a dance in another space, relating to the memory of others, channeling the presence of someone else


the generational issue. going back to the point of why do I want to do a piece about Desaparecidos. the concept is weak. the whole idea is very questionable, or my idea is very questionable. and that makes the piece very weak. I want to do a piece about Desaparecidos because I want to make a piece about it. somehow I don’t have anything to say about the subject. what could I say? the whole point is then an experience, a process, for myself. it’s about the gesture of placing myself in the timeline, including myself in that history. it’s my way to learn about it. I don’t want to read about it, I want to write about it. that’s the way I can relate to it.

one of my teachers used to say that he envied my generation of artists because it was finally free to discuss other subjects, to write about something other than the Dictatorship, he said. up until his generation, he felt they were somehow compelled to write about that, only about that, and he was happy that we would be more free to discuss, in our artistic work, something else. years later, last year, I read part of a debate that Griselda Gambaro and Rafael Spregelburd (both Argentinian theater directors) had over the newspapers about the same issue. she criticized the younger generations for their lack of commitment to the political. she missed a more politicized theater in Buenos Aires. Spregelburd argued a beautiful reply explaining how he sees in newer theater a potential also for a different understanding of what is the political in art. he thanked her for her struggle (she is one of the most emblematic artists that through the dictatorship constantly found ways to protest through their work) as one of the things that actually allowed for the younger generations of theater makers to adress other issues. he showed somehow how reactionary her position had become. funny.

and then, I come back into the story. I realise today that I actually have the desire to place myself in the wrong generation. somehow it’s like I’d like to belong to that other generation,  here again the desire to place myself in history. to displace myself. again the melancholy, the nostalgia for something that I actually didn’t live.

I start wondering, then, if this thoughts can give the contextualization I’ve been thinking about.

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