Page 1

20 1 3

책r s bok


colophon

årsbok 2013

SKOGEN: artistic director :

Johan Forsman Production: A nders T C arlsson A dministration: P ia Nordin A rchive/education: Frida Sandström Technician: A ndreas Johansson G raphics: Milena K arlsson /Plaquette

The program of 2013 was supported by: G öteborgs Stad Statens Kulturråd Västra G ötalandsregionen Konstnärsnämnden Kultur i Väst G oethe Institutet B erlin Hauptstadtfund Statens Kunstråd Danmark The Danish A rts Foundation Sophiensähle Z agreb C ity C ouncil for Education, Culture Ministry of Culture of R epublic of Croatia

and

Sport

In collaboration with: Weld Clandestino Institut GIBCA extended R iksarkivet G öteborgs Konsthall G öteborgs Dans & Teater Festival G länta HDK Högskolan för Scen och Musik, G öteborgs Universitet A kademin Valand, G öteborgs Universitet


årsbok 2013

introduction preword Block 07 Döden page 12

Block 08

The David bowie museum page 34

Block 09

EVOLUTION WON’T BE TELEVISED page 56

Block 03

skogen tar kinesiska muren till skogen page 106

Daniel almgren-Recén Artist in residence page 118

Block 10

THREE WHITE SOLDIERS page 128

BLOCK 11 PRAGMATICS OF COMING TOGETHER page 130

Hito Steyerl

How not to be seen page 141

BLOCK 12 zoo page 152

BLOCK 04 som en skog i skogen page 164

BLOCK 13 NEW: PERFORMING THE ARCHIVE page 172

BLOCK 14 KRIEGSTHEATER – MODELLING WARS OF TOMORROW page 226

1


introduction

SKOGEN is an artist-run platform for performing arts, funded in 2012 and located in Gothenburg. Skogen explores how performing arts can be lifted out of its traditional ­formats, spaces and economies, and how it can ­i nhabit new places, create new ­situations and ­experiences. To work with the forms for critical reflection, participation and sharing of knowledge around productions or performances, we organize our activities in the form of thematic ‘blocks’. During each block ­SKOGEN works together with invited artists to produce context and a public programme, creating a surface for artistic research as well as public interfaces. Building a block around an artist or a production might include ­i nviting additional guest performances, ­producing festivals and workshops, arranging seminars or producing publications.

2


introduction

This book is based on the activities 足produced in 2013. Thanks to everyone who participated, visited or supported us.

3


preword

Frida Sandström

Stadsarkiv

Vi bor i städer. Vi byter städer. Vi dokument­erar och vi minns. Men hur? Konsthistorikern M ­ ichael Fried skrev att Upplevelsen bara existerar för betraktaren själv. Så, när vi förflyttar bilder av en stad – skapar vi då också vår egen upplevelse av den? I stället för att lämna staden låter vi dess historia förbli en del av vår. Utan dokument blir det ingen historia. Så skrev i alla fall den franske historikern Jaques Le Goff. Jaques Derrida höll med. Han sa att Arkiveringen kan producera händelser lika bra som den bevarar dem. I stället för att ta till vara på det som har hänt kan bevarandet också generera ett nytt skeende. Skriver historien gör därför inte bara vinnaren, det gör alla som på något vis traderar ett minne. Så varför samla och hålla fast vid den passerade tiden?

5


preword

Är det ovetskapen om det kommande som får oss att buffra? Ett förråd av bilder att bygga en framtida berättelse av – kanske i brist på den nuvarande? Nyss fyllda 20 bodde jag mellan städer, långt ute på landet i norra Bohuslän. I förvirrad ovetskap om min framtida stad konstruerade jag skådespel där jag tillskrev mig själv en roll. Scenen utgjordes av en telefon och en dator. Då och då åkte jag till tidigare städer för att samla minnen. Sedan odlade jag upplevelser i mjukvara på en hårddisk. Jag arbetade långt in på nätterna i över två år, men… allting försvann i samma ögonblick som hårddiskens plast­ hölje slog i golvet. Ceci tuera cela, skrev Victor Hugo om boktryckarkonstens konkurrens med den gotiska katedralen, som dittills hade härskat som kommunikativ plattform. Han menade att arkitekturen var mänsklighetens stora bok, och var skeptisk mot att denna solida bok av sten skulle ersättas av flyktiga flyktiga pappersark. Från supportföretaget fick jag höra att mjuk­ varan var omöjlig att rädda. Människorna var borta, min konstruerade stad fanns inte mer. Jag började fundera om den, skapad ur fragment av verklig­ heter, hade funnits alls.

6


preword

1990 lämnade konstnären Andro Wekua sin barndoms hemstad Sukhumi. Liksom övriga delar av det krigsdrabbade Georgien låg staden i spillror, men Wekua återvände aldrig för att se efter. I stället vände han sig till google maps och vänners foto­ grafier för att återuppbygga sin uppväxts arkitektur. Minnesbilder blev fysiska modeller. Det som ingen mindes eller inte hade dokumenterat lät han förbli de minnesluckor som de var; hål. Tomrum och rum byggde tillsammans modellen av den stad som Wekua en gång hade lämnat. Skulptur­verket fick namnet Pink Wave Hunter och sedan 2011 visas det på konstinstitutioner världen över. Jag förädlade min framtida stad med bilder av tidigare städer. Alla raserades när bilderna försvann. Wekua återskapade sin forna stad utan sina egna bilder, och utan att heller generera nya. Bådas våra verkligheter bedrevs kameralinsens distans. Men, även ord kan förvandla en stad på avstånd. “Eventstaden” “Glesbygden” “Kulturhuvustaden” “Förorten” – nog känner vi igen dem, schablonstäderna. De, vars titlar rör sig bortom dess faktiska gator.

7


preword

Bilder som etableras för att sedan accepteras – eller raseras. I december förra året gick en stor del av Sverige till stöd för Stockholmsförorten Kärrtorp, som på knappt en vecka hade växt till en antirasistisk symbol för hela Sverige. Bara en bråkdel av de som deltog hade någonsin varit på den aktuella ­platsen, ännu färre åkte dit för att demonstrera. Ändå ­användes hashtagen #Kärrtorp flitigt på twitter och även stormedia placerade ämnet i topp. Dokumentära bilder kan katalysera handling, menade Hannah Arendt. Hennes ord tangerar Derridas: arkivet främmandegör stegvis den ­historia som det ursprungligen ville bevara. Den nya staden ersätter den gamla. Den där helgen i dec­ember blev Kärrtorp något annat, stadsdelen blev någon annans. Då var alla i Kärrtorp. Alla utom Kärrtorps­borna själva. Jag lät en grupp människor att stå stilla på ett av de tomma, bohuslänska fälten. Det är nu flera år sedan, men på bilden står de kvar. ­Kropparna som sträcker sig upp ur marken påminner om ­byggnader. Jag undrar om det hade sett likadant ut i en stad.

8


preword

På Hisingen i Göteborg finner vi Östra Kville­ bäcken, eller Gazaremsan, som stadsdelen stundom kallas. Den mur som smeknamnet åsyftar pekar på de sociala motsvarigheter som finns i Göteborg. ­Området anses vara “utom all kontroll”, för att citera kommunalpolitiks retorik. Fast, med ökande bostadsbrist måste även avfall omvärderas till resurs och i stället för att välkomna innerstadsborna till en krigszon, flyttas helt sonika stadsdelen till andra sidan älven - till ­innerstaden. Kanske ska vattnet släcka elden på vägen över? Förflyttningen görs med ord och med bilder, som måste ­förnyas. Östra Kvillebäcken blir Nya Kvillebäcken och ­smeknamnet som ersätter Gazaremsan blir inget annat än… Manhattan. Arkitekturen befinner sig alltid på gränsen för sin egen läsbarhet, skriver filosofen och konsthistorikern Sven Olov Wallenstein. Metaforen, däremot, menar han försöker rädda minnet, tiden och historien. Mjukvaran, fotografierna, gatumodellerna och orden – alla är de metaforer för en stad. Berättelser om en stad som vi, i vårt samspel med den, förändrar. En förändring som innefattar både dess historia och dess framtid.

9


preword

Efterord: Skogen finns i Göteborg sedan 2012. På goteborg.se står det om webbadresser att ”alla sidor på hemsidan har olika url:er, eller webbadresser. Ofta består dessa av en lång rad tecken.” Skogen arbetar för att fördjupa och skapa sammanhang, rum för de olika blockens produktioner. Navet för detta rubriceras som ”en plattform för konstnärsdriven produktion av scenkonst, gästspel, seminarier och publikationer.” Genomförda block kan återkomma, tidigare besökare kan höra av sig. Så hur synliggöra och dela den kunskap som kretsar däromkring? Skogens lokaler finns i Göteborg. Någon undrar: Vilka är dessa människor? Ett samtal kan expandera och en plats är mer än en lokal i vilken människor ingår. Arkiveringen kan producera händelser lika bra som den bevarar dem, så vi kan väl tala om det? Allt som har en historia saknar definition, sa Nietzsche. Men om det inte blir någon historia utan dokument, så behövs inte definitionen. Dokumenten definierar inte, de arkiverar och kanaliserar handling. En miljö att växa i där rörelser ingår.

10


DÖDEN är en föreställning som man besöker en och en. Du leds på en vandring genom nio skakande rum.


block 07 Fredrika Byman Moberg Soledad Howe Johan Rödström

DÖDEN

proposed memory glossary DOORS

11 januari – 3 februari 8 mars – 24 mars 10 maj – 16 maj

text ... script ...

performance: Fredrika Byman Moberg Soledad Howe Charlotta Grimfjord Cederblad komposition: Tomas Björkdal ljuddesign: Rasmus Persson text: Frida Sandström

essay


B 07 proposed memory

döden

Frida Sandström

Att tala om döden är inte vad du tror. Det är ett ord, bara ett ord.  Det handlar absolut inte om att dö, bara om att tänka på, kanske uttala det. Döden.  – Jag känner ingen som är död, därför har jag inte haft någon att tala om den med, sa en person som hade gått föreställningen.  Det där ordet, döden. Bara levande kroppar kan ta det i sina munnar. De levande, som konstaterar de dödas fortsatta död. Historier skrivs, målen är många liksom datumen. Alla dessa datum, klockslag.  Kom i tid till döden, är du snäll. Och kan du inte komma alls, så meddela i god tid för att vi ska kunna boka in någon annan i stället.   I döden är den levande en biroll. Men, det är inget rollspel.  Vi ses vid den röda dörren, stod det.  – Just innan jag skulle gå in kom det fram en kvinna för att hämta sin cykel som stod parkerad strax bredvid. Hon sa åt mig att inte vara rädd. Efter döden gick det att dricka vatten. Då var de vita tygerna borta, men rummen kanske stod kvar.  – Vad då svepas? Strumpor, lin och en orgel. Då var de en berättelse, nya ord om en annan död, eller en annans. Människor återvände, de berättade om det. Vandringen genom nio skakande rum blev ett samtal i en stad. – Vilka är de där människorna egentligen?    Det var vinter, någon glömde sin mössa. En annan fick avbryta föreställningen och gå hem. Många visste inte om det. Döden pågick i ett kort ögonblick men fortsätter så länge deltagaren önskar. Kanske ännu? I arkivet bevarades berättelserna om döden, men väggarna till rummen revs. Kvar stod orden, ordet – döden. Och en hög med papper. De flesta gick nog och fikande efteråt. 

14


B07 glossary

döden

Sakta Mjukt Ner Slut

Verklighet

Svep

Tyg

Utfyllnad

Kropp

Väggar

Golv

L ivet

Ensamt

Formellt

Samtal

Tillsammans

Tystnad

Nära

Skaka

Här

Utrymme

Döden

Föreställning

Du Tomhet Nu Avlägset Vi Kom

15


B 07 Text

döden

Telefonsamtal till farfar Du som förklarade allt, hur förstod du? Delad tid som är, som du var. Du var en ständighet och det tog lång tid att förstå hur mycket du var i världen, en kännedom som fortfarande utökas. Nej, du upphörde inte att växa, farfar, och växer gör du ännu, fast nu utanför din egen person – i oss andra. Därför blev du aldrig gammal och ännu inspirerar du att fortsätta i de spår som du lämnat efter dig. Nu, när jag ser din blick klarare än någonsin. Och jag måste berätta: Det har hänt någonting förfärligt. Du har försvunnit, farfar. Det självklara ­kretslopp av liv som jag alltid har sett i dig har nu plötsligt stannat upp, en okrossbar diamant har spruckit. Ända sedan det hände, har jag känt att jag måste prata om detta som jag inte kan förstå. Diskutera livet och verkligheten i en brun, mjuk fåtölj och dricka Earl Grey Chinatown. Jag har helt enkelt tänkt ringa dig, farfar. För att prata om det och se om du kanske kan förklara. Om och om igen har tanken fallit mig in och om och om igen har jag kontrats av insikten att det inte längre går. Varje gång har jag mötts av tomheten, en tomhet som uppenbarligen inte får plats – du finns ju kvar. Så jag kommer att fortsätta att ringa sig, farfar, och fråga vad du tror om det hela, och om du kanske har något tips om en bok som relaterar

20


B07 text

döden

till ämnet. Vi ska fortsätta att sjunka allt djupare ner i både samtal och fåtöljer, och åter igen delar du ännu en verklighet som jag själv inte trodde skulle finnas att möta ens i litteraturen. Tillsammans skapar vi ytterligare en verklighet med vilken vi förflyttas bortom tid och rum, lite som i en stigande såpbubbla. Du har lärt mig att knyta samman verkligheten, farfar, med alla dess ­hemskheter och mirakel. Du berättar. Vi talar. Världen är däromkring, bokpärmarna är bara dess tröskel. * Jag minns en gång när jag ringde dig och farmor, med gråten i halsen och konflikter i huset. Farfar, mamma och pappa bråkar! Jaha, sa du och var tyst en stund innan du fortsatte: Får jag tala med någon av dem? Och det var allt. Då hatade jag dig för denna tystnad, men nu förstår jag. Du fanns där utan att tala och din tystnad sa desto mer. Många av dessa tystnadens ord återstår fortfarande för mig att översätta, men det finns tid. För tiden, den försvinner inte, den är. Farfar, du har lämnat efter dig mycket sorg och saknad, men inte bara: Det utrymme som du tidigare fyllde, det finns ju kvar. Det diskuterar inte mänskliga rättigheter och det dricker inte te, men det är där och att det är det är något i sig. För om det är någonting som jag har lärt mig av dig, så är det att bara för att man är tyst, så behöver det inte betyda att man inte talar. Därför säger jag som vanligt, farfar; vi hörs i morgon.

21


B 07 script

döden

1:1 – Öppna dörren 1:2 – Gå in genom dörren 1:3 – Du är nu i det första rummet Ställ dig nedanför trappen Sätt dig ner Titta på dina händer Tänk på någon som betyder mycket för dig Någon som är död Titta på dina händer Öppna dörren (Live) 2:1 – Se på mig 2:2 – Jag lämnar dig nu 3:1 – Ställ dig i rummet under lamporna Du har nu lämnat det tredje rummet 4:1 – Öppna nästa dörr 5:1 – Sätt dig på stolen Du blir död Här Döden blir dig Det är bara du och döden Ta min hand Alla dör tillsammans Ensamma Kom Det är inte alltid rummet som skakar

24


B07 script

döden

5:2

– Ställ dig upp

Öppna den vita dörren 6: (Live) 7: Hör du mig Ser du Vad ser du Lever du Vem är det som ropar Vad säger du Dina fötter mot golvet Känner du Orden Var är dem Vem lyssnar Någon gråter DÖDEN

Vem är det som knackar på dörren Är det du Vem är det som inte ska höra Vem är det som inte ska veta

Vem vänder sig om

25


B 07 script

döden

Är det du Är det du som ligger där Vem är det som ligger Som inte är vaken Känner du värmen Någon stänger dörren Är vi tillsammans Är vi ensamma Framför havet Ser du det Förstår du det Därute Stillheten Kan du känna den Någon Vem då Någon som du Någon som följer dig Någon som ser genom dimman Någon som ser på dig 7:1

– Jag väntar på dig bakom den gråa dörren Kom

8 9

26


Foto: Iris Piers


B07 essay

döden

Omlopp

Jakob Wenzer

Vad hände på Skogen egentligen? Dog du? Spelades något upp, fick du uppleva något som alla men ingen får? Vi tror: döden är det enda säkra i detta liv. Alla går mot döden. Från det ögonblick vi föds färdas vi obönhörligt mot döden. Genom hela livet strömmar döden mot oss från horisonten, vi lever i dess skugga, vår enda plikt är att göra något bra av den tid som finns dessförinnan. Jag tänker ibland: döden är en illusion. Den finns inte. Det är inte döden som finns; det som äger realitet är slutet på organismen. Vi har uppfunnit döden för att begripliggöra den punkt där allt det komplexa myller som är livet drar vidare från vars och ens av våra kroppar; vid slocknandet av en annan, betydligt mer konkret men dock ändå illusion: självet. Livet finns; självet finns; döden, däremot, finns inte. Så tänker jag: självet slocknar, kroppens homeostasis bryts, livet drar vidare. Vi är organiska robotar retroaktivt styrda av en maskin av fett, skyddad bakom en mobil mur av kalk och kisel. I samverkan med miljön genererar kroppen tillräckligt med elektrisk spänning för att hålla ett konstant tillstånd gentemot den omgivande miljön, ett där cellerna byts ut då det behövs men ersätts av nya, alltmedans de molekyler av vilka cellerna består gör samma sak. Materien flödar ständigt genom den organiska kroppen, men så länge kroppen orkar generera tillräckligt med elektricitet håller den samman och kan fortsätta den oändligt avancerade informationsbehandlande process som orienterar den mot omgivningen. En dag har inte kroppen orken att generera så mycket energi så att den abstrakta maskinen Kroppen kan fortsätta att förnya sig, fortsätta att låta materien strömma igenom. Då avslutar de system som hållit kroppen samman sin verksamhet; cellerna bryts ned, ersätts av inget; kroppens beståndsdelar försvinner, vittrar sönder; det som förut tänkte på sig själv

29


B 07 essay

döden

som ”jag” slutar i stillhet med detta. Men energin drar vidare. Materien flödar vidare, men nu genom andra kroppar; livet fortgår, det tillhörde aldrig kroppen men fanns där till låns ett litet tag. Livet finns, men liksom materien är det ständigt i omlopp, och dess lämnande av de ­individuella kropparna är – ur ett lite större perspektiv – inte en distinkt punkt av livsavslutande utan en enkel transitionspunkt där det som är livet flyttar vidare. ”Döden”, där­emot, är bara ett namn. För vi som står kvar då livet dragit vidare från en avskild kropp för­fogar ju inte över ett större perspektiv. Vi behöver ett namn för den där punkten där dess sammanhållande slutar fungera; det är ju då vi måste börja relatera annorlunda till den. Det mänskliga perspektivet tvingar oss att ha ett namn för slutandet; och med ett namn har vi gjort den till ett subjekt. Döden, som om den vore en egen kraft, hade en egen realitet. Vi omger den med ritualer för att ha tid att övertyga oss om att det som höll den samman, de kvalitéer vi förknippade med just denna kropps särskilda fungerande, verkligen är borta. Vi väver i ritualerna in det vi tror om ­denna värld och dess beskaffenhet; vi besvärjer kroppens sönderfall i det att vi bereder den i enighet med hur vi vill behålla den i minnet. Jag går genom Skogens nio rum. Varför vill Skogen gestalta döden? Vad skall jag erbjudas uppleva? Min ledsagare är tyst och vitklädd; hon går framför mig upp genom parkeringshuset, jag följer några steg efter. Hon visar mig tyst vilka öppningar i väggarna som jag skall krypa igenom och vilka dörrar jag skall passera för att ta mig vidare. Lämnar mig ensam i vissa rum och dyker upp då jag givits en stund i mörker med ett främmande ljud. Står bredvid mig och håller i min hand då golvet börjar vibrera så att jag känner att någon finns alldeles bredvid. Vid några tillfällen ser jag henne i ögonen och håller kvar blicken även om vi står nära ­varandra och aldrig har träffats förut. Jag vill se hur länge jag själv klarar av att godta villkoren: att hon, en människa som just nu (men inte ­annars) är den döendes ledsagare, och jag, en människa som just nu (men inte annars) är den döende, är de positioner vi just nu besitter. Jag får för mig att hon tar ett beslut efter den första gången jag tar tag i hennes blick. Efter att ha flimrat lite med ögonlocken så håller även hon kvar blicken.

30


B07 essay

döden

Det betyder: jag står ut med att vara den döende, hon står ut med att vara min ledsagare mot döendet. Vi har, då vi behåller varandras blick, var och en samt gemensamt bestämt att vi står för dessa ­positioner. Det är en trygghet. Att vi klarar av rollerna betyder att vi klarar av att vara de människor vi egentligen är. Just då blir föreställ­ningen sann för mig; eller kanske att båda de två parallella linjerna är sanna samtidigt, både de positioner vi tagit enligt föreställningens villkor och de personer vi är utanför dessa väggar. Hos Skogen är Döden inte utslocknandet, men det är processen ända fram till dess. Vi tar farväl av myllret där ute, vi leds in mot kyla och tystnad, vi läggs på britsen och sveps. Då svepningarna efter en stund i absolut och påtvingad orörlighet lindas upp fortsätter upplindandet även efter att de lindor vi svepts tagit slut. Vävnaden faller från kroppen, eller lämnar den stillsamt. Då inget återstår börjar sjunkande. Kompositören Arvo Pärts verk Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten för stråkar och klocka uppförs vanligtvis runt sex minuter. Det är en kanon; den upplevs inte som en. Då klockan ringer första gången koncentreras allt till en punkt. En klockas ringande betyder: ett skiftande av koncentration, en ny nollpunkt, ihopsamlandet av allt som fladdrat omkring. Då stråkljudet smyger fram ur ingenstans är det inte med en melodi utan i ett fallande. Först hänger ljudet som ett dansande, sprakande ­skimmer framför våra ögon, en hisnande lätt smekning som aldrig letar sig ända ned på huden eller ett regn som precis skall falla. När det väl börjar falla – långsamt långsam – stannar det inte på huden utan vinner tyngd ­alldeles långsamt, som att det sjunker snarare än faller, sjunker genom lager efter lager av kroppen och medvetandet, tar plats i ­bäcken och skelett men stannar inte med det, sjunker med oss ned mot den kalla jorden, allt satt i rörelse nedåt, blandas och glider, snart finns bara ­själva tyngden kvar, vi är denna resolut glidande formlösa tyngd (som inte besitter något material utan bara är just egenskapen tunghet), jaget har lämnat platsen och allt det som var jag sjunker vidare ned under min kropp, ut i frekvenser som till sist är så stora att de bara finns kvar som en resonans i vilket allting dallrar.

31


B 07 essay

döden

Musik som saknar melodi och rytm saknar också subjekt. Den blir en frekvens i vilken vi som hör den vibrerar. Då det ständigt sjunkande A-moll omkring vilket kompositionen välver sig slutligen försvunnit ­bortom höranderegistrets undre tröskelvärden märker jag att mitt ansikte är blött. Tårarna kittlar i öronen, drar tillbaka mitt själv mot ytan och berättar för mig att jag fortfarande är här även om jag just upplevt allt suddas ut och det som var jag föras ut mot kosmiska frekvenser, återföras till det namnlösa livet som genomströmmar materien på samma sätt som materien själv rasar genom våra kroppar under ett förvillande kort moment. ”Mitt liv”: den tid jag får härbergera alltets stoft, ständigt flödande, egentligen den tid som det opersonliga rörliga livet kallar sig själv för Jag på just mitt sätt. Jag sitter efter hela föreställningens slut ensam i den nedsläckta entrén och andas. Snart skall jag gå ut i vinterkylan, ge mig hemåt till min familj och lägga mig och sova. En dörr öppnas; hon som var den döendes ledsagare kommer ut, med mössa och vinterjacka på sig. Hon är inte längre dödens ledsagare och jag är inte längre den döende. Vi tittar på varandra och säger hej båda två; eftersom både föreställningen och våra personer förut fick vara sanna samtidigt så kan vi nu vara personer båda två. Jag väntar tills en stund efter att dörren stängts efter henne. Sedan ger jag mig själv ut i snön. Ut i snön, tillbaka ut i omlopp i människornas samhälle.

Jakob Wenzer

holds a

PhD

in ethnology.

His

research interests are

oriented toward themes such as aesthetic economies, interdisciplinarity, ethnographic work and theoretical development, with a focus on materiality and self-organization.

32


loom

The david Bowie Museum BiLD: Isak eldh


block 08 The Marble Fauns Magnus Haglund & Isak Eldh

THE DAVID BOWIE MUSEUM

introduction program glossary ... fragments

GÄSTER: Marja-Leena Sillanpää, Leif Elggren, Anna von Hauswolff, Maria von Hausswolff, Rita Nettelstad, Fredrik Nyberg, Christer Falkenström, Anders Olofsson, Helena Eriksson, Sandra Kolstad, Petter Eldh


B 08 presentation

The david bowie museum

Popmusik! Konceptkonst! Magiska föremål! Resor i tanken! I en kombination av utställning, konsertoch videoserie, performance, arkiv och seminarier har den göteborgsbaserade konstellationen The Marble Fauns, det vill säga Isak Eldh och Magnus Haglund, skapat föreställningen The David Bowie Museum. Det hela rör sig om en serie alternativa ingångar i David Bowies så kallade ­Berlintrilogi. Förberedelsearbetet har pågått under drygt tre år och inleddes med en tankelek. Det ursprungliga arbetsnamnet på Bowieskivan Low, utgiven i januari 1977, var New ­Music: Night and Day. Den skivan bestämde sig The Marble Fauns att göra i stället. Som om en ny och okänd musik fanns gömd i mellanrummet mellan de mekan­iska discoinfluenserna på den närmast föregående Bowieskivan Station to Station, och den bleka europeiska melankolin på Low. När arbetet väl satte i gång växte det snart i omfattning och har till slut resulterat i tre fullängdsalbum som nu för första gången möter en publik. Det rör sig om två skivor med sånger, New Music: Night and Day och ­Music for Friends: Make It Happen, och ett ­instrumentalt album med titeln Old Music: Day and Night. The Marble Fauns har alltså skapat sin egen Berlintrilogi!

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B08 presentation

The david bowie museum

På museet kan man dels lyssna på skivorna i museets arkivdel, dels möta det i liveformat under de klubbkvällar som bär de olika skivornas namn. Själva museidelen består av en utställning med obskyra uppfinningar och maskiner som ­relaterar till materialets framställning. Här visar också konstnären Leif Elggren nya pappers­ skulpturer och man kan läsa om de idémässiga bakgrunderna till materialet i en serie bild- och textessäer. Till museet hör dessutom en videoserie där vänner till The Marble Fauns har gjort personliga svar på ett urval av sångerna och komposition­ erna, bland andra Marja-Leena Sillanpää, Andreas Roth, Sara Lännerström, Lise Herland, Anastasia Ax och Anders ­Olofson/Gustav Lejelind. Seminarierna som ordnas under utställnings­ perioden sträcker sig från Bowies intresse för poeten WH Auden till Rachmaninoffs inverkan på händelseförloppet i Hansastudion i Berlin. Under klubbkvällarna ingår också, förutom The Marble Fauns egna framträdanden, performance med Anna von Hausswolff, Maria von Hausswolff & Rita Nettelstad, Leif Elggren & Marja-Leena Sillanpää, Helena Eriksson, Fredrik Nyberg och Sandra Kolstad.

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B 08 program

The david bowie museum

8 Februari kl

18

vernissage för museum och videoserie

Kl 22-03 Bowieklubben; New Music: Night & Day performance med Marja-leena Sillanpää & Leif Elggren The Marble Fauns framför New Music: Night & Day invigning av

9 Februari

samtal med

Leif Elggren

och

kl 13-16 Marja-leena Sillanpää

om konst och förvandling

visning av videoserien kl 22-03. Bowieklubben ger Music for Friends: Make It Happen. performance av Anna von Hausswolff, Maria von Hausswolff & Rita Nettelstad, Marja-leena Sillanpää & Leif Elggren. The Marble Fauns featuring Fredrik Nyberg framför del två av Bowietrilogin

10 Februari

seminarium om

Rolf & Magnus

kl 13-16. Rachmaninoffs inblandning i Hansastudion i Berlin med Haglund och uppspelning av skivan Kraschmaninoff visning av videoserien

12 Februari

kl 19-22. ”Från Nathaniel Hawthorne till David Bowie” samtal med Magnus Ullén, litteraturforskare Karlstad universitet, om Hawthornes roman The Marble Faun från 1860, och de gömda förbindelserna till Bowies musik

seminarium

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B08 program

The david bowie museum

13 Februari

kl 19-22 ”Deleuze & Guattari vs David Bowie”, läsning av kapitel 6 i Mille Plateaux, med rubriken November 28, 1947: How Do You Make Yourself a Body without Organs? seminarium

en

14 Februari

kl 20-23 ”Auden, Bowie, Hodell”, en djupdykning i WH Audens dikt Musée des Beaux Arts, som Bowie läser i ­inledningen av filmen The Man Who Fell to Earth. det blir också visning av dokumentärfilmen Night Mail från 1936, med musik av Benjamin Britten och dikt­ uppläsning av Auden, med utgångspunkt i posttåget mellan London och Skottland seminarium

15 Februari

kl 19-01 Old Music: Day and Night. framträdanden med Christer Falkenström och Anders Olofson, följt av The Marble Fauns featuring Helena Eriksson som framför del tre av Bowietrilogin.

Bowieklubben

ger

16 Februari

vernissage på museet för

kl 13 Ghost Covers,

ett samarbetsprojekt med

­ andidatelever på k imaginära

HDK som under museiveckan har arbetat med egna, skivomslag. detta följs av seminariet ”Bowie i Berlin”, med Caroline Högrud. visning av videoserien

kl 22-03 Bowieklubben ger avslutningsfesten Celebration: We Love You gästartister: Sandra Kolstad & Petter Eldh. The Marble Fauns framför en hitkavalkad med sina mest dansanta nummer och ett urval coverlåtar

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B 08 glossary

The david bowie museum

Lek Gemenskap Ambivalens

Gleshet

Melodi

Överlämnande

Motstånd

Rum

Maskin

Rom

Ensamhet

Reduktion

Överträdelse

Poesi

Vägran

Väv

Förvandling

Utsuddning

Sorg

Dröm

Anarkasim

Vänskap

Hawthorne

Teckning

Upprepning

Guld Sömn Kupera Disco Fukt Konsekvens

40


THE DAVID BOWIE MUSEUM: EN FRAGMENTSAMLING

42


B08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

Varför ett museum?

Det enklaste svaret är förstås att vi gillar idén om museer. Att sätta samman föremål från olika tider och olika rum och undersöka hur de hör ihop och vad de kan bilda för berättelser. Den David Bowie som utgör den konceptuella ramen för just detta museum är ju delvis en spökfigur, en gestalt som kommit till genom våra ­fantas­ier kring olika ingångar i – och även utgångar ur – den så kallade Berlintrilogin. I de ­passager och mötesplatser som blir resultatet kan koncept­konstnären Gordon Matta-Clark sam­tala med den ockulte August Strindberg och Jean ­Tinguelys självförstörande maskiner blir en dörr till Emma Goldmans utopiska anarkism. Till sin utformning får det gärna likna ett gammaldags mus­eum, som Naturhistoriska i Göteborg, med sina uppstoppade djur, kuriosa­ kabinett och utdragbara lådor med insekter och fjärilar. Att museet öppnar drygt en månad före den stora Bowie­utställningen på Victoria & Albert Museum i London har med fantasins företräde att göra. De situationistiska slagorden från 1968 gäller fortfarande: Under gatstenarna stranden.

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SYNLIGA OCH OSYNLIGA STÄDER

Det är närmast en genre för sig, förvandlingarna av en plats till en helt annan plats med hjälp av halsbrytande fiktioner, bisarra kartläsningar, överklivningar mellan skilda textverkligheter. Författare som Borges, Perec och Calvino är självklara referenspunkter, till exempel den sistnämndes roman De osynliga städerna med sina ­variationer över olika imaginära städer som i slutändan bildar pusselbitarna i en minutiös återgivning av de labyrintiska dimensionerna av ­vattenstaden Venedig. Något liknande tycks äga rum med Bowies Berlinmaterial som leder till skapandet av helt nya städer, fantasiterritorium där man kan röra sig fritt och där dörren plötsligt öppnar sig till 1850-talets Rom dit den amerikanske författaren Nathaniel Hawthorne kom för att skriva uppföljaren till de gotiska romanerna The Scarlet Letter och The House with Seven Gables. Hawthorne använde sig av Roms sevärdheter, gatusträck­ningar och historiska ruiner som relief för de transform­ationer som huvudpersonerna i The Marble Faun genomgår. Från Hawthorne till Bowie till The Marble Fauns: de olika världarna är sammanflätade, och den som stiger in i The David Bowie Museum kommer ut som en annan person.

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B08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

ATT TA HJÄLP AV KORTLEKEN

Kanske var det den återkommande användningen av Brian Enos och Peter Schmidts kortlek Oblique Strategies, ursprungligen skapad 1975, som ledde oss in på Bowiespåret? Redan när vi 200809 satte ihop vår version av den amerikanska indiepopgruppen The Mountain Goats outgivna album Hail and Farewell Gothenburg, som i vår tappning kom att heta The Marble Fauns vs The Mountain Goats: Hail and Farewell Gothenburg (också det en outgiven skiva; en outgiven version av ett outgivet album, vad kallar man sånt, dubbel konceptuell negation?), kom korten till stor hjälp när låtarna växte fram och musiken fick sitt konkreta uttryck. Det är ju så med denna kortlek, att den på ett naturligt vis skapar en konceptuell ram kring det man håller på med, samtidigt som idéerna och de konstnärliga handlingarna kan ta nya och oväntade vägar. Ritualen har blivit viktig: Att blanda leken, dela upp den i fyra delar, låta den andre personen kupera (eller någon annan i rummet om vi är flera som gör någonting tillsammans) och sedan på måfå dra ett kort och så är det bara att följa anvisningarna. Som nu när jag skriver, Sara kuperar och drar sedan följande kort: ”Change nothing and continue with immaculate consistency” (Ändra ingenting och fortsätt med oklanderlig konsekvens). Jag fortsätter som förut, med andra ord. Med beskrivningen av hur kortleken blivit en konkret hjälp under ­skapandet av The Marble Fauns egen Berlintrilogi, på

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The david bowie museum

samma sätt som Brian Eno och David Bowie tog Oblique Strategies till hjälp när många av spåren på Low, ”Heroes” och Lodger växte fram. Det var till exempel ett av korten, ”Change instrument roles”, som ledde till det märkliga svänget på ”Boys Keep Swinging”, där musikerna har bytt instrument med varandra. Ett annat kort, ”Use an old idea”, gav sedan öppningsspåret på Lodger, ”Fantastic Voyage”, som har samma ackordföljd som ”Boys Keep Swinging”, men framförs med en annan känsla och en annan sångmelodi. Man kan eventuellt tolka det som en form av vidskeplighet, men användningen av Oblique Strategies har faktiskt fungerat varje gång vi har frågat den om råd. Det blir alltid rätt kort.

