We never said that
A writing workshop, by Andreas Liebmann with texts by Nana Anine, Tam Vibberstoft, Sonja Ferdinand and Elizabeth Torres. In collaboration with Den Danske Scenekunstskole.
A writing workshop, by Andreas Liebmann
with texts by Nana Anine, Tam Vibberstoft, Sonja Ferdinand and Elizabeth Torres.
In collaboration with Den Danske Scenekunstskole.
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WE NEVER SAID<br />
THAT<br />
A conversation<br />
Texts by Nana Anine, Tam Vibberstoft,<br />
Elizabeth Torres and Sonja Ferdinand.<br />
Workshop facilitated by<br />
Andreas Liebmann.
TABLE<br />
OF CONTENTS<br />
INTRODUCTION BY ANDREAS LIEBMANN<br />
04<br />
CIVIL, SILENT EXECUTOR BY NANA ANINE<br />
MIND BY ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
I AM NOT - BY TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
THEN AND NOW BY SONJA FERDINAND<br />
16<br />
18<br />
20<br />
24<br />
WE NEVER SAID THAT<br />
BODY BY ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
KROPPEN I VANDET BY TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
NOT A LIST BY NANA ANINE<br />
I SEE SO MANY THINGS BY SONJA FERDINAND<br />
28<br />
30<br />
32<br />
34<br />
A selection of letters written as part of the writing workshop<br />
by Andreas Liebmann<br />
with the participation of Nana Anine, Tam Vibberstoft, Sonja Ferdinand, Elizabeth Torres<br />
Written in Aarhus at the Danish School of Performing Arts<br />
during the fall of 2022<br />
Published in Copenhagen, Denmark<br />
by RED PRESS<br />
ISBN: 978-87-94003-16-02<br />
All rights reserved by their specific authors.<br />
KONTRAKTMODELEN OG DEN FØRSTE INDSKYLDNENSE<br />
BY NANA ANINE<br />
JULIE I EN BABYS FEDTFOLDER BY SONJA FERDINAND<br />
SNEKUGLEN - BY TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
SPIRIT BY ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
36<br />
38<br />
40<br />
42<br />
PAGE 2 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 3
INTRODUCTION<br />
Dear reader...<br />
What you have in front of<br />
your eyes results from<br />
a writing exercise. It is<br />
the result of the third<br />
workshop I had the privilege of doing<br />
with the students Sonja Ferdinand,<br />
Elizabeth Hansen, Tam Vibberstoft,<br />
and Nana Anine. They all are doing<br />
their MA in Performing Arts in the Specialization<br />
of Writing at The Danish National<br />
School Of Performing Arts.<br />
In the fall of 2021, we had our first<br />
workshop. It had the title “People living<br />
here”. The students were encouraged<br />
to sit down on the streets in Aarhus<br />
with a specific question written on a<br />
sign and wait to see who would join<br />
them and have something to say about<br />
<strong>that</strong> question. The workshop was about<br />
the stories surrounding us: Personal<br />
stories <strong>that</strong> we often don’t get to hear -<br />
especially when we already know what<br />
stories we want and get our references<br />
from books or the internet.<br />
The second workshop, “Narrating<br />
Hyperobjects: Climate crisis,” in<br />
the spring of 2022, referred to what<br />
Timothy Morton calls “Hyperobjects”:<br />
Phenomena like the climate crisis. How<br />
can a (theatre) writer relate to objects<br />
too big to grasp? Could it make<br />
sense to find narrative structures <strong>that</strong><br />
resemble landscapes, webs, parallel<br />
strings, or intangible clouds to describe<br />
them and bring them into (a) play?<br />
<strong>We</strong> also referred to Donna Haraway’s<br />
“Staying with the trouble,” especially<br />
the chapter “Awash in Urine”. This<br />
chapter starts with her dog’s peeing<br />
problems, pulls various threads, and<br />
weaves them into medical history,<br />
the history of agriculture, research,<br />
economic inequality, feminist issues,<br />
and self-positioning as a postmenopausal<br />
woman.<br />
Now, in autumn 2022, last but not<br />
least, the third module. The series<br />
felt like a dance in three steps.<br />
Start-jump-land. <strong>We</strong> landed in this<br />
workshop with the title “Yourself as<br />
a writer in the world”. The workshop<br />
addressed the question how the<br />
students want to stand in the world as<br />
writers. How do they see themselves?<br />
How do they want to see themselves?<br />
How do they dream themselves?<br />
Which references matter to them? A<br />
self-positioning: naturally, the most<br />
difficult thing. There is no manual<br />
for this. Questions about poetics<br />
would play a role, but also structural<br />
questions: In which region/city/<br />
landscape do I want to be doing my<br />
profession? How do I relate to existing<br />
(theater) institutions? Do I prefer<br />
to work alone or in groups? What is<br />
my idea of a career?, etc. The selfquestioning<br />
could not avoid involving<br />
the writers’ respective experiences<br />
as students of the MA at the Danish<br />
National School For Performing Arts.<br />
How their teaching was practiced and<br />
organized played into the discourse.<br />
The connection between studies and<br />
life “outside”.<br />
So, before the workshop started, I<br />
wrote a preparatory mail:<br />
Dear all<br />
we will have a short forløb the next<br />
days. this mail is to direct your mind<br />
to it. no preparation needed.<br />
the focus of the course will be the<br />
question of your own and personal<br />
entanglements with the world, existing<br />
aesthetics and practices of writing.<br />
the question will be what your writing<br />
practice is or could be as acts of ...<br />
self-expression<br />
resistance<br />
entertainment...<br />
(to be continued)<br />
in relation to<br />
your personal history and its context<br />
your direct surrounding<br />
the hyperobects <strong>that</strong> infiltrate life and<br />
politics / feelings of..<br />
(to be continued)<br />
you will situate yourself and speculate<br />
about your role and function as a writer,<br />
about your strategies, open spaces,<br />
possibilities, existing and non-existing<br />
practices<br />
we will create lists of references where<br />
you can situate yourself in - as a touch<br />
base in an open process<br />
every day will also contain a little<br />
physical training.<br />
looking forward,<br />
Andreas<br />
While planning the workshop, I had<br />
some doubts. It would be good to<br />
make the students describe themselves<br />
as artists „in the world“ (How a general<br />
sentence <strong>that</strong> is!). I thought it a right<br />
thing to give space for self-positioning,<br />
in the line of Donna Haraway’s essay<br />
“Situated knowledges“ from 1988.<br />
This self-positioning should also have<br />
the chance to be poetic, formally<br />
experimental. Not only rational<br />
and argumentative. But - this artist<br />
individual, to which I wanted to return<br />
at the end of an education - what was<br />
it? What would be the narrative of<br />
such a „landing“?: “After two years of<br />
learning together, you are back on the<br />
market alone. “? Critical. Sure, many<br />
aspects of being a writer are a lonely<br />
business. But wouldn’t it be central<br />
to make the idea of dialogue and<br />
solidarity strong, especially at the end<br />
of an education? Wouldn’t it be crucial<br />
to say: It is not natural <strong>that</strong> you are<br />
alone as an individual artist.<br />
Shortly before the beginning of the<br />
course, I came across a booklet by the<br />
researchers Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt<br />
and Solvejg Daugaard “Vi skriver<br />
sammen” published recently at the<br />
royal arts academy / Copenhagen<br />
University. This book describes the<br />
process of a self re-positioning. The<br />
two scholars establish a dialogue in<br />
the form of letters. The starting point<br />
of the first letter is the experience of<br />
Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt as a Northern<br />
European woman reading black<br />
literature. The experience of not<br />
automatically being in the center of the<br />
narratives, not being primarily meant<br />
the rupture this experience creates.<br />
The formal premise for this book is<br />
a writer’s dialogue, which has a long<br />
tradition and is explicitly referenced.<br />
Thinking is different when thinking<br />
together, when thinking for each other,<br />
and with each other.<br />
I am biased here. The booklet did<br />
not “just come into my hands” - I am<br />
married to Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt,<br />
one of the authors. <strong>We</strong> have two<br />
children together. I usually use, when<br />
PAGE 4 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 5
teaching, references other than those<br />
of my beloved. I take care not to mix<br />
private with professional. But in this<br />
case, I felt it was appropriate to mix it<br />
up for personal, content, and artistic<br />
reasons. The booklet was a perfect<br />
fit for the task of self-situating. The<br />
letter dialogue offered what I had<br />
been looking for (without knowing<br />
it) for the workshop: artistic work as<br />
conversation.<br />
Moreover, it is vital to me in artistic<br />
work and teaching <strong>that</strong> one does not<br />
abstract from oneself. Art making has<br />
no “neutral standpoint”. It is infected<br />
by the whole circumstances of life of the<br />
art workers. One’s personal experience,<br />
one’s own body, one’s own context<br />
co-define the work. It does matter in<br />
which room one works. It does matter<br />
