January Chronicle by Zoé Couppé, Louis Schou-Hansen, Lena Pfäffli & Rex Collins

Do you remember? A nightmare

Well, if I can't remember what I said or did, I wonder then what shapes my reality. Or even your perception of it. It's like an archive of brokenness, no traces. I don't know who or what I am. Falling into a pit of forgetting, social media transgress our sociabilities and my nightmares, the ghost visiting reminds me of my unremembering. But looking through you, makes me revisit what I could have been and what I probably will become - without this contrast I'm lost. I don't know who or what I am. History propels us into being and contradictions is why I exist.

Nineteen people

a door to enter

a large room

outside, the melting snow

inside

first character : Emmanuela

She started by opening the discussion with James Baldwin words : «A question is a threat, the door which slams shut, or swings open to another threat»

Nineteen people have been looking for these fire questions, the ones that remain from our calls, talks, movement, dance, walk together.

Who is the choreographer?

Who possessed who?

Who is in possession?

Is there a limit of possibilities within choreography ?

Why do images and sounds always seem to be synchronized?

What do birds move for?

How does the body disappear? And how does choreography deal with disappearance?

What does it mean to instrumentalize dance for protest? And what does it mean to instrumentalize protest for dance?

What is a collective joy?

Ok

How do we “study” protests when they are happening at the same time?

Romanticism / Othering?

Who are the spectators of protest dances? Who is looking at (you)?

How do you truly define solidarity?

Define Allyship?

Empathy?

[EMPATHY AS BEING DISPLACED BY THE OTHER]

If we move together, what knowledge of collective embodiment is present?

Are we building a different form of listening? A form of WE?

Dear mom,

I’m really not prepared for the way my humanity will disappoint my divinity. Honestly, I’ve just been such a hoe in my material life, but yeah, whatever, who believes in gods or material worlds anyway. They’re all just made up by clever patriarchs and their megalomaniac desires for control.

Who knows, I love to imagine a tiny god of stupid diving into their brainstems to reprogram their stupidity. Or wait, What I would love the most is if god of stupid would actually reprogram the world into stupidity. But whatever, it's probably not gonna happen. Everyone is really clever and I am still hoe, so things don’t really change much.

I guess it’s like the saying: A swollen heart is like a swollen ass or something like that, I don’t really remember. But my point is that it sucks until it gets better.

Well, my swollen heart already penetrated my brain and made me really dumb, but it actually doesn’t matter, cause I remember someone once telling me that the revolution lies in the stupid.

Xoxo

Stupid

With contributions by: Julia Von Schantz, Rex Collins, Lena Pfäffli, Zoé Couppe, Liam Warren, Annette Rodriguez Fiorillo, Antonio Rebekka Truninger, Astrée Duval, Clara Von Schantz, Claudia Medeiros, Dalia Maini, Gamze Öztürk, Gloria Sogl, Jafar The Superstar, Noam Youngrak Son, Öykü Özgencil and Louis Schou-hansen