LAS CONEJERAS Arte de Performance en Lanzarote Self curating art action group
El laberinto de Cuca
En el campo Melliferas, Casa Agora, emprendemos recorridos por el laberinto, visitas a las abejas negras y observaciones de horizonte.
Paisajismo: Patrick Germanier
Realización Laberinto de Chartres original: Catherine Germanier, restauración: Raoul Germanier, Plato
abejas: Patrick Germanier
con: Elisabeth Germanier, Stipo Pranyko, Klaus Guttenberger, Jose Evaristo Álvarez, Gumersindo Palmero, Tabea Kadishi, Peter Bühler, Rebekka Nef y otros
Der Wind kommt
Meditaciones en movimiento para Casa Agora y sus habitantes, pasados y a venir.
Tiena Xu, Teseguite avril 2024
Der Wind kommt, wenn ich an dich denke
Gerade verpasste ich den starken Regen,
den unerreichbaren Sommer
Bist du das, die vorbeiziehenden Wolken,
immer wieder?
Wie sehr wünschte ich, der Wind, der
an dir vorbeikommt zu sein
Kann nicht Wiederstehen, in deine Augen
zurückzufallen
Warum kann ich den unvermeidbaren,
unüberwindbaren Sommer
nicht umgehen?
Manche Ferne, lässt den Wind anstelle
von uns ankommen
Das ungesagte, mutlose Wort,
hoffentlich hat es jemand gehört
(Freie Übersetzung Tiena Xu)
um sich .. wie Gärten zu erheben. *
En el restaurante Schöngrün, Monument im Fruchtland, Berna estuvimos encontrandonos para celebración ritual de despedida, estar juntos pensando en nuestra hija, hermana, cuñada, tía, prima, sobrina, amiga, maestra terapeuta y artista Conejera de honor, Catherine Germanier (1960-2023)
Hamburg 1989, foto Pascale Grau
Con:
Susanne Loosli https://www.begleitart.ch , moderación
Bächli Terzett
Araxi Karnusian https://araxikarnusian.ch clarinete,
Christoph Rechsteiner https://www.atelierlorraine.ch/de/index.php violín,
& Regula Gerber https://www.klangkeller-bern.ch contrabajo
toca trios de J.S. Bach
Patrick Germanier lee propios recuerdos
Joelle Valterio http://unwrapthepresent.blogspot.com , recita poemas de S. Corinna Bille
Regula https://regulasing.com/ con todos, meditación sonora improvisada
Concepto, decoración floral: Simone y Patrick
Das ist der Sinn von allem,
was einst war,
dass es nicht bleibt,
mit seiner ganzen Schwere,
dass es zu unserem Wesen
wiederkehre, in uns verwoben,
tief und wunderbar.
Vergangenheiten sind
dir eingepflanzt,
um sich aus dir,
wie Gärten zu erheben.
R.M. Rilke
*poema seleccionado por Catherine
Performing reception
This body here, in the house and landscape built, which it can inhabit and share, and the history of its making, transcends aspects of life and art work, with the perception from outside making it tangible.
Recording bits of history, poetry and shapes of reality into various acts
Este cuerpo aquí, en la casa y el paisaje construido, que puede habitar y compartir, y la historia de su creación, trasciende aspectos de la vida y la obra de arte, con la percepción desde el exterior haciéndolo tangible.
Grabando fragmentos de historia, poesía y formas de realidad en varios actos
with Bruno Atkinson, Emily Reed, Guaya Milán, Onofre Montenegro, Patrick Germanier, Emeline Beroud
and Salvador Hernández López, Laura Rivero González, Blanca Martín Secades, Katya Croddy, Katie Friedli Walton, Lucrecia Reisova, Jigyasa Anand, René Germanier, Simone Rüssli, Mencey Peña, El Pato Martin, Al & others
‘In dreaming, / The clouds methought would open, and show riches / Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked, / I cried to dream again.’
