ETC Conference Speeches GA Liège

THEATRE, NATIONALISMS AND EUROPE OF CULTURE

by Jean-Marie Piemme Lot Vekemans Pieter de Buysser Antoine Laubin

THE THEATRE OF DIGITAL NAISSANCE

by Ulf Schmidt

Collection of key-note speeches presented at the annual conference of the European Theatre Convention, Théâtre de Liège, March 2014

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Editorial .....................................................................................................

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Jean-Marie Piemme « Theatre, Nationalisms and Europe of Culture » ....

Jean-Marie Piemme « Théâtre, Nationalismes et Europe de la Culture »

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Jean-Marie Piemme « Am I a Belgian writer ? » ...................................

Jean-Marie Piemme « Suis-je un écrivain belge ? » ................................

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Lot Vekemans « Unbounded » ...................................................................

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Pieter de Buysser ....................................................................................

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Antoine Laubin ........................................................................................

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Ulf Schmidt « The Theatre of the Digital Naissance » .............................

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Contact ....................................................................................................

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The theatre, in contrast to the hyper-communicative society which surrounds us, silences the majority so that they can listen to a small group of other people talking about ghosts of the past. In doing so, democracy is forged because developing an opinion, looking at historical facts, exploring conflicts between different human passions, constructs the internal life of our citizens and our common conscience.

In this emblematic year of 2014 - the commemoration of the centenary of the start of the First World War - numerous European theatre companies will share, bring to life and develop exchanges which will nourish a common idea of human beings and their capacity to live together beyond the mosaic of languages and cultures which make up the European continent.

The city of Liège in Belgium was the scene of one of the darkest episodes of the 20th century with the declaration of the First World War. The venue in which the General Assembly of the European Theatre Convention (ETC) took place from March 13 -16, 2014, still echoes with these painful moments, as does the square where the theatre is situated, the Place du 20-Août, which refers to the date on which the German army shot 17 citizens of Liège and set alight the building constructed by the Société Libre d’Emulation (a cultural association), before the building was rebuilt in 1934 and renovated in October 2013.

This region, itself on the frontiers of Latin and Germanic cultures has, since the time of Julius Caesar always been an emblematic region of conflicts and of cultural crossovers. That performance professionals can work together, beyond languages and practices, completely freely, is a huge sign of hope and faith in the European idea, which allows us to measure the road travelled and which should illuminate the path to take in the future.

When we talk about nationalism today, do we refer to certain dark years of the 20th Century in which thousands of Europeans perished, or do we refer to a gathering of nations around progressive ideas which have changed the face of Europe? And to what extent can theatre be a correlative of reality today and to what extent does it succeed in preventing certain things, and promoting others in an age in which we face failures of economies and misfortunes of the transition?

We still believe that the theatre can make the world a better place, if those who create it, and those who behold it, ask the world questions which would ultimately find their answers - if not today, then tomorrow.

And if they join together to oppose any kind of return into the history; that should neither be forgotten, nor repeated.

Inspired by the symbolism of the venue and the timing, the annual conference of the ETC entitled “Theatre, Nationalism and Europe of Culture” gathered theatre makers, writers, directors and dramaturges from all over Europe to discuss, exchange and debate. The texts collected in this publication were presented in key-note speeches during the conference.

We wish to thank our colleagues, partners and guests for their contributions during the conference and extend our thanks to Jean-Marie Piemme, Lot Vekemans, Pieter de Buysser, Antoine Laubin and Ulf Schmidt for sharing their thoughts with us.

Dubravka Vrgoč Serge Rangoni ETC president, artistic & managing director of

ETC vice-president Zagreb Youth Theatre and

Director Théâtre de Liège World Theatre Festival Zagreb

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The official Europe is struggling. Its economic blinkers are stopping it from taking a real interest in culture and the arts, it seems to think these activities are unproductive. Yet it is plain to see that in doing so it is depriving itself of powerful construction leverage, of cement, of spirit. This deficit is having an impact: the idea of a‘nation‘ that should have been fading is reasserting itself with some force, the boundaries that should have been abolished are still very much in mind. Between this united Europe that doesn‘t quite manage to exist and the continuing idea of nations, where do theatrical practices fit? Is there a theatrical Europe? Is theatre one of those arts that can easily cross the borders which seem to be an inevitable European reality? In short, should we celebrate a Europe already brought together by theatre? Or, conversely, should we continue to think of theatre within the old nation-state context? After all, there is a historical link between the spread of theatre and the idea of the nation in Europe. Since at least the XVII century, theatre has been a tool of cultural policy wielded by various powers to give themselves a characteristic identity, as evidenced by the well documented existence of national theatres. The diversity of languages in Europe calls for a national location of theatrical practices, as well as their means of funding and grants related to specific legislation.

Let‘s look at the problem in more detail. What relationships do the author, director, actors, set designer, audience and heads of institutions, have with the location of the theatrical creation? Are the challenges the same in each category? Don‘t they contradict each other? Does a director (for example) think about location or relocation with the same logic and in the same terms as the head of an institution? And what does „location“ mean, what is the extent of this „location“? Is it the city? The country? The continent? Or elsewhere in the world altogether? Or, more symbolically, is it a language? A culture? A tradition? An ideological issue? A political point of view? Where do you write from? Where do we make theatre today? Does theatre created in one country have the same meaning when presented in Paris, Berlin, London, Brussels, Krakow or Cyprus?

Is the „festivalisation“ of theatre a sign of good health or a disease? What impact does location have on the meaning of practices, on how to carry them out and on the objectives of theatre?

In a more general way, is theatre an offering like any other, an offering that can be presented anywhere and thus logically and legitimately fits in with the globalisation sweeping through the worlds of communications and commodities? Or should we instead think of its possibly local nature as a force of resistance helping to keep singularities, idiosyncrasies, and memories alive and so work against a Europe that is perhaps too one-dimensional? Should we expect a better understanding between peoples as a result of the exchanges or see them just as an extension of the cultural goods market? Just like national theatres once did, can theatre function as a showcase of different European identities?

The diversity of theatrical works, practices and theories that today excite artists and audiences alike are not floating in an abstract, timeless sky. They have a genealogy, a physical location, reasons to be there at that time, historicity, they are answering or opposing something. In their time, they arose from a specific „here and now“. How are our theatre and culture here and now? How could they or should they be here and now?

Presented in alternative forms to stimulate debate, the questions obviously call for more individual answers, individual precisely because of the diversity of nations and points of view represented at the conference. We are not looking for agreement, only the presentation of specific situations matters to us. ▌

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L’Europe officielle est à la peine. Ses œillères économiques l’empêchent de porter un véritable intérêt à la culture, aux arts, ces activités qu’elle semble considérer comme improductives. Il est pourtant facile de voir que, ce faisant, elle se prive d’un levier de construction puissant, d’un ciment, d’un esprit. Ce déficit a son effet : l’idée de nation qui devrait s’estomper se réaffirme avec une certaine vigueur, les frontières qui devaient s’abolir restent dans la tête. Entre cette Europe qui n’arrive pas à exister et la nation qui persiste, où situer les pratiques théâtrales ? Y a-t-il une Europe du théâtre ? Le théâtre serait-il un de ces arts qui sautent facilement les frontières, qui se présentent par nature comme un réalité européenne incontournable ? Bref, faut-il se glorifier d’une Europe déjà réalisée par le théâtre ? Ou, au contraire, faut-il continuer à penser l’exercice théâtral dans le vieux cadre de l’état-nation ? Après tout, il y a un lien historique entre le déploiement du théâtre et l’idée de nation en Europe. Depuis le XVIIème siècle au moins, le théâtre est un outil de politique culturelle dont les différents pouvoirs ont usé pour se donner une identité remarquable, comme en témoigne l’existence largement attestée de théâtres nationaux. On peut ajouter que la diversité des langues d’Europe plaide pour une localisation nationale des pratiques théâtrales, ainsi que leurs modes de financement et de subventionnement qui sont liés à des législations spécifiques.

Posons la problématique de façon plus précise. Quelles relations l’auteur, le metteur en scène, les acteurs, le scénographe, les spectateurs, les responsables d’institutions, ont-ils avec le lieu où s’engendre la création théâtrale ? Les enjeux de chaque catégorie sont-ils identiques ? N’y a t-il pas entre elles des foyers de contradictions ? Un metteur en scène (par exemple) pense-t-il le la localisation ou la délocalisation dans la même logique et les mêmes termes qu’un responsable d’institution ? Et par « lieu », que faut-il entendre, quelle extension donner à ce « lieu » ? Est-ce la ville ? Le pays ? Le continent ? Ou carrément l’ailleurs du monde ?

Ou, plus symboliquement, est-ce une langue ? Une culture ? Une tradition? Une problématique idéologique ? Un point de vue politique ? D’où écrit-on ? D’où fabriquons-nous le théâtre aujourd’hui ? Fabriqué dans tel pays, le théâtre a-t-il la même signification lorsqu’il est présenté à Paris, à Berlin, à Londres, à Bruxelles, à Cracovie ou à Chypre ? Le « devenir festival » du théâtre est-il signe de santé ou de maladie ? Comment le lieu pèse-t-il sur le sens des pratiques, sur les façons de les mener à bien, sur les objectifs qu’elle se fixe ?

D’une façon plus générale, le théâtre est-il une offre comme toutes les offres, une offre qu’on peut présenter partout et qui s’inscrit ainsi logiquement et légitimement dans le mouvement d’internationalisation qui touche le monde des messages et des biens ? Ou au contraire faut-il penser que son localisme possible est une force de résistance qui contribue à maintenir en vie les singularités, les particularismes, les mémoires, et travaille ainsi à contrecarrer une Europe trop unidimensionnelle ? Des échanges, faut-il escompter une meilleure compréhension des peuples entre eux ou n’y voir qu’une extension du marché des biens culturels ? A l‘instar des théâtres nationaux d‘avant, le théâtre peut-il fonctionner comme un des foyers identitaires de l‘Europe?

