Dreamlands SS22 Publication

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<strong>Dreamlands</strong> <strong>SS22</strong> Introduction<br />

Collective Dreaming and Emergent Futures<br />

Mina Heydari-Waite<br />

Dreaming entered my practice at a point when I felt that much<br />

of my work was replicating the structures of rationality I<br />

was trying to imagine alternatives to. I felt that the modes of<br />

observation and sequencing I was using in my research were<br />

breaking down the potential of the ideas and affects I was<br />

interested in; categorising them like dried specimens ready<br />

to be filed away. I wanted to develop techniques, symbols<br />

and environments that kept those ideas ‘alive’ in a way that<br />

retained a more multivalent sense of possibility. I became<br />

interested in material expressions of dreams, hallucinations<br />

and revelations - drawing on radical histories as resources<br />

that are less dependent on hegemonic rationalities. In<br />

contrast to dominant Western cultures, where the influence<br />

of psychoanalysis has meant that dreams are often regarded<br />

as reflective of an individual’s inner life, many cultures<br />

incorporate dreams in the fabric of their material realities. I<br />

am interested in how dreams can link our individual sense of<br />

self and wider collective meanings in ways that might evade<br />

or resist some of the oppressive structures of our waking<br />

lives. How might the potency of our individual dreams<br />

manifest if we treat them as contributions to a collective<br />

imagining of the world?<br />

As an artist, I’m interested in using strategies of association<br />

to weave together dreamscapes that hold figures, images,<br />

objects, dialogues, and events that question what it might<br />

mean to dream together. Key to this is an exploration of<br />

‘social dreaming’: a reflexive practice in which people<br />

share their dreams and associated thoughts in a group,<br />

layering a collaborative collage of images, ideas, memories<br />

and feelings. This process seeks to put our ‘rationally’<br />

defined realities in conversation with our wider, associative,<br />

dreaming minds, offering potential for new perspectives to<br />

arise. The aim of social dreaming is not to interpret a dream<br />

for an individual dreaming subject; instead it asks, what are<br />

we dreaming as a people?<br />

Social dreaming was (re)developed at the Tavistock

Institute in the 1980s, drawing upon many non-Western<br />

and indigenous dreaming practices. As social dreaming<br />

practitioner Laurie Slade describes it, at the core of social<br />

dreaming is the idea that:<br />

[...] our dreams may speak of the social realities<br />

we are embedded in - as families, as groups, as<br />

communities, as cultures – as much as they speak of<br />

the inner life of a dreamer. This idea would come as<br />

no surprise in any of the traditional dream cultures<br />

of the world – whether historic or contemporary - in<br />

Africa, Asia, Oceania, in North and Central and South<br />

America. 1<br />

Recent academic work seems to concur that contemporary<br />

Western ontologies are “virtually alone in their (historically<br />

recent) assumption that dreaming is a purely intra-psychic<br />

phenomenon”. 2 Social dreaming goes beyond notions of<br />

individuated, personal instances of dreaming, building on<br />

the idea that the act of sharing of our dreams can create<br />

possibilities for new collective thought about our wider<br />

social context. This act of sharing can help people “learn,<br />

remember and change by integrating daily experience within<br />

larger cultural structures that may falter in a particular life<br />

confrontation or historical moment – particularly, perhaps,<br />

this new global historical moment”. 3<br />

My work sits within a rich context, drawing on the work<br />

of artists, academics and practitioners who use dreams<br />

as means for alternative collective futuring. As poet and<br />

abolitionist scholar Jackie Wang wrote, “the profession of<br />

the poet is dreaming”; the revolutionary aesthetics of dreams<br />

are key to the development of an abolitionist imagination<br />

that is capable of “shattering the realism of the prison” 4 , and<br />

of doing “the work of creating openings where there were<br />

previously none”. 5 For Frantz Fanon, dreaming is a mode of<br />

cognition with spatial and temporal properties that lends a<br />

decolonial potency:<br />

I dream I am jumping, swimming, running and<br />

climbing. I dream I burst out laughing, I am leaping<br />

across a river and chased by a pack of cars that<br />

never catches up with me. During colonisation the<br />

colonised subject frees himself night after night<br />

between nine in the evening and six in the morning. 6<br />

This is less dream as personal wish-fulfillment, as it is<br />

dream as communal wish-creation. Sidarta Ribeiro, a<br />

neurologist and dream expert, holds that dreams developed<br />

as ‘probabilistic oracles’ in which we simulate possible<br />

scenarios in a drive to create new realities within our<br />

communities. Indeed, Ribeiro believes that day and night<br />

dreaming have had a hand in the majority of human<br />

innovation throughout history. 7<br />

In writing about one of my previous works, in sleep it made<br />

itself present to them, Hussein Mitha quoted from Ariella<br />

Aïsha Azoulay’s Potential History, Unlearning Imperialism, a<br />

text that they felt was key in informing their understanding<br />

of the dream as a zone in which it is possible to counter<br />

capitalist, colonial realities, as well as undermining<br />

individualist notions of self and linear temporality: 8<br />

My refusal doesn’t try to dream up a new category.<br />

It is rather a refusal to accept that our predecessors’<br />

dreams — not necessarily our parents’, but their<br />

parents’ or grandparents’ — can no longer be ours,<br />

as if the three tenses of past, present, and future<br />

that separate us and fix us in different eras were not<br />

invented exactly for this purpose. 9<br />

Azoulay denies the Western waking world’s division of<br />

past, present and future as distinct categories; viewing<br />

this as a process that separates us from our collective<br />

histories, which she believes are alive, here, and have a<br />

claim in the ‘now’. My previous work has drawn on this idea<br />

of dreams serving to provide modes of radical collectivity.

