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“What we speak becomes the house we live in” 

Hafiz

persian art

Inspired by this quote from the great Persian Sufi poet Hafiz, who lived in the 14th century, I would say that this blog is for taking time to reflect and pause, to watch what you say to yourself and others.

Words are powers, available to all and used by all. As a human being you are gifted with a voice. But what are you a voice for?

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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homo desperatus – Dries Verhoeven

Lampedusa, Aleppo, Syrian refugees, Fukushima’s nuclear reactor, the parliament buildings in Kiev, a drug clinic in Germany, a collapsed clothing factory in Bangladesh. Childprostitution, homophobia, but also disappaering islands in the pacific, melting glaciers and icecaps and other natural disasters caused by the global climate change….

In Homo Desperatus 44 contemporary disaster zones and humanitarian crises are reconstructed. Each display case is inhabited by an ant colony, about 70.000 ants in total. They populate the places of our human catastrophes.

Ants, like no other animal, know how to cope with disasters. When a nest collapses, they know precisely how to escape from that adversity within a fraction of a second. The individual ant offers itself for the well being of his kind. It drowns itself to build a bridge for the group. When it is sick its congeners bring it to a burial ground to avoid contamination.
An artificial “Sun” moves slowly from east to west through the room and shines on the different locations. The moment a location is lit, a finger-camera switches on, and gives the spot one minute of attention. The video-footage is projected live on screen.

With his installation Dutch visual artist/ theatremaker Dries Verhoeven challenges us to look at the human species.
How do we perceive disasters? And how does the suffering of the individual relate to the continuing existence of the population?
He allows the visitor zoom in and out between analytical distance – such as that of a laboratory – and emotional affection.

 homo desperatus

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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GEHT AUCH WENIGER?

 overpackaging

When I do my groceries, I often get paralyzed with fear. Fear of the supermarket cashiers. I know, it is totally irrational. But what can I do about it? Every time I put some groceries wrapped in plastic, with extra layers of plastic inside of it – let’s say a box of individually wrapped cookies – on the conveyor belt, I get sweaty hands. With an elevated pulse I expect the cashier to reprimand me in front of all the others….

You, wannabe green conscious consumer, yes YOU.. You know, that you are destroying the planet?“

To be honest, he/she would be totally entitled to say these kind of things! Then how often do I see myself putting cardboard, cellophane, and throwaway plastic trays on the conveyor belt?

stop it

At the height of my panic attacks, a miracle suddenly happened… A light at the end of the tunnel….

They opened the Original Unverpackt (the name translates to “Original Unpackaged”) not too far away from my home!! A novel shop that has dispensed entirely with disposable packaging. Granted, the term “supermarket” might be a little grandiose for this small but tightly packed store, but the concept’s legs are as long as the store’s frontage is narrow.

unverpackt

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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MUCHOS SOMOS – Pablo Neruda
(scroll down for English translation)

De tantos hombres que soy, que somos,
no puedo encontrar a ninguno:
se me pierden bajo la ropa,
se fueron a otra ciudad.

Cuando todo está preparado
para mostrarme inteligente
el tonto que llevo escondido
se toma la palabra en mi boca.

Otras veces me duermo en medio
de la sociedad distinguida
y cuando busco en mí al valiente,
un cobarde que no conozco
corre a tomar con mi esqueleto
mil deliciosas precauciones.

Cuando arde una casa estimada
en vez del bombero que llamo
se precipita el incendiario
y ése soy yo. No tengo arreglo.
Qué debo hacer para escogerme?

Cómo puedo rehabilitarme?
Todos los libros que leo
celebran héroes refulgentes
siempre seguros de sí mismos:
me muero de envidia por ellos,
en los filmes de vientos y balas
me quedo envidiando al jinete,
me quedo admirando al caballo.

Pero cuando pido al intrépido
me sale el viejo perezoso,
y así yo no sé quién soy,
no sé cuántos soy o seremos.
Me gustaría tocar un timbre
y sacar el mí verdadero
porque si yo me necesito
no debo desaparecerme.

