documentation

Dogs, rhymes and the novel

This autumn and spring, I have had the uncommon privilege of staying over a longer period with the same projects, rather than jumping from stone to stone in the river of smaller gigs.

Three big projects will flow out to sea together in the early spring of 2024. It’s when my new novel Fear Play, my Swedish translation/interpretation of Shakespeare’s Sonnets and my dramatisation of the Sonnets are all premiering. Apart from just diving deep into meter and rhymes, I’m thinking a bit about what links can be made between the novel and my obsession with the sonnets. One common denominator I can find is dealing with states of existance beyond the norm of monogamy. Not so much agitating for or against polyamourous relationships, more like: Realising that you’ve already fallen out of the expected social script in one sense or the other – what do you do with it? Having three parallell projects and something like ten different characters gives me the opportunity to give many different answers to that question. I guess this plurality of answers, beyond any programmatic ideals for or against specific life forms, is something I’ve been longing for.

The dog project, mine and Britta Kiessling’s morfing entity of a stage show, has a premiere already in the autumn of 2023 and deals with a completely different subject. We have described it as a show by and with two tragicomical human dogs, and we think it’s a family show. We’re interested in playing dog in the most childlike sense, the human as an animal, being silly, being trapped, being ashamed, breaking loose and feeling free. We hope to do something that makes more fun of people/ourselves than of animals. There is something deeply comical about having a body and we grew a bit tired of always being those serious artists who do gothic projects about riskful intimacy. On the other hand, it’s not like attempting to be funny is a game completely without risk. Actually, it raises many new questions about our skills, desires and limits, and it feels both thrilling and somewhat scary to not know yet where we will end up with this. Luckily, we also have the company of Ziggi Willpower who supplies us with strange clothes and props, Elize Arvefjord who will make the whole thing sound like music and Ekaterina Lukoshkova who is responsible for space-light-pictures, including this very serious one (which is merely project documentation – in the end I think we will be wearing fluffy jogging sets and piggy tails?):


More organisational creds:
The dog show is supported by Kulturrådet, Konstnärsnämnden, Stockholms stad and coproduced by Nyxxx, Skogen och Weld. It will also play at Skogen and Weld.
The novel will be published by Albert Bonniers förlag.
The Swedish Sonnets be published by Nirstedt/litteratur.
The Sonnets as a theatre performance will play at Kulturhuset Skärholmen.


Working on Travel aka Trains and Boats and Planes

During 2019, I’ve been busy with an interview project about life and travels of artists. I’ve interviewed no less than eighteen bright and generous and smart people. The interviews will be posted on workingontravel.tumblr.com during the autumn. Very much worth a read! The interviews are also published in a book with the same name, that is distributed by Skogen. The book will be available online as a pdf within a near future.TBT_liten
Moa Schulman made the visual material.

The project is coproduced by Skogen and supported by Helge Ax:son Johnsons stiftelse.

Summary from Someone You Trust

Another project that came to an end and continuation this year was Someone You Trust, that premiered in Skogen in Gothenburg 23-25 november 2018, continued to develop at Cirkör Lab in Alby 18-19 January 2019, and will tour during 2019: 11-12 May to Skogen again via Textival’s festival Intimate Acts, 10-11 August to Gylleboverket‘s performance festival and 29 November-1 of December at Inkonst in Malmö.

Here is a trailer for The Watching Act:

Someone You Trust – The Watching Act, trailer from Tova G on Vimeo.

SHORT ABOUT SOMEONE YOU TRUST
Someone You Trust uses the practice of rope bondage to explore time, trust and consent. The performance is divided into two acts. The audience can choose to come to both of the acts or just one of them (whichever they prefer). If they come to The Participatory Act, they bring someone they trust, and follow recorded voice instructions for tying and being tied. If they come to The Watching Act, they come to a performance alone or in company /whichever they prefer) and watch  Tova Gerge and Britta Kiessling follow instructions that are both similar to and very different from the instructions in the first act.

Both acts with and by:
text: Tova Gerge and Britta Kiessling
performers: Tova Gerge and Britta Kiessling
text eye and rope research: Christian Nilsson
sound: Elize Arvefjord
light, room, costume and mask: Josefina Björk
artistic support: Gabriel Widing och Ebba Petrén

Thanks to:
Everyone in the performing arts collective Nyxxx.
Everyone who helped us to develop the participatory act.