for the work if a family member is sick,<br />
if one has water damage in one’s home<br />
<strong>that</strong> attacks one’s health, or if one has<br />
just fallen in love. Whether or not you<br />
make <strong>that</strong> visible in the artwork itself<br />
is another matter. I do not think <strong>that</strong><br />
one must constantly exchange private<br />
information when working together.<br />
But from my point of view, artists can<br />
not create art if they only have to<br />
function well and do their job on time,<br />
leave their private life outside and<br />
everything else <strong>that</strong> occupies them.<br />
Biljana Tanurovska, curator and friend<br />
from Skopje, a colleague in artistic<br />
research, writes in her letter (!) to Filip<br />
and Ivana, unknown to me, about the<br />
work of freelance artists “Spaces of<br />
Independence”:<br />
“I think it is time to change also this<br />
term (“independent scene”),<br />
and introduce another term, or<br />
propose, and thus hereby propose an<br />
interdependent scene or sector, based<br />
on subverted self-care, or where the<br />
self-care is not for the subject, but to<br />
the body of common, or common body<br />
of togetherness.<br />
(..) it is time to depend on each other,<br />
to create a space of interdependence,<br />
an interdependent cultural and art<br />
scene. Interdependent sector is based<br />
on togetherness brought through<br />
dependence of each other in success<br />
and in failure, in vulnerability, based<br />
on common respect <strong>that</strong> is generated<br />
through working models which enable<br />
redistribution of power.“<br />
The idea of the autonomous artist<br />
often means a business figure who<br />
must make “good art” as separate as<br />
possible from their own needs.<br />
My classes often start with everyone<br />
describing their situation - artistic,<br />
structural, private, professional.<br />
Often it becomes very personal, not<br />
infrequently critical towards our own<br />
institution <strong>that</strong> I represent in <strong>that</strong> very<br />
moment of the class. Not seldom,<br />
exhaustion and dissatisfaction are<br />
described. This was also the case<br />
in this workshop, which started on<br />
10/25/2022 at 10 am and lasted until<br />
10/27/2022 at 12:30 pm.<br />
The students met in this attic in Aarhus<br />
after a long time working in other<br />
places. No continuity of work space.<br />
In the best neoliberal sense, they were<br />
„flexibilized“. They were encouraged<br />
(and obliged) to work anywhere, travel<br />
a lot, keep their curiosity alive and<br />
being grounded at all times.<br />
I suggested they establish a written<br />
dialogue with each other for the two<br />
and a half days of the workshop.<br />
A dialogue about themselves as<br />
artists, as people, as individuals, as<br />
connected ones and as singular ones.<br />
They were to write letters to each<br />
other and respond to their letters. The<br />
letters could be personal, poetic, or<br />
theoretical - following their voice.<br />
The letters were saved in a “One<br />
Drive” (provided by the Danish<br />
National School for Performing Arts).<br />
Everyone could read all the letters and<br />
include all of them in the conversation.<br />
<strong>We</strong> started on Monday afternoon,<br />
25/10/2022 with an “opening letter”.<br />
Tuesday morning, each responded<br />
to one letter from a colleague.<br />
Then, one of those response letters<br />
was responded to in the afternoon.<br />
Each had the task of referring to the<br />
previous letter but keeping the other<br />
conversations in mind.<br />
What you have now in hand or on the<br />
screen, dear reader, are these letters.<br />
They have not been revised. They are<br />
here as they were written. Unfinished<br />
thoughts, open statements, open<br />
states. It is an invitation for you to<br />
think along. An instant publication.<br />
An exercise. A document of a certain<br />
moment in time.<br />
I wrote the editorial on the second<br />
afternoon after it occurred to me <strong>that</strong> I<br />
also play a role in this structure.<br />
Have fun<br />
Andreas Liebmann<br />
PAGE 6 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 7
EDITORIAL<br />
Liebe Lesende<br />
Was Du hier vor Dir hast<br />
ist das Ergebnis einer<br />
Schreibübung. Es ist<br />
das Ergebnis des dritten<br />
Workshops, den ich im Rahmen des<br />
MA Writing an der Danske Scenekunstskole<br />
mit den Studierenden Sonja Ferdinand,<br />
Elisabeth Hansen, Tami Vibberstoft<br />
und Nana Anine gestalten durfte.<br />
Im ersten Workshop „People living<br />
here“, im Herbst 2021 wurden die<br />
Studierenden ermutigt, sich mit<br />
einer bestimmten Frage, die auf ein<br />
Schild geschrieben stand, auf die<br />
Strasse zu setzen, und zu warten, wer<br />
sich zu ihnen setzt, und über diese<br />
Frage etwas zu erzählen hat. Es ging<br />
also um die Geschichten, die uns<br />
umgeben: Persönliche Geschichten,<br />
die wir oft nicht zu hören bekommen<br />
- insbesondere dann nicht, wenn wir<br />
schon wissen, welche Geschichten<br />
wir wollen, und unsere Referenzen<br />
aus Büchern oder aus dem Internet<br />
beziehen.<br />
Der zweite Workshop „Narrating<br />
Hyperobjects: Climate crisis“ im<br />
Frühjarh 2022 bezog sich auf die<br />
von Timothy Morton genannten<br />
„Hyperobjekte“. Phänomene wie<br />
die Klimakrise. Wie kann man sich<br />
als (Theater-)Schriftsteller darauf<br />
beziehen? Kann es Sinn machen<br />
kann, Erzählstrukturen zu finden, die<br />
Landschaften ähneln oder Netzen,<br />
Parallellgeweben, oder ungreifbaren<br />
Wolken? Wir bezogen uns auch auch<br />
auf Donna Haraways „Staying with<br />
the trouble“, insbesondere auf das<br />
Kapitel „Awash in Urine“, wo sie,<br />
angefangen bei Pinkelproblemen<br />
ihrer Hündin, verschiedene<br />
Geschichtenfäden zieht und sie in<br />
Medizingeschichte, die Geschichte<br />
der Landwirtschaft, Forschung,<br />
ökonomische Ungleichheit und<br />
feministische Fragen und eine<br />
Selbspositionierung als Frau nach der<br />
Menopause verwebt.<br />
Und nun, zu guter letzt, als dritter<br />
Workshop, im Dreischritt gleichsam,<br />
die Landung mit dem Titel „Yourself<br />
as writer in the world“. Der Workshop<br />
handelte also davon, auszulegen, wie<br />
die Studierenden als Schriftsteller<br />
in der <strong>We</strong>lt stehen wollen. Es ging<br />
um die Studierenden selbst und<br />
ihr Verhältnis zu ihrem Beruf, wie<br />
sie sich sehen und sehen möchten.<br />
Wie sie sich einschätzen und sich<br />
träumen. Es ging um ihre Referenzen,<br />
ihre Position: Naturgemäss das<br />
Schwierigste. Es gibt dafür keine<br />
Anleitung. Es geht in dieser Frage<br />
nicht nur im eine eigene Poetik,<br />
sondern auch um strukturelle Fragen:<br />
Wo will ich tätig sein? Wie verhalte<br />
ich mich zu den existierenden<br />
(Theater-)Institutionen? Arbeite<br />
ich lieber alleine oder in Gruppen?<br />
Was ist meine Idee von Karriere?,<br />
etc. Nicht zu ignorieren war bei<br />
der Selbstbefragung das jeweilige<br />
Erleben der Studierenden der<br />
Institution MA an der Dänischen<br />
Theaterhochschule. Die Art und<br />
<strong>We</strong>ise, wie da ihr Unterricht<br />
praktiziert und organisiert wurde,<br />
wie Gemeinschaften gebildet<br />
wurden und wie künstlerisches<br />
Arbeiten vermittelt wurde, wie der<br />
Zusammenhang zwischen Arbeit und<br />
Lebensumständen organisiert und<br />
gedacht wurde, spielte hier mit.<br />
Eine Selbstpositionierung ist<br />
immer berührt von den aktuellen<br />
Gegegbenheiten.<br />
Ich schrieb also eine Mail zur<br />
Vorbereitung:<br />
dear all<br />
we will have a short forløb the next<br />
days. this mail is to direct your mind<br />
to it. no preparation needed.<br />
the focus of the course will be the<br />
question of your own and personal<br />
entanglements with the world,<br />
existing aesthetics and practices of<br />
writing.<br />
the question will be what your writing<br />
practice is or could be as acts of …<br />
self-expression<br />
resistance<br />
entertainment…<br />
(to be continued)<br />
in relation to<br />
your personal history and its context<br />
your direct surrounding<br />
the hyperobects <strong>that</strong> infiltrate life and<br />
politics<br />
feelings of..<br />
(to be continued)<br />
you will situate yourself and speculate<br />
about your role and function as a<br />
writer, about your strategies, open<br />
spaces, possibilitites, existing and<br />
non-existing practices<br />
we will create lists of references<br />
where you can situate yourself in - as<br />
a a touch base in an open process<br />
every day will also contain a little<br />
physical training.<br />
looking forward,<br />
Andreas<br />
Bei der Planung des Workshops hatte<br />
ich dann allerdings doch ein paar<br />
Zweifel. Eine Selbstbeschreibung<br />
als Künstler fand ich gut. Ich fand<br />
es wichtig, Raum zu geben für<br />
eine Selbstpositionierung. Diese<br />
Selbstpositionierung sollte durchaus<br />
auch dichterisch sein. Nicht nur rational<br />
und argumentativ. Aber - was war das,<br />
dieses Künstlerindividuum, auf das ich<br />
dann am Ende einer Ausbildung wieder<br />
zurückkommen wollte. Was wäre das<br />
Narrativ einer solchen Landung? „Nach<br />
zwei Jahren gemeinsamer Ausbildung<br />
seid ihr wieder allein auf dem Markt.“?<br />
Kritisch.<br />
Klar, viele Aspekte des Berufs der<br />
Schriftstellerin muss man mit sich selbst<br />
ausmachen. Aber wäre es nicht zentral,<br />
den Gedanken des Dialogs und der<br />
