Food><Fight III is the third part of a comical and sensual dinner series which is shaped as an interactive performance installation. Also this time we invite the audience to become an important part of the performative actions and to intervene at the table and beside.
We will set up a long and well laid table with a mass of wildly mixed meals It’s a carefully built still-life, made out of visually cooked and composed dishes, citing stereotypes of typical food images from comics, paintings, films or childhood memories. Following the principles of individual desires, personal culinary wishes and absurd details we create an open and playful space for negotiations.
The frame and central point of Food><Fight III will be a collection of spoken and unspoken rules for the performer and audience. A part of these rules are predefined by the performer, but as a framework also flexible and during the performance fluidly influenced by every participating person in a certain way. What ever happened on the table will influence the audience beside the table, but to take your chance and voice to control this, you have to find your way on the table.[/grey_box]
die ganze Gerätschaft, das Gas, die Luft, die Explosion wenn ein paar Ventile nicht funktionieren, Überdruck in der Lunge, Unterdruck im Gehirn…nur vergleichbar mit einem überstürzten Abstieg von 14000m…und was dann bleibt sind Ohren, Magen, Blutbahnen, Muskelstränge und Nervengeräusche. Stehen bleiben, lieben, fassen, rauchen, wir schauen uns an und splittern.
.[/grey_box]
Foto Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
Foto Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
Foto Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
Foto Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
Foto Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
photos: Anja Fonseka, René Tschaggelar, Alessandro Di Stefano
I felt honoured and inspired to place myself in this exhibition as a display and to develop a performative response on a visual and intellectual level. Quoting Rolf Hochhut: „Reality can only be found in the present“ I would like to add: „Reality can only be found in the present.”, but there are many, and nobody can ever be certain to be in the one he or she expects.
Wisdom is words, and words are used to trap ideas. But once the idea is manifest, you don’t need the trap. When is bird is caught, let go the bird trap.
In Solidarity with all the people demonstrating in the streets, squares and places, still highly restricted and endangered by non-democratic fictions.
In our daily life we often face moments of transitions and transience like losing a friend, leaving home, the first job, the first step in a new and unknown country. All these impacts follow us our entire life as a special notion of knowledge, as an imprint, probably like data in a flight recorder. In special cases of emergency, these boxes get suddenly open. And in some of these cases we can even speak about a still stand or interruption of time, and we are part of a moment which shows the past and the future in the same image. What remains is a memory of presence, a memory which leaves a touchable mark in our body and mind, something what also identifies our self. Following this idea, we are able to recall and exchange collective and individual stories with our bodies and minds.
‘Black Box’ is a new performance series following the attempt to work with the idea of a not to deceive memory. A Black Box or also know as a flight data recorder, is an electronic device used to record critical flight data, and is also able to withstand a crash. In this way, memory is strongly connected to a case of emergency and filled with exclusively ‘real’ data. Time and experiences have no influence on these protected facts, and to remember like a Black Box, means to live in a world filled up with all our secrets, sins and not to forgettable impacts on life.
In our daily life we often face moments of transitions and transience like losing a friend, leaving home, the first job, the first step in a new and unknown country. All these impacts follow us our entire life as a special notion of knowledge, as an imprint, probably like data in a flight recorder. In special cases of emergency, these boxes get suddenly open. And in some of these cases we can even speak about a still stand or interruption of time, and we are part of a moment which shows the past and the future in the same image. What remains is a memory of presence, a memory which leaves a touchable mark in our body and mind, something what also identifies our self. Following this idea, we are able to recall and exchange collective and individual stories with our bodies and minds.
‘Black Box’ is a new performance series following the attempt to work with the idea of a not to deceive memory. A Black Box or also know as a flight data recorder, is an electronic device used to record critical flight data, and is also able to withstand a crash. In this way, memory is strongly connected to a case of emergency and filled with exclusively ‘real’ data. Time and experiences have no influence on these protected facts, and to remember like a Black Box, means to live in a world filled up with all our secrets, sins and not to forgettable impacts on life
Víðarr is known as the silence city, the only place in the world there all kinds of life is muted down to a degree of silence which is rather a fierce touch, than just a certain part of acoustic. Far more than the simple lack of noises, Víðarr is entirely constructed and built out of a deeply rooted and complete silence which exists since centuries. The only way to enter is through the seaway, following a widely branched system of canals and slighting in nearly motionless tiny boats. But since more than hundred years no stranger would have ever put a feet in the city of silence. Massive gates are blocking every possible passage and a hug iron wall surrounds the city.
It is said, that at first there is the silence in the streets, in the shops and squares, a silence carried by the people living here. Perfectly trained to avoid every single noise, their shoes are made out the thickest silk, their movements slightly faster than slow motion and their conversations happen through gesture, reading a complex system of different long and short breezes produced by movements. The second silence is the stillness of the buildings, the softly curved bridges, the small sized houses and the streets covered with layers of carpet. It seems even the stones became unnaturally quiet and adopted the habits of their inhabitants during centuries of missing noises, like a perfect symbiosis. The third and last silence is the silence of the waiting, which is the deepest and most perfect crafted silence. It is the waiting which holds together the other two, desperately and longing.
But for what these people are waiting for? Countless stories and rumors are floating the market places and taverns all over the world. The silent city is probably the wildest discussed place and the best hidden secret under the sky. But none of these stories mention the most important sound ever happens in Víðarr: the cracking noise. The most delicate cracking you can imagine, maybe like an eggshell which opens at the very first moment, like a cold stone which get warm with the first sunrise of the day, or maybe like the perfect snowflake which falls for the first time in a dancing fire. This cracking is the only reason for the existence of Víðarr. It means every word and letter, every number, every color and every single breath. This cracking is the greatest present ever presented.
If you hear it after endless times and a numbing quietness, you would see the streets packed with hard breathing bodies, naked feet rushing over carpets and shoulders scratching along house walls. A brutal and cruel race takes place and the air is ranged with fresh blood and breaking bones. If you hear the cracking you understand the silence, you understand Víðarr.
Suddenly a shirt hangs somewhere at the marketplace, in a lane, on a house wall or tower, one single shirt somewhere placed in the area of a whole city. It appearance is signaled by the cracking and it importance known by every human being in this town. This shirt holds a brand new soul inside the fabric, directly coming from heaven. Filled with golden sticky syrup, with glitter and wooden sticks, its fabric is heavy like a tree and fragile as a breath. The first person finding the shirt pulls it in pure panic and joy over the head and suddenly remains still. Now the liquid begins to steam and runs all over the body, all over the skin and slipping through every opening and pore. It penetrates muscles, bones, nerves and agglutinates eventually the firmly beating heart. The following is predetermined and known since the beginning of time. The lucky person lies down with his partner, they merge silently into each other and with the conception the heart stops to beat. Nine months later a new born child with a new born soul steps with the quietest scream in the city of Víðarr and starts to wait for the cracking noise, for the only reason to be alive, for the only reason to inhabit this city.