With the support of:
Japanstiftelsen, Längmanska kulturfonden, The Swedish Art’s Grant Committee, Cirkör LAB, c.off and Stockholm County Council

BACKGROUND TO SOMEONE YOU TRUST
The performance is a result of long preparation. Already in 2015, Nyxxx, Tova Gerge and Christian Nilsson invited the Berlin-based choreographers Dasniya Sommer and Frances D’Ath for a research week on performance and rope bondage. Nyxxx made a podcast in connection to that encounter.

Then in 2016, me and Christian Nilsson were given a traveling grant from Japanstiftelsen to study questions of intimacy in relation to the subculture of rope bondage established in Nagoya, Tokyo and Hamamatsu. We interviewed fourteen professional rope artists active in Japan, practicing what is known as shibari or kinbaku. It has a long, complex and international history connected to both art and pornography. The purpose of the interviews were to gather material for both theoretical and artistic writing. Because the interview material was so extensive, we got another grant from Längmanska kulturfonden to spread the results in different ways. This process is still ongoing.

There is also an even longer back story in mine and Britta Kiessling’s relation to shibari which is fairly long and diverse. Though we tie improvised patterns, we have studied with many teachers to be able to do what we do. Thus, a special thanks to Bergborg, Dasniya Sommer, Naka Akira, Hourai Kasumi, Kanna & Kagura, Gorgone, Pilar Aldea, Gestalta, Hedwig, Pedro and others, not least the ones who tied us or got tied by us.

 

Summary from the times of the novel

Last year in the autumn, I published a novel, Pojken. You can read a bit more about it in English here, and here, and in Swedish in the press section of this home page ).

It took ten years to write, and it was partly a very tricky process involving many questions of both construction and life. What to tell and what to leave out, for who one writes and why.

Now that it is seemingly over – when also the most intense encounters with press, the author presentations, the facebook discussions and all these things are seemingly over – it has just sunken into the background. It has become self-evident and see-through.

I just want to leave myself a couple of words on it at this point, rediscovering that something transgressive happened for me through the appearance of that book and that it somehow echoes still. I don’t know exactly where it will go from here, but I also see in it an invitation to write again.

This is the cover of the book, Moa Schulman made it.

Pojken-final

Where Were We, documentation

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This year, I’ve established a project together with Israeli choreographer Uri Turkenich. The project went through different forms. First, we played games with Inana, then we had a Derridian episode at Skogen, after that we danced with the cool kids in Berlin at 3AM and now in October we went physical in Weld. The project deals with intimate conversations as a performative practice. During the coming year we will tour a bit and we would like to tour more (so ask us to come by writing to me!).

Here is a documentation of the performance – a part of me learning to video edit, by the way. Above is an image from the performance (snapped by Marika Troili or Sofie Anderson; unsure) and here is a link to the festival we were part of at Weld. The project was supported by The Swedish Arts Grant Committee, but also by c.off, who made an interview with us here.

Documentation, There Is No Outside-Text

As I have posted about before, me and Uri Turkenich made our first artistic cooperation this spring, with the support of coproducer Skogen (Gothenburg) and The Swedish Arts Grants Committee. Here is a video documentation of show 3. Slowly learning to edit…

Me and Uri really liked this project, and it seems we are going to continue working on the practices and themes that developed through it in a new show during 2016-2017. More on that later…

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Photo: Anna Lamberg, 29/3 2016, Skogen, Gothenburg.

Realizing the Unready

In the last post and the one before that, I’ve done some process reports on an ongoing work with choreographer Uri Turkenich. In the end of March 2016, we did a series of presentations at Skogen in Gothenburg with the support of Konstnärsnämnden, also sharing the space with some other artists. A long and complex conversation about the necessities of sharing spaces and processes led us to that conclusion. In our program folder for these evenings, this is how we explained it:

Uri Turkenich: This text introduces Tova Gerge’s and my thoughts about the curatorial aspects of the three evenings we organize in Skogen in the end of March. We invited three other artists to share these evenings with us and show unready work. We want to explain why we did that.

Tova Gerge: We did it because we will also be unready, and we think unreadiness can be a beautiful condition to be in, for both audience and artists. For audience because unreadiness gives access to a certain kind of vulnerability, and maybe also a power to influence. For artists – well, it’s too lonely a condition to be in a process of artistic production where the end result is our first encounter with others. And for us specifically, to meet the audience at an early stage makes even more sense. Our whole project is about differences and getting to know the other as separate from the own identity. This means for us to explore the vulnerability of being together as we are – audience and performers alike – with all our fragilities.

