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Nous regardons le monde devant nous, nous marchons de dos, comme si nous étions déposés dans un siège de théâtre. C’est notre corps, l’espace de notre dos, tout l’E..S..P..(e)A..C..E arrière, le paysage arrière, qu’est-ce que l’arrière, où s’arrête t’il où commence t’il? L’air, le sol qui touche les pieds, tout ça c’est notre siège arrière du théâtre et la scène est devant nous, et les phénomènes que nous regardons varient. Ils varient en fonction de là où nous regardons. Alors petit à petit, vraiment très doucement nous sommes les spectateurs du « plus grand spectacle du monde » car il est fait de toutes les multitudes de transformations qui s’y produisent et avec tout les vivants qui l’habitent.   Ces transformations sont les éléments qui surgissent à notre regard. Nous marchons très lentement, alors comme pour la marche en avant, il y a cette sensation que plusieurs temporalités existent: celle du marcheur, celle des éléments qu’il regarde, celle de ses choix de regard et quoi en penser. Et puis qui le regarde ? En effet qui regarde le marcheur et quoi regarde le marcheur? Quoi me regarde dans cette marche à l’envers, quoi regarde Discollective quand il marche à l’envers, quoi nous regarde, nous en tant que deux personnes là dans ce paysage, dans cet environnement, à ces moments là, et aussi quoi nous regarde en tant que membre du projet Along the Walk qui réunit plusieurs binômes de marcheurs et quoi nous regarde quand on marche avec des soutiens financiers de l’Union Européenne? Qu’est-ce que que cela fait d’être regardé par différents êtres vivants, ceux que l’on voit et ceux que l’on ne voit pas ? Qu’est-ce que ça nous fait ? Car la marche en arrière nous semble produire une relation un peu spécifique avec les animaux, d’abord les chiens, mais aussi peut-être des cervidés, les oiseaux, les loutres …   Qu’est-ce que l’on fabrique ?   Marcher à l’envers ralentit la marche, un temps, un certain temps. Elle déconstruit la marche, sa pratique.   Sur le plan physique, marcher en arrière sur plusieurs jours, m’a permis de récupérer une mobilité du bassin, et dynamiser des muscles profonds aux niveaux des hanches, et plus généralement elle a un effet sur la posture.   J’ai découvers qu’après plusieurs heures de marche quand il s’agissait de nos grandes journées lorsque je m’arrêtais, je retrouvais l’inverse d’un phénomène étrange de la marche en avant avec le paysage, les perspectives au lieu de s’éloigner, de s’étirer au loin vers un point de fuite, venaient vers moi. Le point de fuite se retourne vers moi, dans mes yeux. Alors il y a vraiment cette sensation que le paysage vous pénètre, vraiment les choses que vous voyez viennent à vous, viennent vers vous et alors cela produit une sensation qui agit sur la perception.   Percevoir que, au moment de cet arrêt, l’environnement, (forêt et campagne) vous pénètre par le regard, comme si la perspective était élastique, et que le mouvement venait vers soi. Ça, c’était une sacrée sensation, un peu comme au début de nos expériences avec la marche en arrière et les chiens. Car en effet les chiens semblent réagir autrement aux marcheurs inversés. Peut-être s’agit-il là d’une réflexion sur le visage et le regard.   Quand nous passions par les forêts quels plaisirs, quelles sensation d’être nourri !   Cette marche artistique à l’envers le long de Ledava est peut-être thérapeutique mais elle agite et agit sur du politique. Quand nous marchons renversés sur quoi marchons nous ? Quelles histoires? Quels contextes? Quelles politiques? Quels mondes? Deux inconnus marchant en arrière, ça questionnent, ça interpelle. Nous nous heurtons à des contradictions, nous marchons dans des cultures.   *** écrit lentement après la marche d’Avril 2023   Mathilde Vrignaud   Walk.1 avec Mathilde Vrignaud et DISCOllective – The Biggest Spectacle in the World   9 – 16 avril 2023, Prekmurje, Slovenia photos by Sunčan Stone We look at the world in front of us, we are walking with our back, as if we were placed in a theater seat except that the seat is our body, the space of our back, all the E.. S.. P..(e)A.. C.. E, the back landscape, what is the back, where does it stop where does it start ? The air, the ground that touches the feet, all is our back seat of the theater and the stage is in front of us, and the phenomena we watch vary. They vary depending on where we look. So little by little, really very slowly we are the spectators of the “biggest spectacle in the world” because it is made of all the multitudes of transformations that take place there and with all the living who habit it.   These transformations are the elements that arise in our eyes. We walk very slowly, so as with the walk forward, there is this feeling that several temporalities exist: that of the walker, that of the elements he looks at, that of his choices of look and what to think about it. And then who is looking at him? Indeed, who looks at the walker and what looks at the walker? What looks at me in this walk upside down, what does Discollective look at when he walks upside down, what looks at us, us as two people there in this landscape, in this environment, at these times, and also what looks at us as a member of the Along the Walk project that brings together several pairs of walkers and what looks at us when we walk with financial support from European Union.   What does it feel like to be looked at by different living beings, those you see and those you don’t see? What does it do to us? Because the step backwards seems to produce, a specific relationship with animals, first dogs, but also perhaps cervids, birds, otters…   What do we make? Make we do what?   Walking reversed slows down walking, for a while. It deconstructs its practice.   On the physical level, walking back for several days allowed me to solicit, recover pelvic mobility, and energize deep muscles at the hip levels, and more generally it has an effect on posture.   I discovered that after several hours of walking when it was our big days when I stopped I found the opposite of a strange phenomenon of walking forward with the landscape, the prospects instead of moving away, stretching in the distance towards a vanishing point, came towards me. The vanishing point turns towards me, in my eyes. So there is really this feeling that the landscape penetrates you, really the things you see come to you and then it produces a sensation that acts on perception.   Perceive that, at the time of this stop, the environment, (forest and countryside) penetrates you through the gaze, as if the perspective were elastic, and that the movement came towards you. That was quite a sensation, a bit like at the beginning of our experiences with walking back and this observation with dogs. Because indeed, dogs seem to react differently to inverted walkers. Perhaps this is a reflection on the face and gaze.   When we passed through the forests what pleasures, what a feeling of being fed!   This artistic reversed walk along Ledava is may be therapeutic but it agitates and acts also on politics. When we walk overturned, what do we walk on? What stories? What contexts? What policies? Which worlds? Two strangers walking back, it questions, it challenges.   We encounter contradictions, we walk in cultures. Are we causing small cultural shocks?   Mathilde Vrignaud   Walk.1 with Mathilde Vrignaud and DISCOllective – The Biggest Spectacle in the World   9 – 16 April 2023, Prekmurje, Slovenia