Les œuvres, les pratiques, les théories théâtrales qui dans leur diversité nourrissent les artistes et les publics d’aujourd’hui ne flottent pas dans un ciel abstrait, intemporel, non localisé. Elles ont une généalogie, un lieu d’implantation, des raisons d’être là à ce moment là, une historicité, elles répondent, elles s’opposent à quelque chose. En leurs temps, leur émergence procède d’un « ici et maintenant » spécifique. Comment notre théâtre, notre culture est-elle ( ?), peut-elle être ( ?), devrait-elle être ( ?) d’ici et maintenant ?

Présentées sous formes d’alternatives pour stimuler le débat, les questions appellent évidemment des réponses plus nuancées, nuancées justement par la diversité des nations et des points de vues représentés au colloque. L’accord n’est pas recherché, seul l’exposé des situations concrètes nous importe. ▌

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The question of the relationship between theatre and allegiance to a territory led me first of all to wonder whether I was a Belgian writer and, if so, what was this supposed to mean. I’m obviously a Belgian writer if I’m to believe my identity papers.

It’s like “Port-Salut” cheese: it’s written on the box!

But, as Brecht said in Refugee Conversations “One thing always seemed strange to me: that you should have a special love for the country in which you pay your taxes.” An official paper has administrative advantages, especially when you have to prove that you are who you say you are, but this purely legal virtue doesn’t mean much if we’re to take the question of identity seriously. It defines a place; it doesn’t satisfy the imagination.

Fortunately, I’m also Belgian from having been born in Belgium, in a particular part of Belgium, not just anywhere in Belgium. I was born in the French-speaking part of the country, in what was then a prosperous industrial area close to steel works and coal mines. This marks me out as Belgian and at the same time distances me from the concept. In other words, I’m just as much from the “factory country” as from the country “Belgium”. You may say that the former is part of the latter. Objectively, yes. But subjectively, the factory country prevails.

In the Liège region in general and in my family in particular, it encompasses a rejection of Brussels, the capital being seen as the centre of money and power. And as for the rest of Belgium, we show no more than a polite indifference. Not for a second could I be persuaded that the Flemish were part of the same country as me. They were another people.

They deserved respect, just like the Dutch, English and French, the respect that neighbours should be given, even the Germans, despite the tragic episode of the war; we respected them and lived in harmony with them, and no more than that.

Living in the Liège region, the main cities for me were foreign ones: Maastricht in Holland and Aachen in Germany, which are both close to Liège. So there’s a part of my identity that’s “non-national” and this is reinforced internally by the fact that the Liège area is home to a large number of Italian immigrants. In the end, you could feel closer to an

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Italian who worked in the Cockerill factories than to a Belgian lost in the offices of the capital. Social allegiance thus outweighed national allegiance. To put it more radically: the Belgian nation to which I belong doesn’t exist for me. What do exist are a social typing and a direct perception of class dynamics. That’s my first country.

If I then examine the cultural aspect, I note that my school career encouraged me to use the French language. We spoke French at home. But we also spoke Walloon at home and I very soon understood, and was made to understand, that French would take you somewhere, whereas Walloon would take you nowhere at all. So I soon realized that language was a form of power and that to use a language was to use power. I also learned French literature at school.

To be more precise: the literature of France, not the literature of Belgium. Indeed, was there such a thing? I didn’t find out until much later. So school introduced me to a major culture, but, paradoxically, the culture of the country next door. So, to summarize: administratively, I was Belgian. Socially, I was from the “factory country”. Linguistically, I belonged to the language of power. And artistically, I was as French as the French from France.

But the whole issue of identity was to become even more complex. I was interested in the theatre and therefore soon developed a certain taste for Europe.

Who are the theatres’ leading authors? Maeterlinck and Ghelderode for the Belgians, fair enough. But there are also the Greek tragic authors, the English Shakespeare, the Spanish Calderon, the French classics, the Scandinavians Ibsen and Strindberg, the Russian Chekhov, the Italian Pirandello, the German Brecht, etc, etc.

So, where exactly do I come from when I write?

Allegiance to a territory is a complex business. It covers a tension between the attachment of the body, which always belongs to an actual place, with all its particular features, and a world of the mind that couldn’t care less about administrative borders.

As far as I’m concerned, I can maintain that I write “from” Belgium, where the “from” means “that’s where I am when I write”, which isn’t the same 7

thing as writing about Belgium or in relation to Belgium. I write in French from that particular Belgium that was mine, aware as I was of its demise, with the social roots that now determine my outlook on the world. It’s a view “from below”, a plebeian view, quick to see the grotesque in the tragic.

– has had its day. The arrival of new media that can reach out quickly and simultaneously to an entire country has created a new framework. Television has taken over the task of constructing public opinion. Its level of penetration, as they say, is infinitely greater than that of theatre. I remember reading a French survey back in the 80s that said that, in one evening, an opera broadcast on TV had been watched by more spectators than all the theatres attract in a year. And no one today would have the idea of writing a play about whether or not Turkey should be part of Europe, in the belief that it would throw light on the issue or influence people’s opinions.

Historically, the theatre has often been associated with the construction of nation-states in Europe.

This is what Schiller had to say on the matter: “If one principle feature could characterize all our plays; if our poets could agree among themselves to establish a firm alliance to this end; if their works could be guided by a rigorous selection process, and they applied their brush only to subjects of national import—in short, if we could witness the birth of our own national theatre, then we would truly become a nation.”. And the same attitude can be seen with regard to Belgium. In 1830, it was decided that there would be a new country in Europe, combining regions that didn’t necessarily have a common history. It was a political construction, an act of will to make a suit, the main seams of which are now coming apart. At the time, some people ascribed a key role to theatre: a pamphlet published in 1839 stated: “There is a vast field that belongs to us in its entirety, that other nations may envy us but will not find within themselves, because they are placed quite differently to us, because, for them, the revolution that is taking place before our eyes took place a long time ago: the transformation of our time-honoured traditions. And, further on in the same pamphlet, but written by a different author, we read: “We have a strong desire (…) to see the chamber understand and examine (…) from its least poetic point of view the benefits of a national theatre and literature.” However, the idea of a Belgian national theatre failed to get off the ground at the time and it wasn’t until after the Second World War that it came into existence. And it’s currently the “national theatre of the Walloon community in Brussels” and not the “Belgian national theatre”. And it’s difficult to give a specific content to the word “national” itself.

We should also add that the world is changing. It’s not just theatre that has lost its central place: the same is happening to the whole of Europe. And, paradoxically, it’s just at the moment when it’s losing this central place that Europe is searching for its European consciousness. From this point of view, theatre is well in advance of politics. Theatre has been European for many a long year. The great names that I mentioned above belong to every man and woman with an interest in theatre, irrespective of where they were born. Here, at least, there’s a certain common consciousness. One Swallow does not a summer make, but at least it’s more interesting than the bellowing of well-intentioned or evil-minded neo-nationalists.

Today, the association between theatre and the construction of the State is no longer on the agenda, even though the French president, Jacques Chirac, wanted in his day to use live theatre to reduce social divisions. And while the theatre world glibly gives itself the title of “Citizens’ Theatre”, it’s not always easy to see what this actually means.

Theatre as a builder of States - promethean theatre

Cultural exchanges help to reinforce the future of Europe. They’re totally legitimate where they fight against regionalist attitudes, died-in-the-wool habits, minor glories and old idiosyncrasies that people want to preserve at all cost. We all know that artistic conservatism and professional protectionism are as common in the theatre as anywhere else. As a consequence, a confrontation with the Other is

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Theatre’s position in society has changed, but it hasn’t disappeared. It has moved from the centre of social life to its periphery. The move has, without doubt, reduced its audience, but it has also enabled it to explore new forms and themes and encourage new types of writing. Quality has taken over from quantity. So theatre still has a role in stimulating the imagination and, even if its productions are marginal, we need to bear in mind that something small, well done and dispensed in small amounts is still something small and well done, while something really stupid broadcast to a broad audience is still something really stupid.

usually a good thing. Based on my own experience, I can remember, during my educational life in the Sixties, just how crucial it was for me to attend the Youth Theatre Festival in Liège and the University Theatre Festival in Nancy, where other worlds and different experiences exploded out from every corner of the stage.

But cultural exchanges may stretch in two directions that are incompatible with each other. Exchanges involve either special characteristics that accentuate other worlds and differences, or middle-of-the-road formats that blend with each other to form a theatrical Esperanto made up of four images, three gesticulations, two words of English and a touch of music to add a touch of lightness.

The second assumption – theatrical Esperanto – is obviously compatible with a theatre that claims to come from “nowhere”, pays no attention to roots and seeks the lowest common denominator to attract audiences with different languages and cultural traditions. Here, if we talk about this kind of entertainment, we’re talking about imposing the language of marketing, as it’s a question of selling a product at a profit, smoothing its sharp edges to enable it to penetrate diversified external markets.

Personally, I think that theatre has nothing to gain from following this path. Those who do follow it are simply foreshadowing the transformation of our auditoriums into cultural fast food parlours. The first way of standing up against this too easily international model is to maintain our wholehearted trust in languages, helped if necessary by surtitling.

Through the effort that surtitling imposes on the spectator, theatre reminds us that it’s a local art; its real strength lies in its roots, there are no seas without shores and there’s no way of approaching difference without an effort. Confronting “otherness” requires work. The exchange is positive when special characteristics can be seen, heard, received and understood. It broadens our horizons. We add other potentials to our own potentials, and the temptation to shut ourselves off within the comfort of our own way of doing things falls away. The idea that others do things differently is always a good one to study.

a high-end product, a sort of caviar for the jet-set.