U: We also enjoy thinking about conditions of production of art, and wanted to try producing under different conditions than what we are used to. Producing art alone is a precarious condition. If we do it together, it can become more sustainable. So we are very happy that the author Khashayar Naderehvandi, the choreographer Svarta fåret and the visual artist Anna Ehrlemark agreed to participate. It’s not so obvious to be willing to expose artistic processes to an audience and present work before it’s ready. It takes a certain kind of courage to do it.

T: I agree, but also it makes total sense to do it. To me, art is about being in dialogue, with friends and strangers. When we invite audience to a traditional, finished stage product, the dialogue sometimes only happens on the level of fantasy. Me and the audience are in the same room during the time of the performance, but we never meet.

U: For me every time I perform for people it is a kind of meeting. I hear how they breathe, I perceive their expressions and reactions. And they see me too. So this dialogue can also happen with the traditional finished stage product.

T: Maybe what I’m trying to say is that when it’s a finished product, we tend to give up on the conversation – including the breathing and the expressions and all that – because we know not much can change anyway. If we don’t have the means to continue working, the opinion of the audience becomes our potential adversary. It’s like when you have a conversation in your head with your lover, and you think it’s pointless to have it for real because you know what they are going to say. We hope that this format of presenting unready work would make it possible to have the real conversation with the audience.

U: Last month, I organized a similar event in Tel Aviv and my mother came there. In this event, I showed a video work about being lost, and this scared her. Maybe she was afraid that I wasn’t doing well. And when we spoke, I understood that for me, being lost can be fun. Maybe more than that – I see a value in getting lost, because it means I took risk in doing something I didn’t already know how to do. And I put myself in a vulnerable position, which means for me that I am more open to others. I couldn’t see it before talking to my mother; I didn’t realize it was in the video before talking with her.

T: I like this story, because some kind of ideology of getting lost is also part of why one would like to present unready work. When we don’t know exactly where we are or where we are going, there is the possibility of allowing ourselves to share the space differently with the audience; not always taking them for a ride but also asking them for directions, being inside a question with them.

U: Yes, we are sort of asking people – Where are we? Either in words, or just by seeing their reactions.

T: Sometimes the mere fact of sharing something can make me realize how much I actually know about my position, even though I might not want to admit it to myself before sharing. It could be that I have a darling that I don’t want to kill, or I have a problem that seems unsolvable before I show it to someone else. While it’s a horror having people commenting on this if in the bitter aftermaths of something, I become grateful if I’m allowed to see it with the help of others before the crisis, fight, publication, premiere, release… So to show things that are not ready can reverse my approach to criticism.

U: So we show something that is not ready yet, but at the same time it needs to be ready in some way. I think there are different phases of unreadiness. I show it when I know there’s something to it, but I don’t know what it is yet. In a way, it’s the point in the process of production when the performance needs the audience to realize itself. I also think that at this point it’s more enjoyable for the audience to see it. I wouldn’t like to show it before that phase, there’s no reason to show it yet.

T: It is also a question of why one would like to show it. To “realize” it as you say – or to just get better tools for working, using a test audience as your motor. As I usually work with audience participatory work, to try things out in practice has been absolutely crucial for me also really early on in my processes. But I would call it testing, not showing. Maybe that’s why it was you – usually doing a stricter separation of the performers vs the audience than me – who from the beginning insisted on the importance to meet the audience mid-process also for this work. Together, we had to reconceptualize what showing to someone then means. I think now what we are doing here in Gothenburg is not testing something; it’s sharing something.

There Is No Outside-Text 2

As I mentionned in the previous post, me and the choreographer Uri Turkenich have spent one week preparing working methods for a common project. Among many other things, we started learning the first verses of Inana’s Descent by heart. Being one of the oldest texts known to mankind (approximately 6000 years old, from Mesopotamian times), it might actually predate writing, as it has the characteristics of a song learnt by heart and passed on from mouth to mouth. Here, I’m sharing one of our first Inana improvisations, where we sort of summoned the goddess:

 

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There Is No Outside-Text 1

During December 2015, Swedish Arts Grant Committee supported one week of method development between me and the choreographer Uri Turkenich.
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Preparing for a production residency at Skogen in March 2015, we researched different ways of creating states of vulnerability in speech and action. Many of the things we did – like meditating, singing songs we didn’t know and learning ancient texts by heart – doesn’t translate so well to the blog format, or are somehow too vulnerable to be shared just like that. We did however invent a sort of game that we were practicing continuously during the week, and that we also transcribed to some degree. The rules were that we could only use the personal pronoun ”you” (not I, she, he, they and the other forms belonging to them). We were also to limit how much we repeat and mirror each other. If we broke a rule, we had to do a small dance, here symbolized by [ACTION]. Here, we share some fragments of the conversations for inspiration and memory:

