Journal

We asked Museum of Human Emotion’s choreographers to answer a few questions from a personal point of view.
Here are Yen-Fang Yu’s answers.

. What is your favourite word in your mother tongue? Why? What does it mean?

I got stuck by the word “mother tongue.” So I looked it up on WIKIPEDIA:

“A first language, native tongue, native language, or mother/father/parent tongue (also known as arterial language or L1) is a language or dialect that a person has been exposed to from birth^[1] or within the critical period. In some countries, the term native language or mother tongue refers to the language of one’s ethnic group rather than one’s first language.”

I grew in between three language/dialects. Taiwanese ( mother’s side), Hakka ( father’s side), and Mandarin ( at school). When my parents were growing up, they were punished for speaking their mother tongues at school. The government made them believe that it is shameful to speak their mother tongue, and it is also shameful to speak mandarin with an accent. So I grew up listening to adults speaking their dialects, but they would try to converse with me in mandarin.

My favorite world in Hakka: “Voi” 會 I like this word because it is a compliment. When I do something good. ex. Helped my mother cook, or won a dance trophy, my grand parents will say this word to me loudly together.

My favorite word in Taiwanese: I don’t have a favorite word in Taiwanese. But I love to hear it and try to speak it because it is very lively. Phrases like, “liàn-tńg” 輪轉. Using the turning of wheel to describe fluency of someone’s language, or “lak-tshat” 落漆 Using falling paint to describe something not being done well.

I don’t like how I sound in Mandarin, but that is the most fluent language I speak.

. Is there a word in your mother tongue that is untranslatable in English to describe a particular emotion that you would like to share?

I think about Taiwanese phrase “giâ-kê” 夯枷. This is an action of putting heavy implement of punishment on someone. In Taiwanese, it is used to describe someone putting trouble on themselves. I think about it because sometime making art or asking essential questions kind of feels the same.

. Could you share a memory of a time where you were overwhelmed by a particular emotion while dancing or in front of a dance piece? What happened?

I made a piece for my father a year and a half after his passing. I embodied him to look for him inside of me.

. What puts you in motion these days?

Not sure what this means. If you mean taking action, then I think responsibility, curiosity, imagination, and emotion. If you mean dancing, a right tune or a nice shirt will do.

. Can you describe your most memorable place and how you spend (or spent) your time in the place?

In front of my grand mother’s fridge. I like standing in front of it expecting to see a full fridge of food almost exploding, and to smell very complex flavor rushing out towards me. I like that it’s always dark around so the light from the fridge made it even more like a treasure box. I like to remember that my grandma always has something I like hidden in the fridge waiting for my visit.

. How would you describe the dance of the city you live in?

I don’t know. People do all kinds of different physical activities in the city out of different reasons. Some would deny that they are dancing at all and insist that they are only doing exercises. For some of them, dancing is only for young and beautiful ladies, or for people who practiced and know it well.

I had fun thinking and searching and typing on my balcony.
The sun is beautiful this afternoon in Taipei.

Best,

Yen-Fang

We asked Museum of Human Emotion’s choreographers to answer a few questions from a personal point of view.
Here are Federica Dalla Pozza’s answers.

. What is your favourite word in your mother tongue? Why? What does it mean?
The first one that comes to my mind is ATLANTICO because sometimes when I pronounce it the TL combination and it makes a funny sound/sensation in my mouth! XD It means Atlantic. 

.Is there a word in your mother tongue that is untranslatable in English to describe a particular emotion that you would like to share?
Honestly, I had to look it up! And it seems that “Struggimento” is not translated in a single word: it is a sense of heartache that seems to gradually consume the body and spirit of those in love. Is it true? Or is there a word for it? 🙂
And there is a feeling that for us as Italian is well define and is when we say “Ti voglio Bene” that is not translatable in English. Is a very special kind of love: one that’s usually everlasting, encompassing, and definitely not just a romantic kind of love.

.Could you share a memory of a time where you were overwhelmed by a particular emotion while dancing or in front of a dance piece? What happened?
Few years ago I participate in a piece where the face was covered by a fabric and the rest of the costume was exposing big portions of skin in the legs and in the chest/belly. This condition was allowing me to perceive the outside stimuli in an enhanced and augmented way. The emotional mix of surprise and excitement of that performance I think is still the most overwhelming experience that I had on stage. 

.What puts you in motion these days?
I think Music in these days is the strongest engine for my movements! 

.Can you describe your most memorable place and how you spend (or spent) your time in the place? 
There’s a spot in Val Visdende, that is very dear to me, it is surrounded by nature and mountains, the Dolomites. I love it because during the day you can look at the 4 main directions and you see 4 beautiful landscapes. And during the night that same spot is the best if you want to lay down and look at the stars. Normally in the last years I was use to spend at least a week here for my vacation and this was the starting point and the arrival of all my trekkings. 

