Log-book: 9th August

Bálint asks me how I feel.

I am sitting for myself at the dinner table in S., our hosts yard, starring aimlessly out into the air in front of me. Around me, people are moving, cleaning their plates, talking, laughing, drinking their tea, and I just sit here and stare. And Bálint asks me how I feel. A perfectly normal question I guess, not strange in any way – perfectly natural. In any other situation it could be a throw-away enquiry, made mostly out of politeness, but here, now, there’s much more to it; the words that form in Bálint’s mouth has a special ring to them, a concern playing in the spaces between the letters. Today it is three days since I arrived in Roşia Montană, coming directly here from travelling Italy, not really knowing what to expect, and without knowing anyone but Bori, that I met two days before. I had only met Bálint once before and had no experience at all with The Föld Theatre, this kind of workshops, and actually, very little experience with acting in general. And here I sit, starring. What do I think about? What’s going on inside my head?

Today we started doing acting-stuff. And what better place to start doing your acting stuff than at the church? So we went to the church, first thing after breakfast. The Unitarian one, not the greco-catholic, or the orthodox, or the normal catholic or other orthodox one. And we started the warm up. Now, I have been in a church a lot of times in my life, but never had I thought I should be playing around like this in a church, and yet, here I was, standing with my eyes closed, in front of Laila, making all the weird noises I could stretch my mind to think of. Here I was, sitting on a church bench, improvising song over the chanting of the others of the group. Here I was popping up from my hiding behind a bench, to start singing a Romanian children song that I could not pronounce the words of. Here I was, within the rein of the Roşia Montană Föld Theatre.

I really need to learn Romanian. Really. Our translators are doing an amazing job, but seriously, how can you hope for people to pour out their dreams and hopes in front of you, when you can’t even tell them bless you, when they sneeze. But of course, I didn’t find the time for Romanian lessons today either. I guess I have been trying to find the time for three days now, but nope, still no success – all I have learned is yes, no and good day. You can have all the good intentions in the world, but it will do you no good. Time is a luxury here in Roşia Montană. When I first arrived, I decided to write a bit every day about my experiences. Helps to process everything. Helps you realizing what you have learned. Helps me stay sane. Okay, Morten, now really? Well, apart from it being hopelessly naive of me, to believe that I could actually manage to write just a bit about a whole day in Roşia Montană, the time, when nothing you for all in the world would want to be a part of, is not taking place, doesn’t exist. It is always there. Whether it’s doing a headstand, building a tower out of people or learning an Argentinean song, it’s always there.

There are so many interesting places here. It’s like in a fairy tale. Like something I have only ever had the pleasure of imagining. But it’s all for real here. The mountains, the woods, the cows walking around in the streets and the abandoned houses. And the abandoned houses. Right here in front of me, Roşia Montană stretches out like an enormous playground.

We were playing today. The kind of playing that’s still so very new to me, but seems to be perfectly natural to the others. Dividing into three groups and with the only instructions, to dig for an experience in our memories, that seemed to us, parallel to the events taking place in Roşia Montană, we went out into this grand playground, to make some kind of scene to present to the others. It’s an enchanting freedom; having nothing restraining you. And yet so scary it is, to have to stare hard into the void of your own imagination until something forms out there; something you can catch and tame, and then throw it out into the light of the world. But enchanting it is. Hours of exploring and adventuring in an old abandoned house, imagining how the inhabitants had walked around and packed their stuff, preparing to leave and arguing about, if they should bring the old sofa. And then, to transform the whole thing into theater... Not the worst way at all to spend your afternoon, I’d say..!

So what am I thinking sitting here starring out into the air? What is going on inside my head? Am I feeling alone, alienated, insufficient, homesick? I am seldom feeling so much at home as I do here, so satisfied and happy with how things are. No.

I am not sad.

I am the incarnation of all of my experiences. The sum of the storm of things happening all the time all around me. Of constant adventure and the impressions left by wondrous places. Of 13 great persons exploring the unknown with me, and putting all of themselves out there in front of me and into this project. I am a product of staying up late yesterday night: talking, playing, drawing; the day before: reading Danish folktales. Of the sheer multitude of new things tried and learned. Of physical training today – hard physical training and acrobatics... Learning to build a tower out of people and to stand on each other’s shoulders. I’m not sure I have ever learned so much in such a short time in my entire life, and I am wasted.

Bálint asks me how I feel. And I turn to him and tell: Tired. (Morten Andersen)