A particular approach, the same approach that has considerable meaning within a precise community, always runs the risk of sliding towards insignificance outside its own territory. Here’s a personal memory. Years ago, during the Vietnam War, I saw the Living Theatre perform at the MIT near Boston.

I can assure you that it was nothing like the same show that I saw a few months earlier at the Avignon Festival. The Living Theatre at the MIT, performing to an audience that had every chance of being called up to fight in the war was not the same Living Theatre as the high-media-profile troupe that performed in Avignon. Julian Beck’s “Freedom now” didn’t convey the same emotion. And burning your papers when you might have to go to war isn’t the same as burning your papers before going off to party in the Place de l’Horloge. I fully understand that we can’t all be “lucky” enough to be going off to war in order to make theatre an experience rather than an act of consumption. But we should still stick firmly to the criterion that theatre should be aimed at experience, not consumption, even though the duration and repetitiveness of life tends to turn any experience into consumer behaviour.

We can at least try to do our best to encourage the type of theatre that helps to build a relationship with ourselves and others, rather than let it slide towards a form of consumerism that may serve only to set up power relationships and mechanisms of social division. There’s a risk in theatre’s “international festival future”. I think it was Peter Stein (and if it wasn’t him, the idea is still legitimate) who said one day that theatre was losing its soul in airports. It may still serve as a cultural entertainment, it may still claim to be the product of artistic research, it may delight the consumers of culture that we all are, but it’s losing its soul. I think we should be worried about what we may be losing. ▌

But it can also happen that special characteristics, brought together, for example, in a festival, end up losing their edge. What may have been creative in a local context may quickly become an object of cultural consumption in a festival, a luxury preserve, 9

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La question de savoir quels sont les rapports du théâtre et de l’appartenance à un territoire m’a conduit en premier à me demander si j’étais un écrivain belge, et, si c’était le cas, comment faudrait-il entendre cette affirmation. Je suis évidemment un écrivain belge si j’en crois mes papiers d’identité.

C’est comme « Port-salut », c’est écrit dessus ! Mais comme le dit Brecht dans Dialogues d’Exilés « Une chose m’a toujours paru curieuse : qu’on doive aimer d’un amour particulier le pays où on paie ses impôts. » Le papier officiel a des avantages administratifs, notamment quand il faut montrer patte blanche, mais cette vertu toute légale paraît bien faible si l’on prend la question de l’identité au sérieux. Elle définit une place, elle ne remplit pas un imaginaire.

Heureusement je suis également belge d’être né en Belgique, né dans une région précise de la Belgique, pas n’importe où en Belgique. Je suis né dans la partie francophone du pays, dans un bassin industriel alors prospère, dans le voisinage immédiat des aciéries et des mines de charbon. Cette précision me confère à la fois une qualité de belge et m’en éloigne. Pour le dire autrement, je suis autant du pays de l’usine que du pays Belgique. Vous me direz : l’un est dans l’autre. Objectivement, oui. Mais subjectivement, le pays de l’usine est dominant. Il entraine dans la région liégeoise en général et dans ma famille en particulier un rejet de Bruxelles, la capitale étant vécue comme le lieu de la domination de l’argent et des puissants. Et pour le reste de la Belgique, nous n’avons qu’une indifférence polie. Pas une seconde, on ne m’a fait croire que les flamands appartenaient au même pays que moi. C’était un autre peuple. Il fallait le respecter, comme on respecte les hollandais, les anglais ou les français, comme on doit respecter ses voisins, même les allemands, malgré le funeste épisode de la guerre ; les respecter et vivre en bonne entente avec eux, c’est tout.

Localisé dans la région liégeoise, j’ai, pour villes de référence, des villes étrangères : Maastricht en Hollande et Aix la chapelle en Allemagne, qui sont voisines de Liège. Il y a donc du « non national » dans ma constitution identitaire, ce « non national » étant renforcé à l’interne par le fait qu’ à cette épo-

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que le bassin liégeois accueille une forte immigration italienne. Finalement, on pouvait se sentir plus proche d’un italien qui travaille aux usines Cockerill que d’un belge perdu dans les bureaux de la capitale. L’appartenance sociale défiait ainsi l’appartenance nationale. Je pourrais le dire plus radicalement : la nation Belgique à laquelle j’appartiens n’existe pas pour moi. Ce qui existe, c’est une détermination sociale et une perception directe des rapports de classes. Là est mon premier pays.

Par ailleurs, si je me place au plan culturel, je constate que le cursus scolaire qui fut le mien m’a conforté dans la pratique de la langue française. On parlait le français à la maison. Mais à la maison, on parlait aussi le wallon et très vite j’ai compris, on m’a fait comprendre, qu’avec le français on allait quelque part alors qu’avec le wallon on n’allait nulle part. Donc, très vite j’ai compris que la langue était un pouvoir, que s’exercer à une langue revenait à s’exercer à un pouvoir. A l’école, j’ai aussi appris la littérature française. Je précise : la littérature de France et pas la littérature de Belgique. Y en avait-il une d’ailleurs ? Je ne l’ai appris que beaucoup plus tard. L’école m’a donc initié à une culture majeure, mais, paradoxe, qui est la culture du pays d’à côté. Je résume : administrativement, j ‘étais belge.

Socialement, j’étais du pays de l’usine. Linguistiquement, j’appartenais à la langue du pouvoir. Et artistiquement, j’étais aussi français que les français de France.

Mais, très vite, la référence identitaire allait encore se complexifier. Je m’intéressais au théâtre et en conséquence un certain goût d’Europe m’est rapidement venu à la bouche. Qui sont les auteurs phares de théâtre ? Maeterlinck, Ghelderode pour les belges, d’accord. Mais aussi les tragiques grecs, l’anglais Shakespeare, l’espagnol Calderon, les classiques français, les scandinaves Ibsen et Strindberg, le russe Tchekhov, l’italien Pirandello, sans oublier l’allemand Brecht, etc, etc.

Donc, d’où suis-je exactement quand j’écris ? L’appartenance à un territoire est une réalité complexe.

Cette appartenance recouvre une tension entre un ancrage du corps qui appartient toujours à un lieu 11

concret, avec le cortège des spécificités qui l’accompagne et un espace imaginaire qui se moque allègrement des frontières administratives. Pour ma part, je peux soutenir que j’écris « de » la Belgique, le « de » voulant dire à « partir de » la Belgique, ce qui n’est pas la même chose que d’écrire sur la Belgique ou à propos de la Belgique. J’écris en français à partir de cette Belgique particulière qui fut la mienne, dans le savoir de sa disparition, avec des racines sociales qui déterminent aujourd’hui encore mon regard sur le monde. C’est un regard « d’en bas », un regard, plébéien, prompt pointer le grotesque dans le tragique.

Historiquement, le théâtre a souvent été associé à la construction des états nationaux en Europe. Voici un propos de Schiller sur le sujet : « Si toutes nos pièces se distinguaient par un trait fondamental, si tous nos poètes s’accordaient en ce sens, s’ils donnaient ensemble une direction à leur travail par un strict choix des thèmes, s’ils réservaient leur pinceau à des sujets populaires, en un mot si nous arrivions à avoir un théâtre national, nous deviendrions du même coup une nation. ». Et la même volonté se manifeste du côté belge. En 1830, il se décide qu’un nouveau pays existe en Europe, qui réunit des espaces territoriaux n’ayant pas forcément une histoire commune. C’est une construction politique, c’est un costume volontariste dont nous voyons aujourd’hui sauter les coutures principales.

Certains, à ce moment-là, assignent au théâtre un rôle fondamental : « Il est un vaste champ qui nous appartient tout entier, que d’autres nations peuvent nous envier, mais qu’elles ne sauraient trouver dans leur sein, parce qu’elles sont placées tout différemment que nous, parce que la révolution qui s’opère sous nos yeux, est faite depuis longtemps chez elles : c’est la transformation de nos vieilles mœurs. », peut-on lire dans un opuscule de 1839. Et plus loin, dans le même opuscule sous la plume d’un auteur différent, on peut lire ceci : « Nous désirons fort (…) que la chambre comprenne et examine (…) sous son point de vue le moins poétique possible l’utilité d’un théâtre et d’une littérature nationale. ». L’aventure d’un théâtre national belge ne verra pourtant pas le jour dans ces années-là. Il faudra attendre l’après deuxième guerre mondiale pour qu’un théâtre national de Belgique existe. Encore est-il actuellement « national de la communauté Wallonie Bruxelles » et plus national de Belgique. Et il est difficile de donner un contenu spécifique au mot « national » lui-même.

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Aujourd’hui, la conjonction du théâtre et de la construction de l’Etat n’est plus à l’ordre du jour, même si le président français Jacques Chirac en son temps avait voulu utiliser le spectacle vivant pour réduire la fracture sociale ou si le milieu théâtral se décerne facilement un brevet de théâtre-citoyen dont on ne voit pas toujours clairement ce qu’il recouvre.

Le théâtre bâtisseur d’Etat, le théâtre prométhéen a fait son temps. L’apparition de nouveaux medias susceptibles de toucher rapidement et simultanément l’ensemble d’un pays a changé la donne. Pour la construction d’une opinion publique, la télévision a pris la relève. Son taux de pénétration, comme on dit, est infiniment plus performant que celui du théâtre. Je me souviens d’avoir lu dans les années 80, une enquête française disant qu’une seule soirée d’opéra retransmise en télé avait rassemblé plus de spectateurs que tous les théâtres réunis en un an. Et personne aujourd’hui n’aurait l’idée d’écrire une pièce de théâtre sur la question de savoir si la Turquie fait partie de l’Europe en croyant ainsi éclairer ou influencer l’avis des populations.