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VAR ÄR VI NU?

Vi befinner oss mitt i museets skapande. Det består av de fyra grundkomponenterna lek, dröm, parodi och utopi, men när de blandar sig med varandra uppstår en osäkerhet som vi är förtjusta i: vi vet inte längre var vi är. Ordet parodi kan möjligtvis uppfattas som en form av distansering, men rör sig i lika hög grad om motsatsen. Det handlar om att träda in i redan existerande material för att pröva gränserna för den egna identiteten. Någonting blir någonting annat. Genom sättet som materialet vecklar ut sig, i form av sånger, maskinella konstruktioner, videofilmer, essäer och seminarier, blir namnet David Bowie synonymt med ett urbant tillstånd av förflyttning och dagdrömmeri. Marmorfaunernas Göteborg är en skapad stad i lika hög grad som Bowies Berlin, och består av en serie ­fantasier och mentala bilder lagda på och intill varandra, en psykogeografisk förskjutning av gränslinjer och gatunät. David Jones är redan medlem i The Marble Fauns.

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B 08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

RESAN TILLBAKA TILL EUROPA

Det var något speciellt när Low dök upp i början­av 1977. Kombinationen av elektroniska popsånger och abstrakta instrumentala kompositioner satte omedelbart igång fantasin och gjorde­musiken rörlig, oplacerbar, gränslös. Jag minns att jag vid ett tillfälle spelade ”Warszawa” för Olle Hagberg, en av min pappas bästa vänner, och att han efter­åt tyckte att den påminde om Gustav Mahlers symfonier, sekvenserna med hornsignaler i fjärran, på andra sidan bergen. Just kombinationen av det nära och det som förefaller komma långt bortifrån gjorde Low till något av ett konst­ närligt statement. Skivan tog några steg tillbaka, men som ett sätt att komma närmare, att lyssna till ögonblicken när ingenting särskilt tycks ske. I det bleka och inåtvända fanns en påfallande frihet, ett annat sätt att tala, med färre ord och samtidigt en sorts vardaglighet i tilltalet. Detta har i sin tur, för oss, blivit en metod, att a ­ nvända sig av det som är verkligt, påtagligt, konkret för att därigenom resa iväg någon annan­stans. ­Bowies färd från Los Angeles till Berlin blir vår resa genom och bortom Göteborg.

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B08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

HÄLSNING TILL ROBERT BURNS

Inspirationen till The Marble Fauns sång ”Say Hello to Bobby Burns” kommer från en rad i New Yorkpoeten John Ashberys dikt ”The Plywood Years” (tryckt i samlingen Planisphere, Carcanet Press 2009). Mitt i dikten dyker följande rad upp: ”Bobby Burns said a rose is like no other”. Att han kallar den skotske 1700-talspoeten Robert Burns för Bobby Burns och detta i en dikt med den drastiska titeln ”Plywoodåren” blev en signal om en poetisk överföring. Det handlar inte bara om rörelsen från en tid över i en annan – från Burns förromantiska universum och dess ­speciella relation till naturen och landskapet, till Ashberys samtida nedbrytningar av hierarkier och r­ egler – utan i lika hög grad om en tro på poesins förvandlingskrafter, när den träder i dialog med det vardagliga livet. En sådan sång har också ”Say Hello to Bobby Burns” blivit. Den riktar sig till vissa specifika vänner, den berättar om en frihets­ längtan, mitt i sorgen.

https://soundcloud.com/the-marble-fauns/say-hello-to-bobby-burns

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B 08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

BOWIE OCH DELEUZE

Två Kroppar utan Organ, på drift från det ena tillståndet till det andra, i en ensamhet som också är en extas, ett sätt att dansa, en gemenskap bortom de fasta identiteterna. Det ändrar sig, det är aldrig detsamma. Ett ständigt resande, från station till station, från kvarter till kvarter. Men ingen slutpunkt, ingen startpunkt, samtidigt mitt i och vid sidan av. Det är sångskrivandet och textskrivandet som användande, en betagenhet i världen som den ter sig och ser ut: ansikten, ytor, passager, maskinella strukturer. Linjer som skär andra linjer. Spår av tidigare aktivitet som suddas ut, sopas igen. Ett behov av glömska.

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The david bowie museum

BOWIE OCH TEKOKRISEN

Att vara tonåring i Borås i slutet av 1970-talet innebar en underlig överlagring av de ödsliga stämningar som hörde ihop med tekokrisen och den ensamhetskänsla som gjorde Low och ”Heroes” så fascinerande fria i uttrycket. ­Musiken var den totala motsatsen till Ingmar ­Bergmans psykodramer; i stället för ångestskrik och upp­ tagenhet av den egna personen blev glesheten i ljudbilderna och bristen på linjärt berättande en öppning mot ett alternativt språk. Sakligheten och återhållsamheten gjorde att de gamla textil­ fabrikerna, med sina magnifika fasader utmed Viskans vatten, utgjorde den perfekta ­scenografin till sångerna och de instrumentala numren. Storslaget och grått på samma gång. Eller en gråhet som gick över i en svärta. När ”Heroes” kom ut, i oktober 1977, regnade det tre veckor i ett sträck. Musiken blandade sig med nyheterna om att de tre RAF-medlemmarna Gudrun Ensslin, Andreas Baader och Jan-Carl Raspe hade hängt sig i sina celler i Stammheimfängelset. Några månader före, under sommaren 1977, hade ­Algots gått i konkurs. Intrycken återkommer i The Marble Fauns-sången ”Music for Friends”. Så här låter den:

https://soundcloud.com/the-marble-fauns/music-for-friends

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B 08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

Och här är texten: ”Music For Friends” The rain was pouring down for three weeks in a row The month when ”Heroes” was released The city got so bleak, a continuation of Low The houses wore the insignia of sleep And now it has become a departure for this song Therefor we play this music for friends You will recognize the moments of doubt The beauty and loss The river it was flowing and the water was so black The darkness was a hideout for your thoughts From the decline of an industry to the blackout of New York The music played forever in your soul And now it has become an entrance to this song Therefor we play this music for friends You will recognize the moments of doubt The beauty and loss

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The david bowie museum

EFTERHANDSKONSTRUKTION: OM BETYDELSEN AV ATT GENOMFÖRA THE DAVID B ­ OWIE MUSEUM PÅ SKOGEN 8-16 FEBRUARI 2013 OCH OM PROJEKTETS MÖJLIGA FORTSÄTTNINGAR

The David Bowie Museum är i grund och botten ett konceptkonstverk. Bowies identitet som artist och konstnär blir annekterad, förflyttad, omskapad enligt alternativa principer. Från Berlin till Göteborg, från 1970-tal till 2010-tal: Här blir Bowie ett tillstånd snarare än en person. Sångerna och de bakomliggande idéerna befinner sig i ständig förskjutning, ändrar sig beroende på plats och sammanhang. David Bowie tas över, blir ett ruinlandskap, en serie ting på ett museum att beskåda och lyssna till. Därtill ett hemligt museum, som öppnade sina dörrar drygt en månad före det officiella museum som under våren 2013 visats på Victoria & Albert Museum i London. Det fanns redan i själva genomförandet något oöverblickbart och labyrintiskt förvillande över detta gigantiska projekt. Det ena gick över i det andra, sånger blev seminarier blev ljudande objekt, videoverk fortplantades in i olika performance som i sin tur frammanade ett arkivtänkande, en serie alternativa organisationer av det m ­ ytologiska materialet. Museet blev sin egen berättelse, en oavslutad roman som de besökande kunde forts­ ätta att skriva på. Till vissa delar var det som om historien om Bowies Berlintrilogi hade skrivits med hieroglyfiska tecken, en berättelse som vecklades ut och kapslades in och fungerade som en fortsättning av ”The Secret Life of Arabia”, avslutningsspåret på albumet ”Heroes” (en av de sånger

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B 08 FRAGMENTs

The david bowie museum

som inte framfördes på The David Bowie Museum var ”The Secret Life of Gothenburg”, en sorts hippie­version av Bowies/Enos ökenfantasi där Göteborgs gator leder in i den psykedeliska himmel där Paul McCartney stiger på bussen i ”A Day in the Life”; ja, det som skedde på museet hörde på ett mystiskt vis ihop med saker som inte ägde rum, men skulle kunna ha gjort det, eller kommer att göra det när projektet återupptas på andra platser, med andra förutsättningar). När frågan om ett residens på Skogen för The Marble Fauns – det vill säga konstnärerna Isak Eldh och Magnus Haglund – kom på tal sent på våren 2012 infann sig Bowieidén omedelbart, helt enkelt därför att vi redan under två års tid arbetat på dess realisering. Först var det ett skivalbum kallat New Music: Night and Day, vilket var originaltiteln på David Bowies Low. Namnet skapade i sig en fantasi om en hemlig ingång i Bowies artistkarriär, en sidodörr som möjliggjorde ett fritt och obegränsat skapande med hjälp av korsningen mellan discoinfluenser och europeisk melankoli. Men det som först var ett tiotal låtar blev snart många fler, och vi hade redan när Skogen tog kontakt skapat prototyperna till tre fullängdsalbum motsvarande Bowies Berlintrilogi, två skivor med popsånger och ett instrumentalt album. Detta skulle komma att utgöra basen för museet, de inspelade sångerna och kompositionerna som ett arkiv som b ­ esökarna kunde lyssna på och manövrera sig fram i. Att detta sedan genererade så många olika gestaltningsformer på museet – en videoserie med 18

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olika videor där konstnärsvänner bidrog med egna svar på våra sånger och kompositioner, en seminariedel med fem olika seminarier som utforskade Bowiematerialet utifrån psykogeografiska principer, fyra olika konserter där The Marble Fauns framförde materialet + olika inbjudna gäster som deltog (Anna von Hausswolff, Maria von Hausswolff, Rita Nettelstad, Helena Eriksson, Sandra Kolstad, Christer Falkenström, Fredrik Nyberg, Anders Olofson), en museidel i samarbete med konstnärerna Leif Elggren och Mikael Sellersjö – hade att göra med själva idéns sprängkraft. Men det hela riskerade att både fysiskt och psykiskt ta knäcken på oss. Det var för stort, för mycket att hålla i och väckte ett enormt intresse. Vi visste det innan, men det blev omedelbart tydligt när vi väl genomförde museet, att detta bara är inledningen på ett projekt som är betydligt mer omfattande än att bara äga rum under denna begränsade tidsrymd, på just denna plats. Planer finns för att genomföra museet i Berlin, Stockholm, Oslo och New York. Inte på samma sätt förstås, och hur det i praktiken kommer att organiseras är fortfarande en öppen fråga. Det handlar om många personer, ett nät av förbindelser som förbinder musik och konceptkonst, performance och essäskrivande, och i grunden är det nog, mer än någonting annat, en berättelse om hur Göteborg kommunicerar med resten av världen. Men det viktiga är konceptet, själva idén om museet och det imaginära liv som det hör ihop med, innanför och vid sidan av den reellt existerande David Bowie.

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Bild

BADco. SEMI INTERPRETATIONS OR HOW TO EXPLAIN CONTEMPRARY DANCE TO AN UNDEAD HARE


block 09 BADco.

EVOLUTION Won’T BE TELEVISED 5 april – 23 april

glossary program essay Neither you nor me the walkable city

GÄSTER: Anders Paulin, Anders Mossling, Tor Lindstrand, Johan Normark


B 09 glossary

EVOLUTION WON’T BE TELEVISED

Performative Collective Give Me Theatre

by

a

Problem

Other Means

Dramaturgy

of

Time

Alien Logic Split Attention Post-Hoc Dramaturgy Counter-Television Choreographic Unconscious Watching Form Aside Representing L abor L aziness Social Choreography Algorithmic Editing Parables

of the

Future

Future Scenarios Recapitulation

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B09 program

EVOLUTION WON’T BE TELEVISED

5

17

April

19

hrs

performance by BAD co .: Is There Life on Stage? – E xercises in T erraforming

6

seminar

April 19 hrs talk by Johan Normark: Water as Object and HypeRobject in the Ancient Maya Area

hrs

BADco.: SEMI-­ INTERPRETATIONS or How to Explain Contemporary Dance to an Undead Hare followed by: presentation of BADco.’s work & party performance by

18–19 9—17

9

19

digital tools in dance: demonstration of Whatever Dance Toolbox

19

– 17

April hrs

performance by BADco.: Point of Convergence

14 –17 April hrs

April

hrs

workshop by BADco.: Whatever Dance Toolbox

April 18–21 hrs

13

work

18

April

19

April 14 hrs on BADco.’s

20–21

hrs

performative installation:

10-14

TVolution won’t be televised

April

hrs

workshop by BADco.: Post-hoc dramaturgy: Always, Never, Now

16

April 19hrs

lecture performance by Economy/ Tor Lindstrand: The Walkable City. + Performance by Anders Paulin & Anders Mossling: Neither You Nor ME

23 20

April hrs

BADco.: Trilogy on Labor

performance by

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B 09 essay

EVOLUTION WON’T BE TELEVISED

Bojana Cvejić

Give me a problem!

Notes about BADco. 2007-2010 The ant understood that the producer could overtake power only if he occupied the site of the parasite.1

I remember meeting BADco. in 2001 and they left me confused in regard of all I considered then were matters of performance. At that time, the European contemporary dance and theatre were deeply immersed in the polemics and politics of polarization for/against spectacle, non-acting, choreography as opposed to dance, the transparency of a self-referential act, and other protestant gestures of renouncing representation. I came to Zagreb armed with some imperative questions such as: How can dance make one think? How can the need for recognition be subverted in a 19th-century audience? How can we produce nothing so that “they” must produce everything?… Seeing Diderot’s Nephew revealed to me that there was more than one difference in position. And that BADco. was a group of dancers and dramaturges, plus a philosopher, who neither saw an urgency in acquiescing to the paradigmatically Western modernist claim for medium contemporaneity nor loomed as a self-absorbed ludic face from/of the East. Somehow, they knew better. For them, being ­nomadic meant staying at home in order to explore one’s own foreign territories or “countries” of work. One of them was 1 Manuscript from the performance Changes (Promjene) by BADco. (2007): “Monologue about Work.”.

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the Croatian performance art from the 1980s. By reworking Man.chair by Damir Bartol Indoš into a reconstruction with “dance variations,” BADco. were in 2000 appropriating a history which opened a possibility for another future in Croatian performance. It was a “manifesto of co-belonging,” misrecognized both at home and abroad!2 Misrecognition at home, i.e. lack of any substantial support by the city, which rejected all that was not representing it, finally proved to be an advantage. It propelled the movement’s autonomy, since all movements need continuity and ­duration in order to keep transforming themselves. Speaking about BADco. today, it wouldn’t suffice to focus on a few favourite performance examples. Fourteen performances and six projects in seven years – even if a considerable opus – only form an open and ­fragmentary oeuvre. Each of their “pieces” shows an entirely ­different set of relations between space, problem, and people involved, briefly: a different situation. From the ­Confessions (Ispovijedi, 1999) to Changes (Promjene, 2007), these situations have changed to a degree of becoming incomparably different – in the sense that none of them can be considered as representing one aesthetics, politics, or ­working method that BADco. should be identified with. Every performance and every element in that ­performance appear to be expressions that modify everything we may think BADco. is about. That makes it rather difficult for all those managing business and ­marketing, or representing politics in art: What is BADco. like? Where should we place it? What should we compare it to? How should we compare it to its non-coinciding, varying self?

2 Man-Chair (Čovjek-stolica) is a performance by D. B. Indoš that took place in 1982. In 2000, it was reconstructed under the title Man.chair or Čovjek.Stolac in Croatian.

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Speaking about BADco. means tracing these heterogeneous movements as forces of expression that ­c rystallize in singular points. The issues I will raise here are nodes through which ideas qua problems pass, rather than themes. Problems qua problems are the real objects of ideas, since having ideas entails posing, i.e. inventing or constructing problems as a category of knowledge and also as a category of being.3 In order to grasp something that BADco. “does”, one shouldn’t seek “thoughts” in their content, but rather understand the situations BADco. are creating in order to force one to think. Because ­thinking is not a natural possibility, but a creation, while concepts are not evidences of common sense, but products of ­imagination, even fiction. Let’s begin:

“Give me a problem!” It always turns out problematic to retell what BADco.’s performances are “about”. In Diderot’s Nephew, Or Blood is Thicker than Water (Diderotov nećak, ili krv nije voda) there is a text, even more so: there are references to two plays, “Rameau’s Nephew” (by D. Diderot) and “The Death of Socrates” (which exists only in a synopsis for the “perfect philosophy play” by the same author), but that faith in the text is soon betrayed: the narrative is hollowed into an empty shell. Yet the performance is not voided; it teems with parallel worlds, whereby each performer develops the entire performance like a physical and emotional automaton. Systems of improvised action, formed around impossible or paradoxical movements, as well as extreme physical or emotional situations that each performer must face, compose a (model of a) world of compossible worlds without a vantage-point (viewpoints being multiple qua performers). 3 Cf. Gilles Deleuze, “The Image of Thought” in Difference and Repetition, Continuum, London and New York, 129-167..

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The question of thematising a single problem or issue is not just a misleading shortcut; it is like cutting out a multiplicity of components and then trying to unfold relations, connections, and encounters in which these components have merged, forming zones of ­indiscernibility and abandoning the simple linear causality between the ideas and the performing actions or materials behind them. Memories are made of this (2007) thus becomes a joke of a title when reversed: “This (performance) is made of ­memories”. The performance is subtitled “Performance notes”, referring to the Notes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, a taxonomy of his notes accumulated over the years: “Observations”, “Ideas”, “Scenes and situations,” “Conversations and Things Overheard,” “Feelings and Emotions,” “Anecdotes”, “Descriptions of Places Where I’ve Been,” “Things I Should Remember,” etc. An open-ended string of conversations, stories, ­statements, movements, radio voices, evergreen and jazz tunes, actions, film scenes, imaginary scenes, images, and spaces… is extended, while notes are shuffled, performers, subjects, and predicates exchanged. But what does F. Scott Fitzgerald, the American writer of the jazz age with “The Crack-Up”, a story he wrote in 1936, approaching the end of his life, as an intimate confession of his ­“emotional bankruptcy,” have to do with Dean ­Martin? No matter what he was doing, his biographer said, Dino has never had much interest in this world; he was “a ­menefreghista – one who simply did not give a fuck.” He would never finish the songs he sang at his concerts. He’d sing the song halfway through and say: “No point in sing [sic!] the whole thing, you might not buy the record.” Put your hand on my ­shoulder… But this is not Dino, this is Elvis. While Elvis is with us always, Dino returns only at Christmas time. Who was it, was it Pravdan Devlahović who said it (first)? I don’t remember. What I remember is that at some point

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I wasn’t sure any longer whether those words and ­images were circulating for real, or I had a dream about them which now strikes me as a kind of déjà vu or foresight, an awareness of something before you see it, the ­ability to see something from the past in its full Technicolor glory4 Of course, this sensation may have been evoked by substitution, a procedure that defines both metonymy and a kind of confusion of categories in dreams where a house can become two legs can become a word can become ­yellow. Unlike the metonymy in poetry, which still leads to a metaphor or a symbol, the memory construed by a dream is concrete, which makes it all the more virtual, real but not actualized. I will dance (live) (shop) (stroll) so that every ­movement (payment) (step) I perform (walk), I never really ­perform (live) (pay) to the full, but interrupt with ­another movement (payment). I will not attempt to connect these interruptions. With the parts of my moving body ­(apartment) (shop’s architecture) (path) I won’t form lines and planes; I will imagine that lines and planes have perpetually existed in this space (park). I will work (live) (shop) with (in) multiple (shop departments) parts of my body (apartment) simultaneously. I will not give in to inertia, but will ­impede it. I will not explore construction, but deconstruction of space into geometrical forms that strike me, speaking with contingency, from the ­exterior and ­motorise my body (habitation) (shopping). I will dance (pack my goods) (stroll) in the left-right-front-back ­directions, and in all combinations of those directions.5

4 The notion of prevision I owe to Liam Gillick, Prevision: Should the future help the past? See http://www.unitednationsplaza.org/readingroom/Gillick_Prevision.pdf 5 This text is a result of overlaying several texts performed in Memories…, where the words in brackets substitute each other in each of the texts.

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Substitution started at the very entrance, where the performers were directing the audience into the theatre hall. Each one was describing a different space with a radically different architecture, according to the function of the space that the audience was supposed to see, or rather imagine: a shopping mall, a cultural centre, an underground railway, a housing project. They were not ­arguing, but rather complementing each other, or ­deviating in a conjunctive way of adding “this… and then that…,” despite some funny matches or mismatches among their visions, or between these visions and the actual theatre hall we were standing in. By the end of that overture, the space had been overwritten and transcoded so many times that the audience could only have a generic memory of it. ­Perhaps the result was that kind of simultaneity or synchrony of images that is mobilised by new generic cities, which Rem Koolhaas has termed “memories of memories: if not all memories at the same time, then at least an abstract, token memory.”6 The same applies to a Dean Martin song, or a dialogue from Tarkovsky’s Stalker, or an album of intimate photos of strangers. The ­memory or even nostalgia we might feel is actually a nostalgia for nostalgia, which isn’t the same as recollecting the ­sensation of having had a sensation in the past, when you were affected by something. It is not a matter of loss or the victimhood of ephemerality that performance takes pride in. In memory, time can slip into a future-past. Films and music, or some of their historical genres, but also the home-media like TV, home-video, and photos, exercise that power of foresight, partaking in the sensorial with no reference to the lived and the personal. I have never been in the 1950s or to the Grand Canyon, but I can evoke the way it feels. Did you read Karl May when you were a child?

6

Quoted from the projection in Memories…

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“Give me a problem” spells out as: “Give me a concept, then!”, precisely because the concept is not given as a regulative idea or a proposition for the state of affairs or the possibilities of knowing. For instance, there is no pursuit of the essence of memory, or of our capacity of inferring about it. “The concept is the contour, the configuration, the constellation of an event to come”, Deleuze and Guattari wrote (WP: 32), because it extracts an event from the existing situation and sets up a new event at the same time: a cross-cutting of a new situation. The conceptual methodology in choreographic practice usually assumes working out certain concepts that have been borrowed from a meta-linguistic discourse of theory (cf. “language”, “text”, “deconstruction”, “becoming”, “body without organs,” etc.). But in BADco., concepts are never represented, they are the events of problems, the ­expressive concepts. The construction amounts to invisible procedures, providing occasions for the spectator to make connections. Procedures are never demonstrated as knowledge that is aware of itself. For instance, when Krešimir Mikić and Sergej Pristaš perform a refracted ­dialogue of answers in Memories…, which acts as questions generating new questions, we don’t know that they are not talking to each other, that the questions are invented on the spot, as a consequence of answers obtained in a previously conducted interview. This “disjunctive ­synthesis” is probably at work in their movements as well: the performers pull out opposite points or strokes of lines in an often contrary motion. Movement doesn’t separate from the body or lead beyond it; instead, the body is glued to it, as a delayed tracking volume of the body in space. The text on the screen reads: The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. These connections necessarily pass through affections and perceptions, but what is expressed is not the chain of

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many causes, the destination of which should be the target of analysis/exegesis by the spectator, but the power of thinking, equal to the power of existing in the spectator: renewed or expressed. “Give me a concept” screams for:

“Give me an audience!” We might even start a new text here, one that would concentrate solely on the way in which the space and the audience are constitutive for BADco.; or maybe it is the reverse? The etymology of theatre defines it as a show established by having a witness in the audience ­(teatron). The role of “reception” has been widely stretched nowadays to include the notions of “spectatorship”, which emphasizes the scopic regime of perception, and “participation”, which overstates the social part to be rehearsed. I wouldn’t exaggerate in claiming that with BADco. it is neither a matter of “participation” nor of “activation”. The audience is being constituted, or rather implicated. Solo Me (2003), a virtual duet of two actual intertwining solos, unfolds in a square arena of audience. The auditorium isn’t just a frame, it is a tactile springboard for movement, a mirror of glances to exchange, a recorder of ears to be whispered in. Nikolina Pristaš and Pravdan Devlahović have developed a manner of approaching the audience by offering them something they didn’t ask for. Nikolina stops before just any spectator and starts snapping her fingers: “What does it mean?” With Nikolina still snapping her fingers, the woman ­r eplies: “I don’t know.”

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Nikolina responds by snapping her fingers once again from the opposite direction: “I don’t know either, but here it comes again.” Addressing dissolves as an act and becomes a cynical provocation, hijacking the audience. It implicates them in a kind of co-composition. In Fleshdance (2005), the ­audience is sitting at an intimidatingly close distance from a wide white wall. Watching the three dancers hinge the horizontal (floor) and the vertical surface (wall) by movement can dismantle the organism in favour of the body, of flesh and nerve, only if the gaze acts as a camera: literally framing and deframing a composition of figures, body parts, or wave-flows, traversing the tension between the bone and the flesh. A careful analysis of spaces, their uses, and spatialisation in BADco.’s projects would be needed. I have only suggested a conditioning between audience and spatial set-ups so far. However, something can be established as a principle: partly due to the fact of not having a regular hosting theatre, BADco. is always migrating within its own city. This deprivation enforces quite an affirmative, proactive approach. Instead of getting bored (and boring others) with a critical routine question: “What is the readymade dispositif of the situation we are invited to?” or “How should the territory be de-territorialized (and re-territorialized)?” – BADco. has integrated space as the first component into a situation where transformation should issue from. Deleted Messages (2005) plays up the audience involvement in space to an extreme proportion: there’s nothing to thematise, everything to include! A discreetly delineated territory is inhabited by both the performers and the audience, which simulates a quarantine (the performance

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usually takes place in abandoned shipyards or factories). The system where each performer performs his or her own material within a pre-given framework of five para­meters (the genetic matrix was imported from Funktionen by the German choreographer Thomas Lehmen, which designate the type of movement, space, manner, image, and relation towards people and objects in space) encourages ­exchanges and mutual infections among the materials/ performers. The particular meets the singular: while the performers, starting from their own particular movement/ action materials, are heading towards the genesis of a shared code (all five parameters shared by all the performers) – as Niklas Luhmann would claim that only complexity (of mutations) can reduce complexity (leading to a new code) – the audience is organizing itself in moving about the space at their will. The interaction between self-organization (operation + observation of the audience) and “soft” control (surveillance through screening all movements as the collective behaviour of swarm intelligence) gives birth to singular contacts. Here, approaching the audience means investigating the collective/singular behaviour in regard to attention. There is a political sense in ­identifying attention with response: if “attending” is translated as “responding”, then responsibility becomes less of a duty and more of an ability to respond. If BADco. engages in a politics of attention, then it is identifying attention with a degree of power expressed in one’s capacity/disposition to be affected (acted upon) in plenty of ways.

Aesthetically unburdened The fact that BADco. is sometimes regarded as a theater collective, and other times as a dance company can be accounted for by a lack of burden of questions in Western legacy of modernism, a certain de-linking from Western modernism and its colonial discourse of many ­experimental

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art practices in former Yugoslavia At the notion of “aesthetic burden” I arrived by trying to explain myself the function and language of choreography in BADco.‘ s performances. Questions like “why do you dance?” and “why do you dance this” or “like this”, BADco. were often addressed, imply that “this” be read in comparison with a style or an idiom, an arrest of image on which to hook a meaning or conceptual determination of any kind. When the answers seem unsatisfactory – because “this is like Forsythe” or “this is conceptual dance” does not reveal the operation of this choreography – the very function of choreography in its mimetic logic is questioned. “My movement adequates an idea” (adequates isn’t the same as translate or exemplify), it poses a problem, I paraphrase Nikolina Pristaš, dancer and choreographer from BADco. Does this entail instrumentalizing choreography against its autonomy? Does it mean rethinking and practicing choreography as an instrument to pose and solve problems, which wouldn’t only be specific to dance, but would exceed the disciplinary? The choreography is called Changes (2006) by Nikolina Pristaš and BADco., and entails a transformation of environ­ ments of limited visibility that the audience is part of. ­Being physically part of it – like in this homogeneous ­purple light block – means being implicated in the problem that this performance poses: being in the relationship between parasites and environment. According to Michel Serres, for a parasite to seize control, it has to clear the space from other parasites; it needs to eradicate noise for the message to pass through silence. Serres’s “parasite” is a trope for Pristaš to first pose a specifically choreographic problem, but in such a way that it then immediately transmutes into a political ­concern. The problem addresses the double articulation of noise and message, or more specifically to dance, noise and gesture in movement. Dancing in this choreography develops in constant

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fluctuation between gestures and noise, or those other movements that tend to obscure the channel of communication. As Pristas describes, at one point dance is just humming in the space (the word “noise” in Serbo-Croatian isn’t just the antonym of “sound”, the way Cage puts it, but it also means “humming”). Figures merge with the environment, constituting a shimmering background in magenta light. Dancers spin in pirouettes for 4 minutes 33 seconds and longer. Movements as noise don’t produce cognitive meaning, but have intensity and effect. Parallel to dancing, a voice-over delivers a stream of text, a verbal channel through which various anecdotes and observations spin around the fable about the ant and the grasshopper, about labor and leisure, work and laziness. These stories diagrammatically expand as the fable-­p arasite devours them, one of which is the famous anti-May1968 speech by the leader of French ants (clearly, Sarkozy). While the voice-over runs as a smooth message, dance physically labors in the space. At a certain moment, a dancer speaks out the following text: “I am not a charismatic person. I am a hard worker, a pragmatic and a good ant. I beat all my competitors with work, love and kindness. My message to my rivals is that they can fight against me only with more work, love and kindness. All those poor fellows cannot knock down what I can build. The ant tried to persuade the cricket: I am the humblest ant in the world. There are not many like that. You show me another one in the ant hill who works as much as I do and who is willing to sacrifice 16 hours a day and 363 days a year like me. I don’t think there are many like that. You tell me if you know one if you are claiming that there is such an ant. Inside me emotions are not dead, I am not crude pragmatic and a politician, sterile and castrated. I am still an ant.”

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This touching portrait of the dancer as a hardworking ant echoes what Andrew Hewitt pointed out in his ­brilliant ­theory of “social choreography” – the dark side of the ideology of freedom operating in dance, or how the modern dance subject who experiences her truth in her own body becomes the best workforce always ready for exploitation under the banner of experience. To pose the problem in dance of labor and leisure, Changes explores movement in its efficiency of communication, and its opacity of meaning. Changes is a choreography that instrumentalizes its own means for positing a problem that might not only concern the discipline of dance. But to do that, it must dissociate itself from a certain modernist ­notion of dance and its aesthetic burden. Symptomatically, the opacity of Changes earned labels of being conceptual with too much dancing as yet, or the contrary, of being “underrehearsed”, paying too little attention to the body. This criticism fails to understand that this messy, nervous and hurried movement without idiomatic unity or signature, is indifferent to the aesthetic demands. The choreography of Changes is simply aesthetically unburdened. Unburderning from the principle of the aesthetic in ­Western dance demands the right of dance to denaturalize. This calls for many points of resistance, resistance to the natural, free&creative, to fluency and effortlessness, to entertaining a necessary relation to form, to the self-­ actualization of the dancer, but also the self-actualization of her community of spectators. All these could perhaps be subsumed under the mimetic logic of image, vision and visibility, as well as clarity, understanding, and judgment. Perhaps, choreographing community ought to be rethought as choreographing an assembly, where the theater dispositif equals the parliamentary, representational procedures for assembling. There are many ways of gathering, and choreography must explore conditions for spectators to construct their positions and perspectives in

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the situation. The performances of BADco. are choreographies in that sense. It will never suffice to approach them from a medium-specific perspective, trying to locate the “what’s contemporary” interest of theater or dance about them, because this is simply not what they sell. Instead, they give the audience a problem to engage with, and this involves experimentation and work on both sides. To conclude these notes, I would like to stress that what distinguishes BADco. from many contemporaries they share intellectual affinity and sophistication with is a political confidence in the intellectual and sensorial capacities of the spectators. Zero cynicism – quiet, spirited force.

B ojana C vejić holds PhD in philosophy (C entre for R esearch in Modern European Philosophy, L ondon) and MA and BA in musicology (University of A rts , B elgrade). S he is lecturer at Utrecht University, and contemporary dance schools (P.A.R.T.S. B russels etc .) and works as theorist and performance maker in E urope . A uthor , dramaturg or performer in many works since 2000 with a .o. J. R itsema , X. L e Roy, E. S alamon , M. Ingvartsen, C. D e S medt. C vejić is member of the editorial collective TkH (Walking Theory) from B elgrade.

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BAD 16 A p r i l

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S kogen , G ot h en b u r g

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Neither You Nor Me is a co-operation be -tween Anders Paulin and Anders Mossling. The work is structured as an umbrella project, exploring a number of modes and methods to use the narrative as interface between different fields and practices. 2012-2013 we performed with invited guests at MDT/Stockholm, Black Box/ Oslo, Cafeフ》eatret & The Danish Academy of Performing Arts/Copenhagen and at Skogen/Gothenburg.

