Superfluities Redux

by George Hunka
Artistic director, theatre minima

A Theatre Surrounds a City:
Vienna's Burgtheater


Tuesday, 16 February 2010

The day after

UPDATED (16 February) to include photographs of the remarkable Ms. Schafer.


It was a distinct pleasure to offer What She Knew to the audience who came to the ICL Avant-Yarde yesterday evening: my thanks to all who attended, and especially to Fulya Peker and Irem Calikusu who shared the stage with the play, and Nick Fracaro and the incandescent Gabriele Schafer, without whom the performance would not have taken place at all. I was distinctly gratified by your attention and appreciation for a play which certainly doesn't seem mine any more (Gaby can lay claim to it more than I can right now), but yours. We are looking forward to staging a full production sometime this fall, and your response last night makes that production all the more imperative. So thank you again.

At the end of the performance, Rainer Hanshe offered just a brief note of appreciation and his best wishes for the holiday; for those who found it as incisive, relevant (oh that word), heartfelt and contemplative as I did, I repost it below; far better this than any panel discussion:

In The Inoperative Community, Jean-Luc Nancy asserts that "If the community is revealed by the death of the other person, it is because death is itself the true community of mortal beings: their impossible communion." Death is what simultaneously unites and isolates us. It is the house of being, and according to chemist Jean-Claude Ameisen, it is the very carver of life, what shapes and gives birth to us, cutting us to form as the sculptor carves stone or frees from matter the precise structure concealed within it. In death there is a profound opening, an opening in the sense of something beginning; it is an uncovering or manifestation of the possible, of dangerous new ventures. Aside from entailing risk or peril of some kind, what is dangerous is also an attempt or experiment, a trial or essais threatened by the continuous if not inevitable risk of failure, of the catastrophe. Just as the stone may yield nothing, shatter into pieces with the wrong blow, or topple over and crush its creator. To embark on a dangerous course is to be led across, though one doesn't know where, even if one has a destination or specific goal in mind. For one is led not only to a place or to an achievement, if not most likely its failure, but also to certain experiences: one is led into fires of sorts, into the exigent crucible of being. And living is the dangerous experiment, the sustaining of an altogether surpassing intensity to which we struggle to remain open, which is the struggle to remain receptive before death.

Additional photos at the International Culture Lab's Avant-Yarde site. Regular posting resumes shortly.

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