safe space for exploring silly/serious/scientific/spiritual/speculative ideas.

Artist: Anna Kretchmer
Date: 29.6.2023
Location: ssesi.space

Once upon a time the garden will speak when we will have learned to listen. It starts from future weaving into past. For now we hear the voices starring at the road which feeds the voices we endure. At night they whisper, during day , I feel the won't stop to get into my head seeding there a depth which I didn't encountered before. My whole body becomes often more nervous than usual. Triggering a quite more sensitive sensing of the garden, anything I have to do, wish to create enters this topography, depths map of emotions, drowning drift of wonders how do the plants which speak one to another still hear eachother? How does their voices might be distorted, altered by the frequencies from the other side, becoming echo here, maybe absorbed by the shivering leaves. Does the movement of the leaves changes ? Is the growth of trees affected while being moved by sound ? I simply wonder ow much a human being gets used to many things, so called accoutumance. But a being with roots, moving within the ground, feeding itself from what is there, composting one another.

Where it starts is a mystery A constant state of morphing invasion spreading towards waves as well over here. In the afternoon quite early is shade but I feel the air becomes even warmer, The ground is dry, I am sweating. The clay needs the rain to unfold. And my hands weave the rain on a shade, to always fill the fountain, keep abundance and abandonment in this place of surrender, of early states of otherness. I felt I can't fight long this madness driving. I can't feed myself more then my emotions require to swallow. The endings and beginnings become uncertain, even narrow, overlapping. The fire enters this transformation, this longing for hunger, for a scream lasting over the valley. May it spread. It is a dream I had. What will remain of us ? Did we planted seeds underneath to rise with the next rain ? Seeds who desire to awake into this garden ? The fire May it transform the clay into eternity. the movement of the snakes, come from Les guerrières de Monique Wittig, the O, ouroboros is the threshold. The gate to the underworld duplicating.

Our present is dried out , ripped out rocks , cliffs of sorrow seem to whip and giggle of pleasure and pain, these open wounds of old beings endure the caresses of the sun. Amplifying even. An amphitheatre to observe here and now. The sessi space is indeed an autonomous zone, mainly a place to be, just present observing, taking in the presences from around. Becoming one of them. And the verticality, here leads back to a writing from a Butoh performer, saying that she engages with bodies as vessels. When we fall, it's quite easy, one way to the ground, the gravity calls. But to rise again, to meet the devine walk, the extreme slow motion of looking from the ground to the horizon and to the sky. Here the horizon is the ground and the sky the leaves. I do remember that underneath are the seeds who can't wait, or can't I wait ? What I felt here is framed by that human insight, let's say approach of trying to see within myself and them where we are so close to one another. While touching the ground the ground touches me. The colour of my skin turns occre, pourpre or white.

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