eleven. berlin.

Next to high-end culture and classical entertainment for those with a thick wallet, Berlin is a capital of the free and radical arts; new arts that can surprise us in refreshing and unimaginable ways, capturing the incomprehensible and – at times – inenarrable, not possible to be captured in words.

Be it graffiti, a sole monologist on Alexander Square or a brass-band on the subway at 8am – you cannot escape live art in Berlin. Among this plethora of artsy outbursts, the EXCHANGE RADICAL MOMENTS LIVE ART FESTIVAL, taking place now, on the 11.11.11, blends right in. Innumerable projects in Berlin, Bitola, Chisinau, Linz, Liverpool, London, Paris, Prague, Riga, Slubfurt and Stockholm are supposed to make an effective break into our daily routine – by means of live art.

As announced on this website „live art projects (…) meet us in the middle of our everyday life (…) interrupt the usual routine and unbalance us“.

Well then, let’s be met, interrupted, and unbalanced by live art. In Berlin. Let’s see and understand.

Wait. Is there a need for understanding?

How do we understand? How do we rely on our senses in this marathon of art, in which pictures, movements, sounds and noises blend in into an amalgam of radical moments? Can you understand? Well.  We will just need to see what crosses our ways. And hope it will be capturable.

To be continued.

Great to hear S. Ettengruber and searching

had some guest, they want to see a lifestream by Club Real. Don’t found it

best PAErsche

Auge zu Auge

Bitola Clean. Sonennaufgang, Sonnenuntergang, ein öffentlicher Platz, eine
kniende Figur, verschleierte Gestalten. Plötzlich zu viele Symbole.
Plötzlich interessieren mich nur die Figuren. Warum sind sie abgedeckt? Es
fällt mir das Foto von dem Gefängnis Abu Ghraib ein. Auf einem Podest
stehende, gespenstige, verhüllte Gestalt. Die Arme sind wie zwei hängende
Flügel. Kennt ihr übrigens den Text von Walter Benjamin? „Es gibt ein Bild
von Klee, das Angelus Novus heißt.“
http://abcphil.phil-splitter.com/html/angelus_novus.html
Und das Lied von Laurey Anderson? Dream before.

„Hansel and Gretel are alive and well/ And they’re living in Berlin etc.
Geschichtsstunde. (Zu viel Symbole?)
Würde ich die Füße eines auf dem Podest stehenden Gespenstes waschen? Und
die Füße von den Soldaten, die es auf das Podest gestellt haben? Würde ich
die Füße der verhüllten Figuren auf dem Platz abwaschen? Vielleicht. Aber
sicherlich nicht so. Nicht verhüllt. Angesicht zu Angesicht, Auge zu Auge.
Vielleicht so. // Der Elf von Kölle

Kris Canavan, He is bleeding now

 

A camera clicks

SILENCE

A lady has a cappuccino at the bar while Kris Canavan pulls weights by hooks attached to his skin.

The coffee machine intervenes.

Is that the machine or the audio

Not sure.

He is still holding blocks of piss & lambrini.

She intervenes tapping her brush on the glass of blood.

He is cradling piss and Lambrini.

Chris Canavan.

Kris Canavan.

Show some respect.

Spell the name right.

He is bleeding for us afterall.

Audience captivated by his piece.

4 hooks.

4 blocks of frozen piss.

1 large silence.

Now the hooks are out of him it’s easier to watch.

Just noticed some.

Still there.

Holding the weights.

Strong man?

She cleans her sheet off blood.

He continues to twist and holds the audiences gaze.

Like a puppet on a string.

Audience.

Do you enjoy watching other peoples pain?

He is bleeding now.

Are we all satisfied now?

He twists and the weights drop.

I can’t see him.

But he is lifting them again with his skin.

Why is he not bleeding yet?

exchange radical recipes

exchange radical recipes by raumlaborberlin at HAU 3
whatch also the Live Streams

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REDEN REDEN BRUNCHEN

from Linz KunstRaum Goethestrasse xtd with Helge Meyer, Charles Kaltenbacher, Time´s Up, Betty Wimmer and Stefanie Wuschitz.

