i have heard ...

i have heard ...
april 4th 2011

and more finds

central bus station, tel aviv
march 2011


lifta
march 2011


money from different streets
march 2011


überraschungsei, berlin
march 2011

more finds

in the water, tel aviv
march 2011


sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011


esther hamalka, tel aviv
march 2011


silwan, east jerusalem
march 2011

finds

some street, tel aviv
march 2011


hilton beach, tel aviv
march 2011


sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011


al rajaa' street, ramallah
march 2011


mea shearim, jerusalem
march 2011


jaffa road, jerusalem
march 2011


i can't remember where it was
march 2011


al shuhada street, hebron
march 2011

Als (II)

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

und es schoss
durch den Wind
das Andere her

der Wind
und das Haus
und das Zittern
im Hier

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

die Winde
die wehten
die Welten
vorbei

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

dort
wo es dunkel
dort
wo es still
dort
wo es war

dort oben
im Graben
der Welten

da liegen
vielleicht
da lagen
vielleicht
die Lügen
vielleicht

der Liebe


Als (II)
Wir so lagen
January 22nd 2011

maze

maze
December 2010/January 2011

Man kann alles erzählen, nur nicht sein wirkliches Leben; - diese Unmöglichkeit ist es, was uns verurteilt zu bleiben, wie unsere Gefährten uns sehen und spiegeln, sie, die vorgeben, mich zu kennen, sie, die sich als meine Freunde bezeichnen und nimmer gestatten, daß ich mich wandle, und jedes Wunder (was ich nicht erzählen kann, das Unaussprechliche, was ich nicht beweisen kann) zuschanden machen - nur um sagen zu können:
"Ich kenne dich."

Max Frisch - Stiller

Worte von der Naht

imagine
November 22nd 2010

Inspiration: MOTS. Heute die derzeitige Ausstellung des Museum On the Seam "The Right to Protest" gesehen.

Auf dem Weg zum Museum von meiner Wohnung in Nachlaot, da hin, Richtung Osten laufend, durchquere ich Mea Shearim, ein ultraorthodoxes Viertel. Ich weiß nicht immer, auf welcher Straßenseite ich zu laufen habe. Die Busse da hin, die benutze ich nicht. Hosen tragend ist mein Wohlgefühl beim Durchqueren der Straßen eingeschränkt.

Blicke töten vielleicht nur den, der sie empfängt.

Ich sehe nach unten. Auf dem Boden ein benutztes Kondom. In der Bäckerei kann ich einkaufen (Es gibt schon wochenlang Pfannkuchen, auch wenn Chanukah erst noch kommt). An mancher Ladentür steht "Please only enter my shop dressed modestly". Gesittet mache ich Raum für Männer in Schwarz und Frauen mit zwei Lagen Sittsamkeit auf dem Kopf. Die Kinderwagen klagen mich nicht an. Die Sammelbüchsen an den Häuserwänden schweigen mich bittend an. An manchem Torbogen lese ich "We are not Zionists".

Im Osten, die große Straße, die zum Damaskustor führt, überquerend, gibt mir die Sonne ein deutliches Ja zum Ablegen meiner Jacke. Das hat sie auch zuvor getan, aber da war das Nein der Sittsamkeit viel lauter. Eben also diese Naht überquere ich, ein Stück noch und ich erreiche das American Colony Hotel. Da gibt es einen Buchladen. Da arbeite ich jetzt. Und mein Chef da, der verspricht, mich zu schelten, wenn ich im Rock kommen sollte, der nur der Sittsamkeit, nicht aber dem Wohlgefühl dient.

Worte erreichen vielleicht nur den, der sie lesen kann. Mots. Worte. Ausstellung lesen. Protestieren. Gesittet um Zeilen feilschen. Dass jeder sich eintragen kann in die Öffentlichkeit und ihr Vokabular der Ko-Existenz.

Die Sprache ist kein dem Für-Andere-sein hinzugefügtes Phänomen: sie ist ursprünglich das Für-Andere-sein, das heißt, das Faktum, daß eine Subjektivität sich als Objekt für andere erfährt. In einem Universum bloßer Objekte kann die Sprache in keinem Fall "erfunden" werden, da sie ursprünglich einen Bezug zu einem andern Subjekt voraussetzt; und in der Intersubjektivität des Für-Andere ist es nicht notwendig, sie zu erfinden, denn sie ist in der Anerkennung des anderen schon gegeben. Allein deshalb, weil, was ich auch tue, meine frei geplanten und ausgeführten Handlungen, meine Ent-würfe auf meine Möglichkeiten hin draußen einen Sinn haben, der mir entgeht und den ich erfahre, bin ich Sprache.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Das Sein und das Nichts, 652

A crowded place

du und ich und hier
November 21st 2010

Und dann habe ich an Hans Blumenbergs Theorie der Unbegrifflichkeit gedacht. Die Fallen der Begriffe, der Zaun (גדר) der Definition (הגדרה). Einpferchen des Lebens. Ein Netz von hin und her gespannten Grenzschnüren. Stolpern. Hängenbleiben. Alarmgeheul. Es gibt Zäune. Fallen. Hinfallen. Sich zu verhalten wissen. Oder still.

Sein.

...
there I saw hope barbed as barbed wire.
And i said to myself: That's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a minefield.