Solidarität stark zu machen - zumal<br />
am Ende einer Ausbildung? Wäre es<br />
nicht sehr wichtig zu sagen: Es ist nicht<br />
naturgegeben, dass Du alleine bist als<br />
KünstlerInnenindividuum.<br />
Kurz vor Beginn des Kurses kam<br />
mir dann ein Büchlein in die Hände<br />
der Forscherinnen Cecilie Ullerup<br />
Schmidt und Solvejg Daugaard „Vi<br />
skriver sammen.“, das vor kurzem<br />
von der Universität Kopenhagen<br />
und der „Königlichen Dänischen<br />
Kunstakademie“ herausgekommen<br />
war. Dieses Buch veröffentlicht den<br />
Prozess einer Selbstneubestimmung.<br />
Die beiden Wissenschaftlierinnen<br />
etablieren einen Dialog in Briefform,<br />
in dem es als Ausgangspunkt um die<br />
Leseerfahrung einer Nordeuropäerin<br />
mit dem Lesen schwarzer Literatur<br />
geht. Darum, nicht automatisch im<br />
Zentrum der Narrative zu stehen, nicht<br />
in erster Linie gemeint zu sein.<br />
PAGE 8 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 9
Die formale Voraussetzung für dieses<br />
Buch ist der Dialog in Schriftform, der<br />
eine lange Tradition hat, und auf den<br />
explizit Bezug genommen wird. Man<br />
denkt anders, wenn man zusammen<br />
denkt, wenn man fürenander und<br />
miteinander denkt.<br />
Ich bin hier biased. Das Büchlein kam<br />
mir nicht „einfach so in die Hände“ -<br />
mit Cecilie Ullerup Schmidt bin ich<br />
verheiratet. Wir haben zwei Kinder<br />
zusammen. Ich nutze normalerweise<br />
andere Referenzen als die meiner<br />
Geliebten im Unterricht, und<br />
achte drauf, persönliches nicht mit<br />
beruflichem zu vermischen. Aber<br />
in diesem Fall fand ich es gerade<br />
angebracht, diese Vermischung<br />
zu betreiben, aus persönlichen,<br />
inhaltlichen und künstlerischen<br />
Gründen. Das Büchlein passte perfekt<br />
zur Aufgabe der Selbstsituierung,<br />
zudem bot es mit dem Briefdialog<br />
genau das an, was ich für den<br />
Workshop (ohne es zu wissen) gesucht<br />
hatte: Denken und künstlerische Arbeit<br />
als Gespräch.<br />
Zudem ist es mir in künstlerischer<br />
Arbeit und auch im Unterricht<br />
sehr wichtig, dass man nicht von<br />
sich abstrahiert. Im Gegenteil. Die<br />
persönliche Erfahrung, der eigene<br />
Körper, die eigenen Lebensumstände<br />
definieren die Arbeit prägend mit.<br />
Es ist nicht egal, in welchem Raum<br />
man arbeitet. Es ist für die Arbeit<br />
nicht egal, wenn ein Familienmitglied<br />
krank ist, oder ob man in der eigenen<br />
Wohnung einen Wasserschaden hat<br />
der die Gesundheit angreift, oder<br />
ob man sich gerade verliebt hat. Ob<br />
man das am Ende für die Lesenden<br />
sichtbar macht oder nicht, ist eine<br />
andere Sache. Ich bin hier nicht der<br />
Meinung, dass man sich ständig über<br />
privates Austauschen muss, wenn man<br />
zusammenarbeitet - im Gegenteil.<br />
Aber Kunst kann aus meiner Sicht nicht<br />
entstehen, wenn die Künstlerinnen nur<br />
gut funktionieren müssen und gelernt<br />
haben, pünktlich ihren Job zu machen<br />
und ihr Privatleben und alles, was sie<br />
sonst noch beschäftigt, möglichst<br />
draussen zu halten. Biljana Tanurovska,<br />
befreundete Kuratorin aus Skopje und<br />
Kollegin in künstlerischer Forschung,<br />
schreibt in ihrem Brief (!) an die mir<br />
unbekannten Filip and Ivana über die<br />
Arbeit freischaffender Künstler „Spaces<br />
of Intedependence“:<br />
„I think it is time to change also<br />
this term („independent scene“),<br />
and introduce another term, or<br />
propose, and thus hereby propose an<br />
interdependent scene or sector, based<br />
on subverted self-care, or where the<br />
self-care is not for the subject, but to<br />
the body of common, or common body<br />
of togetherness.<br />
(..) it is time to depend on each other,<br />
to create a space of interdependence,<br />
and interdependent cultural and art<br />
scene. Interdependent sector is based<br />
on togetherness brought through<br />
dependence of each other in success<br />
and in failure, in vulnerability, based<br />
on common respect <strong>that</strong> is generated<br />
through working models which enable<br />
redistribution of power.“<br />
Die Idee der autonomen Künstler*In<br />
bedeutet nur zu oft eine Businessfigur,<br />
die von ihren eigenen Bedürfnissen<br />
möglichst unabhängig „gute Kunst“<br />
machen muss. Das muss nicht sein.<br />
Mein Unterricht fängt oft damit<br />
an, dass jede*r seine Situtation<br />
beschreiben kann. Dabei wird es oft<br />
auch sehr persönlich, nicht selten<br />
institutionskritisch. Nicht selten<br />
werden Erschöpfungen beschrieben,<br />
Unzufriedenheiten. So war das auch in<br />
diesem Workshop, der am 25.10.2022<br />
um 10 Uhr anfing und bis zum<br />
27.10.2022 um 12.30 dauerte.<br />
Die Studierenden trafen sich wieder<br />
einmal nach längerer Zeit an anderen<br />
Orten in diesem Dachgeschoss in der<br />
Theaterhochschule in Aarhus. Eine<br />
Kontinuität eines Arbeitsraums gab es<br />
für sie nicht. Im besten neoliberalen<br />
Sinne waren sie „flexibilisiert“ - geübt<br />
und aufgefordert, überall arbeiten zu<br />
können, viel zu reisen, und dabei die<br />
Neugierde und ihr „Grounding“ zu<br />
behalten.<br />
Ich schlug ihnen vor, im Verlauf der<br />
nächsten zweieinhalb Tage einen<br />
schriftlichen Dialog zu etablieren. Einen<br />
Dialog über sich als Künstlerinnen,<br />
als Menschen, als Indvididuen, als<br />
Verbundene und als Singuläre. Sie<br />
sollten sich Briefe schreiben, auf ihre<br />
Briefe antworten. Die Briefe konnten<br />
persönlich, poetisch, theoretisch sein -<br />
der eigenen Stimme folgend.<br />
Die Briefe wurden gesammelt in einer<br />
„One Drive“ (zur Verfügung gestellt<br />
von der Dänischen Nationalen Schule<br />
für Performing Arts).<br />
Jede konnte alle Briefe lesen und in ihr<br />
Gespräch einbeziehen. Wir fingen am<br />
Montag Nachmittag, den 25.10.2022<br />
mit einem „Eröffnungsbrief” an.<br />
Dienstag, morgens, antwortete jede<br />
auf einen Brief einer Kollegin, und am<br />
Nachmittag wurde dann wiederum<br />
eine dieser Antwortbriefe beantwortet.<br />
Jede hatte die Aufgabe, sich immer<br />
als erstes auf den vorherigen Brief<br />
zu beziehen, aber die anderen<br />
Gesprächsverläufe im Auge zu haben.<br />
Was nun vor Dir liegt, liebe*r Leser*in,<br />
sind diese Briefe. Sie wurden nicht<br />
mehr überarbeitet. Sie sind so in<br />
diesem Dokument, wie sie entstanden<br />
sind. Unfertige Gedanken, offene<br />
Zustände. Eine Einladung zum<br />
Mitdenken. Eine Instantpublikation.<br />
Eine Übung. Ein Zeitdokument.<br />
Das Editorial habe ich am zweiten<br />
Nachmittag geschrieben, nachdem<br />
mir aufgefallen war, dass ich in diesem<br />
Gefüge auch eine Rolle spiele.<br />
Viel Vergnügen<br />
Andreas Liebmann<br />
PAGE 10 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 11
PAGE 12 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 13
“A letter always seemed to me like immortality<br />
because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.”<br />
-Emily Dickinson<br />
PAGE 14 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 15
CIVIL, SILENT<br />
EXECUTOR<br />
NANA ANINE<br />
Dear Cochlea,<br />
Thank you for warning me through<br />
noise-making when my head was<br />
overheated.<br />
Dear Writer,<br />
I<br />
invite you to take up time<br />
to write your own or a<br />
body a letter...<br />
Your body in specific processes<br />
Your body in certain situations<br />
Your body in the aftermath of certain<br />
situations<br />
Your body as your institution<br />
Your body as the local manifestation of<br />
a hyperobject<br />
Your body as the front runner<br />
Your body as the straggler<br />
Let this be our common language on<br />
the following pages.<br />
You can freely interpret the form and<br />
perspective of this task.<br />
A listed letter of great gratitude<br />
to a bruised body<br />
stuck in someone else’s process:<br />
Dear Tongue,<br />
Thank you for knotting yourself<br />
together when I wanted to speak up.<br />
Dear Ribcage,<br />
Thank you for embracing me<br />
throughout the process.<br />
Dear Lungs,<br />
Thank you for constantly providing me<br />
with oxygen even when the room felt<br />
poor on air.<br />
Dear Confidence (*Orbitofrontal<br />
Cortex),<br />
Thank you for not mixing up my selfworth<br />
with another person’s selfesteem.<br />
Dear Feet,<br />
Thank you for each step you carried my<br />
stacked bones and inflamed flesh.<br />
Dear Jar,<br />
Thank you for reacting when I thought<br />
I was empty.<br />
Dear Finger Tips,<br />
Thank you for constantly reaching out<br />
and paving multiple directions for me<br />
to follow.<br />
Dear Index Fingers,<br />
Thank you for showing me the<br />
connection between body and mind<br />
by placing one of you in the cavity of<br />
my navel and one of you in the gap<br />
between my eyebrows.<br />
Dear Heart,<br />
Thank you for giving me the strength<br />
to avoid the execution of sudden other<br />
index finger movements.<br />
Dear stomach acid,<br />
Thank you for being loud when this<br />
body needed to let go of carrying the<br />
principles of social responsibility.<br />
Dear Blue Eyes,<br />
Thank you for carefully observing as an<br />
artistic response.<br />
Dear WoMan,<br />
Thank you for staying true to the<br />
multiple genders within you even when<br />
you felt reduced to your genitals.<br />
Dear Motor Neurones,<br />
Thank you for not tensing my muscles<br />
on your journeys up and down my<br />
spine even when I felt stuck on<br />
someone else’s path.<br />
Dear Vocal Chords,<br />
Thank you for supporting my voice<br />
