Incercare de portret al unei persoane non-umane

Prima oara cand l-am vazut pe Souris, silueta lui scheletica se proiecta pe fundalul ruinelor industriei socialiste. Cel mai slab dintr-o haita de caini bolnavi, subnutriti si traumatizati care pazeau ce mai ramasese in punctul acela din combinatul Solventul. Solventul fusese in perioada socialista una dintre cele mai mari platforme chimice din tara. In momentul in care am vizitat-o noi, in anul 2012, doar cateva structuri mai erau in picioare in peisajul apocaliptic de daramaturi, printre muntii de caramizi, in mirosul de substante chimice. Un scandal care a ocupat atentia mass-mediei locale pentru scurta vreme, despre felul in care s-a daramat abuziv partea istorica a fabricii, parte din patrimoniul industrial, se stinsese deja. Din cladirea istorica mai ramasese doar fatada, care a fost curand daramata si ea. Unul dintre paznici, fost muncitor la Solventul, ne spusese perpetua istorie a perioadei de tranzitie, faptul ca combinatul avea inca multe comenzi dar ca a fost falimentat artificial pentru ca terenul imens avea si are o valoare mai mare decat vietile muncitorilor/elor disponibilizati/te. Pe parcursul verii anului 2012, am vizitat mai multe foste fabrici si uzine socialiste din Timisoara, falimentate abuziv pentru ca terenurile lor valoroase urmau sa devina ansambluri rezidentiale sau mall-uri. Dar intre timp, criza financiara inghetase aceste planuri si noi vizitam spatiile acestea in asteptare cu sentimentul ca ne vizitam istoria. Am filmat si fotografiat ruinele trecutului nostru colectiv, urmele lui enigmatice, afland mereu aceleasi istorii de abuzuri si stergere, observand saracia extrema din jurul acestor spatii. Am observat aceste spatii ca pe niste locuri ale pierderii, aceste spatii care au fost candva bunuri comune. Aceste spatii au fost candva parte dintr-o punere in practica a unei conceptii care presupunea responsabilitatea societatii fata de toti membrii/membrele ei, punere in practica care, chiar daca imperfecta, reprezenta, totusi, un ideal de echitate pierdut acum. Am vizitat aceste locuri ale dezolarii ca niste turisti/te in trecutul nostru, observand un proces deja incheiat, documentand fara posibilitatea de a interveni, reflectand imaginea mai larga a eficientei limitate pe care o are arta.

In timpul acestor vizite, intrebarile despre rolul si potentialul artei ne-au insotit continuu, aceste intrebari care sunt o constanta a practicii noastre. Cand inceteaza arta a fi un simplu ornament care legitimeaza starea de fapt? Cum poate arta sa reveleze si sa critice fata oribila a lumii fara sa faca asta in slujba celor care au facut lumea un loc oribil? Cum poti evita ca arta sa fie un anestezic, o vesnica amanare a unei lumi mai drepte, o colectie de cuvinte consolatoare? Cum poate arta sa fie mai mult decat un pur exercitiu intelectual, mai mult decat o suita sterila de idei despre schimbare, idei autoreferentiale care nici macar nu-si propun sa depaseasca teritoriul lor sigur si inchis?

***

Souris a ajuns sa traiasca cu noi dintr-un gest de impuls, dupa ultima noastra vizita la Solventul, cand o echipa de demolatori daramau ultimele structuri ale combinatului. Souris avea 3 sau 4 luni si si-ar fi trait probabil ultimele zile. La finalul acelei veri in care am vazut atat de multa distrugere si lipsa de speranta, Souris si fratele lui Albu, doi pui de caine alesi intamplator dintre alti caini nefericiti, au venit cu noi. Daca arta si atitudinea cetateneasca nu puteau schimba nimic din dezolarea lumii, lumea lor puteam sa o schimbam. Si ei au schimbat lumea noastra. Albu este vesel si sociabil, curios si energic. Souris vede lumea ca pe un teritoriu in care pericolul pandeste la fiecare pas. Povestea lui Albu continua independent de a noastra, intr-o alta familie. Souris a ramas cu noi si in textul acesta el este personajul principal.

