The brilliant Melanie Lane’s new performance, Wonderwomen opens tonight in HAU1, with: the awesome pair of professional bodybuilders that are Rosie Harte and Natalie Schmidt; set and costume design by Robert Bartholot; music by Clark; lighting by Fabian Bleisch; and feministing up in your dramaturgy by Frances d’Ath (yup, the one who has this blog). It’s on the main stage, and looks deadly. Here’s some photos from dress rehearsal yesterday.
I only care about white asparagus season because it means rhubarb season.
Yes! The one with the two women bodybuilders! In Berlin and on the main stage at HAU. Next week! And then back to Leipzig for you all down there. Here’s all the details:
Melanie Lane invites you to her new work Wonderwomen, at HAU1 Hebbel am Ufer, Berlin.
Wonderwomen invites the two female professional bodybuilders Rosie Harte and Nathalie Schmidt to meet in a performance context. They contemplate their highly demanding sport that amplifies and transforms the body. While striving for an ultimate physical form, the women navigate their profoundly trained bodies and the potential for a new body language. Wonderwomen is a dialogue that brings together strength and vulnerablility, representation and transformation, athleticism and femininity.
Concept and choreographie: Melanie Lane
Performance: Rosie Harte, Natalie Schmidt
Light design: Fabian Bleisch
Sound design: Clark
Set and costume design: Robert Bartholot
Dramaturgy: Frances d’Ath
Choreography Assistant: Florian Bücking
A year ago, I decided to get all analytic on my training. Mainly I just like tech and pretty representations of data. So I bought a heart rate sensor. And now it’s been a year of me using it almost every time I train. Which means I can look at a year in the life of Frances training, with all the … whatever that reveals.
What does it reveal, Frances?
Well, other Frances. I trained 156 times — that I recorded, let’s say 170 because I pretty much did not train without it unless I forgot either sensor or phone. For a total of 190 hours — there’d be a few more in that for the times my phone battery died. For a measly distance of 1481 kilometres — of actual training rides, not including cross-town, Kreuzberg-Wedding type stuff, so maybe double that at least, no wonder I spend so much on my bike and it feels like it’s constantly in need of repair. Hey, just like me! (Wow, there’s a realisation, right there.) About 1/3 of that was ballet, another third cycling (mostly road at the moment, but some cyclocross), 1/6 bouldering, and the remaining 1/6th a mix of yoga and core training.
Oh, and supposedly I burned around 121,000 calories, which is about 60 days of eating 2000 calories a day. I’m not really convinced about this. I think it’s more of an imaginary number, and not the mathematical kind.
What else? Speed, both average and top are derived from iPhone GPS. I’m not sure how much dispersion there is in this, but I suspect it can easily be 5km/h or more in either direction. My next gear purchase (after … umm … new brakes and probably new rear derailleur pulley wheels) is a speed/cadence sensor — which probably means also a proper cycling head unit instead of phone …
I seem to unintentionally train in 9-10 week blocks, then give up in despair for a couple of weeks, then, like a goldfish circling its bowl, forget all that and get right back into it. Knowing that this might be my natural rhythm though, it could make sense to train in 9 week blocks with a week off, if for nothing else than keeping my enthusiasm. Also I doubt I’ve been training like that this year, my rhythm’s all over the place.
My maximum heart rate seems to be constant around 190 (excluding the huge jumps into the 200s that were either the battery going flat, the sensor getting jostled, or actual random heart weirdness from having stupid fun training in -10º weather). I dunno, I have no context or expertise for reading anything into these figures, other than I seem to like training if it involves a degree of discomfort and some suffering — which I didn’t need a heart rate sensor to tell me.
So, a year of data. What to do with it? No idea! Will I keep using it? For now, yes. It’s become automatic to put it on. I don’t really use it during training, though I’d use it for cycling if I could find an iPhone mount that could hold my ancient 4S. But mostly I do it on feel, and that corresponds pretty closely to the various heart rate zones. I do do regular post-training gawks, to compare how I felt with actual data — and knowing that data across sessions gives me a bit of a feeling for where I’m at on a particular day or week. And one other thing: I train a lot less than I think.
Worth it for seeing a year of training all pretty like that? Yup!
