Condensatiosn #1

Inspiration, Dune and COP26

Dear friends, family, fellow writers. This is the first of my newsletter that I am sending out to you, people that inspire me. I hope you enjoy it and hope you are having a beautiful weekend.

Why this? Why Now?

A few weeks ago, I had a moment of feeling completely overwhelmed. Sitting in front of my diary (candlelight, a befriended soul sitting next to me – the perfect atmosphere for writing things down as I have done ever since I’m about 12 y/o) I suddenly (and for the first time) felt like I could not. Should not write. I sat there, didn’t move a finger but just let my gaze wander through the familiar space.  My mind was racing, but it wasn’t a linear race to the bottom (or top) of anything. There was no starting or ending point, as any piece of writing always has. Instead, the feeling of a general whirring around, like a firecracker before it explodes. Only that it didn’t. It built up like a wave – and didn’t break. Became quieter and quieter, until my head was filled to the brink with an unknown calm, comforting, empty black. Resembling surprisingly the white paper in front of me.

A few days later I was told that in ancient Greece there was a third word making the contemporary dichotomy of ‘active’ and ‘passive’ a conceptual triangle. In contemporary gestalt therapy it is called the mode moyen (the ‘middle-way’). A state comparable to that of panther (or your regular house cat) lurking: an awareness unbound, unfocused – but intense and all-directional.

I feel that this strange and unlearned state bears a potential in a world in which many (including me and I dare say many of my generation) are caught between a passivity in the face of apparently infinite possibilities that capitalism and Neo-liberalism throw at us (in anything from vegan milk-brands to career paths), and a directional, forced, sometimes violent push towards specific achievements and goals. No matter if self-inflicted or imposed by others (and usually some indistinguishable mix of both). If as a freelancer, an ambitious student or someone searching for their next sexual partner in a widely serial-monogamous society, without something to focus on, maintaining a certain drive (or libido in the Jungian sense) without chopping off and shutting down other aspects of our lives seems difficult or impossible. That is, because a state in which we remain conscious but open, strong but tender is not something that can be achieved. But maybe it can be maintained.

This newsletter, born out of an inseparable mash of individual pondering and encounters with others will be an attempt to do just that: to pursue beauty, thought, and inspiration in a non-linear and open-ended way. I will not try to dig deeper than anyone has done before. Not to go further than others. But to nourish (in me, in you) a sense of curiosity and possibility, comparable to that of the unleashed verbena growing in my chaotic garden. No aspiration to find the straightest path to the sun that is orbiting the earth, but taking every opportunity to grow in any direction towards an ever-changing, infinitely reflected light.

We feel together, think together, change together. Maybe in opposition, often joint. Sometimes hidden behind fences and masks, other times entangled as to become indistinguishable. So, let us write together, read together. Write for one another, read for one another.

Welcome to Condensations. No promises, no obligations: no regular intervals, no fixed format. Instead, commitment and aspiration: to stay inspired, to inspire, to take to heart what is given and to share what wants to be shared. A newsletter chaotic and co-dependent. Like people.

You are invited…

to read, of course. A little, a lot, every word twice, or in reverse. You’re invited to write: your themes, your format. Bold, shy, outraged, tender. Honest. Alone or collectively, in the language you prefer. And of course, you’re invited to everything else, especially the things that couldn’t be thought of now. But whatever you do, chances are you will be part of the words written anyway: as an indistinguishable contributor to the wild undergrowth of inspiration out of which thoughts, sentences and images untracably arise, on my laptop or someone else’s.

Whats next?

If you don’t mind, I’ll send you the next newsletter as well. No idea when, no idea about what, no idea with whom (yet). But that’s the thrill of it.

Ω

Telling Stories? Making Images.

When I went to a play on Shakespeare and the role of violence in his writing in the Kaaitheater in Brussels just a day after watching the much-discussed blockbuster Dune in the cinema, I was surely not looking for any parallels. (Not least due to the different publics they were made for, but because I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, both times.)