with volume when I finally unknotted<br />
my Dear Tongue.<br />
Dear Teeth,<br />
Thank you for bearing with the pain<br />
it must have cost you when my jar<br />
reacted because I thought I was empty.<br />
Dear Nervous System,<br />
Thank you for providing me with<br />
precious liquids which kept me from<br />
drying out.<br />
Dear Diafragma,<br />
Thank you for guiding me through<br />
hyperventilations and panic attacks<br />
when I felt the smallest.<br />
Dear Sensory Neurons,<br />
Thank you for the ability to sense<br />
my surroundings even when the<br />
surroundings seemed loaded with<br />
unspoken smog.<br />
https://time.com/3398699/<br />
confidence-in-the-brain/<br />
PAGE 16 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 17
MIND<br />
ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
Dear you,<br />
I sharpen my writing tools<br />
here in our office in Aarhus<br />
on a rainy October day,<br />
thinking of what it is <strong>that</strong> I want to share<br />
with you. What it is <strong>that</strong> you must know.<br />
<strong>We</strong>’ve had a day of pouring; emotions,<br />
thoughts, concerns, fears, <strong>that</strong> which<br />
is of public interest, <strong>that</strong> which is not<br />
to be mentioned, future, perspective,<br />
empathy. A common theme of space<br />
and intimacy, relationships, purpose.<br />
The brain tends to absorb all of this<br />
and become mushy, but it is in this<br />
state <strong>that</strong> I must continue writing,<br />
before I foget how we got here.<br />
I must search for the points of<br />
connection. What I really want you to<br />
see. Like in photographs, we must look<br />
at the negatives before we can see the<br />
positives. The heavy contrasts. The<br />
hidden beauty... To fully see. Isn’t <strong>that</strong><br />
the role of the writer?<br />
All of this we discussed today, can<br />
be concentrated into the theme of<br />
identity. It is central in our personal<br />
lives, as it is in the image of ourselves,<br />
we present to the world, and in return<br />
what we expect from it. Identity is<br />
exactly <strong>that</strong> point of awareness Donna<br />
Haraway speaks of in her Situational<br />
Knowledges article (1988) <strong>that</strong> Andreas<br />
mentioned today:<br />
‘A commitment to mobile positioning<br />
and to passionate detachment is<br />
dependent on the impossibility<br />
of entertaining innocent “identity”<br />
politics and epistemologies as<br />
strategies for seeing from the<br />
standpoints of the subjugated in<br />
order to see well. One cannot “be”<br />
either a cell or molecule- or a woman,<br />
colonized person, laborer, and so on- if<br />
one intends to see, and see from these<br />
positions critically.<br />
“Being” is much more problematic and<br />
contingent. Also, one cannot relocate<br />
in any possible vantage point without<br />
being accountable for <strong>that</strong> movement.<br />
Vision is always a question of the power<br />
to see-and perhaps of the violence<br />
implicit in our visualizing practices.<br />
With whose blood were my eyes<br />
crafted? These points also apply<br />
to testimony from the position of<br />
“oneself.” <strong>We</strong> are not immediately<br />
present to ourselves.’<br />
Honestly, I think it’s precisely these<br />
words <strong>that</strong> sum up what we’ve been<br />
experiencing during our masters<br />
program, as part of an institution whose<br />
many eyes are so homogeneous, so<br />
fixated specifically in one audience<br />
for its act, <strong>that</strong> it fails to see its urgent<br />
need for repositioning (<strong>that</strong> is to<br />
say, with new eyes), for strategical<br />
representation of voices, of stories, and<br />
by default of embodied knowledge;<br />
a loss which greatly reflects in the<br />
education we receive, and <strong>that</strong> which<br />
we as a body of students return to the<br />
world, equally flat, flaccid and lacking<br />
of eyes, mouths, soul and color.<br />
I would be lying to you if I <strong>said</strong> <strong>that</strong>,<br />
from the vantage point of a colonized<br />
body, a survivor’s body from war and<br />
capitalism, from loss and grief and class<br />
and racism, these daily situations and<br />
responses haven’t gone far beyond the<br />
feeling of nuances. They’ve permeated<br />
themselves in my skin, to the point<br />
where I stand now: Where I wish<br />
I could talk to you of poetry, I<br />
speak of segmentation, separation,<br />
systematic irresponsibility... Conscious<br />
negligence. Where I wish I could<br />
show you beauty and possibility,<br />
collaborations, and collective power, I<br />
instead go mute, I grow doubtful and<br />
exhausted, I often return to my cave<br />
with frustrated pessimism, digging<br />
further in the dark for answers.<br />
I’ve become tired of this, and my eyes<br />
too have become tired... but you’re<br />
right... I embrace the possibility of<br />
bonding and nurturing through these<br />
uncertainties, which has become a<br />
practice in our current lives.<br />
I do not want to talk to you of the<br />
notions of diversity and multiculturalism<br />
<strong>that</strong> I wish were implemented in our<br />
environment, for you well know where<br />
the bar is set in our current times<br />
and in our industry. What I can share<br />
with you, is this. In the mesh of these<br />
conflicts and unanswered questions,<br />
one thing has remained a constant:<br />
knowledge is liquid.<br />
It is true <strong>that</strong> our individual identities<br />
are very specifically positioned based<br />
on our lived experiences and life<br />
lessons, and it is true <strong>that</strong> for you<br />
to pretend to be in my boots is as<br />
incoherent as for me to pretend to<br />
be in yours, but it is also true <strong>that</strong> our<br />
brain is always absorbing information<br />
and helping us expand our vision of<br />
ourselves and our surroundings in<br />
order to process and survive, as well<br />
as to respond, to what we interpret<br />
as our reality. Is this also how you<br />
feel? A shared mirror, where we can<br />
reflect in each other’s knowledge?<br />
I cherish the opportunity of sharpening<br />
my vision and redefining my position<br />
in this world, in part based on the<br />
responses to your feedback, your<br />
conversations, your own struggles and<br />
reactions.<br />
When we were talking of intimacy in<br />
public spaces, you reminded me of the<br />
conversations we had the previous days<br />
in Odense, preparing the performance<br />
Entrance for a Cave at HC Andersens<br />
Hus, and trying to find exactly <strong>that</strong>: A<br />
way to disconnect from the mainstream<br />
message so as to find the connections<br />
between us and our audience,<br />
individually. Can you imagine, how<br />
scary, intimidating, sensual and<br />
beautiful it was to write a poem to an<br />
absolute stranger in a dark room? I<br />
have very little to compare to <strong>that</strong> in<br />
recent times.<br />
When I was preparing my performance,<br />
researching queerness and attempting<br />
to find transgressive ways of<br />
connecting with the museum and its<br />
expectations, I found this phrase which<br />
I thought might also connect with you.<br />
Ed Cohen writes: “If we can begin<br />
to gather together on the basis of<br />
constructions <strong>that</strong> ‘we’ are constantly<br />
and self-consciously in the process of<br />
inventing, multiplying, and modifying,<br />
then perhaps ‘we’ can obviate the<br />
need for continuing to reiterate the<br />
fragmenting oscillations between<br />
identity and difference’. (1998).<br />
See? I’ve found what I needed to tell<br />
you. What I meant for your eyes to<br />
focus on in this letter was this new<br />
identity, of an us, rather than an I,<br />
where our different stories and voices<br />
make us capable of tackling these<br />
challenges instead of hiding and<br />
withering or walking away. Fear<br />
has room in this story, but it is not<br />
the protagonist. <strong>We</strong> are the writers.<br />
Remember <strong>that</strong>.<br />
I wish you could see how much braver<br />
and defined your presence looks<br />
reflected against the<br />
sun when you walk home sometimes<br />
after these long talks and sessions...<br />
and I observe you,<br />
smiling, celebrating these moments of<br />
connections, which I believe are all we<br />
will look back to once we’ve completed<br />
this phase of our lives.<br />
Tell me, what do you see?<br />
PAGE 18 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 19
I AM NOT<br />
TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
PAGE 20 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 21
PAGE 22 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 23
THEN AND NOW<br />
SONJA FERDINAND<br />
Dear Nana,<br />
It seems like ages<br />
ago. It isn’t. It really<br />
isn’t. I can’t almost<br />
count weeks rather<br />
than months maybe even days since<br />
we were in Berlin this summer. I<br />
don’t really have any pictures ( I kept<br />
forgetting to charge my phone,<br />
walking aimlessly but not lost for hours<br />
on end without it) but I remember your<br />
face. How different it was from the face<br />
looking at me from across the circle of<br />
swivel chairs this rainy autumn day.<br />
I remember your laugh. That you<br />
smiled. I remember laughing. That<br />
I smiled at you. The humorous sign<br />
at the Italian place near the river,<br />
