Whit and After Grotowski

http://journals.cambridge.org Downloaded: 10 Dec 2011 Username: LArtEs IP address: 187.162.44.46

Maria Shevtsova Welcome, everybody. It’swon derful to see you. As you all know, 2009 willbe the Year of Grotowski. It will mark the tenthanniversary of Grotowski’s death, and also thetwenty-fifth anniversary of the end of the Labora -tory Theatre. But Mario and I were talking on thetele phone a while back, and we decided that wewould go ahead and do it early, that we wouldmark – not the death of Grotowski, actually, buthis life. I think of this as being a celebration of thefact that his work is alive and, of course, its livingquality can be celebrated at any time. There willbe many major events in 2009, notably in Wroc -law, where the Laboratory Theatre moved fromOpole in 1965.

It is such an honour and pleasure to have youwith us, Thomas Richards and Mario Biagini.Thomas is the Artistic Director of the Workcenterof Jerzy Grotowski and Thomas Richards inPontedera in Italy, and Mario is its AssociateDirector. They have done a tremendous amounttogether, with their team, in the Workcenter andhave travelled a great deal, particularly in thepast five years or so, following their variousProjects through in different parts of the world.

Their most recent Project, Horizons (2007–09),is supported by the City of Wroclaw and is hostedby the Grotowski Institute in Wroclaw. We weretalking this afternoon about the difficulties ofconstantly being on the road with your work, andperhaps we will have a chance to ask you someques tions about your travels.

We have here two remarkable people, who arethe last people to have been very close collabo -rators of Grotowski. We have, in a sense, anotherkind of living Grotowski presence embodied inthese two people present tonight. Thank you somuch for coming. It is thrilling to have you here.

Now, I think I would like to start with a ques -tion to you both that most people who write aboutyou seem not to ask – maybe because they feel shyabout it, but I don’t think we need to feel shy inthis context. You worked for thirteen years withGrotowski, from 1986, when he moved to Ponte -dera, until his death in 1999. This afternoon, aswe were talking, Mario, you said something thatstruck a chord. I thought ‘Ah! That plays beauti -fully into my first question.’ You said, ‘We spentthirteen years with one of the most intelligentpeople on earth at that time.’ What was it like to

336 ntq 25:4 (november 2009) © cambridge university press doi:10.1017/S0266464X09000633

Thomas Richards and Mario Biaginiin conversation with Maria Shevtsova

With and After GrotowskiIn 1996, Jerzy Grotowski changed the name of his Workcenter at Pontedera in Italy to thatof the Workcenter of Jerzy Grotowski and Thomas Richards, and it was here that Richardsand his associate Mario Biagini developed the Actions that had originated with theirthirteen years of close collaboration with Grotowski before his death in 1999. Dies Iraewas premiered in 2004. Various research projects led by Richards and/or Biagini includeTracing Roads Across (2003–06) and Open Programme, which began in 2007. Suchworks as I am America, crafted on the poems of Allen Ginsberg, and Electric Party, bothdirected by Biagini and first performed in 2009, have emerged from Open Programme.A recently ‘finalized’ work, The Letter (2008), directed by Richards, was the result of a longprocess of development that passed through three major phases and two differentlynamed Actions, starting in 2003. Richards is the author of At Work with Grotowski onPhysical Actions (1995) and Heart of Practice (2008), while Biagini has edited, withAntonio Attisani, the three-volume Opere e Sentiere (2007 and 2008). The conversationbelow is an edited version, in consultation with Richards and Biagini, of their discussionwith Maria Shevtsova in November 2008, as part of her ‘Conversations’ series atGoldsmiths, University of London. These last pupils of Grotowski give uncommon insightinto the processes of their work together, continuing their generous and open reflectionsin their responses to questions from members of the audience.

http://journals.cambridge.org


spend those thirteen years? How did you work?What did you do? What was the daily routine?

Thomas Richards I guess part of the dailyroutine was that there was no fixed routine. Ididn’t know when the work would end eachday, and even that was a beautiful part of it,that it almost became as if the work neverended. It was a very special time. I neededthis place of work, to dive into and be there,completely, almost twenty-four hours a day.It was really like that. In a certain period,working with him, we were living very closetogether. Not in the same apartment, butvery close. During some of those years,Mario and I lived together in the same apart -ment with another team member and we’dget up and cook, but even cooking was some -how part of the work. One of us would bepreparing the meal and there were books thatwe were interested in – we were workingvery intensively – so one of us would cook andanother would read aloud. Sometimes we’dbe eating and take turns to read, and thenwe’d go to work and then come back. Thenoften one of us would go to the apartment ofGrotowski and talk into the night, until two,three.

There was a kind of protection that camefrom this way of almost never stopping. It wasnormally twelve hours of work and thensleep ing, and then getting up and working,and then sleeping. It was like another world,in fact. It was like creating another world inwhich a certain care and attention were flow -ing. I guess that’s one of the main things I feltfrom Grotowski: incredible care about mylife as a human being, about what my possi -bilities were.

It was like being with a very old and know-ledgeable person who was trying to look atyour life – not with his own fixed definitionsof who you are, but really as if you are aliving being who is not something fixed, whocan become someone. So, it was like a kind ofgrace to be next to this man who was askinghimself, ‘Who might Thomas be?’

What did you talk about with him? You said youtalked into the night. What was it about? Wine,women, song? (Laughter from audience.)

Richards Well, of course there was thework, and the talk was a practical analysis ofthe work, of what had worked well and whatnot, and why. What did we talk about? Somany topics. But what was fascinatingbeyond the subjects of conversation were thethresholds that I would pass by in my owncapacity of being present and faced with agiven task. We would talk about one subject– something that happened in the work,anything – and we would speak and speak,and I would start to become tired or want tobe somewhere else. He would be in his rock -ing chair, and I would start to become absent,you know, with my body and my presenceand my legs crossed, and I’d suddenly think,‘My God, it’s now two in the morning andI’ve got to get up at nine; I’ve got the work tolead,’ and he’d keep going. He wouldn’t givein to this pull that I had outside of thatmoment. I would see that he kept going, andit was like a mirror for myself – a mirror formy own lack of capacity, but also to show memy own potential. So, after ten minutes ofseeing myself in my own inertia, being half-present, and this man who was sick and wasgiving all of himself to the moment, youknow, I would sort of say, ‘Come on. Be here.’I guess that’s more important than any onetopic.

What about you, Mario? You had a differentrelationship, I think, to that of Thomas.

Mario Biagini: I cooked for him. (Laughterfrom audience.) Every day I would arrive atthree o’clock with his food and wake him up.You know, what Thomas said about care andattention – that is really what it was like. Iremember one time we were in our kitchen,and we were talking about a book that meand my housemates had read together in thekitchen. We were asking Grotowski someques tions and then the conversation con -tinued, and he said ‘You know what is hap -pening here now? What is taking place herenow is extraordinary.’ What was happeningevery day, every minute, was some kind ofrequest for quality, care – what Thomas wassaying: you were in front of this man whowas like a mirror to you. What was hap -

337



pening was a request for quality and care inevery moment, in every aspect – in cooking,in bringing his newspaper, in the humanrelationships in the work, in the professionalrelationships in the work.

It was an attempt for quality. Quality –that what you say, what you think, what youfeel, what you do, can be of a low quality, ora little better, or very special, even reachingextraordinary moments. And one doesn’tknow how to get there. One doesn’t knowhow to get to that subtle way where, in aworking relationship, one’s thoughts, one’sfeelings, and one’s physical presence, whatone does – they are of a better quality. Foryears, with this man who created, somehow,the possibility in which this attempt forquality became the basis for work, every -thing was for that. All was for the people inthe work.

There are rumours that Grotowski treatedpeople like working animals, that everythingwas for the work. But the work had and hassense because it was and is for somebody, forpeople. If you were alone with him, youwould talk about the subjects that were ofcommon interest. We had common interestsin literature, history, and the Eastern tradi -tions. We all say stupid things, many times;we burp them out. With him, what was inter -esting was that he would never say, ‘Well,Mario, that’s quite stupid.’ No, he wouldjust . . . wait. Wait. No judgement. But youwould realize, ‘Well, that was just burping.’

