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HYBRID ENCOUNTERS

In spring 2021, Mio Kojima approached Roni Katz, Julia Bonn, Francisca Khamis Giacoman, and Tina Reden to talk about their experiences in translating their workshops into a digital format. In search of the corporeal, the conversations revolved around the conditions of digital communication, the intertwining of analogue and physical space, and notions of speaking and listening.

"Hybrid Encounters" is part of the graduation project by Mio Kojima.


About the conversation partners and their formats:

Roni Katz lives and works in Berlin as a choreographer, performer and writer. At the core of her work is always the commitment to acknowledge the group that gathers at a specific time and place to attend the art and to instigate a solid and profound explicit/implicit dialogue. Though she is trained in dance, Roni’s artistic utterances are not constricted to dance as a medium or a language. Her choreographic work is not limited to the stage, or rather, it often installs a stage elsewhere. She is obsessed with setting conditions, let it be physical, spatial and emotional, for ultimate digestion of the material the piece proposes.

Between Us or who cares about resolution is a performance format that aims to tackle the relations of what is talked about: how, where, and with whom. By using only questions to create dialogue, the performance relentlessly claims space for multiplicities—with no resolution. The content of the conversation slides through the biographical, confessional, social, and political and critical, passing through notions of self and collective care. As a strategy for community building, the work asks how we can both listen and share though assuming intimacy with strangers in a public space.

As an artistic research project, the Feminist Health Care Research Group develops exhibitions, workshops and publishes zines. It aims to create spaces within which we can share our vulnerability and aims to create self-empowering feminist perspectives on health care. The Feminist Health Care Research Group currently consists of artist, mother and somatic coach Julia Bonn and artist, mother, curator and care-assistant Inga Zimprich.

Julia Bonn works as an artist with different formats and media, mostly in adjacent areas of art, and is also part of a radio collective. One of her main interests is to create situations of exchange and to learn and explore the interrelations between knowledge, perception and action.

Being in Crises Together is a format for addressing our handling of crises: those of the past, present, and future. What has proven helpful to us during crises? How can we empower ourselves to ask for the support we truly need? How can we accord one another more space for our needs, accessibility needs, and emotions in our friendships and work-related contexts?

Francisca Khamis Giacoman is an Amsterdam-based artist and designer. By diving into her own family archive, she questions the possibilities present within the representation and reproduction of memories. Through performances, video essays, workshops and through writing on remembrance, oral tradition and fiction, she looks for alternative ways of knowing.

Tina Reden is an interdisciplinary artist living in Zurich. In her practice she explores the role of active listening—both as a metaphor and as a concrete, sound-specific practice. She investigates sound improvisations, rituals, storytelling or listening sessions as possible places for decolonial, queer feminist and mindful practices.

The workshop Listen To Me All Around You explores the notion of (collective) memory through various listening exercises and the reading of various texts. In doing so, the practice of active listening is introduced as a strategy to break open the modern control over a singular narrative and chronology and highlights relationships that allow an understanding and intermingling across differences.


Last update: Feb 2022.

HYBRID ENCOUNTERS

In spring 2021, Mio Kojima approached Roni Katz, Julia Bonn, Francisca Khamis Giacoman, and Tina Reden to talk about their experiences in translating their workshops into a digital format. In search of the corporeal, the conversations revolved around the conditions of digital communication, the intertwining of analogue and physical space, and notions of speaking and listening.

"Hybrid Encounters" is part of the graduation project by Mio Kojima.


About the conversation partners and their formats:

Roni Katz lives and works in Berlin as a choreographer, performer and writer. At the core of her work is always the commitment to acknowledge the group that gathers at a specific time and place to attend the art and to instigate a solid and profound explicit/implicit dialogue. Though she is trained in dance, Roni’s artistic utterances are not constricted to dance as a medium or a language. Her choreographic work is not limited to the stage, or rather, it often installs a stage elsewhere. She is obsessed with setting conditions, let it be physical, spatial and emotional, for ultimate digestion of the material the piece proposes.

Between Us or who cares about resolution is a performance format that aims to tackle the relations of what is talked about: how, where, and with whom. By using only questions to create dialogue, the performance relentlessly claims space for multiplicities—with no resolution. The content of the conversation slides through the biographical, confessional, social, and political and critical, passing through notions of self and collective care. As a strategy for community building, the work asks how we can both listen and share though assuming intimacy with strangers in a public space.