Caliban in The Tempest
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Pick the tulsi and amaranth;
Cut the aloe for your skin;
Chop the parsley and the rocket
For your lunchtime soup;
Chillies and padrons
All on the kitchen table;
Cactus fruit cut open with a spine,
Red pulp beneath, dye our teeth and tongues
As we suck the juices.
River bed runs rain into the concrete tank
And the water travels through the irrigation systems
Pumping to the plant beds and gives life
To the dry soil.
Volcanoes sleep over there
And the sea glimmers in the east
A distant mirror,
Where Virgo peaks over a dusky horizon.
In darkness, look for Mars and a new comet,
Green like the eucalyptus tree emerging,
Fine leaves deep in chiaroscuro,
Instances of light catch the edges,
Sharp and bright like succulents’ outline
Distinctly round, thick velvety leaves.
Glimmer of a meteorite.
We burrow through the blue noise of night
And lie in the full moon, a place to rest,
Listen to the sounds of the late-evening
Dogs, traffic, crackles of vines breaking.
A hooded figure works the dried husk,
An embrace, arm and plant entwined.
Breath caught between movement and stillness,
The distance between the moment and the witness.
Snap behind the pine as
A man shuffles in the cosy undergrowth,
He appears behind the spray of needles
And retracts slowly, a hedgehog-bear
Showing his face for just a moment
Before retreating away from our lenses,
We will revisit this place.
A new-old garden:
Pathways of rock, pebble-ash,
Dry palms, wire and concrete
Shelter cacti, birds, chickens, cats and
Bees occupy huts on stilts.
By there, a pond too, a covered oasis,
Sun-kissed fountain trickling
For our blessings.
I imagine little frogs, the colour of algea
Hopping from rock to stem,
Before sinking in again.
Makers of all kinds convene in the garden,
It means much to them –
Rest, serenity, breath, tranquility,
Loose themselves and their unknowns,
Embracing an essential way of being, sensed here.
Life away from the cities, supermarkets
And sterile encounters;
The work: the dormant, ongoing growing
And strengthening of the soil, rootwork,
The hunt for water
And health and healing,
Day-in-day-out waiting, for the rain, for inspiration,
For systems to fall into place
And breathe.
The tools and containers,
Rest in wait for strong hands and tiny seeds,
For new ways they can craft the land they’ve been lent.
These are metal, plastic and wood.
We feel the work as we are only passing through.
Surrounded by nature’s sculptures -
Rows of dancing aloes,
Fanning palms caress the clouds,
Synchronised birds dive for their young,
The pinprick of a flower that is blue,
Compost mushroom-dreams.
I roam, and dance and wonder
Sink my hands in the mulch
By the rock wall of white, red and black.
Collecting, piling up,
Turning, drying,
Planting the good stuff,
Sweating in the sun,
Battered by the winds.
Feeding and being fed.
A legacy, a mark on your earth,
A span of new life and charged youth,
Gentle ripening and vigorous death.
Go back 60 years
To the old man and his donkey.
Who sold the land to a young man and his family.
A mere exchange as the place remains itself
Neutral and free.
Come back to the now.
Now as it happens to be –
Three makers opening their mouths, and eyes and hearts,
To themselves, to one another
To the garden – night & day –
To the house that nestles in the hills,
To its hearth and its gatherings.
Meeting in their stalactite kitchen.
Three moments of arrival - 30 years, 11 years, 5 days -
From afar we’ve come to the island,
To make a home from the past,
For the present and the future.
Discovery asks afresh
for new stories and retelling old tales.
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Written by Emeline Beroud, Feb, Lanzarote, 2023
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Pick the tulsi and amaranth;
Cut the aloe for your skin;
Chop the parsley and the rocket
For your lunchtime soup;
Chillies and padrons
All on the kitchen table;
Cactus fruit cut open with a spine,
Red pulp beneath, dye our teeth and tongues
As we suck the juices.
