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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


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