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Tarzahn – der Edle Wilde aus Marzahn

first impressions from Tarzahn
check out the Live Streams

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Watching from the balcony

A man stood on the stage under the lighting while the artist stands at the back of the room. Some people look at him and I wonder if this is a performance or preparing for a performance? When is someone performing or not? Watching Nicola from the balcony I like the distance, I want to photograph her but do not want to get too close. I notice her action most when she is still. She has a group of dedicated followers by her side. Happy with the lighting the man leaves the stage. I try and take a picture of Nicola on my phone but the light is too bright and bleaches her out. Many other people are documenting this using cameras, drawing, and mobile phones. The sound is piercing in the space. I keep wanting something else to happen but I’m not sure what. Giggles move around the room. A bare buttock keeps showing itself to me, I feel something is about to start.

follow your introduction II

have a look

Her writings in blood

People keep going up to her writings in blood. As if they held some secret to her thoughts, wishes or desires. As if each fragmented de-nucleated cell was a mirror to Pandora’s box. They inspect her calligraphy in real time….. Words hit the page; she has literally bled for her art. “From her heart” apparently. There is a slight asynchrony to the four clocks that stand watching. Marginally out of phase, but enough to remind us of how realisations set amongst a crowd.

Each drip of blood that stains the white iridescent sheet blots out light that would otherwise bounce. These are the kind of tears that neither wash nor awaken. They mock our inevitable need to dirty ourselves so that we may become clean. It is not in the purity that we find peace, but in the cleansing. We are ritualistic bastards, illegitimate children of Faith and Controversy. Intimate bedfellows of process.

Murky Noises

A murky, primal electric soundscape; industry roars to be set free.

Blood decanted into ten glasses.

An offering.

Uncertainty.

Time drowned in a tin bath.

I am submerged.

As blood runs down Nicola’s arms a baby cries.

She moves to the wall to stick or to read?

A man looks over her shoulder while the other woman continues to read.

The sound is unsettling and I don’t know why.

Something falling Nicola continues to stick.

Back of her shirt is still pristine white, wet washed out bloodstains

Down the back of her white jeans.

Mitgehen

12 Uhr 30 – Noch keine Zustandsveränderung. Ich versuche die Zeit damit zu überbrücken, dass ich meine „technischen“ Fertigkeiten übe, wie ich – möglichst gleichzeitig – die Kommentare schreibe, den Live-Stream benutze, Facebook und YouTube besuche, Hintergrundinformationen sammle über die Akteure, hin- und herdüse zwischen Liverpool und Riga. Und ich versuche vorzustellen, wie die Beschleunigung eben die Ereignisse aufhebt. Ich fluche ab und zu saftig, in meiner Sprache, dass ich immer und immer diese peinliche Blendung Multitasking-Persönlichkeit auf mich aufzwinge. Ich habe aber gesagt, ich muss mich steigern.
12 Uhr 50 – Berlin, Walk on by. Grenzen ständig überschreiten so, dass man die Grenzlinien nicht verlässt, weder diesseits noch jenseits, ich interpretiere
wenigstens so, was ich lese, sehe, die Idee steht mir nahe. Eine gehende
Frau. Eine kletternde Frau. Die Sinnlichkeit des Gehens, des Kletterns. Ich
denke natürlich an Robert Walser. Was denkt sie während des Gehens? Mich
interessiert das ganz plötzlich wesentlich mehr als der zu beschreitende Weg
selbst. Denkt Sie über den Weg nach? Über die Hindernisse? Oder nur über
ihre Schritte? Denkt Sie mit dem Rhythmus, mit dem Takt der Bewegungen, mit ihrem Blutdruck? Schreitet sie hin in der gegebenen Landschaft oder zeichnen eben ihre Schritte die Landschaft nach? Etc. Mitgehen. Mitlaufen. Ein erworbener sprachlicher Reflex schreckt mich zurück. Also: nur mitgehen. Gehen lassen. Gehenlassen. Ja, die Frau interessiert mich mehr als der Weg.  // Adios: der Elf von Kölle

