Whenever the Heart Skips a Beat – impressions by Aleksandra Bielas
The sky is grey like an orange. We are standing here, in the history. It is either early or late, it’s the saving lights hour, so let’s spend it together. There is a circle, one of many of that night, and we are listening. The story of us, o(h) us, told in a concentrated voice, circulating. Like a croissant we surround the hole. The flesh of the public, I like how we disappear in one another, changed into an ear, we enter the maze of the moment. Katharina Ludwig talks about whole holes and the missing ones. Objects around her marking a territory. Following her voice, getting closer to her words, which are becoming ours, I allow myself to answer your question: poetry indeed is a language with holes and let’s not patch it, let’s dive into it, together.
After a full breath underneath we bob up in a dancing crown, with limbs all over the place, the cactuses are welcoming us. The cactus territory, like a lost garden, where we look like a cheap version of a being.
We dive again and stay a little in deep ocean landscapes. Again words, floating language so well known but also so incomprehensible. You tell me you believed dragons were actually living animals and I believe you. Facts swimming like dinosaurs, a ringtone soundtrack which sounds good here, deep under water, but the blueness of the screen keeps us awake and we cannot forget the secrets hidden in the seaweed.
The world is a pancake carefully carried by a rat on its back.
The on going conversation about how we give time to each other. And of course as time is a subjective matter we don’t pay in the same currency but we spend it together and on each other.
Or: while meeting you in the waiting zone of the restroom you share your fear of going outside. „I don’t want to face reality“, you say. I like to be part of your parallel world and although this space doesn’t belong to me, being there with you feels like belonging.
With a second front crawl circle we land in Bagdad shop and stop there for a breath.
The colourful place feels so welcoming, we want to touch everything so we do. We listen to groceries, we look at images, in that small paradise of colours and smells, everything seems to be art.
How much time you give an artwork. How much time an artwork gives you.
Cactuses again? No, there are hands, beautiful spongy hands waving to us, we wave back. „I’ll try to get more information on this“.
Looking at the video through branches, the time one gives one another. But you see, this is all mine or ours maybe partly, but there is so much more, carried in a plastic bag, so modest but truly existing, and as we walk with you, Joachim Rauschenbach, I am thankful for the time, for your words, for the sun, again. I am happy to be part of your story. Because there are always two walnuts. And one is for tomorrow.
All images, except No. 15., 30. by: © Joseph Devitt Tremblay