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The dog Habacuc and the language of performance

Laura calabash

That dog of William Vargas Habacuc (Bienarte 2007) is dead or murdered because of his fleas, which has been bought by some street kids, who has been secretly cared for or abused, that has escaped and is now resting on the lakeside of Managua spent maybe we'll never know.

Bienarte in October 2007 (Costa Rica) opens its doors: the event would have been echoed internationally relatively limited if it were not for the presence of a dog dying, tied beneath a mural of crisps, and according to some agencies print left to die amid the indifference of the audience. Quick images of the opening travel the world, blogs are unleashed, they raise their associations. Until someone raises legitimate doubt as to whether it's a fake. But the stone is launched.

You leave a painting on the sidewalk because it reminds Renato Curcio, but the performance gives rise to something different. Immediate and unique, the performative act, beyond the boundaries of which, it strikes. A powerful and even self-destructive upon which we can not continue to ask.

Any theory of the theater is a need to define a language and purpose are able to trace the outline of his idea of \u200b\u200btheater. These choices have much to say about the society that created it. Probably the negotiations that concerns us is unfathomable to us but that does not prevent us from repeatedly ask what are the means of communication available to the theater today, and where is the border that delimits the confini.Della communication, we know that she lives alone time to be strictly necessary. Once this threshold its wings impalpable crumble silently to throw in the incessant buzzing of grayness that envelops us, in industrial quantities of sequins, bright ground blades which have lost all power incisive. Sharp instruments, outrageous, ridiculous ... In scandalized you feel alive, other than when you spend hours mesmerized in front the long legs of a million soubrettes, parading on your home television. Yes: because the destruction always save the man, like Christ on the cross! That is a myriad of small grandchildren of Artaud experimented on us their knives thrown haphazardly. For a good cause: to wake up from slumber. Too bad that now, on our skin shine like you can skate on a frozen lake. Yet talk is simple and ancient as baking bread. Traditional methods of essential basic ingredients, however, assume that you can not do without. A reason to become receptive and want to get really involved, are water and the flour from which you can invent any kind of genuine interaction. Without it, the theater will not exceed the degree of reality of a speculative bubble. It takes a real, necessary power for the freedom of a mental space can converge in a common area, and lick the boundaries within which everyone is condemned.