.How would you describe the dance of the city you live in?
If I think about a social dance the “Liscio” comes to my mind. I’m not an expert of it but as the name suggests, people with defined steps should slide smoothly on the dance floor! 🙂

Love

Federica

We asked Museum of Human Emotion’s choreographers to answer a few questions from a personal point of view.
Here are Aina Alegre’s answers.

. What is your favourite word in your mother tongue? Why? What does it mean?

ÀNIMA. Soul. This word comes from the Latin word spiritus, which derives from the verb “spirare” which is probably an onomatopoeia referring to the sound we make when we breathe. It also means “blowing,” “sighing,” and the ability to breathe. Related to the ability to breathe arises the “vital force”.

. Is there a word in your mother tongue that is untranslatable in English to describe a particular emotion that you would like to share? 

Rauxa  
is a catalan old word, which is difficult to translate… There are possible translations, such as: Sudden determination, capricious thinking, cramp, impulse.
But that’s not quite it, it’s an energy word that’s hard to describe. There is a mystery about this word.

. Could you share a memory of a time where you were overwhelmed by a particular emotion while dancing or in front of a dance piece? What happened? 
I think over and over again of a piece in which there is rain throughout the show and the setting gradually crumbles under the force of the rain. There is a dancer alone on the stage, who walks around and does a series of actions in this space.
I remember very well a mixture of emotions as a spectator… I was overcome by a very strong feeling of melancholy.

. What puts you in motion these days? 
Rhythm and space

. Can you describe your most memorable place and how you spend (or spent) your time in the place?
To be in front of the sea. Just watching and just listening.
Because it becomes easy to do nothing, to just be there, in presence. 

. How would you describe the dance of the city you live in?
It is a hybrid dance, made up of several almost opposing gestures and physicalities.
It is very influenced by the different energies of the day world and the night world. It is shrill and electric.  

MERCI! 

aina 

We asked Museum of Human Emotion’s choreographers to answer a few questions from a personal point of view.
Here are Chan Wai Lok’s answers.

. What is your favourite word in your mother tongue? Why? What does it mean?

靈 It can means soul and also efficacious. For Chinese characters, they are usually formulated by a group of words. For this word, the upper part is 雨 (it means rain), the middle part is 口口口 ( it means three mouths), and the bottom part is 巫 (it means wizard). Something funny popped up then: A wizard whispers and then rain comes.

. Is there a word in your mother tongue that is untranslatable in English to describe a particular emotion that you would like to share?
黯然. While I am not sure if there are any advanced English words to describe what it means, but these two Chinese characters represent a very mixed feeling and also body conditions. If it is translated to English, it may take some combination of words for delivering the exact meaning. 


. Could you share a memory of a time where you were overwhelmed by a particular emotion while dancing or in front of a dance piece? What happened?
I once watched a drag show and I observed a lot of self-empowerment and self-identity work. I feel like so powerful and glad that they empower themselves as what they are and they are doing. The moments are overwhelming and blessed.. What puts you in motion these days?

. What puts you in motion these days?
No time to die.

. Can you describe your most memorable place and how you spend (or spent) your time in the place?
Memories shift along with time. In a particular time, at a particular place, I recollect some important memories, that may sometimes be forgotten, from what I am experiencing.

. How would you describe the dance of the city you live in?
It’s like Thursday. There is no Monday Blue, but looking forward to Friday Fiesta. But it’s still Thursday now (seems endlessly).

Best,

Wai Lok

Picture – The lonesome changing room, Installation by Chan Wai Lap

PROCESS

Going up to Arte Stella closer to the mountains.
In the morning, Luisella and Sara suggest some ways for us to share the outcomes from Dancing Museums.

Outcomes are different to outputs, it means being closer to the process, considering a motion that is still in progress and not necessarily seen immediately after the end of the project’s activity.

I’m looking up online where the word process comes from. From the Latin form ‘processus’.
Processus comes from an anatomical term, it relates to an expansion attached to an organ or a growth. It can be part of a bone, a cavity, a crease. It relates to the action and articulation of a muscle.
We can speak about ‘vertebrae processus’ in the back for instance.

The way I see it, process enables the articulation of the whole human body, making it move, dance, walk, be alive.

LIQUID LANDSCAPE

Walking, to discover Arte Stella’s art installations amid the trees, paths and open clearings.
Hidden in the green grass we stumble upon Liquid Landscape, a piece made by Daan Roosegaarde.
The grass seems to be moving as if a tide is going back and forth below the surface of the earth.
Lying on our backs, jumping, running around, laughing, trying out acrobatics, the team stay there for a long time, joyfully spending our visit here in unplanned and shared choreography.