Souris nu este primul caine din familia noastra. Cu patru ani inainte sa-l cunoastem pe Souris, Lulu, un pui de caine gasit intr-o parcare a venit sa traiasca cu noi. Dar Lulu a invatat dintotdeauna sa se adapteze la lumea oamenilor, sa se comporte cu supunere si sa arate afectiune atunci cand ii este teama, sa acorde incredere oamenilor si sa fie previzibila. Toate acestea ii fac existenta mai putin conditionata, chiar daca ierarhia dintre noi si ea, care face ca noi sa-i determinam majoritatea aspectelor vietii, e singura realitate posibila in organizarea existenta a societatii umane.
Souris poarta cu el memoria generatiilor de caini de fabrica, caini infometati si precari, recompensati pentru agresivitate, tratati cu agresivitate. Increderea lui fata de noi, castigata destul de greu, este netarmurita, la fel de intensa ca absoluta lui neincredere in oricine altcineva. Lumea oamenilor este pentru el o lume a ostilitatii, in care noi suntem insula lui de siguranta si iubire. Souris e un caine „periculos”, un caine care, conform regulilor oamenilor, nu ar trebui sa traiasca. Viata lui in afara casei se desfasoara in limitele restrictive ale potentialei lui agresivitati. Botnita, lesa foarte scurta, mereu langa piciorul nostru, mereu atentionat, plimbat pe traseele repetitive din cartier. Lasat sa se bucure de iarba si lumina pe maidanele dintre blocuri, in timp ce noi ne uitam cu prudenta in jur.

O punga umflata de vant, o frunza care cade, zgomotul storurilor ridicate brusc la un apartament de la parterul blocului pe langa care tocmai trecem, o usa trantita de curent, toate sunt motive de circumspectie si teama. O motocicleta care trece pe langa noi il face sa se arunce la pamant tremurand. Orice intamplare care iese din sfera rutinei lui ar putea sa-i provoace un atac de panica. Pe strada, incearca mereu sa mearga pe langa cladiri si ziduri, ca macar dintr-o parte sa fie sigur ca nu poate fi atacat de cineva/ceva. Au existat perioade in care puteam inainta cu el pe strada doar daca il laudam si-l incurajam continuu, vocea noastra convingandu-l pas cu pas sa inainteze prin teritoriul periculos al orasului.

Desi o mare parte din existenta lui este conditionata de agresivitatea si teama lui, nu agresivitatea si teama sunt cele care-l definesc. Atribute care se folosesc de obicei pentru caini se pot spune si despre Souris. Aceste atribute precum iubirea neconditionata, loialitatea, inteligenta, atribute care nu le garanteaza nimic cainilor care le dovedesc, sunt cele care, pe de alta parte, determina care caini merita sa traiasca si care nu. Dar Souris e cu mult mai mult decat aceste lucruri.

***

Momentul in care teama si anxietatea extrema a lui Souris pe strada a inceput sa ia nuanta agresivitatii coincide cu o perioada foarte sumbra. In septembrie 2013, cand Souris era deja de un an cu noi, in Bucuresti, un copil nesupravegheat a murit, presupunandu-se ca a fost ucis in conditii incerte de o haita de caini. Tragedia a fost folosita si transformata intr-o afacere extrem de favorabila pentru firmele de ecarisaj, in conditiile in care a fost data o lege pentru uciderea tuturor cainilor strazii, alocandu-se pentru aceasta fonduri publice. Valuri oribile de violenta impotriva cainilor au marcat acea toamna, imaginea copilului care a murit fiind folosita pentru a alimenta si a canaliza in folosul profitului temerile si frustrarile oamenilor. Nu era primul val de astfel de violente impotriva cainilor, dar in momentul in care aveau loc proteste de amploare in orasele mari din tara impotriva exploatarii cu cianuri la Rosia Montana, moartea copilului a venit la timp. Ce imagine mai buna poate exista pentru a deturna atentia cetatenilor nemultumiti decat moartea unui copil, simbol al inocentei, sperantei si viitorului (chiar daca multi alti copii mor din neglijenta sistemica si saracie, fara ca moartea lor anonima sa conduca la masuri de eradicare a saraciei)? Puterea de simbol a copilului care a murit a fost atat de mare incat chiar daca modurile oribile in care mii de caini au fost omorati in toata tara au fost mediatizate, chiar daca sumele de bani publici varsati in profitul firmelor private care au ucis cainii in moduri asa de violente si ilegale au fost facute publice, totusi opinia publica in marea ei majoritate nu s-a ingrozit si nu a reactionat. Chiar daca se stia ca banii virati spre afacerea extrem de profitabila a uciderii cainilor ar fi rezolvat mult mai eficient problema cainilor fara adapost daca ar fi fost folositi pentru campanii de sterilizare si infiintarea de adaposturi, totusi cunoasterea acestui fapt nu a schimbat nimic. Moartea copilului transformat in simbol trebuia razbunata prin mii de alte morti.

