Trust

I had a hard time trying to explain concepts or theories to people who, most often due to class inequalities, were less educated. They were not capable of grasping notions that could have been important to provide their anxieties and fears with more precise translations: better words, phrasings that were easier to handle. I in turn was incapable of creating intelligible objects out of my listening. Until something in my body spoke out.

First time was with an analysand -that’s how patients are called in psychoanalysis- who was stuck in defense. Many possibilities stay out when one’s stuck in defense, struggling to justify oneself. So I leaned forwards in my chair, I bowed my head slightly and let a spitball fall down on the parquet. That single action proved meaningful as it unlocked possibilities for the analysand that were elaborated further on.

I think it was my first performance as well. It built trust. It worked as a door that works only once. Some things only have to work once.

When something is meaningful even before it’s done, doing it can only make sense. There are no right things to say when someone trusts you to the point of paying you to be paid attention to. Likewise, there are no right things to do when both you and your witnesses believe you’re doing right.

Performance is a necessary waste of trust. I do that which is not written. There’s no screenplay, no science backing what may succeed, no failure to shy away from, even if some things may only fail once.

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