The act of remembering can be a very active gesture.
A dynamic movement made in time and space.
“To remember” for philosopher Donna Harraway could be read as to re-member, to put back together.
When thinking about a body, it means putting back the pieces together, trying to make it whole, dignified again.

Ana Pi is taking us back, to memories and past experiences.
As we walk through Museo Civico in Bassano del Grappa, we are suddenly brought back to past residencies in Vitry-sur-Seine.
Re-membering

A soul train at La Briqueterie on a festive night shared with Lá da Favelinha.

Kader Attia’s reparation line at the entrance of MAC VAL, mirrored in a crack in the floor in Bassano.

A little girl called Destiny taking the dancefloor at La Briqueterie.

An exercise to hold the pose, made online during lock down times proposed by Ana, made now inside the museum. Staying put for 8 minutes and 46 seconds in a position challenging to hold. This is the exact amount of time George Floyd stayed under the knee of the policeman who killed him in 2019. A spine-chilling moment every time.

Walking outside, standing in a circle in the cloister, each one of us is invited to share a scar, and a statement in the middle. It takes some time to heal and to recognize the process of injury Ana says.
“Missing Europe” are the words Betsy shares in the middle. Remembering that UK was part of an European project when we began.

Re-membering by being here this afternoon and closing the time of our presence here with this word, which entices us to be active in the ways we can hold memories and missing or untold stories close to our hearts and bodies.

8 October 2021 at Museo Civico in Bassano del Grappa – Afternoon

In the afternoon Eleanor is sharing a film from afar, Darkness: She was the Universe* made by Ben Harriott and Amanda Russell at Newstead Abbey in the summer of 2021.
This film was made as part of mayfield brooks’ and Mary Pearson’s interdisciplinary dance project How to Be Afraid?, which investigates the afterlife of the transatlantic slave in relation to body, time and space.
You can watch the film here.

I write down these words after the viewing:

raw
heritage
giving the mic
sharing the space
making space
create uncomfortable situations
scare
itch

Then it is Tereza’s turn to propose something‧ We are back outside in the cloister‧ She asks us to bring phones and headphones and to please press PLAY on 1, 2, 3 at the same time to start the audio guide she prepared altogether.
Tereza’s voice, and then other people’s voices, invite us to make some movements, some decisions, some choices. Imagination opens up. The weather is nice. It is a very soft moment.

I write down afterwards:

touchée
being touched
close
being home
sharing the space
listening to comforting voices
a very soft and deep moment
soft eyes
in the present
feeling welcome
small gestures
une attention très fine

what stays with us and what can be shared is these kind of moments.
Faces, feelings, smiles.
A gesture. Looking someone in the eyes. More smiles, feet in the grass, lying down, seeing the emotions coming to somebody’s eyes as well.

8 October 2021 at Museo Civico in Bassano del Grappa – Still Morning

Masako and Sara Lando’s suggested we go through Museo Civico, guided by our own personal likes and approaches. We are invited to walk, draw and listen to music on our phones at the same time, in the space. We then trade our soundtrack with someone else, who then listens to our music.
In another room we prepare an audio tour, made to measure for someone we have been paired with. We are in a blue room, dimly lit. The floor is made out of a mirroring material. The paintings are reflected on the floor like they would be on water. I prepare this small audio guide for Susanne Franco. I describe the rainbows that the light is making on the floor to her – the reflections, the calm sensation. I ask her some questions.

Susanne is guiding me through a phone call in the temporary exhibition, indicating cardinal points, orientation, measuring the space and describing the artworks with her own feelings and interpretation.

What Masako and Sara Lando are facilitating here is a space for shared intimacy, conducting a visit from one’s own experience and bringing something of what makes it individual into the experience of being guided through an institutional space. It reminds me of yesterday’s conference, when Anna Chiara Cimoli spoke about how a museum can be a place made of people, of their desires, their knowledge, their stories, how we could build an entire museum upon that. The human dimension of it. We become guides.

8 October 2021 at Museo Civico in Bassano del Grappa – Morning

SOFT

It is a very soft arrival at Museo Civico in Bassano this morning.
In the open-air, feet standing in the grass of the old cloister, a group of elderly people is dancing a kind of soft meditation. Movement, peace, another type of concentration is already existing here in the space, to welcome us. No space is ever empty, even an empty museum in lockdown times, there is always secret or invisible entities.

WARM

Then a very warm welcome, by Roberto, Greta, for the whole team. Hugging, saying “hellos” and “good to see you” in different languages. We often talk about temperature in Dancing Museums. Ana Pi talks about how to bring warmth to a cold place, and it can be as simple as smiling at someone or offering them a chair to sit on. Warmth was overwhelming when everyone arrived this morning – some people embraced, fell into each other’s arms, touching hands. It’s good to finally see you here. I was wondering when I could hug you again. Ariadne says to me that it is nice to actually see people, feel them move in the space outside of a Zoom frame, see the whole of their body and their relation to space. Some of us have only met online so far.