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intro

For 25 years we, Anders M and Anders P, have been working together, one as actor and the other as director. In Neither You Nor Me together we enter a journey through the narratives of Sophocle´s Antigone, Eschenbach´s Parzival and Melville´s Bartleby. The first material presents a number of dialectic positions – man/woman, king/citizen, law/religion – and the second is an invitation to follow the movement from singularity to ­s ubjectivity. The third story investigates the potential of ­d oing nothing at all. Together the stories form the foundation for a serie of examinations of the stage as a venue for, and encounters between, equal subjectivities; an arena for production of difference rather than identity, where participants and audience together can build imaginations of the infinite amount of potential existences, lives and destinies that isn’t our own. The basic idea is simple: two individuals with identical references – age, background, gender, field - meet each other on stage in the act of storytelling; in acceptance and appreciation of the fact that we never will be able to share each others perspectives, or create an identity between them. The staged body here, rather than being the representation of a certain identity, is trying out positions and perspectives, supporting the imagining act of the audience. The story is given the function of an interface, the membrane that both separates and connects the individuals reading/interpreting it. In the same way, we contextualize the face as an inter-face; defining both the outside and the inside, the surface that activates a machine producing communication and exchange of meaning, rather than communicating a finalized meaning in itself.

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ONE

The objective of the project is to examine an updated toolbox for theatre. By merging methods and strategies together with guests from different fields, we aim to develope alternatives to traditional methods based on identity and mimesis, focusing on listening rather than understanding, and thus more suited to meet the needs of a postnational world. Love is never directed toward this or that property of the loved one (being blond, being small, being tender, being lame), but neither does it neglect the properties in favor of an insipid generality (universal love): The lover wants the loved one with all of its predicates, its being such as it is. The lover desires the as only insofar as it is such–this is the lover’s particular fetishism. Whatever adds to singularity only an emptiness, only a threshold: Whatever is a singularity plus an empty space, a singularity that is finite and, nonetheless, indeterminable according to a concept. But a singularity plus an empty space can only be a pure exteriority, a pure exposure. Whatever, in this sense, is the event of an outside. It is important here that the notion of the “outside” is expressed in many European languages by a word that means “at the door” (fores in Latin is the door of the house, thyrathen in Greek literally means “at the threshold”). The outside is not another space that resides beyond a ­determinate space, but rather, it is the passage, the exteriority that gives it access – in a word, it is its face, its eidos.

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TWO a Furchtlos bleibt aber, so er es muß, der Mann Einsam vor Gott, es schützet die Einfalt ihn, Under keiner Waffen braucht und keiner Listen, so lange, bis Gottes Fehl´ hilft. b But when it is necessary man remains without fear Before God, simplicity protects him, And he needs neither arms nor guile Until God´s default helps him a Very good. b It´s Hölderlin, isn´t it? a Yes. ”The Poet´s Vocation”. The last verse is very strange. Hölderlin first wrote: ”so lange der Gott nicht da ist” - as long as God is not there b So God is missing. a Yes. And then he wrote: ”so lange der Gott uns nahe ist” - as long as God is near... b So God is near. a Yes. The final version of the line contradicts the other two. It is no longer the presence of God, but the absence of God that comforts man. It´s strange. But true.

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Three

The face is not an envelope exterior to the person who speaks, thinks, or feels. The form of the signifier in language, even its units, would remain indeterminate if the potential listener did not use the face of the speaker to guide his or her choices (“Hey, he seems angry ...”; “He couldn’t say it...”; “You see my face when I’m talking to you ...”; “look at me carefully...”). Faces are not basically individual; they define zones of frequency or probability, delimit a field that neutralizes in advance any expressions or connections unamenable to the appropriate significations. The face itself is redundancy. The face constructs the wall that the signifier needs in order to bounce off of; it constitutes the wall of the signifier, the frame or screen. The face digs the hole that subjectification needs in order to break through; it constitutes the black hole of subjectivity as consciousness or passion, the camera, the third eye. Sometimes faces appear on the wall, with their holes; sometimes they appear in the hole, with their linearized, rolled-up wall. A horror story, the face is a horror story. It is certain that the signifier does not construct the wall that it needs all by itself; it is certain that subjectivity does not dig its hole all alone. Concrete faces cannot be assumed to come ready-made. They are engendered by an abstract machine of faciality, which produces them at the same time as it gives the signifier its white wall and subjectivity its black hole. Thus the black hole/white wall system is, to begin with, not a face but the abstract machine that produces faces ­according to the changeable combinations of its cogwheels.

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“I no longer look into the eyes of the woman I hold in my arms but I swim through, head and arms and legs, and I see that behind the sockets of the eyes there is a region unexplored, the world of futurity, and here there is no logic whatsoever... I have broken the wall... My eyes are useless, for they render back only the image of the known. My whole body must become a constant beam of light, moving with an ever greater rapidity, never arrested, never looking back, never dwindling.... Therefore I close my ears, my eyes, my mouth.” Do not expect the abstract machine to resemble what it produces, or will produce. The abstract machine crops up when you least expect it, at a chance juncture when you are just falling asleep, or into a twilight state or hallucinating, or doing an amusing physics experiment     White wall/black hole. There is nothing to explain, nothing to interpret. It is the pure abstract machine of a twilight state.

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Four

Everything rests here on the mode in which the passage from potentiality to act comes about. The symmetry between the potentiality to be and the potentiality to not-be is, in ­e ffect, only apparent. In the potentiality to be, potentiality has as its object a certain act, in the sense that for it being-in-act can only mean passing to a determinate activity. As for the potentiality to not-be, on the other hand, the act can never consist of a simple transition. It is a potentiality that has as its object potentiality itself. Only a power that is capable of both power and impotence, then, is the supreme power. If every power is equally the power to be and the power to not-be, the passage to action can only come about by transporting in the act its own power to not-be. This means that, even though every pianist necessarily has the potential to play and the potential to not-play, Glenn Gould is, however, the only one who can not not-play, and – directing his potentiality not only to the act but to his own impotence – he plays with his potential to not-play. While his ability simply negates and abandons his potential to not-play, his mastery conserves and exercises in the act not his potential to play, but rather his potential to not-play.

C redits: Giorgio Agamben (from The C oming C ommunity) Jean -L uc G odard/Maurice B lanchot (from L e Mépris) Gilles D eleuze & Felix G uattari (from A thousand Plateaux) G raphic D esign: Signe B ecker

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Tor Lindstrand

The Walkable City Prologue

The construction of a colour space. The first part is always the most difficult. I am from the future. Thank you so much for inviting me to this ­presentation. I thought before coming that I would probably speak at the city hall or at some university, so it comes as kind of a surprise that I am here, in a kind of art venue? I guess this says something important about your culture, your times. I am here today to tell you about the City. The City I live in, the City you live in, the City of today and the City of the future. I am here to tell you about documents that have become very important for us in the future; the Comprehensive plan. This legally binding document was adopted by the City Council in February 2009. This Comprehensive plan, this vision for the city, became the starting point for the future. For the City I live in, and the City where your grandchildren and grand-grand­c hildren will live. In order to help you better understand what the future is like, I will use a colour space and an exercise to help you better envision what the future is like. The color space operates by accessing your brain with a direct link to your visual cortex. It works a bit like the barcodes you use when you shop in the supermarket, information embedded in an image. Instead of using a machine to decode the information the colour space operates by direct access to your brain. By placing specific colours on very precise

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locations in a three-dimensional space it is possible to stimulate your brain waves and your subconscious so that an extremely vivid real time memory occurs. It is as if you were actually there. So, just to be clear, if you do not see anything here tonight. It is OK; there is nothing wrong with the set-up of the colours pace. It is you. You are not living in the future yet. You are not ready. It still works though, as you will carry these image-memories with you always. Just because you can’t access it on a conscious level, does not mean it doesn’t exist. Next the exercise. This is just a small thing I would like you to do with me. It will help you to understand. It will work as a guide through the rest of the presentation. New position. Take a deep breath. Let your hands rest on your side, or in your lap. Relax. Close your eyes. Let’s start

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The Walkable City part I These are some of the most important excerpts from The ­Comprehensive Plan.

Marketing 1. Back in those days competition among cities and regions were increasing, which made marketing and profiling ­increasingly important. International recognition was at the time relatively low. The City was sometimes linked with views and values that did not correspond with reality. It became important to consistently market the City through symbols and conceptual projects. 2. The vision of a world-class city was all about creating a vibrant and growing city that mixed different functions. The model often used for this was the intensive urban environment of the inner city, with its diverse range of housing, workplaces. 3. The officials at the city planning office developed spectacular, momentous projects in conjunction with other players, such as building companies, real estate agencies and the tourist industry. These projects made the

­ ision clear and worked like ­symbols v for the City of the future, it also included other developments like matching job-seekers with the needs of companies, integration projects and the city’s quality initiatives. 4. Cultural life had developed into one of the cornerstones of the region’s branding strategies. The City’s cultural life featured strong institutions, extensive local cultural activities, a dynamic cultural climate in all artistic areas and a growing number of festivals. The region was not only the centre of the cultural industry but also the home of publishers, music companies and designers. 5. In an increasingly internationalised world, a people-friendly urban environ­ ment, a rich variety of housing and workplaces, well-developed ­services and a broad range of culture and entertainment had become ever more important in gaining a competitive advantage. The attractive metropolis had reconstructed itself to become a stronger brand.

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Business 1. Back in those days the most important issue was to meet the need of the business world for skilled labour and improved communications. ­Another priority task was to promote and develop urban landscape into a good city with a high quality of life, so that workers would want to live and work here. 2. The assets in these nodes, in the form of shops, housing, sporting ­facilities and proximity to nature, were improved, helping to create a greater well being and a safer, more vibrant living environment across the city. 3. In these times of globalisation, the economy had become increasingly dependent on trade with the rest of the world. The reasons for this were usually described as a combination of market forces, technical advances and political decisions on deregulation. This created an increased competition between different regions, particularly since large corporations were becoming less and less dependent on, and rooted in, what used to be their home region.

4. The city needed to prepare itself for a major increase in the number of workplaces. From this perspective, a long-term focus on nodes was of strategic importance for the City to reconfigure itself as a business city. The range of nodes with different ­profiles and varied architecture offered exciting new opportunities for the business community. More ­workplaces also created a positive knock-on effect towards an urban environment that was even more dynamic. 5. Investments in education, from the first years of school to research at a high academic level, provided the region with a skilled labour force that few others could match. Careful monitoring and follow-up mean that no student left compulsory school without good basic knowledge. There was an extensive selection of schools with various focuses, and they met the needs of children with special talents. This was one of the reasons that so many businesses choose to establish operations here. 6. This was in a time when the region had managed to successfully embrace globalisation. This can be seen in the

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comparative analysis presented by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. The region’s businesses were more knowledge ­intensive and the service sector larger than in other parts of the country and there were several well-established clusters. However, there were strong indications that competition was likely to become even tougher in core industries such as information and communications technology (ICT), biomedicine, ­finance and environmental

technology. To meet this challenge the city played an important role in promoting a good business climate, so that companies were able to compete under these tougher conditions, and so that the region remained an attractive place to relocate to. 7. The market for business-related services also expanded ­significantly. ­Demand was high for lawyers, accountants, economists, hotels and

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shops. Overall, the region offered favourable conditions for the development and commercialisation of innovations. It featured high-quality education and research systems, a dynamic business community and venture ­capital. Ideas evolved into new products and services. New companies sprang up from this highly ­innovative environment, and existing ones strengthened their competitiveness. 8. To make the vision a reality, it was essential to have shared goals and partnerships between the city, public-­s ector players and the ­business community. The new state sector governance became more ­flexible and harmonised, particularly for the ­application of planning and ­c onstruction legislation.

Infrastructure 1. The city’s conclusion was that there was a need for long-term and collective development work, with the focus not only on the individual ­districts, but also on how the different parts of the city relate to one another and above all how the labour ­market could become more integrated. With

these issues as a starting point, alongside a joint development work for the ­southern outer city, work on the ­vision had finally begun. 2. The people of the City moved over ever greater geographic areas to shop, work, go to school, meet friends and so on. As well as journeys into the inner city, an increasing number of people needed to move between different destinations in the outer city and beyond the city boundaries. Poor cross-city public transport links and physical barriers in the form of roads and unsafe areas made this type of journeys difficult. To make daily life work, the car had become a necessity for many households. Those who did not have a car, particularly young people and women, were therefore affected harder by the poor links across the outer city. 3. Much of the fear of crime could ­usually be put down to a fear of unknown people and places. Research indicated that residents of the inner city often believed the suburbs to be dangerous, while people living in the suburbs felt that the inner city was dangerous. Greater integration between the various parts of the city

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thus promoted a greater feeling of safety and social cohesion. 4. A safe urban environment was highly valued and the goal for this underpinned all urban planning. Many, particularly women and older people, used to worry about being victims of crime and felt unsafe in their neighbourhood after dark. This anxiety had consequences for daily life. It could, for example, mean taking long detours, not going to the cinema or choose to take a taxi late at night. 5. Tackling the issue of safety was, in many ways, a matter of ­c reating a sense of security in the local ­c ommunity as well as in populated public spaces and environments. More ­vibrant street-level retail spaces had a positive effect on the feeling of safety. Physical measures and upgrades to increase the sense of security were implemented in many parts of the city, including within the framework of specific integration ­projects in the outer city. 6. Another key factor was the development of parks and green spaces, especially since less valuable green

areas had been sacrificed to urban renewal. Starting points for planning included incorporating parks and green spaces as elements in the urban environment and took into account the fact that the attractiveness of green spaces depended more on the functions they provided, their design and their accessibility, rather than on their size.

Social Construction 1. People with similar backgrounds and interests tended to live close to one another, and many ­inhabitants lived separate lives from those ­different from themselves. In ­order to ­increase social integration, it became ­important to develop more shared meeting places, where people with different backgrounds could see and meet one another in the natural course of their day. 2. The social perspective of planning was strengthened on a neighbourhood level. Proposed changes was analysed from a social perspective.

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had increased over many years, but so had the disparities between different groups in society. One of the region’s greatest challenges was to provide all people with equal life chances, not least in the labour market, where the City had been less successful than many other places. It became imperative to make better use of this reserve of labour in order to secure long-term growth. There used to be huge differences between districts and between the inner and outer city. Factors such as education, income level and ethnic background were clearly reflected in the pattern of housing. Certain areas with mainly detached housing and some districts in the outer city had a population that was socially far from diverse.

3. A focus on new, high-class ­residential environments, together with high quality neighbourhood schools, had a bearing on the reputation of these neighbourhoods and promoted a ­p ositive development in a wider sense. Several of the nodes used to have a relatively homogenous range of housing. More varied ­housing ­attracted more consumers and ­provided increased opportunities for an upward housing mobility within a single district. 4. The City was quite sparsely ­populated in comparison with other major cities. The plot ratio was highest in the dense built environment of the inner city. There were, of course, dense centres of population in other parts of the region, but these were only ­limited areas of the suburbs. The conclusion was that there was ­c onsiderable potential for increasing density in large parts of the City and that ­greater density could help to create a more vibrant environment in line with the city’s vision. 5. As in other major cities, there were significant social and economic differences across the region. Prosperity

6. A number of municipal and national integration projects targeted many of the areas that were expanded during the Million Programme. The enormous home-building drive in the 1960s and 1970s. These integration projects led to positive changes, for example in an upgrading of the urban environment, but evaluations of the projects found it difficult to identify any lasting improvements.

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7. The urban fabric was developed into a city with many centres. The ­historical division between city centre and suburbs, neighbourhoods made up of houses and of multi-family dwellings, bedroom communities and workplace areas were dismantled. Different forms of tenure became more mixed. Various projects that improved the reputations of previously ­segregated areas were implemented, turning them into some of the city’s most

attractive areas. All construction focused on integration. The city also cooperated with associations and the business community so that ­people could learn the new language, find a job and feel at home in their new ­c ulture. The City’s natural pre-­ conditions were taken care of in a groundbreaking way. Active cooperation between the city, property owners, businesses, citizens and the police made the City the cleanest and safest city in the world.

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8. The central parts of the region also stood apart in terms of the mix of housing and workplaces. In other urban districts housing dominated, which related to the focus of earlier urban planning to separate functions from one another. Although there were significant business areas in most parts of the City, the situation was a long way off the goal of a mixed city. 9. Specific investments were made to build housing with simpler standards and lower housing costs, to ensure that people gained access to the housing market. The broad variety of housing made it possible to choose between different forms of housing throughout the city. The city became a place without physical or social barriers. There used to be a lot of ­discussions on how to make careers, careers in living conditions, moving up an imaginary property ladder. It became essential to keep moving, not to get too rooted. Not the flatline on the path to progress. Not to ­produce history together with locality, too resist localism. Through a series of projects and cross-sector routes, the city’s districts became linked with each other. Where major

traffic routes before prevented ­people from moving between different areas, tunnels were built and over-­ decking projects were constructed. All of the city’s districts featured a mix of housing, companies, culture and services. This applied particularly to the downtown area, where additional housing was added, and in the North and South districts, which was enriched with exciting workplaces, new row houses, single-family dwellings and tenant-owned apartments. The investments were possible thanks to a broad regional consensus and new financing solutions in cooperation with the state and the private sector. Infrastructure projects could from now on be implemented much more quickly.

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The Walkable City part II Epilogue These were some excerpts from The Comprehensive Plan, the City Plan that in February 2009 became the official guiding document for the p ­ lanning of the City. From here on I will go through some examples, trying to give you a better understanding of what kind of environment the future has become. What world your visions for the future ended up creating. The first examples are about you, about your generation, about your times. 1. You still believe that you live in the era of information. That your technologies are about producing, organizing and distributing information. You are wrong. You live in the era of attention; it is not you who consume information. It is information that consumes you. 2. You are still obsessed with objects; your whole culture has been founded on the economy of stuff. This is no longer true; just look at yourself. All that cheap cotton you are dragging around. It is so primitive. Disgusting. You live in an age of phantom pains; the object-based economy is running on fumes. You are already in the f­ uture, you all feel it, but you can’t see it yet.

3. As the famous philosopher Britney Spears put it: “There’s only two types of people in the world, the ones that entertain and the ones that observe.” 4. The only resource that is rare is attention. In a world were things and information comes in endless supplies, the only thing there is never enough of is the attention of human minds. What is the point using energy too produced what is never used, never looked at, never consumed. So how do you survive in an economy of attention? Get as many as possible to spend time on something you have produced. Become rich by being really good at spending time. Learn to focus

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and direct your attention, and you can become a professional consumer. Attention is the currency of the future. 5. In these times all transactions are managed through a very efficient, fluid and pure system of consumption. There are of course still things. The physical layer of reality still exists. It’s just that it doesn’t really matter. It is, I would ­imagine, a bit like your relationship to dirt? Yes of course you can use it to make a cup, or a vase. Or even cultivate it and plant something in it. But why should you? 6. You have to live the paradox of stuff. The stuff you dig out of the earth’s crust becomes, in an information economy, less important than the information that informs it, what you think about the stuff. The more you think about that information, the more you understand about stuff, the more real the stuff becomes. So from this perspective, the more you see that style matters more than substance, the more you see the vital role, the vitality, of substance. It is like a double hunger, by being

obsessed, staring at the surface; we become more and more overcome by a desire for the real to exist. Each needs the other. The Real thing is the real thing. 7. I feel very fine, I feel very b ­ uoyant and light and resilient. I have a feeling that my hands are not ­r esting against this chair. I see flashes of colour, quit a bit; it seems to have an awful amount of complements of violet and ­yellow. I assume it is grey. I have a ­wavering tendency. A very pleasant feeling of nausea. The pulsation becomes more intelligent; the floor feels like I am watching it. Somehow, I try to rescue myself from the idea that there are so many realities here. I feel like an observer. This is purple isn’t it? It seems to me that I can’t seem to say what I want to say. I like to find out which reality I am in. This feeling comes over me of the singing, of angels. I want to feed this feeling of joy. I feel like I am not myself, I am like a lot of other ­people. They are all better than me. 8. These are the rules of survival in the Attention-Economy:

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- Build attention traps. Create value by manipulating the ruling attention structures. Judo, not brute force, gets the best results. Conceptual artists did this as a joke. Do it for business.

touch with that audience. The customer is always right. No Olympian artistic ego need apply. - Turn the “masterpiece psych­ ology” of conventional art upside down:

- Understand the logic of the ­centripetal gaze and how to profit from it.

1. Mass-production not skilled handwork

- Draw your inspiration from your audience not your muse. Keep in

2. Mass-audience not ­connoisseurship

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“My work has no future at all. I know that. A few years from now, my work will mean nothing.”

minimize the negative impact of the market economy. The city was actively trying to counter economic segregation through rent control and large investments in housing and infrastructure. City planning was based on the dream of a better society, on the possibilities that we could become better as humans, more decent in relation to each other. This was wrong. It was a fundamental misunderstanding of how capital works. It had no future. It could not be allowed to have a future.

9. This is why the Comprehensive Plan was so important. Before The Comprehensive plan cities were based on the needs of its citizens, this was in a time when politicians still talked about housing as a fundamental right. Public space was created as a pre-emptive strike against fascism; through planning and design a formula for a truly democratic city was being developed. Public buildings were erected to facilitate a sense of collective belonging. Whole systems planned to accumulate knowledge as well financial wealth, and dispersed for the common good. The city was re-organized in order to

10. So we had to get rid of architecture, or at least in the way you understand it. Architecture kept people apart, but this was not really a problem. The important thing was that Architecture brought people together. Being such a slow medium it had the capacity to carry hope through time. Architecture resisted change, often by just being really difficult to get rid of, but also because it could make people get attached to a place without it ­having any economical value. Sometimes the built environment even resisted attempts to be commercialised. It embodied struggle.

3. Trendiness not t­ imelessness 4. Repetition not rarity - Objects don’t matter. Conceptual art gets you ­nowhere. Create stuff you can sell. - Live in the present. That’s where value is added. Don’t build your house in eternity.

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It was not trustworthy. Even if you built it entirely as something else, it could suddenly transform into a symbol for something completely different. Architecture was too predictable in one situation, just to turn around and become totally un­predictable in the next. Architecture was too much of a risk. So we started to construct The Compre­ hensive Plan, a homogenous environment that can transform itself in an instant. The Comprehensive Plan was developed in order to perfectly align with any possible economical reality. A hyperflexible structure that flickers, extends, subtracts, offsets, trims, splines and mirror copies itself into ­anything it needs to be. 11. The society of your times can be understood to have been operating according to a three-tier model. On the micro-level it worked by individualization, by producing individuality in the form of sexed, desiring subjects that was increasingly endowed with a depth to be deciphered. On the macro-level we saw the emergence of population, a statistical phenomenon, which is to say individuals as they appeared in health, birth and mor-

tality rates. Between there was and intermediary link, the family as the site of exchange between individuality and collectivity. On all three levels, life became the object of regulation and discipline. The traditional city was one such institution of discipline. 12. At the same time an opposite force inside life itself emerged, a condition of possibilities, each with the attempt to extract a different life from the monitoring and correctional apparatus. This emerging force of resistance meant that every disciplinary diagram was met by a swarm of counteractions that overflow it. As an example we could see that hospitals were abandoned in favour of the medicalization of urban space. Architecture as a mimetic paradigm comes to an end, from here on architecture starts to understand itself as a system for the ordering and production of space instead of as representation of a pre-existing order, natural, cosmic, or other. Architecture from now on work as a set of fluid conditions, constantly ­fluctuating, forecasting future p ­ robabilities and adapting. Architecture no

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longer apply to a fixed state, but relates to a series of future events. The city becomes a system that attempts to plan an environment, or “milieu” in relation to a set of possible events. 13. In these days we live in a classless society. This does not mean that social oppression does not exist. On the contrary, social competition, what you call class struggle, is the essence of our economic existence, our reality. It is just that identity has been broken down into such small particles, almost to an atomic level. I ­ dentity has become so differentiated, that it has become difficult to talk about group formations in a way you could understand. This means that it has become impossible for any kind of solidarity to exist. The foundation for solidarity is that we recognize something of ourselves in the encounter with others. In these times we are so far apart, that we are all exactly the same. Systematic freedom. 14. I am one with everything. I am… I can see everything in colour. You have to see the air, you can’t

­ elieve it, and the dimensions and b the rays and it is all coming down to you and moving. What is ­pleasant and unpleasant? It is all present. It is too beautiful. Can’t you feel it? It is so beautiful and lovely and alive. You shouldn’t say anything about anything, this, this is reality. If you look right over there. Are you looking, can you see? I wish I could talk in Technicolor or let you see, did you say you could see it? Its. I can’t tell you about it. If you can’t see it you will just never know. I feel sorry for you. 15. Hundreds of years ago the ­architect Le Corbusier said –A City That Has Speed Has Success. He was wrong. Well, he was right of course, but he thought it was about cars. The fast pace of the car, of transportation, was just impossible to attach real commercial value to. It was too private, too shielded, too much speed through space. Instead we had to get space to move through us. All these streets full of - strolling, browsing, drifting – people. 16. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely stunning,

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at night, from the sky… “Looks good, doesn’t it?” It looks otherworldly – unreal – I feel like I’m on a giant film set. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” My blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my ­system. Oh my… I think I’m going to faint. My fate is in your hands. We are now amongst the ­buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall

skyscraper with a helipad on top. A word is painted in white on top of the building. It’s getting nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger… like my anxiety. 17. A cityscape full of human resources; so many encounters that can be commercialised in an indefinite numbers of ways. Every moment has a potential financial value. The city is organized in such a

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way to always optimize this value. Historic orders of work, division of labour and leisure time, family structures, ethnic backgrounds, cultural preferences. They kept us apart. It meant that the optimal possible productivity could never be realized. Spatial segregation, history of place and geo-political difference was a financial disaster. Instead of spatial segregation, we needed to invest in e ­ conomic segregation. The rich, the not so very rich and the poor need to live together. Everyone constantly on the move, engaged in a ­floating state of productivity. New workforce constellations always ready to put into operation. To fuel this continuum of progress; ­history had to be destroyed. Political diversity is expanding endlessly. Cultural differences are sub-­divided into more and more ­possible identities. The environment has been constructed in such a way that as many encounters as possible happen at any given moment. 18. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling

on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car. 19. The city was a rope hung between who we were and who we would become. By building, we moved as fast as we could away from what we were, towards what we would become.  20. (stop soundtrack) In these days, The Comprehensive Plan is in full effect. Progress is everywhere. Anything that holds it back is immediately removed. In order to succeed all obstacles for the smooth transition into the unknown have been dismantled. Only by doing this it is possible to create the exponential development that have become necessary for our survival. Instrumental is that we all agree on shared goals, integration, partnerships, coop-

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eration and collaboration. What before could take decades through political disagreements and struggle, can now easily be implemented and realized in weeks. Since we are all involved these procedures develop in real-time. Everything is diverse everywhere. Everyone and everything is integrated. It is a deeply democratic society. Not out of choice, but out of necessity. The three dimensions of space are incorporated with the dimension of time. Time and space can be freely exchanged. Everything can happen simultaneously in different s ­ paces and different times. We are all integrated and segregated at the same time. Everything is­­constantly in motion. A flow of continuous calibration. Searching for optimum conditions. The Future has arrived, and it is here forever.

Tor L indstrand

21. I feel that everyone here is ­conscious of this meeting. We will never be the same. An e ­ thereal negative, a nimbus around it with a lot of purple hues, a lot of yellows, greens. The background is moving into your face. I feel as though I have an entrance into an emotional life, and yet I can’t feel. I am anxious about the reality of it. This one seems much heavier, more positive. I feel these lovely colours ­vibrating all over me. It is shimmering, like water. It is just giving and, you don’t know. You want to give yourself. I feel as though I have no enemies in the world and this is very lovely, it is so fragile, delicate and lovely. It goes and comes you know. It is marvellous. I feel so happy.

is an architect living in

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Stockholm.


Teatro

de los

Sentidos

WEAVING GOTHENBURG 7–9 maj

Weaving Gothenburg är en workshop som fördjupar sig i sensorisk scenkonst, och som utgår från arbete med staden, platsen och minnet. Teatro de los ­Sentidos är baserat i Barcelona och leds av Enrique Vargas (Colombia). Genom att ofta arbeta i mörker och bygga stora labyrinter, vilka publiken leds igenom skapar Sentidos arbete utrymme för fantasi och ett lekfullt förhållande till rum, kropp och minne. Workshopen arrangerades i samarbete med Dansalliansen och Göteborgs Dans & Teater Festival.


Det handlar om Göteborg och Sverige som en öppning mot något annat, som en port mot en enorm mängd främmande världar, världar som liksom havet flyter in i vårt universum och både utmanar och utmanas, förändrar och förändras.

Ur Matilda Amundsen Bergströms

recension i

Tidningen Kulturen.


block 3 Johan Forsman & Johan Rödström i samarbete med Tomas Björkdal

skogen tar kinesiska mur en till skogen 18 + 19 maj

Introduction

@ Göteborgs Dans & Teater Festival

... glossary transcript

Vi låter restaurang Kinesiska Muren bli vår portal till en av stadens ­osynliga berättelser. Genom att träda in i rummet rör vi oss från stads­r ummets anonymitet ner i det ­specifika och personliga. I en buss tar vi oss sedan ut mot skogen; från det fysiska och fasta, till en plats där stadens arkitektur och vi själva för ett ögonblick svävar fritt.


B 03 review

skogen tar kinesiska muren till skogen

Hur påverkar främmande element den vardag vi känner oss så hemma i att vi knappt ens märker dess existens? Hur påverkar det människor att vara sådana främmande element i andra människors vardagsmiljö? Vad är det egentligen att känna sig hemma och hur mycket kan hemma förändras ­innan det blir något annat, vi några andra?

Ur Matilda Amundsen Bergströms

recension i

Tidningen Kulturen.


B03 glossary

skogen tar kinesiska muren till skogen

Arkitektur Spegelbild Utflykt Hörlurar Berättelser 1959 4 små rätter Kina Göteborg Skeppsbron Förvandlingar Take away Hemliga portaler Översättningar

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B 03 transcript

skogen tar kinesiska muren till skogen

JIMMI LIU: My name is Jimmi Liu, and I am born 1951 in Stockholm. My parents are Lui Wan Chong and Lui Chian Nin. My father comes from Beijing, my mother from Anhui. My father moved to Gothenburg 1959, bought the old restaurant Fenix, and renamed it Kinesiska Muren (The Wall of China). The restaurant is still there today at Skeppsbroplatsen 4. The Fenix restaurant was rather dark and drab, and my father couldn’t do much about the interior. He just put some red Chinese lamps, with tassels, and he hanged some Chinese paintings on the walls. That was all he did. And that’s how it became a Chinese restaurant. I remember that - I was nine at the time – I went to the restaurant after school to play or interpret something. I thought the restaurant was a really exciting place. And I remember that it was so lively in the harbour; big ships coming and going, and in the docks on the ­other side of the river huge ships were being built. It was a hustle and bustle… I would like to state that my father made the menu that was used in all Chinese restaurants [in Sweden], at least until recently. Nowadays they changed the numbers, but before even the numbers was always the same… so I knew ­directly if I went to another Chinese restaurant what numbers to order… 31: Fried pork with sweet and sauer sauce. 26: Beef with leek.

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If you look into the restaurant… It’s actually Japanese women serving at the tables at this time… You have to understand: most swedes never saw a foreigner before, not even on TV. It was very exotic. Very, very exotic. So what my father did was that he managed to have a very limited amount of ingredients, and still make a big menu by simply shifting one or two ingredients. So he composed five ­dishes with beef, just with a few changes – leek to ­onions, or bamboo shoots. My father didn’t invent the dishes. But he ­invented the Swedish Chinese menu. My father was born in Beijing in the 1910s, and when he was in his twenties he left Beijing. He was well educated, he wrote and read Chinese, but he also had a very solid training as a cook. He signed on a boat, and was many years in India. Then, much later, just after the war, his boat went through the English channel and ran into a mine. So he spent two days there in the water, with burns in his face. This must have been in 1947.

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STANLEY WONG: My name is Stanley Wong. Lui Wan Chong is my grandfather. He used to work as a sailor chef, and ended up, in the early 40s, in India, where he started two restaurants just next to a british militarycamp. He also met my grandmother that he married in 42 and got two girls. My mother and my aunt. Then, when India got their independence, the british armycamp closed and he had to close his restaurants. Then he decided to sign on a boat again. This was 1947. And eventually he ended up in Sweden, and Gothenburg were the boat had to be repaired. So they spend some months in Gothenburg, and then when it was time to leave they had a goodbye party, and it went very late. So the next day, he and some Chinese friends from the boat woke up to late. They were left behind. So there they were, three Chinese, thinking what to do now? My father eventually ended up in Stockholm, where he met a new wife‌

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JIMMI LIU: My father worked for a while in a factory in Gothenburg, I think it was at SKF, and then he went to Stockholm. He knew there was a Chinese Embassy. So he just knocked the door there offered his services as a cook. He worked there for free. 1948, about a year later, there was a shift in government, the old ambassador had to leave, and there was a new ambassador under the new government: The communist China. The regime before was then the Kuomintang. But my father decided to stay. My mother then, she was working in the embassy of 足Tashkent, 45 to 48, and when all embassy staffs where asked back to China she decided to ask for asylum in America. To solve this administratively, she went to 足Stockholm, where she had to stay for a year. That is how she met my father, and they became the first Chinese couple ever married in Sweden.

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B 03 transcript

skogen tar kinesiska muren till skogen

Then later my father started to work as a chef at Berns, in their Chinese kitchen. At that time Berns had three kitchens and sections; a French, a Chinese, and a Scandinavian. He worked there for many years. At the same time he worked in a bakery in the mornings. Then 1957 we all went to Copenhagen for a year, where he and some partners started restaurant Bamboo, that was one of the first chinese restaurants in Denmark. But my mother didn’t like Copenhagen, so then we moved to Gothenburg. Because my father didn’t want to open a restaurant that would compete with the family Folke that owned Berns restaurant, and who had treated my parents so well, even paying for their wedding. So we went to Gothenburg. My father and my mother opened Kinesiska Muren in 1959. To buy the restaurant that had to agree on one thing: to continue to serve Swedish food for lunch to the people working in the harbour – it had been their favourite ­restaurant, so this was a requirement… So my father had a Swedish chef next to him during lunch hours for years. But they were never able to talk, since my father never learned to speak Swedish. My father didn’t do any advertisements. I don’t think he knew what an advertisement was. At least he didn’t know how it worked. The guests coming to the restaurant was ordinary people, and in the beginning they were very cautious with the Chinese food. At least for two years, we served very little Chinese food. But then they started to try it and it became very, very popular. Now there was ­always a cue infront of the restaurant. But still people were very cautious, it was only a few dishes that was served. Beef and onions… Spring rolls. People were very cautious.

