antidote?
An antidote to the slave ship /systems of oppression, for me is through improvisation with the more-than -other -than sidestepped danced into, fluxxed, wider sense of WE / human.
We are discovering in these strange times that it is problematic to leave systems of oppression behind, to beat them, win them over, or decisively quash them on the multifarious battle fields. These systems have embedded themselves in our brains, culture, language and ways of making sense of the world.
As we 'forge forward' in order to realign and 'overcome', we find ourselves replicating these systems of divide and conquer in our own consciousness - worried about good bacteria and bad bacteria - concerned about autoimmune diseases with the narratives of self destruction, being confused by malevolent microorganism intruders and cat fighting amongst ourselves about who is more clever, creative or generally more something ……
Creativity per se, is not the solution - as the same patterns of dysfunctional relationships, ego driven success peddling, inhabit these realms as well. So how do we rebuild the slave ship? How do we shift our relationship to systems /structures of oppression in the world and in ourselves?
Through the Bakhita Research Project and working with Group #37 and Fire #6 the notion arose. Perhaps by listening to the more-than-human we may find some clues. How do we give the more-than-human a voice in this project? We decided to spend time with the birds - to listen and improvise with, to commune with dappled light and the wind in the trees. Then the question arose … Is there a different quality of being involved in listening into the more-than-human and is this related to a kind of human proto-language? A language where we are part of and responding to all that is not us .. the greater sense of WE. And then … Is it possible to document these experiences and convey them to others in a generative or useful way? Are there processes we can develop which invite people in to these conversations with the more-than -other -than human realms, in a way that doesn't freak them out?
The piece began with sitting amongst the trees by a river and attempting to play with the cicadas, birds, wind in the trees and dappled light. In this improvisational space, I become porous, the frequencies of the birds inhabit my body, the wind passes through my being, I respond to the world as if it is another player in an improvised jazz band.
The first field recording was the more than human, drum and trombone (Tricky Singer), recorded with a Zoom recorder.. I then layered other instruments back in the studio - still attempting to be inspired by all that is not quite me and yet part of a larger sense of WE.
Marianthe Loucataris
As we 'forge forward' in order to realign and 'overcome', we find ourselves replicating these systems of divide and conquer in our own consciousness - worried about good bacteria and bad bacteria - concerned about autoimmune diseases with the narratives of self destruction, being confused by malevolent microorganism intruders and cat fighting amongst ourselves about who is more clever, creative or generally more something ……
Creativity per se, is not the solution - as the same patterns of dysfunctional relationships, ego driven success peddling, inhabit these realms as well. So how do we rebuild the slave ship? How do we shift our relationship to systems /structures of oppression in the world and in ourselves?
Through the Bakhita Research Project and working with Group #37 and Fire #6 the notion arose. Perhaps by listening to the more-than-human we may find some clues. How do we give the more-than-human a voice in this project? We decided to spend time with the birds - to listen and improvise with, to commune with dappled light and the wind in the trees. Then the question arose … Is there a different quality of being involved in listening into the more-than-human and is this related to a kind of human proto-language? A language where we are part of and responding to all that is not us .. the greater sense of WE. And then … Is it possible to document these experiences and convey them to others in a generative or useful way? Are there processes we can develop which invite people in to these conversations with the more-than -other -than human realms, in a way that doesn't freak them out?
The piece began with sitting amongst the trees by a river and attempting to play with the cicadas, birds, wind in the trees and dappled light. In this improvisational space, I become porous, the frequencies of the birds inhabit my body, the wind passes through my being, I respond to the world as if it is another player in an improvised jazz band.
The first field recording was the more than human, drum and trombone (Tricky Singer), recorded with a Zoom recorder.. I then layered other instruments back in the studio - still attempting to be inspired by all that is not quite me and yet part of a larger sense of WE.