A Journal From Slotalia   Note to the reader:This journal is a daily report of the walk The Route to the Roots by artists Alenka Marinič and Giovanni Fusetti. Most entries were co-written and co-edited by both Alenka and Giovanni in the form of “we”. When the entry is a specific individual experience of one of them, the text is in italic and it is preceded by the initial of the writer, A or G.   May 2: Monfalcone to Gabria Superiore   We meet at Monfalcone train station. The location is familiar because we already met here once, to plan our first days of the walk. The day is cool and the land welcomes us with a kind rain that will accompany us throughout the day.It is a day of attunement – with each other, with a new pattern of life on the move, with the land and with the poets inside us, who are craving for being impressed by the land and by the people.We start the walk at the Theme Park of the Great War. The place is a strange combination of peace and violence. We see the traces of war and yet all is calm and almost deserted.We walk along the Alpe Adria Trail. We see abandoned fields where it is no longer possible to grow food fast enough. We walk in nature. Nature has its own constant calm pace.Each of us carries a pole with three flags sticking out of the backpack. Slovenia, Italy and EU. It is an odd outfit, people look at us with curiosity, they wave at us, we wave back. When they hear about our walking project they compliment us.The traces of the WWI are everywhere, and we often walk near tranches and fortifications, old scars that remind us of a tragic time that has marked this place irreversibly.For part of the path we are walking on the regional road. Cars are passing by so fast. Their speed and power feel so brutal after walking on paths in nature.In the evening we study the maps and we identify the spots that we want to walk through. The land ahead of us is an amazing patchwork of earth-spots.   May 3: Gabria to Solkan   A-The house we stay in has all the doors locked, the garden has a lock, the door has a lock, I lock myself out of the house. There is a refugee center in the village. They are locked too.We walk along the border, entering and exiting each other’s countries.We ritualize these events by welcoming each other and greeting whoever is around.We walk as the two Prime Ministers of Slotalia, a new country just born from the unification of Slovenia and Italy. We are walking with a peculiar outfit. A vintage hat from Yugoslavian Police and a reproduction of a Fascist Fez, two rather disturbing pieces of costume. But they both have a little flag of Slotalia in front, turning them into some kind of odd and colourful parody of power. The flag is a combination of the patterns and colours of the two flags, brilliantly designed by Juš. It is joyfully absurd.We are proud in our outfit and in our postures. We are aware of the comedic effect of our look. This is why we are here, to reflect poetically on the land and its history.We walk through Miren, where in 1947 the cemetery was cut in two by the border. Watching the tombs cut in two, the bodies split, the families divided even in their final resting place, makes us feel in our heart and bones the loud and absurd cruelty of the border and the pain of the people here. Bodies divided between two countries and two systems. Such an absurd and violent act of politics and politicians who live far away from the reality of the people.From Miren to Gorizia a local woman joins us for part of the path. She walks with us and tells us stories. Random stories about the border, about her life, about what she thinks about life.We enter Gorizia and then Nova Gorica, once the same city, now split between Italy and Slovenia. Two tiny museums are full of treasures for our research: The Museum of Smuggling and the Museum of the Border. So many stories of people inspire us deeply.We take a rest in Europa Square, where one day in 2004 finally the border was pulled down in a peaceful ritual between two nations and two people.We are very touched by this day, our poets have been deeply nurtured. We can already feel the stories bobbling inside us.   May 4: Solkan to Valerisce   Today is a day of transit towards the area where we will have our first performance. The day starts with interventions on the border playing the two Slotalian prime ministers. Greeting people at the border and announcing the recent creation of the new country.The walk continues towards Valerisce through the countryside.We cross the Soča river, eating lunch by the river.We need to go to a big supermarket to get some food. The supermarket seems so loud and violent. So many different options. The awareness of how fast our lives became struck us. We negotiate what to buy so we don’t stay hungry on one hand, and that we don’t have to carry too much on the other. We are starting to feel how deceleration does not mean less effort. It often means more.We leave Gorizia and we enter in the Goriška Brda/Collio region. Walking among the vineyards we share ideas and impressions about the journey and we start seeing scenes, characters and scenarios appearing in our poetic bodies.We arrive early at our accommodation and we start devising the show.The evening session is a flow of material: the stories of people and of the land get translated into play very easily and with such a joy.Before dinner, we have a glass of wine at the winery nearby. A very jovial old lady who runs the cantina serves us a delicious rosé and we have a very inspiring chat. We fluidly shift between Slovenian, Italian and the local dialect, il furlan. “Everybody speaks these languages here”, she says, “we are the same race, siamo la stessa razza”. She tells stories about years and years of daily smuggling through the border, she often laughs at the naivety of her stories. As in the stories on the videos at the Museum of Smuggling, we are very moved by the humour of the people trying to play with the absurdity of history.   May 5: Valerisce to Fojana   In the morning we have another devising session: we already feel the style, structure and rhythm of our show. We are amazed and inspired. Very grateful for the deep artistic complicity between us. Forged over a decade of poetic partnership. First as a teacher and a student, then as teaching colleagues, now as players on stage. It is a profound joy.The sweet hills of the Goriška Brda/Collio region hold our walk towards Fojana, where Alenka’s family owns a little cottage, home of her ancestors. This will become our home for the next couple of days.A-Walking on the land where my ancestors come from. Sometimes I imagine this is where they walked. Their feet were touching the land as my feet are touching it now. Seeing the land being changed and exploited by the humans so much. Every part of the land must be useful. Humans – we are so brutal. Cars sometimes drive by fast. We walk and insist walking. In the afternoon my family comes. The roots grow stronger and deeper.   May 6: Fojana to Šmartno   A-Preparing for the show, rehearsing in the courtyard of an empty house, remembering the people that used to live there. I feel I am present in many different dimensions – here with Giovanni, rehearsing at hearing my kids playing, in the past remembering the old lady who used to live here, walking with her cane, talking to my grandfather, seeing his old always smiling face and in the future, imagining myself growing old here.In the evening we walk to Šmartno, where we meet with the production team and we set up the space for the show. A little square, with a few rows of chairs and two projectors. A simple black background with some rows of little flags of our countries and of the EU. The essence of street theatre that we both love so much.Our show has the shape of a journey through the history of this land and the border. From the Celtic time to today, so many people have lived here and cared for this beautiful place. We are two storytellers playing multiple characters and we engage the audience to become the land: the hills, the river, the vineyards. We give them simple movement cues and they become part of our stories.G-We perform using multiple languages: a patchwork of Slovenian, Italian, Venetian dialect, English, French and Gibberish. We usually speak English between us. Alenka understands the basics of Italian, while I am completely useless with Slovenian. And yet, on stage, I “understand” everything she says: the language of our gestures goes well beyond words. Our complicity on stage is a true bliss and we are very happy to see how our creation is received by the people.The audience is a combination of locals and friends. Some people literally walked off their homes with a chair to become our audience.At the end we are very touched by the comments. A lady tells us that “This show is for us”.We made it!   May 7: Fojana to Albana   Time to take the road again. We continue our walk towards the north. We say goodbye to our friends, partners and family. We continue the walk alone again. The land is progressively changing.We enter in a wilder phase of the path, the weather is changing. We are very happy with the echoes of our performance. We will appreciate some time with less social interactions and a deep immersion in nature.The Italian side of the Goriška Brda/Collio is both similar and different from the Slovenian side. We notice variations in the way the land is cultivated, but the greeting of the people have the same warmth. A group in a garden invites us to drink, but we kindly refuse. If we stop and drink we will never make it to our final accommodation.   