Log-book to Tarjei

Resign

2011-08-25T23:43:00.003+02:00

Today Steve Jobs resigned from being CEO at Apple.

The shares of the company dropped, as Walt Disney's - where he is a shareholder as well.

The questions are the following:

How can a company maintain its efficiency when a charismatic leader drops out?

Can a charismatic leader create an operating system for it's company that can serve without him?

Can a creative person use his creativity to find a system which sustains it's creativity without being inseparably bounded to special individuals special creativity?

How much we value the personalities own qualties?

Collegium Utopia

2010-05-09T09:02:00.005+02:00

Miss

2010-03-02T20:38:00.005+01:00

„If not to you,

To whom should I show
This plum blossom here?”

Zeami was a noh actor. He wrote these lines after his son's death.

The Danube

2010-02-09T23:40:00.004+01:00

Twenty-seventh note

2010-01-22T23:38:00.003+01:00

My parents had a guest tonight, and I also visited them, so I met him. He was very sympathic but his face looked very sad. He looked tired, and it seemed it is difficult for him to maintain his polite attention to his company. After a few minutes I had the idea that his wife probably died. And a few minutes later it turned out from the discussion that my intuition was right.

The work of the receiver

2010-01-04T13:42:00.004+01:00

In the art school, where I study drawing there is a very special model. She is special because she differs from the most of the people in basic things, which are usually common for others. For example I saw her once coming to school in pair of sandals; it was wintertime, big snow covered the streets. Some say she is schizophrenic.

Once Noémi, our teacher asked her about her week-end. She said, she was working on the week-end in the Palace of Arts (a big cultural center, which holds a concert-hall in it). Noémi asked wonderingly what did she do. She said she was working with Fischer Iván (a well-known Hungarian conductor). He was playing, and she was helping him.

Noémi laughed, she said she never heard more beatiful sentence about reception.

Today I encountered a poor man on the bus. I dont know, if he was homeless, or just very poor. He had serious difficulties with speaking, probably his larynx was sick, maybe it was operated because of cancer. He wanted something, and he turned to people around him repeating one series of burble voices. Some looked at him for a while, than turned away. It was so visible in this situation, that the person who is listening should put energy in understanding, it was obvious that it would have been necessary by the listener make an effort for the succes of communication. All listeneres failed today. Gave up, haven't even really tried.

A homeless looking person appeared on the funeral of my grandfather. I was shocked, what is this man doing on the ceremony. He walked in the hall where the catalfalque stood with sticks. He was loud, when everyone was silent. He looked scruffy.

Later I got to know, that he is a priest; and he lived in the same elderly persons rest home as my grandparents did; he was a friend of my grandfather in his last year. My father drove him home afterwards, and in the car we got to know, we have common interest - I just started to study in the art school in those times, and he was an artist. Sometimes he crossed the town with his sticks using the public transportation vehicles; buses, trams and metro to get to the zoo to draw animals. He was dull of hearing, I needed to talk in his left ear. We became friends. Later I visited him in the village where he used to be a parish priest before he retired and moved to the rest home. It was january, and there was no heating in the parish, exept for one electric heater in the main room, where we slept. The foods in kitchen and water in the toilet were frozen. We ate frozen aspic, which contained almost only fat and cartilages, I barely stopped throwing up from the taste. I was helping him sorting out his stuff, since he was eliminating the parish. He gave me 2 or 3 boxes of books and plenty of paints, brushes, crayons and papers. I had fever after coming home. Before his death, he gave me many of his drawings. They are not in good condition. I should do something with them.

Instruments on willow trees

2009-12-23T01:25:00.003+01:00

I just found a beatiful picture in a psalm:

"By the rivers of Babylon--
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our harps.

For there our captors
asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
"Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"

How could we sing the Lord's song
in a foreign land?"

Hanging the instruments on the trees, that's so individually expressing image of sadness, homesickness and resistance all togheter. The end of the psalm is shockingly cruel. It is number 137.

From my window

2009-08-30T21:46:00.002+02:00

The Bell Jar

2009-06-27T16:33:00.007+02:00

The voice of the girl, who tells the story, caught me. The strong personality of the main character in Sylvia Plath's novel, I would even say a little aggressive attitude combined with deep sensitivity is so simply natural, it creates the strange feeling that she lets me very close to herself, but stays in a great distance, which cannot be dissolved under any circumstances.

"When I am week, Then I am strong."

I was full of pity when she was escorted to the electroshock room, and it was a suprise, when she started to be more balanced after getting a series of regural electric therapies. I wouldn't say a happy suprise; more a silent release caused by seeing her release, which emerges from accepting the situation, she got into, and especially accepting herself in this situation. Her battle with the world around does not vanish, but it melts into the running of normal affairs.

Twenty-sixth note

2008-12-06T10:11:00.004+01:00

I have heard many interpretations of Hamlet. Often they try to understand the characteristics of the Danish prince, why is he postponing to take revenge throughout the whole story, till the end, when he is already attacked by the king himself. They say, Hamlet is a hesitant person, he can hardly make decisions. The story goes forward, because we are curious if he will kill, and if yes, how he will kill Claudius. But he is slow to do the act, he almost does not get to do it. One says, he is melancholic, another says he is rather a philosophical type than a man of actions.
I don't know, if that is so.
But I know, it is not easy to kill someone. And I wonder why noone speaks about this.
If I would think, I have the duty, that I have to kill someone, I would suffer from this. It would be very hard.
I think Hamlet is a story about a person, who got a command, that he has to kill someone. Whereever this command comes from (the origin can be even in himself), he tries to face with it. The play tells the story, how he struggles with his duty. How he thinks over and over, and how he tries to bring himself to do it.
When I have to kill someone with my own hands, when I have to be present at the death of the person, who I murder, that is like killing myself aswell. We are created to be emphatic, and when someone dies in my presence, I experience death aswell, I project his death on myself, and I have to face, how it would be, if I had to die. I have to kill something in me, in order to be able to murder someone else. That's why in modern times armies fight with weapons, which kill the enemy in a long distance, far away from the murders. So they do not have to experience the death of their victims.
Of course, one could say: but he kills Polonius without any hesitation, and it seems this act does not turn him down.
But Hamlet kills Polonius by accident, and that is very important. And I think this is an important epsiode in the story, which can help the actor, to understand and to show, that there is a serious battle going on in himself, about committing a murder. There are two processes going on from this point in the story in him at the same time. These prosseses are reverse of each other. In one the protagonist is trying to face a murder what he has to do, before he does it, in the other he has to face and deal with it, after the act.
And we should not forget, that Polonius is behind a curtain, when Hamlet stabs him to death. He can not see his victim, and he thinks it is the king. To kill the king without seeing him, would be similar, how modern soldiers murder - without being a witness of their act. And that would solve his problem. Of course he can not kill the king, by accident. But he has to deal with the experience murdering someone, while he still tries to accept his role as a murder.

Extracts from a letter - three

2008-09-25T12:23:00.004+02:00

When I was following the rehearsals in the town of Saint George, I learnt a new instruction, which I never heard before. It wasn't a seldom case, when an actor heard the director asking him to play his partner. You are not playing yourself, your are acting him. Sounded the instruction.
What does this mean, I asked myself, how does this make sense, what is the meaning if an actor starts to act something, which is not based on his own character, but on one different. And after hearing several times, I asked the director himself, what he meant by this.
It was a cigarette break, we were standing out on the cold and dirty corridor, it was under construction in fact, they repainted it for the premier. This play was performed in a small studio of theatre, which was based in a grey office-block, a department of the state health-care company. People, who came to take out or prolong their insurance were queuing up at the other end of the corridor, separated from us with a glass-door. They used a different entrance, but it happened, that clients due to some misconception entered on the gate of the theatre studio, and asked about health-care. After I asked my question, a middle-age lady entered from the street, a few steps above us. She looked upon us, and stoped at the top of the staircase. Excuse me sir, Administratia Asigurărilor? Althaught we didn't look at all as any administration office, people are prepared for unusual circumstances in this country. She didn't know, if she had entered to the high estimated office, or somewhere else, something unknown, who knows where, so she was as modest and polite, as possible. She was in need for something, so she had humilate herself.
The director showed her the way. She contatly descended on the stairs, and passed through us with eyes falled down.
You see, she was not acting herself, she was acting us. She didn't know who we were, and what she could expect from us, she went under us, she acted us. The man, who is the care-taker of the building, who came before the rehearsal, because I asked him to fix the circulation of the heating, as we were freezing in the past days, he was also acting us. He went above us, as he considers us as intruders in the health insurance's building.
Acting the other person, oh, that's a wise discovery. How rare is a man, who never plays others, but remains himself under any circumstances. How big is the tempation to act the one, who you face with, either beacuse you have more power, than he does, or exactly because you have less. There's a potency, which drives you to go above, to go under.
Just to fulfil the expactions, to follow the track, which is marked.
When one shows the sign of being above you, your path is marked, and the opposite works aswell, when you see people giving you the higher position, it is not simple to stay on the same level, your own level, a human being, equal to any other.

I dreamed

2008-09-24T08:10:00.004+02:00

I came home from somewhere, my mother was pregnant, and my parents had built a new ell to their house, and they moved there. There were two storeys, and there were two rooms, above each other, where the floor was slanting. I asked, why did they bulit a slanting floor, and they told me it's beacuse the master builder. He was a friend of ours, living in our neighbourhood, some streets away. The answer meant, that he either was lazy to dig out the fondament, so he placed the floor on the splanting ground, or that he thought, this is the best solution for our new house.
It seemed, that my parents already accepted the case. We were busy taking care of my mother, who was very close to give birth. There was only one day left till the day, what was appointed by the doctor. Her stomach was huge, and we were afraid to touch it, for fear of that it would start the process of birthgiving. She went to bed, and I knew, it's the last night before she will be taken to the hospital, to give birth.

Extracts from a letter - two

2008-09-18T00:22:00.007+02:00

"Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be."

When Hamlet meets his mother, he is very distant with her. The queen even asks him: "Have you forgot me?" Hamlet encounters a woman in the queen, who is very different from the image, of what he had about his mother in the past.
A mother is one, who brought us up, and who we are mostly very strongly related to, she is a fundamental role-model in our lives. All what we consider as our own principles about how to behave, are some way derived from our parent's example, either because we have accepted their rules and oppignions or because we are fighting against them, and we counter with them.
When a mother contradicts the principles, what she handed over to us, a threat appears on the horizon of our ideology. I chose to live my life this certain way, and the person, who I based my knowledge on, abandons the values, what she have thaught to me.
Hamlet does not want to accept a new mother. He wants to show her, what she was before, he wants to confront her with herself in the past.

"You go not, till I set you up a glass where you may see the inmost part of you."

This glass, this mirror is Hamlet himself. He wants to play the role of the queen in past to make it possible for her to meet herself.
He has the white hope, that all those principles, which Gertrude once beleived in, and which were once confessed loud by her, have the possibility to change her back.

He thinks, that the queen long-time ago, wouldn't accept the present queen. He has the responsibility to confront these two persons, for he is the only one, who carries the queen's once lived personality.

To meet a person who is very close to you, who is so close , that is actually you yourself, and who does not accept you - is painful. Hamlet thinks he has a reason to cause this pain.
Gertrude cries for help.

