Performance, 3 hours, 2015
Sandcastle in press photo: Marja Viitahuhta, Niilo Viitahuhta, Amanda Vähämäki, Lyyra Eronen, Kosmo Eronen
About the work
Location: Kiasma Theatre foyer, duration: 3 hours, Performance language: finnish
Through the ages, people have been interested in what’s about to come. Personal future and the destinies of the intimates have made people turn to fortune-tellers, soothsayers and oracles. Religiousness on the other hand has brought answers to questions regarding existence and time. We live in an era that is characterized by the unpredictability of the future as well as the growth of research-based knowledge and the growing concern about the state of the world and the role of the man in relation to it. Dystopias regarding climate change, famine, immigration and inequality is viewed as a nightmare that might come true.
In the performance Ennustuksia (Predicitions / Prophecies) we hear youngsters speaking out loud various visions of the future that are dressed as personal prophecies. The structure of the performance is ascetic – chairs, performers and the talk of the performers, nothing else. The prophecies heard in the performance mix fiction into research information as well as the youngsters’ own thoughts about their future.
Directed by: Marja Viitahuhta
Script: Marja Viitahuhta and working group
Working group: Siiri Rajalin, Katja Eskola, Iiris Laisi, Inka Degerman, Mette Järveläinen
Thank you: Taneli Viitahuhta, Azar Saiyar, Kallio library
Video documentation: Azar Saiyar
Excerpts from Ennustuksia / Predictions:
The first thing I see is a girl running towards me. She is shouting out loud, waving her arms in the air. Behind her there is a man, her father perhaps. He is also shouting something. Then I hear it, it is english, run, run. I slowly twist my body, turning, and there, behind and below the hill there, below me, in the landscape, there is something massive that stops my motion.
They arrive like the rain, like a cloud. I remember having visions of the crickets like this, whilst reading the bible as a kid, the eqyptian crickets. I remember reading the moomin book by Tove Jansson and the crickets in it that ate the forest as they went on by. The catchers have set themselves around the field on all corners and sides, there are not so many of them, not like in the traditional fishing cultures, more like aerial video shooters, standing by with their digital remote controllers and meters, in their black outfit. How come the color of the outfit is black, to begin with? The net they have spread is like a giant spiders’s creations with its nylon texture blinking to me when the sun hits it.
I step into the elevator, I choose minus 13. My ears lock, I stretch my neck and rub my ear with my thumb. Hitting my floor I walk through the inner yard onto section D. I say hello to my neighbour with the magnolias and crysanthems by the wall. The new brightlights have a more pleasant, matte tone to them. The artificial sky is half cloudy. I scan the electric lock open with my fingertip. The synthetic smell of my apartment irritates me for a second before I get used to it. I open the tv and the landscape screens.