I know my new tires and wheels are mad fast, but kinda doubt I was the fastest thing on Tempelhofer Feld since the airport closed in 2008. Plus I’d have broken numerous Ordnungsamt and Straßenverkehrsbehörde regulations by laying down a solid hour of 217.6km/h — and not a tenth of a km/h faster or slower. Plus that would indeed be a land speed record for non-motor-paced bike on the flat by a huge margin. Then there’s my acceleration: zero to that in 1 second. The Porsche 918 Spyder can barely hit a hundred in twice that time. Takes me 3 seconds to slow to zero though.
One spoke is an accident. Two is not a coincidence. And two different mechanics saying, “Your rim is worn out—stop laughing!—your rim is worn out. You need a new one,” plus the cost of replacing a single spoke—let alone a full wheel rebuild, and when the hubs are also shot, meant bonus! New wheels! Minus side, I indeed cannot afford them, nor the replacement cassette, nor the replacement brake pads and cables.
Nonetheless, suck it up and all. I did my homework, cased multiple options, narrowed it down to a couple, then found one of them for 2/3 the normal price online, and yesterday a well fancy pair of Fulcrum Racing 5 CX arrived. A walk to bike shop and back, cassette fitted, tires swapped on (and let’s pause for a minute and remember the set of Challenge Strada Bianca I got a couple of weeks ago), now just recable-ing and doing the brakes.
And let’s remember six years of fucking glorious riding, bashing through forests, especially my favourite one around Flughafen Tegel, snow, rain, hail, ice, slush, mud, wild boars, foxes, falcons, dust and grit in warm summer mornings, endless laps of Tempelhofer Feld, thousands of kilometres on those old wheels now boxed away (I’ll probably bring them out when I want to practice trials skills or something equally rim-destroying). Cheers old wheels, you were mint.
New Tires! I coughed up for some Challenge Strada Biancas ’cos I’m riding more cobbles and less cyclocross lately. Plus my current gravel tires are thrashed to bits. They arrived folded up; I thought they were open tubulars they’re so light. I really wanted the Paris-Roubaix ones, because Paris-Roubaix, but they’re 27mm and I like a bit of width for off-road bashing. So, Strada Bianca. Giro d’Italia, Strade Bianche, these are my favourite races along with the Cobbled Classics. Which start in less than a week!
There’s a scene in Episode 9 of Sense8 where Lito is sitting with Nomi before an early sketch of Man at the Crossroads in the Diego Rivera Museum in Mexico telling her how he lost his partner Hernando, while cutting to flashbacks of Hernando describing the history of of the mural, of art, and love before their first kiss.
Late-December, Isabelle says, “I’m going to Mexico.” I say, “You have to go to the Diego Rivera Museum.”
Even if she doesn’t make it there, she’s still in a museum, the Museo Universitario del Chopo, where she’s working with a group of local performers to develop and present a variation of the Collective Jumps / Pieces and Elements series. And if you are in Mexico City later next week, you can see it.
4th and 5th February 2017, 1pm
9th and 10th February 2017, 5pm
Personal Collective has been developed together with the performers from Mexico City under the artistic direction of Isabelle Schad, assisted by Julia Rodriguez for the site of the Museum el Chopo. Certain modules derive from the work Collective Jumps by Isabelle Schad and Laurent Goldring.
With: Daniela Urías, Patricia Marcela Herrera Román, Engelbert Ortega, Alvaro Pérez, Azhareel Sierra, Argelia Villegas, Uriel Isaac Palma Torres, Alberto González Etchegaray, Leticia Cordero Mote, Adrián Hernández, Gilberto Spindola, Mariana García, Citlalli Granados de León, Alejandro Ramírez, Edgar Landa, Karina Terán, Mónica Arellano, Daniela Flores, Marlene Coronel, Víctor Hugo Rivera.
Personal Collective is a collaboration by Isabelle Schad with Goethe-Institut Mexico and Museo Universitario del Chopo.
First winter snow. Little better than -2º training ride, sun with ragged clouds, dry powder crunch under wheels, drifts ablating to ice crust.
Yesterday, Tuesday, up hours before dawn without much sleep anyway, on my bike in freezing fog, through Kreuzberg, Hallesches Tor, up Wilhelmstraße by Brandenburger Tor, crossing the Spree, Luisenstraße, Invalidenstraße, skirting Berlin Hauptbahnhof, through the construction along Heidestraße, onto Friedrich-Kraus-Ufer and into the Ausländerbehörde.
