I only see junk here, I only see junk here.
I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying what I see: junk.
They are complicated and beautiful. Corals are hard to separate, ancient and they die because the seas are too warm. A small group of poets with backpacks sets off together. An excursion, an audacious undertaking, yet they keep falling apart in the process. One monument turns out to be a dazzling graveyard without an information board. "The combination of the steep precipice to our left and your arms folded behind your back seems negligent to me," speaks Mensch. And how does coral speak? Maybe like this, "We don't know where who ends, where who begins."
How to be related between species? How to mourn the loss of coral? What happens when we see human and natural deaths closely connected in the search for a language of dying that is always also about a language of the living. Because we die alive. That is the crux of the matter.
9 and 10 June 2022
Aline-Sarah Kunisch, Rahel Ohm, Christoph Radakovits, Daniel Wagner, Johanna Wolf