Dominic Thorpe - Liz Burns - Joseph Carr
performance text photos
The Drive to Remember, the Need to Forget.
“This is a politics of presence. Sit with me silently aware of the presence between us,
Cover your face.” 1
6.10 pm
Kilmainham Jail, Dublin on a wet and windy November evening. I enter the East Wing through a narrow passageway. Almost immediately upon entering this space I have this creeping sense of being weighed down by Irish history. Kilmainham Gaol – a monument, a shrine - synonymous with Irish nationalism and republicanism, with crime and punishment.
The ‘panoptic’ or all seeing eye comes to mind immediately on entering the East Wing – surrounded by three climbing stories of cells. Am I the spectator who is now in the role of governor or prison warden? The all seeing eye or unobserved observer? Twenty artists performing simultaneously. I hear and see skipping, singing, movement, actions; there is a sense of anticipation, urgency almost. I smell wool – is it sheep’s wool? Are the artists observing me? I must explore …….
6.20pm
My first thought is of Edvard Munch’s famous painting ‘The Scream’. I watch him slowly circle a space he has made for himself on the ground floor on the East Wing. He is walking backwards and paces vigil like, his mouth wide open, almost distorted, as if straining to scream or even speak. But nothing comes out. This silent scream is almost painful to watch. He pours water slowly from one glass to another in a rhythmic fashion and continues his backward pacing. He is dressed childlike, grey trousers, grey jumper tucked in, socks no shoes. Hands covered in chalk marks. Is that a sheep’s or pig’s heart he is carrying on his back? I’m not sure ……it’s flesh and blood anyway. The smell of wool again hits me, a damp, musky, earthy smell, reminds me of my childhood. Pelts of wool are draped over the railings – a decaying organism. The artist continues to circle the space he has created for himself. I notice the floor – I make out the words abuse, they appear fragile survivor, it’s chalk I think, abuse, that one’s starting to disappear with the suds …He picks up a wool pelt and drapes it over his head, and continues pacing. A wolf in sheep’s clothing? Am I being too literal? Or perhaps it’s a gesture of escape, denial, deceit even? Pulling the wool over ones eyes? It’s the wide open mouth that gets me most though…the silent scream…
This is a politics of presence.
7.15 pm
He appears to be hiding now, has descended a dark passageway – gone underground so to speak. Maybe he’s getting away from the audience? People are peering down the steps, its dark down there, we can’t follow him. That’s suits me fine, I don’t like that dark passageway. It gives me the creeps. More chalk marks and lettering on the ground. Suds marks and water smudge the lettering. It’s now I notice the five volumes laid out side by side on the ground for the first time. They have the look of ‘officialdom’- wine coloured, neatly bound. I wonder am I allowed to touch them? I see a women reading one, and I join her.
The Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse (CICA) Vol I, Vo II, Vol III, Vol IV, Vol V. I know of this report : a culmination of ten years of investigation and recorded testimmony into child abuse in Catholic run insitutions in Ireland.2 Yet like most Irish peole I have never seen this report or read it. The drive to remember, the need to forget. I pick up Volume III and start flicking through the pages.
Chapter 7 – Record of abuse (male witnesses). Section 7.131. pg 84.
I was sexually abused by a Brother, he used to fondle me, and he used to masturbate himself over me, it happened mainly when I was helping in the kitchen, in a room at the back. The sexual abuse always happened outside the sight of everybody.
I am shocked by the rawness of the words – I haven’t been confronted by them so blatently before. I scan the pages quickly, more witness reports , its too much to take in. I put the report back on the ground.
“This is a politics of presence. Sit with me silently aware of the presence between us,
Cover your face.” 1
6.10 pm
Kilmainham Jail, Dublin on a wet and windy November evening. I enter the East Wing through a narrow passageway. Almost immediately upon entering this space I have this creeping sense of being weighed down by Irish history. Kilmainham Gaol – a monument, a shrine - synonymous with Irish nationalism and republicanism, with crime and punishment.
The ‘panoptic’ or all seeing eye comes to mind immediately on entering the East Wing – surrounded by three climbing stories of cells. Am I the spectator who is now in the role of governor or prison warden? The all seeing eye or unobserved observer? Twenty artists performing simultaneously. I hear and see skipping, singing, movement, actions; there is a sense of anticipation, urgency almost. I smell wool – is it sheep’s wool? Are the artists observing me? I must explore …….