Adapostul Nobody Dogs din Bucuresti e unul dintre adaposturile din tara care a fost foarte activ in acele luni si care a salvat si salveaza macar cativa dintre cainii in pericol sa fie vanati si omorati. Prietena noastra Ruxi colaboreaza cu cele/cei de la adapost si e voluntara acolo si ea ne-a sugerat ca am putea picta niste tricouri ca sa ajutam cu strangerea de fonduri pentru caini. Am brodat si pictat obiecte practice si modeste, portretele unora dintre cainii de la Nobody Dogs reprezentate pe obiecte cotidiene, portofele, tricouri, bucati de panza. Sa-ti donezi lucrarile intr-un scop atat de concret, sa folosesti imagini senine (chiar daca stim ca cei portretizati asteapta de fapt o viata mai senina), sa dai un scop atat de cotidian artei tale contravin regulilor pietei de arta si ale profesiei artistice. Am folosit resturi de materiale textile, tehnica modesta si feminizata a lucrului de mana, cunostinte de desen si compozitie, recicland nu doar materiale dar si cunostintele noastre si experienta noastra ca artiste. Am folosit capacitati artistice si le-am dus la marginile profesiei determinandu-le sa fie practice si mundane.

***

In lunile sumbre care au urmat mortii copilului de la Bucuresti si a miilor de caini din toata tara, cand, pe strada, Souris maraia sau latra la un copil si la tricicleta lui zgomotoasa din plastic, de dupa botnita lui, din lesa foarte scurta, din corpul lui de pui temator si instabil, reactia celor din jur si teama noastra lua proportii mult exagerate fata de situatia obiectiva. Teama noastra alimentand frica si agresivitatea lui. Acele luni definitorii pentru educatia lui au luat nuantele fricii.

Souris ne intuieste emotiile inca dinainte sa fim constiente de ele. Atentia lui focalizata pe noi si concentrata de anxietate, simte orice tresarire infinitesimala, orice accelerare a batailor inimii si a ritmului respiratiei, orice privire. Cea mai mica ezitare pe strada, o ezitare atat de subtila incat aproape ca ne scapa si noua, cel mai mic impuls care nu ajunge sa devina gand constient, este detectat de teama lui.
Souris intuieste mult mai precis decat orice fiinta umana si chiar decat noi insine cum suntem noi in fiecare clipa a prezentului, in ce stare de spirit ne aflam. Se retrage stresat intr-un colt al camerei daca ne contrazicem intre noi, percepand conflictul chiar daca vocile noastre raman scazute si gesturile retinute. Se aseaza mai aproape de noi daca ne intuieste tristetea. Doarme linistit cand suntem calme. Dar intuitia noastra in ce il priveste pe el este limitata de experientele noastre umane atat de axate pe limbajul verbal. Pana sa ajungem sa-i cunoastem expresia, sa-i intelegem gesturile a existat o perioada in care diferenta dintre noi parea insurmontabila. „Daca as putea sa ajung la el si sa-i explic...” era ceva ce ne repetam adesea. Sa treci dincolo de limbajul verbal, sa-ti inveti limbajul gesturilor tale de care nu esti constienta, sa inveti sa transmiti mesajele prin privire, gest si ton, sa inveti codurile unei fiinte al carui univers interior nu e construit din cuvinte. Mintea lui misterioasa, simturile lui ierahizate diferit fata de ale noastre, felul in care intuieste trecerea timpului, memoria lui la care nu vom avea niciodata accesul pe care il poti avea (partial) la memoria altei fiinte umane. Sa inveti din experienta unei astfel de comunicari cum poti iesi din cercul stramt al propriilor experiente de viata, al propriilor ganduri si opinii si sa accepti ca intre tine si o alta fiinta exista mereu un rest care ramane in afara cuvintelor si care nu poate fi intuit. Pentru ca l-am cunoscut pe Souris, am devenit profesoare mai bune, exercitiul empatiei fata de o fiinta cu o psihologie atat de diferita de a noastra extinzand empatia noastra fata de elevi/ve cu gesturi si reactii diferite de ale noastre, invatand sa respectam vasta diversitate a mintilor noastre, invatand sa acceptam si ceea ce nu intelegem.

