Engaged performance

"In this performance, I was thinking about a performance where the viewers can join me, so together we form the image. I was inspired when I thought about how many young people are victims of mental issues. However, mental health is still considered a taboo to talk about. On one hand, the frustration, anger, sadness, irritation, etc, is expressed through the screams. It is all so intensive, yet still being ignored, only leads to more frustration and negative feelings. On the other hand, the image can also be interpreted as someone who is suffering from mental problems in our digital age. Her head is going crazy with anxiety, paranoia and depression, yet she still looks at her phone to find some memes, some cute videos to laugh about, only to leads to more intensifying insanity going on in her head. It was a short performance, rather like an image, however, I still enjoyed the result afterwards."

Thao Do Phuong

"In this performance, I was thinking about a performance where the viewers can join me, so together we form the image. I was inspired when I thought about how many young people are victims of mental issues. However, mental health is still considered a taboo to talk about. On one hand, the frustration, anger, sadness, irritation, etc, is expressed through the screams. It is all so intensive, yet still being ignored, only leads to more frustration and negative feelings. On the other hand, the image can also be interpreted as someone who is suffering from mental problems in our digital age. Her head is going crazy with anxiety, paranoia and depression, yet she still looks at her phone to find some memes, some cute videos to laugh about, only to leads to more intensifying insanity going on in her head. It was a short performance, rather like an image, however, I still enjoyed the result afterwards."

we nap

Aruba, our history will live on with the preserved cunucu houses. The skeletons of the houses will tell a story of how it used to be before the modernization took over our lands
and sadly it's out of our hands.
It will remind us how safe it used to be, sleeping with the doors open without a care

Roslyn Schwengle

week 4. where do you come from

"In Portugal we nap"
 
When the sun is neither high or low.
When my stomach is full and my heart is content, I lay for a while.
Sometimes I even smile.

The soft breeze that was carried from the coast passes trough my hair as the song of my ancestors play.
Fado always has allot to say.

The beautiful sound of strings from the Portuguese guitar tickles my ear.
I close my eyes and for a while I disappear

week 3. political: Cas di cunucu

Cas di cunucu.

Aruba, our history will live on with the preserved cunucu houses.
The skeletons of the houses will tell a story of how it used to be before the modernization took over our lands
and sadly it's out of our hands.

It will remind us how safe it used to be, sleeping with the doors open without a care
but in this time you can't or else you might get a scare.

It would remind us about a time where you wake up to the sound of singing birds
instead of the noise of busy roads.

It would remind us about how proud we are to be Aruban but like vulutre,
our children will scavenge the last pieces of our culture.

But that's all you will be cas di cunucu, a reminder,
we have lost value to what is important to us and now
we are blinded by greed and it doesn't look like any time soon
that we will be freed.

week 2. tell me about your family:  words spoken like fire

The story of his family, spoken in a a tongue which those infront of him cannot speak.
but this does not matter to me for his expression feels like fire
fire that fills up the entire room and is so hard to miss.
there is power in his voice and strangely enough that power brings an unknown presence that feels familiar.
and for a moment I felt blessed.

week 1. an object:  Microfibres

The fabric is soft and absorbent to clean and avoid scratches in the process.
something so simple and small but is carried wherever the host goes.
"it helps me see."