River bed runs rain into the concrete tank
And the water travels through the irrigation systems
Pumping to the plant beds and gives life
To the dry soil.
Volcanoes sleep over there
And the sea glimmers in the east
A distant mirror,
Where Virgo peaks over a dusky horizon.
In darkness, look for Mars and a new comet,
Green like the eucalyptus tree emerging,
Fine leaves deep in chiaroscuro,
Instances of light catch the edges,
Sharp and bright like succulents’ outline
Distinctly round, thick velvety leaves.
Glimmer of a meteorite.
Come back to the now.
Now as it happens to be –
Three makers opening their mouths, and eyes and hearts,
To themselves, to one another
To the garden – night & day –
To the house that nestles in the hills,
To its hearth and its gatherings.
Meeting in their stalactite kitchen.
Three moments of arrival - 30 years, 11 years, 5 days -
From afar we’ve come to the island,
To make a home from the past,
For the present and the future.
Discovery asks afresh
for new stories and retelling old tales.
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Written by emeline beroud, Feb, Lanzarote, 2023
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Pick the tulsi and amaranth;
Cut the aloe for your skin;
Chop the parsley and the rocket
For your lunchtime soup;
Chillies and padrons
All on the kitchen table;
Cactus fruit cut open with a spine,
Red pulp beneath, dye our teeth and tongues
As we suck the juices.
River bed runs rain into the concrete tank
And the water travels through the irrigation systems
Pumping to the plant beds and gives life
To the dry soil.
Volcanoes sleep over there
And the sea glimmers in the east
A distant mirror,
Where Virgo peaks over a dusky horizon.
In darkness, look for Mars and a new comet,
Green like the eucalyptus tree emerging,
Fine leaves deep in chiaroscuro,
Instances of light catch the edges,
Sharp and bright like succulents’ outline
Distinctly round, thick velvety leaves.
Glimmer of a meteorite.
We burrow through the blue noise of night
And lie in the full moon, a place to rest,
Listen to the sounds of the late-evening
Dogs, traffic, crackles of vines breaking.
A hooded figure works the dried husk,
An embrace, arm and plant entwined.
Breath caught between movement and stillness,
The distance between the moment and the witness.
Snap behind the pine as
A man shuffles in the cosy undergrowth,
He appears behind the spray of needles
And retracts slowly, a hedgehog-bear
Showing his face for just a moment
Before retreating away from our lenses,
We will revisit this place.
A new-old garden:
Pathways of rock, pebble-ash,
Dry palms, wire and concrete
Shelter cacti, birds, chickens, cats and
Bees occupy huts on stilts.
By there, a pond too, a covered oasis,
Sun-kissed fountain trickling
For our blessings.
I imagine little frogs, the colour of algea
Hopping from rock to stem,
Before sinking in again.
Makers of all kinds convene in the garden,
It means much to them –
Rest, serenity, breath, tranquility,
Loose themselves and their unknowns,
Embracing an essential way of being, sensed here.
Life away from the cities, supermarkets
And sterile encounters;
The work: the dormant, ongoing growing
And strengthening of the soil, rootwork,
The hunt for water
And health and healing,
Day-in-day-out waiting, for the rain, for inspiration,
For systems to fall into place
And breathe.
The tools and containers,
Rest in wait for strong hands and tiny seeds,
For new ways they can craft the land they’ve been lent.
These are metal, plastic and wood.
We feel the work as we are only passing through.
Surrounded by nature’s sculptures -
Rows of dancing aloes,
Fanning palms caress the clouds,
Synchronised birds dive for their young,
The pinprick of a flower that is blue,
Compost mushroom-dreams.
I roam, and dance and wonder
Sink my hands in the mulch
By the rock wall of white, red and black.
Collecting, piling up,
Turning, drying,
Planting the good stuff,
Sweating in the sun,
Battered by the winds.