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STANLEY WONG: If we rewind the tape – and go back to the late fifties – that is when my father started the first Chinese Restaurant in Sweden, Kinesiska muren. But he had left my mother behind in India. And he never came back. He though my parents had escaped back to China. To Sinkiang, but they never did. Sometimes my father used to have visitors from Chinese sailors at Kinesiska Muren, that was always a bit of extra fun of course, it didn’t happen that often… but then he learned that my mother and grandmother still lived in Bombay. So he knew he had to bring them to Sweden. So he told his wife then: “I have to tell you that I have two kids in India, and they are having a very hard time there, so I would very much try to bring them here. ”And she said: “of course! Bring them here.” So my ­grandfather asked sailors going to India to bring a photograph of himself and ask around in chinatown in Bombay: “Do you know who this person is”. And eventually they ran into my mother saying: mew, that’s him, where is he? So they told her that he now was living in Sweden and that he would like them all to come. So that’s how my mother learned that my father lived in Gothenburg. This was 1963.

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JIMMI LIU: When I was our driving around with my father he sometimes started to tell things. You have to understand. My father never talked to me. First he spoke only Mandarin, and my mandarin was not so good, and secondly it was a huge cultural gap. He was much older than me, almost forty when i was born, so already a time gap, but then he came from old China, you have to add at least one or two generations… My father always longed to go back to China. He hadn’t been there since at least 1940. And then eventually in the 70s, China started to open up. And after 72 it was possible to enter China again. My father went to China 1974. He met his mother for the first time in 40 years. She was then very old. Over 90. She thought that he looked so old, she hadn’t seen him since he was a little boy. So it was a touching time. And also for my father… China had changed so much. It was hard for him to understand. My father always talked so much about China, about the culture, and the life there, but after he went there he didn’t speak much about it. What was most striking when looking at my father was that he looked like a man from old China. It was almost as if he was a character in a fairy tail. He loved to sit with his chinese friends and play mah-jong. So even if he lived in Sweden physically, he was never involved in the Swedish community.

Stanley Wong was interviewed by Tommie Jönsson. Thanks to Sveriges R adio, Yusie Rundqvist C hou and Rundfunk Media AB. Jimmi L iu was interviewed by Johan Forsman

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Daniel AlmgrenRecén Artist In Residence

– Near that place

presentation interview

NEAR THAT PLACE är en föreställning som ­försöker skapa sin egen verklighet. Den tar sitt avstamp i f­rågorna runt tillhörighet, hem och minne i relation till nomadism. Vad innebär det att tillhöra en plats, en omgivning, en social kontext när mobilitet blivit norm. Med detta som grund har Daniel gett sig ut på en odyssé där önskan att hitta fram flyter ihop med viljan att lämna. Sedan 2011 har Daniel undersökt begreppet hem. Under 2012 reste han med alla sina tillhörigheter och möbler runt Europa på en 700 mil lång resa där kontakten med ­publiken bestod i att han flyttade in i temporära boende miljöer där det gick att komma på “hemma hos” besök.

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On Home Igor: The year is 1996, second half of December. My birthday just passed. I’m together with my family at my grandmother’s home. Everybody is there...mom, dad, my sister, aunt and uncle, my cousins, my mother’s parents. The living room is full with stylish furniture - a mixture of salon sofas and chairs, commodes and dressers, floor lamps from the 50/60’s and lot of books. My grandma, a former doctor of Tito (ex-president of Yugoslavia) had tons of books – on medicine, politics, literature, economics, and philosophy. The room exudes with atmosphere of ex-YU and back-than YU of Milosevic. In the corners of the high ceiling, a few spiders hang around in their webs. Grandma is wearing a purple dressing gown made of plush, and she’s giving me my favourite goods: a cup o cocoa served in a porcelain cup and a piece of cake. I wear jeans, some dark blue sweater with gilted buttons, white t-shirt and a light brown vest made of tweed and viscose. I enjoy the cocoa, looking at my grandma full of excitement. She looks at me and smiles. I ­r emember feeling so happy we’re all here, ­wondering why we don’t do this so often. It feels secure. That was the very last moment I saw my grandma. Few days later she was hospitalized, diagnosed with a lung cancer and she passed away. Being a doctor, she knew her end was near, and she gathered us all to see us one last time. It’s a memory I always remember when thinking of her, and of home.

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Daniel, how did it happen that you’re here? Daniel: I have a basic theme that comes back all the time and that is the personal reflection on one’s being in this world. Where is my place in this system of society, religion, moral and ethic structures? How can I find my way? Basic ­human questions that are present for me as maker are the relation between allowing, ­r estricting, ­encouraging and exploring.  Igor: I remember the moment you and me were talking about this place. We listed 37 questions on home, belonging, longing, self, the moving and objects... And then your question hit me right over: Where do you fit in? It came to my mind that I can never answer or describe the ‘rightness’ of that place I call home. I can only remember being near that place.  Daniel: The memory is a funny player for me. It’s all about references. My own memory is ­distorted from the fact of growing up without a television and in a family where a lot of energy was laid on neglecting the “normal” society in favour of finding an alternative lifestyle. Out of that I have become very interested and fascinated with others experiences and ways of looking at the world. I love listening to other people’s thoughts and references. Trying to figure out what they have with them and why they think in that way.  Igor: I’m standing at the door of your home. I look around, and see people sitting around a small table, drinking, talking, and laughing. I see daylight outside, but its 2 AM.  It’s your home, but we are not at the place of your home...We’re

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somewhere on an island in the north of Norway during summer.... Daniel: Yes, Native Realm –the notion of home is a long-term installation project that is based on questions around familiarity, belonging, identification, security and memory in relation to nomadism. Questions that surround the idea of a modern home where travelling away is a kind of norm. I literally travelled with my home and personal belongings across Europe. I was an artist in residence that was residing in my own home while being geographically displaced. On my journey by truck I collected my dispersed personal belongings and visited places I have personal bounds with and left new traces in the places I had never been to before. The travel went via: Warsaw (Poland), Amsterdam (The Netherlands), Copenhagen (Denmark), Gothenburg (Sweden), Strömstad (Sweden), Oslo (Norway), Kongsvinger (Norway), Trondheim (Norway), Stamsund (Norway), Östersund (Sweden), Ockelbo (Sweden), Stockholm (Sweden), Söderköping (Sweden), Malmö (Sweden), Trelleborg (Sweden), and Berlin (Germany). It was an extremely strong experience to have all my belongings with me on this 7000 km long travel. Every object became a Proustian Madelene cookie when the visitors entered in to my home with their questions around my belongings and the visitors stories blended with mine over a cup of coffee and something sweet. The relatively slow travelling by car was like being pulled between realities where the protective web between the past and present ruptured, creating a double exposition and sensation of Déjà vu where words didn’t help to grasp the moment.

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Igor: But now, it seems like I’m in the black box. I hold a flashlight in my hand, darkness is everywhere. I take on huge thick headphones and through my limited sight I see two men, looking as astronauts and walking slowly next to each other, like on the Moon. I hear Opera somewhere in the background. Am I near that place of home, within ‘the place to be’?  Daniel: Near that place is a second part of the project on The Notions of Home. The next steps after the Native Realm project where to process the collected material and develop a stage work, which is now being presented at MDT in Stockholm, Atalante in Gothenburg and Dansstationen in Malmö this autumn. Igor: Is this the staged version of your memories of home, or of the archived memories from the Native Realm experience? Daniel: Here in Near that place I have somewhere revisited my own memories but still without primary interest in sharing them as the result but rather to understand and try to facilitate an environment where the individual visitors memory can be sparked and to a certain extent also be infected by the collective references of a society. And fundamentally home is a socially interactive place for me. I try to facilitate an environment of trust and acceptance where we (Johan Forsman and I) host a slowly transforming reality, in which a proposed step is a suggestion for a next level but not a demand for grasping the full picture of the work. The trajectory is a closed structure where the first part is a collective social setting where we prepare our self for going in to the space we

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refer to as the space between your self and your memories. The second space is a more individual experience where the others become part of your memories as extras in a movie. The third space is a social context where each person is again arriving back to the present time from history and memories. The fourth and last space is again a collective social context where the exchange of experiences is encouraged. Igor: How does the particular trajectory you propose to the spectator in this performance open the playground for negotiating with oneself questions of decisions? Is this playground happening on the individual or on the collective level? Daniel: There is something fundamentally individualistic in my work even though it might manifest itself in multitude. In the sense of that we are always alone in the end with our decisions. What fascinates me is the negotiation with one self in relation to options of decision. What looks as an impulsive or fast decision always has a pre negotiation and that’s my interest to highlight these mechanisms, not the actual decision in it self. A decision is always just a vehicle against stagnation and full stop. That is to say that travelling ­intellectually, physically or emotionally is what I’m looking for through my work. Igor: Is this the core of your work in general?  Daniel: My work is often based on questions. I raise question to myself and use them in my work as the core of the process, which always raise more questions. Then I produce statements and see how they affect the questions.

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Something that always comes back is how the individual person/performer relates to these questions and statements. Igor: It’s nice to see you here. I like to think about houses made from LEGO cubes. One of my biggest obsessions in childhood was to build up a house from Lego cubes. It was my place to be. Don’t know why. But then I also liked the moments of realizing when the house I made was becoming boring, so I could start deconstructing it. Don’t know why, perhaps because I grew up in a country during a war. I’m not used to the house deconstruction in my life. No-one is, I guess. But I’m quite used to the deconstruction of the notion of home. There are many questions of which the full meaning cannot be realized until personal experience has brought it home. The simplest questions are the most ­profound -Where is your home? Where do you go? Where do you belong? Think about these once in a while and watch your answers change.

By Igor Koruga & Daniel AmgrenRecén

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NEAR THAT PLACE Idé och Koreografi: Daniel AlmgrenR ecén Utförande: Johan Forsman och Daniel AlmgrenR ecén L jus, Video och S cenografi: SUTODA Dramaturg: Igor Koruga

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Producerat av DAAR, MDT, Atalante Under

och

Dansstationen

sommaren hade projektet ett residens p책

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Skogen


Money and language have something in common: they are nothing and yet they move everything. They are nothing but symbols, conventions, flatus vocis, but they have the power to persuade human beings to act, to work, and to transform physical things. Franco B erardi �Emancipation of the Sign�

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block 10 Johan Forsman & Anders Paulin

THREE WHITE SOLDIERS 27 juli – 28 juli

statement

1st session – Clandestino Botnik

In Mahwah, New Jersey, lies a cubistic building with no windows and just one door. This is the 37.000 m2 digital heart of Wall Street – a so-called co-location with surreal computer-power processing all the information of the North American stockmarket. Here the New York Stock Exchange both keep their own servers and host the servers of banks and other companies with the interest and financial ­resources of being as close as possible to the source of the information. The monolithic, algorithmic machine is operating in speeds beyond human perception, making this cube of financial immanence a vehicle with no throttle or steering wheel. In this 3-dimensional version of Malevich´s Black Square, 25 % of all the daily transactions on Wall Street are operated left alone from human intervention, and without ever leaving this man-made space of alterity and otherness. This Kaba of the Financial World, is our Graal: The virtual aim of the project Three White Soldiers – a three year research project and a pilgrimage into the void of contemporary Black Box Trading.


block 11 Diego Agulló & Dmitry Paranyushkin

PRAGMATICS OF COMING TOGETHER 26 augusti – 8 september

introduction glossary Program

Pragmatics of Coming Together genomförs av den berlinbaserade duon Diego Agulló (SP) och Dmitry Paranyushkin (R). Diego och Dmitry arbetar utifrån Transnomia Institute och Nodus Labs – två plattformar som glider mellan språk­liga annek­teringar, nätverksteori, naivistisk humor och fiktiva politiska projekt. Blocket Pragmatics of Coming Together har två delar. Ett residens som genomförs på ­Skogen inom ramen för Konstnärsnämndens internationella dansresidens, och ett workshop-program där The Humping Pact – The Gothenburg Mission utgör startpunkt för en serie övningar, sociala experiment och fältstudier kring den mänskliga kroppens relation till våra gemensamma rum.

... flowchart ... text


B 11 glossary

pragmatics of coming together

Mission Activation Multiplication Infiltration Suspense Simulation Intervention Mimesis Eroticism Simulation Persistence

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5

September 17.00 – 21.00 workshop: How to Host an Event

31 August

19.00 – 23.00 Opening of the block: Screening of Humping Pact – The Gothenburg Mission. artist presentation.

5

September 21.00 – 24.00 curated Event: created by the ­pa­ rticipants in the workshop together with Diego and Dmitry

2

September 17.00 – 21.00 workshop: Embodying Networks in Space

3

September 17.00 – 21.00 workshop: Private Languages

6

September 17.00 – 21.00 workshop: Private Languages, Networks, Space, Event

7

September 15.00 – 17.00

4 September

17.00 – 21.00 workshop: Finding Emotions in Space

presentation and screening of work done. closing of the block.

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B 11 flow chart

pragmatics of coming together

This flow chart is a tool to approach a very specific kind of movement: the o ­ scillatory move­ment, or, in other words, the double ­process of any adventure: moving outwards and returning. Movement is a guarantee of preventing ­ossification. Ossification is the process of hardening that leads a system into ­stagnation and potentially into a dead end. In order to prevent oneself from this logics of perpetuation that usually end up with conformism and atrophy, it is important to plunge oneself into the experience of the journey abroad, more usually named as the the experience of the unknown and ­otherness. This implies taking a risk, exposing o ­ neself to danger and being affected by the ­astonishing event, being hit by the uncertain ­wonder of any big quest. The mission implies also to return being able to translate those e ­ xperiences to the ones who stayed in the comfort zone. This translation is also a ­process of giving an intelligible form to what has no name. This can be considered the mission of art and philosophy. How to learn to control the oscillatory ­ ovement? Perhaps the question should m rather be: how to dance the oscillation? How to become the choreographer of your own life trajectory?

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Humping Pact – The Gothenburg Mission Diego Agulló & Dmitry Paranyushkin


B11 text

pragmatics of coming together

Diego Agulló

Bringing Tempestuous Weather Etymologically speaking problem comes from Greek problema, literally means thing put forward: proballein: pro= forward + ballein = to throw. If we continue searching, ballein comes from ballistics, the art of throwing projectiles, which gives, to the quality of ballein, the intentionality of throwing in order to hit a target. ­Belonging to the same family of words there is the word ballizein = to dance, which following previous definition would mean to throw one´s body. This etymological considerations regarding the meaning of dance, stimulate the potential interpretations of the practice of choreography. After having linked the body, any kind of body, with the art of ballistics, we can understand the mission of choreography as the art of problematizing, namely, throwing out there projectiles, bullets, on space and time, or, in another words, the set of practices that articulate problems on space and time. The question for choreography would be this one: How to turn any situation into a problematic situation? To make a dance project is to project problems. The mission of articulating problems belongs intrinsically to the practice of choreography. To articulate problems implies to throw out there question marks, bodies become ­question marks, to throw in the distance a question, a difficulty that transform the scenario into a ­controversial scenario, into a more difficult ­scenario. ­Problems

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turn the situation into a turbulent event. To practice dance is now seen as the art of ­generating dilemmas, a turbulence that transform the space into a puzzle and generates perplexity and occasionally vertigo because the situation turns int a trouble, a turbid agitated confused disordered event. The choreographer brings tempestuous weather. This is specially important since we started talking about expanded choreography: how to expand a practice implies to think in terms of strategies and tactics of occupation. In which sense choreography is different from the practice of war? I will leave the answer open for personal statements. What is clear is that to problematize implies necessarily to be ready to operate within a frame of tensions, controversy, discord and uncertainty. To be the pain in the ass is not an easy mission specially if the rest of the participants on this fight are not flexible enough to operate with tempestuous ­weather conditions. Sometimes because a matter of conformism, not really willing to spend energies on resolving problems; we all know how much patience a puzzle demands in order to be solved. In ­other ­occasions this lack of will on participation in situations of discord comes from a matter of education: we have not been educated to ­understand conflictuality as a situation of ­normality. Discord is not accepted a the standard frame of interaction. How much do we need the stormy weather to blow up our habitual practices and provoke us to throw our bodies out there in the turbulence of an uncertain event? Welcome the storm and let the projectiles dance. Become tsunami.

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Hito Steyerl 5 oktober artist talk

+

videovisning

How not To be seen

INTERVIEW

STRIKE Hito Steyerl

Ett

samarbete mellan

Clandestino Institut

och

Skogen


INTERVIEW

how not to be seen

Johan Forsman & Hito Steyerl

Tv har alltid varit fienden

INTERVJUN GENOMFÖRDES I SAMBAND MED HITO STEYERLS FÖRELÄSNING HOW NOT TO BE SEEN INFÖR GLÄNTAS NUMMER OM TV.

- Ett samtal om tv I Hito Steyerls verk finns ofta något svävande och latent våldsamt. Likt en nutida Walter Benjamin (som hon ofta återvänder till) läser hon av samtidens inneboende tanke­ strukturer och politiska konfliktlinjer så som de ligger in­skrivna i till synes obetydliga detaljer, företeelser eller mjukvaror i vår närhet. Och precis som för Benjamin bygger den kritiska metoden sällan på stora teoretiska generaliseringar, utan snarare på att så att säga tänka inifrån den våldsamma kraften i (bild-)produktionssystemens praktiker.1 Det är en strategi som hos dem båda verkar få skenbart perifera ting att ”prata bredvid mun” och föreslå en koppling eller röra vid en laddning vi ofta inte kunnat ana. Hito Steyerls arbete, både som filmare och teoretiker, präglas av ett essäistiskt förhållningssätt och rör sig kring samtida bildproduktion och medieformat. Genom ­förskjutningar mellan begreppskategorier som subjekt, objekt, bild och representation, blir Hito Steyerls verk och texter verktyg för läsaren/betraktaren att tänka sig ut i okända relationer, identifikationer och territorier.  Under det senaste decenniet har Hito Steyerl producerat verk som ganska väl täcker in och undersöker de flesta nya medietekniker och bildformat, och deras kopplingar till exempelvis övervaknings- och vapenteknologi. Men  hur är egentligen hennes förhållande till tv? 1 Se exempelvis Hito Steyerls artikel ”The language of Things” (2006) där hon lyfter fram en benjamisk idé om ett praktikernas och tingens språk.

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Johan Forsman: Vad är din relation till tv? Hito Steyerl: Jag har egentligen ingen relation alls. Jag tittar inte på tv, jag tänker inte på tv. JF: Inte heller tidigare i ditt liv? Har inte tv varit något som format din syn på bilder och berättande? HS: Nej, inte alls. Inte ens när jag var yngre. Jag har alltid tittat på film, men tv har alltid varit fienden: klassfienden. JF: Det är intressant att du ser tv som en politisk motståndare. Jag tänker att tv-mediet, åtminstone för vår generation, också hör samman med idén om välfärdsstaten, och något som format efterkrigstidens sätt att producera politik, nationell identitet och konsensus. HS: I Sverige har detta säkert varit extra tydligt. Men jag tror det är viktigt att förstå att situationen har varit väldigt olika i olika länder, och att analysen inte håller för en bredare analys av världen runt omkring oss. Vad gäller Tyskland kan vi exempelvis tala om att tv i viss mån fyllde en sådan funktion fram till ungefär mitten av 70-talet, men att tv redan då avreglerades och nedmonterades. JF: Om jag tänker tillbaka på hur tv fungerade under min barndom (under 70- och 80-talen), och jämför med hur det ser ut nu så är det förstås en enorm skillnad. Jag minns, någon gång på 90-­talet, hur en svensk IT-entreprenör beskrev ett scenario, som för honom då var en utopi, att alla skulle kunna följa nyheter som stämde överens med deras politiska övertygelser. I många länder är vi där idag, och det framstår som något

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väldigt skrämmande. Jag tänker då till exempel på den amerikanska situationen, eller den italienska… HS: Detta är något som vi kan se över hela världen. Men jag tror inte att det är något som bara gäller tv, utan att vi måste förstå det som ett mycket bredare skeende som har att göra med hela det offentliga rummet. Det är ett fenomen att människor inte längre delar samma tid och rum, att de inte längre lever tillsammans. Jag läste precis en blogg från Egypten om just det som du pratar om, hur anpassningen av nyheter i enlighet med ens politiska åsikter blivit helt genomförd, så att människor kan bo i samma hyreshus, men samtidigt leva i parallella verkligheter utan gemensamma beröringspunkter. Så jag ser det här som en del av något mer generellt, något som har att göra med hur vi tänker oss att människor ska kunna leva tillsammans i samma hyreshusområden igen. Världen har blivit för ojämlik. Jag tror det är grunden till att människor inte längre kan leva tillsammans. Så min fråga blir snarare hur vi skulle kunna skapa en plattform, en yta där människor överhuvudtaget kan mötas igen. Och det är inte någon enkel fråga. JF: Har du, som arbetar inom konstfältet, något hopp om att konsten kan spela en sådan roll idag? HS: Nej, det tror jag inte. Konsten har under de senaste två decennierna använts som just ett sådant plats- och gemensamhetsskapande ­verktyg – men nej, det fungerar ju ärligt talat inte ens på ett kosmetiskt plan. Jag vet inte heller om det skulle kunna finnas ett värde i att återta tv som en offentlig plats idag… Om jag till exempel tänker på de tyska tv-stationer som finns nu och hur de fungerar, vad skulle någon kunna göra av

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värde där? Vad kan man göra med ett sådant format? Det är ett värdelöst maskineri. JF: Ser du några andra initiativ, eller nya format som skulle kunna etablera en sådan här form av gemensamhet, eller som skulle kunna bära ett nytt samtal eller en ny kollektiv identitet? HS: Nej, på lite längre sikt så vet jag verkligen inte vad som skulle kunna producera ett sådant utrymme. Men jag ser förstås hur de här frågorna kommer upp överallt just nu, oavsett vilken kontext man är i. En sådan är skolan. Vart du än åker, där det finns en offentlig utbildning och där människor inte redan har blivit så ojämlika att medelklassen slutat använda statligt styrda skolor, så ställer man sig överallt samma fråga: Hur kan vi skapa ett välfungerande utbildningssystem för våra barn? För barn med olika bakgrunder? Jag tror att vi måste se alla dessa frågor – inklusive frågan om det mediala landskapet – som symptom på samma situation. JF: Ja, det är tydligt att det finns en frustration idag över detta… Det är en paradoxal situation, vi får så mycket information, vi kan ta del av så mycket kritisk reflektion, men samtidigt upplever åtminstone jag en slags handlingsförlamning. Hur ska vi hantera all information? Och var ska vi egentligen föra det politiska samtalet? HS: Jag blir så nyfiken, och förvånad, av detta. Hur kommer det sig att jag får den här typen av frågor? Jag är filmskapare, jag har aldrig sagt att jag är en politiker, jag har inte ens påstått att jag är en aktivist. Ärligt talat, jag är verkligen inte rätt person för att svara på den typen av frågor. Men det är intressant hur begäret att få

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svar på den här sortens frågor nu förflyttas från politiken till kultursfären. Men hur ska någon av oss kunna svara på dessa frågor? JF: Du har ändå tematiserat idén om strejk på lite olika sätt i relation till tv, och dagens flöde av bilder, begär och affekter… HS: ”Strike” är en titel på ett konstverk jag gjort, där jag slår sönder en tv-skärm. Det kan nog egentligen sammanfatta hela min relation till tv [skratt]. Men ja, jag har också skrivit en artikel [”Politics of Art: Contemporary Art and the Transition to Post-Democracy”] i relation till strejk, strejkbrytare och hyperproduktivitet med utgångspunkt i en sovjetisk kontext. I det tidiga Sovjet avsåg termen ”strejkbrytare” [Udarny Trud] en superproduktiv, överentusiastisk arbetare. I min artikel föreslår jag att vi – i relation till detta – idag kan se konstnären som en form av strejkbrytare vad det gäller produktionen av intensiteter, affekter, skådespel och uppmärksamhet. Jag tror att konstnärer idag har blivit tränade till att bli specialister på att bedriva sitt arbete inom en sådan hyperproduktiv och ofta obetald struktur. JF: Kan du berätta mer om hur du tänker dig att vi kan strejka i det flöde av bilder som omger oss. Är det verkligen möjligt? HS: Självklart. Varför skulle det inte vara det? Men först och främst vill jag ifrågasätta den här metaforen att vi drunknar i en flod av bilder. Varför inte bli bilden? Varför inte bli floden? Varför inte bli en del av flödet? Varför inte gömma sig i flödet av bilder, snarare än att låta sig överväldigas av det. För min egen del så tänker jag att jag är en bild,

146


interview

How not to be seen

och jag ser från det perspektivet ingen större skillnad på mig själv och det övriga flödet av bilder. Frågan för mig blir då snarare hur jag kan agera som bild. Hur kan jag ta kontroll över situationen och välja när jag är synlig och när jag kan dra mig undan? För mig är detta synsätt det mest produktiva. Hur som helst, om jag drunknar i ett överväldigande flöde av bilder då går jag helt enkelt och lägger mig. Det är alltid ett alternativ. JF: Men som konstnär handlar det till exempel också om hur man förhåller sig till de symbiotiska relationer som genereras mellan gallerier, medier och curatorer, och som samverkar för att producera uppmärksamhet, framgång och i slutändan kapital. Och jag undrar om detta är något som inte bara gäller konstnärer, utan att produktionen av oss själva som bilder många gånger handlar om vår anställningsbarhet, ekonomi och överlevnad. Jag såg dig föreläsa för något år sedan på Moderna museet i Stockholm. Det var intressant hur du där, i relation till hur vi producerar oss själva som bilder, föreslog ett paradigmskifte i förhållande till hur proteströrelser arbetar med synlighet. Jag förstod det som att du menade att 1900-talets proteströrelser arbetade med själva synliggörandet som metod och som något som i sig var självklart bra. Det handlade helt enkelt om att lyfta fram problem eller olika marginaliserade grupper eller fenomen i ljuset. Men du visade i din föreläsning att detta paradigm nu kanske utmanas av ett annat förhållningssätt. HS: Det jag pratade om är tillbakadragandet, eller ett kontrollerat tillbakadragande. Det är alltså inte flykt, utan ett tillbakadragande i betydelsen att ta kontroll över sin synlighet. För vanligtvis är vi idag – och vi blir det i allt högre

147


INTERVIEW

how not to be seen

grad – oförmögna att vara osynliga. Till och med om vi skulle dra oss undan långt in i skogarna så är vi troligen fortfarande synliga från någon satellit. Men det intressanta är hur lite all den här synligheten har hjälpt. Det har bara skapat fler bilder. Men det har inte skapat en mer jämlik värld. JF: Men vi vet kanske mer om ojämlikheterna idag, hur de ser ut… HS: Ja, men det verkar mest fungera som en slags distraktion. JF: Men betyder det att vi som arbetar med bilder – filmskapare, teatrar, nyhetsredaktioner med flera – skulle behöva ett nytt paradigm för att tänka kring bildproduktion? Att vi behöver ett annat sätt att arbeta med bilder? HS: Ja, i en ganska konkret mening, kopplat till de allmänna förutsättningar vi har att arbeta med. Personligen försöker jag alltid tänka på väldigt konkreta problem för att sedan ta det därifrån. Så om vi går tillbaka till detta väldigt enkla problem: Hur ska vi göra för att presentera bilder? Jag, som filmskapare, är väldigt beroende av en grundläggande infrastruktur, vilket oftast betyder en projektor, en skärm, lite mörker… Det är mer eller mindre det jag behöver… Men vad gör man när detta inte fungerar? Om vi ska förstå hur vi kan visa bilder så är det först och främst viktigt att förstå att den här infrastrukturen helt saknas i stora delar av världen. Men tänk dig istället att det är möjligt att visa bilder i vilket rum du vill, att det finns mörker, att det finns pengar för att hyra projektorer… I så fall kommer du genast att bli en del av en

148


interview

How not to be seen

annan rumslig logik som handlar om gentrifiering och stadsutveckling; av hur platser annekteras och kapitaliseras. Så vad är det egentligen som händer? Vad är det egentligen för arbete som du utför? Dessutom iscensätts den här formen av videovisningar i områden som är hårt belastade av gentrifieringsprocesser. Men vill du verkligen vara en del av detta? Mitt senaste instinktiva drag har varit att försöka ta tillbaka hela den tekniska apparaten och bara arbeta med min röst, med en kamera, och med ”streaming”. Det är en reaktion på just det här; att under en period försöka ge upp saker som det kanske inte kommer vara hållbart att förvänta sig. JF: Du menar att du rör dig mot att spela in film och sedan bara använda internet som distributionsmedel? HS: Ja, men också att knappt ens spela in film över huvud taget, och att istället föreläsa som en typ av live-händelse. För när du gör det, om du bara har en röst, så tar du inte upp så mycket plats. Du kan röra dig in och ut ur olika rum. Du slutar försöka att kontrollera platser, att bygga upp dem eller investera i dem genom att exempelvis installera teknik och annan utrustning. JF: Det är intressant att du som filmmakare ändå lyfter fram vikten av att någonting sker ”live”. HS: Jag tror det håller på att bli alltmer viktigt, att samla människor. Du kan givetvis också samla människor virtuellt, men det är viktigt att ha mänskliga möten nu. Dynamiken blir annorlunda… Men det är intressant att vi pratar om ”live”

149


INTERVIEW

how not to be seen

i det här sammanhanget för det är ju egentligen ett tv-uttryck: ”Live” är något som egentligen är medierat och sänt. Dessutom är ju ”live” ett utryck för att skjuta skarpt; ”live bullets” betyder ju skarp ammunition… Men ska vi idag tänka kring att återta något medieformat, så tycker jag inte att det är tv-mediet utan internet som borde vara vårt primära mål. Att återta, omstrukturera och bygga om internet; det skulle verkligen kunna göra skillnad. Tv å andra sidan, eftersom det i så hög grad är strukturerat på nationell nivå, inte bara i meningen nationell tv, men också hur tv skapar en slags nationella sfärer… Överallt verkar tv producera nationella b-kändisar, människor som ingen skulle känna igen någon annanstans. De verkar bara existera som en slags tv-dockor. Så tv har en djup nationell struktur. Det är i stort sett bara fråga om en form av uppblåsta nationer. JF: Men kanske har också detta tomma nationella något att göra med hur nationalstaten och dess politiska maktstrukturer faller samman; som en spegling av en slags nationell förvirring? HS: Jag tror att allt detta är redan är i rörelse. Det är inget konstigt… saker exploderar ibland… Harun Farucki har ett underbart ord som jag inte vet om det finns på något annat språk än tyska – ”zollbruckstelle”, att varje tillverkat objekt har en slags punkt där det brister, och jag tror vi börjar se dessa brytpunkter på allt fler platser. Det är inte något konstigt med det. Å andra sidan är det så att bara för att något brister, löser ut en spänning och tar en ny form så betyder det just bara att en spänning har utlösts, inte att någon substantiell skillnad nödvändigtvis har infunnit sig.

150


interview

How not to be seen

Så jag tror att vi får se det som att vi är i början av någonting. Det kanske kommer att ta ytterligare ett sekel till och med, men vi är i början av det. Jag tror människor kommer behöva konfigurera om hur de tänker dramatiskt: det som vi tidigare talade om som ”klasser” kommer behöva tänkas om helt och hållet på global nivå. Men det finns ännu ingen kategori för hur detta kan tänkas. Eller det finns kategorier som är väldigt skrämmande, vi kan till exempel tänka det i religiösa termer… Eller på något annat regressivt konservativt sätt – vi ser det hända överallt. Men utanför detta är det väldigt svårt att tänka sig något som först och främst omdefinierar ­nationalstaten, och som förmår skapa nya former av kollektiva identiteter. Tänk på 1800-talet. Den franska revolutionen skedde i slutet av 1700-talet, ändå tog det åtminstone ytterligare ett sekel för samhällsförändringarna att konsolideras, efter upprepade revolter. Men det som egentligen sker under 1800-talet är att man skapar ­”arbetaren” som figur, som en samlingspunkt. Så själva revolutionen inträffar 1792, men det tar mer än hundra år för en ny produktionsstruktur kring fabrikerna att ta form. Jag menar inte att ­värdera detta skeende, bara att konstatera vilket tids­spann vi talar om, och jag ser ännu inte något som verkar uppstå som liknar detta. Men det kommer hur­ somhelst behövas en liknande process.

Intervjun är tidigare publicerad i tidskriften Gläntas 4.13 om tv

151


block 12 Johan Forsman & Johan Rödström Isak Eldh, Olle Huge, Tomas Björkdal

zoo

statement glossary program ...

5 oktober – 19 oktober

text ... text ...

GÄSTER: Midaircondo, Denis Romanovski, Jiří Surůvka, Elin Wikström, Sunshine Socialist Cinema, Magnus Haglund


B 12 statement

zoo

Kan vi betrakta föreställningar som ­eko­system? Kan en redan spelad ­föreställning, helt konkret, bli mylla och ge näring och material till nya händelser och erfarenheter. Kan vi cirkulera rum och material, och hitta en ingång för att på nytt arbeta konstnärligt med använda och återfunna material, med minnet av det som varit, med kommentarer och överlagringar. För sex år sedan gjorde vi föreställningen ZOO, där vi lät publiken adoptera levande insekter som utgångspunkt för en under­ sökning av vår emotionella förmåga till ­anknytning. Nu ställer vi upp ­scenografin på nytt, men den här gången som en ­installation och miljö för ett publikt program som ­f yller rummet och materialet med nya frågor och nytt liv; från ­föreläsningar, miniresidens, klubb­k vällar och konserter. Dessa nya ­element placeras inom ramen för ­installationen och får formen som alternativa inpass, utflykter och dolda öppningar mot alternativa föreställningar. Genom att spränga formen för ­föreställ­ningen vill vi se hur rummet kan fungera på ett ­annat sätt; som en utgångspunkt för en rörelse mot något nytt, som en serie händelser som inte gör anspråk på helhet, utan tvärtom ­öppnar sig mot alternativa innehåll och irrvägar. ­Samtidigt är vi intresserade av att undersöka hur vi på detta sätt kan skapa en ny ekonomi i det förbrukade materialet, och hur vi kan ­tänka ­teaterproduktion och gränssnitt mot andra konstnärer och publik på ett annat sätt.

