In theatre – as we understand it – destruction has a natural place; not only is it placed at the centre, but it can also provoke immense pleasure. This theatre is a place where it is possible to observe what is difficult to see in everyday life. When we speak of theatre, we are referring to a human activity that connects three things:

• the public sphere (or the political)

• the private sphere (or the intimate)

• the sacred sphere (or the spiritual)

For this theatre to take place at the deepest level—that is, in what connects the souls of all those present—it cannot, in our view, be content merely to be a performance. It manifests itself in fragments, in an uncertain manner, and tends towards silence, disappearance, and a diffuse impression preserved in the living memories that have recorded it.

We believe that in theatre, which is one of the arts of presence, all the actions combine, with the least possible effort, to reveal that absence is, by far, the most animated element.

***

This theatre, which I am desperately trying to understand, will have a profound effect on me once I have accepted the elements of the incomprehensible that make it up. A bit like life, or reality; and this is true regardless of my role in the unfolding of it. The theatre I seek—the one that captures my attention, the one that invites me to pay attention, the one that reveals the possibility and delicate power of flavour—exists at least twice: in reality, in fiction, and in the intertwining of these two lines of flight. It takes place in the city, at a specific time and place, and may be inspired by death.

***

Death that unsettles.
Death that poses a problem.
Individually and collectively.
Which is, itself, the centre.

Theatre is, here, a place where the struggle is waged simultaneously by:

• the material body (that which is seen),

• the astral body (the one that is perceived)

• the subtle body (the one that connects);

***

This struggle is an art, a battle, a resistance; it cannot take place without the care I have for the parts that make it up. I take care of my presence, I take care of the place, the attire, the tone, the gaze. I take care of my partner(s) or opponents (if there are any, and there often are).

This struggle is an integral part of the theatre I am seeking; and if it takes to the stage, it is to learn—to be taught and to come to know itself—that it cannot find meaning in the binary of victory and defeat, two competitive notions of opposition and oppression, but rather in the continuation of this endeavour, which demands unceasing attention and recognises powerlessness as a condition of the practice. In this sense, this theatre is a space of mutual education where bodies that see others and are seen by others learn and teach.

***

In the theatre, everyone sees themselves being and acting, but to varying degrees. Even in the dark, for seeing is not merely a matter of the eyes, but of the senses.

Learning to see: beginning by seeing that there are things I do not see.
There is a gaze of the heart.
Learning to listen.
That is the question.

Theatres were built on the model of ships. The trunks that have become hulls know that the only necessary condition for navigation is the possibility of shipwreck. A theatre that sails is a theatre that may, at any moment, run aground. From a silence organised by and devoted to attention, this theatre attempts to give at least a voice, however faint, to that which has been and remains (unbeknown to us or for our most selfish happiness) a cry of the soul.

A difficult task.

The theatre whose manifestation we seek in the course of our lives is a constant ethos of education in the values that shape dialogue: listening, adaptability, courage, trust, resilience, passion, sensitivity, love. By dialogue, we mean the phenomenon that seeks to bring forth a truth—that is to say, the collapse, the fall of knowledge.

***

Silence.

May 2024