May 8: Albana to Brdo   This is the wildest day of our path, we follow the river Idrja for a few hours, in a rather uninhabited area of the border. We walk towards wilderness, through the woods and up the mountains. A left behind place. Nature thrives. The signal on the phones is often non-existent.We have lunch by a house falling apart. A cat approaches us and keeps us company. One of the rare living creatures that makes contact with us on this day. And probably just because it is trying to get some of our lunch.Then we hit the mountains climbing towards Kambreško. The rain comes and we walk in a thick forest. We feel that we are in a different time and space. It seems like we have started another walk.   May 9: Brdo to Kobarid   A-The hats we were using for our Slotalian prime ministers are gone. They disappeared in the nature, probably have fallen off Giovanni’s backpack while we were descending from Brdo. Giovanni tries to find them and makes an extra 14 km in order to find them. Nothing. They are gone.It is a mystery, there is no traffic on that road. Did they roll off into the forest? Did they hide in the tall grass by the side of the road? Maybe they wanted to remain together, hugging each other in the soil of the forest and become the land again.Or maybe they felt that this part of the walk is in a different time and space, and they don’t belong to this story any more. Who knows… but we will miss them!We continue our path without the hats toward Kobarid. The sun is strong, surroundings so green. Just before Kobarid we meet a hiker from Germany that is walking to Istanbul. He still has a long way to go. We explain him about Along the Walk and why we are walking. We ask him: “What is your story? Why are you walking?” He answers: “Why not?”   May 10: Kobarid   The second event that we have planned with our production team is a workshop with local pupils from Kobarid’s primary school. We have proposed a theatrical workshop on the theme of war and peace. We have selected paragraphs from letters written from soldiers in different wars. From an unknown Roman soldier to the current war in Ukraine. We ask the pupils to read them and reflect on them in small groups. Juš and Maja from the production team have joined us.At the end we ask the pupils to write anti-war statements to current politicians and read them out loud. It is touching how they take the task at hearing that makes it so obvious that war is such a terrible terrible option.Our original proposal to conclude the activity was to bring these letters to the Soča river and make them into little boats floating away. But the pupils suggest a more environmentally friendly way, in order to protect the river. They suggest to burn them. And so we do: we go to the bank of the Soča river and we burn the letters and statements as a poetic gesture. The river beneath us accepts the ashes kindly.G-On the way to the river we visit the Ossuary of the WWI Italian Soldiers. Thousands of men are buried there. They were all so young. So many lives broken by a colossal madness. Walking along the marble walls full of names I find a soldier with my surname… Soldato Giuseppe Luigi Fusetti… Here we are. If I was born in another time, that would be me.I grew up reading stories of the Great War, I always felt a deep connection and a deep grief for these young men betrayed by history and by their leaders. Reading their stories and their letters in my youth made me a Conscientious Objector and I chose to serve my country with a civil service rather than a year in the army. And today I serve my country, all countries, with the arts. In front of these men, our work of today with the children feels even more important.We visit a local supermarket and decide we need a good meal to celebrate the completion of our Walk. We meet one of the pupils from the school and show him the photos from the river.At home we eat our last meal together and share feelings and reflections on the day and on the whole journey.The gratitude for this shared experience is deep. It flows like the Soča river.   May 11: Kobarid to Padova/Ljubljana   And then came the day of the departure. We take the bus from Kobarid to Tolmin. Giovanni continues in the direction of Nova Gorica, Alenka to Ljubljana. We part.For ten days we have shared path, meals, thoughts, dreams, both inspired by the same landscapes and by each other.We say goodbye in Tolmin, in a rainy morning. It is nice that we will have some time of transition on buses and train, before diving back into our lives and their very busy schedules.We know we will miss each other.This has been a remarkable journey.We are full of gratitude towards each other, towards the land that has held us and the people that we have met, towards the power of the past and of the present. And towards our production team who has worked so generously to support us and to make this possible.And a big thank to the EU for the vision of funding this project.Long live the walking poets!   Alenka and Giovanni   Walk.1 with Alenka Marinič and Giovanni Fusetti – The Route to the Roots   2- 11 May 2023, Slovenian – Italian border   photo by Sunčan Stone

We want to walk along the border between Slovenia and Italy, honouring the heritage of this area. We want to explore the roots of our belonging to our countries and our cultural identities and turn our walking into an artistic act, creating poems and stories along the way.   As shapeshifting poets, we see our walk as a path of belonging to the land through playing with the land. We want to follow what the land has to tell us and mirror it to the land itself, and to the people that live there. And because the story of this land is deeply wounded by the traumas of history, we wish to create poetic acts of healing through art and engage the local community through collective storytelling, creating events that can ritualize our common roots and our differences.   We wish to walk with our ancestors, listen to them in the voice and language of the people that we will meet, paying attention to the dialects where our two languages are deeply entangled. We see ourselves as two Fools dancing at the edge between two worlds and creating poetic acts from there. As embodied actors, practitioners of physical theatre, we want to walk the land to become the land: absorb the landscape, the patterns, the people, the stories and become them. Leave traces of our path in the form of poetry and storytelling.   And never the last – as long term colleagues and friends, teachers and students of each other, we want to explore the space in between us, which is the very essence of theatre, play and creation.   Alenka and Giovanni   Walk.1 with Alenka Marinič and Giovanni Fusetti – The Route to the Roots   2- 11 May 2023, Slovenian – Italian border

Die Märchensammlumg der Grimm Schwestern Feuer im Hals oder die Stimme im Keller Die einsame Märchenerzählerin im Park Der Gänseblümchenkranz Die Freundin und ihr Wundertee Das E-casting für eine Serie, die doch nur ein Werbespot war Wundertee schlägt Antibiotika Die Freundin, die alleine loszieht, um zum Friseur zu gehen Ein Tag im fremden Bett Der tiefe Blick des Eichhörnchens Die roten Kleider Das falschen Buckow Die kleinen Hexen von Königswusterhausen Der große Reset Ein Bus spielt City am Fenster Durch Prötzel Endlich vereint Die Frau ohne Alter und ihr junger, alter Mann Durchschnittlich untrainiert und gut in Form Die Friseurin, die sich die Arme abschneiden lassen möchte Das Kind, das die Zeit anhält Die Friseurin, die Hausfrau, ihr Mann und seine Liebhaberin Die pfeifende Frisiersalonbesitzerin Die Männer mit den goldenen Zungen Der lange Marsch Simsons und Schwalben schwärmen Gewinner und Verlierer Der alte Mann und sein Fahrrad Die verschwundene Brücke Das Haus der Verbote Die wunden Füße Das Dorf, in dem es nichts zu Essen gibt Das große Schummeln Die leere Stadt Friseurinnen hinter Glas, die auf die Straße starren Wasserwellen und Schiffe aus Haar Die tätowierte Lokführerin Mutter Courage und ihre übergewichtigen Kinder Ein Rathaus für 1 Euro Die Polenfriseure Bewaffnete Friedenshelden und die immerwährende Neutralität Väter, Mütter und ihre 2 Töchter Der Rucksack der Wünsche Der geschäftstüchtige Pfarrer, der den Hals nicht vollkriegt Wie ein wehrhaftes Dorf seine Energiesparlampen verteidigt Die verlorenen Amselkinder Eine Kriminalkommissarin irrt Am Ende des Wassers beginnt eine wunderbare Liebesgeschichte – A Brandenburg Horrorstory Der Restlesser Ein Bett im Kornfeld Des Dorfes neue Namen 1000 Stiche Der Pilz am Ende des Weges Die Erbärmlichkeit eines alten, weißen, nackten Mannes auf seinem Fahrrad Die Singlefrauen von Lunow Wirst Du abends angetroffen, wirst Du morgens aufgefunden Die verschwundenen Bäume der von Arnems Die Kirche abseits des Dorfes Schweinepest ist immer Die Rückkehr des Lärms Die Freundinnen Es war immer so und es wird immer so bleiben Fortsetzung folgt Beatrix Brunschko Walk1 Brunschko/Krönke May 14th – May 23rd in Brandenburg / Germany  

