In response to its history, I created this performance in an abandoned, roofless room in a courtyard of an old fort in Zadar, Croatia.
As we planned this project, I hoped to find an unusual site with a complex history in which to create a performance, and I was not disappointed. On the first day I discovered a odd series of abandoned, roofless rooms, built below level in an interior courtyard of a fort. Two stories above the courtyard opened into the park. A stone wall circled the opening, and people could look over it into the rooms.
I began my research. I inquired at the city archives about the history, but no one knew about the rooms, other than dating them to the 19th century. I haunted the flea market, and located postcards of the site from different eras. Meanwhile, our hosts were telling us the recent history of Zadar, and their experiences during the 91-95 war with Serbia. They showed us photos of the bomb damage done to the city. One day by chance, while I was meeting with the city’s Chief Conservator, she showed me a book that had just arrived that day, recording the history of the US/British bombing of Zadar during World War II. I began to reflect on the cycles of destruction and rebuilding that has been repeated throughout the history of the Balkans. It is not an experience that is familiar to an American.
Access to the site was controlled by the street cleaners for the city, as they stored their equipment in the courtyard. As I worked there, they offered me assistance, loaning me tools and taking away the rubble I had cleared from the room. The Director of the street cleaning services sought a translator one afternoon to tell me how honored he was that I had chosen that site, that I recognized its beauty, and that I was making an art work for the city.
Each morning I sat in the space, meditating on what I might perform. But without information on the history of the site, I felt at a loss. The only images that rose in my mind were lying on my back in the leaves on the floor, and drinking coffee at a cafe table, but I had no understanding of their meaning or how they were connected to the place.
Several days before the performance was scheduled to take place, I learned – almost by chance – some of the history of the location. A gentleman who had written about the early 19th century development of the park atop the fort remarked that an exclusive cafe had been in the courtyard. And minutes later someone else told me that recently a young boy had fallen over the wall into the courtyard and died. Here were the meanings of the images that I had received, or perhaps channeled.
The performance was constructed as a series of four actions, which started at 4 p.m. and ended four hours later at nightfall. It was important to me to do something that was concrete, that changed the site for the better. The audience was invited to watch from above, or at ground level through the window of the room. Above they could also view a small monitor that provided a close up image of the materials on the table in the space.
For the first image, I lay on my back in the leaves, eyes closed, arms spread. This lasted half an hour.
The second action, and the major activity of the piece, was to clean the space. I filled bag after bag with leaves and rubble from the floor, shoveling and sweeping it until it was cleared. A lovely tiled section emerged at one end. This cleaning took about two and a half hours. Occasionally I would rest, and look through a series of photos that were on the table. These were pictures of the city from different eras, including pictures from the different wars, as well as old postcards, drawings, and maps. These images could be seen by the audience above, on the video monitor mounted on the railing.
After finishing the cleaning, I changed my clothing, and sat at the table. Coffee was delivered from the nearby cafe, which I drank while continuing to look through the photos of the city.
Finally I wrote a letter, which could also be read on the monitor above. It was a letter to a Yugoslavian friend who has passed away. I wrote about being in Zadar, my thoughts about the wars that had happened in his country, and my effort as an American to comprehend the experience. It grew dark as I finished the letter. Before I left I placed the flowering potted plant on the newly cleaned windowsill of the room.
The next day, I returned to see my handiwork in the daylight: a clean room. The street cleaners were there, pleased at what I had accomplished. I presented them with the flowers, and photos were taken.
