Of late, conversations surrounding community and “togetherness” feel difficult, if not outright performative in the worst cases. Perhaps the point we’re all missing is that we aren’t alone on this planet, and we never were. Grief defines our current landscape; as we scramble to find the answers to cope, many conversations begin to emerge concerning nature and the other life forms with whom we share our earth. Previously predictable cycles, be it those of seasons or of life itself, are collapsing and changing, disrupted by human intervention. How does care, and even love, find its place in the transitional landscape in which we find ourselves?
At the end of May, we gathered at E-WERK Luckenwalde to tackle the many questions surrounding love and lament in the sixth rendition of The Shape of a Circle in the Mind of a Fish. A symposium festival curated by Lucia Pietroiusti and Filipa Ramos in collaboration with Schering Stiftung, its title explores sand “drawings” created by pufferfish. Perfectly geometric, the phenomenon represents a puzzling pattern that has sparked exploration of perspectives on renewal and forms of togetherness starting six years ago. This edition’s participants include Claudia Rankine, Antoine Bertin, and Staci Bu Shea, among others.
Fig.1
It is almost three in the afternoon as we are herded over to the dome-like structure in the tall grass on E-WERK’s grounds, called the FLUXDOME, created by the architecture collective umschichten. Under the soft heat of the dome, Antoine Bertin awaits his audience. As we settle onto the blankets that are laid out, some lie down, some sit upright, the experience begins: a guided listening session of recordings and live inputs from the artist. Bertin is a multidisciplinary artist creating field recordings, installations, sculptures, and works that connect the scientific to the artistic through the medium of sound. The meditative nature of Bertin’s work feels incredibly intimate, separating those within the dome from those by the garden stage, the shape of a circle encompasses the audience. Sounds trickle, coo and vibrate under the structure, the audience surrenders itself to the abstract and unexpected. A short moment of balmy serenity settles over us. In his studios in Paris, as well as on the small island of Alicudi off the coast of Italy, Bertin focuses on sound research and production, intending for his works to contribute to the protection of our environment. Powered by Wendel’s Kunststrom, the sound of trickling water and the clicking squeaks of echolocating bats emanate from the speakers in the FLUXDOME, forming an artistic collaboration with a similar environmentalist approach.
Fig. 2
In the sporadic breaks separating the lectures and contributions, some played cards on a picnic blanket, others engaged in conversation. Some soaked in the sun. The group dissipates and reforms at the garden stage. The weather is cooperating with the predominantly outdoor programme today. Stood in line for a coffee, I hear Staci Bu Shea grace the stage, serenely, as they explain their line of work and the concept of “death doulas”. Writer, curator, educator and consultant, Bu Shea provides holistic grief and death care to clients, acting as an organiser, caregiver, and community member to those grieving. In their debut book Solution 305: Dying Livingly, published in January of this year, Bu Shea presents a collection of short essays on living life guided by death, considering death a part of life rather than its antithesis. While the doula has become a recognized role as a non-medical caregiver during birth and pregnancy, Bu Shea sheds light on the benefits of involving a similar figure for what they refer to as “the end of life process”. The passion of grief, the act of lamenting, is often discussed in the context of one individual grieving another individual. How do we apply Bu Shea’s concept to an inconceivable loss on a cultural or global scale? If circumstantially and financially possible, a death doula can provide the interpersonal connection that defines our humanity by way of community, creating space for grief as a part of life. Their reflections on their recent publication could have opened up a conversation that, in light of the ongoing genocide in Palestine and Sudan, among other devastating conflicts, would bear a new weight. While there was no clear discussion mentioning the violence, discussing death and lament in Brandenburg carries certain unique structural difficulties at present. Few answers, no solutions, but an attempt at forging a common understanding. Wrapping up, Bu Shea referenced deaths being “pulled from the future into the present”, a recognition of lives and natural cycles being disrupted and desecrated that stuck with me.
Fig. 3
Bu Shea is met on stage by Claudia Rankine, and they engage in a beautifully reverent conversation alongside the event’s curators Lucia Pietroiusti and Filipa Ramos, but not before we are introduced to Rankine's forthcoming work, “Triage”. As the poet and essayist makes her way onto the garden stage, she clutches a large envelope overflowing with pages and covered in sticky notes. She pulls a few pages from within the makeshift folder and addresses her audience. Created post-pandemic and due for release next year, “Triage”’s two protagonists, the narrator and the “theorist”, collapse at the sight of one another—a game they play as friends, as well as a freighted reflection of our times. At this point in the programme, we have settled into our role as the audience and into the tempo of the last few contributions. Reading from and reflecting on her manuscript, Rankine proffers the audience questions rather than answers. It begins to sit with me that while I came here with questions unanswered, I will leave as I came. This is not to say that there were no inputs that inspired and provoked action and thought, but rather that the concrete understanding I was seeking was not provided. And it was not the point.
Fig. 4
The turbine hall hosts the rest of the programme, featuring a reading of Morris Water Temple by Jenna Sutela and Jovana Maksić, a screening of Daughter of Dog by Revital Cohen and Tuur van Balen, as well as a last-minute relocation of Elizabeth A. Povinelli’s lecture performance to the garden stage. Povinelli, with her infectious energy, presented her ideas on “collapsology” and settler-colonialism through storytelling. Her presentation was engaging, yet I approached Povinelli later to share my appreciation for her lecture performance, admitting I had no idea what she was talking about at times. There was a subtle, yet notable, shift in energy after Povinelli left the garden stage; not a reprieve from honest, uncomfortable feelings, but rather an uptick in tempo. Flashing imagery and a ticking bassline filled the Turbine Hall as Daughter of Dog played, posing more questions than answers (again), but also signalling the beginning of the end of our day at E-WERK.
Fig. 5
E-WERK was a bubble, a charmed circle in the mind of the guests attending the symposium that day. I didn't leave the grounds until dark. When I did, it felt like the gates of E-WERK were an emotional barrier. Carrying the day home with me on the train ride back I reflected on a packed but diverse programme. As much as grief and collapse define our era, so do friendship and kinship, and these were in abundance that day. While Rankine, or any other guest at E-WERK that Saturday, does not have the answers for the questions posed by the present crises, a moment to ponder them together, to sit and lament, and to celebrate, is what keeps our commitment to community afloat.
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- All Images:
The Shape of a Circle in the Mind of a Fish. Courtesy E-WERK Luckenwalde, photo: Laila Kaletta.