Es war einmal ein Mädchen, das hatte einen blauen Cordanzug. Von dem zog es die Jacke an, als die Mutter es einmal so sehr schimpfte, dass es nicht weiter zuhören wollte, knöpfte sie bis zum obersten Knopf zu, holte das unterm Schreibtisch versteckte Brotlaib hervor, stecke es in seinen Campingbeutel, warf ihn sich über den Rücken und lief davon. Erst die sechs Treppen hinab, dann zur Tür hinaus und schließlich den Berg herunter. Es lief bis zur alten Linde. Die war so dick, dass es fünf Kinder brauchte, um ihren Stamm zu umfassen. Und dort in jenem Stamm gab es, etwa auf Kopfhöhe des Mädchens, ein großes Loch. Früher hatte hier einmal eine Eule genistet und der dicken Linde den Beinamen „Eulenbaum“ gebracht. Schon seit geraumer Zeit war der Vogel verschwunden, der Name aber ist geblieben. Das ist ein für die meisten LeserInnen eigentlich überflüssiges Detail der Geschichte, ich entschuldige mich hiermit in aller Form, dass ich es trotzdem erwähne. Dem liegt meiner Hoffnung zu Grunde, dass möglicherweise Einheimische der durchwanderten Region (diese Geschichte hat sich dort so zugetragen) den Eulenbaum als mythenumrankten Ort aus ihren Kindheitstagen wiedererkennen könnten. Sollten Sie, geneigte LeserIn, nicht zu dieser Gruppe gehören, bitte ich Sie inständig darum, sich doch ein eigens Bild von dem als Eulen-Baum bezeichneten Baum zu machen oder zu hoffen, dass die EU ein Wanderprojekt auch in ihre Region finanziert, so dass die nächste Geschichte unmittelbar an eine Ihrer Kindheitserinnerungen anknüpfen kann. Es können auch direkt Anträge an die EU gestellt werden, die Adresse füge ich unten an*. Das Mädchen schlüpfte nun behänd in dieses Loch hinein. Hätte es jemand beobachtet, was nicht der Fall war, also nur für den Fall, dass – dieser Beobachter hätte den Anschein, dass das Mädchen dies nicht zum ersten Mal tat, ganz im Gegenteil, er würde annehmen, dass das Kind hier öfter in den Baum einstieg. Und er würde mit dieser Einschätzung vollkommen richtig liegen. Geschlossen hätte er das vermutlich aus der routinierten und unaufgeregten Art, mit der das Mädchen zunächst auf einen der Findlinge neben dem Baum kletterte, von da ohne Aufzublicken mit der rechten Hand einen der Äste und mit der linken den Rand des Lochs griff, sich mit dem Fuß vom Stein abstieß und schließlich geschmeidig im Baum verschwand. Dieser fiktive Beobachter wird keine weitere Rolle mehr spielen, er kann von der gewogenen Leserschaft also getrost wieder vergessen werden. Er wurde an dieser Stelle nur eingefügt, um das alte Wort „behänd“ zu beleuchten. Da das Alter der LeserInnen dieses Blocks bisher nicht analysiert wurde (ein Antrag dazu läuft bereits) liegen dementsprechend keine Angaben zum gängigen Wortschatz vor. Sollte diese Information dazu geführt haben, Sie aus dem Lesefluss herausgerissen zu haben, bitte ich um Entschuldigung und verspreche, mich ab sofort zurückzuhalten. Das Mädchen fand sich augenblicklich in der wundersamen Welt unter dem Baum wieder. Es war seine Welt. Hier gab es unendlich viele Zimmer. Alle hatten hölzerne, zu Bögen geschwungene Wände und schienen gleichzeitig groß und klein zu sein. Wie ungleich geschliffene Steine einer Halskette reihten sich die Kammern, Gemächer und Stuben aneinander – schritt das Mädchen in einen Raum mit hohen Decken, gelangte es von dort augenscheinlich in einen anderen mit sehr niedrigen. Und ging es im nächsten nach oben, führte der folgende es umso tiefer wieder hinab. In allen Winkeln schienen Kojen, Hochbetten oder mit unzähligen Polstern bestückte Lager das Mädchen zum Verweilen einzuladen. Und bette es sich hier unter einen Baldachin, so erblickte es dort die nächste verlockende Nische. Und gerade als es sich in dieser gemütlich machte und ein wenig träumte, sah es weiter hinten einen großen Korb, der frei, wie ein von unsichtbaren Seilen getragener Kokon hin und her schwang. Und als es sich in diesem wiegte, entdeckte es ganz nah bei sich einen weiteren Unterschlupf, heimelig und geborgen… … … Und so legte sich das Mädchen hier ein bisschen ab, ruhte dort ein wenig aus und ließ es sich gut ergehen. So ging das eine ganze Weile oder zwei … bis es sich plötzlich wieder im ersten der vielen wundersamen Zimmerchen wiederfand, da, wo es hergekommen war. Nur dass ihm da jetzt eine riesige ovale Öffnung gewahr wurde, die es vorher nicht gesehen hatte. Aus starken gleichmäßigen Wurzeln mutete sie an wie ein futuristisches Bullauge. Und dahinter war es hell, sehr hell. Und als es näher heranging um zu schauen, tat sich nichts Geringeres als das Meer vor ihm auf. Das Mädchen stand und staunte. Blinzelte in die Sonne, genoss den Schatten, den die Wurzeln von oben auf es warfen und erfreute sich am leichten Hauch des Windes. Es lauschte dem lautlosen Liegen des Wassers, dem Klang der Weite. Zu Hause. Sie erwarten zurecht, dass ich mich noch einmal mit ihnen in Verbindung setze, da eine ungeschriebene Norm vorzuschreiben scheint, dass einer zweimaligen Unterbrechung eine dritte zu folgen hat, damit das Gefühl entstehen kann, eine Sache sei „rund“ und abgeschlossen. Da ich prinzipiell die von der EU festgelegten Normen befürworte und Sie zudem auch nicht enttäuschen möchte, tue ich das hiermit. Allerdings sei erwähnt, dass das nur der Form halber geschieht, Inhaltlich gibt es von meiner Seite nichts hinzufügen außer dem Ende (und natürlichem einem Dank für Ihre Aufmerksamkeit) Das Mädchen atmete tief ein, reckte und streckte sich, nahm den Campingbeutel, den es am Eingang des Baums abgelegt hatte, kletterte wieder aus dem Stamm hinaus und machte sich auf den Heimweg. Stieg den Berg hinauf, schlüpfte in die Tür hinein und nahm die sechs Treppen nach oben. Dort hängte es die blaue Cordjacke an seinen Haken zurück, packte das Brot aus, schnitt eine dicke und eine dünne Scheibe davon ab, schmierte Butter darauf und rief zur Mutter „Abendbrot!“ Ramona Krönke Walk1 Brunschko/Krönke May 14th – May 23rd in Brandenburg / Germany *Europäische Union, Rue Jaques de Lalaing 8-14, 10 40 Brüssel  

The dark trail of humanity   1. We walked through naked, bleeding Jesuses on every cold street corner. We took refuge from the rain in cold churches. We saw memorials for dead soldiers. We strolled to the remains of a concentration camp. Above our heads a world started to form itself. A microcosmus made of us and our reflections about my friend’s life. His identity was taken apart bit by bit, judged, ridiculed, mocked and thrown chewed on the floor. “you are a mutant”, I said, “A mutant with super powers. Made of all those beats and pieces but so much bigger than them. A wonderful specimen of an insane humanity Where people come and go, run and hide, kill and survive, fight and love, believe and lose, connect and reject. A mutant made of many ideas about life, lies, and beauty, pain and so much love. All of this, swirling like a tornado is you, my friend. You are a patched identity, which you carry not like an hysterical blinging millennial, but silently as you go about your day, making a life for yourself and for the generations to follow.   2. There is no catharsis when you leave Buchenwald. There is gratitude, that you live in better times when a German and an Israeli can walk together through the poisoned land and cry in hidden corners, alone to not burden the other. but there is no catharsis. Days after walking in Buchenwald the feeling is still crawling inside of you. Like toxic poison it flushes through your veins, expending through your limbs, infecting your heart. This human haterade. The human stupidity. That horrible hubris again and again. That brain virus that is designed to separate us. This disease that will end us all. Humanity has no future and the only hope for the world to survive is if humanity stops existing. The filleds were yellow from oil flowers. The sky was blue. Nature is beautiful. And every once in a while a car would pass. So violent. So loud. So fast. We are doomed to repeat this again, aren’t we? It is repeated already in some parts of the world. Men and women with destructive ideas controlling mind and resources. There is no happy ending waiting for you at the exit of Buchenwald. Just repetition. Maybe worse, maybe lighter but humans will be humans. With their memorials and dead soldiers. With their pride and greed. With the fast and loud.   Our next walk must focus on finding comfort. finding the beauty and the hope. and if there isn’t any, at list embracing life with love and not with this constant heart crushing disappointment that these times bring.   