For my 2021 show in sleep it made itself present to them at<br />

Collective Gallery, I recorded conversations with my mother<br />

Hamideh Heydari-Waite, a psychotherapist and anthropology<br />

researcher, to create an installation that explored our<br />

experiential knowledge of social dreaming in relation to some<br />

Muslim and Zoroastrian traditions:<br />

[...]what we think of as individual stress or private<br />

pains are actually social suffering and social pains<br />

- or social dreams. One way to neutralise them is to<br />

locate them inside individual people, to take their<br />

potency away and their collective power away. 10<br />

methods of research, making and presentation that are, in<br />

themselves, informed by dream-logics.<br />

There is an increasing amount of quantitative evidence<br />

regarding the myriad issues we face, from (impending and<br />

present) ecological disaster to the legacies of colonialism.<br />

While we have both the knowledge and technological<br />

means of addressing these issues, there appears little<br />

impetus, urgency or even hope of doing so. Could affective,<br />

transrational and symbolic practices help us nurture<br />

transformative visions of our futures that do not yield to the<br />

(apparently insurmountable) limitations of our present?<br />

The project I am developing as a Culture Collective Artist<br />

in Residence at Govanhill Baths, <strong>Dreamlands</strong> (2022-23),<br />

will be a cross-disciplinary body of work that weaves<br />

together different images, objects and moments drawn<br />

from an ongoing series of workshops, activities and<br />

collaborations. This is an experimental project that centres<br />

two ongoing group strands - The <strong>Dreamlands</strong> Pottery (a<br />

collective of women* from global majority*** backgrounds<br />

exploring themes of dreaming through working with clay),<br />

and in walking together we make the path (a monthly<br />

social dreaming workshop open to people of marginalised<br />

genders**) - alongside public facing events, pamphlets,<br />

screenings and installations. I hope to co-create and share<br />

<strong>Dreamlands</strong> with artistic, activist and public communities<br />

of interest, while centering knowledge from a decolonial<br />

feminist perspective.<br />

While often viewed as a creative practice, current<br />

institutional forms of social dreaming are predominantly<br />

practised within clinical, academic or therapeutic settings.<br />

It is practised by and within closed communities of interest<br />

that are inaccessible to those without prior cultural capital<br />

or the academic training to understand the applied language<br />

and theory used. I hope to explore the potential of dreams in<br />

community contexts and contemporary art settings; using

* my use of the word women is inclusive of trans and intersex women<br />

** my use of the phrase marginalised genders includes transgender women,<br />

cisgender women, transgender men, non-binary people, and other gender<br />

identities that have been systematically oppressed by those in power,<br />

both historically and in the present.<br />

*** global majority is a collective term that refers to people who are Black,<br />

Asian, Brown, mixed-heritage and/or indigenous to the global south.<br />

1. Laurie Slade, Dreams in search of a dreamer: Concepts, praxis<br />

and potentials of social dreaming, Faculty of Medical<br />

Psychotherapy – Royal College of Psychiatrists Annual<br />

Conference, 2021, p.3<br />

2. Robin E. Sheriff, The Anthropology of Dreaming in Historical<br />

Perspective, in Jeanette Mageo and Robin E. Sheriff (eds), New<br />

Directions in the Anthropology of Dreaming, p. 23-49, Routledge,<br />

2021, p.37<br />

3. Ibid. p.38<br />

4. Jackie Wang, Carceral Capitalism, Semiotext(e) and MIT Press,<br />

2018<br />

5. Jackie Wang, The Sunflower Cast A Spell To Save Us From The<br />

Void, Nightboat Books, 2021<br />

6. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, Translated by R.<br />

Philcox, Grove Press, 2004, p.15<br />

7. Sidarta Ribeiro, recorded talk from Urgency Intensive: Dreaming<br />