Feeding and being fed.
A legacy, a mark on your earth,
A span of new life and charged youth,
Gentle ripening and vigorous death.
Go back 60 years
To the old man and his donkey.
Who sold the land to a young man and his family.
A mere exchange as the place remains itself
Neutral and free.
Come back to the now.
Now as it happens to be –
Three makers opening their mouths, and eyes and hearts,
To themselves, to one another
To the garden – night & day –
To the house that nestles in the hills,
To its hearth and its gatherings.
Meeting in their stalactite kitchen.
Three moments of arrival - 30 years, 11 years, 5 days -
From afar we’ve come to the island,
To make a home from the past,
For the present and the future.
Discovery asks afresh
for new stories and retelling old tales.
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Written by emeline beroud, Feb, Lanzarote, 2023
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Pick the tulsi and amaranth;
Cut the aloe for your skin;
Chop the parsley and the rocket
For your lunchtime soup;
Chillies and padrons
All on the kitchen table;
Cactus fruit cut open with a spine,
Red pulp beneath, dye our teeth and tongues
As we suck the juices.
River bed runs rain into the concrete tank
And the water travels through the irrigation systems
Pumping to the plant beds and gives life
To the dry soil.
Volcanoes sleep over there
And the sea glimmers in the east
A distant mirror,
Where Virgo peaks over a dusky horizon.
In darkness, look for Mars and a new comet,
Green like the eucalyptus tree emerging,
Fine leaves deep in chiaroscuro,
Instances of light catch the edges,
Sharp and bright like succulents’ outline
Distinctly round, thick velvety leaves.
Glimmer of a meteorite.
We burrow through the blue noise of night
And lie in the full moon, a place to rest,
Listen to the sounds of the late-evening
Dogs, traffic, crackles of vines breaking.
A hooded figure works the dried husk,
An embrace, arm and plant entwined.
Breath caught between movement and stillness,
The distance between the moment and the witness.
Snap behind the pine as
A man shuffles in the cosy undergrowth,
He appears behind the spray of needles
And retracts slowly, a hedgehog-bear
Showing his face for just a moment
Before retreating away from our lenses,
We will revisit this place.
A new-old garden:
Pathways of rock, pebble-ash,
Dry palms, wire and concrete
Shelter cacti, birds, chickens, cats and
Bees occupy huts on stilts.
By there, a pond too, a covered oasis,
Sun-kissed fountain trickling
For our blessings.
I imagine little frogs, the colour of algea
Hopping from rock to stem,
Before sinking in again.
Makers of all kinds convene in the garden,
It means much to them –
Rest, serenity, breath, tranquility,
Loose themselves and their unknowns,
Embracing an essential way of being, sensed here.
Life away from the cities, supermarkets
And sterile encounters;
The work: the dormant, ongoing growing
And strengthening of the soil, rootwork,
The hunt for water
And health and healing,
Day-in-day-out waiting, for the rain, for inspiration,
For systems to fall into place
And breathe.
The tools and containers,
Rest in wait for strong hands and tiny seeds,
For new ways they can craft the land they’ve been lent.
These are metal, plastic and wood.
We feel the work as we are only passing through.
Surrounded by nature’s sculptures -
Rows of dancing aloes,
Fanning palms caress the clouds,
Synchronised birds dive for their young,
The pinprick of a flower that is blue,
Compost mushroom-dreams.
I roam, and dance and wonder
Sink my hands in the mulch
By the rock wall of white, red and black.
Collecting, piling up,
Turning, drying,
Planting the good stuff,
Sweating in the sun,
Battered by the winds.
Feeding and being fed.
A legacy, a mark on your earth,
A span of new life and charged youth,
Gentle ripening and vigorous death.
Go back 60 years
To the old man and his donkey.
Who sold the land to a young man and his family.
A mere exchange as the place remains itself
Neutral and free.
Come back to the now.
