PAS poetry 3
"poetry 3", a publication based on the same-titled online class, 112 pages, published by PAS | Performance Art Studies 2020 The publication “poetry 3” is the result of a one-month long online class with Franziska Hübner, Annikken Olsen Skjæran, Lilia Raikhline, Simon Niemann and Tine Wille. The PAS | online class examined the connection between performance art and poetry.
"poetry 3", a publication based on the same-titled online class, 112 pages, published by PAS | Performance Art Studies 2020
The publication “poetry 3” is the result of a one-month long online class with Franziska Hübner, Annikken Olsen Skjæran, Lilia Raikhline, Simon Niemann and Tine Wille. The PAS | online class examined the connection between performance art and poetry.
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PAS | Performance Art Studies “poetry”
Franziska Hübner •1
Annikken Olsen Skjæran •2
Lilia Raikhline •3
Simon Niemann •4
Tine Wille •5
•2
•1
•3•4
•5
“To be a poet is a condition,
not a profession.”
Robert Graves
The publication “POETRY” is the result of a one-month long online
class with five international artists. Franziska Hübner, Annikken Olsen
Skjæran, Lilia Raikhline, Simon Niemann and Tine Wille took part in
the 4. PAS | online class with a research based process on the connection
between poetry and performance art.
Since 2008 PAS | Performance Art Studies has invested much of its researches
in the creation and the development of tasks, assignments
and exercises which support the artistic performance process. Mainly,
these research tools are provided during the PAS studies in which
physical presence of participants and the facilitator is inevitable. PAS
describes performance art practices also as social situations and
therefore we think the process of learning and teaching performance
art should have as well a social setting.
However, for some stages of the artistic process, it is not always required
to form this social experimental context. We believe that with
participant’s dedication, some of the PAS tasks have the potential to
inspire in form of a guided, remote class situation.
One of these tasks is the ‘poetry task’ which seeks the connection between
written, spoken and acted poetry. Poetic actions are one of the
genres within the context of performance art which have a long tradition
and are useful for individual research, reflection and performance
work.
The ‘poetry task’ includes all relevant stages of the performance art
process from getting the idea or inspiration to the research, the planning,
the public presentation and later as well the documentation.
Mainly, it relates to artistic transformation and the transformation of
the made transformation. The aim of the class was to develop and execute
an individual performance work in public. During this process,
the artists had to make a lot of choices on how they want to interpret
the assigned framework. The participants were asked to provide different
works and researches during the process before the actual performance
was presented to the public. A standard within the PAS process
are drawings and notes in which the idea is questioned, enhanced with
the made researches.
PAS understands performance art practice and theory as an expression
of the visual arts. Leaving behind the narrative, logic and understanding,
the visual poetic space of actions offers a universe in which absurdity
and non-sense are creating a different sense - another possibility
to see. The focus on visual art regarding performance is important
since it allows a precise look at the practice as a formal artistic tool.
The multiple intersections and connections poetry and performance art
have, are generating a field of individual artistic exploration and experimentation.
Words, sound, movement, gesture and action are the starting
points of research which will during the process get in touch with
space, time, material.
Poetry and Performance Art have a lot in common which can create a
vivid circular artistic dialogue. Since both forms share a huge variety
of intersections, they remain within their character without the need to
adapt too much of the other form. One of these common elements is
the possibility to create fictive, not existing spaces. These spaces are
important since they can formulate something which appears only for
example on an emotional level of perception, something which description
or a story is not fully able to address. As one of its main characteristics
performance art tries to build those fiction spaces as real spaces,
while poetry chooses mainly words to construct them. This goes very
well together with the concept of collage in which the technique offers
a multilayered image to describe something which would be hard
through another technique. There are of course many more possibilities
in this intermedia approach within the connection of poetry and
performance art and therefore this combination is so rich for the individual
research. The freedom of expression which we can find in both
forms is able to enhance the power of research, articulation and presentation.
We recommend watching this publication like a trace of performance
poetry that has happened at a real site and time, leaving a poetic space
as an inspiration for new creation.
