Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Wenckebachweg 18: midnight chat with Nemesia

I had a 1am talk with Nemesia last night in the kitchen. She caught me in the act of nibbling on a slice of cheese. She was looking for Ambroise. She said she needed somebody to talk to. I was glad to be the one to share this midnight chat with her. She had moved into Wenckebachweg 18 a week ago and we had only met briefly one sunny morning in the living room when Ambroise and her shared a sumptuous brunch on the couch with lounge music. Ambroise was wearing a mini skirt, a fake fur coat and high heels that morning. Marcel had told me about Ambroise’s occasional drag actions and I felt touched and honored to finally witness one myself.
Nemesia had been evicted from a squat a few days ago and was still a bit traumatized. I didn’t realize how big an effect this eviction had on her. She seemed to be a tough&talkative girl. That was my first impression. She was wiping her eye sockets vigorously. I’m not embarrassed anymore when people cry in front of me. I was especially intrigued by Nemesia’s vigorous rubbing of her eye sockets as if this could prevent the tears from flowing.
I had just gotten back from a Korean dumpling party. She had been to a dinner with fellow academics. She writes her PHD on the squatting movement in Holland. She had enjoyed the food but found the people boring. Especially one Iranian guy who always needs to be the center of attention and was saying things like: “ I bought some lamb today. They have some really nice quality lamb in Holland!”
She told me she hadn’t realized I was a dancer. She took modern dance in college and loves to go to dance performances. She also commented on my accent. She found it slightly American with a vague European timbre or something along those lines.
I was flattered by her remark. I’m always annoyed when people detect my accent as being from the German wing all too soon. Being reminded that my accent isn’t as obviously German as Philip’s for example is very reassuring, although I’m not particularly keen on sounding American either.
Philip had left to Berlin for a week. Nemesia wasn’t the only one feeling relieved by Philip’s absence. He acts as though he owns the house and had expressed serious and vehement objections to Nemesia moving into the guest room. Philip likes to use the guest room as his office and the living room as his work space. His bedroom is only for sleeping and looking at himself in the mirror (according to Ambroise). Nemesia doesn’t understand how somebody can have three rooms in a squatted house. After all a squat is public property and should be treated as such with social responsibility.
Nemesia told me that Philip had asked her questions about her status when they first met – which social class her parents belong to etc. I find this perverse.
Status shouldn’t be an issue at all. But upon closer reflection I had to admit that in my social circle status is an issue after all. It is determined by whether people find somebody’s work interesting or not, if it sells and happens to please and intrigue. It is about pimping one’s profile and having an extended network of potential spectators, programmers, critics etc. who give value and importance to one’s artistic output.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