Yes, indeed, burping. But this is the period, too,when you developed the ‘Actions’. Correct?

Richards We were working on a number ofActions throughout those years, and in fact,at the Workcenter we are still developing newActions. So, yes.

And you concentrated on vibratory songs. Canyou tell us a little about the purpose of workingon these songs and what you discovered by work -ing on them?

Richards Well, it’s related to what we werejust speaking about. It’s as if Thomas – well,what is ‘Thomas’? What is it to be a ‘human

being’? I see that we all can have a tendencyto slip away from where we are. I can see itin my life. I’m cooking in my kitchen in theevening, for example, but some hours ago Ihad an argument with my friend and, in fact,my inner life, as I’m chopping, is being dic -tated by an emotional reaction that I am hav -ing related to my friend. My body is doingone thing, but my mind along with my emo -tional life is still back there, discussing apoint from some hours ago, trying to provemyself right. Often, we can notice similarkinds of dispersions going on in our lives.

What our work is aiming towards is a kindof call. It’s to call oneself to be here, present.Part of this is to call oneself to see. It’s veryeasy to be with others and not to see them. Inour way of perceiving others, we often turnthem into objects. We turn people into knownobjects of our perception. That’s Mario, andhe’s like this, or he’s like that. And I havealready put him in a box, and it’s comfort -able for me: he is just what ‘I know’, and Istop seeing his humanity.

The songs we are working on are tools,let’s say, a means to help one to arrive intothe moment. And, also, to help one be nextto another human being, without any fear,so that inside oneself, inside one’s way ofaccept ing the look of another, one discoversthat there is nothing to hide. This was mystrong impression, when I started to workwith Grotowski, that, in fact, I had alwaysbeen hiding. I had a very deep need that thiscontinual hiding stop, and that somethinghidden be revealed. Special moments in thework, when something that wasn’t normallytouched in daily life appeared, those were likea door opening onto a new aspect of myself;a door opening onto a kind of hidden world,which gave a feeling of liberation and joy.

How can the work on these kinds of songshelp one arrive into the moment? Well, it hasto do with sound, with resonance. The songis precise. It has its precise melody andrhythm. Certain songs, which are very old,can start to touch the person who is singing.So, let’s say someone in the work starts tosing and, at first, it’s just the melody with itsrhythm. But then it’s not just that. The songcan start to awaken or touch something in -

338



side the doer, which is, we could say, relatedto a kind of inner core. The doer can discoverthat, in fact, there are different kinds of placeshidden inside, which are like pools of differ -ent qualities of energy that can be awakened.The resonance of the song touches theseplaces, inviting them to be free, to be open.

There is a place related to our sensualenergy, another related to our vitality, an -other resource related to our emotional life,and another to our mental life. It’s as if onecan discover all of these places to be likeopen doors, one facing another. And then,it’s as if a delicate waterfall that’s going up,like travelling back to a source, can appear.You can arrive at a feeling of transcendence,of going beyond the heaviness of yournature, touching a subtle source that seemsto be above your physical frame, and some -thing between you and the moment can startto shine. And from this subtle source some -

thing like a very subtle rain can come to youand penetrate you. This experience – a trans -parency of perception – can be so strong andso alive and life-giving that it brings joy, andit’s like, ‘Ah, I want to do that again, I wantto live that again and again.’

It’s something that one can work on con -sciously. One’s perception in life, what youperceive in a given moment, can be morethan the result of your circumstances, morethan a result of pressures that come fromoutside. One’s fears of what is around, forexample, often shape perception. I am speak -ing to you and I can start to think, ‘What isthis woman thinking of me?’ And I canbecome completely busy with that, and myperception reduces to that. Our inner life isoften in the hands of circumstances, which iswhat makes us a victim of our surroundings.When one takes oneself and arrives at a kindof plenitude in the moment, one can feel,

339

Thomas Richards and Jerzy Grotowski, 1994. Photo © Maurizio Buscarino.



‘I exist. I am helping my perception to beginto exist.’ And this process can actually flowbetween people, too. This sort of flame, ortransparency, or wave – a kind of energeticwave – that is in one person who is singingcan be perceived by the partner, and then heor she can catch it, and the resonance of thesong can help in this sort of interchange fromperson to person. It’s complicated to put intowords, but, yes, our work is related to thiskind of process.

Is that what you call ‘inner action’?

Richards Yes, we’re talking about that.

Inner action – what you actually articulate as‘inner action’ in some of your books. In your lastbook, The Heart of Practice (2008), you talkabout ‘inner action’ quite a lot. You also say thatthis ‘inner action’, which takes place in Action, isstructured. Sometimes you call it a ‘performative’structure. Mario, you call it other things. Buthow do you structure it? Also, do you repeat it?Is it a one-off, or do you structure it so that it canbe repeated another time, and then you can buildon it to repeat it again, and build on it again?

Biagini You said before that you had pre -pared a structure for this talk.

I did. And I’ve forgotten it entirely!

Biagini So you had a structure. Then, youknow very well that it’s possible just to ‘exe -cute’ that structure automatically because youare busy with something else, or nervous, orafraid, or angry, or jealous, or very happy. Or,you use that structure as a springboard andyou live what you do. What you do is notyour structure. The structure is not a descrip -tion of what you are doing. The structure is amap of reminding factors, points of refer -ence. What you do is a process, and what youlive is a process. It’s something that you can’treally catch and put down on paper. In otherwords, your doing is not a narrative. Themoment you catch it, the moment you stopit, the moment you think that you have theproper technique or the proper tricks to getat it, it’s gone.

What Thomas describes as the ‘inneraction’ – you can’t really structure it in thesense that you can’t really manipulate it. Youcan remember that a certain flow inside waspassing here, it was passing here, it was inrelation to, for example, seeing this person –(He touches Richards.) and, at the same timegoing back. The senses are open and, some -how, we both float on the energy of oursenses, on their force, on our life force. Andwe both go as if, at the same time, we aregoing back to a kind of home. Life is flowing,the senses are flowing, the mind is working,the heart is there. But, what we try to do, asThomas said, is to go back, or ascend. Yousee, we can use here words related to space,to directions – ‘back’, ‘ascend’ – because weare talking about actions. It can be done if weare somehow together here and there is noblock or defence.

What can be structured are the elements ofperforming – the actions, the songs; yes, thesmall details. The structure can be extremelydetailed, really minutely detailed. But not inthe sense that you construct a machine. Notin the sense that you construct, for example,a formal composition of movements. TodayI was browsing through that book in yourhouse, the new translation of Stanislavsky [byJean Benedetti]. Stanislavsky said some thingvery interesting: ‘Watch out, don’t replacecomplex tasks with the simple tasks. Don’treplace complex tasks, for example, withmotor tasks,’ which is what we do all the time.All the time – not only in acting, unfor tun -ately, but also in our lives.

You arrive home, your wife is already there,you say ‘Hello,’ but, in fact, you replace thegreeting with a motor task – a sound and amovement. We become divided puppets. Weare not there. That which is so complex can’tbe manipulated: manipulation is simplific a -tion. It is a displacement from a true hap pen -ing to a representation. Then, quality drops;it becomes the quality of motor tasks, whichcan be interesting at times, sometimes aston -ish ing if we are acrobats, but that’s not thekind of art we are talking about here.

You’ve brought me to a really difficult area. Howdo I go around this? Don’t just go straight – I’ll

340



break my neck! Let’s go straight. You know, in theessay called ‘From the Theatre Company to Art asVehicle’ – was it 1997? – and also in hisinaugural lecture at the Collège de France and, infact, I think in some of the other lectures in Juneof 1997 at the Collège de France, Grotowski comesback to the idea that working on the ‘inner action’rather than on the production is never theless anart. He says two things. He says it’s a craft andthat it’s an art. Now, in what sense is an actionthat is not necessarily for witnesses – we’ll comeback to the notion of witness in a minute – an‘art’? Why is it an ’art’?