As an artistic research project, the Feminist Health Care Research Group develops exhibitions, workshops and publishes zines. It aims to create spaces within which we can share our vulnerability and aims to create self-empowering feminist perspectives on health care. The Feminist Health Care Research Group currently consists of artist, mother and somatic coach Julia Bonn and artist, mother, curator and care-assistant Inga Zimprich.

Julia Bonn works as an artist with different formats and media, mostly in adjacent areas of art, and is also part of a radio collective. One of her main interests is to create situations of exchange and to learn and explore the interrelations between knowledge, perception and action.

Being in Crises Together is a format for addressing our handling of crises: those of the past, present, and future. What has proven helpful to us during crises? How can we empower ourselves to ask for the support we truly need? How can we accord one another more space for our needs, accessibility needs, and emotions in our friendships and work-related contexts?

Francisca Khamis Giacoman is an Amsterdam-based artist and designer. By diving into her own family archive, she questions the possibilities present within the representation and reproduction of memories. Through performances, video essays, workshops and through writing on remembrance, oral tradition and fiction, she looks for alternative ways of knowing.

Tina Reden is an interdisciplinary artist living in Zurich. In her practice she explores the role of active listening—both as a metaphor and as a concrete, sound-specific practice. She investigates sound improvisations, rituals, storytelling or listening sessions as possible places for decolonial, queer feminist and mindful practices.

The workshop Listen To Me All Around You explores the notion of (collective) memory through various listening exercises and the reading of various texts. In doing so, the practice of active listening is introduced as a strategy to break open the modern control over a singular narrative and chronology and highlights relationships that allow an understanding and intermingling across differences.


Last update: Feb 2022.

VOICES FROM THE
OTHER END OF THE LINE

A foreword by
Mio Kojima

How does it shape relationships when we can’t be together physically? What changes when we speak to each other digitally? These questions have been increasingly raised since the COVID-19 pandemic when digital communication tools were more integrated into our daily lives than ever. Phone calls and voice messages became an integral part of social contacts, and with the establishment of home offices, video calls gradually replaced physical meetings. Zoom in particular seems inseparably linked to the pandemic for many people. Although the software has been on the market since 2013, user numbers increased 20-fold and skyrocketed from 10 million daily users to 200 million during the first lockdown in March 2020. Furthermore, the ubiquity of the software became evident in our everyday language. “To zoom” emerged as the new term for making video calls, replacing “skyping,” and already by April 2020, the term “Zoom Fatigue” was coined to describe the weariness of digital meetings. Still, the fact that we use electronic devices to talk to people far away is, of course, not a novelty. The invention of the telephone in the mid-19th century made it possible to transport voices electronically, allowing for spoken conversations to be conducted at a distance for the first time. After initial scepticism, the telephone spread rapidly and eventually led to 10 million telephones being connected to the network worldwide in 1910. With this global interconnection, conversations were able to bridge entire continents. At the time, the telephone was still a stationary device installed in a specific room, and only the length of the cord determined how mobile the caller was and whether or not they could retreat to the privacy of another space. In the 1970s, however, the device freed itself from its leashes. With the advent of cell phones, people were suddenly able to make phone calls anywhere and anytime. As a result, the cell phone connected spaces in a completely new way that didn’t require the users being in a specific location to make or receive a call. Then, during the 21st century, the internet and private computers emerged and eventually gave way to an additional layer of information: the image! Video calls, initially introduced by Skype in 2006, made it possible to hear and see each other. The visual information made it possible to convey body language for the first time, and to invite others into our homes without their physical presence.

Today, it’s hard to imagine life without telecommunication technology, and, ever since the lockdowns in particular, they’ve undeniably been shaping interpersonal relationships. What’s new since the pandemic, however, is not just their increased use in the private and professional sphere, but also their presence and utilisation in the realm of culture. While formats with a traditional audience setting, such as theatre and concerts, primarily turned to online streaming, workshop formats adopted video conference platforms like Zoom, which offered screen sharing, breakout rooms, collective whiteboards and other interactive features. Interestingly, through their transfer into a digital space, many workshops turned into a framework that wouldn’t require a specific space and sometimes didn’t even use any material at all. Instead, it adjusted to what Zoom and other similar tools were originally designed for: conversation. However, this shift into a format aimed at verbal exchange wasn’t new at all. It rather amplified a trend that has been evident in the history of the workshop format since the 1950s.

