Resistant Archives
In this text, performer Ali Schwartz reflects—through the perspective of an audience member—on a performance that took place during the symposium “Safer Spaces in Public Space – Art as Medium and Method” on December 7, 2024, at the Ihmelsstraße Community Center.
Together with amaeze, one of the four artists, they paint a picture of artistic resistance.
In the performance by Aïcha Konaté, Senja Brütting, amaeze, and Sakin, public space is redefined. With powerful voices, these BiPoC artists demand space for their perspectives in the art world. Their stories are a call for connection and resistance against social inequalities.
amaeze: "I think safer spaces play a role for all of us. Both in everyday life and in artistic work. For us, it was especially important to clarify our needs. What should happen, what should definitely not happen; what do we feel comfortable with and what don't we feel comfortable with; what are triggers, and how can we enjoy ourselves? That's how the performative walk through the house came about.
Although the performance took place in the community center, it was still public space to me. Especially because I knew that my body would once again be exposed in a predominantly white setting, in which gaze1 plays a defining role. Trying to make this place our own was fun, but even so, for me, it remained an illusion during the performance."
A Room on the Ground Floor With a Glass Facade
Appearance of the stage personas of Aïcha and Senja during the community dinner (Küfa)2— They are wearing extravagant suits, raver sunglasses, gold jewelry. They burst in, make space for themselves, stare at us and remain silent. They crawl over tables, taste the sauce, flirt with us: "Welcome to my house! Welcome home!“ They dance wildly to reggaeton, the soup pot lid becomes a drum. Then, they invite us to join them. To “Let the Sun Shine," the song that Aïcha confidently plays on her boombox, we first walk through the hallway outside... into the rain. A few people in the audience sing along quietly.
The Forecourt
“Are you with us?” we are asked, we shout: “Yeah!” With their arms raised, Aïcha and Senja celebrate the raindrops. We are in a public space, and it's improvised. There may be a score, a structure for it, but somehow anything could happen now. Drag-style lip-syncing on the benches, people hugging in the audience, laughing eyes, affectionate giggling. Broken by the cry: “I'm so homesick / my throat hurts so much / I have a lump in my throat, that's why I'm singing so loudly.”
amaeze: “I keep moving because I can’t do otherwise. Such a fucked-up world is even more reason for me to make art, because art moves, heals, creates connections. It’s a remedy against numbness. I see art as a storytelling medium; ultimately, for me, it’s also about creating archives of resistance.”
Aïcha and Senja rage and surf between shrill protest chants and unpredictably crazy over-the-topness. Because they want to let everyone out there (in the forecourt) know and all of us in between (between the forecourt and the entrance): They are being “cut off” and they “want space” in the cultural scene!
amaeze: “What I can definitely say is that we all have a political understanding of power structures. Honestly, I'm incredibly tired of BiPoC artists constantly being told what to focus on, and the topics we actually want to explore or work on aren't supported, or are censored. For me, the main question is what cultural institutions need to do in this era, given how heavily institutionalized art and culture are in Germany. Social inequality is represented in their frameworks, teams, and structures, so it's no wonder that so little transformation is happening. I wish that people tied to these institutions would make room for marginalized voices. People in positions of power usually aren't interested because it means a loss of comfort, but that's just allyship.”
Aïcha and Senja in the forecourt shout for more space in the art world.
We follow the two performers back into the community center, up the stairs, the crowd murmuring.
The Window in the Hallway
On the first floor, amaeze's stage persona sits, relaxed, on the windowsill, legs spread. amaeze, wearing a blue tulle dress, looks around, poses, and begins to speak: “Everything that isn't my apartment is unsafe for me. I need layers, fat, a buffer zone to protect myself. Sometimes I want to go out in an astronaut suit. [...] Today I want to walk down the streets arm in arm with friends, feel a little more secure, safer, but most of all, loved and safe.”
amaeze in a blue dress on the windowsill
amaeze: “I find it empowering that the stories I tell, through whatever medium, are witnessed. Witnessing deeply concerns me, especially in the German context. I also enjoy working with my voice, making others feel, and above all, breaking away from the focus on gazes. In general, I orient myself towards gaps, towards what is rarely or never spoken about, towards what is barely visible, what is suppressed, towards what breaks with western binaries, etc.”
amaeze takes us along and tells us about the dress—a child's dress for grown ups:
amaeze: “It stands for fun, playfulness, joy in texture, dreaminess, sensuality, taking up space, my queerness, costume, protection, and much more.”
amaeze explains how adults no longer have fun, describing a child on the tram who smashes a rice cake against the window: “Not angrily. Just to see what happens.” That's fun, and that's what amaeze wants too, and then amaeze takes us to the sea, closes her eyes, and drifts in the waves with the seagulls:
“After the rage became unbearable, I changed into something else. I refused to carry out their ugliness.