“If you’re warm enough there is a dedicated place to leave your belongings to walk through the museum,” Roberto indicates. We talked of the importance of having a green room when being welcomed to work somewhere, a place to sit, lay, sleep, snack, rest, as Ingrid pointed out yesterday during the conference. A space away from the attention.

Then, starting upstairs in the museum rooms with Masako and her baby boy.
A collective warm-up centred around moving our pelvis in the infinity shape, in circles, up and down. A powerful move, loosening up, warming the space and the body. Smiling. Closing the eyes gently. Grooving to the music playing loud now from the speaker. I’m zooming out of the situation for a brief moment thinking this should be a possible experience for a visitor in a museum: creating a mini-party, moving your pelvis around to the sound of music. It clearly and visibly lightens the mood.

Walking in the space after the warm-up I feel drawn to details in the paintings‧ The colours, the fabrics – the thick velvet of a cape, the light and shiny silk of a dress. Warm colours.

In light of Dancing Museums, some art works stand out in relation to the movement in the space or the questions we have in our minds at a particular time.

– what is the temperature of the room?

Arriving at Museo Civico in Bassano del Grappa. Hugging, meeting, seeing each other outside of the screens.

On the subject of collecting traces and experiences.
Here are some words, conveying sensations and impressions brought by the several exercises proposed by the six choreographers during the online Final Conference.

– Masako’s exploration of the space with cardinal points
– Quim’s choreography made by all of us online from the steps kids sent from Barcelona
– Eleanor and Ingrid sharing of sensitive memories related to body parts
– Tereza’s Silent audio guide excerpt
– Ana’s talk from the airport

What stays within the frame of such a large research-based project?

Moments, anecdotes, memories, feelings, sounds, smells, gestures, sensations. In the space, both virtual and physical, in the bodies, in-between shared, collective and individual experiences.

Maybe these words can just begin to grasp the fleeting essence of a project based on human relationships, living, breathing and experimenting.

Here are some outcomes, big and small gestures, that were shared online during the Final Conference by Eleanor Sikorski and Ingrid Berger Myrhe.
The complete text can be read on Eleanor’s website.

FEET – I am lying on the floor in an empty museum. I’m on my stomach, reading. Rotterdam is in lockdown, but I have been allowed into the exhibition spaces to continue my research for Dancing Museums. There’s no one here. No visitors, that is. But protocol requires me to have a security staff member with me at all times. This constant companionship feels strangely intimate, something between a babysitter and a bodyguard. They take turns watching me work, read, dance, sleep, think, sing. Today, Irma, a 52 year old woman, is with me. When we first entered the space, she stayed nearby. Now, an hour has passed and as I am still lying here, reading, she has politely withdrawn, keeping to the periphery of the room. I can hear her circling the space, discreetly, at an appropriate distance. I listen to the sound of her steps, her heels clicking, resonating loudly as the only sound in the room. A calm, steady pace. She is wandering. Now she stops. Is she looking at the artwork? Is she enjoying it? It seems to me we are both working hard to leave each other alone, whilst reassuring each other that we are both here. Sometimes I clear my throat out loud on purpose, as if to signal that I’m still alive, still ok. She answers by clicking. Her feet become a minimal auditive landscape, becomes gps signals, morse-codes, heartbeats, my grandparents clock, a pendulum, an anchor, a safety net, a concert. It is lunch time, and I close my books and let Irma take me to the cantine. As she opens the door for me she says: “I hope I wasn’t disturbing you. Tomorrow, I will wear other shoes”.  INGRID

EYES – I am at Newstead Abbey. Two of the artists, Mary and mayfield, Abi (who works for the city museums but does not normally work on site), Becky (who works at Dance4) and myself are wandering the unfamiliar corridors of the old stately home, trying to map the route that the audience will take. It’s just two days before covid restrictions lift in the UK, but we still have to split the audience into three small groups for safety. The groups need to walk through the old house to see the films and installations on display. Each group will take the same circular route at the same time, each starting in a different point along the circle, never crossing paths. The building, however, is not circular, so the idea of a circular route is purely theoretical. None of us know the building well enough to work it out, I’m trying to draw a map in my mind’s eye, but it’s hard to visualise. Then we come across Jonny who works as a caretaker on site. He’s the kind of person who pops up everywhere, he’s always in sight, high up, fixing a roof or appearing with exactly the right key after hearing our request on the walkie talkie system. We let him know our dilemma. Immediately he understands and plots the route in his head. I write it down on a piece of paper, slowly understanding the plan he is making. We get stuck on one obstacle, getting two groups to go up and down some stairs at the same time… ‘Oh’, Jonny says, ‘you can use the secret staircase.’ He turns to his left, to a wood panelled wall, pushes a small metal disc embedded into the wood and the panels spring open. It’s a hidden door. The circle is complete. ELEANOR