THE ”ONLY YOU” GAME, FIRST TRY-OUT
T: It’s recording. You’re making a recording too?
U: Yes. I thought it could be nice to have.
T: You said “I”.
U: Ah. Did I?
T: Yes. So basically it’s you. But maybe we do it both. Or?
U: Or me? As you said it it’s me.
T: Yes.
[ACTION]
U: So. Do you think we should choose a subject?
T: So. You thought a subject would be good. Fuck.
[ACTION]
U: Why do you…?
T: Because I mirrored you. I repeated what you said. And sort or reconnected to it instead of just acting.
[ACTION]
T: You told me once that you have a secret.
U: No abstractions.
T: It was in the middle of March and you were sitting under a maple tree.
U: What year?
T: 2006!
U: 2006, 2006, is that mirroring? No, it’s thinking.
T: You’re right.
U: 2006 – what happened in 2006?
T: There were some some massive urban uprisings in Paris?
U: Sounds sad.
T: But I think your secret had nothing to do with that.
U: You think?
[ACTION]
U: What do you think about punishment?
T: Like voluntary or more that someone puts it on you against your will?
U: Voluntary.
T: It can be great!
U: Why?
T: It’s a way to challenge your perception of punishment when it’s not voluntary. And also it’s simply a source of enjoyment and pleasure. Why do you ask the question?
U: It’s a self-reflection on what you’re doing.
T: No abstraction.
U: Well. When you set up the rules about the game maybe you thought it’s a sort of punishment to go and do the action and come back. It’s a self-beating, maybe.

THE ”ONLY YOU” GAME, SECOND TRY-OUT
T: As an ancient person, the first thing you have to do…
U: is to deal with death. To find a solution for it. How to live with it.
T: But already when you’re a baby, do you have a clear idea of death then?
U: That’s unclear. There might be studies that suggests that no.
T: Maybe survival, the urge for survival, is there already in the small new born baby.
U: Yes.
T: Like a biological impulse.
U: Yes. The baby feels hungry. But the baby doesn’t know death.
T: Do you?
U: Expressions of it, yes. Encounters with death, yes.
T: Other people’s encounters.
U: Other people dying. The possibility of death. The possibility that life stops at some point. I know that can happen.
[ACTION]
U: So, at some point you are born and then you discover you can die.
T: No abstraction.
U: When the baby is born, the baby doesn’t know it can die. All babies. They don’t know it yet.
T: They.
[ACTION]
T: The question was really: when do you discover it? When is this passage from not knowing to knowing? Not like a general point, but when did you discover it?
U: It’s unclear. There is no memory of this. Do you remember?
T: Maybe more like rediscovering. No original moment but instead many different occasions. Like when a friend died, when a father had a cancer…
U: But when you were really young?
T: There was a constant fear of death, which is not necessarily to say that death was understood.
U: But you knew about it? I think you knew about it.
T: For sure. A hobby was to look up psalms that would be played during different people’s funerals.
U: Psalms?
T: Psalms… Holy songs.
U: It reminds me, there’s a lot of death on television. So young people probably get to know about it pretty soon.

 THE ”ONLY YOU” GAME, THIRD TRY-OUT
U: Are you alive?
T: Yeah, so far.
U: So far, you see the sky, you cry…
T: The rest of that song is not here anymore. Maybe you could say it’s dead.
U: It is not dead. It’s alive. You could hear it in the radio.
T: There’s no radio now.
U: I can hear it in my mind.
[ACTION]
T: Were you dancing to it?
U: No. But do you think there is something about repetition and rituals?
T: No abstraction.
U: There is something about repeating the same movement that can help to connect to some kind of energy of… I don’t know.
[ACTION]
U: Maybe not.
T: There was this thought while you were speaking that that is actually what the universe is busy with. Like repeating the same patterns over and over in order to come to a specific state. Like the flower that bursts into bloom and then it goes away and comes back… like the universe is beating its drum.
U: Maybe it’s pleasant.
T: For the universe? I hope it is, especially when it can entail suffering for us.
[ACTION]
T: The subject is very heavy. I think you should change it.
U: I’m not sure that we’re… that we’re speaking about a subject.
[ACTION]