In the opening remarks of the online conference “The Workshop: Investigations Into An Artistic-Political Format,” author and theatre scholar Kai van Eikels describes the transformation of the workshop from its beginnings as a physical place to today’s understanding of an “extremely versatile” format. Initially, he states, the term referred to “the workplace of craftsmen and -women,” thus describing a space “where solid objects were being transformed in very predictable ways employing solid tools.” Accordingly, the workshop originally aimed at sharing specific craftsmenship techniques and knowledge. In the 1950s, however, activist and artistic practices increasingly embraced the format and broke away from specific spaces and predetermined goals. Since then, the workshop has been evolving into a ubiquitous format that can be found in a variety of fields. From work-related contexts to teaching, activism, and art, it is now often understood as a framework for discussion and reflection, aimed primarily at existential change. Through the various transformations of the format, van Eikel argues, the workshop’s definition boils down to “some people spending considerable time physically together in one room and attaching a special value to the time, the room, and the physical togetherness.” However, considering digital workshop formats, this definition has further changed, as they must do without a shared physical space, physical contact and often without movement and manual work. As components such as body, space, and object undoubtedly play a different role, it suggests a further condensed definition that shifts the focus to the togetherness of a group and broadens the notions of a shared space and physicality.

AN UNEXPECTED
INTIMACY

Discussions about corporeality in digital spaces have repeatedly pointed to the subject of communication. From the phenomenon of Zoom Fatigue—which is attributed to the lack of facial expressions, body language, or eye contact—to questions about what is conveyed beyond these sensual pieces of information; underneath it all lies the question of what is required to establish the feeling of an interpersonal connection.

While in the fall of 2020, during the second lockdown in Germany, many lamented the continued loss of physical contact, I experienced digital workshops that drew a counter-image to the disembodied digital space. For despite—or perhaps because of—their tendency toward the seemingly immaterial, there were three workshops in particular that created an unexpected intimacy and physicality.

With my newly drawn interest in performance and bodywork, as well as questions around vulnerability and subjectivity, I had signed up for three workshops that revolved around questions of intimacy and exchange. All events had originally been planned on-site, but had to switch to a digital format at the last minute. So I participated from my room, logged in via Zoom, looking at the now-familiar grid of faces instead of meeting with the workshop group in a physical space. During the workshops, I kept wondering: What would this have felt like had it been an analogue workshop? And surprisingly, this was followed by the question: Would it have worked just as well?

The workshops “Between Us,” “Being in Crises Together,” and “Listen to Me All Around You” were translated into a digital format in ways that didn’t appear as a pale copy of “real life.” Instead, they created an attention and awareness that was able to bridge the physical distance and even make use of its technological conditions. By reinterpreting acts of speaking and listening, they expanded and appropriated the limits of digital spaces.

The performative dialogue format “Between Us” by Roni Katz blurred the boundaries between question and answer, between talking about the self and the other. Its digital translation surprised with how intimate a Zoom conversation can become and how physical a performance workshop can be without physical movement. The workshop “Being in Crises Together” by the Feminist Health Care Research Group used the format of a meditative self-inquiry and various conversation formats. It demonstrated how breakout rooms and the safety of one’s own space could provide an environment to access one’s emotionality. Both formats were held in November 2020 as part of the series “How Do We Care” that addressed the politicisation of bodies and alternative concepts of caregiving. The programme, conceived by Mira Hirtz and Anja Casser, was initially planned for the premises of the Badischer Kunstverein but was eventually hosted on Zoom. The workshop “Listen To Me All Around You” by Francisca Khamis Giacoman and Tina Reden explored the realm of oral history and memory through different formats, such as a written performance, letter-writing, reading sessions, listening to music together, and telephone conversations. In the various settings, the workshop demonstrated how diverse listening could be, especially in the remote format, and addressed what speaking and listening actually mean. The workshop was hosted in April 2021 and originally planned to take place at The Garage in Basel, but then was transferred to Zoom, online documents, and phone calls. It was part of *!labs!*, a workshop series aimed at developing hands-on approaches to discuss societal issues within design practice and was organised by the platform Depatriarchise Design.

In addition to the focus on acts of listening and speaking and their translation into digital spaces, the three workshops also share an interest in subjects around intimacy, relationships, identity, and corporeality. These interests stem not least from the individual practices of Roni Katz, Julia Bonn, Francisca Khamis Giacoman, and Tina Reden, who share a feminist and body-related approach. All four individuals work in performance, choreography, bodywork, or art while subjects such as language, narration, and communication are a central part of their practice.

