The other extreme of the spectrum—an attempt at pure self-centeredness. A battle of wills, tyrannical improvisation. What do we associate with this type of posture? How do we interpret tyranny? Even in a simulated situation that forced us into this role, we quickly realize that we are too empathetic, care too much about each other, to truly make this work.
Fourth working period (Vienna, 13. – 15.2.2023)
The ensemble-to-be almost complete, with old friends (Nikola Vuković–trumpet, Luka Zabric–saxophone, Pavle Jovanović–guitar), recurring characters (Christian Grüny–philosophy, Thomas Grill–electronics, Bojan Krhlanko–percussion), and a framework to be tested. For three days, in a wonderful space deep in the pits of the MDW campus, we set out to observe a process of coalescence, not just of the ensemble itself, but also of the concept with the individual approaches of each member. A group that resolved to reflect before, during, and after action, in an attempt to approach homogeneity—both musical and discursive.
Held in suspense, anticipating, in expectancy, we start before the actual beginning. Did we start even earlier? When did the improvisation begin? The actual beginning is not the same for everyone. How do we mark a beginning? There must be some way to differentiate that which was there before and that which is happening now. We need a proper starting point, something which clearly states: “This is now it. This is what we are doing.” How do we define something which has no clear beginning? If the beginning was ill-defined, then what is this? And how do we distinguish between this and not-this? How do we bring an end to this?
Disparate pieces finding their place in the larger whole. Screws, cylinders, wedges, and wheels; accelerating, projecting, balancing, and percussing. A machine that assembles itself, slowly, tentatively.
Play only when the impulse is pure. Do not force your hand. Try to observe your impulses, how they guide you, what they want you to do. Think about the source of your intentions, how they come to be. Let this thinking guide your actions. Let the actions become your thinking. Observe how you become less dense, less concerned with filling the space around you and the space in you. The membrane becomes more porous, and as you let the space in, it embraces you.
Who leads and who follows? A way to observe the concept of hierarchy is to impose it upon the ensemble—one person as the focal point for all of our awareness to converge upon. Is it now clear who leads and who follows? What does leadership ask of us? What do we respond to as followers? Does leadership imply a position of power? And can we take away that power by ignoring the leader? Hierarchy as a system which depends on empathy. Too much, and there is nothing—a stalemate. Too little, and there is chaos, or worse, tyranny.
The way in which we arrange ourselves in space influences not only our relative positions, but how we perceive and emit information. Spatial arrangement becomes a crucial part of improvisation. The space that we occupy, and how we occupy it, becomes another member of the ensemble—the where becoming as important as the why and the what.
Negotiation of an ending. Try to be as quick as possible. As clear as possible. Is it the sound or the gesture? At which moment do you recognize the beginning of the end? Try to step out of yourself. Listen, look, anticipate. Create tension by rejecting a proposition. Realize that some environments lend themselves more to clear interpretations. Try to surprise yourself. Stop. Abruptly. Just stop and hope for the best. Do not feel bad if it didn’t work out. There is always another chance. Begin anew. It has to end somehow. It cannot go on forever.
The universe allows improvisation. Space allows improvisation. The Earth allows improvisation. The atmosphere allows improvisation. Gravity allows improvisation. Humanity allows improvisation. The whole structure allows improvisation.
Rehearsing as burning material. What happens when the material is depleted? Is that even possible? It all depends on our perspective—the more we zoom in, the finer the grain of the structure. In this domain of minutiae, we come to the conclusion that even in our limited universe, there is an almost incomprehensible number of ways in which we can rearrange, reconfigure, and repurpose the material—a new context, a new spatial arrangement, a shift from the y- to the x-axis, a different intention. Even consciously returning to the same material enacts a change. The temporality of the process, coupled with the filter of our memory, guarantees change.
At certain points, one finds oneself enveloped in a strange mist of self-consciousness. A series of steps inward turns us impermeable to our surroundings. Like Medusa looking at herself in the mirror, we are left petrified, unable to hear, move, and react. To leave this state, we have to turn our gaze outward. We have to become aware of the whole, sensing the others, the space, and ourselves as part of it. Although attempting to act feels as if we are slowly turning our gaze back to the mirror, remaining in this state of awareness can save us from ourselves, from self-judgment.