I know I said this, but what do I mean? ~ by Qiaoling Cai
Qiaoling Cai's "I know I said this, but what do I mean?" was presented before live audience at Centrale Fies, Dro, Italy on August 8, 2025 as one of 24 acts, (curated by Elisa Giuliani) at the occasion of the AEROPONIC ACTS 2025: CHOREIA (convened by Gabriëlle Schleijpen).
Here you will find an introduction by the presenter, video-documentation filmed by Baha Görkem Yalım and a written report by Grant Watson.The report includes a summary of the spoken, improvised comments by esteemed guest respondents Barby Asante, Sandi Hilal, and Zairong Xiang.
I know I said this, but what do I mean?
Qiaoling's question: I know I said this, but what do I mean?
Qiaoling's intro:
I keep speaking, keep making sounds.
I’m afraid my words can’t keep pace with your departure.
I’m afraid my mother’s voice will go unanswered.
I’m afraid of hearing time.
You asked me, “Where are you?”
I said, to the east, snow is still asleep.
To the south, a former fortress of the exiled.
To the north, a prison swallowed by wild grass.
To the west—
To the west, the elder warned me: do not go.
The storm is coming.
The rain falls heavier and heavier.
I asked you, “When will it stop?”
You spoke in a voice I no longer knew:
“In the end, this is a world full of challenges.”
Grant's report:
The scene is set with a projection on the back wall of a landscape with grass and stones and a hand making shapes like a shadow puppet. Two figures pace the stage as the audience arrives. The stage goes dark with just a silvery light on the side wall, onto which a small stone or bone suspended from the rig casts shadows. One of the figures reads a text from a smartphone, which describes a fear about her capacity to speak, that the weave of language is not strong enough. Meanwhile, the other figure creates a shadow on the wall. A second voice describes a dream sequence which contains images of a thunderstorm and fish swimming in the river. The two figures sit. One of them reclines creating a shadow on the wall the shape of a range of mountains. Their conversation continues to the sound of rain, and on the screen we see a pair of socks float downstream. The two exchange stories about mourning and loss, one says: it’s been a long time; do you feel the weight? They stand and walk towards the audience, then take their seats among them. They continue talking but it is not always clear who is speaking because of the semi-darkness: we all know history is complex, how can I join this fight in a way that won’t end up becoming complicit; you don’t have only one single method; I know you never walk away from what truly matters; at the same time do you want to try?: I want; memory is murky; we can speak through the mirk. The performance ends.
Barby Asante says she is reminded of the book ‘This is How You Lose the Time War’ by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, about two agents who have a love affair across time, and how this unfolds through intimacies and expectations. She notes that there is an accessibility issue when a work is text heavy and hard to follow. Especially for people who don't have English as a first language. That this is something to think about. She found the staging very elegant, very minimal but also very powerful. She liked the shadows on the wall and the way that you see a body emerge from it, maybe it’s an animal, then you see it’s a human and perhaps a character in the story.
Zairong Xiang says that he resonated with the beauty of the piece. He liked the experience of going with it even if he lost the thread of the narrative it didn't matter. It was really well rehearsed and performed. The artist has a talent for conveying something calming but troubling, a firm fragility that was beautiful and subtle. He wants to believe that we have all as kids played with shadows on the wall. If he was to give a suggestion it would be to make something more of the shadows. As a general observation he has noticed that over the last days many performances have activated one or two artform without using other possible ones. It seems none of these forms have been taken for granted. These are all very exciting experiment. This invites the audience to make sense of the question - why does the artist activate this form?
Sandi Hilalenjoyed the melancholic calm of the piece, just two voices talking to each other. It brings to mind a friend in Gaza, who messaged her at night asking if she was awake. She had left it for a minute but then feeling guilty she’d answered. Her friend complained: I am so tired of living with my mother in law in the same tent. Sandie had thought - oh my god! What is my role? Should I say I fully understand? If she lived in a tent she would kill herself, but of course she can’t say that, so she tells her friend that god will help her. In the end it doesn't really matter what you say as long as you are there. It is about where one stands in relation to the other. Sandi says that this helps her understand why she made the connection to the anecdote she has just given. It was about moving between the most existential part of life and the small details. The subtlety of the piece gave her time to reflect, and this was something she appreciated.