To talk about their experiences in translating their formats into the digital, I met individually with the four hosts in spring 2021. They shared what difficulties they encountered in the process, and what surprises they experienced. We dived into the conditions of digital spaces: they’re intertwined with analogue space, how we move and encounter ourselves in them, and how they shape our attention. Furthermore, acts of speaking and listening were illuminated in many ways: what kind of attention it takes to establish a connection between two people, what listening means exactly, and how it changes under digital conditions.

While speaking about “the digital,” it quickly became apparent that there isn’t just one digital space. Technical conditions, as well as social conventions and connotations, shape those spaces differently, resulting in a variety of spaces with different limits and possibilities. As we spoke about the apparent dichotomy of analogue and digital, online and offline, on-screen and in person, we seemed to agree on what we mean when we make these distinctions. At the same time, however, we also found these terms to appear quite contradictory. After all, isn’t the digital still physical? And don’t we somehow still meet in person when we see each other on-screen? It became clear that the so-called analogue and digital are always intertwined, that we are always in both spaces simultaneously, and that accordingly, the digital is always hybrid. So how do we deal with this entanglement? In some instances, we need separation; in others, we need to blur the boundaries. What matters is the attention we pay to ourselves and the analogue space, as well as to the other person and the shared digital space.

What turned out to lie underneath these questions was awareness. In order to engage with other people in a mindful way and to move in hybrid spaces without being exhausted, we have to be attentive to ourselves, be open, and learn to listen to each other. If we are sensitive to our emotions, needs, and bodily sensations, if we listen to the signals of others, and if we are aware of all the spaces we are situated in simultaneously, we can feel a connection and create resonance. Then, we can not only engage in hybrid encounters sustainably, but also move through them consciously, understand their effects on our bodies and our relationships, appropriate their frameworks, and shape them in a self-determined way.

BLURRY
BOUNDARIES

A conversation with
choreographer, performer and writer Roni Katz

M: I would like to talk to you about how you translated your workshop performance “Between Us” from an analogue setting to the digital space of a Zoom meeting. I’ve seen footage of the analogue performance where you had quite a classical set-up with a stage and an audience sitting in front of it. In the digital version I participated in, I found it very exciting how you transformed this stage into a screening situation. If I remember correctly, it was the first time you staged the format digitally, right? How did you experience these two different versions?

R: Yeah, it was the first time I did it digitally. And, I mean, it’s really different. I noticed that somehow it becomes less of a stage in the traditional way and so, people don’t have this stage fright, you know? In the original piece, there’s a sofa on the stage, and if someone from the audience wants to participate, they actually have to step up to the sofa and go on stage. So it’s kind of a big step to go up there. Whereas in the Zoom version, I felt that the fact that we were all physically staying on our couches at home made it more accessible to participate. Physically, everyone was at home, and that made a huge difference.

M: Could you briefly recap how you recreated the stage in Zoom?

R: When it became apparent that the workshop couldn’t take place on-site, I instantly knew that I couldn’t do it just with what Zoom offers. Translating the situation on the sofa into this split-screen moment on Zoom required quite a technical setup. So I asked a person to develop it with me. In the end, we used a programme that allows you to control what people see on their screens and with which we could place the images of the two performers next to each other.

M: On your website, I saw that there are also different versions within the analogue setup. What is the difference between those?

R: One version is quite like we did it on Zoom, where I explain the rules in the beginning. In this version, everybody who’s present can participate and is both an audience member and a performer. That’s the more participatory workshop, which I haven’t done that much. What I did more often is the version more similar to a classic performance situation, where I work with professional performers and do a couple of rehearsals.

M: And what do you rehearse with them? Because what happens in the performance is out of the moment and not scripted, right?

R: I mean, there are quite a few strategies for carrying out the conversation. There are, let’s say, certain ways to run it that open up the conversation, and there are ways to run it that keep it a bit more closed. And I’m more interested in the one that opens up, so that’s what I rehearse with the performers.

M: Was there something that was especially hard to bring into the digital?

R: Yeah, body language is a big part of the work, and I tried to create a situation where people could see each other’s bodies. I tried to instruct that in the beginning, but it’s a bit difficult to establish this situation technically unless you have a fancy setup.

M: How did that affect the workshop?