6.20pm
My first thought is of Edvard Munch’s famous painting ‘The Scream’. I watch him slowly circle a space he has made for himself on the ground floor on the East Wing. He is walking backwards and paces vigil like, his mouth wide open, almost distorted, as if straining to scream or even speak. But nothing comes out. This silent scream is almost painful to watch. He pours water slowly from one glass to another in a rhythmic fashion and continues his backward pacing. He is dressed childlike, grey trousers, grey jumper tucked in, socks no shoes. Hands covered in chalk marks. Is that a sheep’s or pig’s heart he is carrying on his back? I’m not sure ……it’s flesh and blood anyway. The smell of wool again hits me, a damp, musky, earthy smell, reminds me of my childhood. Pelts of wool are draped over the railings – a decaying organism. The artist continues to circle the space he has created for himself. I notice the floor – I make out the words abuse, they appear fragile survivor, it’s chalk I think, abuse, that one’s starting to disappear with the suds …He picks up a wool pelt and drapes it over his head, and continues pacing. A wolf in sheep’s clothing? Am I being too literal? Or perhaps it’s a gesture of escape, denial, deceit even? Pulling the wool over ones eyes? It’s the wide open mouth that gets me most though…the silent scream…
This is a politics of presence.
7.15 pm
He appears to be hiding now, has descended a dark passageway – gone underground so to speak. Maybe he’s getting away from the audience? People are peering down the steps, its dark down there, we can’t follow him. That’s suits me fine, I don’t like that dark passageway. It gives me the creeps. More chalk marks and lettering on the ground. Suds marks and water smudge the lettering. It’s now I notice the five volumes laid out side by side on the ground for the first time. They have the look of ‘officialdom’- wine coloured, neatly bound. I wonder am I allowed to touch them? I see a women reading one, and I join her.
The Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse (CICA) Vol I, Vo II, Vol III, Vol IV, Vol V. I know of this report : a culmination of ten years of investigation and recorded testimmony into child abuse in Catholic run insitutions in Ireland.2 Yet like most Irish peole I have never seen this report or read it. The drive to remember, the need to forget. I pick up Volume III and start flicking through the pages.
Chapter 7 – Record of abuse (male witnesses). Section 7.131. pg 84.
I was sexually abused by a Brother, he used to fondle me, and he used to masturbate himself over me, it happened mainly when I was helping in the kitchen, in a room at the back. The sexual abuse always happened outside the sight of everybody.
I am shocked by the rawness of the words – I haven’t been confronted by them so blatently before. I scan the pages quickly, more witness reports , its too much to take in. I put the report back on the ground.
...
7.25pm
He lies prostate now on the cold floor, like a schoolboy in a playground, more a prison yard than playground. Face down , both right and left hands working simultaneouly writing in chalk. There is a quiet determination in his gestures. Words competing with each other Lied , before , now , silent , redress , state. Again the wide open mouth, the silent scream.
This is a politics of presence.
This idea of silence. How might imposed silence be to a prisoner? To anyone? This culture of silence, individual and collective. Are we complicit in our silence?
In the work REDRESS STATE – QUESTIONS IMAGINED3 the same artist critiques this culture of collective silence within Irish society. He imagines questions that would be asked of survivors during hearings like those of the Residential Institutions Redress Board.4 Why didn’t you hit back? You didn’t starve did you? Silence
Are you sure you remember? Silence, you didn’t complain.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
8.05 pm.
For a moment I think the artist has abandoned ship. He doesn’t appear to be in his usual space and I can’t honestly blame him, it’s a lot louder now, and busier. More people have arrived, more chatter. I feel uncomfortable. It’s starting to feel like an opening now, too much distraction. To chatter somehow feels disrespectful in this space. Then I look up and see him. He has moved upstairs and is pacing along the narrow wrought iron passageways outside the cells. Again he walks in backward motion. He has a spectral presence now as he slowly applies black paint to his face; the sheep’s pelt covers his head and shoulders. Escape, denial perhaps? The wide open mouth, unbearable silence….