Breathing, building and destroying walls

Family

1
He always looks and laughs at me, while with his Danish cap, he nods and asks me about connections. Uncle Tom is a warm man. Gray mouse eyes, with front teeth like a rabbit, cheerful but timid at the same time, explains his adventures. The venom is pervasive - only people who have seen something have a heart as big as a house, and rapid legs like a rabbit.
He comes to visit and eat pancakes every Sunday and brings goodies for us. Always the wine of choice for my dad, today it is the rose of 1886, and for me exclusive Dutch candies with raisins, raisins and more raisins. I'm sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth while he describes his house again.
None of us have stepped in there yet. He says that there is no place for us. He has so many things that accumulate and accumulate and climb over each other and over each other that he himself can no longer walk around. Uncle Tom likes to collect things. Up already at 7.20am in the morning, he’s in front of the antique shop to find the rarest items people throw away, and he gives them a new home. He takes care of his things like children. He immediately loved me, even though I am not from here - like his treasures from all over the world. I get caught up with mind painting the house he lives in while he’s telling my dad why he still has a nightstand. The floor is flooded with things so he can't get to the bathroom at night without stumbling upon them. Which, of course, can be dangerous.
The house is coloured as if you ate salmon and then shaved it off (if, of course, our digestive tract still retained the colour of protein). The door is greenish when you open it, it makes you warm at heart. It smells of ginger, mixed with curry and grapes, and the walls are covered with oriental, Roman and Mesopotamian mosaics. Oh, and the posters from the 1969 Woodstock Festival hang in the lobby, because Uncle Tom was there, of course.
2
To the left of the front door there is a small pantry. Uncle Tom can't get in, he's too big, as he regularly receives a lot of kindness from his friends. There are no windows, no lights. Inside there is only food and food products, you can almost hear the scent of smells. The woods, the hatch, are yelling. There is a sense of nervousness there – the pressure a young substitute teacher has in a school while first teaching in a wild. It is overwhelming. You get panicked. There are too many people in here, too many memories and places that do not belong here. They all belong here but at the same time not, just like you, stranger, and at the same time remind the space that it will never host something intimate.
The square. This is basically a market. This is where masks and non-masks of people show up. This is where things go, telling their every story, since none of them is the same as their family knows them. If the family can even know the individual.
In this illuminating darkness, Uncle Tom is often lost if he enters without a plan. Therefore, every day he thinks carefully about what will be for lunch, dinner and breakfast. Where will the taste take him so he doesn't get lost in this never-ending swirl of memories.
3
I run out of the pantry and climb the steep and narrow stairs. Each one is lined with words, completely overcrowded and stuffy, the is hardly enough space for a grownups pair of shoes.
I can easily overcome the stairs though. By myself. The hallway is blue, dark as the lights are off. There are five doors in front of me, each with different shades of wood, but neatly polished. The corridor is small, I don't know how my uncle gets around in here.
I hesitate, as I do not know which door to choose. I sit on the floor and crave in the dark. I no longer pay attention to my surroundings; I feel as if I can no longer absorb the information. There are is too much. Is that why uncle frequently doesn’t have a lot to say?
How do you choose the right door? How do you decide who you're going to marry, Mom? I ask her, when I am confused, picking out the dresses from the last century from her closet and cannot decide which one to take. “You just know.” How do you know? How did you know about your dad? How come my uncle has no wife, no husband, no dog, no cat? "Because there is no room for them in my house." Not in mine, since I don't have one at all, so will I always be alone?

4
My thoughts slowly creep back to the present when I hear Uncle Tom describing his bedroom – and surprisingly, inviting us over tomorrow. What a delight! Father’s face started to glow at this announcement!
Does the vendor trust us? What is the house he has been talking about all his life?
The next day, I walk through the door expecting millions of things dropping on me. The house is empty. Tom is looking at us sadly. There is no love here, there is no one here to fill up someone as alone as my uncle