R: Interestingly, it seemed like people felt safer when it was only their face on the screen and that this safety enabled them to be more present. And in order to have an intimate conversation, you have to be present. It’s not something you can carry outside of your body, but it requires a certain kind of residence.

M: The announcement text for “Between Us” talks about “listening and sharing though assuming intimacy with strangers.” How did this intimacy change?

R: The intimacy was definitely not the same, but I was surprised by how intimate it felt. Because, for example, when you and I were performing together, all I could see was your face on the screen. In the analogue setting, we would have been sitting next to each other, facing the audience in front of us. I would’ve had to distribute my attention completely differently. I would’ve had to open up to all the people in the room. In the digital version, I didn’t have to think about that. There was still the group watching, but I could just focus on you in this window on the screen in front of my face.

M: So you felt less watched?

R: Yeah, I felt less watched because I didn’t see the people watching me.

M: We’ve now talked about the performers’ perspective—another situation I found interesting was how the scenery felt as an audience member. The way you translated the stage into Zoom reminded me of a split-screen. It almost felt like watching a movie.

R: Totally, yeah. As an audience member, you just see the two people performing. And here again, you don’t see the other people that are in the room with you. So I guess in digital spaces, you can concentrate more on the conversation itself because there aren’t things around you that are distracting. And I guess isn’t that what computers do to us? They create this world we get sucked into. So maybe it’s just something about this kind of technology that just makes us so focused.

M: Did this maybe make it feel intimate—that the attention and the focus were higher?

R: Yeah, and maybe this is a bit obvious, but perhaps it also worked so well because during the lockdown, we couldn’t physically be together, and this mode of sharing and listening was a way to feel like we were with one another. But I’m also thinking about the moments when you don’t talk. When there’s silence. I guess they’re very different because your silence, the silence in your space, is different from the silence in my space. I mean, obviously, it’s not silence—not the absence of a voice—but the bodies that are seeking an answer. We don’t share this, and that’s a big change.

M: I remember that these moments of thinking were a crucial part of the dialogue for me. Is there something that you would describe as the core of the format? And did it change in the digital version?

R: The conversation in “Between Us” brings up questions that I wouldn’t be coming to by myself. I really depend on the other person’s input to go somewhere. So one thing is this idea of co-thinking. That we think in new ways when we think with others. And the other thing is that I’m always just touched by the fact that two people who don’t know each other can have quite profound encounters. That’s always the magic moment in the work when you can see it’s happening. And this is happening either way, in the digital and the analogue version, I would say.

M: Yes, I would definitely say that I’ve experienced that in your format. You say that these encounters happen in both versions. Is there still something different in the digital one?

R: It’s very hard to find words for that because it’s almost like a language we don’t know. I think it also has something to do with imagination. You don’t know the other person and you don’t have a feeling of who they really are because they’re not physically in the room with you. And then you start projecting. You look at what you see in the screen, and it makes you wonder who this person is and what kind of person lives in this kind of room, you know? There are these small, small hints that say something about who we are. Instead of leaving your house to participate in a workshop, you have to let people into your private sphere, and that’s quite powerful.

M: This makes me think about what you said in the beginning, that not being able to see the body can create safety. Maybe in our body language, we sometimes communicate things that we don’t necessarily want to reveal. So we feel safer when we know that these hints aren’t noticed. But it might be different with objects and furniture in your home because it’s a much more conscious communication.

R: I mean, in a way, you control that, right? Because you can choose. You can choose your background, choose what you wear, and choose how much of you is on the screen. So you have quite a lot of control over your own image.

M: Yes, it can be pretty curated sometimes. Did you have the feeling that people performed differently in the digital format?

R: Well, what is performing? But I guess people performed less, because why would you perform in your home? You’re in your natural surroundings, and there you can be pure. So I think you would have to put on more layers if you have to perform now. Whereas people already perform when they are in public, no matter who they are. And if you participate in a performance format, they put on even more layers. I mean, that’s at least how it is for me.

M: As a last question I’m curious to know how you felt after we closed the Zoom meeting. What was it like to be back in the analogue?

R: I thought about it a lot because we even spoke about this moment, remember? I wondered how the rest of you were feeling. And I was very grateful that my partner was there. That we had one another, that I wasn’t alone and that we could keep each other busy with disassembling the setup. How did you feel?

M: It was a bit like coming back after meditation or yoga. I moved with more attention.

R: Wow, that’s amazing! So you didn’t feel alone?