HAND – I am at Bundeskunsthalle in Bonn. We have just completed a two-day marathon of 13 performances, and we are packing up – gathering all of our props – ready to leave. The performance we’ve just done  features a small rubber crocodile figure, not bigger than a couple of centimeters – it easily fits inside a closed fist. Despite it’s miniscule size it has somehow become an important protagonist of our artistic intervention, and now – we can’t find it! It is half an hour till the museum closes, on our last day in Bonn. Time is of the essence. Now, for a by-stander, this tiny object must seem insignificant, trivial and totally replaceable. But the receptionist of the Bundeskunsthalle takes our loss very seriously. She assures us: “Don’t worry. We will find the crocodile”. And together we begin a search. She summons security and mobilises staff. She writes a note and hangs it on the door of the lockers: “Lieber Besucher/in. Haben sie das Krokodil gezehen? Vielen Dank im Voraus.”  5 minutes before closing, a guest approaches the reception desk and says: Is this the missing crocodile? I found it in the locker. Upon departure, we give the crocodile back to the museum as a thank you for their efforts and their hospitality. INGRID

NOSE – Ash is the gardener who works at Newstead. We got to know him over the course of the residencies. Mary wanted to use some cuttings from the garden to dance with. She asked if there was any garden waste that she could use. Ash said he’d look into it. He turned up the next morning with a crate full of freshly cut plants for us to have. Pink and orange roses, small white flowers, long sticks of purple sage, dill, fresh thyme, rosemary, purple thistles, bushy clusters of yellow flowers and more. The smell was amazingly strong and lasted for days as the cuttings dried. ELEANOR

LOWER BACK – At some point during my residencies I considered getting a step counting app. I walked so much. I crossed the museums in all kinds of unthinkable ways. From the lockers where I kept my computer and my bag, to the toilets to change into my sweat pants, back down to the lockers to leave my clothes before continuing rehearsing in the exhibition, to the foyer where I could sit at a table and write, up to the lunch room to have a glass of water, passing by the administration offices to pick up some post-it notes, and back down again to the lockers because I forgot my notebook. I also started to notice how exhausting it is to be working in public – constantly on display. At some point, it even seemed as if my research was merely about answering questions about my presence in the museum. Don’t get me wrong: I loved those conversations, and the exercise. But when Jens greeted us on our first day of residency saying: “Let me first take you to your green room” (which was the name we gave the improvised room he had prepared for us, dedicated to our “backstage” needs) I could hear a sigh of relief coming from my lower back. He gave us the keys to an empty meeting room with a table and some chairs, pens and paper, water, bananas, apples and pretzels. To know we would have a space to withdraw, to leave our things,to discuss out loud, to grab a snack, to stretch our backs, to have a place to come back “home” to was amazing. And not just to any place: to a green room full of pretzels. INGRID

Which big or small gestures can make someone feel welcome in a space?

Can we ask ourselves what to do in order to make someone feel like a guest and not a stranger?

What do you see if you look around you?

And if you take some time to explore the different cardinal points around you, what do you see now?

Who do you see around you? And who is missing, who is not there?

Who are the ghosts?

And where are there from?

What is the temperature of where you are, of the room, of the ground?

What could we do to make the place a little or a lot warmer: a party, a warm-up, play a tune, have a coffee or a conversation?

What gestures do you want to keep?

What catches your eye?

How many body-parts does it take to measure the distance between your body and the something that caught your eye?

What if you were here now?

Whose are the eyes that gaze at art pieces inside museum spaces?

Whose are the bodies, who is taking space and who isn’t?

Who is being mobile / immobile? Who is being immobilized?

Which uniform are you wearing?

Who is entering the space, and under which conditions?

What would a museum where we could walk, talk, touch, teach, laugh, play look like?

What would a museum filled with people’s desires, stories and dreams be like?

A journal is a dialogue with time. This journal contains keywords/notes from the morning sessions, a sound score in response to the week, then poetical writings inspired by the music. Some of this is cryptic, but all of it is feeling. Fundamentally this week was about curation, and understanding this from a personal space. What I have written is a journal after all. Journals can be private, but in this case, I’ve chosen to make a journal personal yet shareable. I hope you can find some interest from this, albeit the exercises, and potentially the music. 

Is curation at its core about bringing people/cultures/elements into proximity with each other, with an ability to make junctions in which different elements touch? Providing maps for artists and laymen to continue to pursuit of a theme/topic/idea? 

Perhaps.

