DEAREST keyon,

Passing through Berlin , to see your show, en route to London.

I don’t have much of a writing practice to speak of so sadly the request for a 500 word max response is beyond me. Figuring it out. I send you nonetheless this love letter and my sketchy field notes on :

a keyon gaskin explo(r/it)ation @ Gropius Bau October 27, 2022 15h-18h

As we were only an audience of 10? on site, and Jamila already returned to London, maybe these field notes are helpful as documentation a trace for continued conversations ?

Are you up for doing this again ?

I am curious what you might need for fleshing out a film version ?

I am so indebted to you in all the best ways that there are for the years of witnessing your work in the world. Ever a body lecture on being in your body in whatever bau with whoever is present, right now. This practice you have of dancing between queer states of consciousness, and performing a study of the politics of display short circuits something. Like acupuncture, a more sustainable electroshock therapy ?

Strong medicine.

For me it’s a welcome and painful energy surge, I feel reset to show up for whatever is next in art and Life.

With MUCH LOVE & Trembling,

Anton

*

I wonder how much it costs to heat this building ?

This museum feels like a gutted space since I was last here,

but then I witness new guts churning …

COUNTER CLOCKWISE ! a circumambulation of the space

a slow stroll, casting a spell for 3hrs of explorations /exploitations

rolling a large maroon suitcase click clacking round the periphery

a figure, a friend,

in full camouflage, in a hunter’s all weather gear

disappearing against the the black and gold pillars and patterned tiles

appearing against the white wall of the museum with it’s big slogan

YOYI! CARE REPAIR HEAL

the bashed in corner of the well travelled rolling suit case is duct taped up

- holding its own.

ball cap on

« gaskin enterprises » emblazoned with a roof top and hammer logo - funny.

game on !

the suitcase slams down in the center

all this shit is about to get unpacked

Empire & Architecture :

A podcast plays on a small mobile speaker echoing in the vast space

The speaker on the speaker speaking

is Elsie Owusu OBE, Chair of The Society of Black Architects UK June, 2021.

keeping you company whilst at work

your body seems to be trojan horsing these messages into the very foundations

important ideas are coming out and going in

the speaker gets squeezed in your crotch, sometimes swaddled, snugged into an armpit,

making music of it like a mute on a horn

flesh pressing into the massive black marble pillar

dropped deeply into sensations

the cold of that giant but not indifferent stone,

the warmth of soft under belly, chest, spine, groin, guts, palms reading surfaces

this chance operation, where the speakers’ words,

meet the body-meeting the context-making movement-making meanings,

makes the monumental come down to size.

it’s fucking astonishing

to witness a real life magician making this building disappear at will,

and then making it reappear like some cheap Las Vegas assistant when needed

to prove a point.

a point spoken through the speaker by Architect Elsie Owusu

« …the current analysis is quite binary… histories are hidden in plain sight… it is incumbent on us to think new narratives, new understandings of how empire is present in our lives (and bodies) today ……it’s important to understand...Imperial and colonial architecture and design are much much more than buildings and statues.They represent a dynamic system of networks of politics and and people, of loyalties and emotions, financial and domestic institutions and their concerns with money and goods .…as a result of colonialism, conquest, plunder, theft »

a ring side seat is worth getting up and getting into

Human to Human scale,

I need to be with, hear these words, not miss a moment of brilliance

gravity is welcoming

down down in inner refuge, inner rage, I join you there

slow scissorings, shrugglings, grinds, mind readings and mind fucks, man down

down down wedgy upending ass into the wood wainscotting

slug slime slide twerk on the marble stairs caress and slap! you big bad German boy

gropey gold up everywhere on all the edges above the head the fancy frame declaring WEST

Zipped open, the suitcase is spilling out the guts of all the personal possessions

Knotting up all those gorgeous clothes into a rope, repeating those last words we heard…

Plunder Conquest Theft

Voice. Breath. Power.

Louder.

Hooded in a black White Castle usa burger joint cotton pickin t-shirt

Harrowing Hollerings.

Until there is no room for anything else in that building,

Because it has become completely occupied by

A single human voice shamelessly singing out the syllables

CON QUEST PLUN DER AND THEFT

dragged across the atrium and slowly all the way up up upstairs

dangling over the golden balcony to the floor

the clothes line rope suddenly breaks heavy in the middle

Hanging there is a red and white thick striped t-shirt

Seems impossible , but there it is,

A killer creepy flag of the 13 colonies of the United States

And we all hang in that moment….

Ghostly time takes over

til tall helpers in the audience are asked to jump up to grab it down

We are very few audience and in this moment we are all on display together

We who care to attend to

the cleansing act of violence

be it in our museums, statues on our streets, in our correspondences with institutions

if it needs taking down we here all care to take it down

the camouflage and cocoon collection slough off like a dead skin

now you are sporting a critically golden look necklaces and bracelets gleaming

striped saffron shirt and shorts to posture provocatively on museum plinths

or going out in the sun for a minute…

« Walls, I fucking hate walls, walls make me crazy… »

Back from the parking lot with a mass of dead leaves

to stuff up the camo gear into an effigy,

Mister « Martin » Gropius-Bau gets propped up on the blessed mess, for a talk show

« Hi I’m Martin… » raw ventriloquist styles - recorded into to the phone

« Hi I’m Martin use me for your care »

« Hi I’m Martin I’m here for your care » the dummy plays back

« Beings VS Buildings »

« what’s the difference ? »

« I don’t know »

« I’m confused »

a leafy body bag schlepped from person to person for an up close moment of critical “Care”. this hilarious, horrible, gesture weirdly makes more sense to me than much of this confusing CareArt trend put together.

*

One more for the road…

A Structure lecture.

All action.

All these Structures Structure, Structures (even Spectrums of Spectral InfraStructures…?)

Hair. Structure. Perfume. Structure.

golden child gold powdered palms piling up a pump pump Foamy foam jerk off

pyramid messy mess. It’s Formal. piles of leaves. piles of clothes. Us.

Dancing.

This volume inbetween.

« an unbounded sacred space. we take refuge in this body of emptiness

your Being - a deep joy in it’s indestructible design »*

The extreme opening of your body into the 4 directions, silent screaming,

til tears, til gagging

The forces of all these natures are called in-to this scenario

Elsa Dorlin quoting / synthesizing Fanon and Butler twitches into my mind

« How do I take care of my violence ? »

or

« How should I care for myself through violence? »

That’s enough now. Rest.Rolling out…

*

Following and finding you, in the sunshine, having a smoke.

Deep Embrace. Deep Thanks. .

the friends all gather, laughter, vibrating, circulating gratitude, passing a joint

being together - beyond the building.

A.Livingstone

makes things / actions / relations that tremble on display and consider choreography for a co-creation of refuge.

*Tenzin Wagyal Rinpoche of Tibetan Buddhist Bön Tradition