Christophe Meierhans

Wesen der Abwesenheit

A performative contribution written for the “Wesen der Abwesenheit” project, curated by Ella Ziegler, Aljoscha Bergrich and Benjamin Foerster-Beldenius. 10 people from different professional backgrounds were commissioned to represent an specific audience generally absent from the theater as we know it today. This contribution expresses the position of the inhabitants of a hypothetical future society that would have become socially just and ecologically sustainable. The hypothesis is that these people would not visit the theater as we know it today because leading socially just and ecologically sustainable lifestyles would imply being part of a radically more holistic culture. In such a context very little interest would be left for forms of art based on “autonomy” (aka a separation between “life” and “art”), professionship (aka separate value regimes between amateurs and specialist professionals) and authorship.


The absent audience I propose to speak for today is an audience which does not yet exist, but which I dearly hope will exist one day. It is a doubly absent audience. Firstly because the members of this audience aren’t yet born, secondly because even if they were, they most probably wouldn’t much visit our theaters.

In order to hear the doleances of this absent future audience, we will need to make a collective effort of imagination in order to create a mental picture of who they are and why they show such little interest in participating in that which our theater has on offer.

(…)

I invite you now to close your eyes,

And concentrate for a moment on your sensations.

Try to relax.

Breath in…

and then exhale deeply, letting go of all the tensions you feel in your body… and in your head.

Let everything go… thoughts, memories, … any itchings…

Let all of that get out through with the air through your mouth

And through the pores of your skin…

Let all these thoughts and preoccupations evaporate, like the steam that rises from the water of a warm bath into the cold air…

Let all of your thoughts disolve in the atmosphere.

(…)

Now, Imagine yourself at an undeterminate moment of the future.

This moment is far enough in time, for a deep transformation of our cultural, political, ecological, social and spiritual conditions to have taken place.

But this moment is also close enough to our present times, for you to still feel personally connected with it.

(…)

You are walking down the street, heading for a dentist appointment. There is a small group of people gathered on the sidewalk. They are all silent, as if concentrating. Some are standing, others are leaning against buildings and street signs, or even squatting on the floor. You sit on a window sill, your feet hanging half a meter above the sidewalk. You close your eyes. The sound of an electrical engine, soflty buzzing in the distance. It reverberates against the façade of the glazed building on the other side of the street. The sound seems to interfer with its own echo and creates irregular variations. Perforations in the sound texture create an ever variating pattern. Every now and then, a vehicle passes, interrupting for an instant the interferences. These breaks are like markers punctuating the verses of a long poem…

(…)

It is Sunday. Three friends are coming over at your house. Each one has their own musical instrument. It is nice weather so you go out in the park. You spend the afternoon playing pieces by Haendel, Purcell, Satie, Cage as well as pieces composed by two of your friends. When a piece feels a bit too difficult, you move on to the next. At the end of the day, as it gets colder, you all go to a café to have a warm drink.

(…)

Every couple of months, the butcher sends an email notifying that a cow or a pig will be slaughtered, and that meat will be available for sale. Each time, they write a long text about the animal, telling about its life and its character, about the reasons for giving it its particular name, about the role it played in the herd, about its specific relationship among its animal, and human companions, about its qualities, its peculiarities, its habits and moods. Both the difficult as the joyful moments of its biography are detailed with humour and subtle emotionality.

(…)

Towards mid October, after the last heat waves of the summer make place for milder temperatures, you take part — as most people in the city — in a two days holiday to celebrate the colder season. During 48 hours, every household takes a DJ-shift and provides the neighbors with an hour of music to dance to. Not much sleeping usually happens during these two days. It is the last big sweat of the year. You prepare for this celebration during the hot summer months, carefully putting together the tracklist which you believe will best exorcise the specter of drought.

(…)

Today, as a member of a Death Dramaturgy Group, like every first monday of the month, you do not go to work. You meet to discuss the funerals which are taking place in the neighborhood. How did the last funerals go? What could be done better?

(…)

Tonight you have a rehearsal. Together with almost all inhabitants, you will take part in a 1-to-1 scale re-enactement of a normal day in your city. Everything will be stricly as normal, but nothing will be real.

(…)

You are on your balcony. Suddenly, you realise that a sunray hits your face although your house is usually already in the shade at this time of the evening. You see someone on the other side of the street holding a small mirror reflecting the light. You give them a sign and get a mirror yourself. You reflect the light further onto your neighbor below. Someone must have called others to join in because you see now that rays of sun are being reflected between buildings, all the way to the far corner of the street — and possibly well beyond.

(…)

Everybody prefers this celebration or that ritual. But still, they take part in most of them, even if they shine less than in others.

(…)

You have plenty of time. Nothing on the agenda for today. So you sit on a bench. Someone walks into your field of view from the left and crosses quickly until they disappear on the right. Pigeons on the ground, a few meters away. They were there all the time. A cloud passes in front of the sun. The light changes dramatically. A whole new scene altogether.

(…)

Advertising is gone. If you want to know what exists, you need to ask someone who knows.

(…)

You dance. Someone looks at you.

(…)

You are a whole group walking along the riverbank. The group stops and an older woman tells about something that happened to her here. A confronting story. The walk continues. You feel like telling about your great grandfather who was an airplane pilot.

(…)

You have a great idea for a play. You write it down on a piece of paper and stick it on the wall. Maybe someone else could get inspired.

(…)

While in another city, you see a theatrical performance which you like a lot. Once back home, you get a group of people together to start copying the work.

(…)

She is a good dancer. You can see it even when teaches mathematics.

(…)

Your friend stays in the middle of the circle, sitting on the leaves that cover the forest floor. She takes the cymbal in one hand and places the timer in front of her. You wonder a bit how she is going to be able to hold it like that for the whole time, but you refrain from saying anything. She hits the cymbal a first time. The sound resonates through the woods. Everybody takes a step away from her. It has started. The minute until the next hit feels long, so many thoughts run through your mind. A second step. everybody around you are still very close, you can hear them breathe, you can almost hear them think. Somehow you look forward to being alone. But there’s a bit of apprehension too. It will soon get dark. Each step, every minute takes you further away from your point of departure, where everybody had gathered. In a while, you will no longer be able to hear the sound of the cymbal, you will be too far into the forest.1

concept, writing & performance: Christophe Meierhans, 2023
commission: “Wesen der Abwesenheit”, curated by Ella Ziegler, Aljoscha Bergrich, Benjamin Foerster-Baldenius, B.A.L.L., Kampnagel, Hamburg

  1. Inspired by “Forest Silent Gathering”, a performance by Begüm Erciyas ↩︎
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