M: No, actually, I think it was good to be alone for a minute to have this kind of transition.

R: Yeah, we have to find ways to make this separation a bit more porous or a bit more permeable. Otherwise, it’s too alienating and not sustainable. But I mean, in general, it’s very crazy that we can connect while being in different spaces. It’s a weird and fantastic idea if you think about it.

IN RESONANCE
WITH THE OTHER BODY

A conversation with
Julia Bonn, artist, somatic coach and part of the Feminist Health Care Research Group

M: Your workshop “Being in Crises Together” was initially planned to happen in an analogue format at Badischer Kunstverein Karlsruhe and then took place via Zoom. For me, it was the first time that I’ve participated in a workshop that was originally planned to happen on site. And I guess because of that switch I kept wondering how it would have felt to do it in the space of the Kunstverein, which is not exactly a white cube, but quite a representative and open space. In comparison to this, meeting via Zoom meant being able to stay at home physically and being able to create very closed settings like the breakout rooms. I guess this change of settings was quite different. How did you prepare for this?

J: We always have a very clear schedule and timing in our workshops. It helps us to stay focused on what’s happening and really being open and perceptive. This structure and the small size of the group helped a lot. Still, I was so curious to see what would happen. How much people would be willing to share, how much you’d be able to perceive from the others and how the group dynamics would be. And I think it worked surprisingly well to sense what was going on and to get a feeling for everyone.

M: So it was the first time you did the format digitally?

J: We have implemented the format a couple of times already: in physical space and as a podcast format. But it was the first time we did this on Zoom. However, even though doing it on Zoom was new for me as a facilitator, I have been part of online workshops as a participant. So I already knew some methods to approach bodywork through a digital setting—like turning off the videos.

M: I personally had the feeling that it even worked better online since everyone was able to stay in the comfort zone of their private rooms. What did the digital setting change for you?

J: I found it interesting that people said it was good to be in their own physical space, at home. In the digital version, I had the feeling people really allowed some thoughts or emotions that they wouldn’t have been open about in a different space. I think it helped that you could always turn off the video and leave the room. That’s not that easy in a room full of people where you’ll be seen when you cry, for example. But on the other hand, if you participate digitally, there may be nobody around if you don’t feel well.

M: Is this something that you also considered in your preparation? That people could need somebody in the room?

J: Yes, we recommended only engaging with experiences that the person can handle well at the moment. Experiences that have an intensity of about three or four on a scale of one to ten. One reason is that we are not therapists, so we can’t provide adequate support for traumatic experiences or situations that are clinically relevant. Another reason was that I find it much harder to catch the atmosphere in Zoom, especially when everyone is allowed to turn off their videos. Then it’s really hard to get a sense of how everyone is feeling and to react to that.

M: You already mentioned turning off the videos as a method and you also used it in your workshop. This was the self-inquiry part where you asked us a series of questions about crises and how we have dealt with them in the past. We answered the questions in written form and I remember that you encouraged us to use pen and paper instead of the computer. What I found interesting about this situation was that for me, the simple act of turning off the video really bridged the analogue and the digital space: On the one hand, there were your voices coming from the black screen of the Zoom window—coming from offstage, you could say—and on the other, there was this haptic, manual and bodily act of handwriting.

J: Turning off the video was an essential method for us because it allows you to focus and feel into your body. Before we started the self-inquiry, we also led a short physical relaxation to arrive in the space and in your body. In 2019, we hosted the workshop in an analogue setting where we also included some exercises within the space. First, everyone was just walking through the room with eye contact with one another. Then, the participants came together to form a knot, and untied the knot again. Everyone was pretty close to each other physically, and sometimes that can be challenging for people. But there was this kind of connection that you only have when you share a space.

M: I guess this connection is quite crucial in order to speak about intimate things and to have the feeling that others attentively listen to you. I was amazed by how well it worked to establish this trust in a digital setting.

J: Yeah, I’ve made the experience that there can be a profound connection even in online listenings. If I open myself to listening fully, I can feel more than what the person says, more than words. It’s not about already knowing answers or having to give advice, but just being open to listen with the whole body. And maybe to listen attentively is easier when you’re in the same physical space, but for some, it might be easier when they’re in their own surroundings where they feel comfortable and not watched by others.

M: This “listening with the whole body,” what are we listening to this very moment? Is it the other cues that are lying in speaking, like pausing or hesitating, or is it even that graspable?

