No news to report! I’d say this is rather good, wouldn’t you?Part of Russia’s mystery – and remember, Winston Churchill once described it as a riddle wrapped inside a mystery hidden in an enigma – is the geography and the history. Russia is a vast country, spanning nine time zones, bordering three continents. It has gone through major geopolitical trauma, having watched its massive multinational empire collapse almost overnight.
“IT HAS ALL BEEN A BIG MISTAKE”
(below this article, there’s yesterday’s article: “Autobahnkirche” a rest place for the soul)
It’s strange. I am not exactly responsible for this. On the same token, I’ll say the opposite. I am completely responsible for this. And this is not what you’re thinking. Or, maybe, it is exactly what you’re thinking.
It’s what I’m daydreaming. A nightmare. A nightmare played out in Rome (rather than in Venice). Day after day I find myself confined to a room, a smaller and smaller room, looking at the ceiling. Day in, day out, I’m looking at a smaller ceiling –usually some kind of white tone or yellowish tone that makes the white turn older.
Yes, I’m in Rome, have you noticed? And have NO desire, whatsoever, to be engulfed by hoards and hoards of people who fill up the streets, “Rome-ing” in one direction, or roaming in the opposite direction carrying ones soul and soles where one doesn’t want to go. Some of these millions are seeing this for the 1st time. This is even more depressing. They are Columbus in reverse order: the discovery and the enthusiasm of the “old world”. Fuck them!
Yes, the ruins are still here where I played as a child. Problem? Too many ruins. It’s all one gigantic ruin. The ruin that produces good economic results. Photographs are taken, cameras are snapping of one photographing the other for the billionth time. And where will these images end up? In some kind of blog or log book or in a porn slide show without the porn part.
In the 70’s when I used to come here, it was usually in connection with work: I was here because Amnesty was doing “this or that” or the League for the Liberation of People –Senator Lelio Basso’s NGO – was doing something more to the left of what Amnesty International was doing.
Back then, just as now: always hoards and hoards of people but I seemed less affected and perhaps less aware of the global problems and the density of this thing we call overpopulation or information overload or – what else do we call it? -,oh yes: globalized world. All in all and all ARE all outside this window close to Via Tritone on Via Arcione.
Yes, I’m living a Beckett life. Which? I don’t know. But I seem stuck in a Beckett story, be it The Lost Ones where people roam each searching for their lost ones……be it in a Murphy or Molloy situation of watching the world go past my elbow and being unable to respond to the pressure.
When an image comes to mind, it has already been done. “But you used to kick the door open or shooting your enemies dead and only AFTER the corpse lay there, only then, would you ask questions.” Yes, that was then.
Nobody can write the diary of a ceiling. A ceiling has no life, not even the Sistine Chapel has a life without the hoards of whores in horror of queuing up to look up and stay there looking up at Michaelangelo’s masterpiece. The holes where the lights are built into look like stars or dead planets or your firmament, firm in stating that I’ve grown over sensitive to the news, the overwhelming news of plane crashes, suicide bombers, improvised or not improvised explosive devices and my mind and body are scattered as if an IED has hit it right where the brain makes its decisions.
I’m from the Brave New World.
And this world, such as any other, seems bleaker than usual.
Yes, water is pouring out of the Fontana di Trevi and, yes, 1 million people sit on the Spanish Steps.
And why? Why do they sit there? Why do they throw coins into the Fontana? Because they expect their lives to have a closer encounter with…..with what? Eternity? Oh, of course, I’d forgotten eternity.
Because I am in bed, almost immobile, looking at the ceiling with no horizon in mind. My mind (at this moment) are the steps at Piazza d’Espagna or the water flowing out in huge amounts, from the ruins of the di Trevi, Da Vinci, di Modena or the water which surrounds Taormina, Sicily.
Nobody knows a thing about History.
Maybe I know too much about it all. Yes, a white ceiling may just be the most appropriate scenario for here and now.
23 May 2010.
(a new draft of “BOOK” is available on the videolog: (http://geraldthomasvideos.blogspot.com)
- And Eugenio is in Porto Alegre
Yachts of the stinking rich: Cannes.
Yachts of the Stinking Rich: Cannes.
“Service station with a soul or Rest Stops for Christ!”
Yes, people take time out and off when driving the German super highways and pray: “a moment with myself and for myself and my soul” says a guy who just parked his Porsche outside of an autobahn praying station. No, before you ask, his God’s name ain’t Diesel.
As for me, en route to Rome ( this Tirreno is tricky and dramatically historical), I’m wondering if I’m going to bump into Antonio, Sebastian, Trinculo and all other foes who displaced (uncrowned) the Duke of Milan, Mr. Prospero.
The Tempest: Shakespeare’s last play (1611) and his only tragedy NOT ending in blood or bloodshed.
Prospero plays around and even tortures his enemies but acquits them in the end (through the applause of the audience – which condemns HIM to continue with his Renaiscence soliloquy for the rest of eternity on the makeshift island called THE STAGE.
I had no idea that Picasso and Braque were friends. I had no idea that Cubism was actually a common and ongoing joke between the two of them. I always thought they were enemies.
In the Cubist world, there is no Tempest because there are no waves, There might be square angled waves, as there is a Star Spangled Banner but the question remains:
IF, in fact there had to be a pardon issue between Picasso, Braque and Matisse…would they have had the dignity to act like Prospero/Shakespeare?
Don’t think so.
That was a “French Ship”, hardly a friendship. Bullfighting fans and painters who live in exile and protest against dictators such as Franco, could hardly be forgiving humans.
Are we able to be forgiving? I mean, now, in the age of nothingness, are we forgiving? Or do we look at a bleak future without a proper (prosper) ideology, since it’s all done and dead and dead for nothing.
When I looked out of the window and saw the yachts of the STINKING rich in Cannes yesterday, it dawned on me that (perhaps) we shouldn’t be all that forgiving after all.
Yes, a Stink King rich!!!. The Brave New World of the former Duke of Milan.
I sit alone and wonder if Caliban will eat me up alive – or chew up and suck my bones dry after I’m dead. And…what difference does it make anyway???
Yes, the TemPEST,
PS uptdate on Saturday May 22
Eugenio Barba speaks to Zero Hora (in Porto Alegre, BR)
Zero Hora – Aqui no Brasil recentemente foi assunto o fato de Gerald Thomas, um conhecido dramaturgo e diretor, dizer que estava deixando os palcos por estar cansado de mesmice no teatro, que, como em outras artes, nada mais apresentava de novo. Qual sua opinião sobre essa posição, observando o panorama global do teatro?
Eugenio Barba – Conheço o Gerald Thomas. O que posso dizer é que percebo, sim, uma falta de interesse global pelo teatro. É uma arte para a minoria. Mas é preciso saber de que teatro estamos falando. Teatro tem muitos gêneros, diferentes objetivos, diferentes espectadores. Creio que 95% do teatro que se faz no mundo é feito por anônimos. As pessoas não tomam conhecimento deles, que fazem teatro em cadeias, hospitais psiquiátricos, campos de refugiados. É um teatro que cumpre a função de ajudar na interação das pessoas.
Roma: 22 May, 2010 I am in Eugenio Barba's town