Today a little boy spit me in my neck. He must have thought I was a settler. His friend excused him for me and kicked him.
Today I paid 7 sjekel for a coke. "it's five, it's five, it's five, it's five, no it's five!" it's the first time I succeed in getting my money back.
Today I bought honey cause back home I only drink thee with honey, never with sugar. When I put it in my glass which I also bought today cause I didn't like the papercups in our hostel I thought; maybe I am no different then any other person who tries to defend their reality (thought about religion for example).
Today I finally found a shop who can print my hearts in colour. Tomorrow I pick them up. It might take three days maar dan heb je ook wat. Hearts on photopaper.. yes.
Tomorrow I finally work with my actor and so, as a brave dutch, I spent all day thinking of what to do tomorrow.
But it gave me a the next questions > What if space is narrowed to a squere meter and you have to share it?
What if you die in this situation but you can do it all over again?
Offcourse this relates to the situation here. Two groups, the Palestinien and the settlers, in a too narrow space (sometimes fysically, sometimes mentally). Why denying this situation if it's their everyday live? This was the discussion between me Nina and Rosalie, and I think they're right in the end.
The roof where we look through to the audience could be a place of reflection, stuck between heaven and earth.
Death always confronts life, it brings us down to the questions that matter. And since Mohammed had a funeral these days I think this is the way we should search. The (also personal) search for real contact goes on.
(and if that means a spit in the neck so be it)
'love' Want to see more about me and my performance artwork? www.nicksteur.com
