Week Four
My goal with the series was to illustrate three female characters living in an alternate distopian world.  I wanted the pieces to mirror our own corona virus pandemic and explore themes of survival, uncertainty blindness, paranoia and alienation.
Week Four
A visual journey of finding how some individuals adapted their lives around Lockdown. Human beings are used to routine, so what happens when that routine is suddenly disrupted? When confined at home how do you adapt to that limited space? How do you find new ways to breathe?
Week Four
A New Way of Being is a short experimental film that layers a collection of images, words, movements, sounds and echoes of the violent feelings rippling through vulnerable bodies.  This film is a tremor piece of a feeling of a generation haunted by not only its past but also stirred by its present. The featured poem was written out of frustration, anger, anxiety, fear, bravery, joy and determination to escape systemic violence as a vulnerable person. Female. ‘Foreigner’. Child. Queer. Black. Coloured. Anything other than dominant and oppressive, therefore oppressed, silenced and killed.  We imagine and envision the ghosts of past infrastructures merged into spaces of the virtual planetary suggestions. A New Way of Being – where the vulnerable – can gather in safety, song and surrender at the pain of being alive {or dead} but the beauty of growing within the storm with the sun always holding strong towards our skin. POEM WRITTEN & PERFORMED BY VUYOLWETHU REOAGILE BEAT BY DA REAL T.I.G SOUND ARCHITECTURE BY ILZE MARI WESSELS
Week Four
Silence is that moment when the echoes of one’s thoughts, or is it the prayer moment, in modern parlance? Is it the meditative moment humanity has been waiting for, the mystery of a virus that has us all pondering on our mortality not as individuals but as a humanity across borders – across time let alone histories and persuasions either material or spiritual? Here we are at dawn of the 21st century, having to wear masks to protect the self and fellow humans from death so quiet and invisible yet in every pulse like the Hiroshima quake – but that was human designed and this is subject to theories – yet we live and breathe through it with defiance or faith – either the way the mask has its aesthetics and rituals, and practically we are the theatre. Shakespeare once wrote, the world is a stage, and the mask we wear today is the same we had for lives and rituals from time immemorial just now it for different reasons.
Week Four
Sneezing bullets (written in the Kaapse Afrikaans dialect, available for translation) This piece of poetry speaks about the invasion of the Coronavirus into the homes of people who are also having to contend with the invasion of crime at the same time. It is based on the experience of living with violence as an everyday reality on the Cape Flats and what this now looks like as the ‘enemy’ changes face with the introduction of COVID-19. It is written in the Kaapse Afrikaans dialect with the intention of speaking in the mother tongue of Coloured people on the Cape Flats. Breathing in this lifetime- a letter to my little people This piece of poetry is written in the style of a letter to the poets’ nieces and nephews who are breathing in a world full of disease and inequality. It is a challenge and dare for the younger generation to live radically in the face of suffering. A milk carton tells time The poet uses the image of a mother who contends for her children’s survival and ability to live while experiencing poverty and social inequality. The intention of the poet is to create a space to view one mothers struggle in a time where privilege becomes more apparent and her lungs expire in an effort to make ends meet.
Week Four
On the 5th of March 2020, Dr Zweli Mkhize, the Minister of Health announced that South Africa had its first confirmed case of the COVID 19 virus. Although the numbers were low in comparison with other countries, there was a steady increase in COVID -19 positive cases. In efforts to limit the spread of the virus, on March 23rd, the president of South Africa – Cyril Ramaphosa announced that the country would be on a national lockdown as of midnight, the 26th of March. Among other things, there were restrictions placed on non-essential movement, gatherings of people over 100, schools were closed, social visits were prohibited, and unless one was an essential worker, they had to work from home.  The nation-wide state of disaster quickly translated into a state of chaos in homes – mothers were breathing through the wound. In this conversation, I explore how working mothers navigated working from home and doing childcare in a context where their key support structures were unavailable.  
Week Four
My thinking during Covid’s uncertainty has produced a series of to-do lists, schedules and instructions which read like a recipe for controlling my breath through “hold” instructions. As many of us try our hand at baking away our uncertainty, I offer yet another addition to our recipes for disaster management. My sonic and textual recipes are a meditation on four quotidian breathing practices between 06:00 and 22:00, during meditative breathwork (30-60-15), running (3-2-3), smoking (1-2-3) and before sleep (4-7-8). This paper will be an experiment on how to articulate the directions for breathing in, through and around the repetitive cycle of trying to make life livable in the uncertainty of the triple crisis of misogynoir, racial capitalism and a global respiratory pandemic. In an attempt to fashion my own practice of somatic abolitionism, I devised these four recipes to soothe my vagus nerve.  I am interested in the pause, as a gesture towards control. I focus on counting, both as a means of measurement and capturing the rhythm of my breath in a 16 hour cycle. In articulating these instructions, I reflect on how to write in the ephemeral and intangible practice of being, interruption, becoming and unbecoming.    

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