THEATER OF THE PUBLIC

Andreas Spiegl

Stuttering1 or laughing2 when at a loss for words, even out of despair, unable to continue speaking anymore because words are insufficient or the language is no longer understood by anybody because it is dying out—like the minorities3 who still use it and regard it as a part of their cultural heritage, as part of a diversity that is being marginalized and denied relevance in the cultural hegemony; a display of speechlessness4, screaming soundlessly when all demands and arguments remain unheard. The last possibility being to remain silent, the last way to say something, an unheard silence that interrupts the supposed “order of things.”5 This silence, which also features in Silent Activism and is used in the title of this catalog, alludes to something more than just pausing for reflection—it is a means of expression for those who are not heard when they raise their voices, the people nobody listens to when they try to articulate their wishes or suggestions. It is what remains, a last resort, the flipside of language contrasted against eloquence, a representational silence manifested in silenced speech, a loud, even shrill silence that can only be heard with the eyes, an unheard “loud transcription” that addresses the eyes as it falls upon deaf ears, a silence that bears witness to speechlessness and wants to be witnessed—nobody wants to listen, while everybody sees the speechlessness.

“Can the Subaltern Speak?”6 is a question that asks whether, how, and under what conditions people can speak who are excluded from hegemonic cultures or pushed to the various margins of society. This not only provides the title for Gayatri Spivak’s essay, but is also the point of departure for Barbara Holub’s art projects. In this sense, LISTEN TO THE QUIET VOICE7 also presents itself not only as an imperative, and the title of one of her works, but as the paradigm behind her entire practice. Over the decades her work has pursued listening, a listening to, and hearing of, the concerns and demands of those “quiet voices” who were not born mute, while they have been silenced—for fear of persecution, for fear of being marginalized even further, or for the experience of merely becoming acquainted with hopelessness. With this listening to other voices—however quiet, wounded or silenced they may be—as the basis of her approach, Holub has turned away from a concept of art that seeks to associate or identify the “artwork” with the person of the artist.

Far from engaging with autonomous artistic production, Holub is committed to heteronomy as a precondi-