One day

23/05

Tranzit House Missing Since 1944 Exhibit

Remember that this art house used to be a synagogue?
Piled up on a table were photos of Cluj Jews who were deported in WWII and didn't return. Moreover, these photos have not been named, so there is no record of who they are.
I was unexpectedly interviewed while I was holding this picture. I felt like such a fool because looking at these photos, most of which were family portraits, you did not see the victim in them. You were attracted to them, they could be your family.
I was thinking he was rather handsome. It made me really happy to be looking at the pictures, feeling in my gut that I knew these people.


So when they asked me what I saw, you know, I became the least articulate person ever, well aware of how insensitive (or just insightful) it might sound to say 'ordinary people'. But I did.
Three older people spoke about the exhibition. I was impressed by how they didn't feel first the need to praise everything the exhibition stood for and attempted. Now, I want to tell you they had spent time at Auschwitz, but without pulling your heart-strings - which is why I'm putting it in this long sentence, because this is how they told us. No pride or fuss.
It was too late for them to remember, they said, and that even if names were reconciled to their owners, their stories would not be. They said it was too late! And seemed annoyed, albeit in a patient way, knowing that this attempt should have been made twenty years ago, when memories were more fresh, survivors more prevalent.
Drawing our attention to the images they remarked too on how well they seemed. No fore-shadowing of the future in their faces. However, the speakers did not use this to bring a sense of impending doom - more that we must look and see how in a life yes, igen again the dark fruit ripening, but also a persistence of good.

Uncle Vanya

Wasted lives in a country house, going manic with the frustration (in this production), desperate for a satisfying fascination.
When I read the text they seemed so desolate and moping, and whilst it was poignant it didn't the finger at the way I live in such a way - my distractions - thinking one is in love, or working, when only repeating and regurgitating.
I must tell you, I never thought I'd see this play! Since I arrived everyone has been talking about it. If you went to the ticket office and asked for literally any day in the future, the woman would still just laugh. It's appealing not just because of the plot, but because of the way they use the space of the theatre. This one is designed in a common European style to strictly dividing the truth portrayed on stage from the audience, who are in turn divided into those who pay more and less for their seats. In this production, in the first act you are led to sit on the stage, facing the auditorium. The seats aren't assigned - if you get there early you may have your pick. The actors sit in the stands watching you arrange yourselves, feeling so uncomfortable and obvious in the bright lights, as they look like a placid audience waiting for entertainment. The first act is in this set-up. They move through the rows, dance in the aisle, and walk on the tops of the seats and along the balcony's banister.

Aux Anges afterwards (with those students who have finally arrived, and are not at all a disappointment, thank goodness!) - it's very laid-back noisy bar with caricature angelic and demonic figures on transparent plastic over the ceiling. Talked so intensely with Melissa about denominations and abortion and Obama* that we may have scared the others. I love it when you meet somebody that you can jump straight into this with, though.

*I just taught the spell-check 'Obama'

And if I tell you that this all happened within about 4 hours, and that this is what most of my days have been like, may you can empathize with some strange feelings I have of indigestion. Although its not so unpleasant!