154


B12 Glossary

zoo

Anknytning Resa Skyddsdräkter Adoption Mjölk Blanketter Hörlurar Folkdräkt Minne Modell Växthus L in K aptener Odling Lek Omhändertagande L ämnande Översättning K ärlek Rum K ackerlackor Ekosystem 155


B 12 program

zoo

5 Oktober

kl 22 – 00 Hito Steyerl (i samarbete med Clandestino Institut) + Kungliga Containerakademin vernissage: ZOO

en

kl 21.00 We want you to name a constellation performance av Denis Romanovski tillsammans med Jiří Surůvka.

18 Oktober

ZOO + SUNSHINE SOCIALIST CINEMA

10 Oktober ZOO

11 Oktober

kl

Mellan 19.00 och 21.00 erbjuder

ZOO

Sunshine Socialist Cinema samtal och snabbkurs i att starta

12 Oktober

+ Elin

en solcellsdriven biograf

ZOO + MIDAIRCONDO

kl 21.00 SUNSHINE SOCIALIST CINEMA avslutar kvällen med en filmvisning.

17 Oktober

19 Oktober

ZOO Wikström + Denis Romanovski kl 19.00 Elin Wikström

ZOO + Magnus Haglund. kl 21.00 Vem är kaptenen?

bjuder in till maskerad med djurtema med representanter för politiken,

en ljudessä av och med

näringslivet och kulturen.

Magnus Haglund.

156


zoo

157


B12 text

zoo

Isak Eldh

ZOO var som en rundgång Zoo var som en rundgång man kunde vara i länge. Ett deltagande i en motsols resa genom Skogens rum. Trots all långsamhet så uppstod en ­outgrundlig frenesi, en ständig rörelse genom dubbla tillstånd. Yrsel och eufori. Rymd och klaustrofobi. Anknytandet utspelade sig i flera lager. Från mitt perspektiv som medverkande försökte jag leva mig in i de olika besökarnas situation när de gick in i växthuset med sina kackerlackshus. Först en privat stund bland andra, men ändå utanför. Ofta en osäkerhet, hur ska jag göra här? Vad gör de andra? Det var spännande att ta personlig kontakt med varje besökare när jag kopplade om deras headset och med ett sprak anslöt dem till det gemensamma nätverket av mikrofoner och hörlurar i rummet. En delad inre ljudvärld där allt ekade och hängde ihop. Samtalen och tystnaderna som följde var unika även om vissa frågor och reaktioner återkom. Vi pratade om djur och människor, om frihet och fångenskap, och om helt andra små och stora frågor. Vissa samtal och tystnader blev långa. Ibland blev det stressigt och jag kände mig otillräcklig i rollen att ta hand om människor och kackerlackor samtidigt som jag skulle hålla ordning på ­tekniska funktioner och underhålla ljudlandskapet i hörlursvärlden. Suggestionen ­behövde skötas om på olika sätt och det utvecklades en del ritualer och ­lärdomar efter hand. Samtidigt gillade jag att gå vilse i rummet och bli en förvirrad kapten, hypnotiserad av projektionerna och ljuden. Tiden blev elastisk och gränserna suddades ut. I och kring föreställningarna var samarbetet och kommunikationen mellan alla medverkande väldigt viktig. Utanför föreställningarna var energin lika intensiv och gränslös, och det verkade inte finnas något stopp för hur ­mycket som kunde adderas och modifieras. För min del innebar det upprepade bussresor med väskor fyllda med bartillbehör, robotar, ljudapparater och andra objekt. Ett växande antal sladdar i ständig omkoppling. Förvånansvärt många idéer och material kom till användning. Oändligt många andra ­förblev potential, experiment och stickspår. Förvirring och rikedom. En under­utnyttjad mjölkbar. Sammantaget var det en otroligt lustfylld och organisk process som egentligen hade kunnat fortsätta hur länge som helst.

159


160


B12 text

zoo

Elin Wikström

I samband med reaktiveringen av den omarbetade versionen av ZOO den 17 oktober förra året, blev konstnären Denis Romanovski och jag inbjudna att genomföra var sitt verk inom ramen för installationen. Det ursprungliga verket hade jag upplevt då det visades i samma lokaler för ­ungefär sex år sedan. För en klaustrofobisk person innebar verkets rumsliga konstruktion en prövning då publiken i bestämd följd förväntades ta sig igenom en passage av små fönsterlösa rum. Påfrestningen var i sig större än de oväntade element vi stötte på längre fram i verket. Provsmakningen av dumpstrad mat väckte inget obehag och mötet med kackerlackorna blev angenämt i jämförelse med konfrontationer med arten i vardagssituationer på vistelser i varmare länder. Mitt bidrag till kvällen var att arrangera en transdisciplinär maskerad med djurtema där publiken erbjöds mingel i mask och förklädnad med representanter för politiken, näringslivet och kulturen. De ­specialinbjudna gästerna bestod av internationellt uppmärksammade bild och form-konstnärer från Göteborg; Omid Delafrouz, Annica Karlsson-Rixon, Maria Lindberg, Annika Lundgren, Mandana Moghadam, Jörgen Svensson, Dana Sederowsky, Linda Tedsdotter och Johan Zetterqvist. Lokala politiker från regeringspartierna, det vill säga; en representant från Centern, Folkpartiet, Miljöpartiet, Kristdemokraterna, Sverigedemokraterna, Socialdemokratierna och Vänsterpartiet. Samt ledare för de största företagen i staden; en representant från Volvo, Chalmers, SKF, Ericsson, Astra Zeneca, Posten Meddelande AB, Samhall och SCA Hygiene Product. Maskeraden ägde rum i foajén vid in och utgången till ZOO-installationen, den hade en bar till självkostnadspris

161


B 12 text

zoo

och ett ljudlandskap av DJ Skogen och Various Artists. Idén tog utgångspunkt i Michail Bachtins teori om karnevalisering där utrymme ges för omvändningar av etablerade ­ordningar, tanken var att deltagarna i skydd av sina maskeringar skulle kunna samtala och utbyta åsikter mer ohämmat. Verkets intention ska ses mot bakgrund av det till skillnad från många andra städers kulturliv i Göteborg råder brist på konfrontation mellan konstnärer, politiker och näringsliv. Som exempel på förklädnader kan nämnas; snigel, fluga, spindel, get, oxe, räv, haj, hund, häst, påfågel, kvalster, tofsvipa, kackerlacka, larv, kvalster, sengångare, kanin och lejon. En av gästerna uppgav sig kunna representera både kulturen och Miljö­ partiet, ifall någon av de specialinbjudna dolde sig bakom maskerna är ovisst. Maskeraden hade titeln 1944:219 vilket är benämningen på den första djurskyddslagen i Sverige som trädde i kraft 1 januari 1945. Valet av titel knöt an till föreställningens ZOOs fokus på människans motsägelsefulla relation till djur, där djur i vissa sammanhang ses som upplevande subjekt och i andra behandlas objekt inom livsmedels och läkemedelsindustrin och ville påminna om att djurskydd är ett relativt sent begrepp i biologihistorien. Typiskt för mina verk är att jag utsätter mig själv och publiken för olika stimulerande eller utmanande handlingar i syfte att ifrågasätta invanda tanke och handlingsmönster både hos enskilda individer och i samhället i stort. Ofta är det alldagliga handlingar som skruvas till eller upprepas in absurdum. Antalet timmar, dagar, veckor, månader eller år som verken pågår varierar från verk till verk. Ämnena skiftar, men kan sammanfattas med att de tar utgångspunkt i olika aktuella samhällsfrågor med koppling till kontexten som de genomförs i. Nyckelord i min konstnärliga praktik är norm och normbrott, kollektiv kunskaps och erfarenhetsproduktion. Drivkraften i att arbeta med deltagardrivna processer ligger i att försöka skildra människor som aktiva subjekt kapabla att pröva och ompröva förståelsen av sig själva och världen. /Elin Wikström, februari 2014

162


B12 ...

zoo

Denis Romanovski

Constellation

och

Jiří Surůvka

Kan vi upphäva stjärnbildernas taxonomiska ordning, hur de beskrivits och benämnts genom tiderna i olika kulturer? Verket inleddes med att Surůvka läste en känd dikt ur Jan Nerudas diktsamling Kosmiska sånger om människans längtan att frigöra sig från jordens dragningskraft och sväva ut i rymden. Därefter erbjöds publiken att i grupper och med sina kroppar bilda egna stjärnbilder av luminiscerande vätska och bomullspinnar. Istället för existerande konstellationer; mytologiska djur som Vattenormen, instrument som Vinkelhaken eller yrken som Bildhuggaren utformade grupperna nya stjärnbilder bland annat i form av hyllningar till kärlek, pengar och sig själva som de döpte till namn som Kärlek, Money is Cabaret, Moa Carlsson och Hajen.

Stjärnbild: Money is Cabaret

163


block 4 Kirsti Taylor Bye

som en skog i skogen

information ... glossary

25 oktober – 3 november

text 1 text 2 essay

Genom att försöka odla växter i olika ­vardagliga objekt och material, ­undersöker Kirsti Taylor Bye ­naturens och kretsloppens plats mitt i det ­bekanta och fabricerade. Ofta prövas odlandet och ­förmultnandet mot lekfullt antydda narrativ och etiska ­frågeställningar. ­


som en skog i skogen

information


B04 glossary

som en skog i skogen

Tre Vekst R izom Organisme Arbeid Ugress Natur /Kultur /Vilt/Tamt L andskap

Familie

Fruktbarhet

K ategorisering

Menneske

Art

Dyr

Samvittighet

Symbiose (Solitude)

Bærekraft Nytte Vern Hjelp Vilje Evne Ærøyene (Zemblanity)

167


B 04 TEXT 1

som en skog i skogen

En

dag våknet mamma opp av en bris som strøk

henne over ansiktet, fra høyre mot venstre.

Hun

gjespet, kjeven knakte, og lot øynene gli opp.

E tter

at de hadde vent seg til lyset, kunne de

skimte en skygge rett fram og litt til høyre, og med brillene på kunne hun fokusere og se at det var kaprifolien som i løpet av natten hadde tatt seg inn gjennom soveromsveggen.

168


B04 TEXT 2

som en skog i skogen

Dina

og jeg var

14

år.

Vi

var på leirskole og

skulle gjennomføre en orienteringsløype. av oss kunne lese kart.

Jeg

Begge

Ingen

hadde araknofobi.

måtte gå først, og knyttet høyrehånden inni

joggejakkeermet og lot den lede veien.

Vi

gikk

først opp, siden ganske mye ned, det ble mindre og mindre sti, mer og mer trær.

Hver

skog.

gang hånden gikk gjennom et spindelvev

fløy kroppen tre meter tilbake. hang

E tter

K anskje

Dina

min kropp

sin kropp.

ti år, eller en og en halv time befant vi

oss igjen på dørstokken til leirhuset.

Vi

hadde

ikke funnet noen av postene og kunne ikke huske hva som hadde skjedd mellom at vi hadde forlatt tryggheten og kommet tilbake. igjen.

169

Vi

skulle aldri ut


B 04 essay

som en skog i skogen

Christofer Näsholm

Till skogs

På en hård stig far vi fram i vår farkost, förbi mil efter mil av enformig skog. Jag, till vardags it-konsult, sitter i bilen med farsan, på väg upp till Västerbotten för att plantera skog. Vi kör E45:an och har just passerat Sorsele. Jag ser ut genom fönsterrutan, tänker att den här skogen sträcker sig mystiskt ändå till havet, och jag känner en plötslig förståelse för forna tiders människor och deras rädsla för de troll och väsen som fanns i ­dessa djupa skogar. Leker med tanken att jag själv är en av dem. En halvvilde som ligger i bergssluttningar och spanar och en hund har jag; vi är nästan likadana, vi strövar ­omkring, ser oss om, luktar oss fram, vi sitter båda på huk och skiter. Jag fortsätter att glo ut genom rutan, på träden. Man skulle ju kunna tro att träden såg annorlunda ut på 400-talet, på samma sätt som husen och människorna ser annorlunda ut, men de såg ut som nu då. I stort sett ­s amma. Ja, det är väl då det slår mig, att träden är sig kanske lika, men skogen, va fan, vilken ordning det är där, vilka raka led, så rensat och rengjort det är runt­ omkring varje träd. Det är samma prydlighet som i vilken stadspark som helst. Den djupa urskogen runtomkring mig förvandlas till en trädgårdsrabatt. Jag hade sett världen på ett sätt. Nu var den något annat. Jag funderar på att försöka förklara det hela för farsan, vill beskriva denna kuslighet som uppstår då man får djupt rotade ­förställningar uppslitna på det där viset, men kommer av mig redan efter första meningen.

170


B04 essay

som en skog i skogen

Väl framme, vi står vid kanten av en myr som markerar gränsen till vår del av skogen. En bit längre fram ser man en sju år gammal granplantering; där ska jag röja, farsan ska sätta plantor på ett hygge som ligger i motsatt riktning. Samtidigt som jag tar på mig utrustningen, hjälmen med nätvisir och röjselen, börjar han gå i riktning mot hygget. Jag står och tittar efter honom. Hans ljud försvinner, jag hör bara vindens sus och någon enstaka fågel som skriker ut hela skogens ödslighet. Hans skepnad försvinner, jag blir ensam med träden, mossan, myggorna och myrens svarta spegelyta. Tänk om det det bara kunde vara det här, så lätt att bara gå, att försvinna. Kontrasten mellan mig och landskapet är påtaglig där jag stånkar fram med röjsågen på höften och min överlag illröda uppenbarelse. Det är skönt att komma in i granplanteringen och inleda utrensningen: småträden kring storträden ska bort. Bara man lägger klingan lätt mot trädets stam så faller det i den riktning jag bestämt. Timmarna går, jag arbetar, svettas, det är annat än it-avdelningen, tycker att jag nästan är ett med naturen. Vid ett träd hejdar jag mig då jag ser ett litet fågelbo byggt intill dess stam ungefär en meter ovanför marken. Det ser övergivet ut, jag går närmre, en näbb dyker upp, gapar utmattat. Jag stänger av röjsågen och lägger den ifrån mig. I boet ligger fyra fågelungar till. Hopkurade i varandra. Det är bara en av dem som fortfarande piper efter mat, de andra skälver. Jag tänker att föräldrarna har dött, uppätna eller påkörda av en lastbil, och funderar på om det finns något jag kan ge dem. Ett blåbär? Bröd? Fågelungen gapar ljudlöst efter mat. Jag vänder mig bort, sätter foten mot röjsågen, drar igång och fäster den i selen. Går vidare med min röjsåg, sveper den över marken, trädet med boet låter jag stå kvar, fågelungarna låter jag dö i fred där i granplanteringen i Västerbotten.

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block 13 Gluey-C

glossary introduction

NEW: PERFORMING THE ARCHIVE 12 november – 16 november

program text lecture essay

To produce new differences—differences beyond differences—differences that are emerging here and now.1 The scale of these changes are reflected in the dynamics of formats—files, gadgets, species, identities, ideologies, brands, styles, cultures, natural disasters, memes, techn­ologies—entering the ultimate platform and player of dissemination2 towards an imaginary boundary, more significant in their life than passing through the looking glass.3 The economy of timing becomes a short-­circuit4—delineations of the archive to the present become diffuse, almost fuzzy.5 No celebration whatsoever can claim to be innocent.6 New: Performing the Archive. Boris Groys, “On the New,” in Art Power (2008) Katja Novitskova (ed.), Post Internet Survival Guide 2010 (2011) 3 Alain Resnais, Toute la mémoire du monde (1956) 4 Wolfgang Ernst, “Archives in Transition: Dynamic Media Memories,” in Parikka (ed.), Digital Memory and the Archive (2013) 5 Wolfgang Ernst, “Media Archaeology: Method and Machine versus History and Narrative of Media,” in Parikka and Huhtamo (eds.), Media Archaeology: Approaches, Applications, and Implications (2011) 6 Tom Holert, Celebration? Realife (2007) 1 2

GÄSTER: Pwr, Kari Altmann, Elina Minn, Aude Pariset, Juliette Bonneviot, Bunny Rogers, Yoga Center, Fredrik Gunve, Jasper Spicero, Schutütehemd, Jens Records, Jon Rafman, Riksarkivet


B 13 glossary

New: performing the archive

New Celebration E-synth â‚Ź

snacks

Superuser Di( )r Water Sam-sung Body Care

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NEW: PERFORMING THE ARCHIVE

12–16 November 2013

Celebrate! In New: Performing the Archive, Gluey-C is hosting Skogen as a space ­presenting music, lectures, drinks, recreation services, art, snacks, fashion, and more, ­r epresenting the flows, the feeds, the formats of our ­contemporaneity, the tabs in our browsers. Gluey-C is the collaborative practice of archivist Karl-Magnus J­ ohansson and ­designers Pascal Prosek and Jonas Fridén based in Gothenburg. Combining critical archival ­practice with a ­curatorial design approach they are concerned with exploring ­information flows, temporality, visual ­identity, and knowledge-production in ­contemporary ­networked society. For now, Gluey-C is ­editing ­publications, arranging lectures, and providing refreshments.

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WORK-MODE

12–14 November Open

lectures/

workshops in connection to the course

Tuesday

workshop:

Letter

to

Jane

at

HDK

12 November

19:00 Fredric Gunve - Liebe auf den Ersten Blick

Kennst du das gefühl wenn du jemanden siehst und ihn ögendwie anfängst zu liebe, weil er so süß und nett ist aber du weisst nicht ob er dich liebt und du möchtest es wissen aber er sagt es dir nicht weil er deine gefühle nicht verletzen will. Es tut dir im inneren weh. Du hast das gefühl das er dich nicht liebt und wenn du es erfährst dann weisst du nicht was du tuhen soll A sensual understanding of what it is to perform by using performance methods, without getting stuck in talking about doing. It is important to use all senses, taste, smell, touch, hearing, seeing and looking, as well as improvisation, nonsense and imagination to animate what we learn. Performance is a way to gain practice-based knowledge, with a huge potential to strengthen the reason for why we are doing what we are doing. By using different aspects of performance it is possible to open up for a variety of existential reasons for different educational situations, such as to create happiness, feelings of fulfillment, passion and curiosity.

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Wednesday

13 November

17:00 Bunny Rogers – A look at the overlap between sexualizing children, animals in mass culture + media lecture:

workshop:

18:00-20:00 Gluey-C and Johan Rödström

Bunny Rogers (b. 1990, Houston) received her BFA from Parsons The New School for Design in 2012. Recent exhibitions include Shades of berny at Appendix Project Space (Portland, OR, USA) and If I Die Young at 319 Scholes (Brooklyn, NY, USA). My Apologies Accepted will be published as a full-length book of poetry in 2014 with Civil Coping Mechanisms.

Thursday

workshop:

14 November

17:00-20:00 PWR-studio - DEEP DATA (connect-the-dots)

Tags: Apophenia, Texas sharpshooter fallacy, Monkey tree phenomenon, Occult Data Mining, Pareidolia, Clustering illusion, Patternicity, Type I error, Gambler’s Fallacy, Ubicomp, Paranoiac-critical method, Exquisite Corpse, Bulletism, Azathoth, Deep Addressability, Powerful insights, (en/de)CRYPT(ion) Scenario: Data is captured and accumulated. Through the occult art of data analysis patterns are discerned and valuable information is extracted. Raw data is interpreted into information is refined into knowledge is exchanged for money. The job of the data analysts is finding connections and trends within an ever-growing archive that is approaching a one-to-one relationship with the world. This interpretation is ruled by shadowy algorithms, mysterious tools and in the end our human desire for meaning.

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CLUB-MODE

15–16 November YOGA Center will host the night club providing signature drinks, ­ usic, aroma therapy, and the YOGA Center archive. Gluey-C brings m you €-snacks, Eco-Synth and visual explorations. A silent, static, yet ­crumbling and entropic archive by Aude Pariset och Juliette ­Bonneviot will be present. In the space, the aura of the orignial will also shine around Open T Shape’s sculptures by Kari Altmann, Bunny Rogers, ­Jasper Spicero and Juliette Bonneviot.

Aude Pariset (1983, Versailles, FR) lives and works in Berlin. She has had solo exhibitions at Favourite Goods, Los Angeles; Sandy Brown, Berlin; CEO gallery, Malmö. Recent group exhibitions include: “Meanwhile..Suddenly and then” 12th Lyon Biennale and “Sunbathers” at 1857. Juliette Bonneviot (artist, b. 1983 in Paris, France) graduated from the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris in 2008, she lives and works in Berlin. Recent exhibitions include ‘Entre Temps... , Brusquement, Et ensuite’ 12th Biennale de Lyon (2013); ‘False Optimism’, Crawford Art Gallery, Cork (2013); ‘Analogital’, Utah Museum of Contemporary Art, Salt Lake City (2013); ‘Last Spring/ Summer’ (with Aude Pariset), Les Urbaines, Lausanne (2012); ‘Shanghai Gesture 2’ (solo), Wilkinson Gallery, London (2012); ‘entrance ­entrance’, Temple Bar Gallery, Dublin (2012).

Open T Shape

is a curatorial project run by

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Jasper Spicero


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Also, this will happen: Friday

15 November 18:00 Sch端tutehemd

pop-up store:

Schuh-t端te-hemd is: 1. Online shop & website dedicated to research on contemporary and 足traditional fashion design and textile art. The selection of clothes is guided by their concept, unconventional connections to fabrics and forms, that give them new meanings and functions. 2. A Collective of two designers, based in Berlin, engaged in various fields of arts, & 3. A thing that is unspecified of unknown (we found STH strange to wear / sewed STH from an old fabric)

19:00 Schut端tehemd / Performing the Archive: Playlist JPG 1994 (8:14) JPG 1999 (4:35) C omme Des G arcons Spring Summer 1992 (4:26) C omme Des G arcons Spring Summer 1992 (4:15) Yohji Yamamoto Sssss 1991 (4:18) Issey Miyake Sssss 1993 (4:38) Issey Miyake ss 1993 (3:30) Yohji Yamamoto ss 1992 (5:02) Yohji Yamamoto aawww 1991 1992 (4:03) Yohji Yamamoto aawwww 1989 1990 (4:22)

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20:00 book release:

Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration

Official Release event of Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration – a publication containg works and texts by Ida Lehtonen, Kari Altmann, Lisa Ehlin, Sandra Rafman, Michael Shanks, Artie V ­ ierkant and Karl-Magnus Johansson (ed.), published by the ­Regional State Archives in Gothenburg, a division of the Swedish ­National ­Archives, co-edited and designed by Gluey-C. The Regional State Archives invited the artist Ida Lehtonen to let her artistic practice encounter the archives. In Communicating the ­Archive: Physical Migration, Lehtonen’s work is presented and examined from an archival and media archaeological standpoint. Somewhat disregarding traditional archival values such as preservation, security and authenticity, this volume reconsiders the archive post-Internet through contributions from scholars and practitioners of diverse fields: art, psychology, ­digital culture, archaeology and fashion.

screening:

20:30 Jon Rafman – A Man Digging

In Jon Rafman’s film, A Man Digging, the narrator undertakes an evocative journey through a nostalgic wasteland. He is caught between past and present, between history, narrative and fiction, as he roams through the uncanny spaces of a video game massacre, frozen in time. The narrator’s monologue generates an erotics of memory as the simultaneously banal and spectacular scenes placed before the viewer meet his heady desire, and the film betrays an ontological rupture cloaked in the language of Benjaminian reflection.

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Jon Rafman is an artist, filmmaker, and essayist born in Montreal. He received his Master’s of Fine Arts from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and has exhibited at the New Museum, the Palais de Tokyo, and the Saatchi Gallery. Rafman’s work, inspired by the rich contradictions that technology presents, has been has been featured in Modern Painters, Frieze, The New York Times, and Artforum.

show:

21:00 Jens Records – Apollo XVI Space Acid Jam

Gothenburgian Acid House Label Jens Records performs live in correspondence with archival documentations of Apollo XVI. In collaboration with the Regional State Archives Gothenburg and Gluey-C.

Saturday

16 November

18:00

drinks

18:30 Fredrik Gunve – Cronicle: Quest The world is a library moving at lightspeed. The world is billions of creatures in constant flux. I feel the massive flow of information, of senses and experiences, hands reaching, touching, wild zapping on the TV-machine, adventure mazes, cosmic colors and maximalism. I hear different voices, all speaking at the same time. We are looking for a safe path that will lead us in our search. The Internet is a library that has come to life, and is now trying to devour us with its craving to communicate what it knows. Every page lies on top of millions other pages that all glimmer through the thin layer of this page. That static is what lies beneath now and the future, it is the face of the mad library.

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lecture:

19:00 Jasper Spicero – Open T Shape: Winter, Spring and Fall

I often relate 3d printing to the process of water freezing; the o ­ bject ­begins as a liquid idea in the mind of the designer, is expressed through 3d modelling programs and then frozen into a physical form. In some ways it is as playful and organic as making a snowball. Open T Shape thinks about the potential of 3d printing like the potential of a child. This lecture is for kids and parents.

Jasper Spicero (born 1990, South Dakota) received his BFA from the ­ acific Northwest College of Art and Design in 2013 and currently lives P and works in Brooklyn, New York. His work has been exhibited internationally and through digital platforms, with recent solo shows including Intriors II (American Medium, NY) and Plant Display (bubblebyte.org). He is f­ounder and curatorial director of Generation Works gallery in ­Tacoma, WA and organized Open T Shape, a series of three season-­ specific e ­ xhibitions utilizing Kompan playgrounds as a backdrop and ­showcasing artist-designed 3D-printed objects.

performance:

20:00 Elina Minn – You Deserve Better Hearing

Elina Minn is a Helsinki-based artist working with animation, film and performance. In her latest solo exhibition You Deserve Better Hearing Minn was invited by curator Minna Nyqvist to make a new work based on the collections of Wäinö Aaltonen Museum in Turku. The exhibition consists of an interactive 3D video work, digitally printed textiles and a performance. Minn took an interest in the archives of Aaltonen’s personal ­conversation notes that the deaf sculptor had used to be abet to discuss with his friends and colleagues,. In her performance Minn contrasts the way these e ­ veryday notes carry information to the heroic statues that the Finnish state commissioned him to make after the wars. The You Deserve Better Hearing project.

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lecture:

21:00 Kari Altmann – VITAL CONTENT (BioWar)

Biological and exoticized language drenches the interfaces between us and today’s technology and products, but what cultural logic lives behind an array of selected profile images, a meme on Tumblr, or a cluster of Google image search results? Artist Kari Altmann talks us through an exploration of content management, algorithms, brands, and current visual cultures which must contend with these structures, using examples from her own ouevre and beyond. Expanding on points from recent projects on the relevance of algorithms and the role of images today, she will focus on the idea of vitality as it relates to identity and survival in today’s informational ecosystem.

Kari Altmann is a cloud-based artist in New York with a BFA from MICA. She is an ongoing participant in microcultures and conceptual social media. She is the creator of the R-U-In?S platform, and experiments with ideas of algorithms, art direction, and content management as they relate to all mediums. Her work is often focused on cultural technology and the structures that shape today’s meta awareness of brands, genres, memes, templates, trends, and tribes. She has done projects with the Hirshhorn Museum, Goethe Institute, Art Dubai, New Museum, Dis Magazine, American Medium, and many more.

22:00 YOGA Center Night Club €-snacks, eco-synth

w drinks, aroma therapy,

and more

YOGA Center is a creative collective run by Daniel Iinatti, Ida Lehtonen and Pontus Westerberg. YOGA Center is a place to ­r evive, renew and regain balance of the mind, body and spirit. A place that dialogues with your senses.

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https://www.facebook.com/pages/足 Gluey-c/317962588306464 https://www.facebook.com/yogacntr http://www.audepariset.net http://juliettebonneviot.com http://www.shapeways.com/shops/OpenShape http://schuhtutehemd.com http://jonrafman.com http://twitter.com/ra_arkivgatan9 https://www.facebook.com/pages/ Jens-Records/432144386798218 https://soundcloud.com/user4472621 http://karialtmann.com http://www.elinaminn.comw http://jasperspicero.com https://www.facebook.com/fredric.gunve http://meryn.ru http://pwr-stud.io

links


B13 Text

New: performing the archive

Lisa Ehlin

Looking at a small jpeg from a performance I did not attend at first seems alienating. I have no idea how to 足r etrieve the experience, how to possibly find, much less approach a context so bound to time and space as a 足physical event. Or so I thought. As I let other traces and documents sink in and blend with my everyday information flow, I slowly realise that Internet, as it is used and practiced, to a large extent consists of traces. Poor images, copies of copies, float around from context to context, diminishing as it is accelerating. Shows get documented, documentation gets manipulated, this creates new bodies of work and thus it continues in circles (rather than goal oriented straight lines). Networks overlap with locality, intention with innovation, control with play. As long as I have a screen, my choice of context can add, or shift, the experience, an effect that might even be desirable. In some cases, the documentation of an event might even be considered of greater importance to the artistic process, than its original object. Viewing the original event as the only event is reducing its potential. Post-internet art does not follow the traditional rules of art experience. Creation and display have changed. The traces themselves question old school dichotomies of original/ copy, subject/object, and materiality/immateriality. This realisation says as much about me as a spectator, as it does about the changing conditions of documentation and the artistic process, or documentation as art. I realise that I have an active part, far extending my experience

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of an art event in a physical space. I can create new contexts, or even act as my own curator if so inclined. Coming from a Web user point of view, these aspects of the art experience is not a given. But as with other overlapping online/offline practices, say Google maps, people who are moderately active in social media, blogs and networks are still more involved through algorithms and mapping systems than they might think. Users, myself included, edit and ­distribute videos, gifs and images at will everyday, blurring the boundaries between producer and viewer of art. The shifting of context, captions, points of view, make these processes more than just a copy of an original (or, in reverse, as seen for example in the works of Desire Obtain Cherish). More than a ­creation of material things, it is a collective production of social context. Thus, as intrigued and emotionally invested as I am watching for example Jon Rafman’s piece A Man Digging, as aware do I become of these blurred online space as an active framing of art vis-à-vis other online experiences evoking similar responses in me. Thus, alongside A Man Digging I can place the music video for L.A.-based duo Nguzunguzu’s record “Mecha”, directed by Jude MC, made only from sampled footage from sci-fi movies. Jude MC states: “By sampling footage from contemporary sci-fi blockbusters I am able to, through a process of divination, analyze the sum of all dramatized scenarios ­surrounding technological advancement, AI, Alien Visitation/Invasion and the mechanization of earth. […] In time we will see if life imitates art” (Fact­­Magazine, posted November 21, 2013). The documentary traces

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and archival process in both these examples of movies and (video) games have great effect on our everyday online experiences at large. What is experienced as rapid technological (and consequently social) change and accelerated history is echoed in technological nostalgia and cultural melancholy (seen for example in other traces of NEW: Performing the Archive as well as a number of Tumblr aesthetics and blogs). What I am saying is not that this creates a necessary battle between “art” and “not art”. What these examples, as well as many of the other traces of documentation from NEW: Performing The Archive do open up for is a way to approach and see how cultural objects intersect. Indeed, these are exciting times for art and popular culture as they continue to feed off each other and create synergetic experiences. Alienation is, in a sense, a curtain that needed to be pulled away. And in the meantime, as many cultural institutions have yet to follow suit, I, the viewer can playfully get involved without confirmed ideals, if nothing else for momentary introspection, but at best feeling as repurposed as the archival traces themselves.