Mientras escribo estoy ausente
y cuando vuelvo ya he partido:
voy a ver si a las otras gentes
les pasa lo que a mí me pasa,
si son tantos como soy yo,
si se parecen a sí mismos
y cuando lo haya averiguado
voy a aprender tan bien las cosas
que para explicar mis problemas
les hablaré de geografía.

WE ARE MANY

Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?

How can I put myself together?
All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my dashing being,
out comes the same lazy old self,
and so I never know just who I am,
nor how many I am, nor who we will be being.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the true me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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7:00 am Monday morning You’re Driving Me Crazy!

klopapier

Almost toppling over a pair of dirty socks and a boxer lying in front of the bathroom door, I notice my flatmate is already awake. A bit annoyed, I open the door and discover, that my flatmate also already used toilet, shower and sink, then: 1. toilet paper is untraceable, 2. unexplainable puddles of water are on the floor in front of the shower, 3. stubble hairs are all over the sink.

Phew… I already told him a thousand times: first I tried ‘the funny way’ (where´s the toilet paper, you´re playing mummy?), then with friendly reminders (I would also like to use some toilet paper in the morning), then notes in the bathroom (leave toilet paper in toilet paper holder!!), then writing messages (can´t find toilet paper, that is very inconvenient). But this morning, he makes my blood boil. I start screaming. And I know, I am overreacting, as I hear the words `never´, `always´, `every time´ coming out of my mouth extremely loud.

Evidently, these problems are no big problems. I could have handled it, like I did before: find another roll of toilet paper, tell him that it bothers me and that´s it. But this time, I explode.

The diagnose is clear: “social allergy.” As with physical allergens, the first exposure produces a small negative reaction, but each subsequent contact increases sensitivity. That, Dr. Michael Cunningham says, is why people can explode over what seem like tiny infractions. The first wet towel on the bathroom floor is mildly irritating; the hundredth can unleash a hypersensitive reaction.

My behaviour is also very normal. The way allergic people react to peanuts, I react to my flatmate.

8:00 am Monday morning Upps.. Sorry

fiets

Still puffed-up with anger I get on my bike and start pedalling. In an attempt to ventilate my emotions, I decide to ride on the road, instead of the bicycle lane. To be even faster I jump over the red light. Thinking that nobody noticed me…. Untill an angry driver honks and I can clearly hear someone screaming: you annoying bloody ciclist, get off yer bike!!”.

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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WHY DO WE DO THEATRE?

To know What Life Has to Offer

kleine sofie en lange wapper

Kleine Sofie en Lange Wapper 

Heavily implied to be dying of cancer, Sophie, a curious little girl, spends her days in bed. One night she’s awakened by the bustle of her many toys gathering in front of a small theater. Terror, her cat, is presenting a play about What Life Has to Offer, and Sophie -wanting to find out what’s „for sale in life“ and.. what comes after life- finds herself part of the cast. As August the clown and the puppet Death roll the scenery, the play comes alive, and Sophie experiences a riotous journey through a carnival of life. In the space of one night, she becomes acquainted with extreme poverty, death, sex, betrayal, and decadence; she loses her hair, ends up in an orphanage for “kids that came out wrong”, is thrown in jail, gets lost at sea, and in the end, dies in reality. But because of what she’s learned in her imaginary travels, she’s able to imagine a happy ending for herself, and dreams of driving off on a new adventure with her new friends.

kleine sofie en lange wapper 1

Els Pelgrom & The Tjong Khing

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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Maybe we can make it work?

http://www.theresourcebasedeconomy.com/

http://www.thevenusproject.com/

http://www.thezeitgeistmovement.com

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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Does money make the world go round?

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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Does money make the world go round?

Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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Finding Inspiration…

(Caputh, Einsteins sommer house)

caputh

Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand -Einstein

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed -Einstein

 Signing out.//Identity Detective (Germany)

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