and Futuring, Jan Van Eyck Academie (10/03/2022), Web URL:<br />

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRr53aCu4dI<br />

8. Hussein Mitha, Reworking the world’s past from the very<br />

beginning, exhibition text for in sleep it made itself present to<br />

them, Collective Gallery, Edinburgh, 2021<br />

9. Ariella Aïsha Azoulay, Potential History: Unlearning Imperialism,<br />

Verso, 2019, p. Xiv<br />

10. Mina Heydari-Waite in conversation with Hamideh Heydari-Waite,<br />

installation audio from in sleep it made itself present to them,<br />

Collective Gallery, Edinburgh, 2021<br />

Cinema<br />

The Audio<br />


This publication showcases immersive sound pieces and<br />

audio stories exploring dream states. All of these works<br />

were played at <strong>Dreamlands</strong>: The Audio-Cinema, a series of<br />

listening events for Govanhill International Festival 2022.<br />

The events were a collaboration by two of the Govanhill<br />

Baths Culture Collective Artists in Residence Ros Fraser<br />

and Mina Heydari-Waite; and also featured audio works from<br />

Sofia Saldanha, Nyokabi Kariũki and Jiří Slavičínský. The<br />

Audio-Cinema was made possible thanks to Radio Atlas;<br />

an English-language home for subtitled audio from around<br />

the world. We’d also like to thank vocalist Sara Lawson for<br />

performing at the live events.<br />

Ros Fraser mixed and designed compositional segments<br />

between each piece that was shared as part of <strong>Dreamlands</strong>:<br />

The Audio-Cinema.<br />

Ros Fraser is radio maker and sound artist based in Glasgow. She’s produced<br />

radio documentaries and created sound work for installations, podcasts, film<br />

scores and internet radio. In her role as a Culture Collective Artist in Residence<br />

at Govanhill Baths, Ros is exploring sound as a social justice issue. She’s<br />

researching how communities can experience a lack of agency in their sonic<br />

environments and an unequal access to silence (with severe health impacts as<br />

a result). Connected to this, her work investigates ways in which we might also<br />

utilise sound as a tool to access more open and connected states.<br />

Web:<br />

https://soundcloud.com/ros-fraser<br />

1. WHO (World Health Organisation) Regional Office for Europe,<br />

Environmental Noise Guidelines for the European Region, pg. 1

in walking<br />

together we<br />

make the path

in walking together we make the path<br />

(Glasgow Southside, <strong>SS22</strong>)<br />

Mina Heydari-Waite<br />

A collective of voices weave together a dreamy, sensorial<br />

soundscape, sharing fragments drawn from a series of social<br />

dreaming workshops held in Glasgow’s Southside. Social<br />

dreaming is a reflective practice in which people share their<br />

dreams and associated thoughts, layering a collaborative<br />

collage of images, ideas, cultural references and feelings.<br />

How might our individual dreams manifest if we treat them<br />

as contributions to a shared imagining of the world? The<br />

<strong>SS22</strong> dreamers included Lisa Bradley, Fibi Cowley, Kirstin<br />

Halliday, Mina Heydari-Waite, Ane Lopez, Martyna Maz, Anna<br />

Porubcansky, Mindy Ptolomey, Connie Arya Rose, Erika<br />

Stevenson, Muna Sultan and Molly Mae Whawell. The sound<br />

piece was created by Mina, alongside producer Ane Lopez<br />

and sound designer William Aikman, as part of <strong>Dreamlands</strong><br />

- Mina’s project as a Culture Collective Artist in Residence at<br />

Govanhill Baths. have a recurring dream.<br />

Mina Heydari-Waite is British-Iranian artist living and working in Glasgow.<br />

She has built a body of work in a range of contexts, including: working with<br />

communities in collaborative capacities, co-authoring artworks, workshops and<br />

resources, as well as creating works across mediums (installation, sculpture,<br />

video, print and sound) for gallery settings. Central to her practice is an interest<br />

in the relationships between places and communities, their histories and possible<br />

futures. Her current work explores the social potentials of dream states and<br />

