Sorcha, Aina, Kristjan, Mattias and I ended up at an intimate concert in an apartment on Thursday evening. An intense man played guitar and sang in Latvian to a crowd of twenty or so students(?) who were sitting on the floor of the bare living room. Aina knew someone who had previously lived in the apartment – now the tenants (artists?) were having to leave and this was the last event. It reminded me of my life thirty or more years ago – life at Dartington, and early years in Edinburgh.
The city that night was especially full of flags. I have noticed the abundance of flags since arriving here: on public buildings, private homes, shops and businesses, on the lampposts along the roads in and out of the centre. There are billboards showing the Latvian flag and poster seeming to advertise a programme of concerts and events connected to the flag. All of this appears to be in preparation for Friday’s Liberation Day celebrations. The Latvian flag is quite beautiful, described to me as red and white it is actually a very particular shade of red – burgundy? It is a sophisticated colour that suggests a long history, it has an earthy quality … bodily … the rich dark red of blood. On my first day here, in old town with Fenu and Sorcha, Fenu told us the origin story of the flag: in ancient times the mighty warrior king was seriously wounded, possibly even killed, on the battlefield. An improvised stretcher was made of white cloth, the king’s powerful and weighty body was carried to safety and lifted from the blood-soaked cloth – a broad white stripe marking where the pressure of his imposing frame had stopped the blood from staining the fabric.
Friday was a national holiday, it was quieter on the roads when I went for my run, however I saw more other runners than I have done before – five. We did not have a holiday, we had the first day of our second workshop with another John – also from the states, and also now living in Estonia. John 1 and John 2 know each other and have previously collaborated in running an arts space. John 2 works with sound and is a professor in the new media department at Estonia’s art school. After chatting over tea and coffee in the kitchen he suggested that we go out to an area of the coast not far from the city. It is a place that he has visited before and which interests him.
We put on warm clothes – we had been watching the light snow fall from out of the kitchen window. We did not know that were were embarking on a four … five? … hour walk on a windy frozen beach and back through a seemingly endless forrest as the daylight diminished. At our point of destination where a winding river meets the Baltic Sea the forrest meets the beach. There are no dunes here – the sand and the pines meet directly. Many of the front-line trees had fallen … some bare and weathered trunks revealed a considerable period since falling, others still bore needles, bark, and intricate delicate root systems that told of more recent collapse. The angles of the fallen trees leaning against those still standing caught my attention. They made me think of the previous day’s white flag – falling and coming to rest.
Later back at the residency John invited us to listen to two of his pieces – sound works accessed through QR codes and played in mobile phones. The sound from our eight phones filled the dark project room – an amazing and inspiring experience. I have been wondering about how I might include … present … one or two text works in our show here – could QR codes be a possibility?
