Yes, my skull is exposed. But I am holding on to the top: my dreads. It looks very strange. As Harvey and I convened, it's kinda like "half monk, half clown." Well..
Once again, I come to the page (the screen) with a load-full of impressions wanting expression..
Where to start?
I woke up yesterday morning, after four hours of sleep. Pulling myself up on the bed I remembered the exercise we did in Butoh class on the previous day: "How do you get into your bed? How do you wake up in the morning? Find... those bodies, and develop them." We're still all trying to figure out what this actually essentially means, but there is no specific answer. Yuko has us lay down and get up for more than half an hour; playing with the quality of our movement. "Now, do the same... but break rhythm," she says with her wonderful Japanese intonations, "As if... taking picture.."
So we explore these two phrases over and over again. "Now, with other quality..." There is a silence in the room. Yuko asks Roman, who is not a dancer but a therapist, a big and gentle man in his mid forties, who decided to take the workshop after he saw a performance many years ago and was deeply touched by it. Roman tried not to think and gives an answer: "Spider," he suggest.
We all fall silent for a time. "Spider?"
"Okay," says Yuko, "What kind of spider? Are you scared of spider? Does it... tickle you? Are they inside your body? On your skin?" and so on.. Going up and down again, trying to imagine the quality of spider in its many possible interpretations and in-corporations.
That is why I smiled when I got out of bed yesterday; "I'd never thought I'd be so aware of this moment,"
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| As someone brilliantly described it: "Spontaneous constellations" |
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| Uferstudios: a meeting point for the international dance community. |
I came home with no time for a power nap. I put together ingredients (which I got for free downstairs, thanks to the Christian organization who brings free produce from groceries around town! - see previous blog) to make a salad at Harvey's place. We had plans to 1) "clean up" my head, 2) watch the video of our performance 3) get ready to go Beatriz's birthday party 4) go to Barbie Deinhoff to see Sadie Lune perform. I was exhausted, but how could I miss such a night? I haven't been especially socially involved while in Berlin. Besides, I liked this Beatriz girl when I met her a couple of weeks ago.
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| Sharon: from Israel to Berlin (He is brilliant!) |
We found Beatriz's apartment without too much hassle, relatively speaking, that is.
How can I express the impressions and feelings I had upon entering the place? Home? (Again!?!) With one look around I found what I guess I had expected. At first glance one could easily tell: this was obviously a group of what you'd call ... "circus" people. Indeed, they reflected Beatriz's colorful and carefree personality. And since she is from Brazil, they also spoke Spanish! Although I also heard some German. What a nice combination!
Our host poured each one of us a glass of red wine before pointing us towards her bedroom where we could put our stuff down. I noticed three guys (two of them German-looking) playing guitars in a bedroom on the right-hand side. In her bedroom: juggling clubs, scarves and hats, a unicycle, and a good-looking fella sitting on a mattress on the floor, smoking a cigarette. He looked like the strong yet silent and mysterious type, a dark man with black dreadlocks on one side of his head, giant tribal piercing on his ears and chin, and on both sides of his nose. I said hello, and right away asked him where he was from. "Mexico" he said.
"Cool," I said kneeling down to his level. "Dedonde en Mexico?" I asked, showing interest and recognition and adding "Yo... fue a Oaxaca el año pasado..."
"Ah Si? Fuiste a comer los ongos?" he asked.
"Nein... ich.. I mean, yo no fue.. por que..
(Why didn't I go experience the medicinal mushrooms of San Luis Obispo when I went around there last year? I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I knew I would get along with this guy.) We chatted for a while, compared our itineraries and commonalities, talked about getting together to juggle a bit.
Sharon came to find us because had made plans to meet with his Israeli friends at Barbie Deinhoff's, and the time was approaching. "I think I'm staying here," I said to Harvey. "I really want to see Sadie perform but I'm so comfortable and happy staying here." She understood and said she'd probably come back. Cool.
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| Maybe one of the best bottles I've had! Some spicy wine... from Ikea! ? |
I went into the guitar room and sat with three German dudes. They played the blues on an electric guitar, so I sat there for while, content. I had never met them before but it didn't matter. We all sat there with a smile and an open heart, sharing music.