Biagini What is art?

Ah, it is a big question. Tolstoy asked it. ‘What isart?’

Biagini In order to answer your question,we should make clear for ourselves – just forthis moment – what art is. Many times, whenwe talk, we think that we are talking aboutthe same thing but, in reality, we are ondifferent planets. What I see as ‘art’ in anyfield is some help to live. It is a help to live upto what we could be in relation to our presenthistorical moment with its contradictions,with the contradictions of my life, of myepoch, of the workings of my mind and thelittle pains in my body. And, yet, it is a way oftransforming all this into something throughwhich, as Thomas said before, shines thepossibility of what it is to call oneself to bepresent, as a human being. And somebodyelse can benefit from this. There is a painting:it is the work of somebody in relation to him -self and the world. This painting appears,and somebody else can benefit from it andperceive, for some moments, the world andhimself, the relationship between his mindand his body, the relationship between thismind, this body, and this cosmos around,through the perception of that painting.

We are in London, then there is England,then there is Europe, then the planet, and thenthe stars. There are all these phenomena thatI don’t understand. How this light bulb isshining – I don’t understand how it giveslight. I don’t understand how it is that he(Thomas) is breathing and that you are laugh -

ing, that you are hearing me, and that I amtalking. I don’t understand all this. But, forsome moments, because I am looking at thispainting, something in the sensation of beingin my body, among other bodies, with otherbreaths, something changes. That’s art. It isthere, it exists and it is somehow possible thatother people share this experience.

Grotowski said, ‘Well, this is craft.’ But,you know, he had a very, very noble under -standing of craft. Craft is not tricks. Youcannot put it in a book. You cannot write amanual of acting. You cannot write a manualof painting. Or, let’s say, you will not becomea great painter just by reading it. You will notbecome a great actor just by reading Stanis -lavsky or Grotowski. Nor will you become agreat yogi by reading some great tantricworks from the past, as you will not becomea good shoemaker by looking at pictures ofshoes.

Craft is an embodied conscious and un -con scious knowledge of how to deal with theworld in a certain form, whether it is actingor shoemaking: now this shoe and this footand this person are the world. The world, inthis form, is in connection with me. I amworking materially and operating on thissubstance, following that foot’s life and thelines that are already inscribed in the leather.When Grotowski was alive – yes, many timesthere were no spectators when we did thework – but Grotowski would come and seethe work. And when he wasn’t there – andeven now – the attempt is always to work onthe leather and the foot in such a way that itis a well done piece of work. Well done. Notonly in a technical sense – that is only part ofcraft. Craft is not only technique.

Like art is not technique.

Biagini Yes.

Richards There is a level of craft that isreally fascinating. To get into one’s body, toget into one’s mind, is actually quite compli -cated. When we work together, if we’re sing -ing together there are so many little detailsthat make up the living moment. And onecan think about craft and how to have better

341



craft, and yet, one key to my craft – to let themoment live, is my partner – to be with him.(He points to Biagini.) If he’s singing and I’mtrying to sing and accompany him in thisprocess – the inner action – the differencebetween being here and being here is enor -mous. (He changes place in the space, almost

imper ceptibly.) This small adjustment can havean enormous effect on the quality of our con -nection, and one needs always to reawakenin oneself the question, ‘Where does he needme? Does he need me here or here?’ Andwith simple and continuous attention on himeverything can begin to flow: this sort of

342

Action (2005), dir. Thomas Richards. Above, left to right: Pere Sais Martínez, Jørn Riegels Wimpel, Francesc TorrentGironella, Thomas Richards, Marie De Clerck, and Mario Biagini. Opposite: Thomas Richards. Photos: Frits Meyst.



stream can begin to awaken between us and,in fact, it’s as if this stream was alreadypresent and I just needed to approach it fromthe right place. In such moments, whenevery thing is flowing, inside I might need tobe like a mother and say to us both, ‘Go, goahead and play! All is fine!’ This is also partof craft in our work.

In every living process there’s always acrisis moment. There’s a moment when the

actor – or the doer, in our work – will catchsome thread, and then he’s about to lose itand if I am his partner, I want to help, right?In order to try to help him I need to see. I’vegot to see because, even if I think the wrongthing, for example, I might just draw hisatten tion to the problem, and, in drawing hisattention to the problem, he might blockeven more. I need to see what’s happening.In fact, I need to try to see and understand

343



another human being, and that, I think, ispart of the secret of any living process onstage. People can read the texts of Grotowskiand the books I’ve written about our workand read Stanislavsky’s book, and ask, ‘Well,is there really something similar between thework of Stanislavsky and that of Grotowski?’In fact, there is a similarity, which relates tothe question of little actions, of doings, of con-sciously doing.

You’ve touched on a point that I thought I wasgoing to ask you about and then I thought that Iwouldn’t. Well, I will. The question concernsGrotowski’s relationship, and your relationship,to Stanislavsky. It seems to me that much of whatyou’ve said, Thomas, about the ‘inner action’ isvery much what was happening when Stanis lav -sky was working on physical action. Stanislavskymakes it very clear that it is not only a matter ofphysical action. There is an impulse to the actionthat is also very much from within.

Richards It will be hard to answer you. Ican speak about what I think about Stanis -lavsky, but I wasn’t there, so I don’t knowwhat they really did.

Well, Grotowski wasn’t there either, but he doestalk about Stanislavsky.

Richards Yes, and so do I. But whetherthey were involved in something like ‘inneraction’, I can’t really say. I don’t know.

Biagini He was interested in things likeyoga, for example.

Tell me about yoga. How do some of these Easternpractices affect what you do?

Richards Yoga is fun. (Laughter.)

Does it help?

Richards Help what?

Biagini Maria is asking you if these Easternpractices – she understands yoga as anEastern practice – help the work?

Richards I think what helps the work wasthat Grotowski had a practical knowledge ofspecial subtle processes that a human beingcan live; a sort of dilation of perception thatone can experience. I know that he was inter -ested in, and came into contact with, manytraditions – in the East, in Africa, in SouthAmerica, in Europe. When he used the word‘yoga’ in relation to our work, he was notspeaking about a cycle of stretches for thebody, or even Hatha yoga. He referred to theroot of the word, which is ‘yoke’, the tool youput on the workhorse to channel its forcein order to plough the field. When I wasspeak ing before about this part of ‘Thomas’run ning here or running there – it needs to beyoked. Yoke me, please. Yoke me now!Straight away!

When this yoking takes place, somethingvery funny happens, immediately. It’s some -thing like when you’re a child and you see anobject – (He holds up a pen.) And yes, it’s apen, but maybe it’s also for flying; every -thing’s new, unknown. The child really dis -covers the object as if for the first time. Thechild is looking at the object, playing with it,and there’s such a strong flow between himand the object, an enormous joy appears.And the joy is so strong that it makes themoment shine, and it’s as if for the child thatmoment is all that exists. It’s something likethat.

Biagini Maria, I don’t know if we can saythat this aspect, ‘yoga’, ‘yoke’, helps thework. It’s rather that everything in the workserves this aspect. Many times, we feel our -selves completely scattered, right? It’s a com -mon state. But there are moments whensome thing is quiet and there is contact: youare in touch with yourself, the people aroundyou, the world, and something is clear, evi -dent. There is something inside like a repose.At the same time, you are doing: you areactive, you are thinking. And your thinkingis suddenly clear. You are feeling, and thesefeelings have colours, shades.

Richards We are approaching an answer toMaria’s question because she asked aboutthe ‘inner action’ and physical action. They

344



are in fact different things. I have my score,and on one level my score is made up ofphysical actions. They are the basic elementsof my score. I know that, for example, Ishould try to make my partner smile. Thislittle doing we can fix, but just because it isfixed does not mean that it will be alive whenI do it. I need to see my partner, find the wayto approach him, and yes, now he is smilingand the physical action has been accomp -lished. You’re right when you say that a phy -sical action is not just physical. A physicalaction is related to all of me, and it relates meto my partner and to my situation.