J: Well, there is, for example, the tone of the voice: If the voice goes deeper or higher, faster or slower. There are a lot of aspects about the voice that you can feel if you’re trained. In a way, you can feel how the other body feels. Whether the throat becomes narrow or tight, or whether the body is grounded in the feet, legs and pelvis. And that’s not conscious. It doesn’t go through your head like “I recognise this person’s throat is closing,” but you feel the bodies resonating. If you allow this resonance, there can be a really deep connection without having the word stand for it. It’s sensing what the other person feels just through my own body resonating with that of another person. Does that make sense?

M: Yes, absolutely! Coming back to the method of turning off the videos—do you think not perceiving a person’s body language could help you to focus on the cues in the voice?

J: I think it would be more challenging to understand the cues in the voice because we are such visual beings. In usual interactions, there’s so much visual information and I think the visual senses are the most dominant for many people. Not for everyone, of course, but for many. So I would say that listening with the whole body also includes the eyes. In general, I think that when it comes to listening with the whole body, there is room for learning for all of us: to actually listen to the whole voice and the whole body and to allow to feel this resonance.

M: As I understand the notion of resonance, it means feeling some sort of response. What is resonance for you?

J: Resonance, for me, is noticing that while I’m speaking, something reaches the other person. Again, it doesn’t even have to mean that they understand it cognitively, but that something is touching them. And the other way round; that something the other person says touches me. It requires being in my own body, and it requires being concentrated to a certain extent. And at least I made the experience that it’s possible to feel that resonance in an online space as well.

M: You mentioned that you did the format also as a podcast once. What was your experience with that?

J: Well, one huge difference is that there, you don’t have an immediate reaction. Even though a podcast might touch a person, their response can’t touch you back unless they call or write to you. You have to wait for a reaction and sometimes you wonder if somebody even listened to it at all. So I think it’s really hard to feel resonance in a podcast or radio format.

M: So one huge difference is the timing?

J: Yes, and also that because it wasn’t live, we could do some editing. We knew that we could re-record parts and this allowed us to be more playful. I guess there would have been another focus and more adrenalin if it would have been live. In a usual conversation, you say the thing once and then the other person already hears it. You can’t edit it. Everything happens in the very moment.

SPEAKING THROUGH
TIME(S) AND SPACE(S)

A conversation with
artist and designer Francisca Khamis Giacoman and interdisciplinary artist Tina Reden

M: In your workshop “Listen To Me All Around You,” I found it very interesting how you played with the online and offline time and brought in so many different formats. First, we met in an online document where we listened to a written performance, then we moved over to Zoom, where we had a more classical conversation, and in the end, we all took a walk and had one-on-one phone calls. You alternated these formats with offline reading and writing sessions. Could you talk about the decision for these various formats?

F: For me, this step of going online with the workshop was a bit overwhelming at the beginning. I wasn’t sure if it would work because it’s challenging to connect bodily if you’re not physically together and don’t know each other. So we asked ourselves how we could deal with the fact that we don’t share a physical space.

T: It was essential for us to integrate off-screen moments in order to come back to our bodies. To say, “Okay, I share this online space with the group, but I’m also in this other space, at home.” To always come back to what is in the analogue space, creating a physical, spatial, and temporal awareness, and to then go back into the digital. This awareness is crucial, especially when it comes to listening. Because very often, we forget that listening is also about listening to yourself and to your body.

F: Yeah, I think that’s fundamental—the connection with your own physical presence. When you’re online, you’re being seen in a specific way, which is not how everyday life is, no? In Zoom, you’re always in this grid of faces, and you can see yourself on the screen. That’s something we usually don’t have, and that affects the way you connect with yourself. So it was not only about translating the workshop into a digital setting but also about understanding the digital as a completely new space.

M: The notion of listening and the fact that it’s a very bodily thing—how did this change in the digital setting?

T: Listening has so many components. We can engage in listening when we hear a sound or a voice, but we can also listen with our heart, we can listen with our body, and we can listen with our eyes. According to the feminist composer Pauline Oliveros, listening is hearing plus composing your attention. So, hearing is something that just happens, and listening means bringing attention towards certain things and—if you think about it—towards the whole body as well. So if listening is also about directing your attention to another person’s body, it’s really hard to listen to someone while I am moving alone in my space, no? Because so much information, within this bodily listening, is not there. Another thing is that listening also brings me in relation to someone or something. We can talk about it as a very sonic thing. It’s vibrations, and they bounce to me and bounce back. So it’s all relational. And the same with bodies. The way I move or take up space affects other people. And these things are lost in digital spaces. I often feel that my bodily experience is a little gone, because I am in a space with other people, but I don’t get vibrations.

