In the depth of the politics of experience

13 days ago
A creative response to the artworks of the exhibition and conference participants is my attempt at "freediving" in the complex theme of solidarity. I would like to ...

English subtitle

I was born by the sea,
in a place where now peace combines with the shadows of the war.
I remember the first time I opened my eyes under water:
Suddenly
Four green walls around me,
Four green walls around me,
And the light was shimmering through the surface,
It was a different world, and I was a part of it
For as long as my breath could last.
These days, I was thinking about creativity as depth
These days, I was thinking about creativity as depth
How the surface of life is revealed and what is beneath it
How the experience is brought out and how it blends with you –
With your body, your eyes, your mind.
We can call it art, or politics, or life, or a hundred of other words
The problem for me is not in the words, or the number of languages,
But in who and what is saying, who and what
Can and wants to hear.
I think that when Anna says ‘Let her speak’, it is a political gesture
It is about the fact that when you are ‘her’,
you are in a specific place,
And it is not only ‘in the kitchen’.
It is about a place in the lives of others.
About the way we are taught not to hear important things,
If they are spoken by ‘her’.
We can call it sexism, internal misogyny,
explain with complex terms,
But ‘Let her speak’, is, of course, not only about this,
it is also about something else.
It is about people who give you their oxygen
When you are suffocating.
It is about those who are sitting beside you and waiting, while you are catching breath
It is about those with whom we live, with whom we share feelings, life and words:
“I want have as much self-confidence, as she does”
It is about best friend Liza, who will simply say: ‘You are cool and sweet’.
‘You are cool and sweet’.
Solidarity as a gift of interconnection – does it resonate or not?
Resonance – as a quite trembling inside,
To listen and to hear.
What does equality mean in the world that is not equal?
Where the West from the capital W is still important?
Europe for ‘them’ ends with Vienne or Berlin,
And further – “outer space”, muddy waters, desert.
When we scream, who can hear us?
Who can see our blood in the water?
Roberta knows, what it is like – to stand among the voices,
To want to gather them and carry to those who have the power
To keep the stories of others in memory and not let them disappear,
To remind of the history to those who want to forget.
Solidarity as an action – to hear, to help, to change.
And I don’t totally agree with the rhetoric of the ‘human rights’,
And it is a bit risky, like jumping in the water at a run, -
To speak about others.
But if we speak together with others,
We have something to say.
We can say about what hurts us
and what makes us warm
We can exist despite the powers that are stronger than us.
And if the world is the theatre of capitalist brutality,
What is our role?
Who are you in this reality?
What does it mean to be yourself, when what you can become
Is defined beforehand, put on different shelves?
What does it mean to change the language of everyday,
When everything speaks of your uselessness,
As you are not a member of a normative society.
Others have the right to your name,
Others have the power to create diagnoses,
To lock you somewhere, to eliminate you from reality,
To run after you on the street, to throw ink at you,
To put a stamp on a travel ban.
To mark you with a stigma and tie weight to you,
Or close their eyes and just do nothing.
And even the set of identities
Won’t make them see personalities in us.
But people are not letters, and not even terms,
We are always more than what is measured for us.
And maybe the answer is – to unite,
To go against authorities, to make art without money,
And maybe the answer is to create different lives,
To destroy with creation all that hangs on us.
And I am being told:
Now my door is always open,
because then the door was closed and I couldn’t leave.
And I am being told:
Yes, in our country Internet can be accessed only through passport,
and we can’t go on actions
but it doesn’t mean that we can’t do anything.
We have other instruments.
And I am being told:
When I was a teenager, there was no information
that could help me in understanding and accepting myself.
All I could do was to write a diary,
and through it, to find at least some resource for myself,
and to keep the hope that it won’t be so difficult forever.
And I am being told:
Give me your email,because in our country facebook can be banned tomorrow.
And I am being told:
We have a pause now.
We want to understand what we can do.
We are lucky we survived.
And some of those who said it are here now.
And some are not with us.
But I hear them.