Let’s say that in my score there is a mo -ment when I’m in conflict with my partnerand I give him the back, as if to say, ‘To hellwith you! Get out of here.’ We can fix thatlittle physical action. So our scores are articu -lated on the level of physical actions, whichof course are related to contact with ourpartners. We know, OK, we’ve got A, B, C, D– a score of physical actions. And, then, theinner action can start to happen – anotherlevel of our score. And the ancient songs oftradition help us in the inner action. The songis a sonic wave that rises and falls. It’s anorganization of the octave. The way that cer -tain ancient songs are organized is a kind ofinvitation to the doer’s inner life. It’s as ifsaying to your inner life, ‘Ah, would you liketo come here and touch this special placeinside yourself, now would you like to comehere and discover this subtle source?’

So, the song is happening, the score ofphysical actions is happening, and the songand its resonance can begin to descend insidethe organism, as a kind of active questioningbetween oneself, and the song takes place:‘Ah, what do you wish to awaken in menow?’ And something like a wave, or a wind,like a very subtle substance that passes, asif through you, touching your skin, movingaround you and your partner, can appear.We can try to surf with that wave together,or ride it together, live in it.

This process is related to my perception ofthe moment, to my partner’s perception ofthe moment if we are working in tandem;and it is related to the transformation of ourpresence.

As the inner action takes place, my part -ner’s deep energetic resources and mine canbecome open, facing each other and inter-connected, as we move together towards akind of shining experience within the mo -ment. So in our performative opuses, thereare many moments in which we have twolevels to our scores: one related to physicalactions and one to what we can call the inneraction.

Biagini Schematically – and maybe in abanal way – if any of you is an actor, youknow that physical actions in Stanislavsky’ssense are related to intentions and objectivesoutside. So they organize not your move ment,not your motor tasks, but your pres ence,your doing, because we are present when weare able to do, according to an intention.Normally our intentions go by themselves.We do not ‘decide’ them, as I don’t decidemy opinions. We have this illusion that myopinions are my opinions and that I choosethem. In reality, my opinions are mine onlybecause they took me – I can’t choose them.I can’t choose very easily to have anotheropinion. The same happens in every momentwith our manifestations in life and ourmoods, and our presence or absence. It is inthe hands of the wind. We are in the wind,like leaves. So, if the objective of the work isto explore the possibility of what I called‘contact’ with myself and with the world, Ineed to be able, to some extent, to chooseresponsibly.

If in a certain moment of a working ses -sion I am the victim of a big wave of heavi -ness, of inertia, and suddenly I am tired andalmost fall asleep, I must somehow be able toget out of it because, if I am in that heaviness,I cannot do my work in that moment. Thatinertia is nothing bad by itself. It would begood if it was after teatime and I had half anhour for a nap. But it’s not so. It’s not themoment for a nap. So I can discover that I canuse my presence – my body, my mind – sothat my different functions are there with mein that moment so that that work can be done.

In a schematic way, we could say thatphysical actions have their objectives out side.The actor wants something. Or we could say

345



that they have their root in the past. In thelater part of his life, Stanislavsky spoke lessabout the objective and more about what theseed was. But it was still an objective outside.Something happened, or I want somethingto happen. That’s physical action – outside.Inner action is inner, so it is directed towardssomething inside. But then you discover thatthis something inside is not mine. There, inyou, there also is inside. You have an inside.And you. And you. It’s not personal. In thisquiet place from which the inner actionsprings, something is not mine.

And how does this something that is not mineexist when you have witnesses? Grotowski saidhe wanted a spectator who was not a spectator.You talk about ‘witnesses’. Why do you havewitnesses?

Richards It can exist when there are wit -nesses in the same way that anything withinme can exist when I am alone and also whenI am with other people. Any physical pro -cess, thought process, or emotion that I canhave – for example, feeling sad, happy, angry,content – can exist when I am faced with apartner and also when I am alone in myroom. And similarly, the act of ‘yoking’ one -self can happen anywhere. There is no exclu -sivity: we cannot say that this special processcan only happen under these or those cir -cumstances. This special core that Mario isspeaking about, something that I perceive tobe like the human core within being and akey point for the unfolding of the inneraction, can exist anywhere. It can exist whenI am alone, when I am faced with a partner,and also when someone is in the room watch-ing, whether we call that person a spectatoror a witness.

But does it relate to the spectator? Is it an engage -ment with this witness? Or is it within you, andthe witness can come into the action, or comeout?

Biagini I think that actually witnesses areextremely important in our work.

Why? I’m asking why?

Biagini Because we are working in art, andour art is a kind of theatre. I remember aconversation I had with Grotowski towardsthe end of his life; we were talking about thefuture. How can the work continue? He wassaying, ‘Ah, it will be hard when I am notthere.’ Because, you know, he was a big guy,he had a big name, and people could acceptstrange things from him, which maybe theycannot accept from us. So he said: ‘There aremany possibilities. You could continue inanother way, you could even have differentjobs and continue doing the essential work,somehow, in an apartment.’ ‘But then,’ hesaid, ‘you would lose something. You wouldlose the connection with the theatre familyand this field, this territory of art, which givessome kind of objectivity.’

Why is the witness important? We couldsay because it is a test. For all of us humanbeings – I think I can speak also for you – thestickiest parasite we can have is imagination.We live in imagination most of the time. Weread a book and think, ‘Ah, beautiful book:it says you can make your life better if youdo this and this,’ and we just imagine for afew seconds to be doing that, and the fact ofreading the book and dreaming about itmakes us think that we did it. But it is justcompletely illusory.

So one problem is that I could be livingand working in illusion. A witness is sometest – not because of what he or she can tellyou. This is quite clear to any decent actor:you do something, you rehearse and what youhave created seems very good. Then you aska few friends, people you respect, to comeand see it. You sit them there and you say ‘Iwill show you something,’ and then you dowhat you rehearsed and immediately youknow that it’s really not working – not neces -sarily because of any communication orverbal feedback from them. It’s because youproject something on them and you use themas a mirror, so you know, ‘Wow, I was anillusion.’

A witness provides the possibility of cir -cu lation. Art is connected with the time inwhich we live and, as I said before, with thecontradictions in which we live. Now, forexample, is a time when everybody shuts

346



347

Dies Irae (2005) dir. Mario Biaginiand Thomas Richards. Opposite,left to right: Mario Biagini andGey Pin Ang.

Below, left to right: Pei HweeTan, Jørn Riegels Wimpel,Francesc Torrent Gironella,Cécile Berthe, and Gey Pin Ang.

Photos: Frits Meyst.



themselves in a house or an envelope or aschool or a style or an ‘us’ and closes off theoutside, or ‘them’. So the air does not pass,the circulation does not appear. There israrely any possibility of fertility, or of discov -ering what the present is becoming, blossom -ing into the future, into a catastrophe, intoa period of beauty, into a period of under -stand ing or into a period of ignorance andfanaticism.

We do not have this possibility of under -standing because there is no circu la tion ofair, of impressions, of food. If there were nowitnesses in our work, we would be in thisdanger. We would be in the danger of havingcirculation in the work that can be flowingperfectly, but, without this intake of air andexchange of air, it might be barren.

Richards Yes, if someone comes to see, thatperson can see that something exists. If theinner action is really touched, then the per -son has the chance to understand, ‘That’spossible.’ And in that case, the content of thework has been perceived. And, as with anywork of art, it’s a great moment when theartwork’s deep content is perceived. Whatwill happen after may be of great importanceor not. Both the perception of the content andwhat happens after is not in our hands.