Cum poti face portretul unei persoane non-umane, al unei fiinte aflate in afara limbajului verbal? Poti vorbi despre infatisarea ei exterioara. Lulu are blana catifelata, neagra cu pete albe, gri si maro si ochi rotunzi, caprui cu o privire serioasa si meditativa. Souris are blana gri si aspra, cu firul mai deschis la radacina si inchizandu-se spre varf, o linie neagra pe spate, botul lung si negru si o expresie adesea ingrijorata. Cand e atent, se incrunta. Poti vorbi despre obiceiuri si gesturi care spun ceva despre vietile lor dinainte sa ne cunoastem (Lulu se bucura cand vede oameni coborand din masina. A cautat hrana prin parcari si a primit-o poate uneori de la oameni care urcau sau coborau din masinile lor? A fost in casa cuiva care avea masina inainte sa fie abandonata pe strada?). Dar ceea ce este esential in comunicarea cu ei, in iubirea si prietenia dintre noi, ramane mereu in afara cuvintelor, e mereu atingere si privire si gest care nu se pot oglindi perfect in vorbire.

Sa ne trecem degetele prin blana lor, sa simtim tristetea, vinovatia si iubirea pentru toata specia lor si pentru toate fiintele non-umane considerate proprietate si produs, exploatate, torturate si injosite, ale caror vieti si morti se desfasoara necunoscute si ignorate. Sa-i iubim pe ei, sa incercam sa construim cu ei o prietenie cat de corecta posibil in limitarile noastre si sa stim ca nu este de-ajuns, atata vreme cat pozitia asupritoare a speciei din care facem parte nu este abolita. Sa pastram in minte mereu aceasta tristete dar sa ne bucuram totusi impreuna cu ei de zile insorite si de dupa-amieze linistite de sambata.

Trying to make a portret of a non-human person

When we first saw Souris, he was a bundle of bones framed by the ruins of a former socialist factory. The thinnest in a group of sick, famished and traumatized dogs who were guarding what was left of the Solventul chemical plant. During communism, Solventul had been one of the biggest chemical plants in the country. When we visited it, in 2012, only parts of its structure were still standing in the middle of apocalyptic rubble, among mounds of bricks and clouds of chemical vapours. The historical section of the industrial buildings had been pulled down abusively and the local press had briefly covered the scandal, but it had all died out when we got there. Only the facade of the historical building was still standing, but soon that went down too. One of the watchmen, a former worker at the plant, had told us the ever-recurrent story of the transition period: that the plant had been purposely bankrupted, even though there was still plenty of demand for its products, because the huge land had and still has a much higher value than the lives of the workers who were let go. During the summer of 2012, we visited several old socialist factories in Timisoara, likewise bankrupted purposely because they were situated on valuable land that was going to be used for residential complexes or malls. But in the meantime the crisis came and all these plans were put on hold. As we were visiting these suspended spaces, we had the feeling that we were visiting our history. We filmed and took shots of our collective past, of its enigmatic traces, always listening to the same stories of abuse and oblivion, taking in the extreme precarity that enshrouds these places. We noted that the substance that filled these former public properties was loss. These spaces were once an instrumental part of a vision that aimed at making the whole of society responsbile for all its members. As imperfect as the vision may have been, it had been rooted in an ideal of equity that was now completely lost. We visited these sites of desolation as tourists into our own past, taking in the traces of a process that had already finished, recording this closure without the possibility to do anything to reverse it.

During these visits, we were continually pondering on the role and potential of art, these questions that forever haunt our practice. When does art cease to be a mere ornament which validates the status quo? How can art reveal and criticize the horrible face of the world without serving the purposes of the very people who have turned the world into a horrible place? How can one avoid turning art into an anaesthezic, a permanent postponement of a fairer world, a collection of soothing words? How can art be more than a mere intellectual exercise, more than a sterile string of ideas about change, a string of self-referencing ideas that do not even see beyond their enclosed safe space?