Wall

What is silence? When you wordlessly lie in a warm bed at home - that is, in the house where someone had raised you. Is that home? I never thought I belonged there, since I really don't, but today I would go home. I didn't go to the studio because I couldn't stand thirty people breathing, walking, existing around me. I am increasingly losing the ability to express myself in Slovenian, I’ve been noticing. I'm confused, tired, but not me. How could I say something without using words? In fact, that's what I do every day. It's easier for me to speak through material than through voice. What do you want to say? That there is an unbreakable wall between me and others that I built when I was five years old and have been carefully nurturing it ever since. I water it, brush it, caress it, short it. I carefully add concrete layers to it and patch its holes so no one comes through. I'll be alone. I can do everything myself. Without people watching me, without us. I can be responsible for myself, I don't know with others. I'm tired. Sleepy. I run out of motivation and I feel lost. What am I doing here? How do I get started? What's happening? What's not going on? Why am I thinking too much about everything? What is it? It's tiring. It's tiring today. Today I was hiding behind four walls of my seven square meters. Is it normal that when you change your environment you lose yourself? I feel lost. The wall is standing, and I have no intention of breaking it. I have to write one or two A4 pages about my future work, but I simply have no idea. An empty head. Am I really that bad?

Maja Bojanic

Družinica / Family

1

He always looks and laughs at me, while with his Danish cap, he nods and asks me about connections. Uncle Tom is a warm man. Gray mouse eyes, with front teeth like a rabbit, cheerful but timid at the same time, explains his adventures. The venom is pervasive - only people who have seen something have a heart as big as a house, and rapid legs like a rabbit.

He comes to visit and eat pancakes every Sunday and brings goodies for us. Always the wine of choice for my dad, today it is the rose of 1886, and for me exclusive Dutch candies with raisins, raisins and more raisins. I'm sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth while he describes his house again.

None of us have stepped in there yet. He says that there is no place for us. He has so many things that accumulate and accumulate and climb over each other and over each other that he himself can no longer walk around. Uncle Tom likes to collect things. Up already at 7.20am in the morning, he’s in front of the antique shop to find the rarest items people throw away, and he gives them a new home. He takes care of his things like children. He immediately loved me, even though I am not from here - like his treasures from all over the world. I get caught up with mind painting the house he lives in while he’s telling my dad why he still has a nightstand. The floor is flooded with things so he can't get to the bathroom at night without stumbling upon them. Which, of course, can be dangerous.

The house is coloured as if you ate salmon and then shaved it off (if, of course, our digestive tract still retained the colour of protein). The door is greenish when you open it, it makes you warm at heart. It smells of ginger, mixed with curry and grapes, and the walls are covered with oriental, Roman and Mesopotamian mosaics. Oh, and the posters from the 1969 Woodstock Festival hang in the lobby, because Uncle Tom was there, of course.

2

To the left of the front door there is a small pantry. Uncle Tom can't get in, he's too big, as he regularly receives a lot of kindness from his friends. There are no windows, no lights. Inside there is only food and food products, you can almost hear the scent of smells. The woods, the hatch, are yelling. There is a sense of nervousness there – the pressure a young substitute teacher has in a school while first teaching in a wild. It is overwhelming. You get panicked. There are too many people in here, too many memories and places that do not belong here. They all belong here but at the same time not, just like you, stranger, and at the same time remind the space that it will never host something intimate.

The square. This is basically a market. This is where masks and non-masks of people show up. This is where things go, telling their every story, since none of them is the same as their family knows them. If the family can even know the individual.

In this illuminating darkness, Uncle Tom is often lost if he enters without a plan. Therefore, every day he thinks carefully about what will be for lunch, dinner and breakfast. Where will the taste take him so he doesn't get lost in this never-ending swirl of memories.

3

I run out of the pantry and climb the steep and narrow stairs. Each one is lined with words, completely overcrowded and stuffy, the is hardly enough space for a grownups pair of shoes.

I can easily overcome the stairs though. By myself. The hallway is blue, dark as the lights are off. There are five doors in front of me, each with different shades of wood, but neatly polished. The corridor is small, I don't know how my uncle gets around in here.

I hesitate, as I do not know which door to choose. I sit on the floor and crave in the dark. I no longer pay attention to my surroundings; I feel as if I can no longer absorb the information. There are is too much. Is that why uncle frequently doesn’t have a lot to say?