I’m going to ask one more question and then openour conversation out to the floor. The projects thatyou did, these big travelling projects – TracingRoads Across starting from 2003 and the oneyou are now doing called Horizons, which, if I’mnot mistaken, you have been doing for two yearsrun ning at and supported by the Grotowski Insti -tute in Wroclaw. Is this for circulation and air?

Biagini Let me put the question this way.How is it that we choose a certain form in -stead of another for contact with the world?One level of our choice relates to the propo -sitions that we receive from the circum -stances. Somebody proposes something to usand we see that this proposition – from aperson, a situation, an institution – somehowlinks to a creative process in the work. Now,for example, we are in a very, very openmoment in the work. Another level relates to

the many different lines of work appearingat the same time, appearing in a substantialway. Now we need to look and find theforms – ‘forms’ in the sense of ‘modalities’ –in which these phenomena appearing in thework, which are unknown to us, can live inrelation to other human beings.

‘Other human beings’ also means otherplaces, other skies, other buildings, differentkind of foods. If we just applied a formula,like, ‘Now we do a tournée [tour], now we doanother tournée,’ we would be putting newwine in old barrels. The wine would getspoiled, and the barrels, too. We need to findthe forms that serve the work, that servepeople inside the work, and also – why not?– outside it.

This has been a very important aspect ofthe work almost from the beginning: to seewhat happens in the work and also whathappens outside of it, in the world. To findthe organic ways of reacting to these two cur -rents, these two flows. Their interaction isvital, and therefore we try to be fluid, andalways ask ourselves what the next stepshould be.

On a personal note – my last question, and thenthere will be lots more. As you know, I am study -ing Anatoli Vassiliev’s work and, of course, hewas close to Grotowski in those last years ofGrotowski’s life. You worked in his theatre inMos cow. What was the experience like?

Richards Vassiliev is a very special personfor me. We met him back in the early 1990s. Itwas a time when we rarely had visitors cometo see the work; we were still doing Down stairsAction. Grotowski started to speak to meabout a Russian director, Vassiliev – I didn’tknow anything about him – and told me thathe had a very large group. Gro towski hadsaid to Vassiliev that he could only bringtwelve of the group of about twenty-fouractors, and he decided that he would comewith the men of his team. So he brought abouttwelve men to see our work.

I was struck by how open Grotowski waswith Vassiliev. Normally, when a theatregroup came to see our work during the early1990s, we would have dinner with the group

348



after they had seen our work and we hadseen theirs, and then they would leave. ButVassiliev stayed a few days with his group.They watched us rehearse several times,which was one of the few occasions whenvisitors during that period saw us rehearse.It was a powerful moment for our team, hav -ing them watch our work process.

Biagini They stayed in our houses, too.

Richards Yes, yes! I woke up one morningto find one of the actors tasting our marga -rine. He was going through the kitchen cabi -nets tasting the unknown foods, since hethought that an actor should taste as manynew foods as possible. We had one worksession where – this was a very powerfulexperience – I really felt a witness among us,next to us, someone from outside the workand yet who was, in some way, connected tothe work, even though he was just sittingand watching. Vassiliev was sitting, and theway he sat throughout the long rehearsals,and the quality of attention and care withwhich his team responded to the way hewas present with us, created a very specialenvironment. In fact, it is as if they were notpresent at all and, at the same time, fullypresent, and this helped to create a situationin which we could really rehearse and touchessential elements of our work.

I believe that, at that moment, a relation -ship was born between Mario, Vassiliev andme, which has continued to develop since.Vassiliev has invited the Workcenter onnum er ous occasions to his theatre to per -form. I feel he is like an uncle to our work, avery good friend and a relation, even thoughour works are, of course, quite different.

Biagini The experience was strong becausewe went to Moscow several times and wepresented several different kinds of work.We had performed and done different kindsof work already in many places, but, inMoscow, we faced spectators who were verywell educated. I remember one time we did –I think it was One Breath Left. There was a talkafterwards, and a young man asked aboutmontage and editing and he made references

to Eisenstein. I remember asking him afterthe talk, ‘Are you a cinema student?’ And hesaid, ‘No, I’m a mechanical engineer.’

I think, in the beginning, that I did notunderstand the differences of temperamentand different kinds of conditioning in differ -ent countries; but human beings have differ -ent kinds of conditioning. This became clearwhen Anatoli came the first time. We werewatching them working and it was clear thatcertain things that were quite incomprehen -sible to us – or we could not understandwhat their use was in theatre – were neededfor these actors. I remember Anatoli onceexplaining to us that the actors, who weremiddle-aged, had grown up during Soviettimes. And he said: ‘Look, we have to dothese games, these exercises –’ I rememberthem playing with a ball – ‘We have to getover so many things.’

The theatres where we went and whichwere directed by Vassiliev functioned so well– the technicians, the actors, the adminis -trators – so well, that you couldn’t believe it.[Mario Biagini is here referring both to thetheatre on Povarskaya Street and the one onSretenka Street designed by the architect IgorPopov in collaboration with Vassiliev, accord ingto the latter’s vision and needs.] Of course, it isnot a question of civilizations; it is a questionof individuals. The theatres worked becausethe teams running them worked very well.The same can happen here. The same canhappen if you have a theatre group. Thereneeds to be some kind of agreement betweena few people, an agreement that we are goingto try to do what we do well. We will find ourway, our forms. There is an agreement to behonest with each other, to say, ‘Look – youdidn’t do that well. I am your friend. That’swhy I say that that was not done well.’

It’s what you said earlier about quality.

Biagini Yeah.

Nice note to end on – quality. Are there anyquestions from the audience?

Audience Member I’ve got two. I’m interestedto know more about the process by which the actors

349



can explain your experience to the newcomers atthe Workcenter. I’ve read a lot about it in yourbooks, but I would like to know more in detail. Iwould also like to know how many experiencesfrom paratheatre have helped this process ofintegrating newcomers into Action, specifically,and into your work in general.

Richards Inviting someone inside the workis a very complicated process. We need to beaware of a sort of practical knowledge thatwe have acquired over twenty-two years ofwork. And we have to be ready to abandon itcompletely, to throw it out the window, andto try to see that specific person: there’s somuch to see. When I came into the work andGrotowski tried to help me into it, I remem -ber a lot of work was based upon the fact thatI could not really stand. (He gets up todemonstrate.) Not that I couldn’t stand, butmy way of standing was somehow not work -ing for a living approach to these songs. And,it’s not just standing, it’s also a question ofbreathing. I mean, I was twenty-two and Irealized that, in fact, I was not really breath -

ing. My muscles were so tight that breathingfor me was something like this (inhales shal -lowly), which had an effect on singing and onwork on sonic resonance. I remember Gro -tow ski working with me: ‘Stand like this. No,like this. No, change. More forward with thespine. Arch the spine! Bend the knees. Now alittle more.’ He was trying to see how theway I was standing was affecting the soundand the resonance, and the subtle connectionthat could be born between me and the song.

Resonance is not just a question of howthe sound is resonating in the body, but alsohow it resonates in the space so that yourbody becomes a conductor of sound that isgoing in two directions. Voice and sound goinside, and also go outside. But, then, yousee, it is not just a question of standing andbreathing: it’s a question of impulse, becausebreath is an impulse. The breath going in, thebreath going out (demonstrates breath), is animpulse that involves in a subtle way all ofmy body.

And then, it’s not just a question ofstanding and of breathing and impulse, but a

350



question of how my body, in fact, lets itself be,as if seen by the space, or by those around me.It’s amazing to see the people who come intothe work and how difficult it is for them toget out of this (cups his hand in an artificialway) – and the hand is like this, almost all thetime. You ask the person to stand consciouslyand sing in relation to a partner, and to letthis unnecessary contraction go (looks at hishand which is now neither contracted nor relaxed),and for a moment all is well; and then, aftersome seconds, this again (contrac tion of hand).Or the person has an enormous, unnecessary

contraction here (tightens his shoulders), andthis frozen solidity blocks the resonancefrom passing down into the body. And it’snot enough to say to somebody, ‘OK,decontract.’ It just comes back.

