Normally, in this final History seminar I'm taking,  דת ומדינה במזרח התכון  with Prof. Menashri there are nine students, which I thought was a good size for a graduate seminar.  Last night, however, there were only five of us and it was perfect. The discussions are easier and more lively.  I have to give a talk next week about the reemergence of Islamic parties in Turkey.  I am rather enamoured with Turkey, but much more so with its art, architecture, music  and other aspects of its culture, for which History is only the context.  I don't suppose Prof. Menashri would approve of a talk on the Köçekler or the wonders of  Arzu Görücü's voice (thanks, Gürcan for introducing me!).

After class, I met my friend, Heather and we hopped a bus for the Florentine neighborhood in south Tel Aviv.  Our destination was an art gallery (which turned out to be little more than a hole in the wall) where there was to be a happening, some performance art. We found the place in short order and joined the few people milling about outside in the street.  The gallery's walls, ceiling and front window were draped in red fabric.  Quite a crowd gathered and we began to wonder how we'd all possibly fit in. 

The "curtains" of the gallery opened, the music (in Arabic) came up over the loudspeakers, and we realized that, standing there in the street,  we were already in our "seats."  The performance had been advertised as a one-woman show.  Instead, there were three young men. Two of them were standing on low benches, each with his head in a noose (לוּלָאָה).  The third guy cut them down and stretched them out "dead" on the floor before us.  Next, he spend what seemed like an inordinately long time staring at them.  No matter! The music was beautiful in Fairuz sort of way and people-watching is my favorite sport.  I'll spare you a play by play, but the rest of the performance involved music, running and the "death" of the remaining boy when the ceiling collapsed on cue.  Meters and meters of red fabric fell on his funeral pyre and phoenix-like, he was resurrected.  Suddenly, he was standing, wearing the ceiling which was transformed into an evening dress which extended out to the walls of the gallery.  S/he sang (in Arabic) and cried for Beirut. Finally, the dress rose up to the heavens and the three boys danced together to an old Adam Ant song, Prince Charming.  

Don't you ever, don't you ever
stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome
don't you ever, don't you ever
stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome

Prince Charming
Prince Charming
ridicule is nothing to be scared of
don't you ever, don't you ever
stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome

don't you ever, don't you ever
lower yourself, forgetting all your standards
don't you ever, don't you ever
lower yourself, forgetting all your standards

Then, our Prince Charming drew the drapes closed, everyone clapped and we were served Arak (think Ouzo) and pretzels. All in all, it was a rather amusing evening.

I woke up again this morning from a labyrinth dream. There is something very calming and meditative about walking a labyrinth, and reminds me of doing kinhin (經行) Zen Buddhist walking meditation.



Labyrinth walking or Kinhin?

Tags: adam ant, dream, florentine, grad seminar, heather, kinhin, labyrinth, marco pirroni, performance art, prince charming
Current Location: chez moi
Current Mood: quixotic
Current Music: Etta James: Holding Back the Years