BBB Johannes Deimling
Franziska Hübner
“mit kalten Händen (with cold hands)”
my apartment in Hamburg, Germany
Aber wieso
Spielen die Gedanken
In den Sälen der
Gefühle mit kalten
Händen Domino
(von Herta Müller)
but why
do thoughts play
Dominoes
with cold hands
in the halls of feelings
(by Herta Müller)
photos: Johanna Landwehr
Descrption of action:
I enter my living room, where the audience is already waiting. I’m carrying
a wooden bowl with water to a table in front of the audience. I
start washing my hands with soap and dry them with paper towels.
Then I reach out my hand to the first person in the audience and invite
her to get her hands washed by me. I plunge her hands in the water
and start soaping them carefully. Then I plunge them again in the
wooden bowl and dry them with paper towels. I repeat this to all persons
in the audience. The last one refuses to let me wash her hands.
She takes the bowl and exchange the used water. Then she let me
wash her hands. After this I go and sit on the floor in front of my bookshelf.
I start cover the floor with sheets from the newspaper. While
doing so, I scan the headlines. Then I take a glass bowl full of blue
paint and place it right in front of me. I put on single-use gloves and
put my fingers in the blue paint. I start to pull a string out of the paint
and remove some of the paint. Then I start to lay the string on the
newspaper and connect some of the headlines with each other. Paint
is constantly dripping from the string. After I reached the end of the
string, I have eye contact with the audience and go back to the bowl
with the paint. I take another single-use glove and fill it with the blue
paint. The paint, that I have already on my hands is also a bit on the
outside of the glove. I close the glove with tape and tape it on a long
stick, I put on the floor in front of me. Then I take another glove, fill it
with paint, tape it on the other side of the stick. I slowly lift the stick,
checking constantly if the gloves will stick to it. Then I put the stick on
my shoulders and balance it. I slowly start walking towards the audience.
Just before I reach the audience, the filled gloves fall off the
stick. I lay the stick down to the ground and return to the bowl with
the blue paint. I kneel behind the bowl and immerse my hands in the
blue paint and move my hands like I wash them. The paint is reaching
my wrists. I raise my hands and let some of the paint drip. I move
my head between my hands. Slowly avoiding the contact with the blue
paint. My hands start wandering all over my body. Slowly. Balance between
how close they can come to my skin without leaving any traces
on it. As I feel my cautiousness fade, I stop, kneel and again move my
hands like I wash them. A lot of paint is still dripping. I take scissors
and cut off the gloves from my hands. A stripe of blue paint on my
wrists separate my untouched hands from the rest of my skin. I stand
in front of the audience and present my hands and wait. That was the
planned end of the performance. After a while one out of the audience
stood up and lead me to the wooden bowl with the soaped water.
While she started cleaning my wrists from the blue paint, her hands
got blue as well and the water stain to intensive blue. We stop when
our hands are clean again. I take the bowl and leave the room.
watch the video documentation of the performance
by scanning the QR code
or clicking the link: https://youtu.be/X3ImP_bd7VU
Unter der Hautoberfläche besitzen wir
4 Millionen Rezeptoren
Sie sind
Grenzposten
Sie wachen darüber, was uns
unter die Haut geht und entscheiden, was fehlt
oder zu viel ist
wenn ich meine Finger ausstrecke wie Netze im Raum
zwischen uns
und die Leere auslote
bleibt es die reine Erwartung, so ist es nur
das Gehirn, das Funken schlägt und Brände legt
nach außen
nach innen in die Säle der Gefühle
(von Franziska Hübner)
beneath our skin we hold
4 millions adrenoceptors
they are
frontier post
they keep watch on what gets under
our skin and decide, what’s missing
or is too much
when I reach out my fingers like nets in the room
between us
and plumb the void
when it remains only expectation, it’s just
the brain, that emit sparks and sets on fire
to the outside
to the inside in the halls of feelings
(by Franziska Hübner)
Annikken Olsen Skjæran
“Jeg er de ting som aldri skjer
(I am the things that shall not be)”
Klostergården, Tautra, Frosta, Norway
Jeg er det dikt
Jeg er det dikt som ingen skrev.