Marie, my lawyer the last some years arrives shortly after I do. We sit in the E1 waiting room on wooden benches racked with anxious others waiting for their number to chime. Half an hour after my appointment time we’re still waiting. Marie goes in search, moving through the building in ways I alone never could. This is why I have a lawyer, or from her perspective, why she is assisting me.
It’s slightly over two years since I began the grind towards permanent residency in Germany, or an Aufenthaltstitel with unbefristet Niederlassungserlaubnis as it’s called. Two years of acquiring documents, more documents, back and forths, hitting walls and dead ends, being navigated through the system by late-night emails and phone calls from Marie, seeing the system tighten and close up the grey areas, the older ways of living in Berlin increasingly proscribed and delineated. Months of silence as my application was lost, the Behörde in chaos, Berlin city elections, new regulations, having to repeat collecting all those documents to fill in the gaps for those six months, the date of my current residency permit expiry drawing near then passing, more letters from Marie to them, more weeks and days and hours of collecting and changing and updating documents, filling in those gaps.
And finally a stack of paper about 2cm high fulfilling the requirements to be accepted as a permanent resident. There were lot of nights not sleeping these last weeks, and drinking the edge off this. Marie more than once telling me it was going to be ok; me preparing for the worst, pragmatic about outcomes for those who fall into those grey areas. Every time I’ve walked through the Ausländerbehörde, sat in those waiting rooms, I’ve seen that same anxious pragmatism on the faces of people, alone, in pairs, small groups, families. I’ve done it alone every time but this, and there’s no way the outcome would have been positive without Marie.
After all that preparation and waiting, the outcome is entirely dependant on the person sitting opposite. I’ve had a gruff old dragon lady of the ‘hard but fair’ school, a young woman of the Willkommenskultur type years before that word became common parlance in Germany. I’ve also had a young woman whose face could not conceal the disgust and physical discomfort at me, who explicitly turned that bigotry into an interpretation of the regulations to try and deny my residency renewal. This time, Marie said, “He’s new, he seems really positive.”
I barely see him. He’s young, friendly, we three sit in his office while I complete a German language test to prove I’m at least B2, all looking kind of bemused at each other, at the questions he’s reading to me and my answers. “Describe the room you’re sitting in.” “Well, there’s a big window, you can see the Spree out it, and Wedding on the other side, there’s some tables, a calendar on the wall … umm … some shelves, a computer, buncha chairs—” “Yeah, I think that’s enough, eh?”
More waiting. Marie runs off again. She’s carrying a pile of folders, I’m not the only one she’s cutting a path for here today. Then back into his office, collecting all those documents I’d handed over, collecting my passport. Marie hustles me down the hall, “Show me,” she says. “Nie wieder, Frances, nie wieder. You’ll never again have to come here.” And there beside that headshot I took on Monday, underneath my name, it says, “Gültig bis: unbefristet” and “Art des Titels: Niederlassungserlaubnis”.
It’s not a place for celebration. It’s a place for anxiety, fear, disillusionment, heartbreak. More than once I’ve gone through the process and been spat out with a Fiktionsbescheinigung, a temporary piece of paper because my application wasn’t complete to their satisfaction, a function of the idea or romance of living in Berlin as an artist and the increasing liminality of that within the bureaucratic system here. On the wall in the waiting room was a poster of a young, smiling woman wearing a hijab. Underneath it said, “Ich bin Berliner”. I’m not sure that was a comfort to the women in the room wearing hijab or coming from Middle Eastern countries—or born in Germany with the vagaries of citizenship here. Whatever celebration and relief I have, it’s tempered by knowing for others yesterday didn’t work out as they needed.
I rode along the Spree, into Wedding, stopping at Leopoldplatz for the small market, bought some excellent German bread, cheese, and some Hirschsalami, feeling weirdly like I belonged, stopping at Uferhallen to visit Dasniya for Tuesday morning Shibari. Which led to Tuesday afternoon eating of those supplies, along with glasses of gin. It was the morning after a wanker stole a truck and drove it into the Weihnachtsmarkt at Breitscheidplatz in West Berlin, killing 12 and injuring close to fifty.
Without Marie, my Tuesday and today would be very different. Without my friends here in Berlin and spread across Europe, likewise. Marie Ellersiek is the most excellent lawyer and I owe her so many bottles of wine. Dasniya Sommer and Katrin Sellerbeck supported and helped me in so many ways, and lamb curry will be cooked. There are many others, and thank you to you all.
Icke bin Berlina.