How do you choose the right door? How do you decide who you're going to marry, Mom? I ask her, when I am confused, picking out the dresses from the last century from her closet and cannot decide which one to take. “You just know.” How do you know? How did you know about your dad? How come my uncle has no wife, no husband, no dog, no cat? "Because there is no room for them in my house." Not in mine, since I don't have one at all, so will I always be alone?

4

My thoughts slowly creep back to the present when I hear Uncle Tom describing his bedroom – and surprisingly, inviting us over tomorrow. What a delight! Father’s face started to glow at this announcement!

Does the vendor trust us? What is the house he has been talking about all his life?

The next day, I walk through the door expecting millions of things dropping on me. The house is empty. Tom is looking at us sadly. There is no love here, there is no one here to fill up someone as alone as my uncle.

Wall

What is silence? When you wordlessly lie in a warm bed at home - that is, in the house where someone had raised you. Is that home? I never thought I belonged there, since I really don't, but today I would go home. I didn't go to the studio because I couldn't stand thirty people breathing, walking, existing around me. I am increasingly losing the ability to express myself in Slovenian, I’ve been noticing. I'm confused, tired, but not me. How could I say something without using words? In fact, that's what I do every day. It's easier for me to speak through material than through voice. What do you want to say? That there is an unbreakable wall between me and others that I built when I was five years old and have been carefully nurturing it ever since. I water it, brush it, caress it, short it. I carefully add concrete layers to it and patch its holes so no one comes through. I'll be alone. I can do everything myself. Without people watching me, without us. I can be responsible for myself, I don't know with others. I'm tired. Sleepy. I run out of motivation and I feel lost. What am I doing here? How do I get started? What's happening? What's not going on? Why am I thinking too much about everything? What is it? It's tiring. It's tiring today. Today I was hiding behind four walls of my seven square meters. Is it normal that when you change your environment you lose yourself? I feel lost. The wall is standing, and I have no intention of breaking it. I have to write one or two A4 pages about my future work, but I simply have no idea. An empty head. Am I really that bad?

Družinica

1
    Ves zvedav me gleda in se mi smeji, medtem ko s svojo na Danskem kupljeno čepico prikimava in me sprašuje o povezavah. Stric Tom je topel človek. Sivih mišjih oči, s sprednjima zoboma kot zajec, veselo, a hkrati plašno, razlaga o svojih dogodivščinah. Venomer je na preži – samo ljudje, ki so nekaj videli, imajo srce veliko kot hiša in urne noge kot zajec.
    Na obisk in palačinke pride vsako nedeljo in prinese dobrote za naju z očetom. Za njega vedno izbrano vino, danes je to rose letnik 1886, zame pa ekskluzivne nizozemske bonbone z rozinami, rozinami in s še več rozinami. Sedim na tleh po turško in se zibam sem ter tja, medtem ko ponovno opisuje svojo hišo.
Nihče od nas še ni stopil tja. Pravi, da za nas ni prostora, da ima toliko stvari, ki se kopičijo in kopičijo in povzpenjajo druga na drugo in čez drugo, da tudi sam ne more več hoditi naokrog. Stric Tom rad zbira stvari. Vsak dan je že ob 7.20 uri zjutraj pred starinarnico, da bi našel najbolj redke izdelke, ki jih ljudje zavržejo stran, on pa jim da novi dom. Za svoje stvari skrbi kot za otroke. Slednje ima tudi zelo rad, a jih sam nima. Mene je takoj vzljubil, četudi nisem iz teh krajev – tako kot njegovi iz celega sveta pridobljeni zakladi. Ponovno se ujamem, kako si slikam hišico, v kateri prebiva, medtem ko očetu pripoveduje, zakaj ima še vedno nočno posodico – toliko stvari ima na tleh, da enostavno ne more ponoči do kopalnice, ne da bi zletel čez njih. Kar je seveda lahko tudi nevarno.
Hiša je obarvana, kot če bi pojedel lososa in ga potem posral (če bi seveda naš prebavni trak še vedno obdržal barvo proteinov). Vrata so zelenkasta, ko jih odpreš, ti postane toplo pri srcu. Diši po ingverju, ki se meša s curryjem in grozdjem, stene so v celote prekrite z orientalskimi, rimskimi antičnimi in mezopotamskimi mozaiki. Aja, pa še posterji s festivala Woodstock iz leta 1969 visijo v veži, saj je bil stric Tom seveda tam.