Jeg er det alltid brente brev.
Jeg er den betrådte sti
og tonen uten melodi.
Jeg er den stumme leppes bønn.
Jeg er en ufødt kvinnes sønn,
en streng som ingen hånd har spent,
et bål som aldri er blitt tent.
Vekk meg! Forløs meg! Løft meg opp
av jord og berg, av ånd og kropp!
Men intet svarer når jeg ber.
Jeg er de ting som aldri skjer.
(av Inger Hagerup)
I am the poem
I am the poem never turned
I am the letter always burned.
I am the path that no one treads
I am the notes with no tune’s threads
I am the prayer mute lips have formed
I am a woman’s son unborn,
a string that no hand has drawn taut,
a bonfire that no fire has caught.
Wake me! Release me! Lift me free
of soul and body, rock and tree!
But nothing answers my lone plea.
I am the things that shall not be.
(by Inger Hagerup)
Description of action:
I wear orange shirt with short arms and orange trousers. My arms,
hands and feet are painted orange with acrylic paint. There are eyes
painted on my eyelids.
The performance is announced to begin 19.15 and the doors open
19.00. Five minutes before the doors open, I place myself in a door
opening that is turned to a window, covered by a thin glass. The walls
are thick and the inside of the opening I covered with white paper.
Inside this created closed space, I already start, filling the space by
touching the wall, the open door and the glass. As I hear people coming
in, I also establish the repetitively movement that also appears
several times throughout the performance. I swing my arms back and
forth fingers spread and pointing down then lift hands up by the ears
then stretching the arms out to the sides with fingers still spread but
facing the sealing.
When the people have found their seats and the clock has turned 19.15
the sound of a dialling tone appears. This sound is constant throughout
the performance.
I put one hand out of the paper a few times, then I take both arms
out on each side of the paper and press the paper to my body and my
head. I tear the paper down and then step out of the wall and enter the
space made from nine chairs in a half circle from the wall on my left
photos: Alexander Olsen
to the wall on my right. On the concrete floor in front of me lies 20-30
white sheets of paper approximately sized100x220 cm. I make shapes
with hands trying to visualize the space between. Then I make the
shapes bigger by using my arms and body.
I do the repeating movement and walk in circle counter clockwise and
repeat this between the following actions.
I go to one chair and make shapes between my body and the chair.
I go to another chair and bow in front of it. I react to it and approach it
again in a submissive manner holding my hand out towards it. I make
reaction again then I lie down with my knees under me in front of the
chair. I lay there for a while. I push my body up with hands and feet
on the ground, but I do not get fully up. I go into a position with bended
knees, my back almost aligned to the floor and walk like this with
arms stretched to the sides indicating having something heavy on my
back.
I go to a third chair and lean to the space surrounding it.
I go to a fourth chair. I stand in front of it with my arms straight up and
fists closed. I step up on it, arms to the side, elbows bent. I step down
and walk around with arms to the side and chest lifted.
I start moving the paper on the ground with my toes, then I start picking
it up. I tear the paper and mould it into shapes placing paper bodies
on the chairs. I work on the different bodies and moulding and
tearing the paper in different ways, some of them gets forms indicating
a head or feet or arms. Sometimes I make long big tears in the paper
and I also make small pieces of one. Meanwhile I take paper from
the floor and from the paper bodies and putt it under my shirt and deform
and enlarge my upper body. When every chair has its body, again
I bring attention to the space between the hands. Finally, I walk slowly
in the circle with ands moving slightly towards and away from each
other while I look the audience in the eye, one at a time trying to make
eye contact. Then I walk out of the circle of chairs and out of the barn.