Extracts from a letter - one

2008-09-18T00:22:00.003+02:00

We are strongly rooted in our biological origins. We used to live in tribes, and there existed a competition of proportions of organ sizes, a competion of power. The male who had bigger muscles, was the stronger, and was the one who could fuck the female. But he didn't only get the access to sexaul acts, but with his power he became the leader of the tribe, he got the possibility to obtain fair enough nutriment, and to enjoy the security of self-defense from enemies either by escaping fast enough, or by defeating the other with power surplus. Power and sizes were the only existing values in fact.
Today we consider ourselves more wise, to know power is not all, moreover is not the only quality which one can charm a woman with. But the fundamental competion remained among our relationships, as proof of our values. And thank to our roots; one who is questioned in his sexuality is questioned in his whole identity.
This is what everybody knows, this is why all the junk mails, the spams, which I receive each day, are trying to get at me at my most vulnerable point, my sexual achievement. This is why they offer solution to all the possible problems, which I might have. I could enhance my performance, if I would have early ejaculation, if I would get off earlier, than the woman does, I'm with; I could make my penis become longer, if I wouldn't fulfil my partner with the lenght of my sexual organ, if she would have a lack of sexual plesure in the depths of her vagina, or she wouldn't be satisfied with the visual appereance of my sexual tool; and I could get help with making my penis standing firm and stiff, full of blood coming into it, if I would have problems with erecting it in intimate moments. All messages I receive from my unknown well-wishers are trying to help me in being able to fulfil better and better my partner's desires. Would I enjoy sex, if I would have a longer dick? No, she is the one, who might achieve higher plesure. Do I not get fulfiled, when I reach orgasm earlier, than my partner? No, I've gone all the way, she is the one who has a lack of fulfilment. What all these messages imply, is that I am the one, who gains through becoming better in giving plesure, that I am better person, if I cause higher plesure to my partner. The idea is of course not the invention of the authors of the messages, it is my biological definiteness what they are building upon.

I dreamed

2008-09-15T21:56:00.010+02:00

I am coming home from Romania, I was at the train station in Cluj Napoca, which was a long - long line of continuous platforms, some stairs, pedestrian bridges, and ticket offices; all very rusty and grey. I was with some people, friends, I don't remember exactly who. They stayed at the other end of this long unforeseeable platform-series, I went to buy tickets maybe for our trip. We were heading to Hungary, the strange thing, I don't remember, I was thinking about this trip as a return. I had some kind of feeling, that I know all, what is around me, I am familiar with it. I heard some Romanian talking in the speakers, and than a lady started to inform in Hungarian about the train to Hungary. She didn't just speak Hungarian, but she spoke about all the towns and lands in Romania which the train was going through using their Hungarian names, and mentioning the historical background of them, how some Hungarians talk about it, among each other. It was a feeling, that not just the language had change, but also the information, which is given on different languages. Since it's a sensitive issue in the relation of the two countries, and the official Romanian oppignion is different than the Hungarian one, I was wondering, why is she doing this, how does she dare to provoke, what can be her reason, and how is it possible, that she is allowed to talk like this in the speakers of the train station.
Even thaugh it was in Hungarian.
As if it would be only understood by Hungarians. I was suprised.
But I also got to know from her speech, that I won't have time to get back to my platform till the train will start off.

Twenty-fifth note

2008-09-10T14:57:00.011+02:00

Yesterday an evening in theatre on my own, in the studio of Katona József Theatre. I did not wish to have any company. But what am I saying, of course I had many compagnions, we were sitting shoulder to shoulder packed up in a small place, and I even met some people I know, some actresses from Transylvania, who I had seen in a performance directed by a friend, Pali, a girl, who I have been playing togheter with in a scene this June, on the street in a festival. Moreover I was sitting by an actor from the ex Chalk Circle Company, even he does not know me.
I have seen an estimated performance, which I wanted to see since a long time. It had its premier more than 3 years ago. It is based upon Franz Kafka's novel: The Trial. They chose a different title: Ledarálnakeltűntem - which is one sentence written in one word, the translation would be: IamrettledoffIhavedisapperead.
A theatre of nonsense, scenes and actions come after each other without any kind of logical reasons for the first sight. Anything can happen, after anything. To use this theatre language in adapting Kafka, is an amazing discovery.
The space is genial, when the performance starts, you see it's a narrow and long corridor, what you are sitting in, and after a few minutes they open a door at the back, and than you discover it is an extremly long corridor, and the end is far-far away from you. In the intermission, we had to go through this space and we could realize they even opened the back door and used the foyer of the theatre. And there is a mirror at the end, so it can even look neverending. Like the process of the trial, in Kafka's novel.
The actors often do hard work with their bodies and their concetration, extrem jumps, falls, dances, acrobatics, text-improvisation.
But after a while, I got bored, and i had the feeling the same effect is repeated and repeated. The creators selected out very few phenomens, and put them into definite theatrical effects, and used them several times. Many many times, it finally became a 2,5 hours performance. I had the feeling, I expect something more complex view upon the world from a theatre-piece.

Twenty-fourth note

2008-09-06T08:26:00.004+02:00

Two headlines from Hungarian newspaper articles, published since the end of our workshop:

A certificate merite was awarded to the film of Csaba Bollók: Iska's Journey on the Freistad Filmfestival in Austria for the courage of the film in impacting with the stubborn facts, and for the acting accomplishment of Mária Varga playing the main role. (1st of September)

Hungary will be represented by Csaba Bollók's movie in the Oscar nominating process of best foreign language films. (5th of September)

"How beauteous!"

2008-08-21T10:38:00.002+02:00

Hay Portrait

2008-07-21T10:22:00.005+02:00

Orderliness

2008-07-18T20:00:00.004+02:00

My mother is tiding up her room, sorting out things, and trying to make some kind of order among the rest. She has found a tiny plastic cup in her nightstand containing a tick, which was in my head in 1989. (At that time we used to be in the States.)

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - sixth (last) part

2008-07-13T10:52:00.020+02:00

The prince and the soldier continued the card-game. Soon the prince (after letting the soldier win again) asked him to do another service for him.
"Just tell me your wish."
I pick a big pile of rose flowers and I sit in a basket. You cover me with the flowers and take this basket, and put it on the table of the miss. "
"I don't dear to make it." Boggled the soldier at the prince's demand. "I fear to do it."
"Don't be frightened at all, just leave me on her table and exit the room." Slowly he convinced the soldier to help him. He acquired a basket, lied into it, and the soldier carried him to the girl's table.
"Here you are, miss, a delivery for you." Mumbled the soldier and quickly left the room.
The daughter of the turkey-herd woman was standing in front of her mirror, combing her hair. The prince begin to rise gently from the basket behind her, so the roses started to tower in the middle. The girl noticed it in the mirror and turned in a sudden, just when the prince appeared of the roses. They embraced each other in a great happiness, they huged and kissed each other. What should they do? Where should they go?
They do not go anywhere, they lied into bed with each other straight away.
And the pagan ordered the wind band in front of his castle for his wedding, took his most pagan suite and stood on front of the march. He sent a prestigious functionary to announce his arrival to the fiance'e. The functionary arrives to her room, opens the door, and notices that she is lieing in her bed with an unknown man. He hurries back to his king and reports: "Noble King, your fiance'e is in her bed with a stranger man."
A round oath escaped the king. "Grab his ear, and take him here, let me see what sort of man he is."
The prestigious functionary alerted the royal guards and they entered the room of the daughter of the turkey-herd woman. "Get out of the bed!" The young couple took each other's hand and went to the king like that. The soldiers followed them.
But they are as like two peas. They resemble each other so much. When the king saw them, he gazed at them for an hour. And after that he sad: "Oh, Great God would beat me, if I would break away them. I organize a wedding for them instead."
They observed their marriage. They celebrated for seven days and seven nights. And the prince and his new wife settled in the court of the pagan king.
And they lived there a life of the newly weds, until a day, when the prince started to yearn for his home. He remembered his has a father and mother, the king and the queen. His wife noticed something was wrong, and asked: "What's the matter, my dear husband?" "Oh, dear wife, we should go home, to check the things there, I can not keep quiet here, until I don't know what's with my old folks."
So they decided to go home, they got gold in their purses from the pagan king and a permission for the ferrymen to sail them cross the water. There were new ferrymen there, young ones, instead of the old sailmans, who the prince met on his way to the pagan king's land. They took their places on the board and the small boat started to float on the sea.
The prince fell asleep. He was sailing on a boat in his dream aswell. He dreamt there was a rope at his feet, which he took and thrown towards the land. And in his dream this rope turned into a dry road. He woke up. And he realized there was really a rope at his feet. He threw it out of the boat, and it turned into a road. He left the boat, told them to wait him there, and ran on this path right to the land of the Blackamoors. When he reached their land they closed in on him and dragged him in front of their king. The king ordered his soldiers not take the captive to the scaffold, but only punish him the following way: "Take him in front of the church, and put a lash beside him. Everyone, who passes should whip him twenty-one times with the lash. Make him bear this for one day." Than spoke up the Blackamoor Queen.
"Hey man, our people are all black, and this one has white colour! Make him merry our daughter!"
"You are absolutly right!" Replied the king. "So, will you marry our daughter?"
"Yes, I will." The prince couldn't choose anything else to answer, because he was afraid they would kill him otherwise. So they observed the wedding, and he became the husband of the Blackamoor Princess.
But there was a law in that country, that if a member of a married couple dies, they bury the consort of him or her aswell.
And it happened that the wife of the prince died soon after their wedding. They prepared a coffin for the princess and for him aswell, and brought them to the cemetery. There lied all the deads and those miserables who were imposed upon God with force. When the prince heard the bang of the closing gate after the leaving mourners, he pushed up the cover, and climbed out of his coffin. The graveyard was surrounded with a huge wall. Finally he found an oak-tree which was taller than the wall. He climbed it, jumped down on the other side and escaped from the land of the Blackamoors on the path which transformed of the rope.
The boat with ferrymen and the daughter of turkey-herd woman was still waiting for him at the end. They carried on with the journey and sailed the prince and his wife to the cost, where the prince once came from.
They started to wander through valleys and hills. The prince's wife was pregnant, and it was more and more arduous for her to walk. They went till afternoon, when she asked the prince for a rest. They settled on the green grass, the prince embrassed his love, and she banded her head into his leap, and fall asleep. But she didn't just fall asleep, her soul flew away, and left her body. The prince didn't notice it, he didn't move for a long time, not to wake up her. He became anxious only, when the clouds turned red on the edge of the sky. "Wake up darling, we must go on. Come, we can not stay here for the night." He cried. But his wife did not move at all. Than he realized, that she is dead. He, himself almost died of a broken heart, he cried and sobed. So, what shall he do? Where should he take her? He took her on his shoulders, and started the road in the darkness of the night.
When he reached a village, he went into the cemetery, and there he entered into a charnel house. He tore the skirt of his wife into two parts, layed one part under her, and covered her with the other. He closed the door, and went home to his parents on his own. He yielded to fate, that his wife died, he has noone to look for anymore. He turned bitter, and he did not long for anything.
However one day, he decided to have a look round in the town. As he was walking on the sideway, he discovered a café, and opposite to it a brothel, with twelve gaudy whores in it. As he passed by they were laughing, giggleing, showing off, and misbehaving in the window. The prince never saw such kind of folks before, he curiously drew near the window to peek inside. One whore notices him, and suddenly she snaps the prince's hat, and runs indside with it.
"Oh my dear God, she has stolen my hat! What sort of freak is this? Why doesn't she leave alone my hat?" - said the prince, and he entered the brothel. Inside he met a fat lady. She was sitting all day in the anteroom of the brothel, she was brooding all day, as she didn't have family. She was the owner of the brothel.
"So, what's the matter, your majesty?"
"As I was passing by, and one of the women has stolen my hat. My royal hat." Replies the prince. The fat lady shruged away. "Enter, and ask for it!"
When the prince entered, he had no time to say a word. Nothing like: Why did you take my hat? or Give me mey hat!, they didn't let him speak. They circled him and started to caress him and fondle him. And they highly detained him: "Sit down, sit down sit, down!
And they were slobbering him. He did not know what to do. When his wife died, he took it a rule, that he will not be with other woman. But as he ended up on this place, and these women turned his brain, he commanded various things to these ladies.
During this, the lady in the anteroom, the owner of the brothel, ordered a cart to the village of Derzs for pálinka. They set out for the drink with the cart. As they passed by the cemetery, where the prince burried his wife, the lady heart some yowling. She made the cart stop. The coachmen and the lady hoped off the cart and searched for the source of the noise in between the graves. But they haven't found any living creature.
Finally the lady discovered that it is coming from one of the charnel houses, she peeked through the keyhole, and she saw that a newborn baby on the stomach of her mother, she was the one, who gave the noise. She called the coachmen, they broke the lock on the door and entered the charnel house. The fat lady never had family, nor children, the only people who belonged to her were the twelve loose persons. She decided not to go anywhere else, not even to Derzs for pálinka, she whiped up the child and returned with it to the brothel.
The prince left the house at that time already, but frok, that day, he reurnjed there to time to time.
The fat lady took care of the little girl, who she found at the cemetery, as if she was her own child. She brought her up until the age of twelve. When she found her in the cemetery, she found a necklace on the neck of the dead mother, and she took it, and when the girl became enough old to wear it, she gave to her.
One day when the prince was in the brothel, having pleisure with the whores, the fat lady noticed to her adopted child: "Oh, my daughter I am have been running a brothel for more than 20 years, but I never had so fine guest as this one, who's at our house today."
"Who is that, mummy? Let me have a look!" But her step-mother was opposed to her wish.
"No, my daughter, you must not go there, you are not like those!"
"But, mummy, I don't want to go inside, just to peep from the door. I come back, right away."
"Allright, that's okay." Acceded the lady.
As she opened the door of the room, all looked upon her. The prince looked there aswell, and the little girl's face called his wife to his mind. She looked exactly like her wife, she was so beatiful. He pushed off the loose women, and run after the girl, right to the fat lady.
"Who was the one, who came to our room?"
"That's my little daughter, indeed."
"And how much do You ask for letting her come to me? I only want to speak some words with her, and to have a drink together."
The corpulent proprietress of the brothel became shocked at that. "How do you think, I would let my own little daughter to you? You have those twelve girls for you! You want my precious child? Don't even dream about it!"
"You get as much money, as you would like for that! Beleive me, it is worth for you." Tried to convince her the prince.
And the fat lady wondered, how shrill the royal person is. "One can not get rid of him. And if he falls in love with the girl? He might even want to merry her..." She turned to her: "My little pearl, do you pay attention to the words of this noble person? Would you be willing to spend some time with him?"
"If you would let me go, I would be willing to do it." Replied the girl.
The prince and the girl entered into a room. They set down on two sides of a table. The prince opened a bottle and they drunk from two glasses, which were there, on the table. The conversation started hardly, the prince asked qustions like: "Who are you?" "How are you?" Nothing important.
Than suddenly he noticed the necklace on the girl. "How fine neclace you have! It is beatiful!"
"I should thonk so! I inherited it from my mum." Answered the girl.
The prince could turn his head away. He kept repeating: "How beatiful it is, how beatiful it is!"
As they were talking with each other, he strached his hand and took the pendant of the necklace. He opened it, and inside he found the photo of his wife! Rejoicing suddenly warmed the cockles of his heart. He embrassed the girl, his daughter.
"My dear child, look upon me, I am your father!" And he took her hand, and ran with her to the proprietress. "She is my child, not yours. You took her from that charnel house!" He cried. "I recognize her after her necklace, there is my wife's coloured photo in the pendant of it!"
The lady jerked back the little girl to herself. "It is not your daughter, majesty! I brought her up, took care of her, she is mine!"
"But she is not yours, I tell you! She is my descendant, indeed! Tell me, how much money you want for giving food and giving her clothes till now."
"I don't want your money, I do not part with her."
The quarreled, and brawled, but they could not come to an understanding. "Let"s go to the courthouse. They will decide who shall get her!"
So they went to the lords of the law, where the prince explained his story, and asked them to judge the child to him. The adjudicator has known the well the proprietress of the brothel, and he knew that she doesn't have family. He decided that the girl should be raised by her father, and he let the woman ask for the expanses of the nurture of the child. Only God knows how big sum she asked for. The prince took his wallet and paid her.
And than he said to the girl: "Come, my daughter, let's go home!"
But the girl shook her had. She took the hand of her fathers hand, and led her to the cemetery, where her mother was lieing in the charnel house, where she was found. And there the daughter of the turkey-herd woman was not dead! She was only hidden form conciousness. When the prince and his daughter entered, she sat up, took her golden comb, and started to comb her haie with it. And than suddenly she sprung up, and ran out from the charnel house; her joy was so high that she didn't know what she is doing! She was so happy that she sees the white-world again, and her husband, and her daughter. They embrassed and kissed each other.
"Where do you take me, my husband?" Asked the wife of the prince.
"I take to the palace of my father!" Answered the prince.
But his wife sad to this: "Listen to me, I do not go there, not even to the area of your father's palace! Take me anywhere, but there I don't darken the door!"
She didn't mention, what did her mother in law and father in law do to her, that they sold her, but she was not willing to go to their palace.
"I do not go to your father. I follow you everywhere, exept for that place!"
And so the prince led them to a city. He bought a house, there was a big room in that house, and they lived there happily ever after.