Now as it happens to be –
Three makers opening their mouths, and eyes and hearts,
To themselves, to one another
To the garden – night & day –
To the house that nestles in the hills,
To its hearth and its gatherings.
Meeting in their stalactite kitchen.
Three moments of arrival - 30 years, 11 years, 5 days -
From afar we’ve come to the island,
To make a home from the past,
For the present and the future.
Discovery asks afresh
for new stories and retelling old tales.
Sweet cacti, oh svelte bracelets of spikey green,
Witness our innocent-grand endeavours.
As all these parts
Shiver in the breeze.
Written by emeline beroud, Feb, Lanzarote, 2023
Provisorische Quellen
Simone Rüssli bewegt sich mit den Mitteln des künstlerischen Ausdrucks durch die Herausforderungen unseres zeitgenössischen Lebens, um als Medium die wahrgenommenen Fragestellungen zu transformieren. Dabei geht es ihr darum, ihre Interaktionen in diesen Lebensfluss zurückzuspeisen, d.h. als Beiträge zur gesellschaftlichen Kommunikation verfügbar zu machen. Die Sorgfalt des Umgangs mit der eigenen Handlung und deren Auswirkungen in einem sozioökologischen Sinne sind dabei zentral. Deshalb ist auch der Übergang von der kleinsten alltäglichen Geste bis hin zum breiten offenen Denken fliessend. Die Auseinandersetzung mit der Spur, dem Erzeugen von Produkt und Abfall innerhalb einer Konsumkultur ist ebenso wichtig wie die Schaffung und Pflege einer eigenen Bildwelt. Aus dieser erst eigenen Welt ist es möglich, skizzenhaft Material, auch als Raum und Zeit, wie Objekt, Video und Performance, zur Verfügung zu stellen, welche Weiterführungen von Dialog erlauben können. Eine Leichtigkeit der künstlerischen Manifestationen ist logische Folge dieser Haltung und führt die Suche nach gegenwärtiger Transzendenz fort.
With the means of artistic expression, Simone moves through the challenges of our contemporary life as a medium, in order to transform the perceived questions. Her aim is to feed her interactions back into this flow of life. That means to make them available as contributions to further perception. There, the care taken in dealing with one's own actions and their effects in a socio-ecological sense are central. That is why the transition from the smallest everyday gesture to a broad thinking is fluid. Dealing with the trace, the creation of product and waste within a consumer culture is just as important as creating and maintaining an imagery of her own. From this first own world it is possible to provide sketchy material, also in the form of space and time, which can allow the continuation of dialogue. The lightness of artistic manifestations are the logical consequences of this attitude and continue the search for contemporary transcendence.
Patrick Germanier 2022
La Bajada
Intervención en el trato de constantes de la observación cotidiana en condiciones atmosféricas cambiantes, proyección, memoria y (auto-)comunicación visual
Entre diciembre de 2021 y febrero de 2022, realizamos este evento al aire libre varias veces para público invitado.
Moderación: Simone Rüssli
Grabación audiovisual: Bruno Atkinson
Concepto y performance: Patrick Germanier
Cada obra construye su propio tiempo en relación directa con su espacio y, por lo tanto, con otros tiempos; pero solo puede tener éxito en esa labor al tener en cuenta por adelantado las condiciones espacio-temporales caracteristicas -la dialectica de la atención y la distracción- de su recepción predominante. En un sentido profundo, la obra de arte siempre es «contextual», e incorpora necesariamente parte del sentido proyectado por sus condiciones de recepción en el interior de la lógica de su propia producción.
Es por medio de las articulaciones espaciales de las relaciones temporales como el tiempo llega a socializarse. La dialéctica temporal de la recepción distraída, en cuyo interior intervienen el cine de artista y el video-arte, es una dialéctica socio-espacial además de psicológica.
Peter Osborne, Distracted reception: time, art, and technology. 2004
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