A phenomenon that interests me repeatedly is why people relate things to themselves, even though they are not really meant or addressed directly. And that brings me back to the topic of exclusive and inclusive.
I believe that people who have been excluded tend to do so because they have an urgency to be included. People in leading positions or those who have some form of power over others, as well as parents over their children, often exploit this need of inclusivity. They use ambiguities and sort of ambivalence to give people who are looking for recognition the feeling that they are meant and therefore included, which is actually only an illusion and ephemeral. Far from the often used term "sustainability".
On the contrary, in reality, them (those with power) abandon these actually helpless people, who feel like a star in that particular moment. I have often been in this role of relating things to myself as a means of getting connected and being on equal terms, which is the wrong way. It is a too passive action.
It usually happened somehow automatically and suddenly I found myself at the center of a topic, where I threw myself somehow inside, but where I was only the main act from my own personal point of view. An uplifting feeling, a brief moment of flying, the landing of which can be hard, when you arrive in the actual here and now. After several such unpleasant landings, I tried to switch off this relating-to-me thing and just remain in a distance, not involved. Which is actually absolutely healing. You come out of the situation unscathed and can start communication on a level based on facts.
I asked the AI. Click here for further reading...
pasted into the 1992 agenda during the stay
at Cité Internationale des Arts Paris
The month is almost over. I feel restless. Maybe it's the wind that's making me anxious, or the feeling of not being needed. I don't know, I don't care, somehow, as I don't care about anything, the joy is missing.
Let's see what I've written on this day in past years. Maybe there will be repetitions.
In fact, in a total of 17 years, I've only found two entries for November 28th. It's not the date, but the sporadic way I write.
I'm aware of failure again, as so often. The feeling of not having lived up to the demands of a good artist prevails, or at least for the moment.
There are still a few old diaries and sketches that I haven't been able to get rid of yet. But even there I haven't found an entry that would be worth the space here. Some of the sketchbooks, four or five, are OK. I'll keep them. But the rest is garbage. Maybe, if I don't burn them, I'll make a self-portrait out of them someday.
2014
Friday, 28
you have made yourself wings, he said to me, i am still down on earth, so please leave me -
2013
Thursday, November 28
Reading books has changed since my cyberless childhood. That time when I had read a book - I always finished them and read one after the other - it was like I was embracing them, furnishing them proudly on my bookshelf; it was mine then. These days the meaning of books has become peripheral. There is lot of reading in internet and on electronic readers and the presence of a book is not that necessary. Of course, the content stays the same and you can fill your heart with it still, but for sure books lost their gravitas.
Saturday, 23
it's not the first time i've started like this. yes, my recurring question is whether writing helps. or should the therapeutic aspect be a driving force at all? no, it's not writing, it's the thinking, which comes before writing, that helps, its clearing up disorganized thoughts, when faced with a problem. and this time i don't mean the technical problems with the server, but questions of being. the older i get, the more i try to get everything under control, to be perfectly organized. i remember during young age, i took more risks. in fact, the fear of dying was less present. now that i'm old, i try everything to prevent it. focussed on living healthily i am supposed to live longer. no smoking, less alcohol, less saturated fats, no sugar etc. however, why can't i be as relaxed as i used to and instead getting more anxious? on the other hand, i live more consciously and my ability to control my life has improved. i know what i want and what i don't want.
I wrote this text at the end of last month and then decided to drop it. I had already addressed writing as such too often, was my verdict. Now it fell into my hands by chance - already deleted and found in the translation history. (there is a missing conclusion, not brought to the point, but i let it survive) A clue for today's entry - I had promised to write something. Actually about the German word exklusiv, which for me when I was young simply meant special or noble. It could even be ein exklusives Kleid (a plush dress), for example. The actual meaning of "exclusive" as opposed to "inclusive" only became clear now.
In Dakar, too, I thought about my age and that I don't have much time left. Today I saw the interview with Marina Abramović that she gave to SRF on the occasion of her exhibition in Zurich. An insightful conversation, a great woman. And then she said:
My real crisis I had when I got 70. When you are 70 that is such a big number. The main thing for me is how much time I have still to do what I have to do and that´s the only concern that I have. Because I have so much to do.
Marina Abramović and the Art of Overcoming
Saturday, 9
i see people with brochures in their hands - invitations, programs or signposts - walking through the multitude of exhibitions, but i don't see where or how to get the leaflets. so i walk through time, taking photos here and there. i don't bother to photograph the names anymore. i'm sure you can find them on search engines if you're interested in a work.
Thursday, 7
A few days ago we arrived in Dakar. Apart from the fact that Air Senegal delayed the flight twice, everything went well. Well, there were a few problems with the taxi driver, who didn't arrive at the airport on time (at 4 in the morning), which is understandable, but we had written to him beforehand and received no reply. So we took another one, which was of course annoying of him.
The room we rented is nice. Nothing to complain about, big bathroom, pleasant. We are right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the many vendors. The street in front of our front door is always a bit wet, it seems that there is water damage that cannot be repaired.
This morning we were at the opening ceremony of the Biennale. Really nice, even if we (as always... or is it me to be always on the lose side) occupied the last seats up in the stalls. But great with wonderful music and dance performances.
Yesterday we picked up our batches. I had accredited us. But as it turned out, our batches weren't worth much. When we went to the vernissage of the exhibition at the Ancien Palais de la Justice this afternoon, we were turned away. We didn't have an invitation.
When we picked up the batches, I asked the man who handed them out to us what time the vernissage at the Ancien Palais de la Justice was. He answered somewhat grimly, 5 p.m. When I said goodbye to him and thanked him, he obviously looked past me. We were nobody. He didn't mention that we needed an invitation for the vernissage.
We then waited at the bus stop, I particularly disappointed. I asked a group, with The Wake cards in their hands that looked like invitations, if they had been there. A woman answered me, pointing to her invitation, that they were not of sufficient level to attend the vernissage. Aha, so we weren't the only ones who were turned away. Then a couple. I thought, they really look like they've already been through the whole thing. But no, them as well, directors of a cultural center in Togo, had to go home because they had no invitation.
Yes, what a pity Dakar, despite great ambitions, is unfortunately no different to Venice and the like.
Friday, 1
Art Space Work of the Month
Arthur Illies (1870-1952) - Jelängerjelieber (honeysuckle) colour etching, 1896
from the estate 1970, 33,5 x 50 cm