"As I heard it, I told it so."

Into Great Silence

2008-07-11T11:06:00.004+02:00

A film by a German filmmaker, Philip Gröning. It is on border of a documentary film an a meditation guide, it can be both at the same time. Gröning made almost a 3 hours long film about Chartusian monks. One of the most characteristic feature of this order is, that they should speak as little as possible. Normally they do not speak, if they have important things to discuss, they write notes each other, and they only contact each other with loud words, if it is unavoidable. Beside this, there are rooms in the monastery, where it is forbidden to speak in any cases. They eat the meals on their own, exept for some community occasions. On Sundays during the lunch which they eat together one reads during the meal, and afterwords they have an hour to chat freely with each other, that's the only occasion for that each week.
The story of the film is interesting; he waited for the permission to shot this film for 15 years. Finally he lived together with them (undertaking their rules, and lifestyle) for several months, and shot the material completly himself.
When working with it he did not use music, you can only hear the original sounds, the recurring sound of the bells, the prayers, the sounds of the monks' different activities.
It is edited in a way, that on one hand you realize the passing time (it starts in wintertime, and ends in wintertime again), and the monks' repetitive actions in this passing time, and on the other hand you get to know more and more aspects of their lives there. He brakes the film with qoutes mostly from the bible, which are also recurring several times in the film (the one, which I remember the most is: "O LORD, thou hast deceived me, and I was deceived"- from Jeremiah 20:7) and also with live portraits of the inhabitants of the monastery. It seems that he has asked them to stand right in front of his camera for several moments. It is very very beatiful to see these monks dressed in their white clothes mostly in front of a totally white background, looking into the camera or moving their eyes around.
I understand the intention to create a film, which transfers the sense of this life, and by letting the audience experience the athmosphere, giving a key to understand the meaning of it.
It is interesting to read to interview with Gröning on the website of the film, he draws a parallel in between the devotion of these monks and a devotion, what an artist makes in his life in order to be concentrated on his work.
The only thing, which I didn't like in the film was ,that I didn't understand why he chose to use shootings, which were not sharp. For me, without them, it would work much better.

Festival at Pennabilli

2008-06-06T01:02:00.004+02:00

Twenty-third note

2008-05-26T14:42:00.011+02:00

The Theatre Ensemble of Sepsiszentgyörgy is here in Budapest. They perform 4 or 5 times different plays, the Yvonne aswell, which I have followed the rehearsals of. Yesterday we watched with Bence a solo performance of a young actress, which I have heard about from her, but haven't seen, because she did'nt play it during the two months, while I was there.
She was the only actor, who was there from the ensemble yesterday, but I met with some of the crew: one of the stage manager womans, who's laughter is strong like a lion's roar; Olga, an always smily tire-woman, who introduced herself to me like this: "I'm Olga from the county..."; a property woman; some technicians and stage hands. It was so much pleisure to see and meet with them, to hear their usual (and actually very lousy) signal at the begining of the show, asking you the switch off your mobile.
I am looking forward so much to see how far did they get with the Yvonne since the premier, when I last seen it, and meet them. They are going to play it tonight in the studio of National Theatre.
They told me they are going to renew one of the plays, which tehy used to play a few years ago, and which were famous about, happy to hear, that I can see a version of The Miracle (A csoda - it is an adaption of Tamási Áron plays, who is a Transylvanian playwright and the nominal of their theatre.) Maybe we could visit the town after our summer workshop, what do you think? I definatly one to go and see, but to go with you to Taize is maybe more tempting.
Wednesday we are going with Zsófi and another girl to Pennabilli, a small village in Italy for a street theatre performance. Just a few days, on next Tuesday we are returning already. Hich-hiking again. But this time not alone. God bless.

Twenty-second note

2008-05-25T14:44:00.004+02:00

I have seen an interesting performance, full of energy of young people, students from high school. It was something unusual, unexepcted from a high-school group, I like they have the braveness to leave the path of high-school theatre groups. Their leader is guy nearly my age, which I think is also great for them, and for him aswell. It is not a routin for him how to lead a group like this, how to work with them without text, based mainly on confronting them with themselves.
When one has no routin, of course it takes longer time to reach results, and of course he makes mistakes, but these mistakes are useful, and they are signs of true intention.
Before and aftrewards I had some beers with friends, and friends of friends.
We are busy organizing the international workshop. Lot of questions. I invited another girl, Dorka, who studies directing in Transylvania to lead the workshop with me. It would be inspiring to create something together but with different aspects off different leaders. The idea is, that each person works with each leader, and at the end we put some scenes together in one work demonstration.

Twenty-first note - Chalk Circle in your town

2008-04-26T08:41:00.007+02:00

The Chalk Circle Theatre (Krétakör) will be on tour on the Festspillene i Bergen with their play, The Ice on the second and third of June.
It is a tough and cruel performance based on a contemporary russian novel. It is not directed by their leader, but by another young director, who already worked with them before.
Probably one of the last chances to see the ensemble together, because from the next theatre season they are going to alter and probably to split.

Poem by János Pilinszky

2008-04-26T00:16:00.002+02:00

The soil is not soil.
The number is not a number.
The letter is not a letter.
The sentence is not a sentence.

God is God.
Flower is flower.
Tumour is tumour.
Winter is winter.
Relocation camp is a pale
territory with an uncertain form.

One day workshop at Vestjyllands Højskole (methods)

2008-04-11T22:36:00.031+02:00

About the workshop which Olga and I led at the school.
My main goal was to get to know a little bit the people, who attended the workshop, and to show some ideas, some exercises to them, so they can get to know a little bit my way of thinking and working. And to awaken some searching for the reason for doing theatre today.

One of the exercises was that I asked them to create scenes, when they are suprising us. They were working in couples.
This execise can open you towards creativity. We are all waiting for a suprise, beacuse we all know that this was the exercise. What can still be suprising in this situation?
Suprise is an important tool of an actor. Breaking the expectations. When one expects something to happen, and this expectation brakes, does not come true, he can get suprised, and his attention rises.

After each exercise I encoureged the participants to give comments on each other's work.
I am asking the group to express with words what they have experienced (and not to judge if it was bad or good). I find it very useful, because on one hand the spectators have to find words for their experiences (and translating an experience into language means that you are shaping it, and it can help you to remember it later), and on the other hand it can be useful feedback for the creators - what did my spectators get out of what I have shown. Maybe they thaught about something completely different, what I wanted to show. Maybe they didn't understand, what I wanted to be understood.
In these converstations I am also just a member of the group, who gives his own comments. Sometimes of course I need to pay attention to speak at last, not to affect other's way of expressing their experiences.

An other exercise was that I asked them to make their partner do something without using language, or explaining him with pointing at things or body language. The task is that you have to create a situation on which your partner reacts naturally with doing, what you want to make him do. This act should come as a reflex on your actions.
These were the tasks:
Make me laugh.
Sing a song.
Do the opposite of what I am doing.
Take something out of the room.
Tell a story.
Suprise them.
Take another person to the other side of the room.
Close your eyes. (for a longer while, not just a wink)
Proove, that you like them.

