There is a bunch of stuff that has happened since last time I wrote here. The lines between journal an project are not blurring more? I feel quite separate. Somehow the tryouts I am producing are not directly speaking of my personal narrative which I think is also fine. For now.
Actually I think there is a bunch to catch up on.
1. Letter to Lord Chandos
Transluscent quality is so so nice. The warm tone of the dough plates feels homey, comfortable, soft, glowing. Just looks nice.
He describes a state of creative turmoil that seems deeply personal. He questions if he is still the same person who used to be perceived as a kind of litarary genius.
His inability to produce creative, artistic work is based in a feeling of inadequacy of language. He is sceptical that any words could reach the inner things, the essence of life.
He describes his position relative to his past creative work as akin to standing on the edge of a great abyss.
“Beyond the tricks of rhetoric” his Spirit deflated into powerlessness and timidity.
He lost all ability to speak or think on anything coherently.
He talks about a conversation with his daughter in which he had trouble formulating sentences and it reads as a sort of pang of anxiety, a panic attack. Physical repulsion, fear.
Hearing people talk about others, judge or comment, filled him with indescribably hatred forcing him to leave the room.
He talks about the dissollution of his words in psychadelic metaphors, swimming in and staring at amorphous, volatile shapes.
Where he finds a sense of pure joy, or purpose is now in everyday moments. Presence, it seems, bodily experience far from cerebreal processes is where he is filled with inexplicable gratitude.
“Filled to the brim with a flood of holy emotion.”
He talks about rats that he had exterminated in a cellar of his, and how connected he felt to their suffering. How their death presented a sense of presence, of life force as a stream that every entity dips in and out of.
Another image he shares is that of a water beetle in a watering can that he stares into while sitting under the shade of a tree.
“A constellation of triviality” that seems deeper than any word or thought could be. As soon as these moments pass, there is no putting them to words anymore.
I took these images; him on his horse, the rats and the watering can as representations of this inability to speak.
A certain feeling of inaptness. “Who am I to speak” that feels familiar to me.
I empathise with his description of physically falling apart when asked to speak, it sooths me to read these words that seem to describe situations I am all too familiar with.
2. Puppet and Streaming
I am still wondering if these become some sort of characters in a storyline. Also been thinking more about performing and performance. In a way identity is a performance, and simultaneously there is this weird obsession I have with it.
A bunch of my projects were performance in the past and while it is always somewhat shameful for me to perform, I enjoy it a lot. And when I settle into it is really soothing and inspiring to work with my body like that. I had this idea of becoming the pierrot character myself. I think it is kind of beautiful that they did not talk. Which reminds me of the Letter to Lord Chandos also. The muteness. Whether its a result of shame or inaptness might be of second order importance.
Anyways I had this idea of dressing up as Pierrot and then having little signs that had text on them and getting a supposed audience to read them, thus narrating my character.
It is interesting in one way, because it recreates this sense of surrender to outside powers. While actually it is still my text...
But anyways initially I thought the text could read some traumatic retelling of my past, some homophobic or other episode. But I feel like that is a bit self-victimising. Or at least too blunt. Not lighthearted in a way? Or maybe there would be a way to talk of it without it feeling too depressing.
There is a feeling of surrender in having people narrate your story for you, I could have them read and say things I would never dare to say in front of a crowd and in a strange way that would feel powerful again.
But I do not want to excavate some depth of my mind just to sell it to an audience. It feels too extractive.
Anyways I made this puppet. A fool/jester/pierrot kind. And for whatever reason I decided to live stream me making it. So i got onto twitch and streamed my crafting sessions.
In a way that made it performance. I only shared the link on my insta close friends but potentially anyone could have joined. There were max. 5 viewers. I did not really know who they are except for Selma and my brother. I did behave differently because of being in a public space, albeit online. It felt performative. Second session later at night was with Lena at first in the room with me and it was palpable that I had switched persona somewhat to accomodate any viewers.
I do think performing is somehow natural to me although I am ashamed of it.
I remember being a very class-clowny kid. Annoying even. Loud and putting on shows. Rehearsing dances with friends and dancing for our parents. I believe at some point I learned this is not what I ought to do. And somehow grew ashamed of it.
From that point onwards I would keep the dancing behind closed doors - in the safety of my room.
Usually draped in blankets or cloths of some sort.
Outward perception taught me through implicit ways, not directly to hide this part of me and be ashamed of it. Through looks or jokes or reactions to other people being that way?
Another aspect about this livestreaming is that in a way the public was always a part of my day-to-day. With our home being part home part restaurant and hotel, most of the time spent with my parents was time also spent in public. Thinking about being perceived and acting in accordance has been central to my life. Non-public exchange was rare.
I wonder how much shame people experience generally.
I do in public speaking, or even just one-on-one conversations. Whenever I am asked to speak on my emotions or thoughts or opinions that have not yet been validated by some external entity. It feels like being pushed to walk forward while blindfolded. I want to look around and see people agree, nod, for gods sake even interfere or take over just don’t let me lead this situation.
But deep down I think I do enjoy attention somehow if there wasnt this abyss of shame between me and the people.
There is this feeling of excitment filling me up when I went live for example or even thinking about performing that feels scary and could lead to painful or uncomfortable situations but simultaneously feels like it could heal me somehow.
I think this is an interesting nodal point of personal history of my identity being reered by outside expectations and online media, performance through theatre (dolls, masks) and then it is all in the medium of bread.
Spaces of shame.
(also read a bit on heterotopias) Spaces of “othering” that exist so a “normal” can be established and cultivated. At least that is my reading of it. In a way, away from public heterotopias there are these personal heterotopias. Ones that might not be place-based but also time-based. A time for you to be “other” so that you can be “normal” at other times. Times for escaping yourself. In a way that reads to me like performance.
Excerpt from my journal:
“I don’t understand why I need to understand everything, like life is much simpler. Even on the livestream I was thinking ‘It’s finally coming out, I am an empty shell of a human.’
No ideas original to me.
No thoughts on anything.
Empty.
I eradicate all of my experience.
Make it into nothing.
Like it doesnt matter.
Foolish.“
Again this is a very dramatic recounting. But also I have learned through therapy that I have the tendency to call my feelings or thoughts dramatic. So maybe it is just apt. But it feels dramatic. Which is maybe shame talking again. But yes - I would say that I can observe in myself this fighting need to understand. To make sense of everything I encounter like I was this alien specimen desperately wanting to relate. Relate not physically, intrinsically but very theoretically. Like relating could only happen as a cerebreal thing.
It is weird there is so much shame in admitting to it.
And in trying to adress it. Can you get rid of it ever?
Obsession with jesters because they seem to not have shame. What I want basically? Potentially.