Dear friends,

The end of the year is a time of reflection. This ritual is dear to my heart. Let's start with a slightly modified quote to consider:

"The failure of ‘political art’ is not the dockers’ idiom, foul language and vulgar talk it makes use of. This would be an absurd allegation. And what’s more, it is possible to erect grand and mighty things with verbal rubble and linguistic noise. My accusation does not concern the coarse whitewash of its clumsy style, but its pedestrian ideas. And that it has glorified the democracy of art." (Huysmans in ‘Là-bas’)

What made an impression on me in 2018? I observe above all that the balance between politics and poetics in the art world is often missing. I have seen and felt some marvellous things. What strikes me is that the interesting productions look back at historical masterpieces. Romeo Castellucci imposing silence on the orchestra in his version of 'The Magic Flute'. The power of our ‘Western’ culture and the desperation of our contemporary poetics here explode in your face. Kate Lindsey’s portrayal of Nerone in the version of Monteverdi’s 'L’incoronazione di Poppea' she created at Salzburg Festspiele. The pitiless manner in which she questions her voice and femininity is simply masterly. In Paris I saw Wajdi Mouawad’s tremendous solo 'Inflammation du verbe vivre', in which he takes a sublime look back at the Greek tragedies. Rage and beauty: the thing here is to find a balance between them. But beauty in itself simply doesn’t exist. And if rage dominates it soon becomes gibberish. But when the balance is found! The dark force in the Kuiperskaai version of Hamlet: Victor Lauwers makes no concessions to the tempo of our times. Hamlet is a bone gnawed bare, forgotten in a corner with no fear of the weight of history.

'Lam Gods' by the impressive Milo Rau is an important event. A civic theatre that has a new face. The fact that one is surprised that Muslim women are shocked and draw back raises questions about the ‘entertainment value’ of this project. And is this possibly the result of the political artist’s drive? Or am I taking too political a view? Art can surely only exist thanks to the power of the nuance, the confusion that arises when the audience no longer understands and a bewildered look appears in their eyes. Or a fond look of horror? I want to be politically active and improve the world, clearly and self-confidently. But in my art I turn the world upside down with the courage that derives from hope.

And it gets even more difficult. Recently I was in Hebron, on the West Bank, the city of Abraham or Ibrahim, the black hole of our civilisation. Where colonists from Chicago spit on Palestinians. Too harrowing for words. Rage here too, but even more sorrow. Several Palestinian artists told me that there was no more time for poetry. Art is now only allowed when in the service of resistance. There is too much pain, too much humiliation and too much hatred. And then what do you do with your Huysmans and your pretentious ideas about art and the power of poetry? I went in despair to Bethlehem for coffee in the snooty Banksy hotel (up to 450 dollars for a room, but with a marvellous view of the degrading wall and Banksy’s graffiti. Long live the activist tourist!) and realised that I understood it even less. So I started to walk to Jerusalem, 7 kilometres down the road, but after five-hundred metres my path was blocked by an extremely young Israeli soldier. She ordered me to go back. You can’t walk from Palestine to Israel. So I looked for a taxi with the right sort of number-plate and, two hours and three checkpoints later, the 7 kilometres had been covered. In Jerusalem I looked in amazement at the street-trader selling both yarmulkes and keffiyehs. The two-state solution was there for the asking on a stall in the street.

I had an agreeable conversation with the organisers of the Israel Festival. They would like to stage 'The blind poet' at the next festival. An ode to the Syrian poet Abu al ‘ala al Ma’arri. In Arabic. I thought this was a great proposal, but I also told them that Needcompany and I had been refusing offers from Israel for thirty years. But after my visit to Hebron and other cities and refugee camps I’m not so sure. A boycott leaves a lot of people in the lurch. Nick Cave says that signing the BDS manifesto (a total cultural boycott of Israel, following the example of the apartheid boycott) is cowardly and shameful. He is wrong. I think it is more like naïve and ignorant. The Israeli writer David Grossman told me it was better to go. That not going signified nothing. He too is one of the many Israelis who are ashamed of their government and find its policy towards Palestine abhorrent. And who ask for help in their opposition. The two resistance groups, the Palestinian and the Israeli, are humiliated and broken up by their own governments. It’s a Catch-22: not going to Israel means that you don’t take the power of your poetics seriously. Going may mean the death of those poetics.

Regards,
Jan