A few seconds after I walked out of the door, the sound of the dial tone
get silenced and it is over.
watch the video documentation of the performance
by scanning the QR code
or clicking the link: https://youtu.be/6WSZohXRuHw
Background thoughts:
I was struck by the thought of the role of consciousness. In the poem
a conscious «I» is present but still that tells about being the things
that never happens. How real is a thought not spoken, an idea not put
in action or a potential not full filled? Things that do not happen can
still take much space.
My research was circulating around how to materialize these thoughts
and for my invitation I wrote this:
I am the things that shall not be
The poem I am the poem by Inger Hagerup resonates with me on a
personal, existential level.
This is the starting point for the development of this piece, where I explore
the interaction between form and space, of what is and what is
absent.
Thematises:
Awareness of one’s own non-existence.
The influence of what is not present.
The potential of those who is not allowed to participate.
What you close your eyes to, is still there.
The line is open, waiting for contact to take place.
I invite you to witness a gathering that will not happen.
I tomrommet
stillhet skriker
fraværet fyller
kom aldri hit?
I tommrommet
formes fortæres
definerer destruerer
gjensidighet?
(av Annikken Olsen Skjæran)
In the void
silence screams
absence appears
never came?
In the void
shaping shredding
defines destruct
reciprocity?
(by Annikken Olsen Skjæran)
Lilia Raikhline
“The Hunt, The Feast”
Jardin du roi, Brussels, Belgium
Why I Am Not a Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
“Sit down and have a drink” he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. “You have SARDINES in it.”
“Yes, it needed something there.”
“Oh.” I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”
All that’s left is just
letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven’t mentioned
orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES.
(by Frank O’Hara)
Framework:
The performance took place in a little public parc in the city centre
of Brussels. In the right corner of the Jardin du roi there was a circle,
delimited on all sides by some bushes and trees, at the centre
of which thrones a beautiful tree - the place felt like a surreal green
bubble, which was the best setting I could have ever dreamed of. Before
the performance, I had a specific decor and some material that
it is important to introduce firstly, few rolls of long white paper that
were installed in a circle around the tree. Some heavy books were
there to hold them to the ground. Every few meters, I had previously
placed on this white paper, some specific elements - often orange or
colourful - which could be a pot with paint, a marker pen, a box with
pastels, an orange, few paintbrushes, …
Facts of action: As my public (15 friends close friends of mine) was sitting
in front of me, I showed them a sign where I had written: “TUNE
ME”. I stood up and with two long metal sticks, I pointed at a friend
who was sitting to my left and asked him to sing me a “mmh”. I joined
his “mmh” and showed with my two sticks every single person in the
audience who progressively all joined my live orchestra. Calmly I put
back my two sticks on the ground and slowly started to move closer
to the white long paper, I chose a spot in front of me and sat down,
closed my eyes. Then I stood up again and began the procession: I was
moving forward in the paper and stopping every few meters. The first
time I stopped, I took some orange paint and painted my right cheek,
under my eye. I took a pair of scissors, picked any hair on the top of
my head and cut it and looked at it in the mirror. I stood up again, but
took with me the scissors and the mirror, then walked a little further
in the paper, sat down, stood up, walked a little further until I arrived
at the next spot where I had previously left an empty pot, as well as
an orange. I started slowly peeling the orange and tearing it apart into
different pieces. I took a few pieces and pushed on them above the
pot to make some juice, then with a paintbrush, I started applying the
orange juice on my face. Thereafter, I repeated the action of picking a
hair, cutting it, and playing with it in the mirror. I took the left pieces of
the orange, the scissors and the mirror, stood up, and walked a little
further until the next spot. I sat down and started to divide each piece
of the orange before placing each one of them in a certain way on the
paper. Then with some colorful pastels I started to draw all around
these different slices of orange. I also applied some of the pastels on
my face. Meanwhile, the live orchestra was living its own life - the
“mmh” we had created was coming and going, some of us were quitting
to take some rest, then joining back again, to me at the time it
sounded like the wind. When I was satisfied with the result I stood
up, walked a little further with the scissors and the mirror. Instead
of walking directly towards the next spot, I stopped by the tree (in the
middle) and cut a leaf with my scissors. As I arrived at the next spot, I
sat down and started applying some orange paint on the leaf, then fold
it in a little roll. I hid this roll in my orange sleeve, applied some orange
marker pen on my face, looked at myself in the mirror, cut a hair
of mine, played with it, twisted it around my fingers. I put the hair on
the white paper and started drawing around it with the orange marker,
I could not manage to perfectly contour the hair and the marks of
the paper made it look like drops of rain - suddenly the rain started
‘plocking’ silently on the roll of paper. I slapped some orange paint,
and I continued the procession with the mirror above my head, like an
umbrella. By that time the “mmh” was already gone - I felt the need
for music so I came back to the centre where I had left my two sticks
and just hit one against the other to rhythm my last tread. I sat down
and looked at myself in the mirror for what felt like a very long time.