I did with them the transformation of drawings exercise aswell, which I did with you aswell. When they have to choose one of a series of abstract drawings and transform this picture into a sequence of movments. Others have to guess afterwards, which drawing you have chosen.

I had a list of words with me aswell, which are describing different qualities of theatre, and they had to choose the 3 most important for them.
These were the words (I write in brackets, how many votes did one get): emotions (6), story (6), liveness (4), sincerity (4), attention (4), interaction (3), visuality (2), encounter (2) music (1), dance (1), sentences, suprise, imitation, contrast, newness (those, which do not have number, did not get any vote).
There were 11 people voting: 1 from New Zealand, 3 from Poland, 1 from Hungary and 6 from Danmark - 9 girls and 2 boys, mainly in their twenties, one of them was around 50.

The last one and half hour they spent with making scenes in small groups of 3 or 4. I asked them to find something which is disturbant for them in the smaller or bigger world around them, in the community of which they are a part of. A problem, which they can not solve, but which they would really like to, if they would have the power to do so. And they had to make a scene out of this problem.
At this last part there was a group, which made an amazing scene. They were working with the problem of facing with myself, finding my role, my goals, searching for the answer of the question "who am I". They disappeared, we looked after them for a long time. Time was running, we were getting close to dinertime, we wanted to show the scenes to each other. We have found them finally, they were still not ready, they were in a big discussion. I was afraid, that they haven't got further than just discussing theoretically about the problem. But they did finally a beatiuful-beatiful scene. They found 3 big (higher than a person) mirrors on wheels. They started as something very personal, very everyday like with the mirrors, like looking their bodies in them, combing their hair, etc. After a while all these movments became a dance, they started to climb on the mirrors, to push them around in the room. They attached their bodies to the mirrors, as moving them, and we could see ourselves, and other parts of the room turning around in these big glass surfaces. They took their time. The wheels were squeaking while moving in different rithms. At the end, one of them, the boy suddenly left his mirror, than the girl next to him left her own mirror, and reached the backside of his one, and the boy walked out from the room.

Uncle Vanya

2008-03-31T11:33:00.008+02:00

Marvelous performance in Kolozsvár (Cluj Napoca - in Transylvania) of the play of Checkov directed by a Romanian director; Andrei Şerban. The sense of his love of the space around us. Genius ideas are the most simple solutions. Strike of a genuis is to explore them.
First we sit on the edge of the stage facing the round shaped auditorium. The actors are sitting scattered in the rows. Here takes place the first act. They climb, jump, run and balance around in the whole space, over the balustrade of the chairs, up on the banister of the balcony... There's a dance at the end, which describes with few sharp gestures the relations between the characters. Afterwards Sonia and Vanya stayes seated in the rows, all lights fade, exept for the lightbulbs of the huge chandelier in the middle. It slowly starts to descend right above Vanya. It is not a fluent movment, it jolts as the machinche is making it come down.
It stops in a little distance above him. First the yellow lightbulbs go out, and there's only the cold blue light of a round neon just above him, and finally it fades aswell.
Light comes back, and Sonya and Vanya are showing us, we should enter the stage.
During the second, third and fourth act we are seated in the middle of the big stage. The flies above stage is enthrallingly high. All the space has athmosphere of an enormous workshop, a place where people do their work, with the raw materials: ropes, iron tubes and other constructions, spotlights, and walls made of bricks. They play around us: at the edge's of the stage on small platforms, in the glass cabin of the stage-manager (with a stong red curtain on the backwall of the cabin), above on the technician's balconies (there are two balconies above each other in around 25 - 40 meters high), on the small backstage; and between us: all chairs are in a distance from each other - the actors walk in between them several times, in most of the cases they were telling monologues there.
The backstage is curtained off at the begining of the second act, you do not expect that something will happen there aswell. Later, suddenly you hear it starts to rain over there. They pull up the curtain, you can see a small model of a house surrounded with mud. The rain is falling here, it is illuminated with cold lights coming sharply from certain directions - creating a big shadows on the faces, when the actors enter into this mud. There are shelves behind, they are divided into small boxes. On some of them files, and some others - as you can discover later - live doves. On the performance, which I have seen they started to move in the best moments, when their wing-beat supported the meaning of the actor's sentences in a batiful, poetic way.
When actors go into this backstage, they get covered with mud, and wet from the humidity of the rain.
It is played in Hungarian (by Hungarian actors), but everything is subtitled in Romanian. Even the begining and the ending of each act is projected. There are tv-screens everywhere around showing all subtitles, all the time.
Elena, the wife of the professor turns her speach into different languages, mostly English, and sometimes French and German aswell. Others take over from her, an answer her in the language, what she used: to please her, to be ironic with what she have said, to show they have same accomplishments, as she does.
The whole evening carries irony and beauty at the same time. Deeply lived situations, but a distance from each event. The close and empathic relation to the situation and story of these people, but a show being in theatre all the time.
At the end the safety curtain mounts, and actors leave to the auditorium to bow. They are playing, standing up in different places of the auditorium to bow - more and more behind, they even go up on the balcony and slowly disappear behind a row of chairs. We - the spectators - are standing up on stage and applauding for the actors, who are waving for us in the auditorium.

I have seen this performance with big luck and a lot of benevolence of very kind actress. We were hitch-hiking from Saint George (Sepsiszentgyörgy) with Bence till Cluj, we were longing to see this performance, because we heard very good comments about it. I got the phonenumber of an actress, Péter Hilda, who was working at Saint George, but now she is at Cluj, and acting in this performance. There is double cast, that evening Hilda was not playing. She made some calls for us to get some places for us, but they told her, there is no chance. The seats are limited, and there were already extra chairs for that night. But still we met in front of the theatre, and she was leaving no stone unturned to fit us in. I have met her once before. And in the last moment we got the last seats. She got a chair aswell, and stayed. She said, she loves this performance so much, that she can not leave it, if she is there.

Methods in making theatre - part one

2008-03-22T17:13:00.010+01:00

You asked me to write down some of the exercises, what we have worked with during our rehearsals in Denmark, and later in Hungary.
I was hesitating a bit, because I don't have a completly worked out system yet.

But I can tell some of the exercises, what I have. I think it is more important to understand the reason of them, than the exact way how one or another goes.

One of the most important fields what you have to work with is what you are paying attention to. Let's call this focus.

You can only be free in your work, when you are focusing on right things.

When a beginner enters to a rehearsing workshop usually he can not focus well. He is worried about others watching him, he is busy to produce something. But he is not focusing on what he wants to produce, just on the will of producing something.

Put a chair on the stage and ask a beginner to walk towards the chair from a certain point and sit down, and than stand up and leave the stage on a certain point. He will have difficulties managing this very simple task.

Everyone can walk, shout, cry, breath deeply, look in another's eye, smile, be angry, laugh, make breaks in between his actions, but at the begining it seems impossible to do these things while other's are watching you, and you are aware of this attention, moreover you are doing these things to be watched.

This is the abstraction in theatre. Each of your actions have two goals. When you are not doing theatre you are shouting to express your anger. When you are doing theatre, you are shouting to express your anger and to be observed at the same time.

You need to have to be in two states at the same time, one in the state of the emotion, what you want to express, and another is the cool-headed controller of the whole situation.

One of the most difficultest things, what a percussionist has to learn is to move separatly his hands end feet. It is complicated.

In percussion you have to make divison between the parts of your body. In acting you have to divide mental things.

Time is an important component in avoiding the wrong direction of focus. It means one has to have patience when studying the work in theatre. But to get more and more used to the situation that your actions are being watched is just the first step in the work with focus.

You have to learn what to focus on. These are parallel processes. You will drop to focus on excrescent things, which are obstacles in your work, when you start to find new things to focus on.

Humility. You need to be patient and curious. Your curiosity needs to be stronger than your desire to reach accomplishment.

What to begin with?

On my opignion you have to get in touch with the tools what you are using when you are acting.

You have basicly three tools.

Your body.

Your partner(s).

The space.

(There is one more indispensable component in theatre: audience, and you have to learn to focus on this component aswell, but it comes later.)

You can only work with things, which are familiar to you. So I advise exercises, which help you to sart to get to know these tools.

Some exercises. Your body.

Connect your movements with your breathing. Stay still while inhaling and imagine one movement, and realize this movement while exhaling. Do this movement exactly as long as you are exhaling.

Imagine a movement while inhaling, and when you exhale realize the opposite of it. For example, you are standing and you imagine that you will sit down, but than you spring up. (Let's call this the contra-movement.)

Imagine a movement, and realize both, first one third of the contra, and than the whole original movment. Try to find a very concrete goal for yourself. For example walking across the room and shuting the door. Realize this series of movments with this method; imagining every single part of your moving, move only during exhalation, and do the 30% of the contra and the whole original movement aswell.

Write down extrem situations from your own experiences. Situations which effected your body (aswell). For example when you fainted, when you were drunken, you had an operation in hospital, state of high fever, a sexual act. It is very important to write only about physical phenomens, do not write about what you were thinking, or what were your emotions, strictly narrow down your sentences to describe how your body was behaving in these situations.

Maybe you will find it to difficult to remember any of these kind of situations, than for the beginning choose something from everday life, and try to write down how you are eating, how you are smoking, gonig down the stairs, having a shower, etc. Write down as many things about your body in these situations as possible. What are the positions of your body parts, how they move, when they move slowly, when fast, how are you breathing, where are you looking at, which of your mussels are relaxed, which are in tense. Do you feel pain? What kind of pain. And so on.

When you feel you have collected as many sentences of one situation as possible try to feel tha state(s), what you have described in your body. Do not act it out. Close your eyes and try to find the feeling inside. Than make one still picture which can describe the whole situation. This picture is to describe what you feel, and the goal is not to explain to the audience in a very concrete and understandble way what was the situation exactly. They do not need to know, if it was an operation for example, they need to get the feeling what you want to express. If you are doing well they might feel something similar in their bodies. Ask them to describe what they have experienced.

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - fifth part

2008-03-19T14:29:00.011+01:00

The prince did not go back to his parents, neither to the house of the Jewish family. He went right a way to the seacoast, he wanted to cross the waves. But he haven't found any boat or canoe, or any means of transport on the coast. He waited there for a month looking out for someone, who can take him across the water. Than suddenly he saw a boat on the horizon, approaching him. There were two sailors in it. As they reached the coast, and they started to anchor, he cried at them: "I want to cross the water." "Oh, we cannot sail anyone cross the water, it is even forbidden for the bird to fly over. That is the command of the king."
"If you refuse to take me, I'll kill myself into the water." And he prepared himself to jump down from the rocks.
Than one old sailor says to the other: "Listen, they might kill us, if we sail him across, but we are both old, look at him, what a pity if his young life ends. Let's take him." "Come and jump in!" Said the other one to the prince. They started to row with him across the water.
The daughter of the turkey-herd woman was closed in separate room, guarded strictly by armed soldiers. When the boat reached the bank, the prince went to her room directly. The soldier in the door warns him: "Stop." He stops for a second, but than makes some steps again. "Stop!" Says the soldier. "Otherwise I'll shoot at you." But his words were bigger, than his braveness, he didn't dear to pull the trigger. The prince stepped up to him. "What are you doing here?" "I'm watching over the fiance'e of the king. She is locked up in this room, so she cannot escape."
"How foolish you are, soldier." Replied the prince." "How much do you get for this?"
"I do not get a penny, this is my duty, I'm a soldier."
"You are certainly fool. Why do you waste your precious time watching over her, without getting any money? Come let's play cards instead."
The soldier shook his head. "I do not have money for that."
"I'll borrow you some. Come on!" He gave half of his gold to the soldier, and they started to play. The prince was a big card player, he could even win the stars from the sky with playing cards, but he let the soldier win. "Listen soldier, if we continue this game, you'll win so much money, that you will not know what to do with it. But this is nothing compared to what you get, if you do a service for me. Will you?"
"What would it be?"
"Take this cup of wine, and take it to her. You'll get this big amount of money, if you do this for me."
"I can do this, this is nothing."
The prince threw his ring into the cup of wine, and the soldier took it to the daughter of the turkey-herd woman. When she started to drink it, the ring hit her teeth, she looked at it, and she realized who's it was.