logics.<br />

Web:<br />

Instagram:<br />

Twitter:<br />

www.minaheydariwaite.com<br />

@minaheydariwaite<br />


I have a recurring dream.<br />

I go into a room and turn the light on and the light doesn’t<br />

work. And then I’ll go to another place in the house and I’ll try<br />

another light switch and it still doesn’t work.<br />

I was needing to punch someone and I was being completely<br />

ineffective, just not being able to get that connection.<br />

And then I can’t find my password.<br />

I can’t find my phone or I need to contact somebody<br />

somehow to tell them something, and I can’t operate my<br />

phone and I keep pushing buttons. And I know that I’m<br />

missing my flight and I can’t do anything about it.<br />

We were trying to walk along this beach together in this<br />

howling, howling wind and rain that was just getting stronger<br />

and stronger….. And we all had umbrellas, walking together<br />

like roman soldiers with their shields like a tortoise. We came<br />

to this huge bridge - like the golden gate bridge but bigger<br />

- and we were struggling to get across. I didn’t know where<br />

we were going or where we were coming from. The water<br />

from the sky kept coming down and the water underneath the<br />

bridge began to rise.<br />

And it became quite clear that we were all really in peril and<br />

that we might not make it across. All of a sudden this huge<br />

wave came, swept us off the bridge and woke us up.<br />

No matter how hard I try I just can’t do it.<br />

A white horse with grey speckles was on this ferry that I was<br />

on. The ferry stopped to unload. And just before it was about<br />

to leave again, at the last moment, the horse did this James<br />

Bond-esque move and jumped from my ferry onto this other<br />

boat.<br />

Pressing the switch and… nothing.<br />

It’s that feeling of walking against the wind.<br />

I know there is a puddle of water in my bag, and that

my phone is in it.<br />

My dreams recently have kinda been like mundane work<br />

interactions. Like - I knew I was being gaslit by all the<br />

people around me, but I just couldn’t, I couldn’t find an ally. I<br />

couldn’t make it known to anybody that I was being really set<br />

up.<br />

We are driving down Kenmure Street. Then we turn into this<br />

big black warehouse with a plain door.<br />

We open the door and walk down these steps leading to this<br />

almost roman bath like thing, with big stone columns… and<br />

then water was coming up to my calves.<br />

I was wearing these wellies, and I could feel the cold<br />

water seeping in. I knew it couldn’t be real, and I knew I<br />

was really feeling the water.<br />

I was surrounded by black.<br />

And the blackness was this really viscous liquid that I was<br />

sinking in… Then the space that I was in became a very thin<br />

sheet of paper and I was in my office.<br />

I saw somebody pushed me into a hole. Somebody I was<br />

walking with…<br />

There is an image in my mind’s eye, from when I was a<br />

teenager. It’s my mother, in complete darkness, and the front<br />

of her body is… open. Her chest is open. And I go to put<br />

her beating heart back in her chest. It was so painful to do<br />

because I knew I was hurting her, but also giving her life at<br />

the same time.<br />

Watching my mother have cysts cut out from her<br />

back when I was probably about 2 or 3 years old, and

finding out she was flesh.<br />

I don’t know if that’s a dream.<br />

that I grew up in. It was like, kind of, erm, a pink feeling, this<br />

feeling of this colour.<br />

Then when I looked up, the baby had melted like a pink<br />

bar of… oh, like, you know, the end bit of a bar of soap.<br />

I’ve noticed that I am having a lot more vivid dreams since<br />

coming here. I was making my lunch in the microwave and<br />

I just completely drifted off and I could see some sort of<br />

smoke or something burning. And it was probably only for<br />

about 10 seconds - but it felt like for the longest period of<br />

time, I was just watching this little bit of smoke do this dance.<br />

And there was just this pink residue. I remember being<br />

like, “My mom’s gonna kill me. I melted the baby.”<br />

I’m climbing up a mountain that is impossibly tall. And<br />

there’s a long, long path up it. And there is such an intensity<br />

in putting one foot in front of the other. The rocks under my<br />

feet are green and gold and so is the distance.<br />

I was at number 45 sitting in front of the fire and my little<br />

cousin was on my knee. She had a really pretty white<br />

party dress on. And I knew it was gonna happen before it<br />

happened, but the dress caught fire.<br />

It didn’t hurt her. It hurt me. It melted into my back. I was in<br />

a lot of pain and I went to the hospital, but they just gave me<br />

some pain killers and then they wouldn’t help me anymore.<br />

There was plastic - stuck on my back.<br />

I was being myself, um, at my age. And it was just me, not<br />

even a version of me - yeah, I was fully and completely<br />

myself. In the dream I was lying on a bed playing with a baby.<br />

The baby was so young that it couldn’t really focus on me.<br />

It was kind of like, looking all over the place and trying to,<br />

trying to find me. I realised that the bed the baby was laying<br />

on was the same bed that my mom used to have, in the flat<br />

I always have dreams where I was born, back home. In my<br />

dreams I never see Scotland, even though I’ve been here 50

years.<br />

swimming through the sun. When I came up I was still in this<br />

concrete room with no windows. I didn’t find it strange.<br />

And there was this really deep diving pool in the<br />

centre. And these huge, like maybe like 9, 10 -<br />

actually maybe 50 metre tall windows. I taught<br />

myself to hold my breath and hang out at the<br />

very bottom. And the light, I have the memory of<br />

the light in the water. I remember the light hitting<br />

my body, in the pool that just felt like it went<br />

metres and metres and metres down.<br />

I’ve been thinking about a dream that I was a bit embarrassed<br />

to share earlier. I used to dream that my mom who isn’t white<br />

was white. Nothing else really happened. It was horrible.<br />

And I felt like I was on fire.<br />

I see so much water. Even though I usually don’t go<br />

to the mosque or anything, I phoned and said “I’m<br />

drowning”.<br />

That feeling of not being able to turn on a light - it reminded<br />

me of a dream that I had, where my daughter - who is 18 - and<br />

I were on a series of bus journeys together. And I had this<br />

huge bin bag, with lots of our clothes in it.<br />

It was inside this concrete building with no windows. I was<br />

by myself. I remember walking into the pool and thinking<br />

it was really, really cold. But the further I got in, the warmer<br />

it became. And so I then kind of, okay, went down deeper<br />

into the water - swimming along really, really close to the<br />

bottom. I became surrounded by this blue tile mosaic. It was<br />

like, really sparkly, with all of these sunbeams. It was like<br />

And every time we were transferring bus, the clothes would<br />

fall out of the bag, getting heavier and wetter. When I was<br />

paying, I was asking for an adult and a child ticket.<br />

The driver looked at my daughter and was like, “Are you sure<br />

she’s a child?”.