claiming <strong>that</strong> today of all days they<br />
only accepted cash (I went back a<br />
couple of days later to see the sign<br />
still being there; the exception of<br />
”today” apparently being an every day<br />
thing). I see it all. As if captured in a<br />
snow globe. Small versions of you and<br />
I licking melting ice cream from our<br />
hands. An image of something unreal<br />
in this now world of real.<br />
My perception of it being ages ago<br />
clearly formed by the stark contrast<br />
between the lightness of those days<br />
and the heaviness of these days.<br />
Heaviness: the sluggish grey thing<br />
forcefully clinging to malleable parts<br />
of my brain.<br />
she responded with a Pep talk backed<br />
by a study she had recently read<br />
claiming <strong>that</strong> those who get the best<br />
healthcare are those who claim the<br />
right to proper healthcare. Those, who<br />
contest. Demand. Claim their right and<br />
those who know their right. A distinct<br />
suggestion <strong>that</strong> this heaviness could be<br />
resolved, transformed into lightness,<br />
possibility if I just contested, claimed<br />
my right.<br />
As a friend and her partner continually<br />
are being the denied grief leave<br />
of absence because their stillborn<br />
daughter was born one day short<br />
of the officially deadline for when,<br />
she would be considered a child and<br />
not an abortion, peoples benefits<br />
are being deducted for going across<br />
the border in order to buy cheaper<br />
groceries due to the inflation, teachers<br />
respond to well-founded ask for more<br />
time with silence or the suggestion<br />
<strong>that</strong> more time can be found if I plan<br />
better, the SU-styrelsen respond to me<br />
possible losing 70.000 kr in subsidies<br />
due to a technical error with a shoulder<br />
shrug, the perception, the underlying<br />
perception <strong>that</strong> if you claim your right,<br />
contest, demand you will be heard and<br />
the heaviness will turn into lightness,<br />
seems like a summerday captured in<br />
snowglobe. An image of something far<br />
away from this reality.<br />
Dear Nana,<br />
Sometimes I fear <strong>that</strong><br />
will start believing<br />
<strong>that</strong> the lack of proper<br />
treatment and rats are<br />
my fault.<br />
A long time ago, I had an encounter<br />
with a doctor who wrongfully claimed<br />
<strong>that</strong> the aggressive acne covering<br />
my face, upper thighs, entire back<br />
and chest was caused by at <strong>that</strong> time<br />
slight overweight (emphasis on the<br />
slight). Re-telling the story on the<br />
phone to my sister while weeping,<br />
PAGE 24 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 25
RESPONSES<br />
“May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper?<br />
I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.”<br />
-Franz Kafka<br />
PAGE 26 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 27
BODY<br />
ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
Dear Nana,<br />
Reading your letter feels<br />
as it does listening to you<br />
speak of movement, of<br />
dance, of emotions and thoughts being<br />
transmitted through the structures and<br />
muscles, the microcosmos...<br />
but it also leads me to return to<br />
something <strong>that</strong> is a constant in my<br />
poetry, which is the concept of the<br />
“body of water”. River, ocean, pond,<br />
puddle, vein... always flowing, always<br />
in movement.<br />
And us, too, bodies of water,<br />
sometimes petrified and very still, but<br />
within us the storm, the fountain, the<br />
constant commotion of life.<br />
Removing myself from the oppressive<br />
religious background of my upbringing,<br />
for many years meant an absolute<br />
rejection to any type of spirituality,<br />
because I felt my mind was polluted<br />
from so much indoctrination <strong>that</strong> I<br />
needed to get to know myself without<br />
external noise. But as years passed, I<br />
learned, through conversations with<br />
climatologists and other scientists, <strong>that</strong><br />
caring for our planet should not be<br />
seen as simple act of compassion,<br />
but as an act of connection with<br />
ourselves... a new spirituality, where<br />
we understand <strong>that</strong> our body doesn’t<br />
end at these external layers of skin...<br />
it continues in every body of water<br />
around us, cyclically.<br />
Ecology, then, is an act of selfpreservation<br />
and self-love. That’s<br />
something I allow myself to<br />
believe.<br />
Do you remember the first book we<br />
were assigned when we started our<br />
writing program?<br />
The Aesthetics of the Oppressed,<br />
by Augusto Boal. ‘To resist, it is not<br />
enough to say No – it is necessary to<br />
desire!’... What I enjoyed most, apart<br />
from his style of writing, was <strong>that</strong> he<br />
removed the veils of art from fancy<br />
terms and spaces, and returned it<br />
to us, to the people, to our streets,<br />
our lived experiences, our bodies.<br />
Speaking of the connection between<br />
brain and mind, material and spirit,<br />
he <strong>said</strong>: “the subjective, abstract and<br />
metaphorical world – are processed.<br />
That’s how things happen: necessity<br />
creates a new reality. That reminds<br />
me of a sentiment most heard from<br />
the mouths of physiotherapists on<br />
use and disuse: <strong>that</strong> all parts of the<br />
body develop when used and when<br />
in disuse, they atrophy. The brain is<br />
part of the body and the rule of use<br />
and disuse applies to it too.” I like to<br />
think <strong>that</strong> this applies as well to more<br />
than material muscles, but our abilities<br />
to connect, to love, to care, to protect.<br />
But this is not what you asked for in<br />
your letter.<br />
You clearly <strong>said</strong> a listed letter.<br />
Dear body preparing for winter<br />
as trees and flowers do,<br />
In process of rebirth and decay,<br />
in constant flow,<br />
in sudden spasms of pain, in love...<br />
Dear body in the aftermath<br />
of all of this I do not wish<br />
to speak of today because I am tired<br />
of being<br />
tired,<br />
of speaking,<br />
of looking back one aftermath<br />
after another...<br />
You the front runner, the survivor,<br />
the shelter, the army of defense,<br />
the container of language and memory,<br />
the cave where I hid for years<br />
until one day the pain was over,<br />
until one day the pain<br />
became bearable<br />
until one day the pain<br />
became part of the skin<br />
and the place where I return to water<br />
flowers every spring,<br />
hiding ammunition<br />
in case the war returns...<br />
Dear body of water, of poetry,<br />
of resistance, of fluidity in gender<br />
as in positioning...<br />
You the institution in direct opposition<br />
to every institution around me.<br />
You and your skin of color,<br />
you and your marginalized genitalia<br />
<strong>that</strong> brings hallucinations of<br />
ecstasy and liberation,<br />
you and your hands covered in rings<br />
and your squeaky knees<br />
and curves and aches<br />
and fears and palpitations...<br />
You and your brain where the<br />
parameters of reality<br />
aren’t always defined...<br />
And yes, the teeth, the confidence,<br />
the tremor, the diaphragm,<br />
the eyes, the neurons...<br />
Dear body and every corner of you<br />
<strong>that</strong> has contained the miracle...<br />
and kept me here.<br />
I thank you...<br />
Where would I be without you.<br />
So here we go.<br />
PAGE 28 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 29
KROPPEN I VANDET<br />
TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
Kære Elizabeth,<br />
Måske er spiritualiteten også<br />
en muskel, der kan trænes.<br />
Evnen til at tro. Ikke på en gud<br />
nødvendigvis. Men troen på at være en<br />
del af noget.<br />
Hvor mon da spiritualiteten sidder i<br />
det hylster, vi kalder kroppen? Måske<br />
er det netop i væsken. I vandet. I det<br />
vand, som vi hovedsageligt består af.<br />
Jeg er irrationelt bange for dybt<br />
vand og mørke. Som barn kunne jeg<br />
blive panisk angst af at åbne øjnene<br />
under vandet i svømmehallen og se<br />
bassinbunden skråne ned mod det<br />
dybe område. Jeg er begyndt at<br />
udfordre denne frygt. Jeg behøver ikke<br />
forstå den. Men jeg ønsker at have fat<br />
om den.<br />
Denne sommer besøgte jeg en ny<br />
veninde på hendes gård i Vestjylland.<br />
Hun tilbyder at udføre sit timelange,<br />
lettiske saunaritual for mig. Jeg ligger<br />
på en seng af velduftende urter og<br />
krammer en dusk af mynte i hver hånd.<br />
Hun svirper min hud med fugtige<br />
birkebundter, mens varmen stiger til et<br />
punkt, hvor jeg føler, jeg ikke længere<br />
kan være i min svulmende hud. Hun<br />
ringer med et klokkespil over min ryg,<br />
og så er det pludselig som om, jeg ser<br />
dem: bittesmå vandnymfer, der lystigt<br />
og venligt forsikrer mig om, at alt er<br />
okay. De inviterer mig til at køle af i<br />
min venindes kulsorte, sivbegroede sø.<br />
Myggene hænger i sværme omkring<br />
mig, mens jeg sænker mig ned i det<br />
iskolde, stille dyb med en frydefuld<br />
glæde over at mærke, at jeg er i live.<br />
Jeg tænker på, om det er den slags<br />
spiritualitet, du skriver om. Eller den<br />
slags mirakler.<br />
Hvis spiritualiteten sidder i vandet (i<br />
min krop eller i en afgrundsdyb sø),<br />
hvor mon så traumerne sidder? Er<br />
det i den ørkenvind, der udtørrer de<br />