Next to me, I found another box of pastels, I opened it and slapped it
on the paper and played with this explosion of colours. I was putting
different colours on the paper and mixing them with my hands, however,
despite the result on the paper I wanted the color of my hands to
remain orange. When I was satisfied with my hand’s colour I applied
it on my face. At the end of the performance, the “mmh” was almost
gone, so I took my orchestra sticks once again as if I wanted to hear
my music one last time. The “mmh” lived for a few seconds more until
I stopped it with my two metal sticks - the live orchestra was gone and
I was left with an audience.
photos: Emma Bran & Nastia Sharoshkina
Background thoughts:
“The Hunt, The Feast” was my first ever artistic performance, and I
must say that, despite the up and downs, this work was pure pleasure
from the very beginning and to the very end. But where or how should
I introduce my process and the thoughts I have carried throughout my
work?
My first assignment as a student of the “Poetry and Performance Art”
PAS online class was to choose any poem that resonated with me. In
my search, I have come along many different new poets and poems,
but when I first read “Why I am not a painter” by the great O’Hara,
without really knowing how or why, without getting all his words at
first sight, I knew already that this was the prime material of my work.
In his few lines, he managed to raise concerns that I have carried
not only throughout this last intense month of research but mostly
throughout my entire lifetime. The search in the artistic medium, the
search of the right wording (as a writer), titles, art, friendship, food,
inspiration, conversations, achievement. With today’s distance, I can
clearly see that I was maybe jealous of Frank’s lightness, thoughtlessness,
and humor when addressing such important topics! As I
read it, his poetry resonated with my eternal questioning! At home, my
amazing sister was practicing the violin for hours and hours tirelessly
- full of love and anger. Her determination and passion for her artistic
medium was for years my biggest source of envy and confusion. Yes,
indeed, I have things to say… but the real question is: how am I go-
ing to/should I raise my voice? How should I scream? What language
should I use? What brushes, what tools, and who will be there to listen?
As soon as I was lucky enough to meet my group of friends such
conversations, this research became part of my everyday life - such
discussions, shared anxieties, were often debated around food;).
Coming back to the performance, there are several things that must
be mentioned:) - the process and the different elements part of the
decor, … :
1. As I first read the poem, I immediately felt the urge to paint my
face in orange, the need to become one of the absent “ORANGES”
mentioned in O’Hara’s poem! This reaction already paved the path and
gave me a great indication, as I already knew that orange had to be
a key element in my end result. Relying on a color was often very reassuring
throughout my process, as I knew that even if my audience
would not understand everything that was hidden in my performance,
my orange setting and the game around this color would always make
their imagination sparkle in one way or another. It was also a good
occasion for me to pull off a cool outfit ;)!
2. I had a dream a month ago where I was walking down the lane
I grew up, the Avenue de la Couronne in Brussels. The Avenue was
dotted with white A4 papers. It was late, Brussels was silent and empty,
I was alone. I was slowly walking and going further, arriving to the
next paper, tearing it apart with my legs or my arms. When I woke
up, I knew I had dreamed of the perfect setting for my performance.