Le théâtre a changé de position dans l’espace social, il n’a pas disparu pour autant. Il s’est déplacé du centre de la vie sociale à sa périphérie. Indéniablement ce déplacement a restreint son audience. En revanche, cette migration lui a permis d’explorer de nouvelles formes, de nouveaux thèmes, de donner existence à d’autres modes d’écritures. Le qualitatif a pris le pas sur le quantitatif. Ainsi, le théâtre reste un activateur d’imaginaire et si ses productions sont marginales, il faut garder à l’esprit qu’une petite chose bien faite diffusée à peu d’exemplaires reste une petite chose bien faite et qu’une belle connerie diffusée à une large audience reste une belle connerie.

Il faudrait ajouter que le monde change. Ce n’est pas seulement le théâtre qui a perdu sa centralité, c’est l’Europe tout entière qui est en train de la perdre. Et, paradoxalement, c’est au moment où cette centralité se perd que l’Europe cherche sa conscience européenne. De ce point de vue, le théâtre est largement en avance sur la politique. Il y a belle lurette que le théâtre est européen. Les grands noms que je citais précédemment appartiennent à chaque femme et à chaque homme de théâtre où qu’ils soient nés. Là au moins une certaine conscience commune existe. Ce n’est certes qu’une hirondelle et je ne sais pas si elle fera le printemps, mais, à coup sûr, c’est tout de même plus intéressant que les rugissements néo-nationalistes bien ou mal in-

tentionnés. Inutile de préciser que le conservatisme artistique et le corporatisme professionnel sont choses aussi bien partagées dans les milieux de théâtre qu’ailleurs. En conséquence, une confrontation avec l’Autre est à priori toujours bonne à prendre. Partant de ma propre expérience, je pourrais rappeler combien décisives furent pour moi, lors de mon trajet de formation dans les années soixante, les fréquentations du Festival du jeune théâtre de Liège et du Festival de théâtre universitaire de Nancy. L’ailleurs et le différent y explosaient à chaque coin de scène.

Mais la pratique des échanges peut s’étendre dans deux directions incompatibles l’une avec l’autre. Soit ce sont des spécificités qui s’échangent en accentuant l’ailleurs et les différences ; soit ce sont des formes moyennes qui viennent se fondre les unes dans les autres pour former un espéranto théâtral fait de quatre images, trois gesticulations, deux mots d’anglais, et une pointe de musique pour enjouer le tout.

La seconde hypothèse, celle de l’esperanto théâtral, est évidemment compatible avec un théâtre qui se réclame de « nulle part », qui n’accorde aucune attention à un ancrage et cherche ainsi le plus petit commun dénominateur permettant de fédérer des publics de langues et de traditions culturelles hétérogènes. Dans cette optique, si l’on parle de ces spectacles, c’est le langage du marketing qui s’impose, puisqu’il s’agit de rentabiliser un produit en rabotant ses angles et d’ainsi favoriser sa pénétration sur des marchés extérieurs diversifiés. Personnellement, je crois que le théâtre n’a rien à gagner en empruntant cette voie. La pratique qui s’y adonne préfigure seulement la transformation des institutions d’accueil en fast food de la culture. Le premier mode de résistance à ce modèle trop facilement international est de garder toute sa confiance dans les langues, aidées au besoin par le sur-titrage. Par l’effort que le sur-titrage impose au spectateur, le théâtre nous rappelle qu’il est un art local, que sa véritable force réside dans un ancrage et qu’il n’y a pas de mers sans rivages, qu’il n’y a pas d’approche de la différence sans efforts. La confrontation est un travail. L’échange est positif quand des spécificités sont données à voir, à entendre, à capter, à comprendre. Alors, s’élargit notre horizon. A nos possibles, nous ajoutons d’autres possibles et la tentation de l’enfermement dans le confort de nos façons de faire se fendille. L’idée que les autres font autrement est toujours bonne à examiner.

Mais il peut aussi arriver que les spécificités, par exemple réunies en festival, finissent elles-mêmes par s’émousser. Ce qui était création dans une logique locale devient vite, dans le festival, objet de consommation culturelle. C’est de la conserve de luxe, un produit haut de gamme, une sorte de caviar pour jet set. Une pratique, la même pratique, qui a des significations fortes dans un ancrage territorial précis, court toujours le risque de glisser vers l’insignifiance une fois délocalisée. Ici, un souvenir personnel. Il y a des lustres, en pleine guerre du Vietnam, j’ai vu le Living Théâtre jouer au MIT près de Boston. Je peux vous assurer que le même spectacle vu quelques mois plus tôt au festival d’Avignon n’avait strictement rien à voir. Le Living, au MIT, devant un public susceptible d’être enrôlé dans la guerre, n’était pas le même Living que celui de la troupe médiatique d’Avignon. Les « Freedom now » de Julian Beck ne vibraient pas de la même façon. Et brûler ses papiers quand on pourrait devoir partir à la guerre n’a rien à voir avec brûler ses papiers avant d’aller faire la java sur la Place de l’horloge. J’entends bien qu’on n’a pas toujours la « chance » de partir à la guerre pour que le théâtre soit une expérience et pas un acte de consommation. Il reste que l’exigence doit être réaffirmée : le théâtre doit viser l’expérience et pas la consommation, même si le mouvement de la vie, dans sa durée et dans sa répétitivité, tend à transformer toute donnée d’expérience en pratique de consommation. Du moins, peut-on chercher comment faire le maximum pour favoriser le théâtre comme creusement du rapport à soi et aux autres plutôt que de le laisser dériver vers un consumérisme susceptible de fonder des rapports de pouvoir et des mécanismes de distinction sociale. Le « devenir festival international » du théâtre n’est pas sans risque. Je crois que c’est Peter Stein (et si ce n’est pas lui, le propos reste valable) qui a dit un jour que le théâtre perdait son âme dans les aéroports. Il peut garder sa qualité de divertissement culturel, il peut revendiquer le bien fondé de sa fabrication artistique, il peut réjouir les consommateurs de culture que nous sommes tous, mais il perd son âme. Je crois qu’il faut s’inquiéter de cette possible perte. ▌

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When I think of Europe, I think of the colourful map hanging on the chalkboard at my primary school which taught me that Warsaw is the capital of Poland, Lisbon the capital of Portugal, Oslo the capital of Norway, Paris France, Vienna Austria, Rome Italy and so on and so forth.

When I think of that colourful poster, I see, aside from a great many countries, also an awful lot of borders; borders that prevent the yellow of France mixing with the purple of Spain, or the green of Germany running into the blue of Poland. Every country its own colour is what that map on the chalkboard unmistakably told me.

I am fascinated by the topic of borders (perhaps because I studied social geography). Not only by borders between countries, but also by those between people, between man and nature, between man and God, between the visible and the invisible. Where does a border start and where does it end? And who sets these borders?

The Netherlands are not Germany.

Land is not sea.

You are not me.

Unless we remove the border marks.

Unless we consider the sea to be flooded land.

Unless I dare to mirror myself in you.

Every border you draw includes and excludes something.

Every border is designed to create security. That security is, obviously, nothing other than an idea and merely prevails by the grace that no one crosses that border. History teaches us that this has happened again and again. Resistance or not.

What would happen to us if the borders were to fall away, fade, be moved or blown away?

Would it give us freedom or instil us with fear?

Would it create opportunities or work restrictively?

Would it make us bigger or smaller?

Who would we be without those borders?

Unbounded?

And would we manage?

Being unbounded?

In 2011, at the invitation of the Theatre Company De Queeste, I wrote a text for their theatre production Moresnet. I mention it here, because the play premiered in this city and, more importantly, it was a performance about borders.

Moresnet is the name of an area in German-speaking Belgium. Between 1816 and 1920, it was an independent ministate that emerged following the demise of Napoleon, when Europe’s borders were redrawn at the Congress of Vienna.

The only reason that justified Moresnet’s existence was a valuable zinc mine. As both Prussia and the United Kingdom of the Netherlands (which at that time included the Netherlands and Belgium) begrudged each other that mine, a decision was taken to neutralise this territory under the watchful eye of both nations. For some 100 years, an area of 344 hectares, home to 256 people, became a free state where there was no conscription and casinos were making a mint; an area where also Esperanto was embraced as the ideal.

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And next, the zinc mine became exhausted.

And next, World War I broke out and Moresnet was annexed by Germany.

And next World War I came to an end and Europe’s borders were once again redrawn, Moresnet was awarded to Belgium.

What once was Prussian became neutral for a century, then German and, finally, Belgian.

But in the pub in Kelmis –the former capital of this ministate – people are still drinking the same beer, singing the same songs, eating the same bread and sharing the same stories.

So, perhaps, little has changed.

Except for those who became the victim of that border. It is about one of them that I wrote my text.

The story about a boy from Moresnet, whose father was German and whose mother hailed from Kelmis. A boy who was born Belgian in an area where no one even knew what being Belgian actually meant. A boy who went to work in Aachen during the war because Aachen was the nearest city where he could understand the language. A boy who was subsequently recruited by the German army while his hometown was annexed by the Germans, a boy whom the Belgian State sentenced to death for treason. The complex drama of a moving border in a nutshell.

In the theatre script, his mother says at a certain moment: So many times I have cursed these borders Because that’s what started it all That’s how I see it That’s what actually started it Well, let me tell you something about a border If you live far away from it, that border seems very clear But if you live just alongside it Or on top of it Like we do It’s a total different story I have walked the Dutch-German border many times but I could never spot any clear difference in the landscape. The grass blades on both sides of the line were identical, as were the trees, the field, the leaf.