Yehuda Amichai

Buberlese

Die Augen des Tiers
November 6th 2010

So vieles kann die Kruste der Dinglichkeit nie durchbrechen! O Glimmerstück, welches anschauend ich einst zuerst verstand, daß Ich nicht etwas "in mir" ist, - mit dir war ich dennoch nur in mir verbunden; nur in mir, nicht zwischen mir und dir hat es sich damals begeben. Wenn aber eins hervorsteigt aus den Dingen, ein Lebendes, und mir Wesen wird, und sich in Nähe und Sprache zu mir begibt, wie unabwendbar kurz ist es mir nichts als Du! Nicht die Beziehung ist es, die notwendig nachläßt, aber die Aktualität ihrer Unmittelbarkeit. Die Liebe selber kann nicht in der unmittelbaren Beziehung verharren; sie dauert, aber im Wechsel von Aktualität und Latenz. Jedem Du in der Welt ist seinem Wesen nach geboten, uns Ding zu werden oder doch immer wieder in die Dinghaftigkeit einzugehn.

Martin Buber, Ich und Du

Als

Fremde Tochter
und kein Wein
und doch
kein Nein.

Fremde Tochter.
Ich
und Du
irrst. Du.

So nicht gerade
eine Büchse.
Darin?
Und wieso?

Fremde Tochter
Ich
Öffnen

Feuer. Du bist doch schon verbrannt.

Noch nicht,
hier oben, aber
dort, in der Fremde
auch:
Leuchtet noch
der Himmel
Deiner Asche.

Die Augen Dir küssen, damit Du siehst, nicht siehst, wohin ich blicke.

Licht.
Leuchte.
Licht.
Hier.

Das Leben in Dir lieben.
Das Unendliche.
Da bist Du.


Als
Fremde Tochter
November 1st 2010

there is no is no

there where there is no is no there is no no is there where there is no is no is no where there is no there is no there where no is no where where where there is there

and then of course the bird screams and the bells ring of course and there is dog and dog barks of course and the chirping of plates and knives when there is cooking of course and the juice in the glass is cold of course

and then when the bell rings one goes of course one goes to the door and then there might be no one but the plates and knives still chirp there where no is no

and yes of course one cleans when a kid spills a drink

and yes of course one is also another one depending on yes

and yes of course no is no there where no is no there there is no is no

one might wonder but no of course i mean yes the plates and the knives do chirp

there is no is no

there
is
no
is
no



green grass and pink flowers and cryptic words on grey sky
june 7th 2010

"all used was dead before"

Listen to me. Like you, I know what it is to forget.

No, you don't know what it is to forget.

Like you, I am endowed with memory. I know what it is to forget.

No, you are not endowed with memory.

Like you, I too have struggled with all my might not to forget. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I longed for a memory beyond consolation, a memory of shadows and stone. For my part I struggled every day with all my might against the horror of no longer understanding the reason to remember. Like you, I forgot. Why deny the obvious necessity of remembering? Listen to me. I know something else. It will begin again.

(from Hiroshima mon Amour)

My work all used was dead before showed Marguerite Duras' words in seeing red.

They might describe a perspective on the installed environment as a whole and shape an understanding of an underlying attempt of trying not to forget - finding oneself in the difficult situation of needing to withhold an unspeakable presence and/or absence and concurrently displaying it - for (not) coming to terms with it. For staying alive.




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

floorplan




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

אותו (לא) ידעתי




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

sui_site or how to disappear completely - outside




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

sui_site or how to disappear completely - inside




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

slightly damaged frontal cortex




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

seeing red




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

seeing red & sui_site & אותו (לא) ידעתי




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - wingblind




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - series




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - flying card




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - bird




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - bird detail




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

match




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

match & paraphilia




all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

cryptographies I & II

happy was gone so fast

happy was gone so fast
may 5th 2010

stitching I-III

Whilst in the language of rhetoric, a little like litotes, like extenuation or retinence, a diminution consists in saying less, sure, but with a view to letting more be understood. - But letting thus - and who lets what, lets who, be understood? - one can always speak of diminution by diminution. And, by this henceforth uncatchable stitching, still let rhetoric appropriate the truth of the verdict.

Jacques Derrida
A Silkworm of One's Own (Points of view stitched on the other's veil)

stitching I - rest my heart
pins on canvas
march 2010





stitching II - nie nie nein nie nie der schein trügt nie
glass and pins on canvas
march 2010





stitching III - i act and mute the void
glass, pins and copper on canvas
april 2010

cryptographies III

muecken
blink
licht aus
dunkel
passieren
blink
wieder
blink
muecken

stechen
das
licht

den
muecken
eins auf
den kopf

also
aus die
muecke

bsssssssssssttttauajadas




muecken
march 13th 2010

cryptographies II

do you
know this
haunted place

it's nothing
but a
frozen pond

oh frozen
safe with
pondering

the pond
the frozen pond
it is

so deep and
black and
cold

today
i've had
a feverhead

and slowly
melted
all away

i know we
do we do
not know



the snakes
march 12th 2010

cryptographies I

oh you are
like little
tatters of

fruit
are you
like fruit

i bite
and tear it
tears away

from you
the best
i learned



map
march 9th 2010

ne cadant in obscurum

du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du bist du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du bist raus du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich lange lange lange du ich du raus bist du noch lange nich



i.d.
march 7th 2010

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: