Choosing How To Relive The Ancient Greek Tragedy

Squid Game or Ceremony?

Ivan Petrović, Documents [2007], from the series "Vitak 1999," 1999.

In the Western world, Ancient Greeks lay claim to the invention of tragedy, a form that allowed people to witness the most horrifying stories. Letting drama unfold on stage that is a thousand times worse than the drama in one’s own life, makes us think that we survived. It is, thus, no wonder that shows like the Korean TV series, Squid Game, became the highest watched show in the history of Netflix. Taking into consideration that it took its creator Hwang Dong-hyuk 10 years to sell the series, it shows that its success doesn’t depend only on its content, but that it says more about the times we live in.

As the world opens up, many of us are eager to speed up, make up for lost times. However, if we disconnect from emotions that piled up like a heavy armour in the last two years, we might crash against a wall. As much as you try to numb it, trauma remains in the body. If we let it swallow us quietly, the threat is that soon, we might wake up in the 30’s reminiscent of the post Golden Jazz Age of a century ago on the brink of yet another world war. The question we have to ask ourselves is how can we engage in parties worthy of the Great Gatsby while tending to our wounds? After all, it is a known fact that dance helps us heal.

The Greeks created theater mimicking the rituals of priests that helped followers come closer to God. As someone who belongs to a family that threw religion out of the window already a few generations ago, I won’t go all fanatic on you. However, if we break down religious sacraments, we will find ourselves in the world of song, music, words, gestures, objects. We will find ourselves in the worlds of myths and prayer. So if I may, I would like to put in another offer than just Netflix as a coping method on the table - the act of ceremony.

Early this September while I was going on with the mundaneness of my life which on Wednesday afternoons means soccer practice for 8 and 9 year old boys my phone rang. With the boys swirling around my legs nagging me to take them to 7/11, the information that I received through my mobile device didn’t settle at first. “You want me to come to the forest to read poetry?” I finally asked in disbelief. “What kind of poetry, what is it about?” I needed something to hold onto for dear life as I felt fear digging a hole underneath my feet in the concrete of Stockholm’s posh neighbourhood of Östermalm. After all, the fact that this invitation came was my own fault, a direct cause of making myself more visible through Tarantula and the fact that I dealt with the pandemic in the best way that I could, belonging to one group and forming another one to read poetry. Add a few champagne infused midnights that ended up with me reading words by poets such as Eileen Myles and Joy Harjo, and you will get the picture.

The invitation was extended by Karin Viktorin who together with Rebecca Tiger, is the mastermind behind Arise Amazons, “a performance act that illuminate borders between theater, magic, creatures and spirits.” Receiving a grant before corona spread they couldn’t work on the performance piece because all the institutions closed down. As the grant’s expiration date approached, they decided not to rush and force their original idea when we were obviously on a different wavelength than two years ago. Instead they chose to use the forest of the Nacka Reserve as a portal and invited everyone through their Facebook page to step towards healing. “Without Loss – No Resurrection. We Yearn to Once Again Arise Through a Ceremony of Sorrow, and to Rejoice in a Celebration of Life.” The event was to take place two days before the full moon, full moon signifying the monthly release, purge of all things that didn’t belong anymore. However, when the call came that wasn’t what I was scheduled to do on September, 18th, 2021.

Ivan Petrović, Documents [2007], from the series “Cafe Grizzly,” 1998

I welcomed the day of the performance with trepidation. Knowing that the performers will turn into beautiful peacocks, my plan was to stay low and melt into the scenery. I walked into an unknown forest for the first time and was welcomed by Rebecca who took me on a tour around the forest in search for a perfect place for me to take stage. Walking around the beautiful trees full of leaves that were about to turn autumn on us, my feet stepping on the earth and rocks, we were joined by Ellinor, who I later found out goes by the name of Entropy. There was an openness and vulnerability in everyone I encountered, so excitement slowly came in and fear took a second place.

There were 23 creatures spread throughout the forest, oracles, acrobats, dancers, priestesses, poets. Everyone gathered to grieve the pandemic years together, to sit with their own feelings, to feel the loss, to celebrate. I started with reading other poets’ words, but as a group of 8 audience members sat and lay down on the soft forest bed in front of me, I had no choice but to read my own work as well, as it didn’t seem that they were going away any time soon. They were lulled, and I relaxed.

As the night slowly fell upon us, I packed the words and with a new gratitude I went to watch BARK a performance “about reconnecting with each other and with nature” by the Acting for Climate troupe. They climbed up into the trees dressed in red and simultaneously danced, jumped and became part of the landscape above our heads. The walls of theatre collapsed, and the forest became the new institution as these women made somersaults in the air. Always landing on the tree trunks, they followed the rhythm and silences between the words that they so clearly vocalised “We are nature, we are a species…. “ I wanted to become part of them.

Ivan Petrović, Documents [2007], from the series “Cafe Grizzly,” 1999

The crescendo of the night was the ceremony initiated by Rebecca, now looking like a beautiful otherworldly forest animal priestess. The group of performers gathered together with the audience around a fire and a cauldron. Light reflectors colored the dark trees in different colors, defusing a warm and calm energy around. Much like a meditation teacher, Rebecca invited us to dig deep and let it all go, let the feelings escalate into the sky. Drums were drumming, a choir of wood nymphs stepped out of the dark and circled around the fire. With each beat, I felt my pores opening, my cells jumping. My heart was vibrating! The Kazakh horse whisperer called out for the horses with an ancient song, and like a cyborg goddess, Karin, came up the steep hill on her horse that was disguised as a unicorn. As the beast approached the fire, we all held our breaths. He started fidgeting, his tail made of the most beautifully brushed thick hair, started swaying towards the flames. A stick on the ground provoked the horse’s greatest fear, the fear of snakes. Just like me, this non human person was facing his own fears that night. “Dig deep, release, above and beyond,” Rebecca’s voice echoed back as Karin silently calmed the once wild animal.

As the horses left, the music came back, and our drug of the night, a hearty vegetable soup was offered that has been simmering in the cauldron together with our dreams and hopes that we whispered into the produce before it was put into the spiced water. Entropy came out tribal dancing with a smile that extended beyond her cheeks, couples were hugging. A woman with a friendly face extended her hand and pulled me into her circle of friends. Illuminated by the fire, all were holding hands.

Ivan Petrović, Documents [2007], from the series “Portraits”, 2005

It is your own choice if you will reenact and re-experience fear over and over alone in front of your TVs, or if you will engage in many of the world ceremonies that will help bring you to a catharsis. But I must warn you, once you experience the ceremony filled with loving beats and words and healthy food as well as dance, you might experience withdrawal symptoms once it ends. Do not be dismayed, create your own circles, read poetry, write in your journal, dance, create, meditate. Give meaning to your stories and experiences, stop just surviving. After all, the Ancient Greeks also created Comedy. It is up to us if these times that we are all living in will also have a happy ending.

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