Throughout the process, due also to some practical reasons, these A4
papers became long roll papers, as these would incorporate something
more fluid and prolonged. Without the location - I had found on
the same day - the setting was remaining pretty vague in my imagination…
but as soon as I found this beautiful tree, everything started
to make complete sense. Indeed, the fact that I was walking in circle
brought a logical ending to the performance: a chapter of my life had
ended, but something else as much exciting and surprising was starting.
The circle was also adding the nuance of the community that was also
core to the project from the very beginning. My audience witnessing
my way through life and through the paper. This white long setting
could be anything I wanted and that is also what I liked so much about
it - it left me with an endless range of possibilities! It was its ease and
simultaneously its challenge: I had a very precise decor, but finding its
right use was entirely my responsibility on the day of the performance.
I wanted to see how I could evolve in a set setting - indeed, all the actions
that happened on this paper were completely improvised. It was
also a unique experience to make my dream come true:)) and the little
wind, the “ploc-ploc” of this light rainy day, this amazing tree were all
adding to this surreal feeling that everything we were leaving on that
June 12th could be nothing just as much as everything. This white setting
also often made me think of my favorite Jewish celebrations - at
home, my parents would often invite friends and family, and our home
was regularly filled with lovely people. Feasts at a big table ALWAYS
covered of a WHITE tablecloth, surrounded by Jewish noses and loud
laughs… talking about it makes me smile! Gatherings around food
were always part of my imagination, inviting my friends to my performance
was, therefore, a certainty!
Walking down this paper came to me as a metaphor… for a very long
time, I had kept the idea of adulting hidden somewhere in my soul.
The truth is that I am such a nostalgic being that I had carried my
childhood in my memory as a Lilia-Golden Age, and my performance
arrived at a time of major change in my life, some sort of a Lilia-Renaissance.
This “walk in the parc” was there to symbolize this ending
chapter, a new beginning full of hope, a way to say thank you.
Throughout my entire life, I always carried this heavy feeling of guilt.
Who knew maybe I did not deserve my loving family, my beautiful
niece, my awesome friends? I would always approach the luck I knew
I had as only depended on the lottery of life, on external factors, and
never in any case due to me - my work, my smile, my time or my investment…
As I expressed it in my end result poem, my performance,
my procession, my ceremony was a result of pure love and gratefulness.
Today, I know and I feel deeply worthy, lucky, and grateful. Maybe
was my artistic performance on that Friday 12th June, just one big,
huge, enormous shoutout to life? Maybe was I just silently screaming
all along: THANK YOU! YES YES! NOW I KNOW! NOW I WILL “MORDRE
LA VIE” “LA CROQUER” UNTIL IT BLEEDS! UNTIL I LET THE BLOOD
PASS BY, UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING TO BITE IN ANYMORE!
Or maybe was it just me loudly whispering: thank you, lehaim… !
3. The idea of “ritual” that would rhythm the performance, was core
to my project. Indeed, one of my most important lessons this year I
would say is the incredible power of “habits”. Therefore, it seemed
logical to me that if my procession on the white paper symbolized my
20 years old path in life, this ceremony had to be rhythm by some sort
of repetitive action, sound, ...
In my performance this was incorporated through two/three elements:
-music: Thanks to my family, I grew up with music. Music has
rhythmed most of my life. Therefore, I knew it had to be a core element
to the performance. With the help of another student, I quickly
figured out that I had to be careful with the use of music in a performance,
as music is a major indicator and dictator of emotions. The
idea of interacting with my audience through sound really seduced
me…
-hair: Thanks to my amazing teacher Johannes Deimling, who mentioned
the importance of haircut I realized how indeed, my hair and
their shape symbolize different stages of my life… Moreover, brushing
my hair is the best illustration of a habit, and it rhythms my days very
often completely subconsciously. This could also work with the idea of
make-up which was exemplified by the orange paint.
watch the video documentation of the performance
by scanning the QR code
or clicking the link: https://youtu.be/dq_GoRD8EKE
“Orange”
Il y avait comme un cercle d’enfants
Plus joli et plus rond que la mer,
Blanche et suave.