dyrebare væsker i mit nervesystem?<br />
Jeg prøver at forstå, hvordan min<br />
krop husker. Og jeg prøver at forstå,<br />
hvordan jeg lærer den at huske noget<br />
nyt. Hvordan jeg skifter grimme minder<br />
ud med nye. Men jeg har ikke fundet<br />
kortet over kroppen endnu. Jeg har<br />
ikke lært at navigere.<br />
Nu sidder jeg her på Broen. Var det<br />
et skib, ville det være øverste dæk,<br />
hvorfra jeg kunne bestemme kursen.<br />
Jeg er kaptajn med en mangelfuld<br />
viden om både sø og skib. Men jeg<br />
bliver ikke længere så søsyg som<br />
førhen. Og selvom jeg ikke aner noget<br />
om søfart, så synes jeg alligevel at<br />
have en slags kurs. Det tror jeg nemlig,<br />
skibet har af sig selv. Så kan jeg jo<br />
prøve at lade ørkenvinden fylde luft i<br />
sejlene og blæse mig fremad.<br />
Jeg kendte engang én, der hed<br />
Cecilie. En dag forsøgte hun at fare<br />
vild med vilde. Hun løb ud i den del af<br />
skoven, hun ikke kendte. Her lukkede<br />
hun øjnene og drejede rundt om sig<br />
selv, til svimmelheden bød hende at<br />
stoppe. Så gik hun rundt på må og få,<br />
skiftede retning og prøvede at miste<br />
orienteringen. Men til slut måtte hun<br />
sande, at hun ikke sådan kunne fare<br />
vild. Ikke på kommando.<br />
Jeg forestiller mig, at spiritualiteten<br />
ligger i det øjeblik, hvor tågen kommer<br />
rullende ind over bakkerne, kryber<br />
ind mellem træerne og lægger sig<br />
mellem Cecilie og virkeligheden. Som<br />
et håndgribeligt lag af vand, der gør<br />
det hårde blødt. Midt i tågens tykhed,<br />
kan hun fare vild et øjeblik. Der kan hun<br />
mærke, at hun svømmer oven vande.<br />
PAGE 30 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 31
NOT A NOT LIST<br />
NANA ANINE<br />
Kære Tam,<br />
Jeg vil gerne svare på dit fine<br />
brev ved ikke at skrive en<br />
ikke-liste.<br />
Egentligt også fordi at jeg fandt denne<br />
her liste jeg skrev i september.<br />
Sonja faciliterede øvelsen.<br />
Du var der også selv og vi var mange<br />
og vi var samlet om et iphone-bål i en<br />
black box i København.<br />
I am flesh and bones<br />
I am constantly worried<br />
I am a friend<br />
I am a person who is always late<br />
I am just a citizen<br />
I am a person who has many dead ends<br />
I am a sister<br />
I am a traveler<br />
I am a part<br />
I am a part of<br />
I am parts<br />
I am all parts<br />
I am apart<br />
I am apart sometimes<br />
Sandra og de to fageksperter ude<br />
foran mit lille, kvadratiske vindue her<br />
inde i “Broen” i Århus fanger min<br />
opmærksomhed.<br />
Seancen for mig til at le. Til at stoppe<br />
op og ikke tænker over alt det jeg<br />
gerne vil fortælle dig jeg er.<br />
Der er noget med måden deres<br />
samtale flyder på ude foran mit vindue.<br />
Jeg kan ikke høre ordene, bare de små<br />
jyske, hakkende hå-hå-hå lyde.<br />
Alle lydene ender på gulvet og<br />
kommer fra et dybere register. Men de<br />
virker alle til at balancere let gennem<br />
samtalen. Den er ikke som sådan tung.<br />
Så er der måden de kopierer hinandens<br />
kropssprog på, for at understøtte at de<br />
ser hinanden. Ser hvem hinanden er.<br />
En slags gensidig spejling af respekt.<br />
En slags treenighed, lige her ude foran<br />
mit vindue, i “Broen”, i Århus.<br />
Èn hånd i lommen mens den anden<br />
hånd fagter stort. Som luren heroppe<br />
fra “Broen” ser jeg hånden i lommen,<br />
og den fagtende højre hånd, som<br />
en måde at skabe ligevægt i deres,<br />
måske, nyere relation. “Jeg er sådan<br />
lidt afslappet men fuld af holdninger”.<br />
Jeg synes du har helt ret, sætningen<br />
“It’s not only painful but also…” er en<br />
hel perfekt måde at beskrive alt det der<br />
virkelig betyder noget.<br />
Lidt sådan læser jeg også dit brev, en<br />
åben invitation til at fundere over de<br />
ting og tanker vi bærer på, og de valg<br />
vi vælger ikke at bære på og være, og<br />
som så et eller andet sted er med til<br />
at forme de valg vi vælger at bære og<br />
være. Måske er det vældigt privilegeret<br />
at referere til din ikke-liste som et valg.<br />
Jeg tænker hvor på Cecilie er nu, om<br />
hun siden 2008 bare ikke er, mere.<br />
Det der med at skifte ham, tænker jeg<br />
på. Den nødvendighed<br />
der ligger i at skifte skind.<br />
Så tænker jeg på det politiske valg lige<br />
om lidt, og hvor privilegeret det er at<br />
kalde det et valg. Og om Cecilie er lagt<br />
i virtuelle skuffer fyldt med ord og skrift<br />
inde på Borger.dk?<br />
Og om de skuffer i virkeligheden<br />
ikke også er dine skuffer? Jeg tror<br />
jeg skriver dette som en naiv form<br />
for opmuntrende påmindelse om at<br />
du altså har skuffer fyldt med ord og<br />
sætninger.<br />
Samtidig skriver jeg det også som en<br />
undren over, om de ord og sætninger i<br />
de virtuelle skuffer er selvskrevne, og i<br />
såfald om de en dag kan blive poetiske<br />
og sammenhængende og former dig<br />
som den Writer du også er?<br />
I 2008 hed min bedste veninde Cecilie.<br />
Siden 1998 løb vi gennem hullet i<br />
nabohækken, ind og ud hos hinanden.<br />
I dag er hullet tilgroet og Cecilie og<br />
jeg har også begge skiftet skind. Vores<br />
symbiose er også lagt i skuffer inde<br />
på Borger.dk. Som om adresse-skiftet<br />
skiftede vores fælles skæl.<br />
I mit brev til dig gemte jeg det bedste<br />
til sidst, ville gerne nu dykke dybere<br />
ned i vores sporadiske samtale vi havde<br />
igår, den omkring børn. Ville egentlig<br />
gerne dykke ned i hvor let jeg synes<br />
du tog det da mit nagende spørgsmål<br />
om, hvorvidt du egentlig sådan gik og<br />
tænke på at få dine egne børn, hvot<br />
let du tog det, da det spørgsmål blev<br />
bøvset ud over skinnerne ned ved<br />
Skolebakken station på en tirsdag, og<br />
alt det andet der gjorde dagen til en<br />
tilfældig hverdag.<br />
Men Tam, jeg fortsætter brevet en<br />
anden dag.<br />
Nu skal jeg ud i Århus og finde frokost,<br />
og så skal vi to snakke eksamen og alt<br />
det vi gerne vil være i en eksamen.<br />
Kærligst,<br />
Nana Anine Jørgensen<br />
Nørrebrogade<br />
2200<br />
København<br />
Jeg er er også ret vild med breve.<br />
PAGE 32 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 33
I SEE SO MANY THINGS<br />
SONJA FERDINAND<br />
Kære Elizabeth<br />
Er jeg stadig ”the you” i<br />
dit brev? Eller ændrer den<br />
ændrede handlingsgang, jeg<br />
skriver og du læser, vores position?<br />
Bliver du til ”You” og jeg til mig,<br />
Sonja?<br />
Kære you,<br />
Det er Sonja, der skriver.<br />
På dansk findes det ikke et ord, der<br />
som you indeholder både den enkelte<br />
og de flere. Det er dig: den enkelte<br />
eller jer: de flere. OG MAN. Det<br />
forbandede ord man, der er ingen<br />
af delene. En sproglig konstruktion,<br />
der med usynlig selvfølgelighed gør<br />
den enkeltes erfaring til en kollektiv<br />
nødvendighed.<br />
Man vil jo have tryghed<br />
Dit brev, måden din skrift var en<br />
handling fik mig til at se tågen. Dit brev<br />
fik mig til at ønske mig tågens indtog.<br />
Den skulle komme rullende indover<br />
bakkerne. Larmende og stille.<br />
Voldelig og venlig. Painful, men<br />
også velkommen. Den skulle komme<br />
snigende opad af trappen, lægge sig<br />
mellem stolene i Broen, gøre det hårde<br />
blødt. Give de koloniserede seende<br />
øjne mælkede briller og gennem de<br />
mælkede briller, ville jeg se dig.<br />
Ikke helt noget, men heller ikke ikke<br />
noget.<br />
Du spurgte mig hvad jeg ser.<br />
THE NOT YOU YOU<br />
Kære you,<br />
I dit brev spurgte du hvad jeg ser.<br />
Er mit svar.<br />
Tåge. Tåge ser jeg. Som den var i<br />
morges henover markerne ved Mårslet.<br />
Et hængende gardin solen bedøvet så<br />
igennem. Som den er tilbagevendende<br />
på den her tid af året. Som den ændrer<br />
lyset. Som den indhyller morgener.<br />
Jeg ser tåge som den var, da jeg i en bil<br />
en søndag morgen udbrød: jeg elsker<br />
tågen. Et udsagn, der fik chaufføren,<br />
min måske i fremtiden elskede, til at<br />
afkræve en forklaring.<br />
Hvad ser du?<br />
”Hvorfor? ”<br />
Var spørgsmålet. Og jeg svarede:<br />
” Tågen får verden til at ændre form.”<br />
PAGE 34 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 35
KONTRAKTMODELLEN OG DEN<br />
FØRSTE INDSKYDELSE<br />
NANA ANINE<br />
KKære Sonja Ferdinand, Datter<br />
af en billedkunstner og<br />
barnebarn af en nomade-forskende<br />
etnolog,<br />
Jeg fik trang til at konkretisere dig.<br />
Trang til at fortælle dig hvor meget<br />
det er dig jeg skriver til. Okay, men<br />
min første indskydelse af hvordan jeg<br />
ville konkretisere dig, var altså via din<br />
såkaldte stamtavle. Jeg lader det stå<br />
her på papiret, selvom det slet ikke har<br />
den klang af empowerment jeg ledte<br />
efter.<br />
Nå, men jeg valgte altså at gå to<br />
led ned af stigen på din mors side<br />
af familien, både som et forsigtigt<br />
opråb mod det egentlige formål<br />
af stamtavlen, nemlig at hylde en<br />
generation af forfædre. Men jeg valgte<br />
nok mest af gå ned af stigen, ned<br />
ad din mors side af familien som en<br />
hyldest til den Ferdinand i dig som jeg<br />
ved, du har et særligt forhold til.<br />
Sonja Ferdinand<br />
Idag er jeg lidt stået op af sengen på<br />
en sådan måde at jeg som sagt vælger<br />
at gå med min første indskydelse.<br />
Måske har det noget at gøre med<br />
de evige glas vin vi drak igår udenfor<br />
Mårslet, måske har det noget at gøre<br />
med min evige fejlen til at gå i seng når<br />
jeg burde.<br />
Her vælger jeg nu at dvæle, ved denne<br />
planlagte indskydelse af ordet “burde”<br />