Inbal Lori   Walk1 Lori/Sidgi April 24th – May 3rd in Thuringia / Germany The world runs in circles…   Yes, I suppose it does. The world runs in circles… I stand at a bus stop and turn around in circles. I get off the bus at a place that I know and that is new to me at the same time. What am I actually trying to do? What am I actually looking for? Am I looking for something? Something that doesn’t want to be found?   It’s the 24th of April 2023 and I find myself in a landscape that was once part of my world, and now I don’t know which way to go? The beginning and the end is somehow knotted, and somehow the same.   My companion Inbal is something like my sister. She is standing there, still giggling about the song we chose as the soundtrack for our arrival, our arrival in my memories. Immediately a crucifix catches her eye. Yes, this area is very, very, very Catholic indeed, and this region wants to show that to everyone who arrives.   At home, at home, fi albayt…. I have no idea where that is. At most WHO that could be… but that is probably not the question here. Everything goes round in circles. I left this area as soon as I could, and yet I return. Why I don’t know exactly. Perhaps to conform to some kind of cycle.   The drizzle doesn’t exactly welcome you, climbing slowly but steadily up your bones at barely 9 degrees Celsius. Cleaned villages in grey and again and again: ece homo, the suffering Saviour. The pale version, of course. He sometimes looks at us strangers as if to say: “Yeah, what? I can’t help it. They put me here in the drizzle. I’d rather be somewhere else. Bloody martyrdom. What a shit idea…” But maybe that’s only in my head.   So much green. AlQalb alakhdar. The green heart. The rolling hills, mist on the meadows, a few windmills on the horizon. Postcards became real. Even in the drizzle.   Inbal and I, we talk, almost all the time: Imagine you would live here…. Ich lebte hier… I used to live here… Which one is the best song of the Beatles? Blackbird! Yeah, sure… Tomorrow is the Israeli National Day, and today is the day to commemorate the soldiers who died in the war. Wow, efficient. Two birds with one stone… And there: Jesus, again! As if they could forget… Like: what am I? Ah, yes! Catholic! Do you know what FKK is? There were places in the GDR where people used to be naked… like on the beach, there has always been an area for naked bathing… a nudist beach, you know… my mother loved it… my father didn’t… I think he did’nt get the concept…   I talk to some passers-by. Inbal doesn’t understand a word, although her German is pretty good. Probably the dialect. Dull and impenetrable, like lush green and dense forest. My German as high as it can go, as clear as possible, as if I were reciting Goethe….   That moment hasn’t changed. That moment before I approach someone. That hint of a second when I walk up to someone, that hint of a slight flinch. The alien is about to say something… Is written on the faces for a blink of an eye. A tiny and quite unintentional sliver of rejection, maybe fear, maybe loathing. Quite uncontrolled, quite impulsive, just from the gut…. THAT moment has not changed. And then this irritation, maybe relief, maybe surprise, when I speak clearly understandable German. That hasn’t changed either. But maybe that’s just in my head. How the windows in my grandparents’ village were closed when I walked down the street with my siblings. How our curls were marvelled at and felt as if we were in the petting zoo on the other side of the fence. How the poor Negro children were pitied because they were not brought up with the Saviour. Yet I am baptised. Circumcised too, but also baptised… Hey, your father is a Nigger, isn’t he? No, he’s a civil engineer! Wash yourself, you’re so brown… Maybe these memories are only in my head. Just images I invented for something tangible that surrounded me. Who knows…   Now I’m walking through this village with another sister, making art, or something similar. I try to distract from election posters, don’t translate everything exactly, and just mention in passing that our landlady’s dogs are called Wotan and Thor, and they’ve set up a sauna in the garden, emblazoned with the words WALHALLA…   Record. On. Drizzle. Rain. The first soundtrack of our walk.   So many signs, symbols, crests and landmarks. I wish they could be heard… I still stand in front of the houses, in the middle of the green, in front of the people, and I don’t know if, or if I don’t belong here. Parts of my childhood took place here, but it was also the childhood of someone else. I leaf through it like a book…. The world runs in circles. I wanted this circle. I wanted to step into this loop. I wanted to jump into this loophole. For what, I don’t know. And may I will not find out.       Grandpa’s gardens (25 April 2023)   The house is owned by someone else now and everything seems so much smaller than I remember. Just behind my grandparents’ barn was a gigantic realm of adventure, now there’s just a garden with some fruit trees and a warped arbour. Further up the hill is a small chapel, what else…. At the back of this chapel is a crypt, and in it lies Jesus on his deathbed. A doll, of course. But realistically made. He really looks dead. Not like he’s about to rise from the dead. That was the scariest place for my siblings, cousins and me, but also the most exciting. The perfect place to make up stories, to have adventures, to play with integrated shiver. Right next to the crypt begins the Way of the Cross. Reliefs of the Passion of the Messiah line the path. At the very beginning of this path, in the direction of the church, is a huge crucifix. Massive, made of grey stone, as if it had been designed for the entrance to the Reich Chancellery. The iron cross is in the base. To the left and right of it, memorial plaques with the names of the sons of the village who died in the World War. I discover three of my grandfather’s brothers, one of my grandmother’s…   It’s a bank holiday in Israel. Inbal tells me what she would do in Tel Aviv today. There is a civil war in Sudan. My uncle said on the phone that everyone is fine. Only where my cousin is, is not known. He is at every demonstration and is very involved, so maybe he was arrested…. But that doesn’t mean anything. During the riots that led to the ouster of Omar Al Bashir, he was also missing for a fortnight…. Here, everyone seems to have a new car in the sharpened driveway and wears Jack Wolfskin against the weather.   Inbal and I sit in the chapel and write. It’s dry there and a little warmer. Then we sing. Hebrew, German, English, Arabic. Then we laugh at the absurdity. I briefly imagine what would happen if someone came and caught us in this unholy act. How would I try to explain that? Would I try to explain it? Or just leave it in the church hall, like a false altar.   Later as we leave the village, Inbal says to me that she can’t quite connect me with this village. She speaks of the lines of connection and the eternal circle…My fallen Wehrmacht relatives and Israel, her fallen relatives and Islam, the resurrected Jew and the two artists who have fallen away from the faith on the journey… She says: This story, our story began way before our existance…   Record. On.   We leave my grandparents’ village after visiting the family grave. Now that we are leaving: cheesy clouds oh so beautiful in blue sky. Middle Earth shows off its idyllic side. I know quite a few plants along the way and can hear my grandfather talking, while I show off my knowledge to Inbal. I guess I’m not a son of the desert after all. Ana min hinna. I just hear the desert calling all the time…       Two Circles   We draw two circles. Around the sites of my childhood. Grandma’s garden Mama’s garden And in between desert, forrest and wild confusion Sound of the desert and Church bells Scarf and appeal Marx and revolution Masks and djelabia Palms and semolina   We are two circles each And walk in circles In search of the places Where the circles intersect Peace     Das grüne Herz Deutschlands / the green heart of Germany (27 April 2023)   Oh my gosh, it really is beautiful. These thick mixed forests, thick meadows, thick horses and cows.   