So, we have many habits, inner habits,com ing from the way we relate to others andthe world, which lead to the crystallizationof physical habits. So you need to look at theperson and to see, really, how the person isrelating with the world, how the person is, insome way, hiding something special in him -self from the world. And also, in some way,

351

The Letter (2008) dir.Thomas Richards.Opposite page, left toright: Thomas Richards,Cécile Berthe, andFrancesc TorrentGironella.

Alongside, left to right:Cécile Berthe, FrancescTorrent Gironella and Pei Hwee Tan.

Photos: Magda Zlotowska.



hid ing from his or her own creative poten -tial. And this potential is unknown. We don’tknow what it is and we need to look for it.

It can be in the person’s way of thinking. Ifthe person is continually making unneededpolemics in his/her mind, he or she is con -tinually putting everything into a box of ‘Iam right and you are wrong. You did thatbecause of this, and that is because of that,and you said this and this is what you meantand you said it because of that.’ And theperson is convinced of all these assertions.And all of this is a way of controlling thingsthat you can’t control, which is the other hu -man being. I don’t know what she is think ingand, the fact is, I’m never going to know.And even if she told me, probably I wouldnot know at that point, since I would notknow if what she told me is what she wasreally thinking.

We are continually playing a game withourselves, turning things that we don’t knowinto things that we do know. This is also partof what limits our creative capacities and ourcapacities for perception in the moment and,also, our capacities for being alive. You’vegot to see the person who enters the team andsee what that person’s habits are. Someonecan be very good in the work, and even theirway of being good is bad. They’re like a goodstudent, and the day that they say, ‘To hellwith you!’ is the first really alive day of theirwork. Maybe in that moment they stop beinga student and really take responsibility fortheir own work. That’s the beauty of work,not knowing exactly what to do. That’s great:you can develop capacities, and also forgetthem. I don’t know if I’ve answered yourquestion, or if it can even be fully answered.There was another part of your questionabout paratheatre.

Biagini Thomas and I don’t know muchabout paratheatre, because we were not there.Of course, we know what Grotowski told usabout it. Paratheatre was quite different fromwhat we do. I was always very fascinated bythat period and by the texts by Grotowski onthat period because they are very strong.They speak of some possibility that canbecome real between human beings. About

paratheatre, he always said, ‘Look, yes, therewere moments when miraculous things hap -pened between people. This was when thecore team had passed through a very, veryrigorous period of work.’ When you readGrotowski’s texts – I allow myself to give youa piece of advice – read them thoroughly.Don’t let your attention be only on the partsyou like.

To speak more directly about the dif -ference between our work and the period ofparatheatre. When somebody comes into ourteam, in the different ways of working thatwe do, he or she needs to start from verybasic craft elements. Those are things thatone needs to learn. Here is where the firstquestion and the first test of professionalismbegins. As Thomas was saying earlier, some -body may be learning something in a ‘cor -rect’ way but not really learning it because heor she is only catching the shell of it. Trueprofessionalism is about finding a way tolearn something that includes all of the un -conscious aspects, learning as if from theinside of the person who is teaching you. Butthese elements are craft – not technical, butcraft elements. That’s one difference. A lot oftime is spent on this, on the songs, or even onacting. You can create some acting fragmentand then you have to repeat it, so you need tolearn the craft of how to do it again, not howto repeat the form, but how to do it again.

Audience Member I have a question regard -ing the notion of verticality in your work. I’mtrying to create archaeological research on it, butI couldn’t understand what you meant, especiallywhen you used the metaphor of the ladder. Thisnotion began in modern times with [Edmund]Husserl, and I couldn’t find any indication as towhether Grotowski knew about it, but you guysas Grotowski’s closest collaborators must know.Is there any relation between Grotowski’s notionof ‘verticality’ and that of Husserl?

Biagini No. (Laughter from audience.) I thinkthat Grotowski respected phenomenologyvery much as a philosophical approach, or asa research approach, but he was a practi -tioner. He was a man of doing. True, he wasalso one of the greatest intellectuals of this

352



century. I really think so after having workeda lot on translations of his texts. But no, it’snot the same. Read the story of Jacob. That’swhat he’s talking about. There is a ladderand there are, as Grotowski says, forces thatgo up and down. You can almost understandthis intuitively, somehow. You can some -times see in life that the place where you are,in your body, in your way of being andperceiving life as a living phenomenon – notas a myth, but as a living phenomenon – ison the lower end of the ladder. This isnothing bad; it’s just different from the upperend of the ladder.

Nature, the world in and around us, canbe a passage between different ends. WhenGrotowski speaks of this change of thequality of energy, he is not talking about it ina way that certain types of theatre speakabout different kinds of energy – hardenergy, soft energy. (He demonstrates withvoice, different timbres.) He’s talking about achange in perception. He’s using a very oldterminology.

You are right: it is possible to make somesort of archaeology of it, but it is difficultbecause the vocabulary changes. So don’tlook for the word ‘verticality’, but look forwhat he is trying to say by it. When Gro tow -ski speaks of verticality, he speaks of some -thing that stands. There is a text of his,‘Performer’ (1987), where, at the end, hequotes some passages from Meister Eckhart.The beginning of this quotation is very inter -esting. It says that the difference between theinner man and the outer man is as big as thedifference between the earth and the sky.

What does that mean? There, the text isspeaking about verticality. What is the ‘innerman’? Of course, in our culture there is anexpression from St Paul, from the Epistles,where he speaks about the inner man. It’s anold expression. Probably older than St Paul.Grotowski, many times, referred to what, insome traditions – let’s say heretical traditionsin India – is called ‘the man of the heart’ or‘the man within’. Grotowski said that ‘man’means ‘that which stands’. Vertical. Standsbetween two poles: a pole that is related toour animal nature and passes through ourcapacity for reasoning and understanding

but goes even higher to something that Gro -towski called ‘awareness’.

Richards I’d like to go back to the questionabout entering into our work. What I seevery often is that someone who comes intothe work is sort of caught; his creative forces,as an artist, are blocked – caught, in fact – bysome never-ending self-criticism and judge -ment. A person has a simple task – for exam -ple, to create an acting piece or an actingproposition from a text. And what I see whentalking to the person about his or her ideas isthat this person starts to have an idea andthen immediately, before the thought isfinished, says, ‘No, that’s wrong, that won’twork.’ It’s as if the person has no courage.

In our conversation this afternoon, beforewe came here, Maria was talking about whatshe sometimes says to her students. She says,‘Finish the thought.’ That’s incredibly impor -tant because we can always find somethingwrong in what we are thinking. One fight inthe creative process is, in fact, to let one’simagination be more free than a chicken that’strying to fly. The work becomes very joyful ifthe person can actually get out of thatmechanism and say, ‘I will criticize, but I willcriticize afterwards. I will criticize my im -pulses afterwards.’

If the person has such a discovery, a verycreative out-flooding occurs, and surprising,unique propositions can start to appear. Toget to that point is difficult, but, when itappears, it is a beautiful moment in some -one’s work. Just because someone’s insidethe Workcenter team doesn’t mean he or sheis actually there. On some days in the work,you see that this person is now really here;this person has become a colleague. It’s al -most as if that person has discovered himselfas an artist.

Audience Member I did paratheatre in the1970s and it struck me, watching you and seeinghow you express yourself, that you are conveyingthe work and carrying on the work as people whohave embodied it, whereas a lot of the paratheatreactors were led by people who were not embody -ing the work. They were part of the work’s philo -sophy, but there was no craft. It was entirely about

353



the doing. I’m interested in whether Grotowskitalked to you about the difference. I wonder ifyou’ve ever had dialogue about this process of theknowledge, the gnosis, that you carry in you inrelation to the future of the work, which is sodifferent from how the paratheatre links to the lastpart of this work.

Biagini Have you ever met Grotowski?

Audience Member: Yes.