He passes by a cell with a plague dedicated to Eamon de Valera – former inmate of Kilmainham, many things to many people: hero, freedom fighter, Taoiseach/President founder of our constitution, personification of institutional power synonymous with the Catholic Church, abuse , silence , complicity, denial ….Kilmainham Gaol, right here right now……
In his analysis of trauma the psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud distinguishes between mourning and melancholia. Mourning begins when the ego accepts its separation from the lost loved one as a result of death. Melancholia involves the ego’s refusal to accept the reality of loss and thereby complicates one’s ability to come to terms with trauma and grief. Freud argues that trauma is never fully experienced at the time that it happens. In order to pass through this wounding event various self-defence mechanisms such as numbness, denial, disavowal are mobilised. The reality of trauma is experienced for the first time only when it can be recollected.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
This drive to remember involves what Freud calls ‘a second burial’. He argues we must revisit the trauma, open the grave, free the ghosts and mourn the dead. Through this act of remembering we can then start to heal and to forget. Can art perform this second burial?
He lies prostate now on the cold floor, like a schoolboy in a playground, more a prison yard than playground. Face down , both right and left hands working simultaneouly writing in chalk. There is a quiet determination in his gestures. Words competing with each other Lied , before , now , silent , redress , state. Again the wide open mouth, the silent scream.
This is a politics of presence.
This idea of silence. How might imposed silence be to a prisoner? To anyone? This culture of silence, individual and collective. Are we complicit in our silence?
In the work REDRESS STATE – QUESTIONS IMAGINED3 the same artist critiques this culture of collective silence within Irish society. He imagines questions that would be asked of survivors during hearings like those of the Residential Institutions Redress Board.4 Why didn’t you hit back? You didn’t starve did you? Silence
Are you sure you remember? Silence, you didn’t complain.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
8.05 pm.
For a moment I think the artist has abandoned ship. He doesn’t appear to be in his usual space and I can’t honestly blame him, it’s a lot louder now, and busier. More people have arrived, more chatter. I feel uncomfortable. It’s starting to feel like an opening now, too much distraction. To chatter somehow feels disrespectful in this space. Then I look up and see him. He has moved upstairs and is pacing along the narrow wrought iron passageways outside the cells. Again he walks in backward motion. He has a spectral presence now as he slowly applies black paint to his face; the sheep’s pelt covers his head and shoulders. Escape, denial perhaps? The wide open mouth, unbearable silence….
He passes by a cell with a plague dedicated to Eamon de Valera – former inmate of Kilmainham, many things to many people: hero, freedom fighter, Taoiseach/President founder of our constitution, personification of institutional power synonymous with the Catholic Church, abuse , silence , complicity, denial ….Kilmainham Gaol, right here right now……
In his analysis of trauma the psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud distinguishes between mourning and melancholia. Mourning begins when the ego accepts its separation from the lost loved one as a result of death. Melancholia involves the ego’s refusal to accept the reality of loss and thereby complicates one’s ability to come to terms with trauma and grief. Freud argues that trauma is never fully experienced at the time that it happens. In order to pass through this wounding event various self-defence mechanisms such as numbness, denial, disavowal are mobilised. The reality of trauma is experienced for the first time only when it can be recollected.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
This drive to remember involves what Freud calls ‘a second burial’. He argues we must revisit the trauma, open the grave, free the ghosts and mourn the dead. Through this act of remembering we can then start to heal and to forget. Can art perform this second burial?
...
9.00 pm
It’s getting a little quieter now. Less manic. He is back downstairs now. Walking around then lying prostrate on the floor, making space for himself, claiming his space, or sharing this space. The spectators move around him, allowing him room, sometimes a little impatiently, in this encounter of being together.
Lied, before, now, silent, redress, state
Chalk marks on floor. Both left and right hands scrawling these words simultaneously. There is a steely determination in this scrawling. Words getting smudged with suds, appearing and disappearing. The five volumes remain on the floor, all closed now.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
He is pouring milk for one glass to another in circular movements. He is now back on the floor, face down, scrawling.
Silence, Redress, Silence
This time I see only a school boy, there is a real vulnerability now. Carrying a flesh and blood heart …..a heavy load.
I remember the words
‘Have you lied before now? Why didn’t you hit back?
Are you sure you remember?
Are we sure we remember?
9.50pm
Feathers, ice, lipstick, bucket, salt, skipping, smell of boiling potatoes, sheep’s wool.