Twentieth note

2008-03-17T15:16:00.004+01:00

I'm going home soon. Home? Sometimes I wonder what is home for me? We talked about this question and worked with it last summer in our workshop, and a even before, a little bit, in Denmark.
What is important in the home? People, who are close, safe place, ability to be understood, and understand others?
I have seen a performance of students, I was amazed by the devotion and humility what they have in their work, and I was shocked at the same time. Their leader used to be an actor in the theatre, where I am studying now. People, who know him from the theatre say, the performance talks about his questions, and problems.
I was wondering, how much distance one has to take from his private life, and private questions, when he is working. Of course, you can only talk about things, which are important for you, but you have to make some steps backwards to have a more general view. Otherwise it becomes your personal therapy, and You misuse your company and the audience, who comes to see you.

About the Way

2008-03-10T16:18:00.004+01:00

You have to know, that you have to find the Way.
The Way will not look for you.

Does anybody know, how is this quote from Gurdjieff literally?

Lost language

2008-02-08T14:03:00.000+01:00

Lift your arm. She lifts. How big is this mountain for a skier. It takes a long time to arrive to the valley. He has to be careful, not to be too fast, because he is alone. No one can help him, if he gets lost in the snow.

I am folding a hat from the glass of my window.

I nail the smoke of my pipe to the wall.

I breastfeed the asphalt.

I hide the flames of the bonfire under my underwear.

I wrap carefully my last night's dream into a cloud. Big package tough.

I cry under water.

Nineteenth note

2008-01-27T08:56:00.000+01:00

Back in Budapest, an intermission in the rehearsals in Transylvania. I am reading Ödön von Horváth plays. Greatly written bitter dialogues, which slowly build up a story. People, who are struggleing, and keep making wounds on each other. This is the way they are only able to interact with each other, this is how they are able to express their pain. He was half Czech, half Hungarian originated, and he lived in Vienna, Austria, and wrote in German.
One track on the CD of Magnus's band (the Blood Sweat Drum 'n' Bass Big Band) perfectly matched to one of his plays; Kasimir and Karoline, a story about a young couple, who splits up. If I would make a performance or a film out of this play, I would definitely use this music.

And a cruel and fantastic Romanian movie: 4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days. As minimalistic as possible, one camera (sometimes in the hand), no music. All in behalf of telling a story of an illegal abortion in the Romanian dictatorship, in the eighties.

Eighteenth note

2008-01-18T16:00:00.001+01:00

I dreamed about two female lions this night. We escaped from them into my room with my mother and my oldest brother. I was holding the door, but they were stronger, they pushed it in, ran a circle in the room, made some wounds, and they went out. We tried to make a barricade, so they won't come in again, and a little later we moved back to my brothers room, because it was easier to close his door. My father was outside, and we tried to worn him with some form of telecommunication (maybe phone) to be careful.

I am in Romania, and I am participating on the rehearsals of a play about an encounter of a girl, who does not speak and a royal court. I do not have any duty on these rehearsals, I am only here to listen and to watch. The theatre is the one, where we have been together at the end of last summer, and where you were waiting with me for the director. The evening before, we had been in another town nearby, on the lecture of the Danish lama, and after on the party with him, in a discotheque. Than we slept in that big open garden, which seemed for the first glimpse abandoned, but after putting up our tent, you noticed some clothes hanged out on a rope, and in the morning a woman came out from the house and looked at us in a frightened way. We both haven't slept a lot, it started to rain, and you ran out to fix the tent. When we were waiting at the porter's lodge of the stage door, you fell asleep lying on some chairs.
This town is very small, everything is very close to each other, which I enjoy a lot. I rented out a room from a young girl, who is teaching art in several schools of the town. My room is almost empty, except for some plastic dolls in the corner, and her drawings on the walls, a lot of big nudes. This apartment is about 10 minutes walk from the theatre. The atmosphere of a theatre in a small town reminds me a little bit the experience, which I had at Odin. The mystery of big and untouchable actors disappear, and theatre becomes a profession, as normal, as anything else.

Seventeenth note

2007-12-30T15:53:00.000+01:00

Movie with a great form. Ten Minutes Older (The Trompet and The Chello). About time, after a qoute from Marcus Aurelius. It is a series of 15 10 minutes films made 15 different well known (I guess all of them, even I know just some) directors. They had got this topic, and the time limit. What makes it really interesting is the various different solutions on the same task together.
A task which is so important. How one takes it, and how the other does. How one passes by. How difficult it is actually to speak about it.
Like a conversation. Amazing ones, and others which are more simple, more gag-like.

Sixteenth note

2007-12-26T10:50:00.001+01:00

I have conculded reading the Travel Book, what you wrote to me. I enjoyed reading it very much, it is amiable feeling to get closer to your time, what you have spent in Nepal, through the imprint of it in small notes, details of your thouhghts and days in the order, how you experienced them.

When you were here in Budapest the last time, you talked about the similarities between different religions. You mentioned the Way: the Tao aswell.
The qoute, wich stands under the title of this log-book, comes from Tao Te King. It is a part of the 78^th verse, and it is one of my favourite guidelines. This year we have choosen it as the motto of Föld Theatre.

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - fourth part

2007-12-25T21:08:00.000+01:00

The prince started to run the streets of the town to find a place, where they can employ him. He wandered on hundreds of streets and alleys. Finally he had found a shop of an old jew. He was selling salt, paprika, vinegar and such stuff; and he supported his big family of what he earned. When he entered, the wife of the jew was at the desk; and she asked him, what does he need.
"I don't want to buy anything." Replied the prince. "Give me work, employ me." The jewish woman almost petrified with astonishment; it never happened before, that someone wanted to be an employee in their miserable store.
"Do not gird at me, you noble man! Go rather to the restaurant opposite to us, they will employ you."
But the prince kept his ground. "I'll rather stay here. Just as I told you." The woman ran to her husband.
"Come man, listen what this noble man is saying. He wants to be employed at us. What will we eat, if this shop needs to feed one more person?"
The jewish man went down to the store, to see who is pushing around with his wife." He glimpsed at the prince and took stock of him, and than he said to her: "Listen woman, where there is food for nine, there will be for ten aswell. Let him stay." And he turned to the prince: "You can stay, noble fellow. Sell the things, what you see on the shelves."
And from this moment the prince stood behind the desk. He was so beatiful, that he was shining.
The first customer, who came to the store was a girl. When she noticed the prince, all her strenght left her, and she was even not able to ask for something. After some moments, when she was coming back to herself, she said: "Salt... Give salt!"
On her way back home she knocked the doors of her girlfriends, and brought them the news about the beatiful man in the shop. The street was sounding of the girls urging their mother to send them to buy something in the shop.
Girls were rushing to the shop of the jew, the prince sold everything, and the drawers became full of money. From that day the jew was starting to do well.
Some months later, on a late afternoon the prince asked the one son of the jew, Mayshi, if he wanted to come with him. Mayshi was the closest in age to become a man among the sons of the jew. He helped a lot in the store, and they became good frineds with the prince. "Where?"
"Don't mind where, Mayshi. Just decide, if you want to come or not."
" I will."
"Take than a sack."
When the night fall down, they went to the cellar of the duke and rubbed it.
Some time later the prince asked Mayshi again: "Do you want to come with me?" Mayshi didn't say a word, but he took the sack, and they went again. They returned to cellar from time to time, and from the money they rubbed they made a bigger house for the family, they opened restaurants, cafés all along the street.
One night, when they went to the cellar, Mayshi asked the prince if he could be the first to enter. "You entered before me so many times, let me be the first today."
"Don't go Mayshi, because it will be fire for you, and smoke for me!" Answered the prince. But Mayshi was beseeching to him until he let him go. Mayshi entered, went down the stairs, and right there, after the last stair, he got caught by a trap.
When the prince arrived after him, he saw what happened. He said outloud: "Jump off stone!" But the blocks stayed on the boy.
The prince started to cry. "What shall I do with You, Mayshi? You can not come out, they will find you here, and they will recognize you, and revenge themselves on you and on your family."
"You are right." Said Mayshi. "Do, what you think is the best."
The prince stayed with him until the dawn, and than he realized, that Mayshi died from the squeeze of the blocks. Than he took his knife, and cut the face of Mayshi many times, so no man could recognize him, and than he ran away.
When the duke's guards found Mayshi's corp in the cellar, they reported him about the case, the duke turned to his twelve councillors. "What shall I do with this person without face? How can I find out, who was the burglar?"
The councillors said to him: "Don't worry, noble Duke. Take a horse, and tide this corp to it's tail, and pull across the entire town. His family will recognize him. Tell the soldiers to make a mark on the gate of the house where they start to cry, when they pass by."
So they grabbed the corp, and started to pull it on the streets of the town.
The prince was sitting in the gate of the shop, with the youngest child of the jew, they were making a shoe. When they came with the body of Mayshi the small boy recognized his brother and started to cry. "They killed Mayshi! They killed my brother!" The prince took the prodding tool and hit it into the palm of the boy. The soldiers came, and asked why is he criing. The prince told them, that they were making a shoe, and the boy hit the tool into his hand. The soldiers couldn't decide if they beleive him or not, so they put a mark on their gate, and left.
During the night the prince took a similar chalk and made a mark on each gate of the town. So when next day the duke came to see the house, where they were criing, he could not find it, because there was a mark on each gate, even on the gate of his own palace.
"What kind of advise did you give me?" He asked his twelve councillors.
"We have said to mark only one gate."
"There's a mark on each one. What shall I do now?"
"Do not be upset noble Duke, follow our advise. Arrange a tea-evening in your court. And invite everyone, even blinds, criples, so they can come and eat, drink and carouse free of charge. You'll see, even he, the burglar's friend, who was there all the time, who knows the secret of your cellar, and who cut the face of his dead mate, even he will take upon himself to come here, and he will go immediately to your beatiful daughter's room. Command the miss to cut a mop of his hair. And the next day we will catch him."
The duke announced the tea-evening, and that everyone can come, even criples and gipsy-guys. A big crowd came, who would not like to carouse without paying? The prince thaught: "I will not miss this party occasion, of course I need to be there." He dressed up in gold and in velvet, and appeared at the evening. He didn't stay long among others, soon after his arrival he went up to the room of the duke's daughter. In the moment, when the miss glimpsed him, heaviness caught her, the boy was so beatiful. They went and lied down together right away, and they started to pet each other. They made love. And afterwards, when the prince fell asleep, the miss took the sciccors from the drawer and cut a mop of the prince's hair.
After a while the boy woke up. He stood in front of the mirror to comb his hair, and he noticed, that there is part missing from his hair. He realized it is some kind of trick with him, so he went among the carousing people, and took his own scissors from his pocket and as they were dancing or chating with each other, click-clack, he cut into one's and other's hair; he marked them the same way as it was done with him.
Before the morning came, the duke visited his daughter, and asked her, what she have done.
"I did, what you asked me to do, I marked that beatiful man." Replied the miss.
"I don't mind if he is beatiful or not. In the morning we will get him."
But when the morning came, and the duke was standing in his gate to check all visitors' hair, he had to realize there were mops missing from each hair. "Saint God bless you my sweet daughter! Tell me honestly, this big team of man had all been at your room the last evening? What have you done?"
They could not catch the boy. "What kind of advise you gave to me, you twelve councillors!" Cried the duke. "What shall I do now?! Look this big shame on me!"
The councillors put their heads together. "Listen nobe Duke, we have one more advise. Try if it works. If it won't work we can not help you any more. Announce that if there is anybody who can tell point by point what had happened with you, you will give the half of your lands and your daughter aswell.
The duke announced, and many young men, princes, dukes, poor ones came to the duke's palace on that day. Even the duke's friends came to listen to these fellows. The parents of the prince, the king and the queen came aswell.
They all listened to the different stories. The duke asked the first one:
"What have you done?"
"I killed a dragon?"
"Anything else?"
"I can not mention more."
"Than we don't have any more words to you. We are searching for something else."
The next one said a wolf, an other a man. No one could guess all the acts of the prince.
He thaught, that if things happened, he will be honest, and he will tell them all what he had done. So he signed up on the list, and he showed up in the palace of the duke.
When he entered the room the duke asked him right away. "Tell me boy, what have you done?"
"Oh Duke, how can you be so impatient? Ask rather how far I come from, ask if I am not tired, if I am not thirsty, take me a glass of wine, give me a seat. Let me rest before you question me."
The duke looked at him in astonishment. No man talked with him like this before. He took a chair, and offered the prince to sit down. The prince asked for a glass of wine. They took him. He drunk it all at once.
"Now you can interrogate me."
"Can you tell me what have happened with me? For instance what happened in my cellar?"
"Of course I can tell you, that's why I came."
And the prince told the whole story. He started from the begining, when he went on the hunting, with his father. At the point, when he talked about the cellar, the duke noticed: "It was a remarkable amount of tresure, you know, my son? On what could you spent it all?"
"I ate it, I drunk it. I am a young man." Answered the prince. When he finished his story, he pointed at the king: "And noble Duke, if you beleive it, or not, this king is my father, who I talked about. And this lady with crown, his wife, she is my mother."
The duke became released, that it was one of his friend's son, who done all this to him. When his daughter was a little girl, and the prince was a small boy, and he lived at home with his parents, the duke and the king and the queen were planning that their children will get married one day. After this point the duke started to talk with him much more friendly. "Here is a paper about the half of my lands. And take my daughter."
"Noble Duke, I don't want your daughter. Give her to someone else, who is up for her. But the paper about the half of your lands, I will take that. And now I will go home with my parents."
He went to the queen and the king, they huged each other.
"Let's go home, mother and father." But before going home, he wanted to say good-bye to the jewish family, where he worked. So he went there.
But on his way he noticed a little cottage, which he never noticed before. There was an old witch standing in the window, staring at him.
"What are you staring on me?" Asked the boy.
"Of course I'm staring at you. Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I stare at you, if I now why you are not finding your place? And if I know, that you will also not find it, if you go home with your parents. You will run up and down the streets, just like before you came away. I know what are you longing for."
"What is that?"
"They took away her in front of my cottage."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Your fiancee."
"And where did they take her?"
"They took her across the big water. Across the Black-water. And her wedding will be tomorrow right at noon."
"Can this be true?" Asked the prince.
"I am saying it to you, and it is true." Replied the witch.