2
Levo od vhodnih vrat je majhna shramba. Stric Tom ne more skoznjo, je prevelik, saj redno prejema veliko dobrosrčnosti od svojih prijateljev. Brez oken je, ni luči. Notri se tare hrane in izdelkov za živež, vrvež vonjav lahko skorajda slišiš. Šumi, loputa, se dere. Kljub temu, da je v neskončnost zevajoča tema, tu vlada pritisk, ki ga imaš, ko prvič kot nadomestni učitelj učiš na šoli v podivjanem razredu. Grabi te panika. Tiska. Preveč ljudi je tu notri, preveč spominov in krajev, ki ne spadajo sem. Ki so tu doma prav tako kot ti, prišlek, hkrati pa prostor opominjajo, da ne bo nikoli gostil nekaj intimnega.
Trg. To je v bistvu trg. Tu se kažejo maske in ne-maske ljudi. Tu stvari nastopajo, govorijo vsaka svojo zgodba, saj nobena izmed njih ni tista, taka, kot jo pozna njena družina. Če družina sploh lahko pozna posameznika.
V tej presvetli temi se stric Tom velikokrat izgubi,  če vstopi brez načrta. Zato vsak dan temeljito premišljuje o tem, kaj bo za kosilo, večerjo in zajtrk. Kam ga bo okus popeljal, da se ne bo izgubil v tem neprekinjenem vrtincu spominov.

3
Pobegnem ven iz shrambe in se povzpnem po strmih in ozkih stopnicah. Vsaka posebej je obložena z rečmi, kompletno prenatrpana in zasuta, prostora je le za par stopal moške številke 45 – tukajšnji ljudje so pač veliki.
Sama po stopnicah brez težav zdrvim, jih preplezam in se znajdem v prvem nadstropju. Hodnik je moder, temen, saj so luči ugasnjene. Pred menoj je pet vrat, vsaka so različnega odtenka lesa, drugače so polakirana. Hodnik je majhen, ne vem, kako se stric sploh stlači sem.
Obotavljam se, saj ne vem katera vrata naj izberem. Usedem se na tla in ždim v temi. Nisem več pozorna na svojo okolico, občutek imam, kot da informacij ne morem več absorbirati. Preveč jih je. Je zato stric velikokrat redkobeseden?
Kako se odločiš za prava vrata? Kako se odločiš s kom se boš poročil, mama? jo vprašam, ko cela zbegana izbiram obleke iz prejšnjega stoletja z njene omare in se ne morem odločiti, katere bom vzela. »Enostavno veš.« Kako veš? Kako si ti vedela za očeta? Kako to, da stric nima ne žene ne moža ne psa ne mačk? »Ker ni prostora za njih v moji hiši.« V moji tudi ne, saj je sploh nimam, bom torej vedno sama?

4
Misli mi počasi prijadrajo nazaj v sedanjost, ko slišim, kako stric Tom opisuje svojo spalnico – pri tem očetu obljubi, da naju jutri povabi k sebi domov. Kakšno navdušenje je spreletelo očetov obraz ob tem oznanilu!
Nama vender le zaupa? Kakšna je hiša, o kateri pripoveduje že vse življenje?
Naslednji dan vstopim skozi vrata in pričakujem, da bo name zletelo na milijone reči. Hiša je prazna. Tom naju žalostno pogleda. Tu ni ljubezni, tu ni nikogar, ki bi zapolnil nekoga, ki je tako sam, kot je stric.