***

It was on impulse that we brought Souris into our home, after our last visit to Solventul. A demolition team was pulling down the last bits of the plant that were still standing. Souris was 3 or 4 months old at the time, and those would have probably been his last days. At the end of that summer, when we saw so much destruction and hopelesness, Souris and his brother Albu, two puppies picked randomly from a bunch of other battered dogs, came to live with us. If our art and civic participation could not change much in a world of desolation, we could at least change their world. And they also changed ours. Albu is cheerful and sociable, curious and lively. Souris sees the world as a place in which danger lurks at every step. Albu’s story continues independently from ours, in a different family. Souris has stayed with us, and in this text he is the main character.

Souris is not the first dog in our family. Four years before we met him, Lulu came to live with us. We found her in a parking lot. But Lulu learned from the very beginning how to adapt to the world of humans, how to behave submissively and show affection when she is afraid, how to trust people and be predictable. This makes her existence less conditioned, even though the hierarchy that impacts most aspects of her life is the only possible reality in the current organization of human society.

Souris bears the memory of generations of factory dogs, kept hungry and in precarious conditions, rewarded for being aggressive, treated in turn with aggressiveness. His faith in us, earned with quite a lot of difficulty, is now infinite, as infinitely intense as his mistrust of anybody else. The world of humans is for him a world of hostility in which we are his only island of safety and love. Souris is a „dangerous”dog, a dog who, according to the rules of humans, should not be alive. His life outside the home is constrained by his potential aggresiveness. The muzzle, the short leash, his body always kept close to our leg, often verbally corrected, always taken for a walk on the same routes in the neighbourhood. We let him enjoy the light and green grass on the empty stretches between apartment buildings, while we watch cautiously to see if anybody is coming.

A bag swelled up by the wind, a falling leaf, the noise of blinds pulled suddenly in the window of a building we’re just passing, a door being slammed – any of these turn him instantly cautious and fearful. A motorcycle that passes makes him throw himself to the ground in shivers. When we walk in the street, he always tries to be on the side with buildings and fences, to make sure that nobody/nothing can attack him from one side of the road at least. There were times in which we could only make him walk in the street if we praised and encouraged him continuously, prompting him to advance step by step into the dangerous space of the city.

Although a great part of his existence is conditioned by his aggressiveness and fear, these are not the traits that define his personality. Attributes used to describe dogs in general are also true of Souris. These attributes, such as unconditional love, loyalty, intelligence – qualities that offer no guarantees to the dogs that demonstrate them, are also the ones which determine whether a dog deserves to live or not. But Souris is much more than these things.

***

The moment in which Souris’ extreme fear and anxiety in the street began to look like aggressiveness coincides with a very dark period. In September 2013, when Souris had already been with us for a year, an unsupervised kid died in Bucharest, supposedly killed by a pack of stray dogs. The tragedy was used and turned into an extremely profitable business by rendering companies, by means of a law that was issued to kill all street dogs, using public funding. That autumn was swepts by horrible waves of violence against dogs, the image of the dead child being used to foster and channel people’s fear and frustration into bigger profits for the rendering companies. This was not the first wave of this kind, but in the context of ample protests against cyanide mining in Rosia Montana in big cities all over the country, the death of the child came right on time. What better image to detour the attention of angry citizens than the death of a child, symbol of innocence, of hope and of the future (even if many other children die because of systemic neglect and poverty, and their anonymous deaths have not led to any measures to erradicate poverty?) The symbolic power of the death of that child was so great that, even though both the horrible ways in which dogs all around the country were killed and the amount of public money that entered the accounts of private rendering companies were made public, most of the public opinion did not give any signs of being horrified or took any stance. Even though it was common knowledge that the amount of money that filled the accounts of the companies that killed the dogs would have solved more efficiently the problem of stray dogs if it had been invested in neutering campaigns and setting up shelters, this changed nothing. The death of the child who was turned into a symbol had to be avenged by thousands of other deaths.