Pair a Pare, Alistair MacLennan, Platt Chapel, Graveyard, Manchester

After the Silence

The minute went on for three and then Nicola Canavan starts. The room feels settled and focused on her as a man draws blood from her into a bag. Pristine white shirt she holds the warm bag of blood to her chest. Sound of breathing maybe a heart beat? Is the sound live or is it pre-recorded? The audience look directly at her others look away although stay still. Performer or audience member sits in the seat opposite her and holds the bag with Nicola to her chest. I wonder what if feels like? An usher directs the audience to take part and sit with Nicola. The audience seems to be a little unsettled although most stay. Nicola cradles the ladies head into her shoulder and she cries.

11 11 11 BEFORE THE SILENCE

Platt Chapel is chattering with artists, techies, documenters, volunteers.  People with cameras, carrier bags, experiences they are ready to create and share with others.

The public is to be let in shortly.  “Will you just grab that mic stand?” a techie asks.

We await the silence.  Ours will be two minutes.

Jess (documenter)

SET-UP LOG-ON LET’S-GO

I arrived here at 9.30am wanting to get set-up and logged on. All the documentors are situated up on the balcony overlooking the main space. Not sure whether to introduce myself, is that really important? I applied for this opportunity to look at other peoples work, learn about live art and to develop my writing. My background is performance and video although my pieces are very short. There will be a lot of durational work throughout the day which sometimes I can struggle with although I do want to engage with it. The documentors have been talking about structure, for example recording sound every hour, editing in the moment, a stream of consciousness. I just need to get into my own flow and will write when something needs to be written. Other people can contribute on this blog during the day not sure if people will? A few techy things I need to sort out such as linking into the 11 11 11 facebook page. Audience members are now getting let in. Shortly there will be a minute’s silence.

Cousin PIA

Cousin PIA is in Linz and has visit already some of her relatives, like Georg Steiner (who wasn´t here today, but the Cousins Barbara, Claudia and Patrizia have been at the office), Erich Watzl, Julius Stieber and our musician in the family Hubert Igelsböck.

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Ich übe

Meine Wahrnehmung übt, die Ereignisse in Akkorden wahrzunehmen. Das Gehirn macht das unentwegt in der realen, dreidimensionalen Welt. Man könnte denken: Durch die Zweidimensionalität der Oberfläche, des Monitors, wird die akkordhafte Wahrnehmung einfacher. Für mich nicht. Ich muss mich in zweifacher Hinsicht bekämpfen, da ich in der realen Welt eben die akkordhafte Wahrnehmung reduzieren will. Ich möchte eher die einzelnen Töne herauslösen, möglichst lang und unverändert in mir klingen lassen, um eine größere Tiefe zu erlangen. Wenn ich den Monitor, das Interface, die Oberfläche anstarre, habe ich die (zwanghafte?) und (vielleicht befangene?) Vorstellung, dass ich von der Oberfläche nicht abrücken kann. Ich spüre, wie meine Augenäpfel hin- und herrollen auf der Mattscheibe. Ich muss mich also heute noch steigern, wenn ich irgendwie hinter die Bilder will.  Adios: der Elf von Kölle

on trail

good morning from Cologne

we are with you nowall the best

PAErsche

Start of PAPER POLICE at 00:00

Jürgen O. Olbrich startet his 24 hour give away performance punctually at 0:00 in the Berlin festival base Kunstfabrik am Flutgraben. He has been chief of the Paper Police for more than 20 years, during which time he’s collected all possible and impossible sorts of „paper“. Exchange Radical Moments! is just the right moment for Olbrich to scatter parts of his collection in a 24-hour potlatch. In conjunction with this public giveaway/performance, the Paper Police are packing their inventory into convenient packets and handing them out. It’s not permitted to open them on the spot; actually, they should be retined in their original packaging if circumstances permit.
Come and pick up an individual PAPER POLICE parcel!