In one of the first PR campaigns of the state of Thuringia after the fall of the wall, the state called itself: The green heart of Germany! Wa bismillah hadha sahih! Green it is here! And somehow a prototypical landscape for Germany: prototypical villages, prototypical cars are driven and prototypical things are said. It also feels like the heart. It throbs gently, rests and grumbles now and then about prototypical things, about prototypical life. But actually it feels quite at ease with itself. Of course people would prefer to be among their own kind, surrounded by prototypical prototypes, but there must be something that can still be improved… Prosperity is that…   It wasn’t always like that. In former times, as we are reminded at the sacrificial bog, volunteers were sacrificed here for the good of all. Sacrifices to the moor. Voluntarily. Killed in several ritual ways. Overkill. Head off and pierced and poisoned and drowned. That’s what they wanted. The victims. What is it with them and martyrdom? The sacrificial moor is right next to the geographical centre of Germany. Maybe that’s why it’s called the green heart…? The centre. Germany’s Bellybutthole. The core. The heart. The centre. Stuck in the middle with you. In the middle a lime tree. Unify us all with your leaf. Deep in the Belly Butt Hole of Almania, not far from there the Spittelbrunn. There used to be a settlement there, but not for long. So we’re told. Water too irregular. The water comes from the bottom. From the Belly Butt Hole. But only when winter is over. There’s nothing in winter. So they tell us. No water. Water does not say. What he is doing, right here, at the fountain, he also tells us. Photos. For the next election poster. You understand? The Connection to the homeland, you know. Photo in the middle of the forest. In the middle of Germany.   At least the weather is playing on our team today. Great job. Sun. We play tourists. With the mask of the visitors. It’s all so interesting and funny…. I joke about the forest, the water and the centre and somehow it seems for a moment that I voluntarily sacrifice parts of my youth. On the sacrificial moor. Okay, if I do so, then with a song…   Green grove, all green, oh so green Green heart, green hill Green hopping grashopper Green wings everywhere Camouflage in green, green middle Green to the middle, to the belly, the but Green light zack zack   Green yeah green Are all my clothes Green yeah green Is all I wear That’s why I like everything that’s so green Because my darling is an alien…   Green Tea for the skin Elected green, green eaten Reasons very green Thorough green on the tongues of the scales   It’s so green when two desert flowers greet It’s so green when abundance buddies back Goodness, so obscenely lush green Foots swirling through green Kissing rivers watery green meadows I’ll settle for something green to enjoy (or sneeze at, depending on your hay fever)   Raschid Sidgi   Walk1 Lori/Sidgi April 24th – May 3rd in Thuringia / Germany

Pondrôme 11/05/2023 Écrire hier était impossible. La tête pleine de sentiments, de voix, de joie, de douleurs et de sourires. Le sourire de Zaineb.   Cette famille, bon sang. Est-il possible d’être aussi fort ? Aussi courageux ? Le sourire de Madame Antonio. Nina.   Et cet amour sublime entre elle et son mari. Et cette amitié si forte entre deux femmes d’Irak et d’Ouganda. Puis du Congo, si on rajoute Bernadette, et sa petite Maravilla. Trop de sons, trop de sucre, et pas assez de temps ou de pouvoir pour les aider. Ce matin, on retourne chez Zaineb. Puis on reprend la route, vers l’inconnu total. Lorsque le doute sera dans nos esprits, ces mais nouveaux des 4 coins du monde seront à nos côtés pour nous souffler : “Inch’Allah positif !”   Je vous aime tous et toutes.   Et dans la pénombre d’un conteneur pour les résidents qui avaient le Covid, je me sens vivante, plus que jamais. Et fière de ce projet. “Along the walk”, where the world is open.   Samedi 13 mai.   Villance, chez Joachim. Aujourd’hui, on a eu du mal à quitter Redu. Tout nous y retenait : Suzanne et ses mille vies passionnantes, Yves le Meunier et son sourire caché. Et puis Georgette. Cette jeune femme, qui s’appelle Alexandra avant 9h du matin et après 18h30, qui a préféré prendre un nom de vieille dame pour ouvrir sa supérette-librairie-lieu d’accueil adossé à l’église. On aurait pu y passer la journée. Puis on est reparties, à travers bois, dans des chemins accueillants au milieu des arbres nous protégeant de l’orage. Arrivées à Villance, aaaaaaah, Villance…   Pluie de dingue, semelle qui lâche, mal partout. Mais ce soir, nous avons la maison de la maman de Joachim pour nous 2. Alors, oui, on a tout nettoyé, ok. Mais ce soir, on se cuisine des pâtes, on boit une bière, on essaie de recoller ses chaussures, on se raconte et on fait un petit feu.   Au milieu des chats. Juste à 2. C’est bien. Ce soir, c’est le milieu de l’aventure. Demain, on entame la deuxième et dernière partie. On est franchement rassurées pour le logement parce qu’à part à Bertrix, on risque d’être accueillies tous les soirs. C’est énorme. Comme une envie de pleurer de gratitude. On le fera peut-être. Ce ne sera pas la première fois de l’aventure. Et on a un magnifique pain cuit ce matin. On n’annonce pas de pluie demain. Tant mieux.   J’aurai besoin de pauses.   De beaucoup de pauses. Mais Frédéricque nous attend à Paliseul. Et je suis certaine que ce sera riche et plein, une fois encore. Julie va sortir de la douche. On va faire du feu. On va cuisiner. On va rire. Ce sera parfait. Merci.   Dimanche 14 mai Quelque part entre Opont, Framont et Paliseul.   Bientôt 17h. Enfin, je crois. Depuis ce matin, il n’y a que Julie et moi. Nous n’avons plus parlé à personne depuis hier midi. Enfin, à l’exception de la Baronne de la Ferme du Bois d’en-Haut, que Julie appelle “à tête d’asperge”, sorte de cliché ambulant de la pauvre âme riche, esseulée, étouffée dans un paraître effrité. En même temps, entre les chevreuils, les lièvres, un marcassin ou sanglier débonnaire, un poisson fou et les oiseaux qui nous accompagnent, on n’est jamais seules. Encore le serions-nous… C’est indispensable d’être à 2.   J’ai mal partout. Il me faudrait me pencher sur ce corps à un moment. Et écrire dessus. Demain, ou ce soir peut-être. La bonne humeur est là, et la compréhension mutuelle est partout. Entre Julie et moi, j’ai l’impression qu’elle explose. C’est parfait. Lundi 15 mai, après 14h30. Quelque part après Blanche-Oreille.   Mes émotions prennent de plus en plus de place.   Ça a commencé par la maison que Frédéricque voulait acheter depuis longtemps et qu’elle habite désormais. Cette maison, ses projets foisonnant pour ses murs. Et la colère, la souffrance qui l’habitent et meuvent chacune de ses actions, chacun de ses mots…   Puis sa maman est arrivée. Avec de la tarte. Et le goût de la rhubarbe. J’ai eu 8 ans à nouveau. Au milieu d’une table accueillante, cette rhubarbe, c’était l’enfance, la sécurité, le réconfort. Et le lendemain, notre hôte nous a offert un petit sac avec un pique-nique pour la route : du fromage, des bananes, des sardines…   Sardines : alimentation principale des jeunes gens en exil.   Une boîte en fer que j’ai beaucoup distribuée. Une boîte que l’on nous a offerte et que l’on a partagée. Un trait d’union infime, minime, presqu’insignifiant à la comparaison. Mais un trait d’union.   Les sardines… Ces petits poissons qui s’organisent en ban pour faire fuir les prédateurs. Et que j’ai savourés. Chaque bouchée me rapprochait de ces âmes en recherche d’un endroit pour enfin vivre dignement. De la rhubarbe à la sardine. Du confort à la violence de la route quand on n’a pas de Droits. Du réconfort, les deux. De l’enfance à l’âge adulte obligatoire et cruel. Mais du réconfort, les deux.   Merci Frédéricque pour cet intense mélange de beauté, de partage, de colère. Tout à l’heure, nous sommes attendues à Bertrix. En cinq minutes, on avait un lit qui nous était offert. La chaîne, le lien, ça marche. C’est fort et réconfortant. Comme un peu de rhubarbe. Ou de sardines.   17 mai. Jour 9. Orgeo. Le matin.   Julie fait du Taï-shi avec Babette. Babette qui a clairement sauvé cette dernière journée avec son baume au plantain. Une cloche vous gâche la vie, Babette vous la sauve. Nous marcherons aujourd’hui pour la dernière fois. Et je n’étais pas certaine d’arriver jusque là. Pourquoi ?   Le doute. Doute posé sur moi, sur mon corps. Mon corps et moi, on n’est pas toujours d’accord. On l’est rarement à dire vrai. Depuis l’adolescence, nous cohabitons gentiment mais on se critique beaucoup.   Miroir de l’extérieur sans doute. Tu devrais bouger plus, tu devrais manger moins, tu devrais faire du sport, tu devrais mieux t’arranger, être plus féminine.   Tu devrais.   Je devrais.   J’ai essayé puis abandonné. Parce qu’à chaque fois qu’un kilo s’en va, il revient. Mon corps fabrique des couches et des couches de protection autour de moi pour ne pas que je vois ma propre trouille : trouille de ne pas être aimée, désirée, entourée.   J’ai 45 ans depuis 3 semaines. Et je pensais ne pas pouvoir le faire. Je marche depuis 9 jours. J’ai mal partout. Mais je n’ai jamais songé à m’arrêter.   J’ai 45 ans, je suis ronde et j’ai réussi.   