Nobody Dogs Shelter in Bucure?ti is one of the shelters that was very active in those months and who saved and is saving at least some of the dogs in danger of being hunted down and killed. Our friend Ruxi collaborates with the shelter and helps there as a volunteer and she suggested that we could paint some t-shirts to help with fundraising. We embroidered and painted practical and modest objects with the portraits of some of the dogs at Nobody Dogs. We put them on everyday things like wallets, t-shirts, pieces of cloth. Donating your work for such a concrete purpose, using serene images (even though we know that the ones we portrayed are still waiting to have a more serene life), giving such a mundane purpose to your art is someting that goes against the rules of the art market and the artistic profession. We used scraps of textile and the modest and femininized technique of needlework, as well as drawing and composition skills, thus recycling not only materials but also our knowledge and experience as artists. We used our artistic capacities and took them to the borders of our profession, so as to make them practical and mundane.

***

In the grim months that followed the deaths of the child in Bucharest and of the thousands of dogs all over the country, when Souris would snarl or bark at a kid’s screeching tricycle from behind his muzzle, the short leash holding his fearful unstable puppy body very close to us, everybody’s reaction, including our own, was much exxagerated in proportion to the actual situation. Our fear fuelled his own fear and aggressiveness. Those months that were so important for his education bore an odour of fear.

Souris can sense our emotions even before we become aware of them ourselves. His attention is always focused on us, and is ladden with anxiety – therefore he is instantly aware of any barely perceptible startle, any acceleration in our heartbeat or breathing, any glance. Our slightest hesitation in the street, sometimes so subtle that we’re not even aware of it, the smallest impulse that does not even make it to the level of conscious thought, his fear detects all of that.

No human being’s intuition beats Souris’ at figuring us out at any given point in time. Sometimes, not even we can tell better than him what our state of mind is. When we argue with each other, even if we keep our voices down and avoid making dramatic gestures, he retires in a corner and stresses about our conflict. If he senses sadness in any of us, he comes sit closer. He sleeps serenely when we are calm. But our own intuitions about him are limited by our human experiences, so rooted in verbal communication. Before we learned how to read his expression and understand his gestures, there was a time when our differences seemed unsurpassable. ’’If I could reach out to him and explain...” we used to repeat that quite often. Transgressing verbal communication, learning the language of your own gestures, even of those gestures you’re not aware of, learning to convey a message through your eyes, gestures, tone of voice, learning how to read the codes of a being whose inner universe is not made up of words. His mysterious mind, the different hierarchy of his senses, the way his intuition perceives the passing of time, his memory – to which we will never have the (even just partial) access that we can have to another human being’s memory. Learning from the experience of this type of communication that you can transcede the narrow circle of your personal life experiences, of your own thoughts and opinions, and accepting that between you and another being there will always be something that will remain outside words, and which cannot be intuited. Because we met Souris, we became better teachers. Sharing empathy with somebody with a psychology that is so different from ours extended onto our students, with their gestures and reactions that can also be different from ours. By learning to respect the vast diversity of our minds, we learned to accept that which we do not understand.

How can you make the portrait of a non-human person, of a being who operates outside verbal language? You can talk about their exterior appearance. Lulu has soft black fur, with white, gray and brown patches. Her eyes are round and brown, their expression generally serious and pensive. Souris’ fur is gray and rough, lighter at roots and darker at the ends. He has a dark line on his back. His snout is long-ish and black and his expression is mostly concerned. When he focuses, he frowns. You can also talk about habits and gestures that say something about their lives before we met them (Lulu is happy when she sees people get off a car. Did she use to look for food in parking lots and maybe she sometimes got fed by people getting into or off their cars? Did she use to live with someone who had a care before she was abandoned to the streets?) But what is essential in communicating with them, in the love and friendship that binds us, remains forever outside the realm of words: it is touching and looking and gestures that cannot be put into words.

Lets us comb their fur with our fingers, let us feel the sadness, guilt and love for their entire species and for all the non-human beings considered as property and produce, beings who are exploited, tortured and humiliated, beings whose lives and deaths remain unknown and pass unnoticed. Let us love them, let us try to build with them a correct friendship, as much as our limitations permit us; and let us remember that this is not enough, as long as the opressive position of the species we belong to is not abolished. Let us always bear this sadness in mind, but still let us enjoy together the sunny days and the quiet Saturday afternoons.

Translation from Romanian by Roxana Marin

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