[-empyre-] night sea crossing 5 / Pequenas frestas de ficcção sobre realidade insistente

Johannes Birringer Johannes.Birringer at brunel.ac.uk
Wed Oct 24 05:45:17 EST 2012

dear soft_skinned all,

>>	Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts  <<
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland<< 

thank you moderators for inviting me here, and i will leave the week now with a feeling of awe, at the responses coming in today, the 
poetic response on what language can or can not do, what Celan offers, offered here by Simon, which made me go back to the "Todesfuge" (Death Fugue)
back to the words "...he orders us strike up and play for the dance..."  and back to Adorno's strange comment about 
what [poetry? dance?]  is no more, no longer possible after the Holocaust. Yes, it could not longer, and yes it could.

You could be very right in suggesting that pain is very common, a common sense, and yet in the Abramovic movie is is made operatic, absurd in places.  This too, perhaps, is necessary.

I then watched the dance/video work Alan linked:

Involuntaries 1-7

and it is haunting, strange, awkward, beautiful, intense, in its raw, unadorned, naked distressedness and beauty
and i also find consolation, humor (in the very odd pairing of Foofwa d’Imobilité and Vea Lucca,  with Sondheim the stoic musician
in the middle, to the side, in the back, near; there is an absolute disconventional or an-aesthetic of working at work here, an articulation
that gets under the skin precisely because it seems as if the (male) body is jerked and dispersed and controlled by something
or other (not "choreography" for sure), letting is happen and even enjoying it,  while it (in her) begins to have smallest mutations, of the nervous system, and the repetition
of something that may calm the body down, the fissures under-neath, that may veil the involuntarinesses, allow her to maintain a pose, dressed, or exposed?  

thank you for sharing (you once gave me a copy of "Aletsch" and i showed it to the dance students, and they felt very uncomfortable and ill at ease which I took to be a strong affect, Foofwa's
"dancing" struck then the wrong way......? good)

and what are these small fissures?  (A Brazilian dance group I admire, Cena 11, made a work a few years ago and i can't forget its title: "Pequenas frestas de ficcção sobre realidade insistente")

I think many of us do address our emotions in our work, of course; I did begin the Brechtian way, distrusting them, of course, growing up in the land where death was master;  & in my own practice recently I hide on occasion also behind concepts and critical visions and retro-subtensions or whatever;
i will leave not before having mentioned the work we are currently doing with our DAP-Lab, in case you wondered what we are up to, and it was a new project begun last year
looking back at a time of revolution and what imaginaries are set at play when society is overturned or a political future is prospected, so our ensemble looked at "Victory over the Sun" [1913], the Russian opera, 
and there in that crazy convoluted libretto there is madness and wit, extenuating circumstances, less pain and no death, well, the dying is to be done to the sun, thus to the world, and that is probably quite bad enough
as a vision of the future, of New Man  (did not Boris Groys later speak of the "total artwork" (Gesamtkunstwerk) of Stalinism?  here it is again, that word, "Gesamtkunstwerk").

an excerpt of our "for the time being" is at:   http:youtu.be/WeAIYCnsDe4

i look forward to Maria Damon's return. 

Johannes Birringer
dap lab


[Alan schreibt]

-- I wrote this text for Foofwa d'Imobilite's "Involuntaries," which for me
were part of the inspiration for this month's topic. The Involuntaries
(with Foofwa, Vea Lucca, and myself) are at
and I thought this works in well with Johannes' comments, and issues of
real/virtual pain and embodiment.

Breaking New Ground

all circumstances are extenuating.
....[ ...]  

to persevere, endure, maenad-dance of self-devouring, maenad-music of
self-control. how can that be, except to ensure that the beat is periodic,
that repetition hungers. the maenad feeds, hungers for repetition,
desecrates it (the repeat-ing). they passed it on so far down the line
that gender-sex and sex-gender change. they passed it down farther.

Who were they? Who's haunting us?

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