I spent days high up in the Alps criss-crossing the Italian and French side and not anywhere did I notice or feel any difference. The same goes for the Pyreneans on the Spanish and French sides. At best, I noticed the difference between the sunny and shady sides, between the valleys high up or low down. Not in the flow of the water or the colour of the moss.

Nature doesn’t give a toss about national borders.

The problems starts when we, humans, come into the picture.

Suddenly we are talking about a culture.

An identity.

All of a sudden there are common values we must hold dear or defend.

All of a sudden there is an ‘our’ and people who do not form part of that ‘our’.

And that ‘our’ can be an area, a nation or a region.

Or an opinion, a belief, an ideology. ‚Our‘ is the border. ‚Our‘ keeps us in and others out.

Our village.

Our country.

Our Europe.

I do not believe in this ‚our‘.

Because I do not want to shut myself off but open myself up.

I have no wish to hide behind the false sense of security of a border.

I’ much rather be unbounded, no matter how difficult that may be at times. Because unbounded also 16

means: without clear frames. Without arrangements that are cast in stone, without the certainty of written and unwritten laws. Without the comfort of familiar habits and customs.

Unbounded means being open to other ideas, other solutions, other problems. And the discomfort that goes with this continuously pushes me to find my own grip. And that grip is not defined by gates or stakes or fences.

I am a writer. I write. My tool is the language.

In my case: the Dutch language.

I was born in this language and, of all the languages I speak, I feel most comfortable in this one. I understand its sound, the finesse of its meaning, the rhythm and play of its grammar. I can colour, transform, stretch words. But above all, this language allows me to descend into the depths of my soul. In sum, it is my language.

I could think that my language is restrictive, because it’s only spoken by some 23 million people.

But language is not a border. It is meant to communicate and therefore it is – in the literal sense of the word – a connector. It doesn’t set borders but tries to raze them.

A language is not ‘a grim “out”’. It does not say: “you are not welcome”; “this language is ours and ours alone”. Anyone who takes the trouble can learn another language. By trial and error no doubt and at times it will feel as if you’re playing a game of charades, but every language is prepared to open itself to you if you study it. You can choose for a language, and as a result, that language will automatically choose you too.

There is no conditionality. You do not need to have been born in it.

And above all. language lends itself to translation – something we are all happy to avail of these days – which can demolish endless borders.

I believe in language.

It encourages us to listen and to share.

I also believe in theatre.

Like language, theatre is designed to create a connection between people. It is a stage where we can share our dreams, fears, thought and ideas. It is a spot where we can open ourselves up to the stories of others.

And it is enacted within the infinite of our imagination.

In this sense, theatre can be unbounded.

I believe that, if we want to use culture to raze borders within Europe, we must be increasingly prepared to push out our own borders. I am not talking about trying to be European. Quite to the contrary, let everyone tell its own story in theatre and allow that story to be embedded into what really matters to that person.

And let’s always have the guts to let go of our grip, let’s explore new territories within ourselves, without reticence or reserves. Let’s try our hand at being unbounded, even if that means moving out of our comfort zone. Because I suspect that this discomfort hides a treasure, a gateway to communality. A spot where we can meet one another. Anywhere in the world.

Thank you ▌

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Let‘s kick off this conference with some good old»fashioned shocking taboo-breaking message. I shall delve right now into the richest tradition of the theatre and reveal the most unpleasant truths.

Shamelessly I shall continue the honourable tradition of transgression. This gathering of respectable traditional theatre houses, from all the nation-states that lie like pustules on this old continent, asks for no less than this horrific truth: ladies and gentlemen, behold l Because I’m going to say it now. I know, it‘s just 11 in the morning and you have another 3 days, but, a man‘s got to do what a mans got to do: Europe exists.

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monster called Europe. We prefer to go to bed with the fairy-tale of this colossal Paper monster, constructed by the laws and decrees and regulations, that tramples the fragile Europe that has hardly seen the light. It is a lie. Europe exists.

Most of us only know Europe as an infinite mind-blowing application form.

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our mouths, I mean the desire, the infinite application: Europe. Europe, that goes beyond paperwork, Europe, that is an oral power, Europe that is a multilingual, impossible to grasp vivid rebellion and it exists. Not on paper, but in the mouths, in the ears, in the veins of the people that come to your theatres. Ladies and gentlemen, never give Europe it‘s papers, let it Now let‘s take that serious- live, let it play, translate it, betray ly. Indeed: Europe is an infinite it, move it around, let it be whispemind-blowing application form. red in your theatres. It‘s only life is But not one as you know it. It‘s a in it‘s impossibility, in our request mind blowing, infinite application for it, in our applying of it, in our form that exceeds all papers. It infinite demanding of it: long live passes by mouth to mouth, ear to Europe as an infinite application ear, theatre is it‘s preferred home, form. Because the theatre is the not the office, Europe is an infini- birth house of Europe. ▌ te mind-blowing application form that can simply never come to an end: because there is no end. Europe has no end. Europe exists as a whispered secret in your theatres: it is possible to live together with that which is impossible to live with. It is possible to live with the impossible: our traumatic past, no one can live with genocides and plagues, in Europe we do, it is impossible to live with our people and languages that will never fully understand each other, it is impossible to live with that and that is possible in Europe. But that Europe doesn‘t have any papers, it‘s barely legal; it‘s an oral whispering Europe. A Europe that only exists as long as it will never exist on paper. This Europe will only exist as long as it does not replace the animalistic patriotic brainfart feelings of nationalism.

I know. It’s a tough one. We would of course largely have preferred to keep on living with the gentle illusion that there are too many Eurocrats in the way to make it possible for Europe to have a decent life. I tell you, under it’s thin layer of bureaucratic varnish, there is — within the civil conventions of conventional civilisation - an unseen living Europe. Beyond the capital brutalities that European commissioners dictate to countries like Greece and Spain, beyond the lack of democratic breath that chokes the people on the old continent, there is a Europe alive, a humanistic and festive animalistic Europe, a spiritual and a scatological Europe, a revolutionary Europe that cherishes its traditions, a radically imaginative Europe, a Europe where the idea of a living diversity gives a unifying strength, that Europe exists. We prefer to close our eyes to it, because it‘s much more When l tell you the dangerous truth comfortable to simply maintain the that Europe exists, I don‘t mean conventional bullying of the Paper that wad of paper that ends up in 18

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Merci à Serge Rangoni de me donner la parole aujourd'hui, ainsi qu'à l'ensemble des organisateurs de la journée. Invité en tant que praticien du théâtre en Belgique francophone, je vais tenter de m'exprimer à ce titre. Si la question du nationalisme, au centre de l'intitulé du jour, peut me questionner en tant qu'électeur ou que lecteur de presse, mon impression première est que, en tant que metteur en scène, je n'ai rien à en dire ; elle ne s'immisce que peu et toujours indirectement dans ma pratique du théâtre. Mon discours présente donc le risque de la platitude et de la collection d'évidences. Par exemple, la télévision, les radios et internet se font chaque jour l'écho de la possibilité d'une scission de la Belgique, portée au Nord par un mouvement nationaliste.

Mais les auteurs, les acteurs, les spectateurs que je croise dans les théâtres ne me le disent pas, ne me le font pas ressentir. A fortiori les vagues nationalistes d'autres régions d'Europe me préoccupent comme citoyen conscient de l'Histoire mais, dans mon quotidien de travail, elles n'apparaissent ni plus ni moins que tous les autres faits d'actualité ou d'Histoire qui conditionnent et structurent mon rapport au monde et mon regard sur lui. Je ne dis pas du tout que ces questions ne m'intéressent ou ne me concernent pas mais, simplement, ne m'étant jamais attelé à les traiter directement dans mon travail de mise en scène, je ne me sens pas de légitimité particulière à les évoquer. Dès lors, on me pardonnera si mon exposé s'éloigne régulièrement du sujet pour privilégier le partage d'une expérience de praticien à défaut d'un savoir théorique. Même si mon travail et mon parcours sont indéniablement baignés et influencés par ma culture de langue française, par un cadre institutionnel particulier lié au territoire où je vis, par une histoire et un contexte socio-économique, ce n'est pas en tant que Belge francophone que je prends la parole dans mes spectacles. Si je suis Belge francophone et que cela s'explique historiquement, je n'en tire aucune sorte d'orgueil patriotique et je laisse cette identité-là aux document officiels.

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s'il est bien un effet bénéfique que je relève à titre personnel dans le mouvement de globalisation des dernières décennies, c'est l'abolition des frontières spatio-temporelles dans l'accès au patrimoine artistique mondial. Je me réjouis de pouvoir me nourrir aujourd'hui aux cinémas de Fassbinder et de Zhangke Jia, aux longs-métrages de Truffaut et aux épisodes de Top of the Lake ou de House of cards. Je me réjouis d'avoir accès d'un même élan aux pièces de Sophocle et aux romans de Frederick Exley, aux dessins de Rubens et d'Ensor comme à l'oeuvre de Rothko, aux partitions de Bach aussi facilement qu'aux remixes de Justice. Je m'en réjouis et je ne m'étonne que davantage, et naïvement, que cette circulation facilitée des oeuvres ne débouche pas réellement sur une circulation plus large des idées, des courants de pensée et des désirs. Bien évidemment, les oeuvres ici citées, cinématographiques, littéraires, picturales ou musicales, appartiennent toutes au champs du reproductible, donc massivement « diffusables », faciles à partager, à échanger, à écouler sur supports physiques ou numériques. Les arts vivants, toujours, et parmi eux le théâtre, s'ils se nourrissent aux disciplines évoquées, se rendent incorruptibles au reproductible et seule la mémoire des témoins directs de l'hic et nunc instantanément périmé peut être reproduite et diffusée.