And yet, walking out past the liters of smelly fake blood that had covered the 8 or so naked, crawling actors towards the end of the performance in a sombre interpretation of Macbeth, I couldn’t help noticing the same feeling of overwhelmedness mixed with detachment (as if someone had been shouting at a person standing just next to me for two hours) I had had the day before. Why?

After a tragic treason of the ‘good colonisers’ (House Atreidis) by the ‘bad colonisers’ (the even whiter, fascist-looking and super-violent House Harkonnen), the Duke’s son, Paul (Timothée Chalamet), joins the Fremen to ‘bring peace’ to the planet. Medieval European aesthetic of the ruling houses meet anarcho-primitivism, before being covered with a shallow layer of white feminism. We love it.

Billy’s Violence is a theatre play produced by the Need Company, bunching up the most violent parts of ten or so of Shakespeare’s tragedies while making ‘the woman […] the central focus, stripped of any historical reference or anecdotal content’. Known for making a splash in the Flemish theatre scene with their strong, explicit imagery, in this nearly 2-hour long performance there is a lot of violence, shouting and physical transgression (particularly on women’s bodies) in more or less romantic, heterosexual constellations.

Maybe I felt the same because Dune and Billy’s Violence, despite being such different formats and aiming at diverging audiences, are not that different after all. Representative of many well-funded, well-visited productions today, both seem to focus on the creation of strong images: a super-dimensional desert-worm swallowing a super-dimensional space-harvesting machine; constant flashbacks or visions of charismatic ‘natives’ with fierce looks spilling wisdom onto the cinema screen (the films primitivism is a violent slap in the face*). The infinitely repeated smashing of a peasant’s head on a drum, blood spilling; Romeo and Juliet shitting themselves, twisted in cramps after having swallowed poison (or not?)…

If shocking or appealing, the spectator is always sought to be impacted by what they see. That becomes clear latest when Shakespeare’s MacBook-controlling fool dancing around the stage makes sure to underline the acts of violence with loud bangs, or when Hans Zimmer (again) blows your ears with dramatic trumpets during any other slow-motion shot of the handsome cast.

Meanwhile, the story-development of Dune could be summed up in about 3 sentences, and no character seems to go through any considerable change (except for dying). And how could they build up to any depth if they are only ever allowed to speak in 3-to-5-word sentences (which are often repeated several times to create ‘intensity’). And though dressed up in a multi-cultural, flashy dress shouting ‘we are avant-gardist’ the actors in Billy’s Violence often repeat words or snippets of sentences so many times that the subtitles smoothening out the language-mix on stage look as if someone had slipped on the copy-paste function.

My question then is: Where does the cross-genre focus on strong imagery, overwhelming sensory experience (loud, bright, smelly), and repetition as primary media for intensity come from?

Though any observation in the contemporary chaotic, overladen, and global cultural industry are of course highly subjective, I have a few hypotheses. To start with the obvious one, there is the extreme consumption of imagery in (a historically already) very visual Western society through social media. As we are confronted with strong (explicit, shocking, beautiful) pictures on our phones and laptops all day, we learn to experience through what we see while simultaneously becoming desensitised.

A draw towards more impressive, more drastic, more overwhelming audio-visual experience seems nearly inevitable, especially in times where cinemas and theatres are competing with laptop screens and home projectors more than ever. If as a producer or a spectator, you’ll want to make it worth it to make the effort to leave your couch.

Structurally, and more relevant to theatre than to Hollywood (where mega-projects have been the rule rather than the exception) there has been an observable shift in funding priorities, at least in Belgium and its neighboring countries. With drastic 60% cuts in subsidies of cultural projects by the far-right Flemish government in 2019, it is smaller, independent productions that are mostly doomed. Operating subsidies for established state-funded institutions has ‘only’ been cut by 6%. That leads most money to flow into high-profile, high-budget projects.