The meeting of the physical and the virtual travel book

2007-12-19T12:48:00.000+01:00

You are here. I should write my paper for university class. The last one like this.
Because of this I stayed at home, instead of hiking with Attila, Bence and You. How much I would like to be there!

School in the Castle District

2007-12-08T13:29:00.000+01:00

Fifteenth note

2007-12-02T07:58:00.000+01:00

I wrote an sms last week to Esther, just asking, how she is, how they are, if they were still together with Laila.
They are! She wrote to me, that they are in Turkey, and they are trying to get to Israel.

Fragments

2007-11-30T09:15:00.000+01:00

We have been in Austria yesterday with Bence. We have seen a performance of Peter Brook. Three actors have shown on stage five small texts of Beckett. An amazing woman, and two good actors. Very simple, very short (about 50-55 minutes, which has pased so fast, that I haven't noticed), very accurate.
Almost no set (exept for the lighting, which they have used, and some small objects).
They started with a piece about a blind and a cripple. (Rough for Theatre I.) They both want something from each other, they try different methods to find somekind of relationship, they tease each other, they talk, one helps the other, the cripple even hits the blind. I could feel both of them are acting, and reciting the text in a way, which makes easy to recognize, that these are lines in theatre play, told by an actor.
But afterwards the woman (Kathryn Hunter) came on seen, and told the text of Rockaby. She was sitting in a chair almost all the time, sometimes she rocked, as if she was sitting in a rocking chair. Once she stood up, and did it with chair, as if someone else would sit in it, and rock with it. She was talking in a capturing way. Exact, dry and a littlebit sad sound. And from this point the performance started to wing it's way.
They have made loose game with the texts of Beckett. The last scene was a beatiful fusion of childishness and old age; three woman sitting on a banch, remembering of their young years, leaving and returning to the banch, one by one, and whispering about the one who left to each others ears. The original text (Come and Go) gives the instruction, that the one who leaves, should completly dissapear. In their version, she always walked a few meters away, and than stayed, showing her back, as children do, when they are the seekers and they count in the play hide and seek.

Budapest

2007-11-27T11:33:00.000+01:00

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - third part

2007-11-22T11:18:00.000+01:00

The prince threw his hat in the direction, where he saw the bonfire and climbed down the tree, and started off in that way. He reached the edge of the forrest. There blazed the big fire, and twenty-four gaudy bandits sat around it. They were turning a buffalo on a skewer above the flames.
"Whatever comes to me, I need to go there." Said the prince. "I'll check who are these." He mustered his courage, and steped up to them. "Good evening!" He saluted them.
"For you aswell. What kind of fellow are you?" Asked one of them.
"Just like you." Replied the prince.
"If that's true, just take some of this meet." Came the answer. The prince couldn't do anything, he took his pocketknife, cut a piece of the meet and started to eat it, in a fine and classy way, just how it fits to a noble person. The eyes of the bandits met.
"Oh you are not at all like us. Look how it goes." And they threw big pieces of the buffalo-meet in their mouthes, as big as a chair. "Okay, if you figure out, what we have been lurking for in the neighbourhood for twenty-four years, you are going to be our cheaf."
"You have gave me an easy task." Replied the prince. "I know exactly, that you are lieing in a wait for burgle in the cellar of the duke, who lives nearby. The cellar is full of gold, but you never managed to enter, because from east there is cock and from west there is a dog guarding the gates of the cellar. When they notice you at the gates they allways start to make noise, and wake up the guards of the duke. But I know the solution for the problem."
"Hurrah, hurrah! You're our cheaf, lead us to the cellar." Cried the bandits, and they all started off. The prince brought one of the bones of the buffalo, and tied a little noose on it. When they have reached te eastern gate, and the cock started to crow, he threw the bone with the little noose on the neck of the cock, and they all run away. The dog has smelled the bone, and started search for source of the smell. When the dog found the cock with the bone in it's neck, it ate the whole animal. And the bandits had time to brake the lock of the eastern gate. They all went in, and when the dog had come after them, they shot it down in the cellar, so no one could hear the noise of the shot. They took away as many gold, as they could.
When they spent all the money they had robed, they decided to go back to the cellar. But the duke had put unbrakeable metal lock on the door, so they undid the wall next to the door. When they made the hole, an idea came into mind of the prince. "Listen, I'm the cheaf, I'll go first." He told them. "You come after me in the order as I call your names." He sliped through the hole, and called them one by one. And when a bandit came through the hole, he stood behind him, grabbed his hair, and cut his neck with his knife. He killed all the twenty-four bandits, and made a pile of them in the cellar. He took gold with him, and left the place. He didn't go back to the shady joint of the bandits, but he went to town.

Fourteenth note

2007-11-22T10:34:00.000+01:00

I concluded reading yesterday Thomas Mann's Doktor Faustus. I started to read it approximatly a year ago, but when I arrived to Vestjyllands, there was still a little part left from it (maybe 80 pages), and I tried to complete, but after some weeks I had to admit, I can hardly find time to read on that place. During the five months of the school I almost didn't read anything exept for the Odyssey.
So some days ago, I brought out the book again, and yesterday I came to the end. I cried after the last page. It is sad to become lonely beacause of your art. The main character had done the reverse of Giacommeti's saying, he had rather chose art than life.

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - second part

2007-11-19T09:27:00.001+01:00

There was somewhere a black world. And in the black world lived another king. No single woman wanted to marry this king, because anyone who tried, was murdered by him.
They were saying about him, that he is so pagan, that he would let Sun's blood effuse, if it would go with him to the altar. But the king could't stand that he had to fast in love. So he took on one hundred merchants, to go from village to village and from town to town and buy him a wife. They travelled with pouches full of gold and cried in each town: "We are buying women, cripples, lames, blind ones." But there was no single soul, who wanted to put his daughter or wife up for sale.
Until they have reached the town, where the king and queen lived, who have employed the turkey-herd woman. As the king have heard the criing of the merchants, he called for his wife. "Hey come, and listen to what these men are shouting, let's sell them the dughter of the turkey-herd woman, so she will get so far, that she will be never able to come back home." So they called in to the palace one of the merchants, and told to him: " We have a girl for sale, but we only sell it to you, if you promise you take her so far away, that she will never find her way back home." "Oh have no fear about that." Answered the merchant. They brought to him the girl, who was shining from beauty, but the merchant even didn't throw a glance at her. He put her in a dog-box, so she will not be able to recognize the way the are going.
When the pagan king so her, he immadietly fall in love with her. And he had locked her in room, under the eye of guards, until he prepares their wedding.
When the merchants have took the girl with them, the king in the white world made a copy of her of gypsum, and made a funeral for her.
When their son finnished his studies in Germany, he came back home, and asked about his mate from his child-hood. His parents told him, that she had died, and they have buried her. The boy didn't want to beleive it. "It's not true!" He mumbled. "It's not true!" He started to run the streets, and kept asking the people passing by, if it was true, that the daughter of the turkey-herd woman has died. He went to the graveyard, and asked after the grave of the girl. When he saw the name of the girl on the headstone, he cried, he sobed but he couldn't do anything, he had to take in, that he can not do anything, no one can resuscitate dead people, expect for God. So he went home.
At home he had fallen into melancholy. He sat for days wordlessly, with tears in his eyes, he was wringing his hands, he was thinking, and he didn't receive any food. He was mourning for his mate. His lips became like the lips of a rabbit, and he became so week, that he started to shiver every now and than.
The king almost became mad of worry. He asked his wife, what he should do. "Take him on a hunt. Go to the forrest, bring all dukes with you, and bring him aswell. Shoot on deers and wild-boars. Maybe he will forget his sorrowful thoughts."
They announced the hunt. It would have been a big shame for the prince, if he hadn't gone with them. He took a gun, and went to the stable to choose a fine horse.
They rode to the forrest. Others told him to follow a path, and they will chase the beasts towards him, so he only have to shoot them. He conceded, and the hunting started. The blew the horns, beated the drums, span the clappers, screeched, shouted, cluncked.
The prince started to ride on the path, and a little later there came a little hare, and stood right in front of him. He took his gun the shoot it, but the hare tilted his tail, in way that seemed, as if it was asking for mercy. The prince let down his gun. "Nope will I hurt it, it is a bland hare. I will rather go to it, and capture it live!" He got off his horse, and tried to catch the hare. But the hare sprang on. He tried again, but the hare sprang a litlle further again. He was chasing the hare into the middle of the bushy forrest. He thought, that he will manage better if he can use both hands, so he tied his horse to a tree, and left his gun there, and followed the hare into the scrub. And the hare kept spranging in front of him. Once, when he tried to catch it, the hare sprang one much bigger than before, and disappeared. The prince didn't see it anywhere. And he didn't even know, where he was. He realized, that he got lost, and it became dark. "Oh my God, where am I? Where should I go? What shall I do?" After puzzleing his brain, he decided, that he will climb on a high tree, so that he will be able to see, if there is light coming from somewhere. He did so, and somewhere in the far distance he saw a bonfire.