Well she was.<br />

I think about the weight of all the water on top of<br />

me and how if it came crashing down, it would<br />

squash me.<br />

How did she feel on that bus? Your daughter of uncertain<br />

age…<br />

In a dream I had for years when I was really young, I’m on a<br />

double decker bus with my mum. And slowly, at each stop,<br />

people get off - until it is just us. Once everyone gets off, my<br />

mom gets off. She’s like, “What the hell are you doing? Get<br />

off the bus!”<br />

I had run away from my husband and I was hiding from him<br />

inside the belly of a snake. And I watched him walk past -<br />

kind of from inside the snake. I don’t really remember what<br />

he looked like at all. He was just this hazy presence. I just<br />

know he was my husband and when he went away, I burst out<br />

of the snake, and I was, like… laughing hysterically. And then<br />

music started playing in the wind and I just felt so happy. And<br />

then I woke up.<br />

And I can’t move. And the bus doors close. Then, when I<br />

finally manage to move my body, I go up to the driver’s booth<br />

and there’s just like, no one in the driver’s seat.<br />

And the bus keeps going.<br />

Sometimes when I swim very deep under water,

Blindfold<br />


Blindfold Yourself<br />

Jiri Slavicinsky<br />

An impressionist documentary that takes place entirely in<br />

the dark. What can happen if two complete strangers meet,<br />

for the first time, in complete darkness? Having to form<br />

their first impression not through sight, but through sound<br />

and touch? Blindfold Yourself was made in November 2016<br />

in Prague, at the Hug workshop/performance organised<br />

by British composer Verity Standen and the Prague-based<br />

association Voicescope.<br />

Jiri Slavicinsky is a Czech radio documentary maker based in Prague. In his<br />

work he loves to use field recordings and tell stories through immersive sound<br />

scenes. His most powerful documentary experiences were when he was capturing<br />

social and environmental change in a fishing community in rural Newfoundland,<br />

among shepherds in the Mongolian steppe, or recording with his neighbours in a<br />

Moravian Sudetenland town where he comes from.


Please blindfold yourself<br />

English<br />

ZPĚV<br />

Please blindfold yourself<br />

Čeština<br />

Woman 1:<br />

I heard footsteps in the distance, and female<br />

voices… very soft sopranos, like girl’s voices. It<br />

was like mermaids singing.<br />

Žena 1:<br />

Zdálky přicházely zvuky kroků a ženskejch<br />

hlasů, hodně jemnejch ... sopránů … dívčích.<br />

Bylo to jako zpěv nějakejch víl.<br />

Woman 2:<br />

The singers kept circling around. It was as if the<br />

sound engulfed you completely.<br />

Žena 2:<br />

Ti zpěváci jak chodili okolo, tak člověk je<br />

pohlcenej tím zvukem úplně ze všech stran.<br />

Man 1:<br />

The voice kept coming closer, until it was right<br />

among us… So many harmonious sounds, a<br />

feast for the ears.<br />

Muž 1:<br />

Se ten hlas pomalinku blížil k nám, až vyloženě<br />

putoval mezi námi ... Tolik harmonických zvuků<br />

… To byla pastva pro uši.<br />

Man 2:<br />

We enter the hall full of sound and harmony…<br />

and add our voices to it. The energy just keeps<br />

growing.<br />

Muž 2:<br />

My už vstupujeme do toho sálu do zvuků<br />

harmonie … a postupně se přidávají naše hlasy.<br />

Ta energie v tom sále se zvyšuje, zesiluje.<br />

Please blindfold yourself and remain blindfolded …<br />

Please blindfold yourself and remain blindfolded …<br />

Man 1:<br />

Woman 1:<br />

We were told to blindfold ourselves. So I sat<br />

down and did what they told me.<br />

Once we blindfolded ourselves, things really<br />

escalated… I had shivers down my spine and all<br />

over my body.<br />

At a moment like this, time stops, and so does<br />

all that chaos around me… Once I closed my<br />

eyes, it was as if I was looking inside myself,<br />

into darkness, but also peace and quiet from all<br />

my thoughts.<br />

Muž 1:<br />

Žena 1:<br />

Jsme dostali instrukce, abychom si zavázali oči<br />

páskami … Takže jsem se hezky pohodlně<br />

uvelebil, zavázal si oči.<br />

Potom, co jsme si zavázali ty oči, to začalo<br />

gradovat … Mně začal běhat mráz po zádech a<br />

potom po celém těle.<br />

Pro mě je to vždycky chvíle, kdy se zastaví čas<br />

a všechno to kolem mě, všechen ten můj chaos<br />

kolem se zastaví … a já jako kdybych těma<br />

zavřenýma očima pohlížela dovnitř do sebe …<br />

do nějaký nejdřív asi tmy a potom do nějakýho<br />

klidu a ticha … a ticha i od těch myšlenek.