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Bunny Rogers

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Bunny Rogers

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Karl-Magnus Johansson

The Real Thing

Conjunction of Archival Theories For at least the last half century, the concept of the archive has come to take dual paths in theoretical discussions. The first would be the development within traditional archival science and practice, “rooted in nineteenth-century positivism,” that has been closely connected to state ­bureaucracy and public archives. When facing the challenges of a “postmodern and computerized world,” there has been an emphasis on defining information and knowledge as social and organizational resources and values. These influences from management science and organizational theory are reasonable given the context in which most ­professional ­archivists operate. There is also a long-term ongoing development in which archives are repositioned within the field of cultural heritage. As archivist Terry Cook points out, during the last century there has been a shift in archival institutions, from a “juridical-administrative justification for archives grounded in concepts of the state” to “a socio-­ cultural justification for archives grounded in wider public policy and public use.”1 The second, parallel elaboration of the concept of the archive has evolved in academic fields and practices outside the traditional archival community. An important contribution in this direction is the work by philosopher Michel Foucault from the late 1960s, in which the archive is included as a central concept in his discourse analysis framework.2 To Foucault, the archive is not limited to being defined as the collection of preserved documents from state bureaucracies, companies or families; rather, he lets information leave its material surfaces and organizational context:

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The archive is first the law of what can be said, the system that governs the appearance of statements as unique events. But the archive is also that which determines that all these things said do not accumulate endlessly in an amorphous mass, nor are they inscribed in an unbroken linearity, nor do they disappear at the mercy of chance ­external accidents; but they are grouped together in ­distinct figures, composed together in accordance with multiple relations, maintained or blurred in accordance with specific regularities; that which determines that they do not withdraw at the same pace in time, but shine, as it were, like stars, some that seem close to us shining brightly from afar off, while others that are in fact close to us are already growing pale.3

Here, Foucault launches the archive into an abstract space, far-fetched for the traditional archival community at the time. On the other hand, analyzing Foucault’s archive can be useful in understanding the formation of knowledge and legitimization of power on a structural level in a given context or time. Furthermore, another philosopher showing ardent interest for the archive is Jacques Derrida, whose influential book from 1995, Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression, became widely discussed and marked what at the time was seen as an archival turn in social and human sciences. Although expanding awareness of the archive in some regards further than ever before, Derrida’s work was “virtually ignored” by archivists and archival science.4 The reasons behind this apparent disregard are ­exhaustively discussed in an article by archivist Brien Brothman published in the journal Archivaria, in which aspects such as archivists’ general lack of interest for philosophy and the difficulty of reading Derrida’s work are pointed out. A perhaps more substantive explanation is unveiled when contrasting the archivists’ foundational mission to contextualize information with Derrida’s deconstructivist focus on textuality.While simultaneously making archives accessible,

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according to Derrida’s position, the underlying purposes of archivists’ operations can be seen as “acts which essentially impose limits on possibilities, . . . a form of exclusion or forgetting.”5 Brothman explains: Archival methodology’s focus on context stems from a responsibility to exclude, or to at least minimize the tensional possibility of alternative readings and meanings. This is why archivists work to identify or select—to impose—a single context on content. Context conditions the evocation of meaning; it disciplines textual content. To context, archivists implicitly confide the task of taming text’s “hyperness,” eliminating textual ambivalence, halting the operation of difference, and stanching the multiplication of interpretations.6

Considering this difference, Brothman urges archivists to discern that Derrida is not preoccupied with the “annihilation of archives,” but rather with the deconstruction of archives. For example, adopting Derrida’s approach as a critical contribution to archival profession and theory can help institutions examine important components of their operations, such as “naming practices, intellectual assumptions, technological beliefs, political goals, ethical intentions and moral responsibilities.” 7 Over the last decade, a number of studies within, or in close relation to, the archival community have illustrated such critical approaches, where archival practice and records management have often been considered as political acts. For instance, these studies have examined structural issues of gender and ethnicity, or processes of oppression and empowerment.8 If “virtually ignored” by archivists, the philosophers’ reflections on the archive have been broadly represented in contemporary art, where the archive has been a central concept for at least the last two decades. For example,

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­ rtists’ archival work has included methods of selection, a repurposing and alternative knowledge production, exploring issues of memory and loss, textual and narrative power, the authority of archives, the factuality of archival traces, and strategies of classification and representation.9 In these works, there is often an approach to the concept that would be unthinkable for traditional archivists. An interesting example would be the archival framework of the Lebanese artist Walid Raad’s work. In his acclaimed project The Atlas Group, he presents an archive that deals with Lebanese history from 1975 to 1990, in which he discusses the narratives of civil war.The documents in The Atlas Group archives were all created after this period, and the events or persons represented are obviously contrived. This method of discussing archives, excluding authenticity by creating and referring to fictional archival

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traces, would most likely not appear within the ­traditional archival community. However, when approaching the concept from a critical heritage perspective, Raad’s work raises questions, including the following, in his own words: “How do we approach facts not on their crude facticity but through the complicated mediations by ­which facts acquire their immediacy?”10 In November 2011, the Regional State Archives in Gothenburg moved into new premises. Whereas the former building, constructed in 1911, was most likely designed to offer visitors a custodial impression of the archives, the new facilities have given us the ability to operate as a more open and inviting cultural institution in the center of Gothenburg. When moving, we also wanted to explore new ways of communicating the archive that included an emphasis on the understanding of the archive as considered within practices of contemporary art. To this end, we invited the artist Ida Lehtonen to ­participate in a project. We felt a curiosity about her practice, as we had seen some of her previous work, often ­presented online, exploring archival issues. For example, when using Google as an archival interface, or deconstructing information contained in accessible online images, her work raised questions regarding processes of selection, reconnections, and repurposing. Her interest in how new technology shapes us and the world we live in injects new perspectives into the notion of the materiality of archives. What also attracted us was Lehtonen’s way of exploring how the Internet as a medium affects us at a deeper level. An awareness of the medium that permeates her practice. I stay logged in, even in my dreams. My fingers the cursor, my eyes the screen.11

Lehtonen’s work for us, Physical Migration, constituted a project that let the previous experiences of her practice encounter the archives kept in our repositories, and the

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way they are communicated. This curatorial starting point is clearly in line with the following well-formulated statement by editors Cecilia Grönberg and Jonas (J) Magnusson of the journal OEI: The document-oriented artist or writer is in no way a nostalgic that recedes into the past, but someone who opens connections to different times through her continuing effort to create a transmission. An incessant return to the ­materiality of pictures and words is required to reach new layers of meaning.12 The click an unconscious reflex. Soft fictions or fantasies. Replayed and reconstructed. – Ida Lehtonen, Physical Migration

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Physical Migration An integral part of the mission of the Swedish ­National ­Archives, in which the Regional State Archives is a ­department, is that the facilitation of the use of archives and records should permeate all our activities. In addition to making archives available in reading rooms and ­accessible online, we in the Gothenburg department receive and answer approximately 15 000 inquiries regarding ­archival information every year. These are usually requests for copies, extracts, or transcripts of clearly defined docu­ments such as birth certificates or estate inventories. Other inquiries include questions from scholars of historical sciences regarding cases for empirical studies or from genealogists searching for traces of ancestors. The documents that Lehtonen was asking for in the initial stages of Physical Migration did not fit into those categories at all, as the selection was a continuation of a method related to her explorations of online images. Since our finding aids, catalogs and indexes were not useful, the interface for finding the requested documents and making them ­available to Lehtonen became the subjective archivist, whose personal experiences became the means of selecting from millions of documents kept in our repositories. We ended up providing Lehtonen with images (ca 1970–1990) from the archive of the regional division of the Swedish State Work Environment Authority, in which the preserved documentation of workplace inspections often includes photographic images. In Physical Migration, Lehtonen let the information migrate: from the archived documents, in this case photographic images according to the technological equipment of their time (often Polaroids), to being scanned as JPGs, to going through Lehtonen’s method of digital imaging affected by the algorithms of Photoshop, and to TIFF-files presented in an exhibition at the Regional State Archives in various mediums and materialities, such as printed canvas, printed transparency-film and digital images displayed via ­projector.

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The images were also printed on archival paper and ­archived as public records in the Regional State Archives, making them accessible for the public to copy, photograph or study in our reading room, all in accordance with the Swedish constitution. To elaborate further on Lehtonen’s work in Physical Migration, and specifically on what it can say about archival logic and how information is transmitted and migrated from specific materialities, we found a fruitful approach in the theoretical framework of media archaeology. This approach is a method of research and an emerging field within media studies that has attracted an increasing number of scholars over the last decades. Beginning in the 1980s with German literary scholar Friedrich Kittler’s groundbreaking books Discourse Networks 1800/1900 and Gramophone, Film,Typewriter, the approach, in media theorist Geert Lovink’s words, involves reading media history “against the grain.”13 Following Michel Foucault’s discourse analysis framework of studying the formation of knowledge, media ­archaeology suggests that all discourses are transmitted through a medium and that no medium is a transparent or neutral carrier of information. This assumption motivates studies of the material singularity of a medium, which enables analysis of the effects of transmission of information and communication in a given context and time. In examining such processes, the approach asks questions like “What is the message of the medium?” to refer to the classical phrase coined by Marshall McLuhan. In recent years, media archaeologists have shown interest in the archive. For example, a number of works by Wolfgang Ernst are concerned with contemporary digital technology and how it challenges the concept of the archive.14 Although confronting the material layers of archives, these studies embrace the philosophical tradition of ­archival theory, instead of the traditional archival science.

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Within media archaeology lies a division of traditions. In one such tradition, an Anglo-Saxon group of ­s cholars would be more interested in the discursive cultural aspects, whereas a separate German tradition tends to emphasize the role of technological conditions.15 The latter, stemming from Kittler, is sometimes described as producing “media studies without people” with its technology-oriented framework.16 However, this tradition should not be seen as technologically deterministic, but rather, as Ernst claims, an approach that “exposes the technicality of media not to reduce culture to technology but to reveal the techno epistemological momentum in culture itself.”17 In Physical Migration, Lehtonen’s work can be seen as playfully intertwining the cores of these traditions while exploring the underlying structures of information and communication, the discursive and the material mani­ festation of culture.

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The focus of media archaeological studies is often “noise, not meaning,” which can be interpreted as the ­transmission protocol of a medium. In the case of data ­migration, the observation of the noise of a specific medium, “the ­emergence of trash, contingency, and the unconscious,” can illustrate the technological and discursive formation of archival information in a certain time, letting noise become “an index of archival logic.”18 In Physical Migration, Lehtonen explores the migration of archival information, recognizing both data loss as well as the limits of translation. Through these processes, the embedded gradual obfuscation leads to abstraction. The revealed traces of migration processes and past mediums’ material singularities in Lehtonen’s abstract images lead us to question how we define information and noise. A particular stage in the process of producing the exhibition Physical Migration offers a perhaps frivolous but illustrative example. When ordering the printing of Lehtonen’s ­images onto canvas and transparency-film, we were informed by the reprographic business that all services other than printing the digital images we provided would be charged in 15-minute increments. However, after receiving the original TIFF-files, the operator would not proceed with printing the images without first engaging us in a 90 minute discussion, uncharged, in which we had to convince him to proceed with the order. He argued that we would not want to spend money on printing such images, pointing out noisy features like the chromatic aberrations in still-visible details of the original photographic exposures and noticeable glitch-like traces of Photoshop’s algorithms. In his professional ­opinion, he did not deem it worthwhile to physically migrate the noise and glitches of the images. As Lehtonen’s images illustrate, the processes of transmission and migration affect the formation of archives, as well as their order and entropy. The same issues are raised by art historian Sven Spieker in a lecture in which he examines

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the work of conceptual artist Antoni Muntadas, who questions the “traditional understanding of the archive as a stable repository of knowledge.” Spieker argues that Muntadas’s work “challenges our assumption that the knowledge stored in an archive is immune to change or it can even be conceived as such outside of the dynamic processes of its transmission, translation or communication.” Just as Physical Migration illustrates, Spieker concludes that “the process of transmission itself becomes an inalienable part of the message it transports” and that “no archive can remain unaffected by the context in which it operates.”19 In the abstract and sometimes repetitive images, ­Lehtonen recognizes and illuminates details that could in some respects certainly be considered as noise, but while still constituting a material part of the archived document. Moreover, Piyel Haldar, lecturer in law, acknowledges similar conditions of the medium of photography when discussing detailism and evidential value of the photographic image: Yet, any photograph, even a photofit image, contains within its frame a clutter of trivialities, details and sub-images . . . it is rather the image itself that renders details visible; details that would otherwise have been ignored jump out, catch our attention, arrest us.20

By returning to the archives in a non-nostalgic way, using a method developed far from our repositories’ shelves, Lehtonen has in Physical Migration contributed new perspectives. Furthermore, her work offers a deeper understanding as to what constitutes an archive. When presenting the images as an exhibition, we could communicate these insights as well as the potentiality of archives as part of our public program. The archive starts with acts of crystallisation, with reducing the disorder of processes into coded, grammatological structures – a mediatic

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in-between of loose coupling and rigid form. Here, the real takes place. – Wolfgang Ernst, The Archive as Metaphor

Art after the Internet “There is no offline space,” the artist Martin Kohout argued while giving a Skype lecture for the University of Cincinnati in 2011.21 Even if we are not actually online for some time, for many of us today, we cannot think, communicate or socialize with others without being affected by our ­experience of the Internet. In the same sense, the way that Lehtonen approached the archives would most likely not have been possible, nor have the same meaning, ­without this understanding. Since the early 1990s, artists have been exploring digital formats and the Internet as a platform for presenting their work. These early artistic expressions were defined by their media specificity, sometimes labeled as “net.art” and “politically, geographically and theoretically isolated from the mainstream contemporary art world.”22 Another approach has emerged in recent years that is in some ways connected to net.art, but is perhaps even more related to the ­wider tradition of conceptual art. For example, within this approach, works are not necessarily presented online, but more importantly they recognize and raise questions about the experience of the digitization of our existence.23 Kohout elaborates on this development in his Skype talk: “For a generation of artists, growing up with the Internet has affected our behavior so deeply, that to me personally it doesn’t make much sense to call myself a net-artist.” Besides this inevitable cultural effect, he explains that the Internet as a medium sometimes just happens to be “a material or space where I find it appropriate to present my work.”24

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Similar to Kohout’s analysis was the curatorial starting point of the panel 89+ Digital Natives, including artists born in 1989 and after, presented at the DLD-conference in Munich in January 2013.25 In their introduction, the ­curators Simon Castets and Hans-Ulrich Obrist referred to the author Douglas Coupland, who argues that the practices of this age-defined cohort of artists mark a significant cultural shift since they represent “the first purely digital wave of thinkers whose intellectual leads will surprise, because they are coming from a wholly new way of synthesizing ideas and information.” To explain this situation as a generational issue is illustrative, but perhaps this shift should be recognized as having a wider impact on most media users today. Artists (regardless of age) who explore this contemporary state have been labeled “Internet aware” or “post-Internet,” terms that lack consensus both on ­definition and usage. In his essay “Image Object Post-Internet,”

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artist Artie Vierkant suggests that post-Internet could be defined by the contemporary moment “inherently informed by ubiquitous authorship, the development of attention as currency, the collapse of physical space in networked culture, and the infinite reproducibility and mutability of digital materials.” Leading him to this definition is the recognition of two realities “crucial to an understanding of art after the Internet”: first, that nothing is in a fixed state which finds expressions as always possibly altered into versions, and second, the reception and social presence of art objects in contemporary networked culture.26 Another definition of the term post-Internet, suggested by Gene McHugh and referred to by Vierkant, is: “when the Internet is less a novelty and more a banality.”27 While recognizing the Internet’s pervasiveness, this approach calls for a nuanced attitude when the real consequences of the medium are under debate. Instead of blaming the Internet for social problems or having utopian Internet hopes, it maintains that “post Internet is all about understanding that the biggest novelty net brought about is a new relation to its outside.”28 To assume this present banality of a perceived all-encompassing monomedium ensures that cultural expressions such as art are not separated from other economies.29 Art as another tab in our browser. In the same way, artists’ work can hardly be separated from the communication of other parts of life. For example, artists’ presence and activity on social media platforms such as Facebook and Instagram are often intertwined with their artistic practices.30 This recognition raises the issue of the constant availability expected in networked society, which is slipping economic interests and values into the private sphere.31 The approach also includes an awareness of the archival traces that the interactive media users leave behind.32 Whether it be information regarding consumer behavior or registered coordinates of cell phones, social, political and economic power are influenced by this archived information.

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The post-Internet approach also suggests a situation in which hierarchies could be dissolving and perhaps helps demonstrate how they reform and take on new manifestations. For example, the Internet has to a large extent abolished the hierarchies in which status was based on access to information. While this is not as significant a divider anymore, new patterns crystalize, categorize, and stratify collective identities based on class, ethnic, or subcultural belonging. For instance, this notion has been explored by the artist Amalia Ulman, using contemporary cultural expressions in social media platforms to discuss class as part of her artistic practice.33 The Internet has also brought about new ways to access information from the present as well as the past. This has encouraged the exploration of archival issues among artists applying a post-Internet approach. Given the amount of information available on the Internet, selection has emerged as a key operation of artists’ archival impulses.34 For example, the accessibility of information and critique of selection, conjoined with contemporary artists’ “ability to filter, analyze and refine the codes of cultural communication” constituted the exhibition Collecting the Wwworld: the Artist as Archivist in the Internet Age, curated by Domenico Quaranta and presented in Brescia, Basel and NewYork in 2011–2012.35 A work discussing the recording and selection of ­information is artist Jon Rafman’s acclaimed project Nine Eyes of Google Street View.36 When examining an archive of images mechanically recorded by the automatic Google Street View camera and arranged and accessed according to location, Rafman presents a selection of screen shots that highlights the human gaze encapsulated in the images of the archive, rather than the rational purpose for which it was designed. As Sandra Rafman has concluded, archival impulses are essential to Jon Rafman’s body of work, in which he often plays the role of ethnographer, archivist and virtual explorer.37

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Within her practice, artist Kari Altmann examines the structures underlying contemporary visual culture, such as those formed by algorithms or strategies of content management and branding. In her projects Garden Club and R-U-IN?S, she researches these structures by conceptually using the Tumblr-blog platform. She describes Garden Club: An ongoing archive that rebrands found and ­produced content under the memetic umbrella of a research project investigating its viral and ecological properties.The archive itself, which exists on a social media platform, is subject to these same terms of virality in order to get the most, or at least the “best” results for its various topics and ongoing tropes. Over time, as a collaboration between user and pseudoalgorithmic process, the memes that emerge begin to aggregate and rebrand everything in their path, creating an overgrown garden of content.38

Just like Foucault’s archive determines how statements “are grouped together in distinct figures, composed ­together in accordance with multiple relations, maintained or blurred in accordance with specific regularities,” ­Altmann’s Garden Club explores the formation of archives when technology and discursive visual literacy conjoin.39 In a similar vein, artist Katja Novitskova runs the blog Survivaltips as an “emerging distributed archive.” The blog has been translated into the book Post Internet Survival Guide 2010 and presented as “a guide to the ecology of a severe ongoing merging of matter, social and (visual) information in present world.” In nine chapters, each named according to the first Google search results for “survival guide,” the content contributed by a number of artists presents these processes, although reduced to textual and visual representations in the format of a publication. The book illustrates the limits of the format, as well as the impossibility of translation, which can lead to the

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consideration of the aforementioned media archaeologist approach, where Kittler states, “a medium is a medium is a medium.”40 As the contemporary experience is being “reshaped and re-articulated,” Novitskova points out: The scale of these changes are reflected in the ­dynamics of formats—files, gadgets, species, identities, ideologies, brands, styles, cultures, natural disasters, memes, technologies— entering the ultimate platform and player of dissemination: Internet.41

Referring back to Vierkant, when presenting the realities that underpin his definition of post-Internet, he argues, “Art is a social object.” Within this view lies the assumption that the artwork, when presented or documented online, will most likely be copied, shared, edited and recontexualised by others. This recognition of the proliferation of

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networked culture and infinitely alterable and ­reproducible media is found in many artists’ collective experience of the Internet and its effects. As Amalia Ulman puts it, “In the end, the only thing all my works share, in terms of ­medium and display, is that they all resume in their own documentation.”42 Interfering in this resumption, artists are exploring this process further by presenting altered documentation of their previous work or exhibitions. Examples of such projects are Ida Lehtonen’s Duplicates and Artie Vierkant’s Image Objects. As his work illustrates, artist Oliver Laric takes the issues of resumption and alteration further in what appears to be a main component of his artistic practice. When asked in an interview how he feels about the online reactions to his work and how others use and abuse it, he replied, “It is the most interesting part.”43 Such a statement illustrates an awareness, shared by many artists, of their work being sampled and recycled, into recontextualized and repurposed versions. Multiplication of an icon, far from diluting its cultic power, rather increases its fame and each image, however imperfect, conventionally partakes of some portion of the properties of the precursor. Touched with a hammer, as with a tuning fork, I cook every chance in my pot. It’s the real thing. – Oliver Laric, Versions

Communicating the Archive Within the field of archives and records management, the challenges that arise from managing information digitally and in online environments have forced changes in the philosophy and practice of recordkeeping. The maintenance of traditional archival values such as ­preservation, security, and authenticity is thoroughly examined. Furthermore, with regard to the wider field of cultural heritage, the impacts of a digitized society have been highlighted and

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considered with respect to topics such as virtuality and interactivity, exploring dichotomies like the virtual and the real, the body and machine.44 The post-Internet approach, as discussed in relation to the practices of the aforementioned artists and their peers, represents an amalgamation of perspectives when further theorizing the contemporary state of the concept of the archive. We see today “how archival practices are increasingly involved in the everyday life of the regular media user,” whether in managing the temporality of online content or in the personal archives of local hard drives or smart phones.45 With this in mind, Lisa Ehlin presents an interesting approach. Combining theories of digital culture, cultural history, and fashion, she manages to provide an understanding of the archive by investigating how it is used in contemporary Internet practices.46 Whenever a new medium becomes widely used, it opens up a new set of relations to the past.47 With the Internet, the configuration of interactivity and accessibility of information are reformulating how temporality is managed and perceived. The technological conditions of the medium lead to a state where the “delineations of the archive to the present become diffuse, almost fuzzy.”48 The ­accessibility of the present and the past becomes intertwined, “the ­economy of timing becomes a short-circuit.”49 This reconfiguring of temporality can be considered during the digitization of analogue archives, a large-scale activity within cultural heritage institutions today. As Lehtonen’s work illustrates, the digitization process is always exposed to the critical act of translation, during which technological and discursive conditions affect how noise and information are defined. In this process there is also an intrinsic change of understanding temporality, as Wolfgang Ernst describes in a technological media ­archaeological approach:

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“Digital retro-action” dramatically takes place, ­actually, by digitizing analogue source material in the archives and bringing it into a technomathematicized present, thereby translating an analogous world into a digital matrix. The microtemporality in the operativity of data processing (synchronization) replaces the traditional macro time of the “historical” archive (governed by the semantics of historical discourse)—a literal “quantization.” Our relation not only to the past but to the present thus becomes truly “archival.” 50

Ernst’s subsequent analysis leads to the conclusion that the “spatial metaphor of the archive transforms into a temporal dimension; the dynamization of the archive involves time-based procedures”—a shift from archival space to archival time.51
 When the concept of the archive encounters digital and online archives, constant movement and dynamic ­rewriting replace the quasi-eternal storage and veto against change. Recognizing this fundamental difference, Ernst presents a division of the archive, based on its materiality and organization: The traditional spatial, that is, archival order which still continues in institutionally and ­physically remote places is thus being accompanied by a dynamic archival practice of data mapping, by ­temporal, dynamic, process operations which ­differentiate traditional from electronic archives.52

Within this division of archives, an important question arises: How do they affect each other? Ernst elaborates further and outlines that in one way, the “networked data bases mark the beginning of a relationship to knowledge that dissolves the hierarchy associated with the ­classical archive,” as when “going online the archive loses its traditional power: its secrecy, its informative temporal

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difference to the immediate usage and consumption in the presence.”53 On the other hand, “[t]he more cultural data are processed in electronic, fugitive form, the more the traditional archive gains authority from the very materiality of its artefacts.”54 It rediscovers its “virtue as institutional monument” and the traditional tasks “to arrest and fix and maintain.”55 These statements and subsequent studies about how the two archives both depend on and affect each other can be framed within a post-Internet approach: the digital archive brought about a new understanding to its ­outside. This is in line with what Trond Lundemo states in his ­article “Archival Shadows”: Just to persist in the idea that the old archives will prevail falls short of analysing how the digital convention fundamentally changes not only the politics and priorities of the archive institutions, but also how one accesses and thinks about archival material and our “cultural heritage” at large.56

Experiencing new archival interfaces represents a consequence of managing information digitally. The ­assumption that archives do not keep memories or tell stories but rather consist of quiet traces of the past, and that processes that put archival information into ­narrative ­memory always come from the outside, emphasizes the importance of the interfaces through which archives are ­c ommunicated. In this context, interfaces should be understood as a broadly defined term that can consist of finding aids, platforms for publishing digital and digitized archives, ­architecture of archival buildings, policies and public ­programs of archive institutions, and so on. In these ­interfaces lies a significant power that governs how ­archival information can be accessed, what possible narratives the archives can provide, and how the archives can legitimize the performance of power.

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Due to technological conditions, new interfaces have emerged for accessing digital information online. Internet search engines, through their ability to instantaneously compile connections to various contexts based on a given string, influence our perception of how we find information today. Moreover, since sounds and images become calculable when digitized, they can be addressed not only by alphanumeric metadata but also by their own ­medium through interfaces consisting of pattern recognition algorithms, such as Google’s image-by-image search. As Lehtonen’s work demonstrates, the experience of ­accessing information from such new interfaces challenges and necessitates scrutiny of the interfaces used in the traditional archives, a field of studies that to some extent is underexamined. One contribution x to this field is the book Archive Stories, in which scholars of historical studies analyze their encounters with archives. In many cases, this leads to analyses that reveal the power of interfaces. For example, in her contribution, historian Durba Ghosh elaborates on her own “ethnography of the archive” that she experienced in the course of her dissertation project. While studying how local Indian women cohabited with or married ­European men during the late 18th and early 19 th centuries in British Colonial India, she encountered archival practices used in India and Britain. In some archival institutions, she confronted archivists who attempted to restrict her ­ability to review documents in reading rooms. Indeed, she was even asked somewhat intrusive questions, such as, “what is a nice girl like you doing working on something like this?”57 In a similar vein, when searching for sources in the British colonial archives, she recognized that the finding aids and lists meticulously drawn up according to traditional archival practice were not sufficient to help her find the documented information she was seeking for. Instead, she found a useful source in vernacular Indian novels of the early 19 th century, materials that no ­archivist had mentioned or suggested. Furthermore, archived

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information that had been subject to exclusion during the cataloguing of the colonial archives represented another useful source: Ironically, in addition to the novels the most useful and productive colonial-era documents that I found in Calcutta were largely uncatalogued and out of chronological order, tied up in bundles with bits of twine, putting documents from 1765 with documents from 1896 next to each other, lumping civil suits with criminal cases, cases of petty theft, 足vagrancy and domestic violence. Many of the materials I found there were about matters which were deemed unworthy of transport to London, perhaps because they were seen as inconsequential to the order and profitability of the colonial government.58

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Referring back to the media archaeologist approach, Wolfgang Ernst describes how he comes from the ­intellectual tradition of approaching the concept of the ­archive through Foucault and Derrida and then concludes that “no place can be more deconstructive than archives themselves, with their relational but not coherent ­topology of documents that wait to be reconfigured, again and again.”59 This is in line with a statement by curator Maria Lind. When working on an exhibition at München Kunst­ verein that presented parts of the institution’s own archive, she described what she believed to be the chief quality of ­archives, “namely their potentiality . . . as opposed to being fixed in a definite way of reading.”60 Ida Lehtonen’s Physical Migration, and the archival ­explorations of the aforementioned artists, as well as Durba Ghosh’s ethnography of the archive all represent ­examples of archival practices that embrace Derrida’s critical deconstructivist approach presented by Brothman in the beginning of this text. These processes of examination must be ongoing and open to influence from ­contemporary experience, as they are always a part of how we communicate the limits and potentialities of archives. The hyphen is a silence made audible, that marked or unmarked space that both binds and divides. It prevents identities that either end from settling into primordial polarities. Giving rise to something different, something unrecognizable. A new area of negotiation of meaning and representation. It’s the real thing. – Oliver Laric, Versions

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1 Cook, Terry, “Archival Science and Postmodernism: New Formulations for Old Concepts,” Archival Science, 1 no. 1 (2001), quote p. 18; Brothman, Brien, “Declining Derrida: Integrity, Tensegrity, and the Preservation of Archives from ­Deconstruction,” Archivaria, no. 48 (1999) 2 The importance of Foucault is for example pointed out in Lundemo, Trond, “Archival Shadows,” in Eivind Røssaak (ed.), The Archive in Motion: New Conceptions of the Archive in Contemporary Thought and New Media Practices, Oslo 2010, p 190; and Steedman, Carolyn, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, New Brunswick 2002, p. 2 3 Foucault, Michel, The Archaeology of Knowledge, New York 1972, p. 129 4 Quote in Brothman 1999, p. 64. For example, Terry Cook shows that two issues of the journal History of the Human Sciences 1998-1999 were devoted to essays on “the Archive” by almost twenty scholars, none of them archivists and very few writings by archivists about archives were cited. Cook 2001, p. 6 5 Brothman 1999, p. 80 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid., p. 82 f 8 To name a few examples, Kumbier, Alana, Ephemeral Material: Developing a Critical Archival Practice, Columbus 2009; The section “Activism in Archives,” TOPIA Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies, no. 20 (2008); Margaret Procter, Michael Cook and Caroline Williams (eds.), Political Pressure and the Archival Record, Chicago 2006 9 Sæther, Susanne Østby, ­“Archival Art: Negotiating the Role of New Media,” in Røssaak 2010; Foster, Hal, “An Archival Impulse,” October, no. 110 (2004); Charles Merewether (ed.), The ­Archive, London 2006; Spieker, Sven, The Big Archive: Art From Bureaucracy, ­Cambridge 2008 10 The Atlas Group [Raad, Walid], “Let’s Be Honest, the Rain Helped,” in Merewether 2006, p. 179 11 Lehtonen, Ida, “Physical ­Migration,” in Karl-Magnus Johansson (ed.), Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration, Göteborg 2013 12 The editors’ preface in OEI, no.

53-54 (2011), p. 2 [my translation from Swedish] 13 Huhtamo, Erkki and Parikka, Jussi, “Introduction: An Archaeology of Media Archaeology,” in Erkki ­Huhtamo and Jussi Parikka (eds.), Media ­Archaeology: Approaches, Applications, and Implications, Berkeley 2011, p. 3 14 See the recently published collection of texts by Wolfgang Ernst in Jussi Parikka (ed.), Digital Memory and the Archive, Minneapolis 2013 15 Huhtamo and Parikka 2011, p. 8 16 Introduction by John Durham Peters in Kittler, Friedrich, Optical Media: Berlin Lectures 1999, Cambridge 2010, p. 5 17 Ernst, Wolfgang, “Media ­Archaeology: Method and Machine ­versus History and Narrative of Media,” in ­Parikka and Huhtamo 2011, p. 253 18 Parikka, Jussi, “Mapping Noise: Techniques and Tactics of Irregularities, Interception, and Disturbance,” in Parikka and Huhtamo 2011, p. 256 19 Spieker, Sven, “Muntadas’s Entropic Archives,” paper presented at the conference The Archive as Project, University of Warsaw 2011, http://vimeo. com/24563162 20 Haldar, Piyel, “Law and the Evidential Image,” in Marit Paasche and Judy Radul (eds.), A Thousand Eyes: Media Technology, Law and Aesthetics, Berlin 2011, p. 212 ff 21 Kohout, Martin, “Web Chat! New Media Lecture Series at University of Cincinnati,” 2011, http://youtu.be/ jkktjMCo84E 22 Jones, Caitlin, “Conceptual Blind Spots,” Mousse Magazine, no. 38 (2013) 23 In a recent work, artist Oliver Laric has compiled An Incomplete Timeline of Online Exhibitions and Biennials, including early net.art works as well as recent art presented online. http://archive.rhizome. org/artbase/56398/timeline.html 24 Kohout 2011 25 http://youtu.be/yd5GJoW7Ovc 26 Vierkant, Artie, “The Image Object Post-Internet,” http://jstchillin. org/artie/vierkant.html, 2010. In print, in Karl-Magnus Johansson (ed.),

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Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration, Göteborg 2013 27 Ibid. 28 Thumfart, Johannes, “The Space Building Animal: Post Internet Politics of Space from the Point of View of the History of Ideas,” PWR Paper, no. 6 (2011/2012) 29 Bosma, Josephine, “Copycats and Digital Natives,” in Domenico Quaranta (ed.), Collect the WWWorld: The Artist as Archivist in the Internet Age, exhibition catalogue, Brescia 2011, p. 27 30 Troemel, Brad, Vierkant, Artie and Vickers, Ben, “Club Kids: The Social Life of Artists on Facebook,” http://dismagazine.com, February 20, 2012 31 Fabuš, Palo, “To Want to Be a Hesitant Seafarer,” Doubting, no. 4 (2011/2012), p. 9 f 32 Jakobsen, Kjetil, “Anarchival Society,” in Røssaak 2010, p. 149 33 Ulman, Amalia, “F/F,” http://pooool.info/f-f, April 5, 2012 34 Bishop, Claire, “Digital Divide,” Artforum, September 2012 35 Quaranta 2011 36 http://9-eyes.com 37 Rafman, Sandra, “Reframing Loss: Jon Rafman’s Virtual Archives,” in Karl-Magnus Johansson (ed.), ­Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration, Göteborg 2013 38 Kari Altmann, e-mail to author, July 29, 2013 39 Altmann, Kari, “Garden Club,” in Karl-Magnus Johansson (ed.), Communicating the Archive: Physical Migration, Göteborg 2013 40 Kittler, Friedrich, Discourse Networks 1800/1900, Stanford 1990, p. 265 41 Katja Novitskova (ed.), Post Internet Survival Guide 2010, Berlin 2011 42 Lucking, Maura, “Artist Profile: Amalia Ulman,” http://rhizome.org/editorial/2012/nov/7/artist-profile-amalia-ulman/, November 7, 2012 43 Quaranta, Domenico, “The Real Thing: Interview with Oliver Laric,” Art Pulse Magazine 2010 44 Fiona Cameron and Sarah Kenderdine (eds.), Theorizing Digital Cultural Heritage: A Critical Discourse, Cambridge

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and London 2007, p. 2 45 Sæther 2010, p. 104 46 Ehlin, Lisa, “Tumblr and the Future of the Archive,” in Karl-­Magnus Johansson (ed.), Communicating the ­Archive: Physical Migration, Göteborg 2013 47 Jakobsen 2010, p. 134 48 Ernst, Wolfgang, “Printed ­Letters, Acoustic Space, Real Time Internet: The Message of Current Communication Media, Deciphered with (and Beyond) McLuhan),” lecture at the conference McLuhan Revisited at the Fritt Ord Foundation, Oslo, April 12, 2011 49 Ernst, Wolfgang, “Archives in Transition: Dynamic Media Memories,” in Parikka 2013, p. 98 50 Ernst 2011, p. 251 51 Ernst, Wolfgang, “The Archive as Metaphor: From Archival Space to ­Archival Time,” Open, no. 7 (2004), p. 48 52 Ibid., p. 50 53 Ibid., p. 51; Ernst, Wolfgang, “Archival Times: Tempor(E)alities of Media Memory,” lecture at the National Library in Oslo, October 6, 2010 54 Ernst 2004, p. 48 55 Ernst 2010 56 Lundemo 2010, p. 195 f 57 Ghosh, Durba, “National ­Narratives and the Politics of ­Miscegenation: Britain and India,” in Antoinette Burton (ed.), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History, Durham and London 2005, p. 29 f. For another study of historians’ encounters with archives, see Fellman, Susanna and Popp, Andrew, “Lost in the Archive: The Business Historian in Distress,” in Barbara Czarniawska and Orvar Löfgren (eds.), Coping with Excess: How Organizations, Communities and Individuals Manage Overflows, (Forthcoming) 58 Ghosh 2005, p. 38 59 Lovink, Geert, “Archive Rumblings: Interview with German Media ­Archaeologist Wolfgang Ernst,” in Parikka 2013, p. 194 60 Lind, Maria, ”Telling H ­ istories: Archive / Spatial Situation / Case Studies / Talk Shows / Symposium,” in Brian Kuan Wood (ed.), Selected Maria Lind ­Writing, New York 2010, p. 321


PIXELLATED REVOLUTION: Rabih Mrouè “Syrians are filming their own death”, that is how the Pixelated Revolution begins, aiming to study the various tips and directions on mobile phone documentation, as shared via the ­medium of Facebook and other virtual ­c ommunication tools during the first year’s events of the Syrian revolution.


block 14 Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt

KRIEGSTHEATER – MODELLING WARS OF TOMORROW introduction KRIEGSTHEATER invites for a reflection of the role of art in relation to warfare. The ­festival will examine the (mis)use of creative strategies in contemporary warfare and invite for a discussion of the representation of war within performance art: is the representation of war a continuation of warfare with other means? The core focus of ­KRIEGSTHEATER is the artist’s ethical role: do we ­nourish, ­reproduce or undermine the means of v ­ iolence, when we stage, perform and reflect upon war? The programme will include ­per­formances, lectures and screenings.