The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman - first part

2007-11-17T12:06:00.001+01:00

We are making a performance of a Transylvanian Gipsy folk tale with the ensemble of Föld Theatre. The title is Wise of the World. To collect material to our performance I am reading other Gipsy stories, they are amazingly beatiful.
There is one, with an enthralling description of a love relationship which goes through on abundance of tribulations.
The Daughter of the Turkey-herd Woman
There was once a very wealthy king and a queen, who had no child. So they had take on someone to take care of their poultry. They employed a turkey-herd woman. After several years she became pregnant, and at the same time the queen became pregnant aswell. They have given birth to their babies on the same day. Both babies, the daughter of the turkey-herd woman and son of the king and queen were beatifully shining, and the entire white world (= the world where humans live) was shining from their beauty, when the parents were holding up them, to show them to the sun.
When they became six , and they had to go to school, the king has decided, that since the girl has born in the court, so it is his duty to pay her education, they will go to the same school.
They went to school each morning together, hand in hand, and the young prince thought that the girl is his sister.
Once, when they were fourteen years old their classmates told to the boy: "This girls is not your sister, she is the daughter of the turkey-herd woman, and you are the son of the king.
The boy didn't want to beleive, what they were saying, he went home, and asked his dad, if the girl was his sister or not. The king told him the truth.
The boy mused on what he had heard. And he decided, if the girl is not his sister, she will be her wife. And on the next day, when they were coming home from the school he nipped the girl, and another day he stroked her. The girl didn't counter the approaching of the boy. They matched to each other more and more, so much that in secret they started to make love to each other.
But one day the king has noticed from his window what the youngsters are doing, he called for his wife.
"Don't you notice something on these two kids"
"Not at all, they're playing, and going to school together."
"Mind, what I'm saying to you; some day we are going the have a big scandal, that God gave a child to this girl."
So the queen ambushed them again, and when she realized, that they are kissing and petting each other; she deliberated with her husband over what shall they do. They can not permit their son to marry a girl with a poor background. They decided that when the prince will finnish the elementary school, they will send him to study in Germany, so he forgets the girl.
The prince obeyed his parents will. They made him a passport, and escorted him to the trainstation.
The boy was not even on half way of the journey, when he took his golden pen, and started to write a letter on paper, white as the snow. My true love, thanks for God, I'm fine. I'm here and here. I love you very much."
But it was the king, who found the envelope on the gate-post. He became angry and burned it in the fireplace. And when the boy has arrived to the school, his first thought was the girl, so he wrote to her again. But the king received it again.

Changing view from the window of the room, where you have stayed

2007-11-16T14:14:00.001+01:00

Music

2007-11-15T12:08:00.000+01:00

When I stayed at Esther's appartment in Copenhagen, for a I while we shared the hospitality of her with Olga's brother, Mateusz and his friend. One evening we went biking with Mateusz, from Nørreport, all the way down to the statue of the Little Mermaid. In a street near Nyhavn we met with a music band, playing on violin, accordion, saxofon very cheerful music. We decelarated the speed of our bikes, to listen to them. They were walking by a wedding couple, and playing music for them. As I figured out later, just for fun, beacuse they were walking towards a pub, where they were going to play on that evening. As we slowed down by them to their speed, one of them crossed the street, and walked by us, and invited us to this pub. We went in and listened to them. Great music, reminds me a lot klezmer, and the guy told as later, yes, it is mixture of swedish folk music and klezmer. Unfortunatly we couldn't stay there for long, because, Olga was waiting for us (originally we went just for a fifteen minutes ride), and we didn't have any money with us to drink something in the pub (for the same reason). After the first unit of the music, we were leaving. The guy, who invited us, came to our table, and we had a little chat. He was really kind. The name of the band is Räfven, he gave us a call-card. Some weeks ago I checked their website, and I found a part on it, where you can order their CD, I thought I'll try, maybe it is possible from abroad aswell. It says you pay the price for the CD, when it arrives. Well, they have sent me their CD, without any fee, I didn't had to pay for the postman. I guess it is a present from them. I'm very pleased by their kindness.

Thirteenth note

2007-11-15T07:19:00.000+01:00

I have heard an interesting saying of Giacometti, the sculptor. They were qouting him in an old French film: One man and one woman.

"If I had to choose, what to save from a fire, a man, or a Rembrandt painting, I would choose the man." And the man qouting him in the film, commented: "He would rather choose life, than art."
Great! I hope it is true, that Giacometti said so, and it is not only the invention of the author of the sreenplay .

Twelfth note

2007-11-13T14:57:00.000+01:00

We have performed on Sunday and yesterday, the new version of Round Cabbage at Sirály. Tonight we will do it again. We play the bottle game, we pose questions to the audience. Afterwords we try to build in to the scenes what they tell us. It is really really hard. And the solutions what we found were mostly verbal, exept for one thing. We ask for qualities of another person (the question is: What makes you fall in love with someone else?), and we pick small objects from a bag (for example: a shaver, a matchbox, a little plastic toy figure, a bottle cork, tissues) which we associate with the qualities what the audience tells.
It is interesting to experience how difficult it is to react right in the moment. It is good education for being present. But I don't think this is the best solution for presence and reality on stage. It reminds me more a very planed trick of a magician. The spontaneity is an effect just, which enchants the audience.

You have started your course yesterday in Nepal. I really wonder how it goes. And what you will think afterwords.
I understand very well, what you have wrote to me in the comment; travelling with a friend can be easier, and maybe gives more freedom, than travelling alone.

Eleventh note

2007-10-22T10:31:00.000+02:00

When I am thinking about the phenomens, which are interesting for me in theatre, I very often find theological categories to describe them.
One of these is predestination.
When protestantism begin, John Calvin tought, that it is already layed down on the day of your birth, wether you will be beatified or not. This idea is concluded from the christian faith; that christians account God as omniscient.
It is not an easy problem, because if we accept, that God knows everything, he might know about all your life aswell, even before you were born. And if we accept, that world exists as a result of God's will, he is the one, who wanted it to be; it follows the question: did he create people, who he knew, will go to perdition, will suffer endless. Catholics always argued with this tenet. Their line say; God gave you free will, and it depends only on your decisions, wether you get to heaven, or not.
Neither side has easy position; if you are thinking with human logics, there are contradictions in both theories. If I accept predestination, it casts doubt on God goodness. If I beleive in the decisive power of free will, it questions the creator's omniscience.
Anyway, in both theories, there needs to be some special relationship between the one's and God's knowledge about future, because a man doesn't know what's the future, and where do his decisions lead to.
When we show stories on stage, we know how they will end, we know all parts of them, also the ones, which are not shown yet. But our aim is not to tell a story, which happened in the past, we want to show it in present time. How different occurences follow each other.
When you are telling a story, your position is outside of it (even if you are telling it in first person), you admit with the past forms of the verbs, that it had happened, and even if you haven't reached the end of the story in your storytelling yet, it is possible to know how it will end. When you are showing a story, you are acting as if you wouldn't know the end of the story before it ends.
I was telling you several times, theatre is really interesting for me, when things on stage are not imitations, they happen really.
It follows the question; how can you honestly take this position on stage, when you are working with a story, which you rehearsed several times.
It is obvious, you can have ideas, plans and stories in your head, as a director, but it's is only the actors, who can fill it with real life. How can an actor be free on stage, and live the story really, I'm trying to find solutions for this a question.

About my experiences at Odin

2007-10-21T08:35:00.000+02:00

Dedicated to Olga aswell

When I finally left the school, heading Odin Theatre in Holstebro, you asked me, to tell about my time there; I have some small remarks, it was really just a few days.
The first thing, which amazed me the most, was the openness of the theatre.
The first time we went there, I was suprised, that there was no cloackroom, there was only a rack for coats at the end of the hallway. If you wished to, you could hang your coat there.
I remember, when we saw Andersen's dream for the first time, after the performance we met with several actors and also with Eugenio on the hallway.
The building includes not just the performing and rehearsing spaces, but the technical rooms, offices, the actors private rooms, the archive and the libary of the theatre, two small kitchens and the rooms for guests. The spaces, which are used by the audience are not strictly seperated from others, as it is usual in most of the theatres, which I have seen before. To get to their rooms, where they can dress and undress, the actors are using the same hallway as the audience.
When I was going from my room to the little videostudio, I also had to go through the corridor where the doors of the actors' rooms are. The whole theatre is an organism, which lives together.
The people, who arrive for a workshop, or to make a research, as I did, are latching on to the life of the theatre.
I was wondering, why do other theatres hide actors? Why is it necessary to let them meet only in the show, and seperate them from each other before and after?
Are they afraid, that the magic effect, that the actors transform to another person on stage, will disappear, that the audience will discover some kind of trick?
Normally we can meet actors only on stage, or at the most, we can read an interview with them in a magazine. We can not great them after a performance, or ask them questions. Is it necessary to disguise the actor, as an ordinary person, in order for us to beleive that he does something special and interesting when he is acting?
At the end our performance in the school, The Homecoming of Odysseus, when you went out of the building and the audience followed you, I was very happy, that there was no possibility for the usual very formal bowings. You were standing around the fire, they applauded, you applauded aswell, cried my name, and than the whole group splited up for small groups having coversations. It was easy there, as it was easy also in summer at Hantos, because we knew each other.
I wanted to find the same meeting between the audience and actors at the end of The Journey of Odysseus, in the Merlin Theatre, which seemed a bigger challange, because it is a much more formal place compared to both - the school, and the village enviroment.
We agreed, that you go out from the performance hall to the foyer, light your candles, and sing Létyé la zozule, and wait for the reaction of the people, wether they come out, or not. We agreed also, that you do not bow, if they come out.
They came, which was a great pleasure to experience, because it is something, which you would like to happen, but it is not happening because you explained people they should do like this, they are doing it, because they understand your aim.
After the song you blew your candles, and came in front of the stairs, very close to the people, this was not planned any more. And it was a risky situation, how to find the bridge from being observed, being in caracter, communicating in a special way, to a normal person - person communication.
There were two reactions: Olga went to one member of the audience, actually it was my mother, and huged her; some other's could not handle so well this unplanned situation, they needed to hold on to something, which was familiar to them, which they knew the mechanism of already. This is how the whole group started to stand up in a line to bow. I understood why it's happening, but I regreted.
In Odin, I never saw actors bowing. The audience applauds, but they never come back on stage after the performance is over. You can meet them on the hallway, if you wish to.

By watching the recordings of performances from different ages of the company, it is visible, they have come a long way.
Barba declares, that he looks upon Grotowski as his master. On one hand this clear statemant is sympathic for me. Today it is not a trend if you are an artist to say about another artist, that he is your master. We mostly say very gently drawn sentences; "I was inspired by some aspects of his work.", "I understood very well his style.", and such others like these.
By seeing some recordings of their early performances and some also of Grotowski's performances, I think you can recognize that there is a connection between the creators.
On the other hand I think, if you have so close artistic connection to one specific person, it makes you very hard to not to take from his artistic solutions, but find your own when you face a similar problem. It is even hard to find your own problems, which you want to work with.
I am not saying this is negativ. I don't think if you have a hard task, it's bad. Fighting with hard things can take you to great results.

Tenth note

2007-10-20T16:49:00.001+02:00

We have seen a special performance some days ago with Anikó. We wanted to go theatre, but she has been tired, so she didn't wanted to go the one of the big, elit theatres of Budapest to see some serious, classical play. We agreed, we would like to see some alternativ performance made in a small theatre, but we haven't found anything in the program, which really interested us.