ZPĚV<br />

Woman 2:<br />

And then I heard someone stopping right by me.<br />

It was a woman. She took my hands, they were<br />

so warm… and I was cold.<br />

Žena 2:<br />

A pak už jsem slyšela, že se zřejmě u mě někdo<br />

zastavil .. A byla to žena, vzala mě za ruce.<br />

Hrozně hezky hřála a já jsem byla studená.<br />

Woman 1:<br />

Man 2:<br />

Woman 2:<br />

I heard a male voice coming closer, and then he<br />

grabbed me by my elbows, gently, so he<br />

wouldn’t scare me, I guess. The voice was so<br />

strong and beautiful.<br />

As a part of the experience, we let them give us<br />

a hug. It’s up to them how much they are willing<br />

to give. I had to start with their distrust, fear,<br />

uncertainty… and managed to get them to trust<br />

me. When you get someone to cuddle up to you,<br />

fully and trustingly, that’s a great gift.<br />

The lady smelled like my grandma’s garden.<br />

Really. She had this floral scent (laughs).<br />

And then I just relaxed and fell into her arms.<br />

Žena 1:<br />

Muž 2:<br />

Žena 2:<br />

Sem ke mně se přiblížil mužský hlas a chytil mě<br />

za lokty, jemně, asi aby mě nevyděsil. Ten hlas<br />

byl hodně krásnej a hodně silnej.<br />

V průběhu toho představení, nebo toho prožitku,<br />

jim dáme možnost aby nás objali. A pak je<br />

samozřejmě na každém, kolik dovolí. Mně se<br />

stalo, že jsem prošel cestu od té počáteční<br />

možná nedůvěry, strachu, nejistoty … k tomu,<br />

že jsem pak dostal plnou důvěru … To je velkej<br />

dárek, když se k vám pak někdo s plnou důvěrou<br />

přitulí.<br />

Ta paní voněla jak babičky zahrádka, opravdu,<br />

jak nějaký kytičky.<br />

Pak jsem se uvolnila a úplně jsem jí padla do<br />

náručí.<br />


DECH<br />

Man 2:<br />

The silent space is permeated by the sound of<br />

human breath.<br />

Muž 2:<br />

Do toho ticha, do toho prostoru vstoupí lidský<br />

dech …<br />

It’s like a shaman’s journey for me.<br />

Pro mě to je šamanská cesta.<br />

Man 1:<br />

I felt sort of like a cogwheel in some kind of<br />

gear mechanism, a machine, a piece of<br />

equipment… a steam engine or something like<br />

that.<br />

Muž 1:<br />

Já jsem si v ten moment připadal jako kolečko<br />

ozubený … v soukolí, ve stroji, v pracovním<br />

stroji … nějaký takový parní stroj.


ZPĚV<br />

Woman 2:<br />

Man 2:<br />

The most beautiful moment for me was when<br />

the lady sat me back down, but kept holding my<br />

hands for a moment longer. She caressed me,<br />

but then she moved away, and I felt her less and<br />

less…<br />

I felt her every touch, and I tried to draw it out,<br />

because I knew that once we separated, it would<br />

be over.<br />

She moved her fingers across the back of my<br />

hand, and kept stretching my fingers and wished<br />

they would be endless so I could feel her touch<br />

for a moment longer.<br />

People tend to try to hold on to the touch, keep it<br />

happening. But it must end eventually.<br />

Žena 2:<br />

Muž 2:<br />

To byl pro mě úplně nejhezčí moment, kdy mě ta<br />

paní posadila zpátky na židli a jenom mě ještě<br />

chvilku držela za ruce … Hladila mě a pomalinku<br />

se vzdalovala a já jsem ji cítila míň a míň …<br />

Já jsem si fakt uvědomovala každej ten dotek<br />

a snažila jsem se prodloužit ten moment, kdy se<br />

naposledy rozpojíme a už prostě bude konec.<br />

Jak mi jela po hřbetě ruky, tak jsem úplně<br />

natahovala prsty a snažila jsem se, aby byly<br />

nekonečný a abych ještě chvilku cítila ten<br />

poslední, poslední dotek.<br />

Je tam tendence ještě chvíli, ještě chvíli si to<br />

podržet. Ale pak samozřejmě ten konec musí<br />

přijít.<br />


Man 2:<br />

And then everything grows quiet.<br />

ZPĚV<br />

Muž 2:<br />

A pak je ticho.