45 in 5. Here I am, waiting to fly from New York to Amsterdam. You never know when ideas come, but when they do, seize the moment. The task was to blend this 45-minute ambient recording (essentially my journey through an airport) with the actual song dancing in my ‘inner ears’, and create a 5-minute track. While making, I think about what it means to collect, and what it means to present. I think about gates, overflows & border control. All thoughts are symbolic of the current journey, and (God willing) the ones to come.

Though some airlines make flight safety more eye-catching, we still find it hard to listen. The baby cries in an instant, and I wonder if we share the same newness. Definitely not the same pain. It’s just all so new for them. I think of the carry-on luggage stowed above… and what it means to be in airplane mode…then funnel these thoughts into a composition.  

Monday’s positioning. A space of orientation. If space had a sound, I don’t think it would be far off from this. Fuzzy filters rumbling around the ears, Arp like sounds reaching for higher frequencies in headspaces. If NYC to AMS is about being in the plane, then Monday’s positioning is about what’s happening outside, on one’s journey to flight. I meditate on positionality and see a man (maybe me) groaning those exact words from afar, almost questioning the odds, questioning where one stands… or more aptly, how one soars? And at what expense? This day we are encouraged to think about our positionality from within the spaces from which we work, and maybe how we articulate ourselves to others. How this informs our acts of collections is a question I’m still busy with… as I collect quotes from speakers, and sounds from my small perspective of Rotterdam, a song emerges. And as I reflect on today, so does this meditation on positionality: 

1. Find a position, be still & take three deep breaths.
2. Imagine yourself in a plane, seeing in as much detail where you are positioned in this plane. 
3. Imagine its ascension into the skies, and then it’s time in flight, then lastly, its decent.
4. Note the kind of ground you land on, this can be as wild as your imagination takes you. 
5. Imagine what things in this image are fixed and that which things move constantly.
6. Repeat, but this time with the music. If you want to increase the intensity of the image, then abstract your image of the plane (for example, my body could be the plane, and I’m sitting inside this body/plane)

Krabbsund Trondheim x Concrete. Boats on the water. Ropes by the by. Lessons toward change. The walk is an ever-present gesture towards perseverance, and so it felt essential to provide a sound score including travel. The streets of Rotterdam are far from my knowledge, yet as I walk through a small handful of ‘em, I learn to accept my inexperience of the city and appreciate the sights seen.

I dream that whales sing in the water. Of course, there are no whales in Rotterdam. But in this song, perhaps there are. In this song, our protagonist enjoys walking and wading in water…they enjoy the feel of the waves coming back and forth, and that image inspires me to swim between alternative streams. 

A friend. Known by name. The kick-like heartbeat palpitates and the sirens wail just at the thought of doing something alternative, at the thought of becoming penalized for mistakes. But boats sail across the water, boarding at ‘mistakes’ and arriving at ‘wrongmaderight’. Questions fly as laughter arrives around street corners adjacent to the history museum. Before the park, a building is looking at me. A reflective ‘flower pot’ shaped building showing myself in relation to the city. The joy of walks and the love of gestures provide more empathy for the personal and local. What it’s like to land in a land you know not much of? Yet anticipate much from? No answer. One observation though: Cacophonous voices make the most wonderful orchestras. 

Big Buzzwords, little love for MASTERCARD. Ironically, dutch card machines aren’t ‘all-inclusive’.

It starts with a trip to the bakery. Known for the best cookies around (I can vouch for this), I opt for an all-inclusive white nut, oatmeal & chocolate chip. My card is declined because and I will soon learn that Mastercards aren’t favoured in this part of Rotterdam. I can assure you I had £’s. Self-checking machines sing tea for two amongst diminished notes, and herein lies an adventure based on finding an ATM, all for the sake of taking out cash, all for the sake of buying milk, for these ‘great’ cookies. I knew I should have asked for per diems upfront.

We reprise our motif from our first song but this time our song has more soul because we have lived longer in this land. The machine beeps and I can’t help but hear it speak to the politic of acceptance, prodding at my pessimism. They didn’t accept visa cards, and the beeps keep beeping! The low synth acts as the continuous breath which kept me alive even if I often pay little attention to its value. That breath, a hum. That hum is a vibration. That vibration, a gesture of dancing air. As if walking wasn’t enough, it appears that this song questions me about what I intend to include and what I will be committed to change. Walk. Sometimes through traffic lights. 

PCR TEST. In Rotterdam, my love for cycling is empowered. Wheels slice through dutch streets, synths resemble smooth riding, and in comparison to London, riding looks like something people do out of joy. Cars hoot and holler in celebration of marriage (I think)… congrats. My destination appears on the left and a test begins.