Maja Bojanic

Works by

Maria Luisa Vitorino

The title of this performance is "trying to fit perfectly"

The concept of it is: I made this object trying to understand the difference between metal, card and my body. Manipulating the card in order to get into the metal frame and adjust my body on it while falling on it.
Luisa Vitorino

:"This last months i've been trying to focus and still be free in my choices.
Concentrate but also being active and enthusiastic.
All about a balance between the obligations and the whims.
Even knowing that it's all about presence, i like to have it.
Highs and lows.
Grab the emotions of the surrounding moment.
With no clue of what’s next.
But still planning a little bit of confidence plus energy.
Knowing myself and how i can stand still, still.
This words are making the soup of me and my mind blows into water again."

Instagram: @maria_luisa_fv

Images on the right hand side:

Where do you come from?
In Portugal we take naps
music from Amália Rodrigues

connection

Where do you come from? The differences of countries and habits, Vietnam opposed to The Netherlands, in particular Groningen. How the voice is ised so different and the habits, the bodylanguage.

Thuy Huynh

"She is kind. She is enthusiastic. She cares about everybody else. She always try her best to connect people, giving chances for everyone to grow" - what I'll proudly talk about Anet our tutor.

We came to this class BREATHING MATTERS, all strangers, without a clue what we're gonna do next.

I came to this class in hope to improve my presenting skill, and what I get now beyond what I expected.

I delayed my writing until after the last class we have together, but it worth the delay - our last class was beautiful. We sit together, giving opinions, understanding each other, laughing at other people jokes. We had a connection from this class, dare to express our feelings to other people.

All these voices, mouth sounds, actions, emotions - I don't regret applying this class.

It's not just about performances anymore, it's the experiment we got.

Here I am today, Thuy Huynh, confidently speak in front of people althought my English was bad - mostly learned from Breathing Matters.

"Close your eyes, walk around and imagine you're walking on ice"

Jan 21, 2020

Eating

Jascha vom Ende

Where am I coming from?

Where am I right now?

Where am I going?

Who am I with?

with whom am I going?

Who am I?

Where am I coming from?     I grew from my roots

Where am I right now?          I’m right here

Where am I going?                to the unknown 

Who am I with?                     I’m with the sun 

with whom am I going?        with the whole

Who am I?                             I’m a soul.              I’m a grateful soul.

I am/ I am not a printmaker

werk gemaakt naar aanleiding van dezelfde performance, alleen met een verandering van karakters

Gionata Girardi

I AM/I AM NOT A PRINTMAKER
This work stems from a reflection on my relationship with engraving and printmaking. The act of violently destroying the zinc plate, on which one should usually carefully engrave, represents in a way my dissatisfaction with a technique that has marked my academic career so far. Mine is a relationship of love and hate, as my interest in the graphic medium is undeniable, but I have always looked for alternative ways to use it. By printing the "dead body" of the plate I wanted to represent precisely this contradictory relationship, if the performative act, on the one hand, wants to represent my frustration, the act of printing wants to bring back to life something that however belongs to me and represents me.

Presentatie in Punt WG

Zondag 27 januari om 17:00 uur vindt de afronding plaats van de Masterclass Performance in puntWG Amsterdam, met ruimte voor gesprek.

participants masterclass

Zondag 27 januari om 17:00 uur vindt de afronding plaats van de Masterclass Performance in puntWG Amsterdam, met ruimte voor gesprek.

Multiple (un)related causes nr. 6

Ieke Trinks voert een performance uit in de kantine van ArtEZ tijdens de lunchpauze.

Ieke Trinks

Ieke Trinks was student bij Artez (voorheen HKA) van 1997 t/m 2001 aan de afdeling Vrije kunst. Zij woont en werkt nu in Rotterdam. Naast haar solo werk maakt zij deel uit van het performance collectief 'Trickster' en is zij mede-organisator van 'Performance Art Event'. Haar performances concentreren zich voornamelijk op de volgorde van dagelijkse routines; objecten en handelingen worden losgekoppeld. Dit kan soms tot absurde situaties kan leiden.