GÄSTER: Eva Meyer-Keller, Rabih Mroué, Eyal Weizman, Natalie Alvarez, Edda Manga Arne Kjell Vikhagen

program glossary ... essay ... text ... essay


B 14 program

kriegstheater

19 November

19.00 Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt followed by a gaming evening hosted by Arne Kjell Vikhagen venue: Skogen, Göteborg kl

artist presentation of

22 & 23

November Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt: Schützen #1: READY, AIM venue: Weld, Stockholm

26 November

kl 19.00 Eva Meyer-Keller: Death is Certain + artist presentation. venue: Skogen, Göteborg

27 November seminar

”Creativity and Authorship in Warfare” venue: Göteborgs Konsthall 13:00 – 13.30 Skogen & Framing Statement Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt

welcome by by

13:30 – 14:15 Natalie Alvarez Performance and its ­genealogies of War lecture by

14:15 – 14:45 coffee

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14:45 – 15:15 Von Menschen gemacht? by Eva Meyer-Keller. 15:30 – 16:45 Eyal Weizman A New Theory of Holes lecture by

16:45 – 17:15 questions on first half moderated by

Edda Manga

17.15 – 18:00 Vegetarian buffet 18:00 – 19.00 Rabih Mroué “Pixelated Revolution” 19:30 – 21:30 Conversation with: Eyal Weizman, Natalie Alvarez, Rabih Mroué, Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt, Eva Meyer-Keller moderated by Edda Manga

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November 19.00 Schmidt & Matthias Meppelink: Schützen Venue: Skogen, Göteborg. kl

Cecilie Ullerup

29 November

kl 19.00 Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt & Matthias Meppelink: Schützen Followed by good bye party Venue: Skogen, Göteborg.

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Baggrund Det tyske ord Schützen har jeg importeret på grund af dets dobbeltbetydning. At beskytte som verbum. Flere mennesker der skyder som navneord.

Inhold Moren spørger hvad det egentlig handler om. Det handler om krig og kroppe, så langt er hun med. Det handler også om hvor meget tid vi bruger på krig, det har hun læst. Det handler om at bruge tid på at skildre en krig, der tager tid. Det handler om at distribuere tid på en fornuftig og sikker måde. Med egne ord: en struktureret periode til forberedelsen; få øjeblikke, der egentlig gælder; og lang, lang tid, resten af et liv, til at komme sig over de få øjeblikke, se tilbage ønske at glemme forsøge at erindre leve med det komme videre være på den anden side få tilbagefald og så fremdeles.

Definition Et traume er, når en for voldsom hændelse sker for pludseligt og forløsningen ikke kan ske. Et traume er tab af _ _ _ _ _ _ _. Et traume umyndiggør. Det er uretfærdigt og meget normalt.

Titrering #1 Jeg har været til terapeut. SE-terapeut. Somatic Experience. Vi prøver kroppen af. Pendulering. Pendulering mellem før og efter, på vej mod da. Pendulering fra overbolle til underbolle og mens vi nærmer os kødet. Flytte bevidsthed fra hoved til fødder, fra højre skulder til venstre skulder. Afledning.

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Os

og dyr Dyr ryster chokket ud og kan flygte, løbe væk, spise græs.

Titrering #2 Fysik med fremdrift: vi flytter ud i skoven og skridter af til vi får børn. Herefter begynder det næste kapitel.

Resten Alt er lagret. Her kommer resten.

Videre Vi er hjemme. Det er sikkert. Der er sikkert. Sikkert og vist. Jeg åbner min computer og lader kreativitet flyde ud over tastaturet. Der er langt fra min tippen til de koder, der kan åbne døre. Koder kan brække ind, lukke ned, lække noget, slukke alt, slippe fri. Åbner du op og det lækker, bures du inde. Flipper du ud og det fungerer, køber de ind. Køber de ind, køber de dig. Sælger du kunst, er du en kunstner. Sælger du ud, er du forræder. Forråder du sælgere, er du kriminel. Jeg lukker alle ind.

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SCHÜTZEN FOTO: Stine Marie Jacobssen

Every morning before they start working, the US Nevada Control Station’s drone pilots meet for a yoga session. And before they return to their normal lives in the evenings, half an hour of collective meditation helps them let go of the ­›battle mind‹ that they need for war. These are strategies designed to protect those involved in modern warfare — mentally if not physically — from overload. The word ›Schützen‹ in German has an etymological double meaning. On one hand, it means someone who shoots, yet on the other, it means to shield, protect or prevent. ­Using the act of ›protection‹ and its gendered connotations as a starting point, in her first solo work Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt questions the effect on the body of handling a weapon.


B14 essay

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Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt

Kriegstheater

“«War Horse»? Das ist ein Film über den Ersten Weltkrieg, in dem so viele Millionen Menschen gestorben sind. Und wir sehen während zwei Drittel des endlos langen Films immer nur ein Pferd!” (Tangesanzeiger, 26.2.2012). This is how Swiss literature professor ­Elizabeth Bronfen criticises Steven Spielberg’s film War Horse (2012): questioning the distribution of time and thereby the identification humans make with animals in the representation of World War I. She implies that the content of a depiction of war should be appropriate to the “real” events and losses represented in history. Spielberg’s film portrays an often-portrayed war from a new angle; in line with current academic trends, the horse’s viewpoint could be argued to be adding a missing perspective, though still anthropocentric in the film, on World War I. What interests me about this quote is partly the question about who the protagonists are - in Spielberg’s case it remains humankind in spite of the horse - but also what the distribution of time can be in a narrative about war. Horses were crucial to the technology of warfare in the beginning of the 20th Century, but how do we stage war today when neither horses nor humans have to be on the actual ­battlefield? Which forms of conflict and dramaturgies correspond to war in 2013, in which the enemy is plural and war doesn’t find an ending? Should the change in the infantry and technology of warfare influence the form of an artistic response? My intention in this essay is not to analyse works made about war by colleagues, nor to justify my own performance Schützen, but to give a brief historical background to the theory of war, propose a comparative analysis of the development of war and theatrical dramaturgies and – almost as a manifesto – try

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and state why the institution of theatre as we know it is not able to deal with contemporary war. German war theorist Carl von Clausewitz wrote Vom Kriege in 1816-30 and it is arguably the most influential work on strategic warfare. Clausewitz’s theory developed in a time when nation states and the ideology of ­nationalism were being founded. The 19th Century was in many ways a century of monumentality and unification while at the same time, a counter movement of industrialization melted all that was solid into air. Alongside many specific “chess-like” rules for the battle, Clausewitz describes how a war between nations should be planned according to a strategic dramaturgy that includes a point of no return – the “Entscheidungsschlacht”, a decisive ­slaughter, in which the winner and the loser are decided. From the perspective of the history of theatre, I cannot help comparing such a symmetric dramaturgy to the Aristotelian notion of tragedy. Recalling Aristotle’s writings handed down to us through the prism of the renaissance, ­unification is a remarkable trait: the three unities of time, place and action. We here find the Aristotelian notion peripety as the point of no return, a radical change in the intrigue. The action is symmetrically systematized around the peripety and after this, it is clear for all parts who is the tragically dammed. In other words, I see a correspondence between the reduction and rhythm of symmetrical, nation state warfare and the classical dramaturgy of the tragedy. As a short digression, I will admit my agenda for writing this essay: I believe that new technologies create new artistic forms. I have the impression that this is at stake in many genres of art but due to the big institutional apparatus of theatre, this genre is unfortunately still too often bound to 19th Century forms of representation with their symmetry and unification, not to mention conventions of time restriction: one or two hours should be an appropriate, “full evening” time span

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for bourgeois consumption. We cannot isolate an artwork from its context and therefore we must, when the art form of theatre seems to stagnate, look at the context and question the means of representation. As Walter Benjamin writes in his famous 1934 lecture Der Autor als Produzent, whether the novel nor the tragedy are formats which last forever: time and the means of production re-melt the art forms. This melting process, I would add, should also happen in the theatre, unless we artificially keep it alive with great effort in a institutional respirator. To return to the subject of investigation: the ­dramaturgies of war. I believe that new technologies ­c reate new artistic forms and in this case, a change in warfare should create new artistic representations of war. Accepting the idea that formats follow their contexts, it would have been reductionist to consider making a short novel about the Thirty Years’ War in the 17th Century. The product of that long, exhausting war was one of the earliest German novels: Grimmelshausen’s er abenteuerliche Simplicissimus (1669), comprising more than 700 pages. It is of note here that after more than two centuries of rather Clausewitzean strategic short wars, civil wars in the last twenty years such as the Yugoslav Wars and the Somali Civil War as well as the so-called War on Terror have been compared to the duration and ­uncontrollability of the Thirty Years’ War. German political scientist Herfried Münkler claims in his book Die Neuen Kriege (2002) that the decisive slaughter Clausewitz talks of has disappeared from warfare since the 1990s. Wars today are asymmetric: between poor religious groups and hegemonic military units; between ethnic groups without organized infantry; between terrorists hiding in caves or exploding in urban architecture and unmanned drones. The wars of today are transnational and long-lasting.

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Here, in consequence then, is the Manifesto of the Theatre of War: The fundamental changes to warfare and war technology, by moving away from the rhythms created by the nation state and its educated, strategic military infantry must change the theatre! Forms of conflict must be invented beyond dialogue when the enemy is plural and among us! Asymmetric and non-Aristotelian dramaturgies must be invented when war is a permanent state! The Theatre of War cannot last one evening and then repeat itself for three weeks! The theatre I am proposing could easily be encapsulated with a broad term such as post-dramatic theatre: the length, the rhythm, the form of conflict and even the mode of production would correspond with and engage in the investigated material. But let us try to think specifically about works that research and try to represent war. In spite of this tempting manifesto style, I have difficulties stating who should represent the protagonists of war. To return to the dying horse in Spielberg’s film about World War I: we all know that horses are not the main victims in an asymmetric war. Where developments in medicine have lessened civil losses caused by epidemics, and state military education has produced specialists who control the battlefield of soldiers in state wars, the casualties in wars since the end of the 20th Century has changed dramatically. Only about 10% of the deaths in acts of war are combatants, whereas 90% are non-combatants (Herfried Mßnkler, er Wandel des Krieges, 2008, p. 28). It is rare that soldier fights against soldier. Much more usual is the scenario of a tyranny against a whole ethnic group or an attack on the urban mass. The calculation of victims in these wars is therefore diffuse. We could think of an unpredictable terror attack, a school massacre

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or the long-perspective damage of the mass rape of an ethnic group. On the periphery of prosperity too, ­epidemics have returned, along with starvation in overpopulated refugee camps. The body affected by today’s warfare is not necessarily a soldier carrying a gun; the protagonists of the battlefield deploy techniques of invisibility and are not moving together. In his elaborated vocabulary of state war, Clausewitz called the place war was fought the “Kriegstheater”, the theatre of war. This was the restricted battlefield with its military protagonists. The “Kriegstheater” of today has no borders in terms of subject and territory. The question fundamentally arises, how can we make representations of war without walls, without the unities of time, place and action? Can we at some point find an ending in the representation? And which of us can remain only an audience member in the theatre of war?

Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt performs, curates and writes in the field between ­ ultural critique, philosophy and p c ­ erformance. She studied ­Comparative Literature and ­Modern Cultural Studies in ­Copenhagen and Applied Theatre Studies in Giessen. Since 2011 she is teaching at the BA in Dance, ­Context, Choreography at the Inter-­University of Dance (HZT) in Berlin.

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DEATH IS CERTAIN: Eva Meyer-Keller PHOTO: Martin Hultén Cherries have tender skin, meat and a kind of bone inside them. Their juice is red like blood. When you treat them like humans sometimes treat other humans, then they become human themselves or at least animate objects, which invite you to ­identify yourself with them. Inspired by fairy tales, where sometimes objects come to life and so become a projection screen for your own experiences and fantasies. In the p ­ erformance Death is Certain Eva Meyer-Keller has installed sweet cherries as her protagonists. The stalks are removed from the fruit, but they are not washed or stoned. Instead they are being killed. She takes care of this business manually, in a way which turns the everyday into something brutal.


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In a Greater Perspective In a greater perspective, viruses clean up. It is healthy to have the flue once a year: letting go of old cells to make space for new growth. And this on a demographic level: quick cleaning. These diseases primarily attack sick people, weak people, like children and elders. It might even solve the question of public pension. Distribution of viruses, through an apple = Snow White in every household. Snow White in the school. Snow White in the office. Snow White in public transportation. International Snow White in international public transportation. Every disaster has it’s own female name. In a greater perspective, nuclear disasters have something in common with anthroposophist thinking. After a nuclear disaster a part of the earth remains untouched for centuries, left alone it begins a process of regeneration. You leave the nature on it’s own for a while. You divide time in fours. One fourth of the time, the land lies fallow, like in old farming. In the coming anthroposophy you do not calculate four months, but four thousand years. The land lies still for four hundred years. Consider land as savings for future generations. We exploit the ground. The ground where we live seems deserted. But in four thousand years the time has come to resettle exactly on this ground. New animals will grow. Researchers will improve their knowledge about immunity. The insects, for example, are immune. The radiation will not change them. In

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a greater perspective, the immune genes can be implanted in humans. And then a nuclear disaster is no threat anymore. New generations of degenerated children will be born. For a while we cannot select and control everything. Prenatal tests seem ­irrelevant. And everybody knows. Mutation becomes a source of inspiration. How far can we mutate? What is a body? What and who define normality these days? What is a normal new born? Normality: those days are over. In the children’s book you read about a power plant exploding. All families try to flee. It is hectic. Adults overrun children. They just want to get away. Everyone waits in line. They do not get any further. They trample each other to the ground. Then there are these two children: they flee into the yellow field of rape. And then it starts to rain. In a greater perspective, earthquakes establish fundamental aesthetic experience. Without earthquakes, how could we employ the metaphor of being shaken and loosing ground? Earthquakes train sensitivity toward the ­surroundings. Earthquakes shape our empathy with non-human beings. Mountains are fragile. The life of a mountain is precarious. A new perception of nature will flourish with every earthquake. A new romanticism. And new ­models of living together will appear. You rediscover your neighbours. Enough about you. Enough about family as we know it. Solidarity. Solidarity beyond family. New families emerge: 4 adults, 17 kids. Maybe this will give rise to new political structures of organization.

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In a greater perspective, I prefer quick disasters where everybody dies fast. That seems less unfair. Duration is the worst. I believe future disasters lie in the disturbance of intelligent electricity supply, in the so-called smart grid. When the electricity fails in a hospital, this is not an incidence. Future intended disasters made by humans are invisible and in no way connected to climate change. Not that these kinds of intended disasters will replace the old disasters. We just see more I am in a flood in New York and I cannot hold on to my newborn daughter. I see her swim away down Broadway. There is no music playing. Or my son eats one of those Snow White-apples and I hold him in my arms and watch him die. In a greater perspective, I prefer a terror attack where an airplane crashes. Everybody is hit. It happens fast. And if you’re lucky, you were just taking a nap.

After the encounter at Skogen in the frame “Kriegstheater”, Eva Meyer-­ Keller and Sybille Müller invited Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt in for a re-working of the text for the performance ”Cooking Catastrophes” (2011). The new version of “Cooking Catastrophes” was premiered at HAU Berlin in January 2014. This text is a conglomeration of the text work, edited for Skogens yearbook and a reading audience.

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Creativity and Authorship in Warfare PHOTO: Martin HultĂŠn

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Natalie Alvarez

/ brock university Performance and Its Genealogies of War1

Scene 1: Utah. An Insurgent Training Camp The heads of mounted game indigenous to our location in the Utah mountains peer down at us in the main room of a large cabin. Ten participants – nine men and myself – are gathered around our cell leader, Haji Juma Khan, all dressed in typical Afghan clothing. We watch a video statement by former blogger-turned-jihadist Humam Khalil Abu Mulal al-Balawi released after his suicide bombing of Forward Operating Base Chapman in Khost province, Afghanistan, which killed seven CIA employees and a Jordanian intelligence officer. We are studying Al-Balawi for his exemplary use of Taqiyya, a practice of dissimulation among Shi’a and, to a lesser degree, Sunni Muslims, which authorizes adherents to suspend religious practices, conceal their religious beliefs, or commit otherwise blasphemous, illegal acts when under ­duress or in order to further the objectives of the jihad. After his arrest by Jordanian officials on suspicion of extremist sympathies, al-Balawi successfully Americanized himself in order to convince US officials that he had reformed; he was soon deployed to infiltrate al-Qaida and provide intelligence on the location of bin Laden’s deputy, Ayman al-Zawahiri. When he returned to the base to provide the intelligence, he was not searched – a testament to how successfully he instilled confidence through the strategic use of Taqiyya. So, here we are, US and Canadian citizens coming from 1 Research for this essay was supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Many thanks to Playwrights Canada Press for permission to reprint portions of an article that will appear in Erin Hurley’s forthcoming edited collection, Theatres of Affect: New Essays on Canadian Theatre (Toronto: Playwrights Canada Press, 2014).

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disparate backgrounds in counter insurgency, and myself the lone “civilian” (and the lone Canadian and woman), watching al-Balawi’s statement as his “brother” and engaging in our own variation of Taqiyya, inhabiting the role of the insurgent in order not simply to “know” the enemy, but to “understand” the enemy. We are participating in a six-day immersive training course titled “Countering Insurgency in Complex Environments” offered by the private consulting firm Aeneas Group International led by CEO Walter Purdy, who leads the training week as our mock-insurgent cell leader. The course was first offered in 2001 by the Terrorism Research Centre (TRC) where Walter Purdy worked as a course instructor. When the TRC folded in 2010, Walter Purdy formed Aeneas Group International, a private-sector enterprise led by former intelligence and government officials in order to respond to the significant dearth of effective educational methods equipping soldiers with the cultural knowledge they require in the theatres of Afghanistan. In this counter-insurgency course, participants— most of whom are US Special Forces working in Intelligence— pay a $3,200 US course fee to abandon their real world identities, norms of behaviour and terms of reference and live as insurgents in a training camp for six days (Aeneas).

A Day at Insurgent Camp: Inhabiting the “Cultural Mindset” Our days begin with the call to prayer at 5:30am. The main room of the cabin serves as a makeshift mosque. With our last refrains of “God’s Peace and Compassion Upon You” we exit to the dark, damp, cool mountain air for the morning’s physical exercises. An hour later, we return to the main room of the cabin for sessions on culture, insurgent tactical strategies, and a detailed introduction to the key leaders of the mujahideen. These are our leaders now. This information is presented from the point of view of the insurgent under the auspices of preparing us for our attacks against the American, Canadian and British kufr “dogs” who have

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occupied the holy “land of the two rivers” and committed atrocities against our people. We learn about their weaknesses, despite the technological advantages they have over us. Unlike us, the Western apostates have no common ideology or belief system unifying them in their fight and most critically, they fear death. We on the other hand, are driven by unwavering faith and an invulnerability in the face of death, knowing that we will be martyred and sit at the right hand of Allah (praise be upon him) in the “gardens of paradise.” This fearlessness is, we learn, our greatest weapon against the West. Most importantly, we learn about the missteps and botched missions of the “Western devils”, which have only served to inspire recruitment for the jihad and help our cause. The aim here, I learn later, is to instill in participants a “shock of capture”, hitting us hard with an extremist, first-person point of view. And the process turns us back in on ourselves, revealing ourselves through the eyes of the Other. After a late afternoon meal, we are given our roles within the cell and a “mission.” In this mission, we are tasked with intercepting, abducting, and assassinating a courier working for the Karzai government who is likely transporting vital intelligence. We are given a crude map on a napkin detailing a mountain road and an approximation as to where and when the vehicle carrying the courier could be most effectively seized. We are indirectly coached into thinking and strategizing as insurgents by our cell leaders, who indicate that what they hope to see is not a Western-style ambush, but something in keeping with our signature: we are invulnerable to death and therefore can afford to take more aggressive tactics. Despite these subtle directives, our think tank session relies, inevitably and unavoidably, on the discourse and jargon of Western military strategy to plot our attack. Upon completion of our mission, cell member Jamal performs a dramatic reading of our media statement, book-ended by passages from the Qur’an. Our cell leaders praise our cell for a generally successful mission and lead us through an AAR (or After Action Review) that critically assesses the efficacy of the strategies employed and comparatively analyzes ours

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choices with the oeuvre of infamous insurgent attacks we have studied in our afternoon training sessions.

Insurgent Training Camp, Utah, USA. After intercepting a convoy, participants in the role of Afghan insurgents take a passenger at gunpoint. Scenarios employ simunition fire and full head gear for safety purposes. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

A passenger is taken hostage for interrogation. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

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These excursions into the mountains of Utah to stage ­insurgent attacks allow us to think through, in an ­embodied way, the tactical enterprises of the cult­ural ­“other” whom we otherwise study in the form of first-­ person, informal lectures that examine key diff­erences in cultural psych­ology designed to generate empathy and that allow us to inhabit more fully the cult­ural mindset. But they have the effect of returning us to a familiar and comforting sense of intransigent and radical difference, providing the ­safety of a ground that allows us to ­understand why “we,” Westerners, are not “them.” With its first ­incarnation following in the wake of 9/11, ­Aeneas’ ­immersive training course is one ­example of the ­pervasiveness of performative incursions in ­counterterrorism training, evidenced in the 450 percent increase in the demand for role-playing and simulated scenarios post-9/11 reported by one of America’s ­leading contractors, Tessada and Associates of Washington, D.C. (Colborn-­Roxworthy). The embodied and experiential training strategies are harnessed with the aim of ­immersing soldiers in the cultural mindset of Afghan insurgents in order to more effectively meet and combat the threat they pose. The role of the “other” is ­inhabited precisely to learn his psychology, his thresholds, his ­motivations, and to capitalize on this ­“embodied” under­ standing. As one of our course instructors ­“Barrialai” asserts, military strategy used to be governed by the mantra “know your enemy” – a ­knowledge that was ­largely procedural and derived from the analysis of tactical manuals. But in the context of irregular warfare that is not, he says, “working to a doctrine, hasn’t got a manual of military operations, ‘know your enemy’ is not enough”: “Armies the world over post-9/11”, he adds, “are dealing with irregular warfare, which comes of and from the people and is not doctrinally steered; it’s [based on] ­individual thought-process, so you now need to know where that man’s come from, how he thinks and why he thinks that way.” This point-of-view understanding is necessary not merely to estimate tactical response, but

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to understand motivations.2 Barriali positions empathy, which he claims is fostered by these immersive role-­playing training methods, as a key military strategy, alongside ­punitive militarism.

The Trouble With Empathy Empathy, and the imaginative act of placing ourselves “in the shoes of the other,” as our cell leader “Barrialai” contends, has become a critical strategy in this war effort in order to understand the enemy and “get inside his head.” The utilitarian rationality that has taken up empathy as a military strategy, in tandem with performance paradigms, enjoins us to reevaluate an abiding privileging of empathy as an often elevated and cherished effect of theatre and performance, which provides the means of overcoming difference. As theatre scholar David Krasner puts it, empathy “allows us to transcend the limits of our own world” (256). This is especially the case in the process of identification as Krasner proposes, when the spectator is able “to look at things more purely from [the character’s] point of view, from a perspective relatively uncontaminated by his [sic.] own personal concerns” (Kendall L. Walton qtd. in Krasner 258). This coming into contact with the other is empathy’s “potential”: “it allows us to cross the boundaries between us, the boundaries that are especially evident in this moment of world history.” Without empathy, he adds, we “remain isolated in our individual spaces” (256). On the surface, Krasner’s conceptualization of empathy seems to foster a respectful relation across difference that allows it to exist without making it reducible to the same. As he emphasizes, empathy is not “a merging with ­another (though some have described it as such), because an empathetic response assumes the distinction between self 2 These comments are taken from an interview conducted on 29 Sept., 2011 with one of the course instructors who I refer to as “Barrialai,” his kunya “in role,” for security purposes.

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and other” (258). But Krasner’s definition fails to address the dynamics of power that often structure these empathic encounters. Examining empathy in the context of military strategy reveals its potential violence—its potential to totalize and violate the other through presumptive claims of “understanding.” As citizens of the imperial nations of ISAF forces who have occupied Afghanistan, we are, in this week of immersive training, literally colonizing the experience of the other, usurping another’s voice, and “organizing an alien experience under the rubric of our… [Western/]white privilege”, to paraphrase theatre studies scholar Jill Dolan (145). In this role-playing exercise, our sense of understanding pivots on a binary of self/other, in which the self is situated unproblematically as the one who identifies with the other, as the judge and organizer of the other’s experience. As cultural studies scholar Megan Boler argues in Feeling Power: Emotions and Education, empathic identification annihilates the other in the process of “consum[ing] it as sameness”, leaving “the ­powerful Western eye/I” intact “as the judging subject, never called upon to cast her gaze at her own reflection” (161). It’s this dynamic that, if we follow Boler’s thinking, makes pedagogical exercises involving a process of “imaginatively stepping into another’s shoes,” which are so commonplace in applied theatre practice, so dangerous. In military training contexts, its totalizing structure is, arguably, what makes it so efficacious, since the act of reducing the other to the same makes possible its annihilation.

Scene 2: CFB Wainright: Affect and Asymmetrical Warfare A foot patrol of soldiers enters the Afghan village in a relaxed posture. They smile at the villagers but their hands remain on their guns, eyes scanning the scene continuously with a gaze that conveys caution. How you enter the village is key, a Sergeant Major tells me, “Always look like you

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could flip the switch one way or another. You can’t look like you are slacking off. It’s usually your eyes that are always moving… you aren’t taking your hand off your pistol, but you are showing respect.”3 Suddenly, a loud blast. Grey clouds of smoke billow out from a car parked at the end of the village. The soldiers move into place establishing a defensive perimeter around the scene, guns at their shoulders. A bloodied body becomes visible through the plumes of smoke; arms and legs have been amputated from the blast. The body is clothed in an Afghan National Police uniform – a local national. The soldiers begin shouting, “Man down! Man down!” Local villagers, men and women, rush the scene wailing and shouting. They know the man that was hit. In a desperate frenzy they try to get to the body and try to push past the soldiers’ safety cordon. The soldiers yell, “Stay back!” in Pashto, but the villagers don’t listen. ANP, working with the Canadian Forces, start firing warning shots recklessly at the ground, in the air, attempting to scare back the villagers. The women scream and cower. A man from the village, a relation of the ANP officer killed in the blast, runs through the village and rushes toward the soldiers screaming the ANP officer’s name, emotionally distraught. He is tackled and held down by the soldiers. He tries to resist, wailing and shouting at the top of his lungs. Three ANP officers restrain and remove him from the scene. A man breaks free from the throng of villagers gathered at the scene of the blast and gets through the soldiers’ safety cordon. He walks in an unsteady, almost drunken manner toward a soldier who stands alone in a relaxed posture. The soldier seems to have slipped out of the scene into spectator mode, bedazzled or, perhaps, impressed by the spectacle. The villager is now about six feet from the soldier. He reaches emphatically into his vest, as though 3 These remarks are taken from an interview I conducted with a Staff Sergeant on 2 May 2011, following a scenario debrief. I have refrained from referencing the proper names of Staff Sergeants I interviewed in the field for security purposes. In cases where I do refer to proper names throughout the essay, these quotations are taken from formal interviews with military personnel at CFB Wainright, which I conducted outside of field exercises.

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trying to give the soldier one last opportunity to take notice and do something. Suddenly, another loud blast. The villager has detonated. The soldier is covered in a white powder signaling that he has been hit by the suicide bomb and is dead. He drops to the ground to screams and cries of horror from the villagers and shouts of “Man down! Man down!” from his fellow soldiers who rush to his aid. A commanding officer looks down from the viewing platform at the downed soldier who failed to notice the suicide bomber’s approach and shakes his head, “We need poker players in the CF [Canadian Forces] – they’re the best at reading faces.” The Deputy Commander at his side expresses his pleasure that one of the soldiers in training got hit – a good lesson to learn here in the safety of a simulation, rather than out there, in theatre. This simulated “mass casualty” event (or MASCAL, as it’s referred to in military acronym speak) took place five days into the ten-day, force-on-force “Maple ­Guardian” training program offered at the Canadian Manoeuvre Training Centre (CMTC), a $500 million, state-of-the-art, full immersion war games facility created in 2004 at CFB Wainright in rural eastern Alberta, which began large-scale exercises in 2006. The CMTC’s formation occurred at a critical juncture in the Afghan mission. In the summer of 2005, the Canadian government decided to transfer its forces to the violent region of Kandahar, in order to engage in force-onforce combat against insurgents. Canada’s mission shifted from peacekeeping to peace enforcement, and the peacekeeper was supplanted by the “peacewarrior,” authorized to engage in force-on-force combat in circumstances that required it (iv).4 The live immersive training environment at CMTC, designed to produce the next wave of front-line ­peacewarriors, 4 This shift in mission identity was obscured by government rhetoric: in 2007, The Strategic Council advised the Harper government to avoid “negative” expressions and focus on words like “peacekeeping”, “reconstruction,” and “stability,” in its statements on the war (Coulon and Liégeois 46); “war”, in fact, was rarely invoked to describe Canada’s involvement in Afghanistan.

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simulates “real world” theatre conditions in Afghanistan in order to enable soldiers in training to put their prior training to the test in this intensive, final phase of ­exercises before deployment to Afghanistan. In this simulated ­environment, soldiers are trained to engage in a seemingly irreconcilable paradox of punitive yet culturally sensitive militarism - a paradox that is doubled in the notion of a “peacewarrior” who enforces peace through the use of robust force. Scenarios are designed to stress inoculate soldiers enabling them to face threats with an optimum level of cognitive and muscular autopilot, while remaining sensitive to the Rules of Engagement (ROE) governing the soldier and his or her relations with local nationals in this counter insurgency mission. The MASCAL event just described is an illustrative test assessing how the soldier will negotiate these conflicting directions of required action: a direct insurgent attack triggers a reflexive and conditioned response in the soldier whose muscle memory draws on a repertoire of rehearsed tactical action; but in this condition, they must react with a sensitivity and openness to the ­immediate encounter of grieving villagers who complicate the soldier’s ability to operate in a state of procedural autopilot and follow “mission process.” What I query here are the implications of this large-scale rehearsal’s ­broader ­objectives, which attempt to ­neutralize the soldier’s ­affective response in order to prepare a better peacewarrior by making the unfamiliar familiar and all possible futures ­apprehensible, begging the question: what is being habituated and potentially de-habituated in these ­rehearsals? How, I want to ask, does a privileging of “affect management” in military training potentially work against the intercultural relations and ethical engagements required of the peacewarrior in a counterinsurgency ­mission? And how are these vying objectives negotiated in the crucible of asymmetric warfare and the so-called three-block war?

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Soldiers approach a helicopter shot down by insurgents in a scenario at CMTC, CFB Wainright, Alberta, Canada. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

Military analysts invoke a range of terms, such as “asymmetric warfare” and the “three-block war”, to describe what they perceive as the changing nature of conflict in the twenty-first century, typified by the kinds of tactical strategies soldiers are currently encountering in Afghanistan. Asymmetric refers to the non-traditional and unpredictable actions undertaken within warfare by non-state and weaker parties against the conventional capabilities of major military-economic and technologically advanced state powers. These tactics are aimed at undermining the fundamental asymmetry of warfare and the power discrepancies between state and non-state powers.5 These asymmetries within and of warfare unfold within the particular context of the so-called “three-block war,” a type of irregular, urban warfare in which the distinctions between combatant and non-combatant,

5 For this explication of asymmetrical warfare and the “three-block war,” I am indebted to military personnel at the Stanford Training Area, Thetford, Norfolk, England, for a 2009 “Information Note” they generously shared titled “Understanding Hybrid Conflict: Hybrid Adversaries and Hybrid Threats.”

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innocent civilian and insurgent are blurred and the entry-level soldier is confronted, as General Charles C. Krulak puts it, by the “entire spectrum of tactical challenges in the span of a few hours and within the space of three contiguous city blocks” (Krulak). In this particular theatre of the three-block war, individual soldiers at the lowest ranks may find themselves engaging in high-intensity, counter-guerilla warfare in one block, humanitarian aid and trust-building with local nationals in the next block, and acting as peacekeepers between warring factions in the third. The complexity of different modes of engagement and moment-to-moment decision-making falls on the shoulders of individual riflemen, which carry immense political and strategic weight, h ­ olding the power to influence not only the “immediate tactical situation,” but the larger operational, strategic, and geo­ political situation as well. In this respect, the individual soldier is—and must think and act as—the “Strategic Corporal”, since s/he represents the face of a country’s foreign policy on the global stage (Krulak). The large-scale mises en scène of Afghan villages at CMTC, where improvisations unfold 24 hours a day across a ten-day period, are designed to replicate the conditions of the “three-block war” and its “entire spectrum of challenges” in order to foster the kind of stratified thinking required of the Strategic Corporal. The narrative threads of the exercise are designed by lead planner Major Bauer and the colonels at CMTC and based on current combat trends in theatre, as well as field reports the planners receive from trainers and platoon commanders after key scenarios. Allied Container Systems (ACS), a private company contracted by the Canadian Military to provide the realistic mise en scène required for the live training environment, recruits role-players to populate the villages from Afghan community centres in the province’s nearby capital city of Edmonton. Role-players create a “pattern of life” in these mock Afghan villages from the innocuous to the suspicious, training soldiers’ powers of observation and discernment as they try to build “an intelligence picture” of possible insurgent activity in each village. And while the exercise as a whole is loosely scripted in terms of

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key scenarios, the reactions of the soldiers-in-training to the staged events are, of course, not, which pushes the exercise as a whole into the realm of “large-scale, live improvisational theatre” (Hendrikse). In his invocation of live improvisational theatre, Hendrikse nods to Keith Johnstone, Canadian pioneer of improvisational theatre who developed the widely used “Impro System” of theatrical performance training --  a chilling reminder of how the tools of our discipline circulate in the military-industrial-academic complex. Chief planners engage in what is essentially an on-going storyboarding process that remains responsive to the soldiers’ reactions, a process that is oriented toward the exercise’s ultimate objective: to create the maelstrom of war and give the ­soldiers-in-training their worst possible day in theatre.