They expected me to sacrifice myself, as if I was just born to save them.
[...] I turned into a seashell and lost all my memories. [...]
They admired my beauty as if they've never seen me before.
I laugh at their ignorance."
amaeze: “Who am I addressing, to whom am I speaking? That’s a crucial question. In my work, it’s important for me to primarily address people who are positioned similarly to myself. That means racialized, queer, crip, etc. The rest are invited to witness, to feel, to listen, and to learn. My focus isn’t on educating a mainstream society, but on building connections within marginalized communities, in a society which isolates us from one another. A lot of it is also about shifting or repositioning the center. But I do approach the content differently when I know that many white people will be there. Then there are things I don’t share, because it’s about protecting knowledge and archives from exploitation, and also protecting myself. Usually, I then create a content mix, and include a text that addresses more privileged positions.”
amaeze repeats the phrase “and I laugh” several times and begins to laugh artificially. After a while, amaeze suddenly falls silent, and we continue up the stairs.
The Stairwell
In the stairwell, amaeze produces a letter to a lover from the dress. We are to think of the people we love, who are our lovers.
“What if we wanted to love without the fall. [...]
What if we told ourselves to slow down, would time slow down with us?”
amaeze: “I think we all agreed during the development of the performance not to stress ourselves out, to clarify our needs, to make sure we were doing well, not to overwork ourselves, etc. That says a lot about what we're used to. We have to take such good care of ourselves because others don't—structures are built in such a way that we don't benefit from them most of the time. Where I see intersectional realities and community work, I also notice how tired and overworked people are, because it's multiply marginalized people doing this work, and they receive very little support from others.”
Atmospheric music begins in the stairwell, and amaeze moves slowly, continuing upwards in slow motion, along the corridor to the elevator shaft, which is like a glass cube in the middle at the end of the hallway. We follow. Very slowly.
The Elevator
There, on the two sides of the glass cube, Aïcha and Senja stand facing each other. Like a reflection in a mirror, her arms float upwards as Senja's voice, recorded over ambient music, speaks of what it feels like to be safe: safe within ourselves, safe in our own bodies, safe in connection, … they take off their cool sunglasses… safe in touch, … they kneel and bow to each other. They smile cheekily at each other, reach into their jacket pockets, and pull out a rice cake. Then they have fun. They toss the rice cakes around, pop them into their mouths. And we in the audience have fun too: Oh, how lovely. There is a happy ending after all. But the shrill laughter of Aïcha and Senja breaks the harmony. A grin spreads through me, saying: Never mess with a queer witch. Then, amaeze puts on Senja's sunglasses and performs the black feminist song "Haute" by Janelle Monáe. Ballroom culture vibes in the community center.
amaeze: “I had the feeling that the audience connected with the performance and felt it with us. It’s hard to read faces during a performance, so it’s difficult to say. For me, it made a big difference that friends and BiPoC acquaintances were in the audience.”
The Seminar Room
The song takes us back to the workshop room, where we form a large circle. Sakin kneels in the center of the room and begins to gently touch the floor with her hands, transforming the wooden floor into a sandy beach. Then a playlist of Sakin’s favorite songs starts, to which she dances freely and passionately. Sakin is completely in her own world. It almost feels as if she is dancing alone in the room. An intimacy arises, which is very moving to witness.
Sakin in a gesture with her hand outstretched, people from the audience in the background
amaeze: “My vision is to live in a world where everyone can live their calling. I firmly believe that there is already a plan for all of us, and we just need to figure out what it is. We actually have everything we need on this earth. As an artist, I see it as my responsibility to remind myself and others of this. This also means drawing attention to all the injustices, because they need to be recognized before they can be changed.”
During the final house track, all the other performers join in and form a collective, leaning their heads together, until the applause begins.
amaeze: “People can read all the theory they want about power dynamics and still not understand anything in practice. For me, the emotional level is crucial because it determines how people interact with each other, and it's often dismissed, especially in the German context, and particularly in Leipzig. Embodied knowledge is knowledge. And it's our bodies that are stigmatized, and that experience violence, so I think that's where we need to start.”
Fußnoten
In cultural, media, and social sciences, “gaze” refers to the way in which people, groups, or bodies are viewed, represented, and perceived, shaped by societal power relations. Factors such as skin color, gender, class, sexuality, or cultural affiliation play a central role because they determine who is looking and who is the object of that gaze.
“Küfa” is short for “Küche für alle” (Kitchen for All) and refers to a communal, self-organized cooking event where food is usually offered free of charge or in exchange for a donation.