A Walk<br />

Through My<br />

Cũcũ’s Farm

A Walk Through My Cũcũ’s Farm<br />

Nyokabi Kariũki<br />

“In December 2020, my family and I were able to visit my<br />

Cũcũ (Grandmother) in her home in Githũnguri, Kenya. We<br />

walked around the farm — just as we always do when we<br />

visit — but this time, I felt like I was watching our visit from<br />

the distance of a dream, where small things suddenly felt<br />

big and metaphorical. I found myself paying more attention:<br />

to the ground, to our languages of Kiswahili and Kikuyu, to<br />

the trees and fruit. Like the things around us were silently<br />

teaching me.”<br />

Nyokabi Kariũki is a Kenyan composer and sound artist based between Kenya<br />

and the USA. Illuminated by musical sensibilities from her African upbringing and<br />

training in Western classical contexts, Nyokabi shares a unique artistic voice that<br />

is ever-evolving, reflecting a love for experimentation and inquiry, as well as a<br />

commitment to the preservation of African thought, language and stories.<br />

Web:<br />

Instagram:<br />

nkariuki.com & https://nyokabikariuki.bandcamp.com/album/<br />

peace-places-kenyan-memories<br />



they are teaching me, slowly<br />

but I, too...<br />


English<br />


wananifundisha pole pole<br />

lakini mimi pia<br />


Kiswahili and Kikuyu<br />

I teach myself<br />

najifunza<br />

let me tell you<br />

hĩ, reke gĩ kwĩre<br />

is this how strong it is?<br />

let me come<br />

today, we walked around<br />

Grandmother’s farm<br />

i don’t see any problem<br />

the sun was very hot, but...<br />

...we were able to see maize,<br />

sugarcane...<br />

avocados<br />

but I, too...<br />

I teach myself...<br />

...slowly<br />

today, the sun was very hot,<br />

but...<br />

let me tell you<br />

but I, too...<br />

ai! kaĩ gĩkoragwo kĩ na hinya<br />

atĩa?<br />

ke njũke<br />

leo, tulizunguka shamba ya<br />

Cũcũ<br />

ndĩonaga harĩ ũru, (mhh)<br />

jua ilikua kali, lakini<br />

tuliona mahindi,<br />

miwa,<br />

maparachichi<br />

lakini mimi pia<br />

najifunza<br />

pole pole<br />

leo, jua ilikua kali, lakini<br />

hĩ, reke gĩ kwĩre<br />

lakini mimi pia

we were able to see maize,<br />

sugarcane...<br />

avocados<br />

I teach myself...<br />

today, we walked around<br />

Grandmother’s farm<br />

tuliona mahindi,<br />

miwa<br />

maparachichi<br />

najifunza<br />

tulizunguka shamba ya Cũcũ<br />

just slowly.<br />

here he has cut the grass<br />

very well...<br />

pole pole tu.<br />

gũkũ atinĩtie nyeki wega<br />

mũno.<br />

I love my language<br />

it’s only the fence remaining.<br />

no rũgiri rũtiganĩtie<br />

of Swahili<br />

ndio, ninapenda hii lugha<br />

yangu<br />

today, we walked around<br />

Grandmother’s farm<br />

I teach myself<br />

ya Swahili<br />

but I, too...<br />

I teach myself<br />

I love my language<br />

of Swahili<br />

today, the sun was very hot,<br />

but...<br />

my language<br />

of Swahili<br />

leo, tulizunguka shamba ya<br />

Cũcũ<br />

lakini mimi pia<br />

najifunza<br />

ndio, ninapenda hii lugha<br />

yangu<br />

najifunza<br />

jua ilikua kali, lakini<br />

they are teaching me, slowly<br />

ya Swahili<br />

lugha yangu<br />

the sun was very hot, but...<br />

we were able to see maize,<br />

sugarcane...<br />

avocados<br />

I teach myself<br />

I teach myself<br />

today, the sun was very hot,<br />

but...<br />

we were able to see maize,<br />

wananifundisha pole pole<br />

jua ilikua kali, lakini<br />

tuliona mahindi,<br />

ya Swahili<br />

najifunza<br />


avocados<br />

miwa,<br />

maparachichi<br />

jua ilikua kali, lakini<br />

tuliona mahindi,<br />

Is it pushing?<br />

maparachichi<br />

Yeah.<br />

Is it pushing?<br />

Let it open.<br />

Yeah.<br />

today, we walked around<br />

Grandmother’s farm<br />

we saw maize...<br />

sugarcane...<br />

slowly<br />

avocados<br />

slowly<br />

my language of Swahili<br />

what is that?<br />

Let it open.<br />

Let it open.<br />

leo, tulizunguka shamba ya<br />

Cũcũ<br />

tuliona mahindi,<br />

miwa<br />

pole pole<br />

maparachichi<br />

pole pole<br />

lugha yangu ya Swahili<br />

Kĩu nĩ kĩĩ?<br />

Let it open.<br />

slowly<br />

slowly<br />

they are teaching me<br />

...slowly.<br />

pole pole<br />

pole pole<br />

wananifundisha<br />

...pole pole.

