Artur Żmijewski – The Loyalty of Failure

The Loyalty of Failure

Artur Żmijewski’s “Singing Lesson 2” was designed specially for the St. Thomas church in Leipzig. The author perceived the original version, carried out in a protestant church in Warsaw, as something of a test, a dress rehearsal, though both realisations can function independently of each other. The Warsaw version appears even more monumental and clear-cut in its design, and the rendition by deaf children of Jan Maklakiewicz’s Polish Mass is very moving. Following a series of rehearsals, the children try to sing a fragment of the powerful religious piece. Their attempts are of course a caricature of music, but it is precisely the tension between the significance of prayer and the deaf kids’ inability to express themselves that makes Żmijewski’s work meaningful. Historical examples of exclusion come to mind; the deaf, and, more broadly, the disabled, were excluded from the Church until the 18th century, their condition as those unable to express themselves locating them outside the Christian community and that of intelligent people. Modern humanisation of social relations has prohibited such exclusion. But correctness still aims to smooth out the differences, standardise the needs, and make desires uniform.

At the same time, Żmijewski’s work builds on a transgression of language, an act typical for the avant-garde tradition, as reflected in, for instance, Kazimierz Malewicz’s non-rational inspirations. Wielemir Chlebnikov, for instance, wrote: “The act of word-creation is an explosion of linguistic silence, of deaf-and-mute layers of language. Replacing one sound with another in a given word we immediately open a way from one valley of language to another. We check the ways of communication in the realm of words through the ridges of linguistic silence.”

“Singing Lesson 2,” carried out in Leipzig, featured some entry attributes particularly interesting to Żmijewski: it was carried out in a place where Johan Sebastian Bach worked and where he is buried, a cult place for music widely perceived as perfect and rarefied, and thus a symbol of German, but also universal high culture. In a place like this, the contrast between decorum and the imperfectness of the human condition is particularly striking. Bach’s cantatas sung by German deaf children are a glaring negation of that perfection.

Żmijewski works according to a precisely defined method. His films are answers to a question, to a nagging problem. In order to solve it, the artist designs a precise scenario. He provokes situations or uses people for whom the question of the human condition is particularly important. This is why he often works with the disabled. In an interview given during the “Singing Lesson” he said: “Physically or mentally disabled people have to work harder on their own being, their effort to be has to be stronger. They lack this unbearable lightness of being.” This translates into the strength of the film image, makes it more piercing. But the scenario only serves to start the situation. When properly chosen people find themselves on a properly designed set, everyone plays themselves. Żmijewski often acts as a documental filmmaker, choosing not to interfere with what is unfolding. He often allows the situation to get out of hand. And though his role is to register the material and edit it in such a way as to get to the heart of the matter, rejecting all that is redundant, dumping the ornaments – possible failure is written into the project.

“Singing Lesson” is another of Żmijewski’s works involving disabled people. Earlier ones included “Eye for an Eye,” 1998, “140 cm,” 1999, or “Taking a Walk,” 2001. Each time the process is directed at the participants and their needs. Żmijewski’s proposals are mentally attractive for them, meet their wishes, enable them to face themselves, see themselves in a different context. The entire attention in these works is focused on the protagonists and their disability, which is usually camouflaged, contained, or ignored.

In all his projects, the objective is to change the meaning of the word “disabled.” Disabled does not mean worse, but different, and in that sense Żmijewski goes against the culturally rooted fear of the other, and a tendency to tame it. And the related sentimentalism. A deaf child (according to at least some scientists) functions better using sign language than verbal language (attempts to learn to speak). Thus it creates an impassable area of otherness, but also gains better means of expression. This yields results that cannot be reversed. Entering the world of the other is not without its stumbles: at first, attempts by deaf children to sing evoke only horror; what we admire the endeavour for is the nobleness present in the otherness of their expression. A disabled person can only gain dignity in his/her disability. “Singing Lesson” is not an attempt to perform Bach’s cantatas as well as possible, nor an attempt to prove that the deaf can derive joy from singing (though this is obviously a part of the process), but an attempt to set a new standard of singing, of different singing. And, more broadly, a different model of communication that will be based not on smoothing out differences but on respecting them. It is also a declaration that rehabilitation is not the only thing that can be done with disability. Disability is a condition that has to be appreciated in spite of, or even thanks to, its otherness.

One of Żmijewski’s inspirations for the “Singing Lesson” was Oliver Sacks’ “Seeing Voices. Journey into the World of the Deaf.” Sacks writes: “The existence of sign language and its deep and stimulating impact on perception and intelligence, the necessary elements of learning it, are proof of the existence of a huge potential and flexibility of our mind, manifesting themselves in situations where it is necessary to face new challenges and adapt to new circumstances, that thanks to our nature and culture enable us to survive and become better. Learning the secrets of hearing-impaired people’s life and psyche shows us not only man’s weaknesses, but also his strength, the inexhaustible reserves present in each one of us.”

In Żmijewski’s works, disability and all exclusion are a metaphor of certain dimensions of social relations. Disability is a reference to universal mental relations. Dysfunctions, lapses, mistakes, program errors, and exceptions to the rule are valuable not only in poetry or a creative approach to language. Tension caused by slipping out of one’s role or breaking the rules highlights the significance of the smooth etiquette enabling people to function among each other. In this sense, the awareness of potential disability is both creative and responsible (awareness of the evil and ugly in myself). Misunderstanding (i.e. deaf people’s singing) is as fruitful as consensus.

Joanna Mytkowska

translated by Marcin Wawrzyńczak