Correspondences from Isolation
Day 1 - The question is where to find the world now.
I'm going on a trip and with me I'm taking: one box to everything inside of. (...)
Anything too big I'll leave behind. I only find what fits.
In the spring of 2020, when all public gatherings where canceled the Correspondences from Isolation project was started as an attempt to make theater happen without having the possibility bodies meeting physically. It is a series of invitations open to all. A first step towards a kind theater that can be accessible under any circumstance and made by anyone.
Day 1 - The Beginning Day 6 - The House
Day 2 - The Distance Day 7 - The City
Day 3 - The Sun Day 8 - The Night
Day 4 - The Woods Day 9 - The Tracks
Day 5 - The Animals
Day 5 - (...) If a tree falls in the woods and there is no-one there to hear it,
what crawls out from in between the roots?
You cannot cancel spring.
Day 6 - (...) From now on there's an inside and an elsewhere. (...)
Correspondences from Isolation was originally commissioned by Festival Cement when the festival was forced to reinvent itself and move online on short notice. Although that edition of the festival has officially ended, the piece will continue to be developed and will pop up from time to time. In the mean time, anyone and everyone is welcome to join in.
In it's original (Dutch) form Onduidelijke Correspondenties uit het Isolement can be found at the website of Festival Cement in Isolement.
Day 2 - The distance as part of the table.
Portable but now laid down. (...)
If you can only be close enough to something, everything else will seem remote.
Day 3 -The edges show the morning light,
Awkwardly held in hand. (....)
She doesn't rise, it's us who are turning.
The sun comes around, rather than up.
Day 8 - It has never been this dark.
Not even before the first day. At that time we didn't know any better.
(..) Night fell like she would never get up again.
Inside becomes smaller, outside seems endless. (...)
Day 9 - Time doesn't work the same when it's dark.
Maybe years have passed.
Maybe we are back where we started.
It's hard to recognize anything in the new light,
at least the doors are open.
The old roads are full of ditches but we can go across the roofs.
There's a beach underneath the cobblestones. (...)