We were walking in Király street, the street of Sirály, and we weren't so far from a very small studio theatre, which is called R.S.9. - because it is under number 9 in Rumbach Sebestyén street. According to the program magazine, there was nothing on that evening, but let's give a try, we entered and asked if there will be something.
There was something, called 'Álomszínház' ( 'Dreamtheater'). I think it is the name of the company and the title of their performances aswell. And actually it is the genre of the performances also.
In the program it said that they create theatrical scenes out of the dreams of the audience. They don't try to decipher, to analyze them, they just try to show them on stage. This sounded sympathic, so we decided to participate.
On one hand it was true. There was a coordinator, who was keeping the contact with audience, he told a little of their story, asked us questions, like how did we get there, what kind of mood are we in? Do we dream? and so on. He created a quite safe athmosphere, where you didn't feel ashame to talk aloud, when they asked you a question. The way how we got the to the point where they asked us to tell about our dreams was also well built up. More than the half of the audience had been already on their performances before, so it also helped them, to create this cosy athmosphere.
After the work, what we have done in the Monk Key, and the task which we gave to ourselves - that we should try to find the way of communication with the audience, which makes them feel safe, and free to answer; it was interesting to see how they reached this kind of state.
When we got to the point, where they asked us to tell our dreams, the one who undertook, had to go on stage, where were two chairs and an old-fashioned reading lamp. The coordinator and him set in these chairs, and we all listened to his dream (or story).
After he chose from the actors, which of them should play which role in his story. He had to give one sentence to each of the actors. And than they improvized something on what they have heard.
So on one hand it was true, what they wrote in the program. But on the other hand, they did not only listen to dreams and show them on stage. The coordinator asked questions from the volunteer dreamteller like: what kind of state were you in, in the period of your life, when you had this dream. And these circumstances, the facts outside the dream effected the scenes what they did. This is some kind of interpretation already. And I had the feeling, by doing these scenes they were trying to give some solution to the problem, what they sensed in the dreamtellers life. Which was disturbant for me. Because situations and states in life seem to me much more complicated, than how far they could get in understanding one's story by listening to it for some short minutes and than doing a littlebit funny improvisation (there is a need for some entertainment for the audience aswell) out of it.
The other thing, which I didn't enjoy in this event was the very law quality of the scenes. Everything they done was very verbal. The jokes which came ot of the scenes were all built upon some verbal meaning. And all sentences were told with similar, smooth melody.
Verbality is the first prehensile which we grab, because it is the form of communication, what we use consciously, and which has a bulided up system of telling different contents. It is the language, what we learnt to communicate on. The coordinator asked the dreamteller to give one sentence to each caracter of the story, even if a caracter was silent, or non verbal during the whole dream.
The movments and actions what they done were also shown in a "smooth melody"; and I couldn't figure out any meaning for them, unless the actors had to do something on stage.
Giving words for something which communicates without words, and trying to give some solution for a problem, which we do not understand really yet are both ways of simplification.
We heard some crazy, ineteresting dreams, and we seen some scenes, which were more poor.
There was a gipsy girl, who told her dream. She mentioned that it was a great feeling afterwards, when she walk up, so she remembers it at as a good experience. She was accompanied by someone to hold a literature class in school, but when they reached the classroom the company left her alone there, telling her, that she will manage on her own. She started to teach the children. There were some of them crying the sentence: "Gipsy girls are stinky, their pussy is rotting." Than there were some gipsy girls in the class, who started to dance, and said to her: "Look, golden rain is falling on us." And later: "Look this beatiful picture!" Ans she saw something which reminded her a buddhist mandala.
We could learn so much art, so many artistic values from dreams. From the courageously strange and unnexpected way they connect the facts, what we experience, when we are awake.
I am only interpretating, what I have seen; this unnexepected and poetic way of connecting different events and scenes was the quality of Odin Theatre's performances, which I appreciated a lot. After seeing several of their performances, I would say this quality noticeably describes an aspect of their style (at least their recent style), and not only the Andersen's dream, which we have seen togheter.
We have talked a littlebit about this once on the apropos of Andersen's dream. The meaning of making these not evident, dreamlike connections between different things on stage is not only that it creates poesy; I appreciate it, because it shows theatre can have a similar function to dreams.
We say in dreams our mind is processing our daily experiences. Especially those, which effected us a lot, and those which we could not deal with.
In theatre we do something very similar. We are trying to process the experiences which we have collectively, the experiences of the community living around us, our society.

Music suggested by Bence

2007-10-15T22:24:00.000+02:00

Bence brought the cognition of this music from his time in France. I think you will like it. Olivia Ruiz: J'traîne des pieds...

Ninth note

2007-10-15T21:59:00.000+02:00

You know, some of my stuff I left in Attila's car, and he took it back to Hungary, when he came home in August. It was two boxes and my big luggage. He delivered it to me, when he came to my party in September.
When I opened it, and I saw the stuff arranged exactly the same way, how I did it in a big hurry on the last day of the day school in May, I felt some nostalgia. Suddenly I remembered my room in Denmark, the atmosphere of the books and tiny things on the shelf above my bed, the clothes hanging in my cupboard.
The Madlaine biscuit effect. (In Proust's novel about lost time, when he bites a biscuit, and suddenly remembers his grandmother's place in his childhood - where he used to eat these biscuits.)

Szabi came up with a version of the video about our summer workshop. And the video about the performance is also almost finnished.
A lot if things changed since this summertime aswell, I sense, and I sensed even stronger watching these shootings.

The perpetual escaping of time is heavy, althought it is it's lightness, it's immateriality which makes different times disappear so fast.

Eighth note

2007-10-13T15:30:00.000+02:00

We have been yesterday in Rudas Bath. I had the idea that we celebrate the anniversary of Föld Theatre there, telling poems in the basin. But only Bastian and Zsófi came. Zsófi is a new girl in the ensemble, who came to the theatre to learn about theatre-making, dramaturgy, and I hope that she will be some kind of assistant by me. Others had other programs, or found it too expensive maybe. I was a littlebit sad and disappointed. Anyway it's a great place! I regret very much, that we havn't been there with you. We need to go there, when you come the next time.

Seventh note

2007-10-01T13:54:00.000+02:00

Hey! I realized just now, that you have commented some notes of this log-book! (Of course I read the comment to the first note, just after you left.) Great! These new comments means, you are alive on some point of the earth!
Right now it is several hours later where you are. Here it is 2 o'clock. You are maybe going to bed already.

Letter

2007-09-26T10:02:00.000+02:00

Sixth note

2007-09-26T02:26:00.000+02:00

Thanks for the performance, which we made together.
You said, in a year, maybe we will smile on it. I hope we will, I hope we will have the possibility to smile together. On the same space, in the same time.
I would like to write some things, about this performance later. Sometimes, during our preparation it was extremly hard. So I would like to get closer to the reasons, what made it hard. And to find what can I, and maybe what can we, or anybody profit from it.
But right now, there are more important things. Let's not talk about theater for long while.
Have a very very nice journey.
I'm crossing my fingers for you.
Or I can say, I will pray for you.
If you have time and possibilities, read sometimes this blog.
Bye.

Fifth note

2007-09-21T23:32:00.000+02:00

How can one be happy?
Having a goal in his life?
And if he never reaches his goal?
What is important, the reaching or the fighting for it?
Relationships are important. But can one be happy without an exclusive (man - woman) relationship? How can he share than all his life, from who can he expect acceptance?
Can he find total acceptance?
Or can one be happy, without someone's total acceptance?
Or from the other point of view; can one share totally himself with several persons? Or is it possible with only one?

These are real questions for me right now. I haven't got answers for them.
I have to admit, I feel very lonely.

Fourth note

2007-09-17T08:17:00.000+02:00

I'm wondering a lot, how you feel in Budapest.
You sit a lot in front of my computer. One does this, when he hasn't got better things to do.
In this city I have things to do, I have friends to meet. I have places to visit.
Our knowledge is not equal about the place.
As you mentioned to Attila yesterday; we came back to our lives, what we were living before, and you are on your journey.
You are on your way, to the place where you are going, I would say.
Nevertheless, I wouldn't say I am at home.
Yet.
But I am very happy, that you meet the life, what I was living before going to Denmark. The house where I've been brought up, some of my friends. My parents. My christian groups. The streets, where I've been walking. Alma.

Third note

2007-09-14T16:22:00.000+02:00

I can imagine, that after a while it gets annoying, when I compare you, with Kálmán. Maybe I was joking with it too much, sorry. (It's interesting that in English, the word 'you' starts with a small y, and 'I' is a capital letter. Marguerita was always changing the orthography of these two words; she wrote You, and i, and very often I also write You with capital Y, but here, in this text, I would like to keep the traditional orthography.)
Of course there are some similarities. And if you focus on them, of course you can recognize them from time to time. And it is interesting to see some people, who you know, but they don't know each other, and who are familiar a little bit.
But there are very big differences of course. One of these is, that you ask questions, which I appreciate a lot in you.
Both of you speaks a lot to me, and both of you likes to share his experiences. I am happy, that I can be a witness of your thoughts, I am grateful for you, even if sometimes I get tired of listening.
You Tarjei, have the speacial quality of the equal balance between sharing thoughts and listening. You can listen too me as long as you are speaking too me. I feel that you give the same seriousness to my message, what you give to your owns. I think that's a big gift.

Second note

2007-09-13T16:42:00.000+02:00

I had an idea today, how we are going to continue with Kerek a káposzta (Round Cabbage), our performance with Anikó.
On one hand I would like to continue performing it, because, it was succesful, we had audience, and people keep asking, when are we going to show it again.
But on the other hand, if we would do it the same way, as we used to a year ago, it wouldn't be inspiring for me.
I remember in the last times, when I used to play with LEGO, I was only interested in creating some buildings, little towns maybe, but I didn't really play with them afterwards. I feel sometimes similar interest with the performances, which I am directing. The process of creation is interesting, and some performances (the first ones) are interesting, but than, when we are ready, a new subject needs to take away my interest.
You know, I would like to find forms and ways of making theatre, when something is not just an imitation on stage, but it really happens.
I think I am still far from this, but I'm on the way.
If something really happens, we really do something. Otherwise it is only talking about something.
For me these two games with the bottle, what we have played lately (one, which I didn't participate after our workshop in my grandparents appartment, and the other, what we played in Transylvania, on that very special and bizarr place, near that hunted house) were very interesting experinces. I wouldn't call them absolutly positive experiences, but I am very glad, that I had them.
I thought that in Kerek a káposzta we will make the audience sit in a circle. And we will play a bottle game with them. We will do what the one, whom the bottle is pointing at, asks us to do. I don't want the whole performance to be improvised. I want some structures, which are ready, when the show begings, but I want a lot if things to be decided there, right at the time, when the performance is happening. We have to find the best form for this, with Anikó.

First note

2007-09-12T11:24:00.000+02:00

I wanted to give you a present for your journey. But I wanted to give you something which does not have really weight, or maybe not material at all. Not to make your package more heavy, and not to make you take care of more and more stuff.

It happens with me a lot of times, when we have a conversation, that I can not tell a thought, which I would like to, sometimes because, we both have to many ideas connected to one topic, so I feel, I need to select from them to be able to tell some of them, and sometimes I am not able to express exactly what I wanted to.

And it also happens, that something happens with me, or I have some thoughts and ideas which I would like to share with you, when you are not there (or at least this was my experience in the period between I departed from the school and you arrived to Kishantos this August).
As you have experienced, I am not good in writting letters.
I still owe Olga and you a little report about my experiences in Odin Theatre.
So these are reasons why I want to start to write you a log-book on internet.
A log-book (according to my dictionary) is a collection of notes what you are writting when you are sailing.
I don't want to write a diary on the net. And I don't want to write a diary for you.
A diary for me is a text, which I write for myself.
And I cannot promise, that I will write here at least a note each day, or each week or anything.
I can only promise I will write here, when I will feel the need to tell you something.
When there is something which is necessary to mention in the log-book.
And it is open, there is no password, so anyone can read it. I am writting to you things, which can be interesting maybe to read for other people aswell. This is also a motivation, I think.