da det er lidt sådan et ord jeg altid har<br />
synes man burde destruere.<br />
Nok lidt på samme måde som nogle<br />
mennesker har det med ord i kursiv,<br />
og andre har det med den danske<br />
betydning af ordet “man”.<br />
“Burde” er et ord der fortæller noget<br />
der skal gøres men det gjorde man ikke<br />
alligevel, og det bør gøres men det er<br />
ikke noget man har lyst til at gøre, og<br />
ting der skal gøres efterlader ingen<br />
udvej, men hvis man bør gøre det, så<br />
betyder det at man ikke skal.<br />
og<br />
og<br />
Kære Husejer,<br />
Med de nye, firbenede beboere der<br />
som en lokal manifestation af en<br />
inflation æder din isolation,<br />
Læs med nedenfor om min plan om at<br />
tro på kontraktmodellen,<br />
og<br />
Kære Smukke Væsen,<br />
Der er gået i vinterhi,<br />
Jeg vælger at se sommeren og<br />
smilende og den lethed ferien også<br />
var, som “hjemmet” i en Hjemme - Ude<br />
-Hjemme Model.<br />
Jeg vælger at se the sluggish grey<br />
which is clinging to malleable places of<br />
our brains som den prøvelse, modellen<br />
foreslår at “Ude” bringer med sig.<br />
Ser du også dit navn på tavlen?<br />
Eller har du ligesom Tam trang til at<br />
viske bogstaverne ud og skrive dem<br />
på ny?<br />
og<br />
Kære You,<br />
You who dislike the Danish “man”,<br />
“En sproglig konstruktion, der med<br />
usynlig selvfølgelighed gør den<br />
enkeltes erfaring til en kollektiv<br />
nødvendighed”, skriver du. Jeg nikker<br />
og ler.<br />
“Man vil have tryghed”, fortsætter<br />
du med fed. Jeg tilføjer et “d” i<br />
sætningen, og lader den hænge der.<br />
Kære Tåge-elskende,<br />
Med en fremtidig, mulig elskende ved<br />
rattet,<br />
Her vil jeg bare gerne dvæle lidt og<br />
lade dig se mig stå med varme, åbne<br />
arme skråle “Hit it!”<br />
Jeg vælger at se, at vi kommer<br />
hjem igen. Hjem til alle grinende og<br />
overfloden af smeltet fløde, alt imens<br />
vi går gaderne tynde med hovederne<br />
fyldt af fed tåge.<br />
Kære,<br />
Du spørger mig hvad jeg ser.<br />
I see a shared mirror, where we can<br />
reflect in each other’s liquid knowledge.<br />
Jeg ser dig for lige præcis den du<br />
vælger jeg skal se dig som.<br />
Du må vælge og vrage alle mine<br />
forslag.<br />
Jeg vil se jer allesammen.<br />
PAGE 36 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 37
JULIE I EN BABYS FEDTFOLDER<br />
SONJA FERDINAND<br />
Kære Nana,<br />
I<br />
andre er allerede gået i<br />
gang med at skrive, jeg kan<br />
høre de ivrige tastelyde<br />
gennem musikken i mine<br />
høretelefoner, før jeg får tænkt en eneste<br />
tanke.<br />
Det er et brev fra SU-folkene, der<br />
forstyrrer. Ikke en afslutning, men en<br />
fortsættelse. Hvis det ikke var fordi,<br />
at jeg har andre ting jeg hellere vil<br />
fortælle dig, ville du få min gengivelse<br />
af mailen og det svar jeg skulle<br />
anstrenge mig for ikke bare var et<br />
langt råb fra de rødglødende dybder<br />
af mit indre. Åh, bare at skrive det<br />
her får min kinder til at blive varme (<br />
LORTE RØVHULLER). Nej! Undskyld.<br />
PIKSPILLENDE IDIOTER. Nej, altså<br />
undskyld Nana.<br />
Det er jo helt andre ting jeg ville skrive<br />
til dig om. Cecilie blandt andre. Den<br />
eneste Cecilie jeg kender ( eller altså<br />
for nu mange år siden er jeg blevet<br />
undervist af den originale Cecilie.<br />
Andreas’ Cecilie. Eller Cecilie, der har<br />
Andreas. Og nu hilser vi på hinanden,<br />
når vi støder på hinanden til premierer<br />
og sådan. Sidste gang det skete havde<br />
hun fået pandehår og så yngre ud,<br />
langt yngre end da jeg for år siden<br />
blevet undervist af hende og hun var<br />
yngre) var en pige, jeg gik i folkeskole<br />
med. Cecilie.<br />
Hun havde en storebror. Han hed<br />
Lasse, gik i min søsters klasse. Det var<br />
Cecilie. Jeg er Sonja. Eller før der var<br />
Sonja, var der Julie. Hun døde i 1989.<br />
Det eneste spor hun har efterladt er<br />
det overstreget navn i min dåbsattest.<br />
JULIE.<br />
Det var min mormor, der mente at<br />
Sonja spåede en dårlig fremtid. Sonja<br />
hang nede på socialkontoret. Ikke<br />
Sonja, sagde hun og min mor lyttede.<br />
I 6 måneder lyttede hun indtil barnet,<br />
der dengang hed Julie talte højere.<br />
SKREG. Vrængede af navnet. Det<br />
påklistrede navn. For det var jo Sonja.<br />
Eller det, der skulle blive Sonja. Og<br />
ja Julie. Hun suttede ikke på flasken<br />
på samme grådige måde som Sonja<br />
gjorde. Fik aldrig raserianfald og<br />
næseblod som Sonja gjorde.<br />
Julie voksede op i et et-plans hus med<br />
en friseret græsplæne i giftgrønne<br />
farver. Om sommeren kørte familien<br />
på Camping Ferie i Frankrig. Og under<br />
et cyprus træ, da var cirka 12 fik hun<br />
sit første kys af en to ældre dreng.<br />
Francois hed han. Smagte af cigaretter.<br />
Duftede af hengemte citroner.<br />
HOLD UP! Jeg har lige fået en<br />
meddelelse fra SU. Det er fikset. Åh,<br />
DET VIDUNDERLIGE. Fuck, Nana hvor<br />
kan jeg slappe lidt af nu. Puha.<br />
Nåh, men det var jo Julie vi kom<br />
fra. Hun døde jo. Eller hun blevet<br />
begravet i fedtfolderne på en baby<br />
nogen kaldte Sonja. Måske findes<br />
erindringen om hende stadig i voksne<br />
Sonjas hudfolder.? Julie, der gik fra<br />
folkeskolen direkte i gymnasiet, sad<br />
på anden række og i gennemsnit rakte<br />
hånden op fem gange i løbet af en<br />
time.<br />
Hun løb 5 km tre gange om ugen og<br />
havde langt mellemblond hun satte<br />
op i en hestehale. Hun grinede med<br />
næsten lukket mund og smilede på<br />
de fleste billeder med hovedet på<br />
skrå. Da en Mathias i 3.G kyssede<br />
hende, kyssede hun tilbage og det var<br />
så nemt, at tage valget om det skulle<br />
være de to. De skulle bo i en lejlighed,<br />
få deres uddannelse, få deres arbejde,<br />
få deres børn og huset. Et et-plans hus<br />
med en friseret græsplæne i giftgrønne<br />
farver. Julie.<br />
Som jeg ikke er. Hun er min noneksistens.<br />
Hende jeg spænder ud som<br />
et lagen og kaster Sonja op imod.<br />
Sonja i opposition til Julie. Det ikke,<br />
der gør noget andet til. Var det ikke<br />
det Cecilie ( den originale Cecilie )<br />
skrev om?<br />
Mindre navlepillende. Mere verden.<br />
Mindre privilegeret fravælgelse af det<br />
jeg ikke vil være. Mere verdenssyn.<br />
Nana, hvem er du ikke?<br />
PAGE 38 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 39
SNEKUGLEN<br />
TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
Kære S,<br />
Jeg er ikke Nana.<br />
Men jeg<br />
er måske<br />
en del<br />
det os,<br />
som Elizabeth inviterer os til at rette<br />
fokus mod og betragte mere indgående.<br />
En repræsentant af en art. En<br />
rolle, jeg tillader mig at besætte for nu.<br />
Du sidder i efterårsmørket og ser os<br />
i øjnene. Du mindes et andet ansigt.<br />
Det selvsamme ansigt, der så ganske<br />
anderledes ud. En sommer for få dage<br />
siden. Et helt andet år. Munden i det<br />
ansigt. Lyden af latter. Et sommersmil<br />
i en glohed hovedstad. En tunge,<br />
der slikker dryppende flødeis af<br />
hænderne, mens sporvogne ruller<br />
larmende forbi. Og Nana stiller det<br />
farlige spørgsmål om børn. Og hun får<br />
et svar, der måske er tilfredsstillende.<br />
Måske ikke kun smertefuldt, men også<br />
forløsende. Måske for den ene af os.<br />
Et presserende behov for at fortælle<br />
netop dét til netop dén anden. Netop<br />
dén dag.<br />
Netop den dag. Som også blev i<br />
morgen og alle andre dage derefter.<br />
Den italienske restaurants evige<br />
stilstand. Men bare rolig. Det er en<br />
løgn. For tiden går faktisk, og det er<br />
ved at blive vinter. En vinter, der knap<br />
er begyndt, før mørket er trængt ind<br />
i vores begyndende rynker og har<br />
tilført vores ansigter en vis mængde<br />
dysterhed. I mine rynker sidder også<br />
mindet om en magtfuld mand, der fik<br />
alt for meget af mig. Der fik hele min<br />
ungdom. Men det er så svært at sige.<br />
Det er så svært at sætte ord på. Så jeg<br />
klemmer læberne sammen i håb om, at<br />
I ser, at jeg hører og forstår jer.<br />
Med vinteren kommer stilheden.<br />
Sneens lammende, lydisolerende<br />
dyne i snekuglens indkapslede<br />
øjebliksbillede. Så står vi ligesom<br />
der med alle vores talenter. Så står vi<br />
ligesom der og virker så uvirkelige,<br />
mens snefnug daler så yndigt omkring<br />
os. Så står vi og venter på den<br />
guldbillet, der er blevet os lovet, og<br />
nyder godt af den illusoriske sikkerhed,<br />
der er herinde i glaskuglen. Til den<br />
bliver rystet igen.<br />
Jo, du har ret. Vi kan kræve at blive<br />
hørt. Kræve den der ret og prøve<br />
at råbe op. Vi kan banke hårdt på<br />
indersiden af glasset. Vi kan blæse<br />
vores fugtigvarme ånde på den iskolde<br />
rude og skrive spejlvendte beskeder<br />
til verden udenfor. Vi kunne sætte<br />
fingerspidsen på glasset og lade den<br />
føre vores hånd, til der står skrevet<br />
LYT TIL OS’ i duggen. For vi er jo de<br />
skrivende, ikke sandt? Ordet må jo<br />
være vejen for os. Vi kunne se på<br />
hinanden i det delte spejl, som glasset<br />
udgør. Eller vi kunne sætte tungen på<br />
glasset og sidde fast et øjeblik i den<br />
der lykke, det er at hænge sammen<br />
med noget.<br />
Eller vi kan skrige rigtig højt og<br />
skingrende. Og så gøre som Nana og<br />
takke vores stemmebånd for deres<br />
enorme styrke, der endelige fik lov at<br />
komme til orde, nu da vi fik løst den<br />
forbandede tungeknude.<br />
Men før vi retter blikket og stemmen<br />
udad og kræver at blive hørt og set,<br />
så vil jeg stå her i sneen og hviske<br />