I am tired now, both physically and mentally. I start to notice sounds more. Water gently dripping into buckets, the heartbeat of the skipping. As I leave, I pass two spectators who appear almost trapped, as he continues to scrawl his mantra by their feet. They talk to each other feigning indifference, .…yet there is something uneasy in their casualness…..silence, redress, lied, before, now , silence , the words seem fragile and start to appear and disappear, in smudges of sudsy water - a bit like our memories perhaps. What we choose to remember and what we choose to forget. Numbness, denial, melancholia, disavowal, mourning…..
The start of a second burial? Perhaps.
Liz Burns, January 2011
1. Catherine Barragy Installation text – Kilmainham Gaol Right Here, Right Now 4th November 2010.
2. The Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse (CICA) was set up by the Irish government in 1999 to investigate the extent and effects of abuse on children in Irish insititutions run by the Catholic Church and funded by the Dept of Education from 1936 onwards. In 2009 the finding of this commision was published and is known as the Ryan Report. This report concluded that there was a culture of systematic abuse (physical and sexual) and cover up, within these insitutions, and that the government inspectors failed to stop the abuses www.childabusecommission.ie
3. Dominic Thorpe performance that took place for five hours a day over nine days at 126 Gallery Galway , 2010. www.dominicthorpe.net
4. The Redress Board was set up under the Residential Institutions Redress Act, 2002 to make awards to persons who, as children, were abused while resident in industrial schools, reformatories and other institutions subject to state regulation or inspection. Accepting compensation involved survivors signing a ‘ gagging’ clause , which threatened criminalisation if the survivor published about their experiences, thus continuing a culture of silencing and intimidation.
It’s getting a little quieter now. Less manic. He is back downstairs now. Walking around then lying prostrate on the floor, making space for himself, claiming his space, or sharing this space. The spectators move around him, allowing him room, sometimes a little impatiently, in this encounter of being together.
Lied, before, now, silent, redress, state
Chalk marks on floor. Both left and right hands scrawling these words simultaneously. There is a steely determination in this scrawling. Words getting smudged with suds, appearing and disappearing. The five volumes remain on the floor, all closed now.
The drive to remember, the need to forget.
He is pouring milk for one glass to another in circular movements. He is now back on the floor, face down, scrawling.
Silence, Redress, Silence
This time I see only a school boy, there is a real vulnerability now. Carrying a flesh and blood heart …..a heavy load.
I remember the words
‘Have you lied before now? Why didn’t you hit back?
Are you sure you remember?
Are we sure we remember?
9.50pm
Feathers, ice, lipstick, bucket, salt, skipping, smell of boiling potatoes, sheep’s wool.
I am tired now, both physically and mentally. I start to notice sounds more. Water gently dripping into buckets, the heartbeat of the skipping. As I leave, I pass two spectators who appear almost trapped, as he continues to scrawl his mantra by their feet. They talk to each other feigning indifference, .…yet there is something uneasy in their casualness…..silence, redress, lied, before, now , silence , the words seem fragile and start to appear and disappear, in smudges of sudsy water - a bit like our memories perhaps. What we choose to remember and what we choose to forget. Numbness, denial, melancholia, disavowal, mourning…..
The start of a second burial? Perhaps.
Liz Burns, January 2011
1. Catherine Barragy Installation text – Kilmainham Gaol Right Here, Right Now 4th November 2010.
2. The Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse (CICA) was set up by the Irish government in 1999 to investigate the extent and effects of abuse on children in Irish insititutions run by the Catholic Church and funded by the Dept of Education from 1936 onwards. In 2009 the finding of this commision was published and is known as the Ryan Report. This report concluded that there was a culture of systematic abuse (physical and sexual) and cover up, within these insitutions, and that the government inspectors failed to stop the abuses www.childabusecommission.ie
3. Dominic Thorpe performance that took place for five hours a day over nine days at 126 Gallery Galway , 2010. www.dominicthorpe.net
4. The Redress Board was set up under the Residential Institutions Redress Act, 2002 to make awards to persons who, as children, were abused while resident in industrial schools, reformatories and other institutions subject to state regulation or inspection. Accepting compensation involved survivors signing a ‘ gagging’ clause , which threatened criminalisation if the survivor published about their experiences, thus continuing a culture of silencing and intimidation.