The Falcon and the Theatre

Pigeons nested on the roof of the old town hall night and day. So much so that a falcon was called into ward them away. Two Thursdays ago a bird handler arrived with a falcon. News of the falcon spread quickly among those in the old town hall, so that one by one staff trickled to catch sight of the bird. It wasn’t long before there were more staff outside the building than inside. As each staff member came out, he or she was updated by those who had been there longer as to what had happened so far… That the falcon had been scared off by two crows… That he was now perched in a corner lulling the pigeons into a false sense of security, conserving his energy for a sudden dash... That his name was Frank.

One staff member, Abigail, suggested that Frank needed to make an example of the pigeons by killing one of them. Another, Mel, who found this suggestion too harsh, wondered if he might pretend to kill a pigeon… So it was this crowd of observers began to generate a character and stories, strategies and histories for the bird, words of encouragement were shouted out. His inactivity was labeled ‘stage fright’. Others suggested he was playing it smart. This gathering of watchers on the ground sparked the curiosity of those in a block of flats above, who wondered what was being watched. An old woman with white hair, who lives in this block, peered out of her window. In turn, her presence brought smiles to faces of those in the crowd she puzzled over. As she looked out the window, the falcon swooped by her window as though on cue. We enjoyed her curiosity because it mirrored our own. We were drawn from the inside of our building by the same motive she looked through the window of hers.

The old town hall from which we emerged currently functions as a theatre. As we stood outside preparations continued for the opening of two large stage shows. Both shows employed end-on seating rakes, the stage at one end of the space, with ordered rows of chairs for the audience. Meanwhile the falcon continued to swoop and circle the building. We, who you might describe as its audience, sought and perhaps had found a theatre that did not occur in the theatre. The falcon in opposition to the building below it has no fixed position, no postcode. Yet that is not to say the two are unconnected. Exploring the invisible and intangible cords that bind them, we can begin to map a set of qualities, overlapping or distinct from the conventions that are too often considered definitions.

The first is ‘liveness’, the swoops and turns of the falcon around the building demanded a responsiveness to its movement in real-time. We tracked the bird, shifted our position, speculated with our neighbour as to its next move. This also brought a compulsive unpredictability. The second is ‘community and locality’, we knew about the falcon because we were told by someone we knew, we cared because it was a concern immediate to us. In this case the warding off pidgeons causing damage to the roof we worked beneath. We gathered in a small spot and witnessed the falcon at work and watched each other watching. The third is ‘to bear responsibility and enjoy constructing a scenario and narrative’, our imaginations seduced into overtime, applying a human psychology to Frank’s movement, finding sporting analogies and choice words with which to motivate him. Not to mention the updating of those who came late to the party. The fourth is ‘ephemerality’, what we saw was fleeting and unrepeatable, even if Frank was to return - his flight paths would not be the same – it was a moment to relish, not meant to last beyond memory. The fifth is ‘symbolic potential’, a quality that governs this entire text. There was an openness to what we saw that allowed a second transformation in our minds eye, a road that takes us beyond where the road physically ends.

Dan Graham Installation / Changing Channels, Vienna

She entered the white walled structure. She spotted a monitor. It was seemingly a video of the room in which she now stood. Except she wasn’t present on this screen. So perhaps it’s a video of an empty room? She watches the screen a while longer. Eventually it changes. She witnesses herself walking into the room on the monitor. She then waves her hand. The screen shows her simply standing in the space looking towards a camera built into the wall. Moments later hands-in-pockets she watches herself wave her hand. She is alone. She plays with camera and screen: a mirror which delays its mirroring. She hears the footsteps of someone else entering the structure. It is a man. He looks at her. She blushes red. Perhaps he wonders how can such an uncomplicated, offhand glance elicit such a blush? He looks at the screen. On the screen he sees the woman doing an experimental flying-half-karate-half-kind-of-dangerous-dance-acrobatic-maneuver. They look at each other and smile in complicity.

The Loop / Roman Ondak

A garden of pavilions, a country per a pavilion, a garden housing architectural projections of other states…the presence of these pavilions cannot help but over-emphasize the connections between physical boarders and nationhood, an emphasis at odds with the cross-national development and funding of artwork at this level, the nomadic practice of artists, the country-hopping attendance of audiences, the market that buys and invest in this work not to mention the globalization of finance and language at large. This complexity was addressed (although not a sole motivation of curator Nicolaus Schafhausen) in Germany’s decision to present London / New York based artist Liam Gillick within their pavilion. However Roman Ondak’s work, The Loop directly challenged this division of the Giardini, through the laying of a path from one part of the garden to another via the Slovak Pavilion.Gravel and plant-life was installed to create an ambiguity between outside and in; momentarily disrupting my perception of my environment, like looking at the ground and seeing clouds while the ground’s above you. The constructed nature of this simulacrum was evident against the architecture of the building itself and a sprinkler system installed to sustain the plants. Despite the playful absurdism, it’s particularly appropriate that this work is by a Slovakian artist, from a country that only acquired sovereignty in the late 1980s; historically land-locked, threatened and marched through by militaristically dominant armies. A garden of pavilions, a country per a pavilion, a garden housing architectural projections of other states…