Marianthe Loucataris
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Excerpt version with words
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Full version with spoken word
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there is no escaping the slave ship
no ascension, redemption or salvation from other
outside forces, energies or worlds can swoop down and save us
all things are imbued with the slave ship
our language, our ways of thinking, our houses, homes, communities, means of relating with reality
our society, modernity, current times, are constructed with the basic building blocks of the slave ship
like pieces of lego that neatly fit together in preordained formations
separation / definition / non-porous boundaries between
us / them / human / non human / me / my neighbour / good / bad
hierarchies born from these categorical schisms
‘we’ ‘all’ ‘everything’ are separated
exiled from our bodies, the dirt, the single celled creatures that secretly inhabit our cells
exiled from life
fighting wars against the other-than-human
building defences against microorganisms
denying the conundrum that we are made of the same single celled creatures which are the bioengines of that which breaths
‘all’ of one substance with life
time is stretched out and steadfastly placed in a line
the beginning and the end held apart by moralistic narratives
linearity becomes vertical as well as horizontal
the underworld / heaven / ideal realms / materiality /matter /spirit / body /mind / animal / human
the sanctuary / home sphere transmogrifies
from a place where spirits of the land are honoured with shrines
the hearth is abundant with ancestors
home inextricably linked with the spirits/energy/life of place
to…. domination / power over
sanctuary/sacred site /sense of being part of place
becomes the domestic
‘home’ ‘shelter’ ‘place where reciprocal relationships breath life into the world’ becomes domestication
imbued with masters and slaves
the shrines replaced with machines of service
a pitstop in the real game of productivity, in the outside/public/world
a place of secret shames
a private place where anything can happen as long as the status driven ‘outside’ world do not hear the silently screamed stories
there is no option but to rebuild the slave ship
flux is perpetual
gently pry apart the constructs
descend into the cracks
allow the mast to reinvigorate itself with the spirit story of the sacred tree
its roots forming a porous membrane between this and that
liminal
the sea with all of its aliveness oozing in between
what is and what is not
Issu /the trickster/ the story teller/ the one who stands at the crossroads the place where 3 roads meet
hitched a ride on the slave ship
the ingredients for the dis-mantling / re-mantling of the slave ship
were on board
the whispered stories /songs/dances
recipes for a world where the carefully carved constructs of slave and master blur into jazz & hip hop & creative collaborations with the more-than-human
there are no simple, reductionist solutions
no plan that can be neatly displayed in a colour coded spreadsheet
no thesis which will lead to an ‘aha’ path forward
it is not ours to discern or direct or control, on our own
perhaps the only way is to do it in collaboration, improvising, dancing, jammin with the more-than-human.
I call on the ancestors and the other-than and more-than human to speak through us, dance through us, play through us
I ask the birds and the reptiles and the trees and the mycelium of the ecosystem and the mitochondria in this fleshy home to speak loudly and clearly
may our senses decipher wisdom in the magnificent inter-being
patterns of life
no ascension, redemption or salvation from other
outside forces, energies or worlds can swoop down and save us
all things are imbued with the slave ship
our language, our ways of thinking, our houses, homes, communities, means of relating with reality
our society, modernity, current times, are constructed with the basic building blocks of the slave ship
like pieces of lego that neatly fit together in preordained formations
separation / definition / non-porous boundaries between
us / them / human / non human / me / my neighbour / good / bad
hierarchies born from these categorical schisms
‘we’ ‘all’ ‘everything’ are separated
exiled from our bodies, the dirt, the single celled creatures that secretly inhabit our cells
exiled from life
fighting wars against the other-than-human
building defences against microorganisms
denying the conundrum that we are made of the same single celled creatures which are the bioengines of that which breaths
‘all’ of one substance with life
time is stretched out and steadfastly placed in a line
the beginning and the end held apart by moralistic narratives
linearity becomes vertical as well as horizontal
the underworld / heaven / ideal realms / materiality /matter /spirit / body /mind / animal / human
the sanctuary / home sphere transmogrifies
from a place where spirits of the land are honoured with shrines
the hearth is abundant with ancestors
home inextricably linked with the spirits/energy/life of place
to…. domination / power over
sanctuary/sacred site /sense of being part of place
becomes the domestic
‘home’ ‘shelter’ ‘place where reciprocal relationships breath life into the world’ becomes domestication
imbued with masters and slaves
the shrines replaced with machines of service
a pitstop in the real game of productivity, in the outside/public/world
a place of secret shames
a private place where anything can happen as long as the status driven ‘outside’ world do not hear the silently screamed stories
there is no option but to rebuild the slave ship
flux is perpetual
gently pry apart the constructs
descend into the cracks
allow the mast to reinvigorate itself with the spirit story of the sacred tree
its roots forming a porous membrane between this and that
liminal
the sea with all of its aliveness oozing in between
what is and what is not
Issu /the trickster/ the story teller/ the one who stands at the crossroads the place where 3 roads meet
hitched a ride on the slave ship
the ingredients for the dis-mantling / re-mantling of the slave ship
were on board
the whispered stories /songs/dances
recipes for a world where the carefully carved constructs of slave and master blur into jazz & hip hop & creative collaborations with the more-than-human
there are no simple, reductionist solutions
no plan that can be neatly displayed in a colour coded spreadsheet
no thesis which will lead to an ‘aha’ path forward
it is not ours to discern or direct or control, on our own
perhaps the only way is to do it in collaboration, improvising, dancing, jammin with the more-than-human.
I call on the ancestors and the other-than and more-than human to speak through us, dance through us, play through us
I ask the birds and the reptiles and the trees and the mycelium of the ecosystem and the mitochondria in this fleshy home to speak loudly and clearly
may our senses decipher wisdom in the magnificent inter-being
patterns of life