Le sol et le gravier du Jardin,
Le bruit d’un vieux robinet qui s’écoule,
Le vent nous rendait nostalgiques avant l’heure.
Et puis, il y a eu
Le sol et le gravier du Jardin,
Le bruit d’un vieux robinet qui s’écoule,
Le vent nous rendait nostalgiques avant l’heure.
J’ai caressé le papier blanc,
Cessé de respirer pendant 23 minutes 23 secondes,
Mes lèvres pâles sur un fond blanc,
Mes joues pleines de gadoues boueuse et malsaine,
Mes mains comme une marée d’eau pure et triste
Le temps parti trop tôt, nous presse,
La vie s’écoule, le robinet
L’orchestre vivant dort sous un ciel gris mais beau
Comme un rêve enseveli d’amour et de reconnaissance.
Tandis que mes lèvres pâles sur un fond blanc,
Tandis que mes joues,
Tandis que mes mains,
Tandis que,
Un oranger me plâne tout près du coeur,
Un oranger me plâne tout près du coeur.
(par Lilia Raikhline)
“Orange”
There was like a circle of children
Nicer and rounder than the sea,
White and soft.
The soil and the gravel of the Jardin,
The sound of an old tap drying,
The wind made us nostalgic before the hour/to early.
And then there was
The soil and the gravel of the Jardin,
The sound of an old tap drying,
The wind which made us nostalgic before the hour/to early.
I stroked the white paper,
Stopped breathing for 23 minutes 23 seconds,
My pale lips on a white background,
My cheeks full of muddy and unhealthy slush,
My hands like a tide of pure and sad water
Time was gone too soon, we hurry,
Life flows, the tap
The live orchestra sleeps under a grey but a beautiful sky
Like a buried dream of love and gratitude.
While my pale lips on a white face,
While my cheeks,
While my hands,
While,
An orange tree is hanging close to my heart,
An orange tree is hanging close to my heart.
(by Lilia Raikhline)
Simon Niemann
“Keep the secret”
Quedlinburg, Germany
“Arise, around me, children of heroes, in a land unknown! Let each
look on his shield, like Trenmor, the ruler of wars. ‘Come down’,
thus Trenmor said, ‘thou dweller between the harps!’ Thou shalt roll
this stream away, or waste with me in earth.”
(by James Macpherson “The Poems of Ossian”)
Description of action:
I put on new clothes
I draw a black circle on the floor
I put a book in the middle of the circle
I put three small mirrors leaning against stones around the book
I take a small can out of my pocket and open it.
There is ash in the can
I rub the ashes on my face
I cover my eyes with a linen cloth
I take a fourth mirror out of my pocket, put my arm out and look in
the mirror blindfolded
I remain in this position
I put the mirror back in my pocket
I kneel on the floor
I untie my eyes.
I open the book
I read in the book
I close the book
I leave the circle
photos: Jonte Volkmann
Background thoughts:
From 1760, a number of books appeared in Edinburgh, Scotland. Since
then, its impact on European literature has rarely been surpassed:
The Poems of Ossian - collections of epic poems, which the poet
James Macpherson claimed to translated from ancient Gaelic. As its
original author he named the blind bard Ossian from the third century
AD. It remains true that Macpherson was a connoisseur of the subject
and that the name of the Irish singer warrior Ossian was known before
Macpherson’s publications and appeared in old tales. But there
is not a single Gaelic manuscript from before the tenth century, least
of all from the third and certainly not from Ossian. Every poem came
only from Macpherson’s imagination.
Starting from Macpherson’s lie, a process of searching for images
that transform the questions of the past began.
Who determines what we know about the past? Why do some events
remain in the collective memory and some disappear?
“Keep the secret in your heart - they said.
But they lied to us and still sent us away.
In the end, all that remains is to waste time on earth
- as best as possible.
Then you know that you did everything right.”