gennem stilheden til dig. Jeg hvisker:<br />
Det er ikke din skyld. Akne. Rotter.<br />
Manglende SU. Det er ikke din skyld.<br />
Liderlige mænd. Det er ikke din<br />
skyld. Frygt ikke, at det er din skyld,<br />
når snekuglen bliver rystet igen. Lad<br />
ikke frygten spille hovedrollen, som<br />
Elizabeth så smukt siger.<br />
PAGE 40 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 41
SPIRIT<br />
ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
Dear Nana,<br />
Somehow it turns out <strong>that</strong><br />
in this switching of bodies,<br />
it is our representation<br />
of you, the ones who answer a letter<br />
written for you, not intrusively and not<br />
meddling in private correspondence<br />
but intentionally going back to the part<br />
of your memory of <strong>that</strong> trip to Berlin<br />
where we weren’t, walking in streets<br />
of fog, like looking at a nonexistent<br />
postcard because Sonja of course was<br />
having so much fun she kept forgetting<br />
to charge her phone and so here we are<br />
at the entrance of a bridge somewhere<br />
imaginary in Berlin, in an autumn<br />
day <strong>that</strong> only happened for you<br />
two, observing the unreal, the stark<br />
contrast, the perception.<br />
And here you are, reading us answer a<br />
letter meant for you. For the you <strong>that</strong><br />
is us.<br />
So, I need to start this letter again.<br />
I already know it will be painful, but I<br />
hope it’s more than <strong>that</strong>. I will begin<br />
this time, by saying:<br />
Dear us...<br />
There’s something ingrained in the<br />
archetype of woman, which has the<br />
shape of splinters. They’re called<br />
guilt. WE didn’t put them there, in<br />
OUR bodies, in OUR minds, in OUR<br />
tired spirits. They were put there by<br />
OTHERS. Subjugation leads to silence<br />
and shame, it leads to compliance, it<br />
leads to control. When we walk, these<br />
splinters sink deeper into our feet, (into<br />
our entire list of body parts, which<br />
reflects in our behavior, you would<br />
probably add, Nana) and wherever<br />
we go we navigate the world carrying<br />
deep pain constantly, guilt <strong>that</strong> others<br />
put upon us, splinters of guilt in our<br />
sexuality, our writing, our image of<br />
self, our behaviour towards others,<br />
our understanding of administrative<br />
procedures, our dreams, our desires,<br />
our expectations, how we negotiate<br />
our future and choose to move and<br />
exist in these spaces. This too relates<br />
to identity. Others might ask, why we<br />
are so tired or in defense mode, but<br />
<strong>that</strong>’s because not everyone gets the<br />
same share of splinters.<br />
Some, we see, and reject, and get rid<br />
of. But some splinters are too painful<br />
to even look at, so we just carry them.<br />
‘Det er ikke din skyld’ is one of them<br />
for me. It is a phrase someone I once<br />
loved left behind in a letter for me,<br />
before leaving, and <strong>that</strong>’s as far as I<br />
will go into <strong>that</strong> story. Snow and fire<br />
and earthquakes and heartbreak are<br />
not our fault, rats and bad economy,<br />
broken shoes, broken relationships<br />
and scraped knees are not our fault,<br />
but sometimes they feel like somehow,<br />
WE willed them into existence. For<br />
many years I carried <strong>that</strong> letter as a<br />
confirmation of the many things I could<br />
have done to be a better human, as<br />
if those words were somehow a joke<br />
saying the opposite and pushing<br />
themselves forever into my spirit. Now<br />
the letter is folded in <strong>that</strong> corner where<br />
I keep objects too painful to look at,<br />
but the splinter is still there/here.<br />
Dear Cecilie, I can share with you now<br />
of this one other splinter I must carry<br />
because of “choosing” a life in Nordic<br />
countries. For every book you’ve read<br />
your entire life <strong>that</strong> spoke to you, I’ve<br />
read a book <strong>that</strong> <strong>never</strong> saw me. When<br />
you study now these books by people<br />
of color and marvel at the feeling of<br />
<strong>that</strong> which wasn’t written for you,<br />
the toppings of priviledge, I think<br />
of otherness. What is the antonym<br />
of being marveled? I am reminded<br />
once again of every time no one has<br />
spoken for or to me, which is why I<br />
write desperately, fiercely, constantly,<br />
because I know someone out there can<br />
be reflected in my stories. Thank you<br />
for reminding me of rage and purpose.<br />
<strong>We</strong> could, indeed, scream very loud,<br />
and shrill, and do rituals of selfreclamation.<br />
<strong>We</strong> could give the silent<br />
treatment. <strong>We</strong> could let go and watch<br />
things dissolve organically, but <strong>that</strong><br />
would probably not be of much help<br />
since everything tends to decay on<br />
its own. <strong>We</strong> could write letters to the<br />
prime minister, but I prefer writing<br />
them to you. <strong>We</strong> could allow ourselves<br />
to be vulnerable (daring to get out of<br />
<strong>that</strong> snowball you write of, Tam, to see<br />
the world for what it is, has been my<br />
own act of rebellion to face life). Or we<br />
could zoom in to look at one thing at a<br />
time and try to decompress it, to count<br />
its teeth, to pet it, to see what it sounds<br />
like when it hits a glass, write about it<br />
and make it our mascot.<br />
In “Hierbas contra la tristeza” (Herbs<br />
against sadness) Yadira López (Oaxaca,<br />
MX, 2018) shares recipes to fight the<br />
oppression manifested in our bodies<br />
through anxiety and sadness among<br />
other ailments.<br />
She speaks of how often identities<br />
become silenced and annulled in their<br />
own territories by oppressors. A body<br />
is a territory. She speaks of women as<br />
a legion who originate from sadness<br />
but also carry the knowledge of<br />
generations of women who dealt with<br />
these oppressions and sadnesses in<br />
various ways, art included.<br />
One of the pages in her recipe book,<br />
speaks of lavender. (see right).<br />
She says all we need to do, is put a<br />
little bit of lavender under our pillow<br />
each night, and this will help relieve<br />
tension, release the difficulties of<br />
communicating with ourselves, and<br />
remove fear. I do not know <strong>that</strong> fear<br />
needs to be removed, but it certainly<br />
deserves nurturing too.<br />
Dear Tam, Nana, Sonja, Cecilie,<br />
Andreas, me, you, us…<br />
These words, in reality<br />
are just lavender flowers<br />
hoping to do<br />
what flowers do.<br />
PAGE 42 | NO, WE DIDN’T SAY THAT THAT WAS NEVER SAID | PAGE 43
SONJA FERDINAND<br />
Dramatiker. Færdiguddannet fra Den Danske<br />
Scenekunstskole i 2019 og debuterede samme<br />
år med forestillingen Klædt Af og har senest haft<br />
premiere på forestillingen Mørkt Forår. Ofte men ikke<br />
altid efterstræber hun at dramatisere det øjeblik, hvor<br />
et menneskes verdensopfattelse støder frontalt ind<br />
i et andet menneskes verdensopfattelse. Ofte men<br />
ikke altid føles det i hendes værker som om nogen<br />
løber mod afgrund. Nogen gang falder noget fra<br />
hinanden. Tit blandes virkelighed med fiktion.<br />
ELIZABETH TORRES<br />
Colombia (1987). Poet, multimedia artist, cultural<br />
organizer and literary translator. Founder of Red Door<br />
Magazine. Director of the Poetic Phonotheque. Author<br />
of over 20 books of poetry in various languages.<br />
Ambroggio Prize Winner 2022 by the Academy of<br />
American Poets. Collector of sunsets and typewriters.<br />
www.madam<strong>never</strong>stop.com<br />
TAM VIBBERSTOFT<br />
Tam Vibberstoft er performer og storyteller og<br />
skaber rituelle, tværæstetiske oplevelsesværker i<br />
krydsfeltet mellem scenekunst, film, lyd, poesi og<br />
historiefortælling.Tam har udgivet musik i bandet<br />
Nelson Can og med kunstnerduoen Apperaat,<br />
samt skabt en lang række film og performances.<br />
www.tamvibberstoft.dk<br />
NANA ANINE<br />
Dancer, performer, storyteller also working<br />
as a dramaturg, choreographer, and crossdisciplinary<br />
collaborator.<br />
I am fascinated by the practices of storytelling<br />
within history, humanity, and on the microindividual<br />
perspective. Through physical<br />
interpretations, I work with honoring and<br />
retaining these practices throughout my work.<br />
ANDREAS LIEBMANN<br />
I am doing performance based<br />
artistic practice. This can unfold in<br />
different ways and collaborations -<br />
also outside the art field. My work<br />
is based on the establishment of<br />
trustful relations - which containts<br />
the openness to conflicts and diverse<br />
necessities. The artistic practice has<br />
in the last years evolved and invites<br />
more and more others into the space it<br />
creates. The users of the space are the<br />
artists - professional or not. For some<br />
collaborations I travel. If so, I try to take<br />
all used resources into consideration.<br />
Who does the family work when I am<br />
away? How can I travel on land? How<br />
can I stay present in the travelling time<br />
and not just let it pass with an ignorant<br />
mind? My work is a time consuming<br />
playful knitting with what surrounds<br />
me. The resistance it poses to the<br />
political and environmental context is<br />
soft and patient and passionate.<br />
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