La mondialisation ne propose donc aucun avantage direct à la pratique du théâtre. À première vue, au contraire, on constate depuis plusieurs décennies un renforcement de son statut minoritaire en regard des arts reproductibles. Comme l'écrivait Jean-Marie Piemme de manière prophétique il y a tout juste trente ans dans Le Souffleur inquiet, c'est justement de ce statut minoritaire – et précisément du fait même que l'on ne trouve qu'au théâtre ce que l'on ne trouve plus nulle part ailleurs – qu'il tire une force spécifique, un pouvoir d'attrait, voire un potentiel ontologique de résistance, par sa capacité à instituer la primauté de l'instant, dans un temps où l'instant se désintègre dans le virtuel. Dans cette perspectiAux dangers réels et connus de l'affirmation identi- ve, il me semble que j'appartiens à une génération taire puérilement chauvine, aux pulsions hégémo- pour qui le théâtre n'est pas ou n'est plus une fin en niques et excluante, répondent probablement, à soi. Une génération qui s'y réfugie sans doute parl'autre bout du spectre mondialiste, les risques d'un ce qu'il lui semble que, là, à l'abri des flux qui débiformatage des identités, donc d'une standardisati- tent du pré-mâché et du vide – même si, je viens de on des modes d'expression artistiques. Néanmoins, l'évoquer, ils ne débitent pas que ça –, il existe une 19

place pour la rencontre d'autres êtres et pour l'expression pulsionnelle de la rage d'être au monde, et parfois aussi pour l'ambition et la grandeur. Aux yeux du spectateur-festivalier que je suis régulièrement, c'est la consécration internationale, c'est-à-dire les instances de légitimation qui l'instaurent, qui fonde ma perception des théâtres nationaux, perception indubitablement tronquée. Pour moi, tout le théâtre polonais se résume à Warlikowski, le théâtre italien s'incarne en Castellucci, l'allemand en Ostermeier, etc. Vision immanquablement réductrice, que, je suppose, les premiers intéressés réfuteraient. Mais, chez nous comme partout (j'imagine), seule la reconnaissance internationale offre la clé de la totale liberté de création dans des conditions de travail acceptables. Ce n'est pas le moindre des paradoxes au moment où les discours valorisent de plus en plus, et sans doute à juste titre, les logiques d'« infusion », celles qui tendent à inscrire les pratiques dans les territoires, considérant qu'il est une noblesse au moins aussi grande à travailler Shakespeare dans les prairies avec des équipes incluant des amateurs, que sur les grands plateaux des scènes mondiales... Pour autant, tant que les arts vivants resteront non-reproductibles et que je ne pourrai pas découvrir l'étendue de la richesse du théâtre polonais autrement qu'en me rendant physiquement plusieurs mois en Pologne, et tant que la qualité des conditions de travail restera directement proportionnelle au rayonnement à l'étranger, ma vision des identités théâtrales nationales restera tronquée (contrairement à ma vision du cinéma ou de la littérature polonaise, dont je pourrais, par exemple et potentiellement du moins, facilement combler les lacunes).

les résurgences nationalistes, encore moins d'analyse fine à proposer sur le sujet. Mais je pourrais toutefois évoquer quelques souvenirs récents et précis où il me semble avoir vu à l'oeuvre cette tentation du repli dont on dit qu'elle est le prémisse du nationalisme. Tentation du repli ayant émergé pour des motifs très divers, mais néanmoins palpable. Loin de nous, à Nouméa, capitale de la Nouvelle-Calédonie, collectivité à l'autonomie relative dont le futur politique proche est à ce jour très incertain, distante de 17000km de la France métropolitaine dont elle dépend encore, il semble impossible aux programmateurs du principal théâtre de la capitale de proposer une saison théâtrale qui attire à elle la population d'origine kanak, pourtant largement majoritaire sur l'île. Le théâtre, dans la forme que nous connaissons, y est encore aujourd'hui, de manière très visible, phénomène social issu d'une minorité dominante et qui ne concerne pas ou très peu la majorité dominée. À Rio de Janeiro, Brésil, un an jour pour jour avant la tenue de la Coupe du Monde de football, j'ai vu le directeur du festival international qui nous accueillait repeindre lui-même le décor de mon spectacle à la main parce que les nombreux bénévoles grâce auquel son festival tenait debout étaient tous occupés à plus urgent. Le même soir, plusieurs dizaines d'hommes employés par une société privée de sécurité entouraient le carré VIP où nous dansions et buvions de la Caïpirinha tandis qu'à quelques mètres la police municipale chargeait les 100 000 manifestants qui protestaient contre la hausse du ticket de bus. Le Brésil est, comme vous le savez, un des très nombreux pays au monde où c'est le secteur privé qui finance le théâtre et les Brésiliens dont le théâtre est l'activité principale n'ont d'autres choix Ces trois dernières années, j'ai eu la chance de mon- que de cumuler d'autres activités professionnelles trer mon travail en Belgique francophone, en France alimentaires. Ces deux anecdotes sont très différenmétropolitaine, en Suisse, en Allemagne, et jusqu'en tes l'une de l'autre et nous éloignent probablement Nouvelle-Calédonie et au Brésil. J'ai donc pu épro- de notre thématique du jour. uver dans des circonstances et de lieux très divers ce même désir de rencontres partagé. Partout, nous On peut toutefois y voir deux exemples de sociétés étions invités, donc souhaités et bien accueillis. Les en mutation économiques et politiques où le théâtre théâtres du monde entier qui accueillent des troupes peine à s'imposer, où sa possibilité d'existence même étrangères ne le font évidemment pas pour leur éta- est remise en cause par le mouvement où il devrait ler un patriotisme arrogant sous le nez. Néanmoins, s'inscrire. Dans un cas comme dans l'autre, les salde la revendication identitaire légitime dans un mou- les sont pourtant pleines et les spectateurs curieux vement global qui atténue le spécifique, à la tenta- et enthousiastes. J'ai dit plus haut que ma culture tion du repli, potentiellement excluant, la limite est et mon identité étaient liées à ma langue. Comme parfois ténue. N'associer les pulsions nationalistes spectateur, j'aime toujours assister à des spectacles qu'aux orgueils de clochers semble un raccourci très en langue étrangère. D'autant plus quand la langue réducteur. m'est totalement inconnue, j'aime déceler les énergies et les mouvements qui transpirent au-delà du Comme je l'ai dit, je n'ai pas de discours assuré sur sens exprimé par les mots. J'aime cela en tant que 21

spectateur et plus encore en tant que metteur en scène, lorsqu'il m'arrive de montrer mon travail à un public non-francophone. Mon spectacle Dehors, conçu comme la mise en scène de l'incapacité de nos sociétés à prendre en charge l'extrême misère, en la métaphorisant via l'échec de six acteurs à parler du sujet de manière satisfaisante, n'a trouvé sa pleine mesure que lorsqu'il fut montré à un public non francophone. À Paris, au festival Impatience, face à un jury parisien, le spectacle fut extrêmement mal reçu. La violence de la charge du romancier Eric Reinhard contre notre pièce m'étonne encore. Six mois plus tard pourtant, le jury international du festival Fast-Forward récompensait le même spectacle. Estce parce que, en Allemagne, montrant nos acteurs batailler aussi avec la langue durant certaines scènes improvisées chaque soir, le spectacle se chargeait d'une dimension dramaturgique supplémentaire en phase avec notre sujet ou est-ce que, aujourd'hui encore, la remise en cause de la capacité du langage à nommer le réel et à agir sur lui est un sujet délicat au pays de Voltaire et de Deleuze ? Peut-être un peu des deux...

J'ai dit en commençant que la problématique de l'identité nationale était absente de mon quotidien de metteur en scène. Je m'aperçois en abordant la question de la langue que j'ai probablement menti.

Durant la crise institutionnelle de 2010-2011 qui a vu la Belgique sans gouvernement durant 541 jours, nous avons montré notre spectacle Les Langues paternelles dans soixante lieux différents de France.

Alors que les Français eux-mêmes s'embourbaient à l'époque dans le débat sur l'identité nationale initiée par le président Sarkozy, partout les équipes des théâtres qui nous accueillaient nous recevaient avec la même curiosité amusée et la même profonde incompréhension pour le désaccord flamands/wallons. Comment leur expliquer que ce spectacle qu'ils accueillaient en Bretagne ou en Auvergne, celui-là même qui voyagerait ensuite à Nouméa et à Rio, je ne parvenais pas, malgré mon désir, à le montrer à dix kilomètres de mon domicile, de l'autre côté de la frontière linguistique ? Comment m'expliquer à moi-même que donner une interview au premier quotidien de référence brésilien soit plus à ma portée qu'être cité par la presse flamande ? Et pourquoi suis-je néanmoins encore convaincu aujourd'hui que les raisons de cette réalité sont à chercher davantage dans les modes de fonctionnement de nos institutions respectives, dans la façon dont production et diffusion s'organisent sous l'impulsion des pouvoirs publics, que dans un rejet d'origine « nationaliste » 22