Je ne suis pas périmée.   Point.   Christelle Delbrouck     Différentes, mais au même endroit.   elle c’est Christelle, moi c’est Julie elle cherche l’ombre, moi l’éclaircie elle aime la friture et moi le fromage Elle est plutôt très tôt le matin et moi pas trop. Est-ce que nous sommes différentes ? Oui indéniablement. Mais si on parle d’essentiel, de vraies choses, de pourquoi on est là, de la place qu’on donne et de celle qu’on reçoit, de pourquoi on fait ce métier et de quel sens il a … alors, on peut : – soulever des montagnes et faire tourner des chemins – chanter très fort dans un micro pour un cheval – créer du lien, même sous la pluie – faire un tipi sous nos ponchos en remerciant Zeus d’être présent – regarder le monde en versant une petite larme – faire un gros fuck à des sapins de noël – écouter des gens en remerciant l’instant   Un jour elle m’a dit que mon couple était comme une bonne vieille armoire ardennaise, faite de vrai bois de la forêt, une armoire robuste. Maintenant que j’en vois tous les jours chez nos hôtes, je comprends.   Aujourd’hui, nous marchons côte à côte, chargées et soutenues par un beau petit paquet d’âmes aussi belles que fortes, et nous travaillons la robustesse au détriment de la rentabilité. Ensemble, nous sommes robuste Christelle mon ami, merci.   Julie Doyelle

The night before. A clay discussion in the “gîte du Gua” in Figeac. Sean, badly burnt by the sun, especially on his legs, is operating on dangerously low levels of energy and stress. This night he will sleep in the corridor because of Marko’s snoring and, in retrospect, this perhaps proves to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back on the following day. Perhaps. Marko, also but not quite as badly burnt, is trying to hold onto the project … to get to the end. He thinks to himself, tonight all the clay – the weight, the fucking weight – will be out of our bag, but, he thinks, will it be out of our mind? He gets his answer the next day. —————-   The next day, approximately 8:27am. Marko, as usual, is talking, talking, talking to people. Sean can’t take it anymore and leaves to go to the laundry to dry his clothes that Marko had negligently left on the line (subconsciously as punishment?) the night before. He can’t find the laundry and is too burnt to walk a long distance.   Marko, enjoying his conversation, finds himself in a deep conversation with a woman who had suffered a personal tragedy. He thinks about how the sadness of this woman matches the sadness he feels is present in this gîte. He suddenly wonders where Sean has gone? He’s left without me again?! The clay from the workshop the night before, despite several requests for people to take their clay piece, still remains untaken on the table.Why don’t people take their weight with them, thinks Marko. Marko, feeling guilty about leaving the weight behind when this woman had just declared her personal tragedy, feels impelled to collect the clay and take it with him to not further add to the woman’s burden.   Where is Sean? Marko wonders. He goes to the laundry. Surely Sean is there waiting for me too.   There is no message from Sean. Sean is not there. Sean has gone.   Where the fuck is Sean?! Why can’t he send me a message even!   Marko dries his clothes. He is too proud to send Sean a message asking where he is. Sean is too annoyed to message Marko to tell him where he is. Marko eventually sends a message via two methods (Signal and Imessage) and this leads to much confusion. Sean doesn’t respond to both, only one. Marko reads the one Sean didn’t respond to. Did he read the message?! Marko grows increasingly irate. There is a further botched attempt at communication …   Sean, who has just bought a baguette, which in some subconsciously loaded gesture he intends to share with Marko, walks out of the bakery. He sees Marko walking down the street.   “Marko! Marko!”   Fresh from his trip to the laundrette and with the bag full of unwanted clay in his right hand, shakes his head despondently at Sean, who is carrying a half eaten cheese and ham baguette. “What do you want to do about the clay?” Marko says exasperated, opening the bag in Sean’s face with some mild passive aggressivity. Sean looks into the bag. He feels totally disdainful towards it and that he has no part in what is being shown to him.   “What do you want to do with it?” Sean responds.   “Why aren’t you more involved!?”   “Why aren’t I more involved?!”   “Because you don’t give a shit about the clay?!”   “Right. Because I don’t give a shot about the clay!”   “You know what Sean, I need you to be more present”   “I am so fucking present, man! You have no idea how present I am!”   Marko walks off, furious, clay bag in hand. He turns his head back.   “You need to take a look at yourself!” shouts Sean, barely audible at a distance.   “It’s not only about you, you know?!” shouts Marko, barely audible at a distance.   The residents of Figeac pass them, oblivious.   Where does Sean go? To sit and eat his sandwich.   Marko? He goes to the river. He puts the clay next to the water – he wants to wash away the dirt! He looks at the clay. He is disgusted by the colour of the clay. It has, he thinks, no link to the earth.   “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” A voice shouts at Marko.   He turns and an angry man stands before Marko. Marko, hanging onto the last threads of his patience, says to the man that he can answer him but could he please calm down. The man furiously walks off, stomping away from the river bank. Marko, takes a deep breath. Privately he thinks the spirit of Sean is now in the body of this violent man of the river! Even here!   He takes a deep breath. He lets it go. He sends Sean a message.   They meet, eat the sandwich and walk to the river.

Deceleration affects. It makes me be more aware of how we affect each other, i.e. people, environment, objects, materials, weather, animals, trees, flowers. It’s direct. It makes me be more in touch with my emotions. I guess that’s the reason number one why people are afraid to decelerate. Unconsciously.   And here we are with our presence that makes it clear it does not need to be all drama, and that it can be gradual, one step at the time.   DISCOllective   Walk.1 with Mathilde Vrignaud and DISCOllective – The Biggest Spectacle in the World. 12.4.2023, Prekmurje, Slovenia. Photo by Mathilde Vrignaud

Between 9th and 16th April, Mathilde Vrignaud and DISCOllective walk backwards through the Slovenian countryside of Goričko, Prekmurje and Prlekija, roughly following the Ledava river.   Walking backwards, which in itself is already a spectacle, slows the walking and shifts and intensifies the perception. Each detail of the landscape we observe becomes equally worthy of our attention, as if it would be on a stage. Thus, we become at the same time co-authors and spectators of The Biggest Spectacle in the World. You are kindly invited to join Mathilde and DISCOllective at any point of walking backwards and so become co-authors and spectators of The Biggest Spectacle in the World. Here is the planned itinerary of the whole Walk.1. The itinerary is subject to change. Check the actual itinerary with DISCOllective on +38640226981, so you can get exact details where you can join the backwalkers.   Beside that you can also join them on fixed places:– Sun 9th April, at 18.00, in Topolovci (Vaško kulturni dom) where we will walk backwards for an hour and afterwards have a discussion in Vaško kulturni dom;– Mon 10th April in the villages of Brezovci, Puževci, Lemerje (the exact gathering place will be clear during the day) where we will walk backwards for an hour, reiterating the path Mathilde and DISCOllective will do that day.– Sun 16th April, at 12.00, in Pince-Marof ( meeting point ) where we will walk backwards in the woods for an hour, enjoy a picnic at the three borders (Slovenia, Hungary, Croatia) and again walk backwards back to Pince-Marof.   *Contact Juš (+386 31 427 846, jus.milcinski@gmail.com) for transport from Ljubljana to Pince-Marof: leaving Ljubljana at cca. 9.30 and after the event leaving Pince-Marof at cca. 17.00, to arrive to Ljubljana around 19.30. DISCOllective is DISCOvering a DISCOllocation of people, events, things, notions, beings; as a dancer, performer, choreographer, clown, teacher, writer, producer; and presents the discoveries in formats like performance, installation, happenings, clown acts, publication, workshop, lecture. Once being stationed in Ljubljana, Slovenia, DISCOllective now practices nomadism, working, living and creating in various places around Europe.   