yesterday morning i wrote (something didn’t work with the blog..)
Vulnerable. Feel so vulnerable today. Fragile. Tears. Something heavy on my shoulders. My action. Fragile. Like a cardhouse, shaking in the smallest wind. Don’t know anymore what I want to say, what it means for me. My links, my intention. The essential? Insecure. Stuck.
Sadness. Don’t even know where it comes from. It’s hard to carry ones wounds on the outside. Where do the tears come from? Theater. Process. Lost. Week strength.
Singing. Yesterday’s drop dripping in my ears. The sky. Beautiful house.
Celan (Chose two):
Stumme Herbstgerueche.
Die Sternblume, umgeknickt, ging zwischen Heimat
und Abgrund durch dein Gedaechtnis.
Eine fremde Verlorenhiet
war gestalthaft zugegen,
Du heattest beinah gelebt.
Sentori muti dell’autumno.
Non spezzato l'aster attraverso,
fra abisso e patria,
la tua memoria.
Uno strano abanudano
Tu presenza e figura,
tu per poco non vivevi.
....
Today:
Heavy.
“Eine fremde Verlorenheit war gestalthaft zugegen”
Sad to see everybody like that. Hard to not get touched.
Good to talk with the people and not to turn around in ones own head.
Still not sure about my action. Changed it. Will not tie Anton, but go back to the inicial circle drawing. Simple. My song about, seamen lost in the sea, diseas on the ship, alone. No help. Enclosed in the middle of the sea. Hopes like bubbles, destroyable in every second.Like the immigrants on the ships, which are not allowed to enter the land. Will see later, I don’t know. There is something, can not yet touch it. Not enough time. Deepness.
Hard not to drown in this heavy atmosphere. But today stronger than yesterday. Trying to do. Strong.
Trying to find some easiness.
Poem. Haiku.
Confusion. This morning it was hard to concentrate. Had to force myself to be there, also to support the others. The day before yesterday my legs were burning like fire during the exercises, tried to concentrate on the breath and the others. A sentence I read in one of Barba’s books from a japanese kabuki teacher came to my head, something like “pain is a good indicator, but doesn’t necesserely mean that you are doing it right”…
Many thoughts, a lot of inspiration, from the films “Underground” “the clowns” and today’s film of Angelopoulus, also from the visit of Fabios activist friend Pati yesterday; was quiet interesting. had to think about what he said about the Italian migrating movements and than about money circulating but people not. Than my own memories from the work with the theatre of the oppressed in Vienna and Paris. Hard to find a structure for myself, to concentrate on some images in particular. The text of Paul Celan, the melodie of the words, the picture he creates; the storys of everybody. The song, my song, try to like it. Imagejungle. Find actions..
Thinking about roots, called my parents to ask where my grandparents were born, surprised about the fact that my grandfather, from the side of my father, was born very near the polish border. I always thought he was from Bavaria. In the morning the fruit seller recognized that I am tedesca, didn’t like that, why? maybe because there is this side of Germany, like Robert’s story of the big car, with the tiger seats. Big german cars, economies, big roads, empty materialism. Lucky that there are other beautiful things as well.
To many thoughts today. Process.
1er/2nd jour:
Lecce. The little village, with the beautiful beige houses. Heat in the streets, feels good, makes me calm. In the theatre. Couldn’t wait to work. Yesterday my legs were trembling a lot during the tai chi, maybe because I was ill in rainy Munich. During the second part, the rhythm, I was very tired after the computer broke down. Its good to be with everyone, to get to know each other also outside the theatre, to connect. Laughing allowed. I feel much more comfortable than in the anonymous atmosphere in Paris. Strange, how places influence you. I ike the italian language, like a song.
Migration. I just learned about our topic, when I arrived. Actually I am happy that we don’t work about “les Perses”/war again, feels like a dark cloth, something heavy- had mixed feelings about it, maybe my own fears. Migration is a really strong topic, I worked with that a lot in Vienna, with a theatre group of migrants and Austrians, but more political than in ways of aesthetic. For me its one of the most interesting issues, somehow it touches me deep, something happens in my body, like glowing, a lot of anger, a lot of power, so much resistance in the society, so much questions. And no dialog. Is anger closing? Terra, casa, solitude, body - touched me, felt true.
Had to concentrate a lot today during the exercises. But the little distracting voice in my had about my own claims is much less present than in Paris- more with the others, less with myself. Curious about the work in the afternoon. Open.