intimate walk with Robert

I raced to his house boat in the rain to pick him up. Actually it's not his house boat, but the house boat of Andre. It's one of the last house boats in Amsterdam without a sewage system. So when I peed in their toilet it went directly into the canal.
First we had a tea and stroop koek and talked about lazy weekend moods.
Robert sometimes stays in bed all day in the weekend reading the papers. He also likes to walk around his house naked for hours on end. When he is alone. Or with lovers. It feels natural to him. He wakes up every morning at 5 am to remember his dreams and goes on dreaming in a waking state. He continues constructing his dreams once he is awake, interpreting them in a way, but not analytically, more intuitively I believe.
He likes to do circular movements in his waist when he wakes up. This movement comes natural to him. I told him that this is a Kundalini exercise. In my Kundalini class we call it grinding. It wakes up the Kundalini energy and is great for digestion. And Silke, the financial secretary at school, told me she learned the same exercise in a ritual stemming from an old Tibetan monk tradition, before the buddhists came to Tibet. I forgot the name of this tradition, but I will ask her again. Robert wasn't aware that this movement comes from any kind of Tibetan monk or Kundalini tradition.
He does it unconsciously. He just does it because his body asks for it first thing in the morning. What I love about Robert is that he often shares intimate details of his life without even being asked.
We ventured out into the drizzling Amsterdam Saturday afternoon under one, big black umbrella. This already provided a quite intimate setting. We hooked arms. Robert told me about a festival director in Bologna with hair on the outside of his ears. Robert said he reminded him of a character out of Lord of the Rings. When he met this guy he felt immediately very intimately connected and they walked arm in arm through Bologna.
Robert is very social. I admire how easy it is for him to meet people and become intimate with them. In that way he is a bit of a role model to me. He talks openly about his narcissistic side. He has discovered the stage and the performer inside rather late in his life. He likes to take pictures of himself on his laptop and publish them on his blog. He finds himself beautiful when he looks at himself in the mirror in the morning. But in a sauna for example he is often bashful about his body. He is a self-indulgent being and wants to celebrate that. Yet he can give a lot of attention, positive energy and love to others. It's true that I can feel quite special in his company.
Later at a bakhlava shop Robert asked me about my relationship with my body. I replied that I am vain - that I worry about losing my hair and getting a belly. I am striving for a perfect body. And I am not at all proud of that. It doesn't go with my values of serenity and inner peace. I tend to think I am too attached to outer appearance. Everybody wants to be desired, no? Especially performers? Somehow I find it reassuring that Robert is vain and doesn't have a problem with it. Rather than change his vanity he wants to celebrate it.
Robert once told me in a feedback that what he really likes in me is my transparency. That's a big word - transparency. And it has stuck with me ever since. I constantly question myself if I am truly being transparent or only pretending to be. More often than not I perceive myself as a total fraud. I notice that it has become very important to me what Robert thinks of me. He has been my teacher and adviser. I appreciate his directness, even bluntness in giving feedback. He always wants to get back to the essence of things, the essence of what we are doing or looking for. That has been immensely valuable for me. At the bakhlava cafe I was looking for something specific. I couldn't exactly lay my finger on it. I loved listening to Robert's stories which were vivid and lush. He gets very enthusiastic and doesn't preach, but babbles like a child - which makes him so human and approachable to me. Was I expecting something from him? I guess I most of all wanted his approval. Maybe I see in him a kind of father figure. And I try to get the recognition my father cannot give me from Robert. I noticed again my tendency of not sharing so much, but being more of a facilitator. I tried to bring up this subject. I even asked him if my analytical and self-critical behavior and way of thinking can be annoying. He said it wasn't annoying, more funny. But that it makes me stay more with myself. Instead of opening up to the other. The fact that he was/is my teacher probably has something to do with it too. I mean with my holding something back, not letting myself completely go. I wanted to share more. Robert said my being there was already enough. I respect his opinion a lot. Maybe too much. Maybe Robert is my guru. I feel I can get a lot of support from him. I shouldn't depend on that though. Yet I truly believe that Robert is a great teacher. He lets me be who I am and even encourages that - he encourages me to be more of that. Teacher-student relationships have always been slightly delicate and political to me. I think twice or even three times what I am going to say to a teacher. Robert asks for the essence. He supports my intimacy research. He congratulates me with my blog texts. He finds them enjoyable and touching. Robert is more like a friend actually. So why should I worry about political correctness? Why should I think twice. He tells me about love affairs, the loss of love, the death of his father, about swinger clubs and tantra workshops.
I told him about my fear of being a pedophile once. I wanted to make a political piece about pedophilia, about therapy and intimate stuff exposed. He told me not to start from a problem, but to expose the intimate stuff as a celebration. That's how "White Horse - an attempt at live therapy" came into being.
And now he asked me again about love and where my heart rests. In the end I felt compelled and relieved to tell him about my obsession with Rodrigo. The shame and blame I put on myself for not being able to let go. And of course he could totally relate to that. He didn't tell me to move on like everybody else does including my therapist. Instead he feels I should give myself three years to overcome this obsession. That sounds like a reasonable amount of time. If I keep blaming myself for not getting over it I will never get over it. Besides it is my right as an artist to be obsessed - self-obsessed or obsessed with others. And loving someone without being loved in return is not something to be ashamed of. The problem is not the obsession maybe, but the shame and guilt that go along with it. So I guess that's what I needed to hear from Robert. That I am ok. That loving too much in solitude is ok, that fetishes are ok, obessions are ok and melancholia is ok too.
My perception and mood had been changed by this realization. We walked back to the house boat where Andre had made a delicious fish soup and I was invited for dinner.
We each drew a Tarot card. I got one with a lot of mermaids who were creating a special bond between the sea and the skies. The tears of the sea get dried up by the sun.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

intimate tea with Raquel at the blue teahouse

This time I didn’t want to be accommodating. I realized that intimacy for me is only taking place if I am sharing as well – I mean sharing deliberately and with a vengeance. So I came into that cafĂ© and talked Raquel’s head off – about my winter depression, about all my difficulties in the creative process, about healing, therapy, obstacles in life. About fear and longing and loathing in Las Vegas.
I must have sounded like a very depressed grumpy old man. I was complaining, complaining, nothing but complaining. I think Raquel was doing her best to take in all the black mess I was puking on the table. Sometimes she was offering little bits of advice, but mainly just listening. She was very patient – yet slightly surprised, I felt, to find me in such a state. At some point she said something that caught my attention: It was something about people who control so much what they are saying that it doesn’t give you space to enter. I don’t remember why she said it and I didn’t feel she was referring to me at that moment. But it made so much sense to me.
And at one point she said: Stop trying to control life because it is fucking impossible! Which I knew and had heard many times. But at that moment it really sank in and made sense.
Raquel claims to be someone who isn’t able to control what she is saying or thinking. Meaning she doesn’t think or act in a structured way, but rather follows her impulses and intuition. She has tried to live a more structured and controlled life in the past, but it didn’t work for her. She has tried to prepare and organize her thoughts before voicing them. Yet she came to realize that communication runs much more smoothly when she just speaks her mind in a kind of stream-of-consciousness way.

I think for me too that might be a much better way of communicating.

Eventually the conversation became more balanced. Meaning that I gave space to Raquel to puke her mess on the table too. Which she did in a more graceful way. And from there we started constructing new things. We talked about upcoming projects, future things we were looking forward to, hopeful things, not solutions but possibilities.

Raquel told me about a period in her life where she used to sit at a table with friends or family without saying a single word. It was a period when she felt cut off from the world, shy and introverted. And maybe we need periods like that.
I just had one at home at X-mas again. I went to my room even before dessert. My aunt asked me about the weather in Holland and my uncle about the house boats in the canals. I didn't have much to say on either subject. I didn't know how to relate to my family anymore. But now I promise I am changing. I went to the Andy Warhol exhibition and did a laughing meditation there with Helena and silver clouds. I decided during that laughing meditation to perform my life from now on as an active propelling force. I'm done with my victim. My self-pity and my passive everyday routine. My good student needs to die. I'd rather be a clown again than a control freak or wimpy victim.