This polarises funds drastically towards larger, more impressive projects. As a friend working in a big theatre in Berlin told me, especially when government institutions pay, they better see something dazzling that looks their money’s worth. And no matter if in the first dossier handed in to funds application or in the grand premiere, it is likely that a project will be judged rather by the volume of the sound effects or the quantity of shocking  imagery than by the complexity of the characters on stage or the subtlety of the story told.

*I have not found a proper post-colonial, anti-racist analysis of the film, but it would be highly necessary. It seems as the book the film is based on is less reductionist as you can read here

Ω

Till we collapse

Even though already overshadowed by the lastest gloomy looking news regarding Covid, I still want to include a little something about this month’s probably most historic event. So, whether you’ve avoided the news of the United Nations COP26 out of frustration or simply live on another planet (lucky you), here’s a quick summary of the topics discussed at the world’s largest climate summit in Glasgow in November 2021.

Coal

The commitment of another 23 countries – adding up to a total of 190 – to end the use of coal as a source of energy was the shining light of the COP26. It is also one of the subjects where there was some North-South redistribution happening before, with a few rich countries having paid South Africa, making up the bulk of coal-based energy production on the continent, for progressively scaling down: something that came out of the many prior climate meetings. Nevertheless, in 2021, three of the world’s biggest polluters and users of coal have refused to sign: the US, China, and India. India might reconsider if northern nations actually pay up for what they had promised in Paris in 2016. But the two global bullies will continue to prioritise their national interests. That the world’s two largest economies stay out of such a crucial coalition is a massive disappointment.

Deforestation

Cute that Bolsonaro signed the commitment to stop deforestation. But look at his  political agenda and you can tell what it’s worth. Look at the business leaders and managers of large financial institutions and you can tell how good making announcements feel – and how terribly inconvenient it would be to actually stick to them.

Methane

Good that the hot topic of this second largest polluting gas was brought up. Rice and cow-farts are jolly topics to discuss. The fact that a third of methane comes out of (*drum roll*) coal is harder to acknowledge. Again, the biggest polluters like to stay out of the discussion: China, India, Australia – all big on coal exploitation. There seems to be a pattern of everybody committing to what they don’t care too much about.

So…? A note on atmosphere

The world of climate politics is depressing. Yes, it took their neighbors houses to be carried away by the deluge to get business leaders to even think about the damage the economy does. And yes, it took 16-year-olds to explain to European politicians why they should stop sawing off the last pillars holding a shaggy roof over their own heads (after having knocked down those of everybody around them). Yes, climate catastrophe is terrible, violent, and most of all: infinitely unjust.

For many, climate change is already a tragedy. In a wider historical perspective, it is catastrophe. From an inter-species perspective, it is the worst thing that has ever happened. And yet, if we look back only 10 years, it seems things have come a long way in raising political and global awareness of the importance. Not because of stout hearted politicians or CEO’s’ awakening consciousness, but because of climate activists from all around the world and of any age. As part of the generation just above the Fridays for Future crowd, I am infinitely impressed and proud to be part of an engaged wider youth at a time where – yes – we still dig our grave deeper and deeper everyday as a global society and ecosystem, but many also shout louder, more resolutely, and more united than ever.

So let us reconsider the COP26. It’s an objective failure that governments and industry leaders commit to climate neutrality in 30, 20, or 10 years. It is too late. It remains outrageous not to stick to agreements made before. The whole show is a macabre, sad, painful spectacle and the day where powerful institutions take measures matching the size of the calamity may still be far ahead. But what they promise today might be what they can be force them to do (after)tomorrow. If now they cannot ignore our outcry completely, the day where they will actually listen might be a bit closer. Let us remember how far we’ve come. Not to forgive those in power. Not to thank them for finally sitting down to talk. But to acknowledge and thank those who are fighting hard to get us out of this mess, weekly, daily.

Ω

That’s it for now. Again, any thoughts, comments, feedback… please let me know. And of course, texts! I’d be very happy to include any texts related or unrelated in the next newsletter. And finally, thank you for reading.

Love,
Jasper

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