Biagini When we met him – Thomas actu -ally began work with him in 1985, I began in1986 – he really looked as if he embodiedsome thing. The most important things werenot conveyed by verbalization, but by a look.The paratheatre work – I think we must re -mem ber that there were many, many aspectsof it and many teams at work. Cer tain mem -bers of some teams surely had developeda knowledge related to the precise practice

they were engaged in. That is what Groto w -ski was referring to when he said – he speaksof it in ‘From the Theatre Company to Art asVehicle’ – ‘When the inner core team hadpassed through a fearless . . . ’

Richards ‘Intrepid.’

Biagini Yes, ‘intrepid period of closedwork’, and when there were little numbers ofparticipants, something at the limit of themiracle would happen. So, there is a hint ofwhat he meant: ‘intrepid’ and ‘work’.

What you say about embodied know ledge– I remember Grotowski speaking about howyou can . . . You know, you might say toGrotowski, ‘Yeah, this person in the work, hedoesn’t get it.’ Like referring to the difficul -ties that Thomas was describing before, forexample, when someone is blocked by somehabit. Grotowski would say, ‘You should justshow the person another way, don’t speakabout it. Just you do it in another way.’

354

Electric Party (2009) of the Workcenter’s Open Program, dir. Mario Biagini. Above, left to right: Felicita Marcelli,Julia Ulehla, Agnieska Kazimierska, Lloyd Bricken, Marina Grégory, Itahisa Borges Méndez, Cinzia Cigna,Alejandro Tomás Rodriguez Aguerópolis and Davide Curzio (photo: Vidon).Opposite, left to right: Itahisa BorgesMéndez, Felicita Marcelli, Davide Curzio, and Alejandro Tomás Rodriguez Aguerópolis (photo: Marcin Cecko).



Human beings are very perceptive organ -isms. We can stand facing each other, one caneven manage to perceive what is flow ing in theother, and some understanding appears: ‘Ah!It is that simple.’ Of course, it’s not simple.It’s simple here (points to his head), but it’s notsimple in the way the whole thing functions.

Richards I don’t know much about para -theatre at all. I know, from what Grotowskitold me, that in paratheatre he did not workon performance elements as the basis forwhat was happening. That, I think is a fun -damental difference between what he didwith us and paratheatre. It was clear from thebeginning that our work was going to befounded, in part, on the fundamental ele -ments of performative work – acting, actions,structure, the capacity to repeat structure,song, precision of song, rhythm, melody,tuning, and so on. Our work is a specificcraft. Any good actor embodies his craft, andit’s the same in our work. To advance in it,you need to embody the craft and learn howto live inside it, and let it live inside you.

Audience Member Thomas, I should prob -ably initially direct this question to you. In one ofyour books you recall a moment of working with

Grotowski as an actor, and this moment is whereyou had a real discovery, and he stopped you,saying a wild animal had now entered the roomand that moments like these were not momentswhere you should concern yourself with struc -ture. He called moments such as these ‘momentsof grace’. I was wondering whether you couldexplain or share a little more detail about what isbehind that idea of ‘grace’.

Richards I guess those are the momentswhen everything makes sense. All of a sud -den you know why you are both in the roomtogether. How can I say something aboutthis? It has to do with need.

Audience Member Maybe I can help a bit.The reason why I’m asking is because it’s some -thing more tangible – ‘grace’, as opposed to thecreative stage, or inspiration.

Richards You mean as a word? But I coulduse another word. It doesn’t matter. We couldalso call it something else. Grotowski usedthat word ‘grace’ to describe very specialmoments in work.

It has something to do with need. I thinkeach of us has some hidden potential. It’s likewhat we’re born for, like our high road in

355



life. It’s almost as if, in our birth or in theimpulse to life, something was given to usthat wants to realize itself. In my conscience,throughout my life, I always measure myselfface to this. I am unconsciously aware of mydistance from this, or of my connection withit. When I started to work with Grotowski, Ithink I felt desperately far from this place oftrue need, but I was only twenty-two. I hadlived twenty-two years of life and alreadyhad a feeling of great anxiety and almost afeeling of desperation. Why am I leading thislife? What does it have to offer? Everythingwas getting pretty bleak, a little dark. Youknow, Maria, I didn’t feel substance betweenmyself and other people any more. It wasalmost as if I felt a curtain being drawn bet -ween myself and other people. This gave mea kind of desperation.

I suppose many people can be drawn towork like ours from different but similar mo -ti vations – from some sort of dissatisfaction,or they need something; they need to touchsomething in their lives. I think these ‘special’moments in the work are the moments whenthat need, which is almost like one’s deepesttruth, becomes present in the workspace,and starts to flow with the person doing, andbe that person – be the person’s way ofstanding, looking and singing, and be theirvoice. And all craft goes out the window. It’snot as if everything becomes a technical messbut, in fact, everything becomes incrediblyperfect, in the sense that everything is beauti -ful, everything is shining. You are watching,and even the resonance inside you comingfrom what the person in front of you is livingas an experience becomes your own redis -covery of life, for a moment. You rememberyourself, you remember your own need, youremember your own distance. As if yourawareness of life awakens in that moment –poof – and in that moment, everything makessense.

Audience Member I had a question aboutworking with songs. I understand that workingwith songs is a kind of process that is connectedwith realizing something about yourself on thelevel of your memory, as well. Do you, at somepoint of being involved with this process of work -

ing with songs, start to be completely clear aboutyourself, about your past, your personal memory?Or maybe you go beyond those borders of yourpersonal existence?

Biagini The songs are tools. There can beother tools. Even acting can be a tool. Playingthe piano can be a tool. Painting or makingpottery or teaching can be a tool in the sensethat you have some activity in which you areinvolved, and you get to know it well. You aredoing something and you are doing it welland, at the same time, you look to let some -thing in you go up, rise, touch some subtlesource. So it’s not about getting to know yourpast or discovering what all the differentshades of your personality are. Rather, it isabout seeing what is not accessorial.

Through the work of the songs, there canbe some kind of process between the peopleinvolved and in relation to a better living, wecould say. Then, perhaps we remember. Notthat we remember some past moment fromour lives, but that we remember that we arehere. And if we are here, maybe we are herefor some reason, or we can invent a reason,find a reason to be here, and make this ‘here’ours, make this time ours, and not just be thevictim of our births.

This can be done with songs, or with otherthings. Somewhere, this may be called pray -ing. It is a direction of attention. You need toknow what you are doing well because youshould be completely involved in what youare doing, and some part of your attentiongoes somewhere else. You know what youare doing, with your partners, and part ofyour attention goes – as in a kind of prayer –to ‘not me’. ‘You’, then, becomes more im -por tant than ‘me’.

Richards We’re talking about processesthat are difficult to put into words. Yes, per -sonal memories in some moments can be -come a part of one’s score in a performativeopus. But we are not speaking about that. Weare also not speaking about memory in termsof ‘Ah, I remember something from myyouth. This was an experience from my youththat conditioned me in a certain way and itblocked me in this and that way, and I can try

356



to resolve this block by dealing with thismemory. I understand it; I see how it condi -tions me; I am fighting with that condition -ing.’ This is not what we’re talking about,even though the kinds of conditionings thathappen to us are part of the work, in fact.Knowing them is part of getting to knowoneself, and understanding what is happen -ing within: ‘Thomas’ today is also because ofwhat happened yesterday and, so, it can beimportant to understand what happenedyesterday so that I can better shape what Ican do now.

This kind of self-understanding in ourwork is just a beginning, like clearing theroad. It’s like setting fire to the weeds in thefield to clear it out for something to happen,for a special experience to be lived in themoment. One can start to perceive a kind ofexpansion; perceive that what is my self, infact, does not stop at the edge of my skin. Itdoesn’t even stop at the edge of my concep -tions of ‘I’, or of my memories. Some otherkind of presence can become so palpable; it’sas if it’s using me as a ladder, in fact, or likethe banks of a river. The doer is doing, butyou don’t just see the doer doing; somethingelse is doing the doer, and the doer is beingused like the banks of a river, and this wateris flowing through the person.