I am simply blown away. Of course: I am loving this!
What do we talk about? We talk about language a lot! Well at least, I do. Now I wouldn't say that everybody is concerned with the overarching presence of English, as I seem to be. It is acknowledged, but it is accepted in different ways. I wonder how the depth of my feelings on the matter is related to my cultural background, being French Canadian and all.
The German language is fascinating. It is so structured, ordered, analytical. When trying to make a sentence one must organize the pieces of the puzzle in a specific order, less the sentence be considered improper and barely intelligible. Native speakers might understand what you're trying to say, but they will not consider what you did to be "a sentence." Personally, I find that a little bit, let's say, disappointing - euphemistically speaking.
So we agree to meet in broken English, because at least there are no genders and no complicated verb structures. (I read a quote that said: "If you learn good English, who are you going to speak it with." This aptly speaks of the experience I have been having in Berlin!)
However, the marvelous thing is, that practically all these people are here for the very purpose of learning German!! Well at least that's what they do in order to get the student visa that allows them to stay around. It's a phenomenon, I must say. I could do the same if I wanted; I could enroll in a month of German language course and easily, almost instantly, get the right to live here. Not a bad policy, if you ask me.
But I must be on the move. I hear Italy calling me, and France and Spain. I also hear Belgium and Switzerland, although I am not sure I can go everywhere. I have two months left, two weeks in Berlin...
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| Butoh improvisation. Jakob -on the right- is also one of my flatmate. |
I could certainly do it. I'd learn German properly and I'd make art and meet people from all over the world.
But I've done that once. It's a place I feel ambivalent about at this particular time.
So I tell myself that I am allowed not to know. I am allowed to desire some time in Quebec. I can fully enjoy Berlin and everywhere else I'll get to visit and then let it all marinate. Meanwhile...
A majority of people somehow suddenly assembled in the kitchen - thus following what is manifestly a universal and timeless tradition. Somebody had made a cake... and that cake was... heavenly! I meant it: it was out of this world, a culinary orgasm, to make time stop for a moment of pure joy and pleasure, soft and sweet. Perfekt. And the best part? Sharing the experience with others, who not too long before were complete strangers.
Beatriz walked in and introduced a friend of hers, a talk dark man with his guitar. He said he had a gift for the birthday, and started playing...
His voice! Deep, and soulful like a prayer... His playing.. The uplifting surprise of balkan-gypsy music with an arabic element. A feast. With a few notes he had filled us with true delight... In this crowded space, we clapped our hands and smiled... and danced...
Harvey and Sharon came back a little later, but the heat had receded a bit and the ambiance had returned to the more casual, multikulti conversations occurring in every corner.
I needed to go home and crash, so I began to say my goodbyes. I entered a third bedroom to pay my salutations to a few more people I hadn't met. But they were playing some Electro-house music of some kind.... so I put my stuff down for one last leg of living it up...
The four or five people in the room made jokes: "No dancing!" we'd say, laughing and dancing. (We had been warned to keep the dancing quiet after the arabic-gypsy celebrations.) Then a guy (from Somalia, but very white!?) began to read from a German book, and turned it into some rap. "Die Stadt" he spoke. And a few of us repeated "Die Stadt" in unison. We started a rhythm, repeating "Die Stadt" while he kep reading from the text. Soon, we had a full on beat ensemble going on, and the energy kept building, peppered with laughed of excitement at this spontaneous act of co-creation.
"Ist hier!" I sang, indicating the center of our dancing and singing circle. Laughs of recognition.
When the track ended, and I had to say it: "Hallelujah."
I was going to take the night bus to return home. I was explained that it'd be a bit of trouble, but what was I going to do? Of course, I got lost. So I ended up treating myself to a cab. On my way out the driver said: "Du sprichst sehr gut Deutsch!"
"Nein" I answered humbly.
"Everyone must begin somewhere", he said [in German, with an accent (from Turkei?)], "Beginning is good."
Thanks for saying that.
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| Near Marrianenstrasse. |
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