F: Yes, and even though we’ve had digital spaces for a long time now, this experience of having to connect through digital spaces and just through digital spaces is kind of new. We tried to shift some of the digital space to other forms of listening, for example, that one part where we communicated through phone calls. In that case, you don’t have any visual information at all. And because you don’t see the other person—because you don’t try to connect them to an image—you just listen to their voice. So in that sense, we can’t talk about the digital as one single space. You could also turn off your cameras or unmute yourselves, and it would be a totally different environment. I find it very interesting how these different settings allow you to shift the focus and to change the way we engage with one another.

M: I think, Francisca, what you said is really important: that we can’t speak about the digital space as singular. And I think the way you designed your workshop created awareness for this.

F: I think with the pandemic and the lockdown, the screen became this space for everything. You open the computer and then you’re working, but you’re also communicating with the people that you love and you’re also reading things. You’re also watching TV, and you’re also...

T: ...attending exhibitions and concerts.

F: Exactly.

T: For 30 years, Zoom—okay, Zoom did not yet exist—but Skype was something very personal. Skype was a place where I would connect with family or friends abroad. Every moment I used it was pretty intimate. So I think that was very positive. But then, with COVID, it became the most productive tool ever. I sometimes have meetings from 9 to 10, from 10 to 11, from 11 to 12, and from 12 to 1. Before all this took place digitally, this wouldn’t have been possible physically, spatially, and timewise. So for me, it turned from being something quite intimate and private into something very corporate, work-related, and productivity-oriented. This is so unhealthy because the bodily, spatial and temporal perception completely changed. I think the digital can still be a space where we exchange intimacies and where we can also connect physically, in a way. But for me, it has lost this aspect throughout the last one and a half years. It developed and turned into this corporate space very quickly.

F: I think the fact that everything takes place on screen at the moment is the main disruption and the reason why it’s difficult to see it as an intimate space right now. After all, it’s like going to the office to have an intimate conversation. We need separations to really engage with different things. But it’s also about how we develop our senses. So maybe, future generations will experience it differently. At least for us, however, this transformation that one object works for all these different spaces is just super tricky.

T: In the way we navigate in these digital spaces, for the moment, we can’t be attentive for multiple hours a day without a break. So I am coming back to the consciousness that marks the difference between hearing and listening or between seeing and looking. The mindfulness it would require to listen properly is not given in many moments when we engage digitally. This is why in our workshop, we said that we can’t be on Zoom together throughout the whole workshop and expect everyone to listen attentively all the time. It’s too much. We need breaks. We need time to go back to the physical space because it’s always about being aware in both realms: Being aware of you and your body and being aware of the other person and the shared digital space. And to have this awareness in both the digital and the analogue, at the same time, needs a lot of energy.

M: Speaking of different spaces—in your practice, both of you engage a lot with the topic of language and how oral history creates connections across time and space. Somehow, I saw a relationship between oral history and digital conversations there. The fact that they include and transgress a distance and that you speak and listen, in a way, with layers in between. Do you also see a similarity to that?

F: Yeah, I think, in both experiences, you’re more aware of yourself, or you have to be more aware of yourself to establish communication. At least for me, oral history is really connected with memory, and memory is often connected with a bodily experience. I try to re-activate memories through physical engagement in my work. For instance, preparing dinner or doing handicraft helps you connect with your body, and by that, it helps to activate this other space. In that sense, the notion of the layers and distance and how a connection can happen is really interesting. I believe that there has to be a physical connection, but it doesn’t mean that you have to be in the same space. And that’s what we tried to create in the workshop. To have something that still connects us, even if we are in our own houses, in different countries. So, for example, when we were all having lunch, we turned our videos off, but at the same time, we turned on a playlist so that we could all share the listening experience. That reminded us that something connected us even though we were in different rooms.

T: In oral history, I think the crux is that I have the responsibility to really listen when someone is telling me something in order to either keep that knowledge precious for myself or distribute it and share it with other people. This is also what Édouard Glissant says with his theories on relationality: I change in contact with the other because while listening, I connect with the other person. And through the connection—through something going through me—I will change.