(temporary) Home. The temptation of gossip is everpresent.  Media speculation, youtube ads add to this addiction. To think through other thoughts which sometimes but often don’t have lasting relevance to my life often feels like a waste of time, but for the culture, it might not be. If a paradigm shift is a change in assumptions, then my most fundamental questions reside around how I address and change the practice of collection, and how this affects the act of curation. A reprise of thematic ideas, In some ways, this layered sound score is my mind, eager to stay ‘on course’ but often conflicted, making music, for the sake of clarity, for the sake of resilience, to ease the tension in the mystery of moments. To think that our paradigms are stagnant is becoming a dated thought, yet to also think that the existing paradigms were ever stagnant feels reductive. Nuance, please. 

LEAVE. Do we ever not collect? Do the ears never hear? Does the deaf body not perceive vibration? Do we ever not move?

We can, however, stop curating. Can’t we? We can, however, stop curating. Can’t we? Well, maybe not if it’s your God-given call to life. But maybe so. I come back, ready to land in an environment often hard to be content in. Of course, arriving would be no easy feat… I’d miss my flight, receive a late PCR testen and drown my sorrows in chicken nuggets. Maybe this experience was meant to teach me about shifting paradigms. Aren’t sincerity and irony linked at the hip? 

Some process work is smooth, but if we assume that it will always be easy to change, we are mistaken. The chance to land again feels sentimental, I haven’t been in the UK for over 2 months, and it’s been a journey. The week of this conference,  I would have traveled through 3 time zones, and while that won’t be loads for some, it’s a sobering thought to think of how many words I’ll never know, and how collections may be the best way to capture that of the world I can before Leaving…for good. We all have our ticket, with an individual ‘QR’ code, which once accessed, reveals a cavernous wonder deeper than the internet. Today my friends, we leave a wonderful week thinking through curation, and I have tried to make a collection of sounds that will capture a moment. I have curated the hours of sound recorded into songs. I have brought together my art world into closer proximity with Earth, particularly Rotterdam. Who knows where that’ll go. One thing this has taught me though is that these things don’t die, they multiply. Here’s to the next work (Y)

–On Leaving–

LEAVING. Do we ever not collect? Do the ears never hear? Does the deaf body not perceive vibration? Do we ever not move?

We can, however, stop curating. Can’t we? Well, maybe not if it’s your God-given call to life. But maybe so. I come back, ready to land in an environment often hard to be content in. Of course, arriving would be no easy feat…I’d miss my flight, receive a late PCR test and drown my sorrows in chicken nuggets. Maybe this experience was meant to teach me about shifting paradigms. Aren’t sincerity and irony linked at the hip? 

Some process work is smooth, but if we assume that it will always be easy to change, we are mistaken. The chance to land again feels sentimental, I haven’t been in the UK for over two months, and it has been a journey. The week of this conference, I would have traveled through three time zones, and while that won’t be loads for some, it’s a sobering thought to think of how many words I’ll never know, and how collections may be the best way to capture that of the world I can, before leaving…for good. We all have our ticket, with an individual ‘QR’ code, which once accessed, reveals a cavernous wonder deeper than the internet. Today my friends, we leave a wonderful week thinking through curation, and I have tried to make a collection of sounds that will capture a moment. I have curated the hours of sound recorded into songs. I have brought together my art world into closer proximity with Earth, particularly Rotterdam. Who knows where that’ll go. One thing this has taught me though is that these things don’t die, they multiply. Here’s to the next work (Y)

–On PCR Testen —

PCR TESTEN. In Rotterdam, my love for cycling is empowered. Wheels slice through dutch streets, synths resemble smooth riding, and in comparison to London, riding looks like something people do out of joy. Cars hoot and holler in celebration of marriage (I think)… congrats. My destination appears on the left and a test begins.

(temporary) Home. The temptation of gossip is everpresent.  Media speculation, youtube ads add to this addiction. To think through other thoughts which sometimes but often don’t have lasting relevance to my life often feels like a waste of time, but for the culture, it might not be. If a paradigm shift is a change in assumptions, then my most fundamental questions reside around how I address and change the practice of collection, and how this affects the act of curation. A reprise of thematic ideas, In some ways, this layered sound score is my mind, eager to stay ‘on course’ but often conflicted, making music, for the sake of clarity, for the sake of resilience, to ease the tension in the mystery of moments. To think that our paradigms are stagnant is becoming a dated thought, yet to also think that the existing paradigms were ever stagnant feels reductive. Nuance, please.

