The appearance of location. Shared location(s).
Time is mysterious, maybe deceiving. Disorienting. Non-linear.
“Translation(s)”: seven, eight years later? The calendar tells me it occurred support then, but it feels equally allotment of every other lifestyles, almost, one that I’ve been hesitant to revisit or reassess. But, I gain its background presence a petite bit sorrowful. Is this the time to form what I started, the chance to dutifully complete my job and shut the door? It’s miles, a minimal of, a fashion to translate (once more) from there to here, from then to now. You bring the words, photos, and sounds for the visitation, vivid that the portrait will doubtless be inaccurate. It’s on the total about ghosts, fictions and fragments, isn’t it? Past is prove, and prove is formed and horrified by chronic memory.
Thru my psychological and cloth archives, I reenter that time-location at the Marin Headlands as a contemporary but feeble visitor. (Strangers to ourselves, will we constantly be? Kristeva says yes.) “Translation(s)” became once undeniably about myself, as in all creative practice, but so mighty spherical company and about others, about welcoming them. Stumble upon. Empathy. Community. Unheard of can even be drawn — from remembrance, misremembrance, truth, delusion, construction or misconstruction. A cloudy, foggy, also illuminating prolonged 2nd.
As I revisit it, I blur the lines, stubbornly erasing the border between what it became once and what it goes to even be, what I steal and what I don’t witness. Erasure. A dance. I’ll return to this…
The room became once empty. But stuffed with the previous, scars and desolation, also tall windows and immense risk. I wandered spherical earlier than inhabiting it. A dumb and contemporary occupation would ensue, every day.
Later, I’d learn the density of this plan. A miles away truth in defense force manufacture — the turmoil and the ready, and the inability of squaddies stationed there, those who took their very beget lives. Between readability and fog. So mighty fog… maybe bigger than that you just would possibly know historical previous, that you just would possibly essentially feel it. Marks and vibrations all spherical, visible and invisible. (Or became once it the fabricated from imagination? I’ll on no fable know.)
I stepped in. I walked straight, changed into if truth be told handy at the cease, and there became once a door. I opened it. I be acutely aware stairs going down, a soundless inexperienced from the timber, a brown and grey landscape… the shiny blue became once fully absent, for now if truth be told handy an imaginary magnificent sky and ocean but to reach.
There became once a zeal to originate, to construct up that plan my beget. Not obvious what that will mean, or what I had to form… forty days ahead, and I had brought very petite with me. Pc, camera, books. My mission became once as open as unpredictable. Cherish an ocean.
Objects and furnishings absorb location and get plan. Despite my traditional anti-subject zigzag, I started discovering chairs and tables to gain that vacancy of tall windows; as if those windows compelled me to search extra inwards, ironically, and to fancy it.
I chanced on a favorable making an attempt feeble scarlet chair, and a white steel one with an orange cushion would transform its petite partner. Explicit websites of encounters, conversations in daylight, and at night. There became once one thing cinematic and sentimental about such objects in that austere architecture. Something maybe theatrical and performative. I’d be the most indispensable and final performer; in between, a big number of vacation makers.
“On no account underestimate the vitality of light. We’re the weather, the plan, the physique” I steal once writing. Fog embraced us every day. When daylight flooded the immense room, there became once a sense of levity, happiness and magnificence: it became once an tournament. I drew shadows on the bottom in elaborate to get the sunshine. The intangible changing into tangible, time changing into subject, light changing into real. Till the darkness of night.
A year earlier, I had viewed a fascinating and though-provoking mural by Tacita (Dean)… I started painting blackboard surfaces on which to designate the passage of time, and the presence of future others — their doable actions, drawings or writings. It became once all very undetermined, and I became once good adequate with that.
Over time, marks and inscriptions had been added. I’d story them, allow them to exist for a whereas, in layers, then ravishing and restart for contemporary company.
Shall we commence from the beginning?
In Translation(s), I became once the most indispensable visitor.
I lost count of how many adopted, and fully photos can support now. I became once there ready — pondering of effective (no longer psychological) hospitality. Spelling their names, one after the other…
The complete names.
A non permanent crew.
An abundance of photos and movies lies in front of me — of us of all ages would reach internal the location, my crew mission room. I became once open to what every command of affairs would possibly perchance supply: conversations, interventions, poetry, idiosyncrasies? In direction of, in growth…
What I proposed became once sophisticated to attain and at times to snarl.
Those in the identical wavelength would take in and give of themselves if truth be told handy away…
Those who had been hunting for straight solutions and security mechanisms would inch away frustrated, puzzled or a minimal of bored to loss of life.
Apparently adequate, writers, poets and performers had been those who lived my location as their very beget, who felt sheltered in the kind of nomadic and transitory relational ground.
Those who had been by hook or by crook linked with their our bodies and the uncooked nature of their words did tag what became once at stake in the cease.
The sacredness of the reach throughout, the prove 2nd, the timelessness and the fluidity of being…”
Sunday night – Monday early morning
Aug. 5, 2013.
Are you able to hear the tune? Sounds, a ways away voices. They spoil out me…
I be acutely aware strolling spherical the dear constructing, and feeling magnetized by a titanic piano sitting in a room below my location. I started a relationship. My time at Headlands became once an improvisation: of being, of gestures, of words. The piano changed into allotment of that motion, encouraged by the after-hours solitude. Variations on the identical composition, in the vibrating echo and thru my newbie hands.
