INTERLOCUTION
Hetal
Chudasama
Reason Not- Knot
Performance
"The attic is a space to hide"
Three members of the audience (all men) are invited to participate in the performance. They were instructed to stand at the three windows in the attic. Their upper torsos peeking outside the window while their feet remained grounded inside the attic.
I could invent anything and so I contemplated a triangle – a powerful ancient symbol of creation. A triangle with its geometrical forces and mathematical pursuits. I’m at the center of this triangle, I have an in my hand an eye. I’m contemplating the time, and I invite others who might join in and find a way to contemplate their angles. Spoken words accompanied the performance through audio installations. Words that facilitate the rituals of absurdity. To think about a triangle is to venture into its angles, but then angles and angels are all the same.
Performance Reason Not-Knot, Performance Still, Performed at Embassy of Foreign Artist Geneva, Geneva, Switzerland, 2017
The verses used as audio during the performance "Reason not - Knot".
How ultimate the “Eye” is
The eye with a vision
Minus the reason
The eye that does not foresee.
Languidly locked in parades
On a perpetual drift.
Multitudes of civilized inquiries
Moving towards oblivion,
And art…
oh, art…
How art thou?
I still enjoy the color of the coffee
The bulge of abundant cliches
The mystery of being here and after
Mortality only brings more slavery.
Still the dishes stay afloat in the sink,
The filthy floor, frightened fridge, tired toilets
Muddled shelves and
Babbling mouths…
Speech in Bubbles
Bubbles… bubbles… everywhere
On streets
On television
In classrooms
On weddings
On funerals
On the polls and trolls
On and on and on and on… Ohh,
My heavenly cow does mow, mow these days.
Fumes of Saturday night hysteria
Followed by Sugar-free Sundays.
Ladies,
Let’s wash those second-hand labels
Legacies are found in those junk shops
Someone is selling discarded memories
Unwanted wardrobes - loose
On tedious voyages.
Let’s pack them in bundles and cherish.
Our suitcases shall travel far and wide.
Those landfills,
I ignore them, like everything else that,
Trials my conscience.
Amidst the smudged hills
Hovers the lousiest smog
The rising sun commands
And all things are left un- punished
All but one,
Unfathomably erased dreams.
The consciousness of mortals at stake.
Even in the wake of a final hour
We shall stay obstinate
He said:
Arrest the light with ultimate audacity,
Some may rejoice and
Be deeply buried
In to an unresolvable stupidity.
If banality had a colour,
I wonder…
Which one amongst the colour wheel
Be ready – to scarify its dignity?
-
Someone stole the cuckoo clock,
But the cuckoo remains,
Untouched -
Adamant by the time itself.
Reason - Not the knotted one.
In the middle of the house
A flight ascends
A secret door - leads the way
I climb up and an attic…
All muffled up in the low humming
Chorus of its axis.
“An attic is a space to hide
Objects and people alike”
A poet demands
The journey,
In an intellectual pursuit
But watch -
The ships are grazing in the field.
“An attic is a space to hide
Objects and people alike”
A N G E L S and A N G L E S
are all the same.
Three points can only be joined
In a singular way.
A deceiving corner
“Triangle” was thought for
And a “Triangle” was fought for
A triangle is divine
A triangle is blasphemous
The divinity must be worshipped
A Blasphemy…
Could not go unpunished
So there,
What is it about “I”, did I talk about?
I like you,
You like me,
We like each other,
Together, we shall like others.
Together, with those others.
We shall become -
Other themselves
Liked by ourselves.