In Lugano. It takes so little, a foolish moment: the kerb grates, the bicycle handlebars twist, and you’re sent flying onto the road. The world spins once on its axis, a thud, you’re gazing at the sky and everything hurts. But only your arm is broken, because you were wearing a helmet that made a tocksound on the tarmac, like a raw egg cracked on the edge of a bowl for pancake batter. A clean break, no surgery required, not even a plaster cast, so the muscles stay alive – just a few painkillers, and it’ll all be over in six weeks.
A trifle in reality, and yet everything changes: tying shoelaces, writing texts, rehearsing – suddenly you’re a different person. Strangers ask how your arm is doing; it’s getting better, thank you, nearly three weeks have passed now.
I can hardly believe it, but our new book comes out the day after tomorrow: ‘Totentanz – la quarantena’. The editing and the production have occupied us for the past few months; an enormous work has emerged, over 520 pages, hardcover, with (Italian) texts, 300 images and 150 QR codes that link to films and audio recordings in the ether, created during the first COVID-19 lockdown in spring 2020.
Otherwise, we’re currently developing the new multi-year theatre and art project theme. We should have sketched out an initial concept by the end of September, and the dossier will be ready by the end of October. An attempt to identify the star under which we’ll navigate for the next few years.
Now reading: Totentanz – la quarantena