Notes on Shifting existing paradigms

1. What roots do you have in your city?
2. What does your knowledge of a city say about how you navigate it?
3. What are you not moving towards and why?
4. How does the wind blow in your environment?
5. What knowledge are your locals aware of?
6. What unspoken agreements do we have in our immediate communities?
7. How is your city shifting?
8. How does my situated gaze condition the way I regard things?
9. Which codes make my reading (of art) possible?
10. What are the politics of my seeing?
11. Every collection is a reduction, when something is chosen … something is not. How can I choose better?
12. How does my positioning reflect my priorities?
13. What are the ethics of my priorities
14. Who decides what is sufficiently worthy to be seen in the museum?
15. What place do the stories around us have in these institutions and how do we ensure that they have an impact outside of the building?
16. Look at yourself, and your positionality within an institution and ask what you wanna give attention to… and how?
17. Can we bring hidden stories to the mainstream?
18. Are we the mainstream?
19. How can we contribute to our democracy by showing stories that are hidden?
20. How do we approach negative colonial history in present times?
21. Do we need to teach all to read into that history?
22. I’m curious about the word “public” in public storage. How do you imagine the role of the public and what kind of
23. interface or relationship to the pubic storage do you imagine for them to have?
24. Do you plan to have the “traditional” separation between stored and exhibited artworks and decimated spaces?
25. I would be curious to know how you collect or build alternative and diverse narratives around topics like ‘ How do we remember cultures?’
26. How do you communicate with someone who doesn’t want to communicate?

MASTERCARD

Big Buzzwords, little love for MASTERCARD. Ironically, dutch card machines aren’t ‘all-inclusive’.

It starts with a trip to the bakery. Known for the best cookies around (I can vouch for this), I opt for an all-inclusive white nut, oatmeal & chocolate chip. My card is declined because, as I will soon learn, Mastercards aren’t favoured in this part of Rotterdam. I can assure you I had £’s. Self-checking machines sing tea for two amongst diminished notes, and herein lies an adventure based on finding an ATM, all for the sake of taking out cash, all for the sake of buying milk, for these ‘great’ cookies. I knew I should have asked for per diems upfront.

We reprise our motif from our first song but this time our song has more soul because we have lived longer in this land. The machine beeps and I can’t help but hear it speak to the politic of acceptance, prodding at my pessimism. They didn’t accept visa cards, and the beeps keep beeping! The low synth acts as the continuous breath which kept me alive even if I often pay little attention to its value. That breath, a hum. That hum is a vibration. That vibration, a gesture of dancing air. As if walking wasn’t enough, it appears that this song questions me about what I intend to include and what I will be committed to change. Walk. Sometimes through traffic lights.

Notes on inclusion & change

Krabbsund Trondheim x Concrete

Krabbsund Trondheim x Concrete. Boats on the water. Ropes by the by. Lessons toward change. The walk is an ever-present gesture towards perseverance, and so it felt essential to provide a sound score including travel. The streets of Rotterdam are far from my knowledge, yet as I walk through a small handful of ‘em, I learn to accept my inexperience of the city and appreciate the sights seen.

I dream that whales sing in the water. Of course, there are no whales in Rotterdam. But in this song, perhaps there are. In this song, our protagonist enjoys walking and wading in water…they enjoy the feel of the waves coming back and forth, and that image inspires me to swim between alternative streams. A friend. Known by name. The kick-like heartbeat palpitates and the sirens wail just at the thought of doing something alternative, at the thought of becoming penalized for mistakes. But boats sail across the water, boarding at ‘mistakes’ and arriving at ‘wrongmaderight’. Questions fly as laughter arrives around street corners adjacent to the history museum. Before the park, a building is looking at me. A reflective ‘flower pot’ shaped building showing myself in relation to the city. The joy of walks and the love of gestures provide more empathy for the personal and local. What it’s like to land in a land you know not much of? Yet anticipate much from? No answer. One observation though: Cacophonous voices make the most wonderful orchestras.

Notes on Alternative Approaches

No music making occurred today, just notes. 

Notes on Curatorial Practices

Monday’s Positioning

A space of orientation. If space had a sound, I don’t think it would be far off from this. Fuzzy filters rumbling around the ears, Arp like sounds reaching for higher frequencies in headspaces. If NYC to AMS is about being in the plane, then Monday’s positioning is about what’s happening outside, on one’s journey to flight. I meditate on positionality and see someone (maybe me) groaning those exact words from afar, almost questioning the odds, questioning where one stands… or more aptly, how one soars? And at what expense? This day we are encouraged to think about our positionality from within the spaces from which we work, and maybe how we articulate ourselves to others. How this informs our acts of collections is a question I’m still busy with… as I collect quotes from speakers, and sounds from my small perspective of Rotterdam, a song emerges. And as I reflect on today, so does this meditation on positionality: 

1. Find a position, be still & take three deep breaths.
2. Imagine yourself in a plane, seeing in as much detail where you are positioned in this plane. 
3. Imagine its ascension into the skies, and then its time in flight, then lastly, its decent.
4. Note the kind of ground you land on, this can be as wild as your imagination takes you. 
5. Imagine what things in this image are fixed and that which things move constantly.
6. Repeat, but this time with the music. If you want to increase the intensity of the image, then abstract your image of the plane (for example, my body could be the plane, and I’m sitting inside this body/plane)

Notes on Positionality