A propaganda poster found on the wall of a mock Afghan village indicating the presence of insurgents. CMTC, CFB Wainright, Alberta, Canada. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

Managing Affect The aim of subjecting soldiers to their worst possible day in theatre is held in the balance alongside a recognition that morale must be kept high in this prelude to “real war” in

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Afghanistan. At the same time, trainers must ensure that the exercise itself does not induce battle fatigue prior to deployment. But the exigencies of force-on-force combat and its physiological and psychological demands on the body require that soldiers experience intense, high-repetition training in order to, as combat psychologist Lt. Col. David Grossman puts it, sounding as though he were citing Stanislavski, “turn the skills that he needs to perform into ‘muscle memory’” (33). Indeed, the contemporary science that informed Stanislavski’s culminating life’s work on his method of physical actions produced a vocabulary of actor training that would not seem altogether foreign to Lt. Col. Grossman. This convergence in vocabulary points to compelling intersections between theories of actor training and Lt. Col. Crossman’s field of so-called “Warrior Science,” which studies the psychological and physiological behaviour of soldiers in the crucible of the battlefield in order to advance current military training methodologies. Stanislavski’s method of physical actions relied on the doctrine of reflex conditioning, most notoriously developed by turn-of-the-century Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov. Through rehearsal and repetition, the actor’s work, for Stanislavski, becomes an accretion of actions, a physical score that becomes a “conscious…construction automized into his muscles and nerves”, which saves the actor from the “psychophysical paralysis” that often occurs with stage fright (Roach 213, 207). In Lt. Col. Grossman’s “Warrior Science,” this form of reflex conditioning through high-repetition training allows the soldier to act on muscle memory in the thick of high-intensity combat while maintaining a “freedom of mind,” which not only mitigates “psychophysical paralysis” in combat but also functions as a form of stress inoculation. In the field of “Warrior Science,” psychologists such as Grossman have conducted studies linking hormonal or fear-induced heart rate increases, resulting from sympathetic nervous system arousal, to task performance. Exercises are designed to train soldiers to perform tasks in what is called the “Condition Yellow” zone of arousal, where the soldier’s heart rate sits at between 80 and 100 bpm: a stage of “basic alertness and readiness, a place where you are psychologically

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prepared for combat” (Grossman 31). But for force-on-force combat, the soldier is at his optimal survival and combat performance level in “Condition Red” wherein his bpm sits anywhere between 115 and 145. Complex motor skills, visual and cognitive reaction time are all at their peak at this level. However, engagement in Condition Red is not sustainable – fine-motor skills begin to deteriorate rapidly. The purpose of an onslaught of high intensity training and repetition, then, is to provide soldiers with an opportunity to rehearse so that he can “push the envelope of Condition Red” and perform intricate tasks – such as magazine changes, misfeed drills, weapon handling, and handcuffing – without conscious thought and without losing cognitive or visual reaction time or complex motor skills, even when his bpm surges to the dangerous levels of Condition Gray or Condition Black anywhere between 145 and 220 bpm. The more the soldier rehearses, the more he will demonstrate extraordinary performance at accelerated heart rate levels, until he is effectively stress inoculated and each task becomes a matter of muscle memory, enabling him to function on “autopilot” at an “expert level in Condition Gray” (34-35). To paraphrase one soldier, who returned from Afghanistan in 2009 when some of his friends in theatre did not, this mode of autopilot is often referred to as going “in the black,” a state of being in which the soldier “isn’t really all there,” prior training kicks in and, in effect, takes over.6 The motives behind said aims are critical in the context of war: reducing cognitive engagement in favour of increasing autopilot is not only a means of stress inoculating soldiers, which in turn serves as a preventative measure against Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, it is also a way of inducing soldiers to kill. Unless operating on autopilot, soldiers are otherwise unlikely to kill. Turning to police psychologist Alexis Artwohl’s research on perceptual distortions in combat, Grossman asserts that “74 percent of the officers involved in deadly force encounter acted on automatic pilot. In other 6 For these insights, I am indebted to an email exchange, conducted in July of 2013, with a Canadian veteran of Afghanistan who requested that his remarks remain anonymous.

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words, actions of three out of four officers in combat were done without conscious thought” (74) – or “in the black.” Putting aside, for a moment, the unsettling notion of a soldier acting without conscious thought in a combat situation, the rationale behind these training regimes points to how the body’s “incipient potential” can be harnessed to service the punitive militarism that is often required of the peacewarrior operating in counter-insurgency warfare. Training the body to operate in a condition of autopilot on the ground demonstrates the degree to which, in Brian Massumi’s thinking, the body is “as immediately virtual as it is actual” (30). Massumi describes the virtual body as one that is in a state of “passional suspension in which it exists more outside of itself, more in the abstracted action of the impinging thing and the abstracted context of that action, than within itself” (31). The body is, here, conditioned to draw on traces of “past actions, including a trace of their contexts” that are conserved “in the brain and in the flesh but out of mind and out of body” (30). As oft-reported accounts of soldiers who, operating on autopilot without conscious thought, have no recollection of the moment they drew their gun to shoot (Grossman 74), the virtual body draws on “pastnesses” of action that open “directly onto a future, but with no present to speak of.” The body’s virtuality, its “pressing crowd of incipiencies and tendencies”, as Massumi says, exists in the “realm of potential” and it is in potential “where futurity combines, unmediated, with pastness” (30). This future-past potential of the virtual body captures the particular temporality of the live, immersive simulation, which is prospective in its vision and future-oriented; it positions itself as a kind of rehearsal for the future while drawing on a past repertoire of behaviours that are trained to be automatically “restored,” to invoke performance studies scholar Richard Schechner’s notion of “restored behaviour.”7 7 I am alluding here to Richard Schechner’s notion of “restored behaviour” or “twice-behaved behaviour” in Between Theatre and Anthropology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985): “Restored behavior is living behavior treated as a film director treats a strip of film. These strips of behavior can be rearranged or reconstructed…The performers get in touch with, recover, remember, or even invent these strips of behavior and then rebehave according to these strips” (35-36).

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The immersive simulation provides an arena for the ­rehearsal of all possible futures in order to anesthetize its participants from future shock, surprise, and trauma by shoring up the past as an arsenal against unpredictable immediacy. The question remains as to how the soldier, conditioned to manage and regulate affect in force-­on-force combat scenarios, also remains sensitive to the intercultural and affective exchanges between himself and civilians. Establishing relations of trust and mutual respect is, after all, the lynchpin of an effective “COIN” mission designed, ultimately, to “get the intelligence” needed to stamp out the enemy.

The “Cultural Turn” in Counter­ insurgency and the “Rush to the ­Intimate” To suggest that cultural sensitivity presents a set of demands that are at odds with the punitive militarism other­ wise required of the soldier in force-on-force combat risks obscuring the ways in which cultural intelligence training operates in service of more targeted and effective ­kinetic operations. Cultural intelligence training has become a pivotal part of counterinsurgency in that its ultimate objective is, as Derek Gregory puts it, “to generate actionable ­intelligence about the insurgency to inform lethal targeting” (9). Cultural knowledge, then, is not “a substitute for killing” as it might be represented in its manuals, but rather, “a prerequisite for its refinement” (9). According to military strategists, Cultural Intelligence (CQ), is a “force ­multiplier” (Spencer and Balasevicius 41). The instrumentalism that undergirds the “cultural turn” in military strategy will, perhaps unavoidably and necessarily, obscure the reality upon which it is premised in the process of producing its own in the form of simulacras of Afghan villages, generated from troubling universalisms, stock types, and scenarios governed by familiar narratives of benevolent peace­warriors

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and armed social workers in mentorship roles battling insidious insurgents. These universalisms are encouraged by the ways in which the mise en scène of staged Afghan villages are ostended; the series of shipping containers, provided by Allied Container Systems, Inc., become de-realized sign vehicles that stand variously for a family dwelling, a store, a mosque, with only minor exterior and interior dressings to signify its type. This interchangeability of a shipping container that stands for a whole class of objects services the military’s ideological abstractions when it comes to the acquisition of cultural knowledge. As Gregory argues, while shipping containers “are an improvement on poker chips and Lego bricks,…reducing living spaces to metal boxes… conveys a silent message about the sort of people who live in them” (15). The modest cluster of shipping containers do little more than signify a stark primitivism, which is hardly at pace with the supposedly “new” formations of the “threeblock war” and the “urbanization of insurgency” (14). Moreover, these primitive dwellings play a hand in reinforcing the military’s general views of Afghan culture, which emphasize an atavistic tribalism to describe its ethos and motivating forces, even while the US’s Department of Defense handbook on Afghanistan that is given to soldiers (Canadian soldiers as well) outline ethnic groups that do not operate along tribal lines at all. As Gregory points out, “[there] is little room for an Arab modern” in these cultural imag(in) ings (18). The mise en scène of the mock Afghan village at military bases in Canada and the UK, are exemplary sites of the cultural-political performances Edward Said identified in Orientialism. They are a “living tableau of queerness”, of the bizarre, and the regressive; a space to be disciplined through the imposition of an order it is presumed to lack – an order that only the West can impart (103). Moreover, the movable, temporary structures of shipping containers also signify a kind of nomadism belonging to a population that has no place, that is borderless, which not only serves to justify the occupation of their (non-) space but makes it all the more urgent in order to prevent their movement and

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intrusion into “our” spaces; the mises en scène plays host to the cultural anxiety concerning the insurgency’s mobility and insidious global creep.

A mosque constructed from shipping containers. CMTC, CFB Wainright. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

The main street of a mock Afghan village comprised of shipping containers. CMTC, CFB Wainright. Photo: Natalie Alvarez

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The equivocal relationship to cultural intelligence training versus unapologetic militarism at the strategic level impacts the tactical level and, in turn, the micromovements and interactions between soldiers and Afghan role-players. The broader strategic uncertainty was made evident to me in one particular debrief following a routine role-play of a village patrol. The Staff Sergeant-Trainer for the unit, having himself recently returned from a tour in Afghanistan, emphasized a kind of optic in which everything in theatre, from the most quotidian of activities in the village, becomes a readable “sign” and every action and gesture means – a directive that, in light of my own disciplinary interests, resounded with irony. Here in this mise en scène of shipping containers made to look like the dwelling places of Afghans played by Afghans and Canadian ­soldiers in role, a Staff Sergeant was educating a squad with a vocabulary ­uncomfortably close to my own. These soldiers were encouraged to ­develop an optic analogous to the ways in which I might encourage dialogue with my students in the process of conducting a performance analysis of a particular event, surveying the performance space and ­performance actions for metaphoric ­significance. A group of children flying a kite, the Staff Sergeant contended, could signal the presence of ISAF to nearby insurgents; a soccer game in the street could serve as a distraction for an insurgent strike. But in the course of his lesson on signifiers and ­signifieds, the trainer appealed to the talking points of counterinsurgency with an emphasis on ways of empowering local leaders toward a 2014 withdrawal. But in the same breath, he reminded soldiers that they were “warriors in a foreign land allowed to inspect vehicles and homes” as they felt necessary. Soldiers were left having to square what, to me, as an outside civilian observer seemed an irreconcilable contradiction: ISAF were, at once, a support system of humble mentors and “warriors” with the tacit rights that come with a military occupation.

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Photo: Natalie Alvarez

The warrior discourse operates alongside the ­cultural intelligence training, engendering a particular kind of “presumptive intimacy,” to borrow Derek Gregory’s evocative phrase, fostered by the structure of the exercise that, much like the strategic deployment of empathy in our insurgent training camp, places the field of understanding uniquely in the domain of the soldier. The “presumptive intimacy” operates in perverse continuity with the ­“optical detachment” of drone pilots who kill from a distance through visual display systems (Gregory 15).8 Together, these viewing procedures create a space that is an open territory of exploration for the soldier, where he is free to get to know and presume to know, the cultural Other. The soldier’s movements are informed by a sense of that space—and the Afghan role-players within it—as having been made available to and for him – evident in the confidence of his approach that one might say is characteristic 8 This tension between “optical detachment” in Gregory’s words and intimacy was underscored in a 2012 New York Times article in which drone pilots “spoke of a certain intimacy with Afghan family life that traditional pilots never see from 20,000 feet, and that even ground troops seldom experience.” See Elisabeth Bumiller’s “A Day Job Waiting for a Kill Shot a World Away,” New York Times, 29 July, 2012.

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of an occupying force. Within this militarized world picture, Afghans exist with the mises en scène of the mock ­Afghan villages as an undifferentiated supply of ideological abstractions and of the always already available. At the moment, questions linger about the ­tacit ­contracts that undergird the immersive simulation, which I think enjoins us to consider how these immersive simulations are themselves part of a longer performance genealogy of mock environments staged for set purposes of cultural knowledge creation and “experiences of the Other” for the consumptive gaze of immersed onlookers – a genealogy that can be traced back to the creation of African, Arab, and Indigenous mock villages, as imagined in the minds of Western anthropologists, at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, for example, and the 1931 International Colonial Exhibition in Paris. These fully realized, ethnically-specific recreated environments allowed participants, as Harvey Young has recently argued, to have intimate experiences with foreign bodies in an environment constructed for the onlooker9 who moves through it without consequence, and without a sense of complicity or responsibility. I think it behooves us to consider the ways in which the current turn toward immersive theatre experiences—in which the audience is free to choose what to watch and where to go—exists within this genealogy of immersive environments, which potentially encourage a “presumptive intimacy” through viewing procedures that exist in continuity with those we see in these mock Afghan villages. What is both evident and troubling in the sites I have examined here is the ways in which the performance paradigm has been taken up in the instrumental rationality of the military-industrial complex as it attempts to devise training methodologies nimble enough to prepare its soldiers 9 I draw here from Harvey Young’s talk “Collecting the Black Body: African Colonial Postcards and 1930s World Fair Culture,” as part of the 2012-2013 Performance Studies (Canada) Speaker Series, hosted by York University’s Graduate Theatre and Performance Studies, 18 September 2013.

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to take on a new frontier of irregular and asymmetrical warfare. Performance studies scholar Diana Taylor shares this concern when she states: “I am troubled by the largely unexamined ways in which the tools of my field contribute to waging war” (1888). The ways in which the tools of our discipline have been deployed in the war effort has an expansive history pre-dating the multi-million-dollar immersive simulation sites that have emerged at military bases in the US, ­Canada, and the UK post-9/11. It can be traced to the staging of large-scale mock battles or “sham fights” for training purposes, which emerged in the eighteenth century. The Prussian army under Frederick the Great had units fight against each other in front of an intrigued audience of civilians, artists, and writers (Harrington 76). Britain, in the throngs of the American Revolution, established one such camp at Coxheath, involving seventeen thousand troops and civilians (77). A letter from an officer of militia captures the scale of the spectacle: “We are ­frequently marched out in considerable bodies to the heaths or commons adjacent…where we go through the various movements, manoeuvres and firings of a field of battle. In these expeditions, let me assure you, there is much fatigue, and no little danger…the most grand and beautiful imitations of action are daily presented to us; and, believe me, the army in general are becoming enamoured of war, from the specimens they have seen of it” (qtd in Harrington 77). Performance and spectacle, here, become the handmaidens of war, galvanizing the morale of soldiers and recruiting those who may be reluctant to the charge. But while it may be tempting to jump to the defense of the discipline, framing the nature of performance’s involvement in the history of war and its stagings as one of unconsenting enlistment, it’s important to note the ways in which theatrical spectacle has historically drawn from its ties to war. Consider, for example, that one among the spectators of these simulations at Coxheath was scenic painter Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg, who used his sketches of the Coxheath mock battles as the template for

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his backdrops for Richard Sheridan’s The Camp in 1778 (Harrington 77). Consider, as well, the elaborate battles staged by Louis XIV, in particular, his re-enactment of the siege of Campiègne in the summer of 1698, which ­enlisted 60,000 soldiers who apparently “ruined themselves” purchasing extravagant costumes for the event. Louix XIV moved the entire court north from Versailles to Campiègne to watch the battle, turning his court into re-enactors themselves of a form of spectatorship that had become quite common in Europe. As Elizabeth D. Samet notes, “the experience of watching actual battles [was] for ­centuries a common European practice. Before technological innovations such as rifles, long-range artillery, and airpower ­dramatically expanded the battlespace, spectators could with a reasonable expectation of safety attend a battle in progress as if it were a kind of theater” (Samet 78). While Diana Taylor laments the ways in which the tools of our discipline contribute to waging war, these concerns, which I share, risk obscuring the ways in which the tools of waging war have been used, historically—and continue to be used—in the making of performance. The Baroque stagings of Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s L’Inondazione of 1638, which caused a house to collapse, and his Allestimento di una Firandola of 1659, which melted the cupola of St. Peter’s in Rome, can be seen, as Mike Sell argues, as “prototypical performance actions” that make “use of military technologies to celebrate military triumphs” (Sell 239). But of course, nowhere is the enlistment of war in performance made more literally manifest than in the performance militarism of the Italian Futurists, who embraced the militaristic spirit imbedded in the very terminology of the “avant-garde” of which they were a part. More recently, in their performances of Surrender, New York City’s International WOW company had audience members don military uniforms and undergo a series of military training drills as though they were a squadron of new recruits before moving through a series of installations in which audience members “raid” a mock Iraqi village to find insurgents. While this is, admittedly, a necessarily abbreviated,

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i­ncomplete, and impressionistic history, these few examples do serve to illustrate that the historical relationship between performance and war, it seems, is one of mutual imbrication and generativity. What I hope to have demonstrated is how the case studies explored here—in addition to this impressionistic history—reveal the shared disciplinary terminologies and methodologies of performance and war, which converge, of course, on the very term, “theatre of war.” As James Thompson, Jenny Hughes, and Michael Balfour maintain in their introduction to Performance in Place of War, “The connections between performance and war can be found… in the very terminology governing war zones. The ‘theatres of war’ are places where the destruction and obliteration of human lives are planned, often rehearsed, and finally enacted” (2). Aeneas’ insurgent training camp and CMTC’s mock Afghan villages are merely two among a proliferation of sites where such rehearsals take place. The rehearsals I’ve witnessed in military training contexts continue to raise questions for me: What are the consequences of scenarios designed to regulate and, in some senses, undermine affect, for the modern theatres of “asymmetrical warfare” and the “three-block war”? And what are the potential risks of rehearsals that attempt to make unfamiliar cultural “others” familiar in scenarios governed by what Derek Gregory has called a “hermeneutics of suspicion” (15) in which an enemy indistinguishable from an innocent civilian needs to be extinguished? The military’s ambitions of Cultural Intelligence building seem fundamentally impossible by virtue of its instrumental deployment as a “force multiplier” in asymmetrical warfare. The “asymmetrical” in “asymmetrical warfare” captures not only the discrepancies of power between NATO forces and the Afghan insurgency; in the questions I propose here, it also speaks to one’s relations with the other within these simulations in the broader context of globalization, which has produced asymmetries of power that allow NATO forces to make Afghans “familiar” in multi-­milliondollar mock Afghan villages on their own terms, for the

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instrumentalist purposes of a counter insurgency mission. But asymmetry also captures the dynamic of affect itself – something that takes you by surprise, something to which you are subjected and that you cannot ­appropriate—­a dynamic that also echoes, if we follow philosopher ­Emmanuel Levinas, an ethical mode of engagement with the other.10 While affect management allows the peacewarrior to respond efficiently to the exigencies of war, it arguably stands in the way of the asymmetrical relation required for the ethical encounter—one that reverses the broader asymmetry of war and one that is so necessary to the work of the always Strategic Corporal.

Natalie Alvarez is an associate professor in the Department Arts at Brock University, Ontario, Canada.

of

Dramatic

10 I refer here to the idea of asymmetry as a foundational principle of Levinas’ philosophy of ethics that rejects a reciprocal relation with the Other. The “Other” summons one, he argues, to a sense of obligation and responsibility. In his chapter “The Asymmetry of the Interpersonal” in Totality and Infinity, for example, Levinas maintains that “[the] Other who dominates me in his transcendence is thus the stranger, the widow, and the orphan, to whom I am obligated” (215). This asymmetrical and non-reciprocal relation with the Other is defined as a state of being for the other and one that is held responsible for this other: “Subjectivity,” he writes in Otherwise Than Being, “is being hostage” – it is an act of radical subjection to the other (127).

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Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2006. 255-277.

Barrialai. Interview with the author. 29 Sept., 2011. Berlant, Lauren. “Thinking About Feeling Historical.” Emotion, Space, and Society 1 (2008): 4-9. Web. Print. Boler, Megan. Feeling Power: Emotions and Education. New York: ­Routledge, 1999. Bumiller, Elisabeth. “A Day Job Waiting for a Kill Shot a World Away.” New York Times 29 July, 2012. http:// www.nytimes.com/2012/07/30/us/ drone-pilots-waiting-for-a-kill-shot7000-miles away.html?pagewanted=1&seid=auto&smid=tw-nytimes&_r=0 “CMTC.” www.army.gc.ca . Web. 4 May 2012. Web. “CMTC brochure”. Department of National Defense, Canada. Print. Colborn-Roxworthy, Emily. “RolePlay Training at a ‘Violent Disneyland:’ the FBI Academy’s Performance Paradigms.” TDR 48.4 (T184) Winter 2004: 81-108. Dolan, Jill. Presence and Desire: Essays on Gender, Sexuality, and Performance. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1993. Gregory, Derek. ‘The Rush to the Intimate’: Counterinsurgency and the ­cultural turn.” Radical Philosophy 150 (July/August 2008): 8-23. Grossman, Dave, Lt. Col. On Combat. Millstadt: Warrior Science Publications, 2004. Print. Harrington, Peter. “Portraying Maneuvers and Mock Battles.” MHQ 19.3 (Spring 2007): 76-81. Hendrikse, Jesse. Interview with the author. 5 May 2011. Krasner, David. “Empathy and Theater.” Staging Philosophy: Intersections of Theater, Performance, and Philosophy. Eds. David Krasner and David Z. Saltz. Ann

Levinas, Emmanuel. Otherwise than Being or Beyond Essence. Trans.Alphonso Lingis. Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981. ––– Totality and Infinity. Trans. Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh: Duquesne UP, 1969. Massumi, Brian. Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation. London: Duke University Press, 2002. Print. Roach, Joseph. The Player’s ­ assion: Studies in the Science of Acting. P Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1993. Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Vintage, 1979. Samet. Elizabeth. “Make Movies, Not War.” Raritan Quarterly 32.3 (Winter 2013): 77-100. Schechner, Richard. Between Theatre and Anthropology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985. Print. Sell, Mike. The Avant-Garde: Race Religion War. London: Seagull, 2011. Spencer, Emily and Tony Balasevicius. “Crucible of Success: Cultural Intelligence and the Modern Battlespace.” ­Canadian Military Journal 9.3 (2009): 40-48. Stanislavski, Constantin. Building a Character. Trans. Elizabeth Reynolds Hapgood. New York: Theatre Arts Books, 1949. Taylor, Diana. “Afterword: War Play.” PMLA 124.5 (2009): 1886-1895. Print. Thompson, James, Jenny Hughes, Michael Balfour. Performance in Place of War. London: Seagull, 2009. Young, Harvey. “Collecting the Black Body: African Colonial Postcards and 1930s World Fair Culture.” 2012-2013 Performance Studies (Canada) Speaker Series, York University’s Graduate Theatre and Performance Studies. Toronto. 18 September 2013.

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Johan Forsman

Being temporary and dislocated § 1: I am in a café. At the table next to me, three people are planning an international advertising campaign. On the other side a couple is speaking French. § 2: I look at my computer screen. My i­ nitial intention is to write about “formats”; first and ­foremost the formats of performing arts, but also the formats that are invading life, work and the field of critical thinking. Formats that make “things” out of things that are not really things at all. § 3: I would propose that the 19th and 20th centuries were obsessed with formats: packaging, boxes, scientific genres, definitions, names, and finally, logos and brands. This is when music ­becomes records, knowledge becomes disciplines, a play ­becomes black-boxed theatre, shoes become N*kes and Ad*das, and people become identities. § 4: And then…? An awkward feeling that all these boxes produced to be stable and definable are starting to leak and reject their weight and

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­ efinitions, that things have become vehicles for the d production of effects, attention, capitalized relations and spin-off effects by connecting and transmitting to ever more agents. § 5: I find some inspiration as I surf the I­ nternet. (How do we understand the notion of “surfing” the Internet? Is it a translation of b ­ eing almost weightless, flying over a liquid surface without ­sinking?) I shift my attention through the thin s­ urface of the screen, floating into the maze of billions and billions of linked and mirrored pages, portals and images. § 6: Each week I carry two big paper bags of empty packaging to the recycling room: tomato boxes, milk boxes, butter boxes and glass containers. Standing by the recycling bins sorting my garbage ­ I sometimes get an intuitive glimpse into the stupidity of the situation without really having the words to express it. § 7: Stock markets are today trading almost at the speed of light, transmitting transactions in nanoseconds, impossible for humans to ­experience. Einstein once asked, Do you see your face in a mirror in front of you if you travel at the speed of light? I would ask, are we still able to experience the

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weight of ownership if we (or our money) travel at the speed of light? § 8: There are, I’ve heard, hundreds of thousands of stone axes buried in the ground of some small hills close to the South African coast. According to some theories, this is the cradle of mankind, the place where we started to eat seafood and where our brains started to grow. The stone axes are lying around in piles, unfinished, most of them never used. A huge pile of handmade, unsold tools. We, as latecomers to the site, see a prehistoric shopping centre. But it would take thousands of years before this kind of production would find adequate global distribution and demand. Nevertheless, there was production there, like a crack in the logic of the ­proposed necessity of the market economy. § 9: Each tool’s weight is probably less than t­ hree kilos, but what matters, what unites me with the object, is its well-rounded balance in my hands. The power extracted by the length of the handle. The size and weight matching my muscular resources. The movement that continues into my arm and has long since been inscribed into my muscle memory. It’s not a stone axe, but a steel axe with a well-used wooden handle. It was bought second-hand and was certainly machine-made, but in a way – a weight and

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a sense of grinding and wood processing – that indicates a certain age. I would guess the axe was made in the 1940s or 1950s. There is something tangible and “authentic” about it and the practice it suggests. But how is it possible that I have the capacity to experience or understand this? § 10: “This is my axe.” “This is my fish!” I imagine a feeling that grows in a prehistoric man, without being able to find the words: caught in a frustrating lack of genitives in the grammar of a lost Stone Age language. Is this how it happened? § 11: Do objects have, as Walter Benjamin suggests, their own language, their own communication. Are they talking to each other, articulating intimate relationships that we cannot hear? One evening I travel by train through Sweden, listening to music in my headphones as the sun sets. I am in contact with a light, soaring wildness, as if I owned the world, though in a very different density to material possessions. If things are talking to each other then I imagine that their language relates to the world with just such a volatile ferocity. § 12: I remember hearing about a Mayan Indian who was interviewed before the recent turn of the Mayan calendar. He said that the calendar’s

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end was not about the end of the world, but rather a shift in materiality: until now we have used the ­sacred stones, but from now on we will only use pure energy. The stones have become meaningless; we are now able to work directly on the energy. § 13: I live in a house that is organized through self-management. There are simple organizational shifts that ultimately change the very way we who live there understand and sense our home. How the joint valorization creates other relationships. There are no big dramatic decisions, but many small ones, which create the specific atmosphere and reality of our house, making it slowly drift apart from the realities of the houses around it. No, we do not want to install safety-doors. We put the money into a table-tennis table, a common sewing machine and collective bikes. It’s interesting what this, and the process of collective decision-making, generates in the long run. § 14: I look at the name in big letters on a ­concert poster in the café. I think of the ­expectations I tie to the name. In a nightmare, we have ­apparently all the freedom in the world except the one to change ourselves, to become something else, to make us incomprehensible to the identity we live with and capitalize on.

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§15: What is the experience of ownership based on, and how rigid is this notion? Is it just a linguistic determinant founded on our cultural thinking? Can we imagine lots of slightly different notions of ­ownership? For instance, how does the experience of ownership change in virtual realities? And will that affect us over time? § 16: It’s not as simple as globalization gaining momentum with the Internet and digitalization. I would like to highlight the invention of the freight container and its logistics potential as the protocol that makes the idea of large-scale global trade possible. § 17: The standard size of containers, and the adapted formats for pallets and commercial insurance is what currently determines the pack sizes, materials and styles. All these seemingly “unique” packs contained in a system of international dimensions and material standards. § 18: It was in the 1970s that the standardized container began to structure global trade. It was around the same time that theatres began to be built as black boxes, and at the same time that an internationalized performing-arts scene emerged to move freely between exchangeable black-box containers.

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§ 19: The conquest of cherry tomatoes can primarily be understood by their unique ability to be packed into small, square packaging. Who would have thought of cherry tomatoes before containers and standardized plastic packing? Today I no longer buy tomatoes by sensing and smelling, but by simply reading the packaging of the puny cherry tomatoes, like red pixels in an image. They are real, but I read them as almost virtual objects. §20: In the digital world everything is boxes: screens, bits and pixels. Basically, we could look at digital information as constructed in the same manner as container ships: binary numbers 1 or 0, full or empty containers. But of course there’s a crucial difference – in the digital landscape, it is not the object that is given value, but the movement of information, the portals of availability, its releases, leaks and infections. § 21: Speculation (from the Latin speculat, “­ observed from a vantage point,” from specere “to look”) or the gaze that looks from the vantage point of an anticipated future (even if it is only a ­nanosecond away) evaluating our present objects as vehicles containing their future values.

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§ 22: With the introduction of logistics standards (containers or digital bits), the business of predictions is uncovered and can be staged on an i­ ndustrial ­scale. The algorithm is the basic tool for this ­economy of prophecies. § 23: Today more movies and songs are chosen by algorithm-based proposals than by human choice. § 24: Contemporary warfare is no longer about organizing a defence around national borders. Instead it seems to be about infiltrating and invisibly being present in a borderless global landscape, whether virtual or real. By the use of stealth-operations, ­drones and global monitoring systems, contemporary wars are somehow silent and impersonal, yet they might violently enter and monitor the most private spheres. Life becomes limited by the mere suspicion of a presence of “armed” algorithms ­scanning all data, interpreting everybody’s movements, always ready to strike when suspect ­behaviour seems to appear. § 25: Today warfare is very much about holes, leaks and infiltration; we know the explosive power of a Snowden or a Manning. But in the extension of the continuous monitoring, enemies tend to mimic the attacking forces in order to hide. As filmmaker Hito

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Steyerl has noted, The Guy Fawkes mask is a sign of a paradigm shift, where protest and warfare are no longer about making your force visible, but invisible. The strongest powers now move undercover, infiltrating, infecting, leaking – and in the end, denying. § 26: Wiki: A Trojan Horse, or simply Trojan, is a computer programme that pretends to be useful or fun, but actually does something else once it has been installed by a user. § 27: What does this have to do with theatre, or rather, what kind of theatre are we able to stage now? § 28: The three friends discussing the advertising campaign fold their computers and leave the café. The French couple tags new photos of Stockholm on their smartphones.

/Johan Forsman

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Masthuggsterrassen 3 SE 413 18 Gรถteborg +46 (0) 31 40 98 62 info @ skogen.pm www.skogen.pm


colophon

årsbok 2013

Konstnärer/Curatorer/Medverkande/Skribenter 2013:

Diego Agulló Daniel AlmgrenRecén Kari Altmann Natalie Alvarez Badco. Ana Kreitmeyer, Ivana Ivković, Tomislav Medak, Goran Sergej Pristaš,Nikolina Pristaš, Lovro Rumiha & Zrinka Užbinec Tomas Björkdal Juliette Bonneviot Kirsti Taylor Bye Petter Eldh Leif Elggren Helena Eriksson Christer Falkenström Johan Forsman Gluey C Charlotta Grimfjord Cederblad Fredrik Gunve Anna von Hausswolff Maria von Hausswolff Olle Huge

281


colophon

årsbok 2013

Konstnärer/Curatorer/Medverkande/Skribenter 2013:

Jens Records Sandra Kolstad Tor Lindstrand Edda Manga The Marble Fauns Magnus Haglund & Isak Eldh Eva Meyer-Keller Midaircondo Lisen Rylander Löve & Lisa Nordström Anders Mossling Elina Minn Rabih Mroué Kjerstin Noreén Lula Children Of The Sun Soledad Howe & Fredrika Byman-Moberg Rita Nettelstad Johan Normark Fredrik Nyberg Jon Rafman Riksarkivet Bunny Rogers Dennis Romanovski

282


colophon

årsbok 2013

Konstnärer/Curatorer/Medverkande/Skribenter 2013:

Johan Rödström Frida Sandström Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt Schutütehemd Marja-Leena Sillanpää Jasper Spicero Hito Steyerl Sunshine Socialist Cinema Kristina Müntzig & Kalle Brolin Jiří Surůvka Anders Olofson Carmen Olsson Dmitry Paranyushkin Aude Pariset Anders Paulin My Persson Rasmus Persson Pwr Arne Kjell Vikhagen Eyal Weizman Elin Wikström Yoga Center

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O ms l a g glossary 2013

årsbok 2013

Konst Kunskap Flöden Överlagringar Inhämtningar Givanden Block Skola Redaktion Diskurs Arkiv Publikation Prövande Delande Plattform Sammanhang Relationer Fördjupningar Förankringar Möten Rhizom Förnimmelser Samhälle Gemenskap


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