Ieke Trinks

Workshop - Conclusie

Dag 8 - gevonden?

laatste hand zetten aan het werk, de werken die getoond gaan worden tijdens de open dagen.

Anet van de Elzen

Focussen op Timing / Concentratie en contact / Beeld en Plek / TOEPASSING IN EIGEN WERK!!
hoe wil je de registratie van je werk?

Workshop - Perspectief

Dag 6 - Historisch perspectief

Anet van de Elzen

10.00 uur

bespreking over de performances van 20 en 21 mei in het Huis van Bourgondië en ontwerp afmaken van de flyer

12.00 uur

vertoning van films en video, registraties van bekende performances en documentatie van performances die speciaal werden gemaakt voor de camera.

Met films van performances van hedendaagse kunstenaars en spraakmakende registraties van historische performances

15.00 uur

werken we verder aan het maken van de structuur voor de werkperiode van 17 tot en met 21 mei, de flyer voor de performances op 20 en 21 mei in het

Huis van Bourgondië

Waar?

Dag 4 - Waar vindt jouw performance plaats?

Anet van de Elzen

Kies je een publiek, door in de openbare ruimte een performance te maken? Of bepaal je een tijd en locatie en nodig je daarvoor een publiek uit? Of maak je een performance voor de camera, dus zonder publiek.
Vandaag gaan we naar buiten en bekijken de mogelijkheden voor een performance in de openbare ruimte.

Live

Dag 2 - Hoe communiceert een performance?

Anet van de Elzen

Hoe maak je contact in een performance.
Letterlijk, of via een beeld of de stem. Publiek wordt vandaag aandachtspunt. In het laatste deel van de workshop vandaag werken we met de stem; de zachte en luide stem, spreekstem, zangstem, gemompel maar ook werken met de stilte.

Neem een object of een kostuum mee.

Workshop Performance

Inventiviteit, timing en aandacht voor elk detail dat deel is van de performance zijn aspecten die aandacht zullen krijgen evenals hoe je de nieuwe ervaringen kan inzetten in je eigen werk. 

Hedendaagse en historische performances gaan op een associatieve manier deel uitmaken van hetgeen we maken en bespreken.

http://www.tobepresent.nl/forum/

Anet van de Elzen

In de workshops gebruik ik mijn ervaringen als kunstenaar en als organisator/curator van performance-projecten

over mijn werk

Voor beelden uit de workshops:

http://www.tobepresent.nl/forum/

Workshop video/performance

Op uitnodiging van Bureau Export Arnhem, een workshop met studenten van Fine Art Arnhem, gegeven door Danielle van Vree

Het lichaam is het materiaal

De ruimte is het podium.

De performer gebruikt zijn lichaam om uiting te geven aan zijn idee/statement.

In de workshop zullen we beginnen met het ontwikkelen en maken van een individuele performance voor de camera. De academie en de openbare ruimte vormen het podium voor de performances en interventies. De camera (het videobeeld) wordt gebruikt op verschillende manieren: de camera die registreert, commentaar geeft of de performance in een ander perspectief plaatst. Performance en video kunnen naast elkaar komen te staan, waardoor er een interactie ontstaat tussen hetgeen zich live afspeelt en dat wat opgenomen is. Ik wil hierbij werken met de spanning tussen fictie en realiteit.

Vanuit mijn ervaring als regisseur en beeldend kunstenaar zullen we praten over en werken aan: het inhoudelijk concept, het gebruik van tijd en ruimte, het gebruik van beeld (video), de opstelling van het werk/publiek en de zintuiglijke ervaring.

Danielle van Vree

Voor beelden uit de workshops:

http://www.tobepresent.nl/blog/