"Where is the clown?"
I stood at the panorama of the famous Lake Jarun - the only lake for swimming in the city, and where I had never been in my 8 years visiting Zagreb - and scanned the different lifeguard-chairs. The approach had been fascinating, with the various desire lines and pathways through the surrounding bushes pointing to a often-repeated journey of Zagreb's luxury-loving population. Standing amid the beach-goers, looking for the central actor of the performance Dead in the Pool - a clown intervention and 'indefinite cultural event' by Tereza Sikorová and Tomáš Moravanský - I was dwelling on the unique perspective, on the uniqueness of the situation: here I am, with people who possibly care only about the sun and the water, looking for an artwork without knowing the exact location, or even what I am exactly looking for. Finally, off in the distance, a black dot greeted me from the top of one of the chairs, and I trudged off in the direction of the clown.
Dead in the Pool is a durational (4-hour) performance in which a clown intervenes in a body of water - normally a swimming pool, this time adapted for Faki Festival to the shores of the lake. A creation of Czech former clown Sikorová and intermedia artist/dramaturg Moravanský, part of the Brno-based collective Institut Institut, the work offers a macabre underbelly to an otherwise mainstream human activity of chlorofied swimming. Previously staged in Brno at Lužánky City Swimming Pool, the performance creates a question mark amid an otherwise unquestionable situation. My own question "Where is the clown?" could equally, therefore, be "Where am I?"
Photos: Jahvo Joža
In keeping with the sharp negative tone of the work (the clown's costume is an ominous black-on-black ensemble, reminding somewhat of an adjudicator), Dead in the Pool is perhaps more significant for what does not occur. The intervention seems a minimal one: as clown, Sikorová sits atop the lifeguard chair, and does little apart from occasionally changing the direction of her gaze. Yet, as you bathe in the clear waters of Lake Jarun, you cannot help but be aware of the clown's perspective, and the significant element of doubt that it brings. Taking my first swim, I felt something like a guilt, or maybe simply a sense of connection, with those vast majority who, for whatever reason, could not enjoy a cool dip in the water. The clown in Dead in the Pool very much functions as an inherent critique: it asks a question merely through its existence in a particular place, at a particular time.
Rewards came when one shared the clown's perspective. Looking around, it seemed I was not the only one experiencing this existential uncertainty. A family joined nearby, appearing to largely ignore the surreal vulture-like figure perched on top of a lifeguard chair. Yet overhearing their conversation in Croatian (I think) as they entered the water to throw a ball, I could hear the word "Joker" as part of the conversation, even from where I was sitting some 50 metres away. Children came to stare, and, receiving only a mirrored-gaze in return, were left only to wonder. This is a work that exists as a splinter in the mind.
The intervention became more marked when the clown made what would be one of just two significant pivots: walking down the stairs of the lifeguard chair, taking the long journey over the pebbles, to take position on a second chair 100 metres away. I witnessed this with some sense of entertainment: initially, as Sikorová's black-booted foot hit the first step, it created a shattering interruption to my perspective sitting behind the chair. The journey across to the second chair was faintly hypnotic: the clown seemed to float across the pebbles, somewhat reminiscent of Death in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal.
Photos: Jahvo Joža
Moving my towel and computer across to the second chair, I was greatly amused when, after a few minutes, the booted foot again stomped on the first step of the lifeguard chair. And then further amused when, instead of moving on to the next empty lifeguard chair, as one might logically or perhaps mathematically expect, the clown returned to its initial chair, forcing the spectator to somewhat absurdly return to the initial position as well.
There is something special about Dead in the Pool's singular commitment to performance, whereby Sikorová and Moravanský create a non-spectacle that nevertheless contains a significant amount of content. The lack of what we think of as 'entertainment' generates attention on other contributing elements: time, for example, as well as thought. It's a performance steeped in the political traditions of clowning as an absolute form, as Norman Manea states: "It isn't hard to believe that the poet-clown has already recognised that face in her nightmares or in the course of her wanderings; it even seems that sometimes, somewhere, she has already borne tyrannical caprice and hatred. No doubt about it, this too is a human face, even when overlaid by wrinkled layers of fat and thick makeup. Yes, yes, the poor human - a vain fanatic, enthralled by the chimera of power, just a poor human, a solitary sufferer who turns their weakness into authority, their fear into assurance, their diseases into violence and farce." (On Clowns: The Dictator and the Artist, 1992, p.36)
Here, the clown offers an opportunity for deep reflection on the contingencies of performance and power, especially in entertainment. Dead in the Pool rejects contemporary aesthetic tendencies for speed and endless 'triggers', opting instead for a more traditional, and yet refreshing, tendency towards contemplation. Is it an attack on these contemporary trends, where the 'user' is constantly under a barrage of notifications, alerts, and threats? There is something new about the clown in this situation, as a metaphor speaking to a context which trains us to look only at surfaces, and Dead in the Pool offers us a portal to another reality of significance, darkness, and indefinite mystery.
Dead in the Pool
By Tereza Sikorová and Tomáš Moravanský (Institute Institute)
Photos: Jahvo Joža
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Note: Current publication is done with the understanding that colleagues and communities from Kharkiv, Mariupol, Kyiv, Lutsk, and Lviv among others in Ukraine are currently under attack in an attempt to erase Ukrainian culture and identity. No artist should be forced to rehearse how to pick up the gun.
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