The conversations, the emotional and durational labor.
We met, we gazed, we talked, they left, I remained. Stumble upon after reach throughout, an intersubjective portrait of my time in Northern California would emerge. Personal and political, inner most and public.
How can I return, if no longer thru the eyes of this day? What number of storylines can you plan, and which level of view form you capture out? The endless doable of story, and the fiction of memory.
The most attention-grabbing conversations, interactions, and energies are potentially no longer those who had been recorded. There is a appreciable allotment of the rapport that became once no longer famed from the video or audio recording…
So mighty there, desire, sharing, touch, reach throughout and mis-reach throughout. […]
The nakedness is correct, makes for organic and essentially open moments.
Then, it comes the depletion, the exhaustion, the salvage to shut doors, and relaxation.
Here is no longer easy, no person mentioned it wouldn’t be.
Discovering out each day, every hour how this would possibly perchance well be altering my practice, relationship with others, and direction of of rising that does no longer wish to fixate or crystallize.
So mighty ahead. Being and feeling. Thinking.
Aug 13, 3.45pm
Such internal labor needed the out of doors to exist, as a counterpoint. The urgency to shuffle, the salvage to plan myself in the pure landscape grew stronger, particularly on graceful sunny days. Hiking to re-center, re-energize. Days to revive sanity, to test.
The Pacific, sexy and bad. The wind, ever prove, in gain gusts and dominant sound. The bridge, as a sentinel or entrance… the metropolis shiny beyond it. And the mysterious, cloudy, eerie night.
What’s it to inhabit a plan? Or to stay the trip of that plan?
Tune at night. I had fully forgotten… there I became once, the youthful self, in a performative and choregraphed presence, singing the songs and measuring the location with my physique. Emotional and solitary and sexy and sad.
I felt sorry for M., and I felt sorry for myself.
I saw her disappointment, her hunger for additional, however the masks and the judgments wouldn’t let her free.
She became once ready, but no longer essentially.
I felt sorry for M. I confronted, once more, the wicked vacancy of the smile,
The cool ground of the non-connectedness.
I became once there, reaching a hand, but she became once too apprehensive.
Valid to exercise those ten minutes talking.
But I felt sorry for M. And I felt sorry for myself.
For my self-righteousness, for my every day obsessions with intimacy and depth, for my existence.
Then I stopped and done my meals. And my ginger beer.
I essentially felt sad for her, and for me.
Then, I felt contented for M.
She became once so prove, so giving, so actual to herself and to me.
I felt I’d continue and get a witness at to movie.
The footage does no longer stay up to the deep interplay even supposing.
This would possibly perchance simply preserve in my memory and in my heart.
Text as an no longer doubtless thread. My altered subjectivity.
I steal the writing and the reading. The presence of others in literary manufacture, covers and pages from which to plan every day motion and inspiration. Voices from previous and prove. The warmth of the physique surrounded by books.
A dance. Together. I had officially written this earlier than the adventure started:
Translation(s) would possibly perchance well salvage several performative iterations. By both calling for a extra spontaneous and improvised 2nd, or an invitational and deliberate reach throughout, Translation(s) goals to get a psychological and relational location internal a bodily one, the effect doable participants (e.g. activated spectators) will acknowledge to fragments of texts, audio gadgets, and movies, by translating those excerpts into one thing else. This translation is expected to be a extremely inner most and idiosyncratic one, by reflecting one’s interpretation of a given truth – literary quote, philosophical aphorism, lyrics of a song, musical acquire, or cinematic scene.
Thru such fragments, the participant will doubtless be in a effect to get staunch of entry to the quoted author’s world, whereas immersing of their very beget open realm of subjectivity and creativity.
Throughout the relate time of this interplay, Teixeira will story in video and photography the total words and gestures (upon mutual consent), eliciting a location stuffed no longer fully with verbal, but also non-verbal verbal change, including silence per se.
All people is invited to reach into the studio and work together with the artist. Teixeira is really open to what the command of affairs would possibly perchance bring, and to what the participants would possibly perchance simply salvage to present.
Speaking, listening, writing, drawing, filming, sound recording, or merely sitting, staring and wandering, would possibly perchance simply all happen, honoring and respecting the quality and tempo of every rapport.
The doors are open… the heart too.
On upkeep, care, restore. Cleansing. Erasure. Restarting.
Whereas digging into my recordsdata, I gain unintended homages to Mierle (Laderman Ukeles). As if it had been a choreography, that footage is surprisingly performative and beautifully poetic. The act of erasing what became once inscribed — of turning those inscriptions into ruins, as testament to an archaeology of that time. My time, our time.
And, there is consistently an cease. Or one thing that it feels love an ending.
2013. I on the total inch away issues unhurried… involuntary acts of forgetfulness or mere disorganization?
Here, I watch a richness that I had no longer famed. What an evocative detour into endless archives. And I mute be acutely aware my initial questions… they seem naïve now, too self-evident, but maybe price sharing.
– Who’s the Other?
– What are the limits in the midst of of negotiation with the Other ?
– Easy systems to set off participation ?
– Easy systems to generate reach throughout, leaving unhurried adjust of final outcome ?
– Is adjust even which you would possibly deem of below such cases ?
– Easy systems to contain barely than exclude ?
– What’s crew and dialogue ?
– Easy systems to transcode and translate ?
– Is translation ever fully done ?
– If no longer, what remains at the cease ?