The H ALF could be perceived as the “oldest job”…people gathering in a theatre place, lights on, music and there you are alone with all those people in front of you. The task is to dance and to present your self. But then, and despite that apparently all looks like an impro pimpo, it is not. There are conditions that makes this job different than the usual movements that each of us, dance along the day. Those conditions don’t rely on virtuosity or a great deal of explanation to make sense. Let me tell you in another way: The world is like a de-totalizing movement choreography but self-determined that we impose to others, or that we impose on ourselves, because we have to survive (on behalf of a promising illusory ‘freedom’ that we say to be ‘democratic’). The point is that our artistic practice is not separate from this life, but it is life itself. Life then is the project, the future promise that insists to make sense in this world and, whose protagonists are our self-managed bodies. The body and life are, in very different ways (representative, affective, economic) in a constant process of privatization. With the gesture of halving, I attempt to disown the promising and fixed image of the privatized “I”. By the practice of H ALVING my body tries to move as a sensitive map. As a map, the body is also a vector moving continuously and, at the same time, exiting its very territory. Therefore, the single gesture of halving is not the attempt to move creatively (because that would be like swimming in a life-movement as obvious as the one we already live), but to co (i)mplicate both body and space: sites of the body that kinetically open and continue, which spaces. In that “opening”, my body looks for the amplification of its territory convenient to its very ‘isness’, condition that inevitably makes it be fully present and as result, being fully unsecured, vulnerable, displaced… attentive, listening…resisting its own “I”-song…
I like to think we produce new ways of relating-to, in a proactive approach to relations. Autonomy not by ignoring the other but by modulating it through separation (“no autonomy is ever a purity of disconnection – other than that of Death”). I try to not work functionally. I try to move dissolving through my rational body and through my will, and I try not to do things but to allow them to happen. I hope I can go mad.
Yes, it, there, can be, I, or not, I do, where, Yes, there, it happens, the ness, when?, No, stop, do!, again, never, never, when I become to, in case, we see, the rest, me in context of, the thing, what, could can, let it be, No, where am, I, cut, Gedankenstrich, lust, strike, watch,
be . part, of the crowed, in front of, move, w, ring ring, ritsch ratsch, and then, open to the, Ausrfezeichen Punkt, Komma, strich,
While listening hearing,..………while hearing interrupted by listening,… thinking what I’m listening while in the
meantime many sounds have passed. I could make only four sounds out of the noise passing by. Noise is cutting
me in slices, in slices of sound, slices I can put together and have a cake of music, tasty yet dangerous music,
never-ending celebrating, exuberant, with or without me, pumping flavors and pumping air going on and off, and
in the midst of it finding myself among others eating the cake to be left hungry while desperately desiring silence.
The search for the music of silence never to be found, even the well will make a sound, no, the better will be to
lean against this wobbly yet firm upright surface, music, because she is full of care. And she exist in all our music
play-lists where the lead-singer is the listener and the loudspeakers an inversion of our eardrums. Perhaps not
even an inversion, if so that would mean to realize there is no control over music and perhaps in the end there is
no music at all? That actually music doesn’t exist, I personally hope not. But I can understand that the “I” in sound
is called “music”.
Now coming to the work of the Half, a precise operation, which its alchemist approach of multiplying persona,
movement, music, exchanging the “I” for “It”. Music here is sometimes to be found like the music coming from
David’s harp in our Greek ages, the harp tuned in the only legalized scale of that period: Dorian, the scale of “I”
and “other” resonating in perfect resolution because of its diatonic harmony. Now luckily centuries later we can
perform an incision of music, a music which is always someone’s. Lets say music are organs, working diligently
as an orchestra of frequencies infiltrating space. Yet they are not in combat mode, but they silently invert a
listener, possible to make it shit out the unthinkable, stirring its holdingtogetherness. Still this cruelty is not alone,
it is accompanied by this care, and to turn this all into sense, serious labor is needed. Actually all of this will have
to be shielded, so it can disperse, proliferate than rebound and finally coincide with all the organs, materiality,
space, light and sounds available so it can reach eventually the space of spaces, the organ of organs, the light of
lights and the music of music’s. A new community.