(by Simon Niemann)
Tine Wille
“TROCKENFUTTER”
Köln, Germany
Das wieder verschobene, und
Wiedergezöger -
der keine Nachricht mehr frißt
Von unten die Hunde, sie haben Geduld.
Lass
Lass sinken
Im Gleichklang des
Schrumpelns
bis, bis
deine Mäuler triefen noch mal
(von Klaus Findl 2008)
The anew delayed, and
Re-Hesitation -
Wich eats no news anymore
From the bottom the dogs, they have patience
Let
Let sink
In consonance o the shriveling
until, until
your mouths drip once more
(by Klaus Findl 2008)
Es gibt Würstchen
Kurz und schmälich
Wurstfarbene Felgen
Versandt aus einem fahlen Hof
Und Möwenkissen, wie an so
Spiralen
Es gibt Würstchen
(von Klaus Findl 2018)
Little sausages
Short and smallish shameful
Sausage coloured rims
despatched from a pallid court
And seagull pillows, like on these
spirals
Little sausages
(by Klaus Findl 2018)
photos: Julja Schneider
Description of action:
On the floor: a pile of grey stones, a piece of meat, a heap of white
salt, a heap of pink salt, three figures of black dogs, two empty wine
bottles. I pour cornflakes into a large bowl which is coloured black on
the outside and golden in the inside. I eat a lot of the cornflakes. I eat
three sausages. I pour oil onto a flat plate. I move the plate and let the
oil circle in it for a while. I knock over the two bottles. I throw one of
the stones against the wall.
it is not unbroken
but it is
and I keep the space
the dogs
the sausages
the salt
the meat
the injuries
remain
(von Tine Wille)
Imprint
“POETRY”
publication based on the process and results of the 4. PAS | online
class “poetry & Performance Art”, led by BBB Johannes Deimling and
guest teacher Laurence Beaudoin Morin, June 2020
Published by PAS | Performance Art Studies 2020
112 pages
All poems, drawings and performance concepts © by the authors:
Franziska Hübner, Annikken Olsen Skjæran, Lilia Raikhline, Simon
Niemann and Tine Wille.
All photos © by the mentioned photographers
cover image: Annikken Olsen Skjæran, photo by Ida Skjæran
Graphic (page 2-3): Olga Skliarska
PAS | “poetry task” © by PAS | Performance Art Studies and
BBB Johannes Deimling
layout: BBB Johannes Deimling
PAS | Performance Art Studies, founded in 2008 by German artist and
pedagogue BBB Johannes Deimling, is an independent educational
program that is offering intensive studies to people interested in
performance art since 2008. The aim of the studies is to provide the
participants with a comprehensive form of learning and teaching in
process on performance art. The courses are practical and theoretical
research studies examining performance production, perception and
documentation.
Contact
web: pas.bbbjohannesdeimling.de
email: pas@bbbjohannesdeimling.de
instagram: instagram.com/performance_art_studies
facebook: facebook.com/PASperformanceartstudies
vimeo: vimeo.com/performanceartstudies
BBB Johannes Deimling
artistic director and founder
Monika Deimling
photographer, critical advisor
visit our website for more information about PAS | online classes
“poetry 2”
online publication - 120 pages
based on the 2. PAS | online class “Poetry & Performance
Art”, 2020.
read the publication online by clicking the link:
http://tinyurl.com/PAS-poetry2
PAS | publications
“поезія-Poetry”
online publication - 70 pages
based on the 1. PAS | online class “Poetry & Performance
Art”, 2020.
read the publication online by clicking the link:
http://tinyurl.com/PAS-poetry
“Intertwining bodies”
Process publication - 534 pages
of PAS | Performance Art Studies #65 | “your perception
may not be my reality”, Berlin Germany 2019.
read the publication online by clicking the link:
http://tinyurl.com/PAS-intertwiningbodies
accessible online
“honey for the mind”
Process publication - 546 pages
of PAS | Performance Art Studies #66 | “if I were in your
place”, Cañada del Hoyo, Spain 2019.
read the publication online by clicking the link:
http://tinyurl.com/PAS66-honeyforthemind