à l'égard des productions francophones de la part des publics flamands ? Plus étrange encore dans le phénomène identitaire de Flandre et de Belgique francophone, au-delà des clivages politiques, semble être (ou avoir été?) ce qu'on pourrait nommer rapidement un « nationalisme dramaturgique ». Bien qu'à Bruxelles, artistes des deux communautés fréquentent très largement les théâtres des deux communautés (nous nous rendons fréquemment au KVS et au Kaaitheater ; ils visitent régulièrement le National et les autres théâtres francophones de la capitale, nous allons tous massivement chaque année au Kunstenfestivaldesarts), les metteurs en scène et les compagnies ont suivi des évolutions esthétiques différentes durant les dernières décennies. À la suite de créateurs tels que TG Stan ou Jan Lauwers, nous nous sommes mis à parler de « dramaturgie flamande » lorsqu'un rapport décomplexé au plateau et une désacralisation affichée de la matière textuelle s'opéraient. Si certains créateurs francophones de Belgique s'y sont nourris, d'autres, plus nombreux, y sont restés imperméables, davantage sous l'influence d'un texto-centrisme à la française. Il est particulièrement intéressant de noter que cette veine flamande et cet état d'esprit, massivement diffusée en France au Festival d'Avignon ou au Festival d'Automne ces dix dernières années, irrigue désormais les pratiques des jeunes créateurs qui renouvellent la dramaturgie dans l'Hexagone : Vincent Macaigne, Sylvain Creuzevault ou Julien Gosselin. Un mot avant de conclure sur les derniers termes de l'intitulé de cette journée. Je n'aime pas beaucoup la formule « Europe de la culture ». Puisqu'il semble que les citoyens ne se reconnaissent plus dans une Europe bouffée par la technocratie et les lobbies, admettons aussi que le mot « culture » lui-même semble s'éloigner de sa belle utopie originelle. Il ne rime plus depuis longtemps avec « ouverture » ou « déchirure », mais seulement avec « ministère », réduit à la dimension importante mais bien insuffisante de son utilité sociale immédiate. Si le terme « Art » a été infiniment galvaudé et associé à une vision éthérée et romantique de l'élu inspiré planant dans des sphères si hautes que très artificiellement coupées des contradictions du monde, si le mot « création » se connote d'une dimension religieuse boursouflée et anachronique, si toutes ces dénominations ont été peu à peu vidées de leurs substances, quel lexique devons-nous alors investir pour parvenir aujourd'hui à nommer notre aspiration à la métaphorisation du réel, et notre besoin d’exigence imaginaire, et notre désir impérieux d'un souffle qui nous sorte de la tiédeur ambiante ? Ailleurs aussi, dans le temps, dans

l'espace et dans d'autres disciplines artistiques, il y a de la sueur qui émeut, et des images qui bouleversent, et des sons qui élèvent, et des personnages qui bousculent, et des langues qui font mouche, et des rythmes qui surprennent, et des idées qui tranchent. Mais au théâtre d'aujourd'hui, il y a ceci qui fait la différence : des êtres humains qui se rassemblent pour recevoir tout cela d'un coup. Des êtres humains qui éteignent leurs écrans quelques minutes. Être sur un plateau, aujourd'hui comme toujours, en Europe comme ailleurs, c'est témoigner de son existence, témoigner du monde et, en le représentant, dire son désaccord avec le réel. Ce qui pousse des êtres humains à se réunir pour décaler le regard qu'ils portent sur leurs semblables et sur le monde relève d'une logique opposée aux conservatismes, à l'académisme, donc au repli identitaire et aux pulsions nationalistes. Au moment où je rédige ces dernières lignes, la presse mondiale rend hommage à l'engagement de Gérard Mortier dans son travail et loue son admirable parcours. Ce rappel qu'une vision internationale des arts de la scène intellectuellement exigeante, artistiquement ambitieuse et politiquement intransigeante est possible et souhaitée rassure un peu et donne du courage face au terne dominant. Je vous remercie de votre attention. ▌

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T H E . T H E A T R E . O F . T H E . D I G I T A L . N A I S S A N C E D

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With its more than 140 theatres publically funded with more than 2.25 bn euro per year, Germany seems to be a paradise of theatre. But a closer look at the facts and figures from the last decades show a different result.

The audience for dramatic theatre is decreasing continuously over time.

Since the fifties, we can observe a loss of spectators to an extent of 60 percent; since the beginning of the nineties, to an extent of 20 percent. The audience is continuously vanishing.What does that mean?

Theatre seems to have lost its connection to its potential audiences in the cities. Theatre makers reach the public less. Their impact is fading. And it seems as if municipal societies do not regard theatrical institutions as places for them to publically reflect on the present and the society they live in any more.

That is a disastrous development in a society that is undergoing changes as deep and fundamental as we have never seen before in history within such a short period of time. The changes introduced by digitalization and digital connectivity are no addendums to society. The Internet actually becomes an inter-net, an infrastructure that connects everybody with everybody else, and with everything. Changing the ways we communicate, work, live, and play, it becomes the operating system of our society.

We are already moving towards something that the sociologist Dirk Baecker calls the Next Society. This forces us to consider theatre in and for this next society – in other words: to think about the Next Theatre. What is the function of the next theatre in this next society? And how do we not only reconnect with society, but also turn theatre back into what it used to be in the past: Theatre is a place owned by the society within society, where in an association aesthetic reflection about society is possible. Theatre is challenged by this next society – and I am convinced that either theatre itself will change the way it communicates, works, and plays, or it will not survive the next ten years. I deeply fear that theatre will vanish, and we can observe indications for this vanishing already very clearly around us. Theatre budgets are cut, first public theatres have to close some of their sections, and politicians put entire theatres at risk of being shut-down.

Drawing a historical parallel, I would compare the time we live in to the era of the Renaissance. We are building a completely new world and gain a completely new view of the world. In more and more countries around the globe, we see that our traditional concepts of power are eroding. Our monetary system is out of joint as it undergoes the tremendous shift to digital banking and payment methods. Economy is changing dramatically, as we see traditional enterprises crash and new world powers rise. Nobody knows what labour will look like in ten years, but about 50% of existing jobs are immediately threatened , and workers are predicted to be replaced with software and machines. Society is at a similar turning point as it was during the Renaissance – but at a much higher speed. And what is even more important: there is no returning to any tradition of thought. There is no going “back to” anything, as the “re” in Renaissance indicated, neither to Plato nor to Aristotle. There is no point of orientation.

We are much more living in a “Digital Naissance”, without any “re.” Our orientation turns toward the future, with Bill Gates and Steve Jobs as our heroes. We are inventing a future without reflecting on what society will want or need then. We do not know to what kind of future this Naissance will give birth.

We do not know if this is the march of the lemmings or the march to the promised land. The so-called digital revolution is a revolution without revolutionary subject, without revolutionary concept, and without revolutionary vision. And this revolution moves with high-speed.

This was Piazza San Pietro after the election of Pope Benedetto in 2005. This is the same Piazza only 8 years later after the election of Pope Francisco. The change has a tremendous speed – and it is going on and even speeding up.

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Today people do not regard the loss of faith as the most dangerous threat– but rather the loss of their mobile devices or their online connection. Home no longer is the physical place I live in or come from. It is every place where mobile connectivity is available. Wherever I go, my family, friends, colleagues, and – unfortunately – my boss, are with me. Whenever I am lost, Google Maps will show me the way. Whatever I want to know, I can find it in a wealth of knowledge and information accessible everywhere for free. I will be informed about anything that may happen anywhere else in the world through real-time news platforms or via Twitter. All the music in the world, all movies are available to me. I do my banking using my mobile phone; I am able to control the heating and lighting inside my flat, and maintain a connection to my car. In a way, I feel empowered like no human ever before. And at the same time, I feel weak, vulnerable, and controllable by an institution like the NSA that by accessing my connecting device knows everything about me – even more than I know myself. We lost the concept of the omniscient and almighty god. But we kept the inquisition, the omniscient and almighty secret services.

The only thing that we seem to agree upon is that we, as a society, are moving forward but don’t know where we are headed and that we don’t know where we want to go –we just feel that we need to speed up more and more on this march to somewhere.

And this is the point where society urgently requires theatre to reflect the changes towards the Next Society that already begun – even more in times when the other powerful and traditional medium of public self-reflection is on its decline. I am talking about journalism and the press that are already a few steps closer to the abyss. Theatre seems to be the only place left where public reflection about the society of our days and about the future can take place at all, and where, I am convinced of that, it truly belongs. But that also means that theatre for the next society will be a different, will be the Next Theatre.

Theatre has to regain an understanding of its social environment and of peoples’ minds, thoughts, and fears.

It needs to gain power of reflection to find and address these topics in any possible way. And theatre, at least as I know it from the German public theatres, needs to find ways to organize itself and its work processes to be ready to act as this agent of reflexion on the present and the future.

The question: is theatre the place to reflect on the digitalization of society?

One could argue: theatre is the place of human beings and the dramatic actions between them. Right. But the digital technology is intruding right into these social relationships. The industrialization of the 19th century turned the physical world around us, let’s call it “nature”, into a warehouse. Whenever you walk through the woods, you are walking through a warehouse. Every animal, every tree, every plant, even the fresh air carries a virtual price tag. Cut a tree, and a judge will tell you the price. The consequences of this industrialization are the catastrophic climate change that we are dealing with today. The technology of the 21st century is communication technology. It turns communicative relationships into markets as industrialization turned nature into economic goods. And the threat of a disastrous social climate change is already tangible. Is that a subject to be dealt with in theatre?

It definitely is. Theatre can be the place where the social and the digital spheres touch like the fingers of Adam and God in the Sistine chapel. Theatre is the place to make this connection and to reflect on it at the same time. Theatre has always been a place for human action and technology; starting from the Greek ekyklema and mechané; followed by the technique of perspective painting in the Renaissance, the stage machinery and the lighting technology of the Baroque; and by the elaborated technologies of the 20th century theatre. Theatre is a place, or THE place, to bring the social and technological dimensions together and to reflect on them.

Therefore, theatres need to integrate new skills and artistic dimensions, to get technical frontend and backend developers into the organization: app developers, hackers, and DIY’ers. People that nowadays are forced to work for profit-centred enterprises and who are only waiting to be freed and to work artistically.

Those are the ones who will be able to carry this reflection into the theatres. Get the technological avant-garde to work with you to address the topics of the present and the future.

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The next question being: What topics?

Digitalization is already putting lots of topics on the agenda to be addressed as quickly as possible. And I am convinced that the literary tradition will not help us to get these topics on stage. The worlds of Shakespeare, Chekhov, and even Brecht are vanishing, or already gone. The questions we are facing now cannot be processed using the old answers.

