- To be said/Read while Rabbits in my back set up the stage for the wormhole.
- Lecture to be invaded by a worm.
- I will deliver the lecture, unlike I had planned in the 301 draft proposal.
Greetings welcome everyone. I am very pleased to see you all here. Today I would like to begin by laying out the principles and strategies I will employ in what I have to tell you, namely being situation specific, literal and radically honest. What I mean by situation specific if addressing the fact that we are all here not because of a solo dance authorship show or piece but for a research presentation. I will not fool you, those are two different things. It has been said that I should be able to through this hour effectively communicate my research and investigation (a series of insights effectively shared). And going into literality I would like to say that what I have been researching about is this moment, this precise moment, when after one year of research in the framework of HZT and SODA I now encounter you, a group of people including friends, acquaintances, teachers, colleagues and assessors. So, this moment. This moment when I am here, you are there, I am here potentially shitting my pants (and moving from being literal to radically honest) and you are there deriving some sort of potential pleasure or kick from feeling the way in which I mediate and deal with the potential of, due to the liveness of the moment, cracking open and running away or exceeding your expectations and sweeping you off your feet with my creativity and innovativeness. But usually none of these things happen. Usually we as audience don't get swept off our feet and usually artists or performers don't crack up regardless of how much they feel they might be shitting their pants. But so what is it, what is that thing that keeps us binded into the liveliness of this moment of performance, dance, art, knowledge, research? What about it?
It is a tense moment. This moment of evaluation and truth. I have yearned and fought against this hour. Yearned for the moment of opening up and sharing this moment with you, the moment where maybe something of interest can be communicated, where maybe we can allow for some fun to take us out of ourselves into a realm of phantasy and dissolution, becoming one with the universe, saying fuck this bullshit of a world let’s have fun, screw it all, suspending our beliefs that shit is fucked and no matter how much we wished to make a difference in it the last resort will always be a potlach, burning resources, props, spending what we have for nothing other than an productive collective hedonism of going into a theatre a black box a white cube roaming around having some drinks being taken into some other people’s matters other than those in the news and in our lives and emotions and fears and anxieties and depressions and laughters.
AND WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO? I make you go through this boring self important lecture to tell you that it is pitiful that at the base of our misery lies the never fulfilled wish and need to be loved, to be reflected n other’s love, to see ourselves replicated in the art of others, see ourselves being appreciated by others, our power spread, our images loved be it through choreographing, being a parent, a CEO or a world leader.
You see it’s a very basic mathematical formula. Your self love = Ego Love you give/have to yourself + Object Love you project unto someone/something else or hope to get through someone/something
In a twisted way I look at all of you as my father. The one who’s approval I wish to gain in order to confirm my ego ideal. Or should I say my master’s, the ones I look up to, the artists I cherish and identify with, be them men or woman. I prefer that way of saying it. So again, as a person, a human with a human brain and human thoughts I cannot help but derive my ego love from the love I transfer to you at the moment of wishing to share something with you. I love you enough to wish to communicate but only because I need something back from you, not necessarily even an approval, but a reaction. A reaction through which I can confirm my own existence and see myself reflected in your disgust or excitement alike. For the worst would be to face no reaction, indifference, wherefrom one feels as if dissolving, sinking into a lace of disappearing, the sunken place of deperession, of filtering out emotions and feelings of worth, self woth or world worth. And you, someway somehow you as the audience in me so wishes to encounter something on which to react. For the worst presentations are not good or bad presentations, they are the presentations that make us indifferent. Indifference is the uncanny side of depresson, the sunken place whereform the world just keeps going regardless of our materiality.
And this is always a big mess. All of this I feel may lead to insanity. To devastating losses of references. To artists demanding pink lady apples, avocados and tequilla sunrises at their arrival in a Queer grassroots DIY festival, at CEO’s snorting cocaine with prostitutues on skyscrapper 5 stars hotels and so on and so forth. The need and wish to feel alive, to feel validated, powerful, to deposit our love and self worth unto others in which we may see ourselves reflected is or cared for is a big mess of a thing.
This is way I believe that my research calls for a Speculative Other
(TBC expanding onw orms and so forth)