Bataillon

Six zones, boxes, stages. Islands of text growing together to something like a postapocalyptic continent. On which the chorus has the say. The chorus of female voices. As the woman author puts it. Right. A women‘s chorus or a choir? An amazon army anyway. The author says: ad fontes, to the sources, this really sounds like ancient greek theatre here, it‘s a tragedy! What keeps the store together? What keeps us together at last? The caretaker! The housekeeper. Who is we? The net, the angewandte, the highrise, the voices? Tell, tell, you are so beautiful then. When telling a story, your story. The whole story, again, anew, different, from the beginning. Who owns what. Who owns everything. What belongs to all. Who owns the story Who owns history. And her story. Who belongs to whom. Who listens to whom. Who listens to whose story. A weaving error. A web, a tangle, a landscape of words, a landscape play. An immersive installation – ah, everything‘s immersive these days, even a supermarket is immersive, tell, tell, what are you going to tell, you are so beautiful when you are telling. (Thomas Oliver Nierhaus)