Our categories are changing too fundamentally for that: concepts like friendship or political power, concepts of originality or property, especially intellectual property. The concepts of home and origin, concepts of intimacy, privacy, and proximity, of knowledge and information, and of science and journalism are changing dramatically, leading to the impression that we do not understand the world we live in anymore, as well as to permanent and growing levels of stress.

But speaking here at the European Theatre Convention, there is one more topic I would like to mention.

And that is Europe itself. Right now, at least in Germany, I do not see theatres as being publicly perceived as institutions with an idea or vision for Europe. It is economists and politicians who are defining if we want and need a European Union and what it looks like. The German finance Minister promotes the idea of an Economic Government of the United States of Europe. He dreams of economists shaping the political fate of Europe. In other words: he dreams of a monetary dictatorship where money rules and calculation replaces argumentation. We see the consequences of this beginning dictatorship already in the southern part of Europe where complete countries are devastated by financial weapons of mass destruction. And it may be of some relevance for theatre makers that among these devastated countries there is Greece.

We all love to see the ancient Greek tragedies being re-enacted on our stages. We consider it the High Mass of our theatres to put the Oresteia, Oidipous, or Antigone on the stage. But the real Greek tragedy is happening now. Right before our eyes. The financial battle against the existing state of Greece is also a financial battle against the culture that was invented at the ancient Greek theatron. Having already lost what I would call the vertical dimension of solidarity , meaning the solidarity between the different layers of one society, theatre does not make any visible efforts to show any horizontal solidarity, meaning solidarity between societies beyond national borders.

The use of the digital tools and of networking can drive this horizontal solidarity and turn theatres into embassies of people and not only of politicians and economists. The fate of Greece and other threatened countries is not decided in Greece. The fate of Spain is not decided in Madrid. The fate of Italy is not decided in Rome. It is decided by politicians and bankers in Frankfurt and Berlin, in London or Brussels. Finance and politics are perfectly connected internationally. But societies and their forums of exchange – the theatres – seem to be frozen in the era of nations. Protest against the Troika does not make a lot of sense when demonstrated in Athens. But how about bringing the protest to Frankfurt using digital connections?

The Frankfurt Theatre – to take just one example –is located a mere 50 meters from the European Central Bank. And with digital means, it can be connected. It can turn a theatre in Athens to a place that is acting visibly in Frankfurt. In real-time.

I would love to see commentaries of the Greek people projected onto the façade of the European Central Bank with strong projectors at night from the Frankfurt Theatre. And I would love to see Greek flgs on the Frankfurt Theatre. Or Italian. Spanish. In front of the European Central Bank.

This is the Olympus where the Bankers behave like gods who inflict a plague on an entire nation. And they do not want the king as a sacrifice but the whole people.

The economic battle against Greece, and Italy, and Spain is happening in the scope of a war on societies, life, and culture. This needs to be clearly understood. Germans love to spend their holidays in these southern countries, enjoy life, visit the monuments of their European heritage, spend time among friendly people, and enjoy the food culture. When we want culture, we visit the countries that are under attack. The countries of culture. And in the same time, in the so-called rich countries the culture people are under attack, too. They could be called the internal Greeks – culture is under attack in nearly all parts of Europe. The battle against 27

Greece is the pan-European fight against culture itself. And it does not only concern the victimized inhabitants of Greece, but it concerns all of us here. Economists and politicians use their international networks to act united. And if culture-lovers do not begin to understand that establishing transnational networks is vital to stand the fight, culture will pretty soon be sacrificed on the altar of economic religion. We have been inspired by the idea of theatre from Greece – now it’s time to pay back, at least with solidarity.

I long for an artistic idea of what Europe could be beyond a shared currency and a monetary dictatorship. 200 years ago, idealistic thinking, e. g. in Germany, was intimately connected with theatre. And the ideas of national theatres emerged from an idealistic nationalism considered a liberation from monarchy. And now what?

Nationalism is not an option. But where are the theatrical idealists developing an artistic, an emancipatory, and a utopian notion of living together in Europe? I don’t observe theatres as the go-to places to develop this utopia of citizens, at least not in Germany. Using digital technology to establish connections, real-time cross-border interaction, and turning that into a strong and lasting statement for a shared future in Europe would be a vision worth working for. I recommend using technology for that purpose, because beyond the threats that come with digitalization, technology also still has the potential to connect.

Which brings us to the 3rd chapter: Talking about formats To have any future, theatres need to be turned into places of argumentation, creation of ideas, and discussion, without necessarily always staging a play or a drama. They need to reach the beating hearts of local societies by addressing the pressing topics of their audiences on the one hand, and by build digital networks with audiences and other theatres on the other hand.

Let me give you one example. The Banking Tribunal at the Volksbühne Berlin in 2010 for me was a stunning event. They invited experts and specialists, scientists and journalists for a 2-day tribunal. Something that may seem as a performance that only accidentally happened in a theatre. In fact, its concept is fundamentally theatrical and dramatic. The experts where split in two groups: accusers and advocates of banking. They were asked to produce their own role-speeches and to present them in front of the audience. They performed a debate in improv-theatre style; and in the form of a judgment, there even was a dramatic ending.

I was not able to be in Berlin at the time. But I breathlessly watched these 2 days on the Internet via live-stream. Theatre was turned into a potentially worldwide accessible public place and stage. I learned more about the pros and cons of finance. And I had the opportunity to discuss everything with other users online. This is one example of how theatre can gain reach and relevance by addressing an urgent topic and using digital technology without losing its character as a theatre.

4th chapter: The internal organization of theatres In Germany, there is an ongoing debate between traditional public theatres and independent theatre companies that may seem a bit strange here in Brussels. Apparently, two different theatrical cultures have developed in Germany during the past two decades.

The traditional dramatic theatres are still organized in the way Carl Benz produced cars in the 19th century.

That slows everything down. I believe that the time for this long process is over.

Theatre in the digital and networked age needs to be able to act quickly. Theatre is a live art form. As such, it can be faster and more responsive than any other art. Even when it comes to dramatic storytelling. Collaborative, not separated development of stories is the way to the future. That does not mean that theatre in itself always needs to speed-up its processes. It is merely to say that while theatres gain an option to be very fast where necessary, they may also decide to be slow where slowness is best.

Very often, the way of working in the IT industry or in Silicon Valley is taken as an example for this collaborative work. And, I think, rightly so. We can let our future work be inspired by processes developed there. Not because we long to be neoliberal or profit-driven. But rather because these guys manage to bring different skills and disciplines together in the earliest stages of a project already. Writers may sit down together with directors, digital artists, actors, dramaturges, and musicians as early as when an idea is brainstormed for a given topic.

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And it may even be taken further: a Greek theatre may sit down together with an Italian, a Spanish, a German, and a Norwegian theatre and conduct a brainstorming session, even on a daily basis. Skype is here and ready to use. Google Hangout. Video conferencing. Whatever you want: the digital technology is there to establish connections and to drive collaboration beyond physical presence and national borders. You can be wherever you want to be. To collaborate. Or to connect theatrical stages in mixed virtual and physical environments.

Being inspired by the IT-organizations means that you are clever enough to use tools developed in capitalistic environments to address problems that are similar to those theatres are suffering from, and that these tools are taken from their capitalistic organizations and turned into emancipatory tools.

A tool like Kanban makes it possible to organize and prioritize work to enable you to focus on the tasks that are really important: like thinking about political and social problems instead of wasting your time with things that appear to be urgent but are really superfluous.

A process organization following SCRUM makes it possible to build teams and make them collaborate. It helps add up the different competencies and skills and keep everyone in the loop of what’s going on. It helps to stay open for creative and conceptual changes. It can help put the collective creative idea in the focus instead of quarrels between departments, hierarchies, or institutions.

It also helps to coordinate different teams in the same time in an overarching collaborative environment beyond traditional hierarchies, building some kind of co-ordinated team infrastructure like this.

And this structure is able to connect with free companies, because the way of working is very similar to the way these groups work. It is an open structure.

Conclusion Let me sum up my statement: theatre, at least in Germany, needs to face the digital naissance. That means that we need to enable it to distill urgent topics from present society; to enable it to reflect on the digitalization of society and to carry these reflections back into society; and to open the treasure chest of forms. We need to reach beyond the limits of tradition by embracing the new possibilities of digital networking even beyond national borders. Taking this step, we may realize a European Union of Cultures, instead merely one of money.

And that would mean for instance to transfer the European Theatre Convention into a digital organization or an European Theatre Internetwork that uses digital technology to connect European theatres to reflect the next society aesthetically. Beyond national borders. Simple question: Why is there no Livestream of this conference?

If theatre seeks to reconnect with society, it must be interested in what’s going on in present-day society, be able to reflect on that, and to carry these reflections back into society in any possible way. If it pursues that course, there is a chance that people will eventually find their interest in theatres again. ▌

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CONTACT European Theatre Convention Heidi Wiley - General Secretary hwiley@etc-cte.org ETC Executive Office Schumannstr. 13 A 10117 Berlin, Germany T (+49) 30 284 41 460 F (+49) 30 284 41 488 convention@etc-cte.org ETC head office 8 rue Blanche 75009 Paris, France ETC EU office European House for Culture Sainctelettesquare 17 1000 Brussels, Belgium www.etc-cte.org

IMPRINT Published by: European Theatre Convention Editor: Heidi Wiley, Alexa Graefe English translations of texts by Jean-Marie Piemme: Viaverbia Photo credits: Théâtre de Liège pictures © François Brix Photos ETC theatre member representatives & conference participants © Dominique Houcmant goldo © All rights are reserved with ETC.

EU Culture programme (This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.)

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