(e(t))baudrillard or i just wanna be the cigarette
i wish i was them sometimes. today for instance. they're actually really small. and they're not alone.
or why not her? mueck paid huge attention to her. that's good, isn't it?
"Alles trägt zum Versagen des Systems bei, das sich unfehlbar gibt. Und angesichts dessen, was wir im Rahmen seiner rationellen und programmgestützten Herrschaft bereits erleben, kann man sich fragen, ob nicht die Unfehlbarkeit des Systems selbst vielleicht die schlimmste Katastrophe wäre" said monsieur baudrillard in le monde diplomatique. and also in the perfect crime: "The absolute rule is to give back more than you were given. Never less, always more. The absolute rule of thought is to give back the world as it was given to us — unintelligible. And, if possible, to render it a little more unintelligible."
or maybe i just wanna be the cigarette in luca's hand
oh, and here are parts of angstbörse, one really interesting, very interactive work on our fears by performance collective dramazone as shown in the akademie für angewandtes leben, hotel subbotnik: .
one book
another book