Mathilde Vrignaud is a choreographer, dancer, performer, based in Paris. She trained at the CNSMDP, Royaumont Abbey, CND and in different programs in Europe, USA and India. Since 2011, with various artistic collaborations and Ensemble Lab // SEM, she has been developing her multidisciplinary choreographic approach in different formats. The walk and the improvisation are one of her basic practices since 2015.   Along the Walk is an international performing arts project devoted to the main theme of deceleration. It is developing and exploring new forms of artistic creation that are in line with the concepts of deceleration, environmental awareness, social inclusion, intercultural dialogue and collective work. The core of it are The Walks : 14 walking artistic tours, led in rural areas by duos of artists from 8 different countries. Each international artistic duo performs two 10-day Walks in rural areas of Germany, Slovenia, Italy, France and Belgium. These Walks are both the artistic productions and the research tools of the project. They allow the artists-researchers to develop, test and analyze their performative methods together with the audiences they meet along the walk. The project is co-funded by: the European Union program Creative Europe, Ministry of Public Administration of the Republic of Slovenia and Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Slovenia. Mathilde Vrignaud in DISKOlektiv med 9. in 16. aprilom hodita vzvratno ob reki Ledavi po pokrajinah Goričkega, Prekmurja in Prlekije.   Ritenska hoja, ki je že sama po sebi spektakel, upočasni hojo in razširi zaznavanje. Tako vsaka podrobnost pokrajine, ki jo opazujemo, postane enako vredna naše pozornosti, kot se to rado zgodi na odru. In s tem postanemo soavtorice_ji in opazovalke_ci Največjega spektakla na svetu.Toplo vas vabimo, da se pridružite Mathilde in DISKOlektivu na kateremkoli delu njune ritenske hoje in tako postanete soavtorji_ce in gledalci_ke Največjega spektakla na svetu.   Načrtovano pot hoje najdete na. Pot lahko Mathilde in DISKOlektiv zanese kam drugam, zato je najbolje, da pokličete DISKOlektiv na 040226981 in preverite, kje se trenutno nahajata ter kam jo natančneje mahata, da se jima lahko priključite. Lahko pa se jima pridružite na vnaprej določenih lokacijah: – V nedeljo, 9. aprila, ob 18.00 v Topolovcih (Vaško kulturni dom), kjer bomo eno uro hodili vzvratno, nato pa se o doživetem pogovarjali v Vaško kulturnem domu. – V ponedeljek, 10. aprila, v vaseh Brezovci, Puževci, Lemerje (točno zbirno mesto bo jasno tekom dneva), kjer bomo eno uro hodili vzvratno in tako ponovili pot, ki jo bosta Mathilde in DISKOlektiv opravila že prej taisti dan.   – V nedeljo, 16. aprila, ob 12.00 v Pince-Marofu ( zbirno mesto ), kjer bomo eno uro hodili vzvratno po gozdu, uživali na pikniku na tromeji (Slovenija, Madžarska, Hrvaška) in se nato ritensko vrnili v Pince-Marof. * Za prevoz iz Ljubljane v Pince-Marof se obrnite na Juša (+386 31 427 846, jus.milcinski@gmail.com): odhod iz Ljubljane bo približno ob 9.30, odhod iz Pince-Marofa po dogodku okvirno ob 17.00, v Ljubljano prispemo okoli 19.30.   DISKOlektiv v vlogah kot so plesalec, performer, koreograf, klovn, učitelj, pisec, producent itd., in v formatih, kot so performans, instalacija, dogodek, klovnska predstava, publikacija, delavnica, predavanje itd. raziskuje igrivost. Nekoč je bil nastanjen v Ljubljani, zdaj pa prakticira nomadstvo – dela, živi in ustvarja v različnih krajih po Evropi.   Mathilde Vrignaud je koreografinja, plesalka in performerka iz Pariza. Izobraževala se je na CNSMDP, Royaumont Abbey, CND ter v različnih programih v Evropi, ZDA in Indiji. Od leta 2011 v okviru različnih umetniškimi sodelovanj in znotraj Ensemble Lab // SEM razvija svoj multidisciplinarni koreografski pristop v različnih formatih. Hoja in improvizacija sta od leta 2015 ena od njenih temeljnih praks.   Vzdolž poti / Along the Walk je mednarodni projekt uprizoritvenih umetnosti na temo upočasnitve. Razvija in raziskuje nove oblike umetniškega ustvarjanja in produkcije, ki so v skladu s koncepti upočasnjevanja, okoljske ozaveščenosti, socialne vključenosti, medkulturnega dialoga in kolektivnega dela. Njegovo jedro so umetniški pohodi: 14 hoj, ki jih na podeželju izvajajo umetniški dvojci iz 8 držav. Vsak mednarodni umetniški dvojec izvede dva desetdnevna pohoda po podeželskih območjih Nemčije, Slovenije, Italije, Francije in Belgije. Hoje so hkrati umetniška produkcija in raziskovalno orodje projekta. Umetnikom-raziskovalcem omogočajo, da razvijajo, preizkušajo in analizirajo svoje uprizoritvene metode skupaj z občinstvi, ki jih srečujejo vzdolž poti. Projekt sofinancirajo: program Evropske unije Ustvarjalna Evropa, Ministrstvo za javno upravo Republike Slovenije ter Ministrstvo za kulturo Republike Slovenije. Entre le 9 et le 16 avril, Mathilde Vrignaud et DISCOllective marchent en arrière à travers la campagne slovène de Goričko, Prekmurje et Prlekija, en suivant approximativement la rivière Ledava.   En retournant la marche, qui est déjà en soi un spectacle, ils ralentissent et les perceptions s’intensifient. De nombreux détails du paysage surgissent comme dans un contexte scénique. Ainsi, nous devenons à la fois co-auteurs et spectateurs du Plus Grand Spectacle du Monde. Vous êtes cordialement invités à rejoindre Mathilde et DISCOllective à n’importe quel moment de la marche arrière et à devenir ainsi co-auteurs et spectateurs du Plus Grand Spectacle du Monde.   Voici l’itinéraire prévu pour l’ensemble de la Marche.1. L’itinéraire est susceptible d’être modifié. Vérifiez l’itinéraire réel auprès de DISCOllective au +38640226981, afin d’obtenir les détails exacts sur les endroits où vous pouvez rejoindre les marcheurs.   En outre, vous pouvez également les rejoindre à des endroits fixes : – Dimanche 9 avril, à 18 h, à Topolovci (Vaško kulturni dom) où nous marcherons à reculons pendant une heure avant d’avoir une discussion à Vaško kulturni dom ; – Lundi 10 avril, dans les villages de Brezovci, Puževci, Lemerje (le lieu de rassemblement exact sera précisé au cours de la journée). Nous marcherons en arrière pendant une heure, en répétant le chemin que Mathilde et DISCOllective feront ce jour-là ; – Dimanche 16 avril, à 12 h, à Pince-Marof ( point de rencontre ) où nous marcherons à l’envers dans les bois pendant une heure et profiterons d’un pique-nique aux trois frontières (Slovénie, Hongrie, Croatie) et reviendrons à l’envers à Pince-Marof.   Contactez Juš (+386 31 427 846, jus.milcinski@gmail.com) pour le transport de Ljubljana à Pince-Marof : départ de Ljubljana vers 9 h 30 et pour le retour, départ de Pince-Marof vers 17 h. Arrivée à Ljubljana prévue aux alentours de 19 h 30.   DISCOllectif étudie les formes du ludique chez les personnes, les événements et les choses en tant que de danseur, chorégraphe, clown, écrivain, producteur et présente ses découvertes sous des formats de performance, d’installation, happening, acte clownesque, publication, lecture et workshop. Autrefois basé à Ljubljana, en Slovénie, DISCOllective pratique désormais le nomadisme, travaillant, vivant et créant dans divers endroits d’Europe.   Mathilde Vrignaud est chorégraphe, danseuse, performeuse, basée à Paris. Elle s’est formée au CNSMDP, à l’Abbaye de Royaumont, au CND et dans différents programmes en Europe, aux USA et en Inde. Depuis 2011, avec diverses collaborations artistiques et l’Ensemble Lab// SEM, elle développe son approche chorégraphique pluridisciplinaire dans différents formats. La marche et l’improvisation sont les pratiques qu’elle déploie plus particulièrement depuis 2015.   Along the Walk est un projet international dans le secteur du spectacle vivant consacré au thème principal de la décélération. Il développe et explore de nouvelles formes de création artistique en accord avec les concepts de décélération, de sensibilisation à l’environnement, d’inclusion sociale, de dialogue interculturel et de travail collectif. Le cœur de ce projet se constitue de 14 marches artistiques à pied, menées dans des zones rurales par des duos d’artistes de 8 pays différents. Chaque duo artistique international effectue deux marches de 10 jours dans des zones rurales d’Allemagne, de Slovénie, d’Italie, de France et de Belgique. Ces marches sont à la fois les productions artistiques et les outils de recherche du projet. Elles permettent aux artistes-chercheurs de développer, de tester et d’analyser leurs méthodes performatives avec les publics qu’ils rencontrent tout au long de la marche. Le projet est cofinancé par : le programme Europe Créative de l’Union européenne, le ministère de l’administration publique de la République de Slovénie et le Ministère de la Culture de la République de Slovénie.