You work, and you work in this way,and your sense of ‘what is my self’ starts tochange. You see that, in one moment, thissense of self is constricted and then it growsand grows, and where does it stop? I amspeaking about verticality, it’s what the workis aiming for. One can’t grasp it, one can’tcatch it, because my perception is now, myper ception is now, the chance is now. I can’tlimit it. I can only hope to hold on to thisthread of ‘now’ and to let the instrument ofmy being be played like a flute by this windof now.

Audience Member I wanted to clarify withyou my understanding of ‘verticality’ and itsconnection with the vibrations in the songs. Myunderstanding is that this idea of the line throughthe body, from the spine, from the centre, from theface through to the skull, leads to the chakras, tothe different emotional centres, and they then lead

to the endocrine system, which also is about vib -rations. You’re connected to the earth through theface chakra; your emotion, your sense of self, yourheart chakra, your connection with your commu -ni cation and spirituality is in flight of that line.My understanding is that Grotowksi used thesong and vibrations in order to stimulate thisvertical line through the spine, through the emo -tions, through the connection with yourself as aperson on the earth and yourself as a spiritualbeing. Where do you stand on what I have justsaid?

Biagini Don’t confuse the map with thejourney. You can have many versions of amap. The map is useful if you go through ajourney. Then you don’t need the map. Thepoint is not to stimulate or manipulate some -thing in one’s organism for some kind of self-perfection. This work is not about makingmyself better. It is, rather, to be and be with.Yes, there are traditional descriptions – tradi -tional maps – of these processes. The pro cessesare very complex. Maps are always simplified.They are two-dimensional.

Do you see what I mean? If I start to thinkabout – I don’t know – this place (pointing tohis chest), just by thinking about it I can makeit redder. It will become redder. And sowhat? What will this change of blood circu -lation do to the life of my partner who issinging with me? To the life of the personnext to me?

But, yeah, we can ask ourselves and dosome research. What do they mean, in thepast, in these strange texts, when they speakabout heart? What is it? What is it to enterinto the heart? Is it my heart? Will I makemyself better, will my body work better, willmy mind be better, will my soul be saved?It’s rather that all this that works (indicatingbody) works naturally, and it is quite hope -less, we could say. All this (indicating body)was born. It will die. The process of yearspass ing brings some kind of general degen -er ation. But then, what is it to enter into theheart? What is this ‘inner man’? The questionis important. The question, we can say, not theanswer, really, but the act of looking for theanswer. That will have an effect in which,somehow, this hell that Thomas was describ -

357



ing before – this hell will still be there, but,somehow, something larger will appear,which will contain it.

We could say that there would be lessidentification with it, or less identificationwith a map, any map. It can be a map thatsays I am a quadruped, or a biped, or I am anactor. Or there is a map that says I am a flowof energy in the universe – this is also a map.Both are maps. Representations. The work isnot about representation. Certain represen -tations can help in the sense that you see thatsome people from the past were concernedwith the same questions as you, and thattherefore we are not alone in our search, andwe can approach their witnessing, the tracesof their efforts, and ask ourselves, honestly,whether and how their research can help usin our lives.

Audience Member It takes the form, first, ofgratefulness for the openness and the struggleand desire that you both obviously have to explainyourselves so clearly and truthfully. And to thankyou for the poetry of a great many of youranswers; they’re absolutely beautiful statements.And a lot of the words that you’ve used do soundlike – and I say emphatically – the presence of akind of truthfulness and humour; and the know -ledge that we can find quality, find a somethingbetter, higher, something more truthful in theinner life. Does your thought for the need to cir -cu late this and the journey – does this informyour choice to be in the theatrical family, yourchoice to be in the position of performer? Is therea possibility that this, which you have so vigor -ously obtained through craft, could be passedthrough a witness, an audience, a spectator? Canyou circulate the search of the ‘inner’ that youappear to have encountered?

Richards If I watch a theatre performance –a good one – a sort of empathy takes place.Part of myself melds into the story. I sym -pathize with a certain character. Maybe I seemyself in him. He reminds me of my desires,my weaknesses and my strengths. If the per -formance is good, in some way I am on thestage, also, as a spectator. Strangely enough,in this kind of work, if something is veryalive there, a similar phenomenon can take

place because there are processes beyondnarration that can pass from one human be -ing to another.

Processes can pass from one person toanother even just through being present faceto face; or being face to face with an act thatis taking place, simply being in the roomwhen some special act is accomplished; andsince the resonance of that act is there, I havethe chance to perceive it. So, there is a wayfor me to watch him ( faces Mario) as if to findmyself in him. If some special, subtle cur rentis passing through him, it should also be pos -sible that the traces of that current can be hereas well (pointing to himself) – that throughsome kind of empathy, through some kind ofconnecting, by laying all my capacities ofperception onto this artist, his experience canin a subtle way become my experience.

This is a very powerful phenomenon. Itcan happen or not. I don’t know why or whatwould make it happen. Maybe I also havesome needs, too. I am a human being, too.I also have some need to focus myself on apearl, to hold on to that pearl for a moment.My life needs that pearl, maybe. I am wit -nessing him in some special process, and theworld of perception is waiting for me, for‘Thomas’, to wake up as well. I’m like a childsleeping in my bed. There’s an old wise manwho said, ‘The mother doesn’t need to go towake up the child in the middle of the nightfor him to go and pee-pee. The child willwake up when the need is there.’ Witnessinghim, it’s as if I am the sleeping child and lifeis happening there in front of me. Maybe myown need will wake me to perceive the sameshining experience he is.

Without need, no action that you do willbe alive in your lives. Everything will beconceptual. Your life is related to your needs.Follow them. Follow what’s living for you.Let it conduct you. Even if it’s money –‘I need a lot of money’ – maybe that’s whatyou need to do. I need a career, I need to be afamous professor, I need to be a great direc tor,I need success – maybe if you go throughthose needs and you let them carry you like avolcano, then that’s done. And then some -thing else might take its place, or anotherkind of need will appear.

358



We can get trapped into thinking that, tobe a good artist, I should do in this way, thisis the right way. Or even to be a good humanbeing: ‘Well, I can’t want money because thatwould be low. But, in fact, I want money,I want security, I want a house and, ratherthan getting it, I never let myself fight for itbecause I think it would be low.’ And I stayin this mediocre territory where all of myactions are conditioned by, ‘Oh, it would bewrong if – ’ So that’s also what we’re lookingfor when someone enters the work: hope -fully, they have a need to touch this some -thing that’s at the centre of our work. Then,the whole task becomes to try gently to helpthe person to come close, to see what’s bet -ween them and it.

Audience Member You talked about ‘art’ andhow the perception of art can help us understandwhere we are as people on this earth, in theuniverse. A couple of things struck me, sud denly,when I was watching the film La Dolce Vita afew years ago. I don’t know if it was about thecontents of the film, but I just suddenly felt that I

almost didn’t exist. That was absolutely like youwere saying about energy in the uni verse, and I’dnever had that feeling before. You think you havethese experiences and you think ‘I’m the only onethat’s ever felt that.’ Maybe it is that place or thatmoment where suddenly you know what art is.But what you’re saying about perceptions andpresence and suddenly under stand ing our exist -ence means a lot to me.

Biagini There is also enjoyment in art. Iwalk in the street and see that a lot of us arevery sad. But we are so rich; we have every -thing. We can drink the water from the tapand we don’t get sick or die. We can go to theuniversity until we are thirty-five. Inside thisluxury that we have, we get very spoiled.Something in our senses gets anaesthetizedand then we are sad, and we don’t evenknow why, and we don’t even know that weare sad. So maybe, at times, it is as simple asthat. That you see something and it gives youjoy. When we say ‘joy’, we all understandwhat we are talking about, and sometimesit’s just about that: to enjoy.

359


Whit and After Grotowski

Documents

Transcript of Whit and After Grotowski