The Piano

The Piano<br />

Sofia Saldanha<br />

A flat in downtown Lisbon. The sound of a mysterious piano<br />

echoes in the silence of the night. A woman listens carefully<br />

and attentively. Her eyes are wide shut. The piano lulls her<br />

to sleep. Reality and dreams have a similar nature. Dreams<br />

end when we wake up. Reality ends when we fall asleep.<br />

The piece was originally produced for the CeDa - Centro de<br />

Dramaturgia e Argumento and Rádio Antena 2.<br />

Sofia Saldanha is an award winning audio producer who has had work featured<br />

on radio stations across the world. She started her radio adventure in Portugal<br />

at Rádio Universitária do Minho, has a masters degree in Radio and is a graduate<br />

of the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies. Sofia is part of In The Dark, a nonprofit<br />

organisation based in London, that presents audio documentaries from<br />

around the world to live audiences.<br />

Web:<br />

Instagram:<br />

Facebook:<br />

https://radio-sofia.tumblr.com<br />

https://www.instagram.com/saldanhaforest_/<br />


It was around 4 o’clock in the morning when I suddenly sat<br />

up in bed.<br />

Glissando on the piano<br />

Someone was playing the piano furiously.<br />

Glissando on the piano<br />

It was the first day of the year and I loved that piano. A piano<br />

I’ve never seen, but I listen to it everyday. When I fell asleep<br />

again I dreamt that I was holding hands with a piano.<br />

Piano music<br />

I always thought that if I were a musical instrument I would<br />

be a piano. They are sturdy and delicate, and sometimes<br />

need tuning. When I look at someone’s hands I always notice<br />

if they have pianist’s hands.<br />

Piano music far away; rain<br />

I hardly ever hear the piano during the day, but every night<br />

I’d fall asleep to its music. Sometimes the sound of the rain<br />

would mingle with the tune.<br />

Piano music far away; rain<br />

It was by chance that I saw the piano.<br />

Piano music far away; street ambience<br />

I was walking down the road at the back, when I looked<br />

inside a window and saw it.<br />

Piano music closer; street ambience; car passing by<br />

I started passing by there frequently.<br />

English<br />

Deviam ser umas 4 da manhã dei um salto na cama.<br />

Glissando no piano<br />

Alguém tocava piano furiosamente.<br />

Glissando no piano<br />

Era o primeiro dia do ano e eu adorava aquele piano.<br />

Glissando no piano<br />

Um piano que eu nunca tinha visto, mas que ouvia todos os<br />

dias. Quando voltei a adormecer sonhei que estava de mãos<br />

dadas com um piano.<br />

Música piano<br />

Sempre pensei que se tocasse um instrumento seria um<br />

piano. São robustos e delicados e de vez em quando<br />

precisam de afinação. Quando olho para as mãos de alguém<br />

reparo logo se tem mãos de pianista.<br />

Música piano ao longe; chuva<br />

A este piano raramente o ouvia de dia, mas adormecia<br />

sempre com ele. Às vezes misturava-se com o som da chuva.<br />

Música piano ao longe; chuva<br />

Foi por acaso que um dia descobri onde estava o piano.<br />

Música piano ao longe; ambiente de rua<br />

Estava a passar na rua de trás, espreitei por uma janela e vi<br />

um pianista a tocar.<br />

Música piano perto; ambiente de rua; carro a passar<br />


Piano music closer; street ambience<br />

Days went by, months...<br />

Piano music; street ambience<br />

One day, it was around 4 o’clock in the morning...<br />

Glissando on the piano<br />

... I sat up in bed.<br />

Glissando on the piano; strong wind<br />

There was something disturbing about that sound. In the<br />

morning I looked out of the window and I saw a crane<br />

hoisting the piano. A strong wind was blowing and the piano<br />

was swaying so much. My heart stopped.<br />

Strong wind<br />

That day, when I opened the front door, there was a package<br />

on the floor, and inside it was a music box.<br />

Strong wind; music box playing<br />

Comecei a passar por lá frequentemente.<br />

Música piano perto; ambiente de rua<br />

Passaram-se dia, meses...<br />

Ambiente de rua<br />

Um dia, deviam ser umas 4 da manhã...<br />

Glissando no piano<br />

... dei um salto na cama.<br />

Glissando no piano; vento forte<br />

Havia qualquer coisa de perturbador naquele som. De manhã<br />

espreitei pela janela e vi o piano descer agarrado a uma grua.<br />

O vento soprava muito forte e o piano abanava tanto. O meu<br />

coração parou.<br />

Vento forte<br />

Nesse dia abri a porta de casa e tinha um envelope à porta.<br />

Lá dentro estava uma caixinha de música.<br />

Vento forte; caixa de música a tocar.

Design by Phoebe Kerr

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