SEMICÍRCULOS

lunes

Comunidad Sufí Nur Ashki al Yerrahi de México

Calle Sinaloa 213, Colonia Roma

Ciudad de México

México, 06700

Tel. (52) (55) 5286-5729

yerrahi@me.com

INSPIRACIÓN

Die Grosse Stille, documental dirigido por Philip Gröning:

An Interview with Philip Groning, Director of Into Great Silence

By Philip Groning

Philip Gröning was born in Düsseldorf in 1959, raised in Düsseldorf and the US. He traveled extensively through South America and studied Medicine and Psychology before turning to filmmaking in 1982, when he signed up for studies at the Munich Film school (HFF).

Gröning developed a passion for screenwriting and began to work as an actor for Peter Keglevic and Nicolas Humbert. He also worked as sound assistant, propmaster and assistant director before making his own films. He is the scriptwriter, producer, director, cinematographer, sound editor, and film editor for Into Great Silence. This interview was provided by Bavaria Films International and Zeitgeist Films.

What made you decide to do a film on the Carthusian Monastery? What was your original motivation?

At the beginning, it wasn't so much the idea of shooting a film on life in a monastery; instead, I had wanted to make a film concerning the moment of time. Only later did the idea take hold of me to make a movie on life in a monastery. Among the orders where silence is observed, I found the Carthusians the most interesting, since everyone keeps to oneself there. They live in small cells with straw beds, and as a stove, all they have is a little tin box; you freeze immediately if you let the fire go out. On the other hand, there is a very stable and intense communal life. Each day is so highly structured that one hardly has a couple of hours of time for oneself. There are prayers even at night. It is the life of a hermit – but in a large community.

How did the idea for a film about time turn into a film about silence?

Basically, a "normal" film always works with language — and language overlays time. I think that the most profound experience a viewer can make when watching a film is to get a feel for time. Usually this experience is masked by the story. In a film about silence — a "silent" film — this experience of time is swept up to the surface. Nothing detracts from it. And this, in turn, is directly connected to the way the monks live: in an absolutely rigid temporal structure that lays down when something has to be done and the rules according to which it has to be done.

Your film deals with time on two levels: we viewers get a true sense of the real time, but we also experience the change of seasons.

Someone who lives in only one place and whose days are always the same will obviously experience the seasons much more intensely. Imagine spending your entire life looking out of one and the same window onto a certain segment of garden or a certain mountain — the change of nature, and of time as well, would obviously take on a completely different meaning to you.

Not only time, but also the value of work and of objects seems to be different for the Carthusians.

The Carthusians live in great poverty, but they are consciously poor. For example, the tailor keeps every button and every scrap of fabric. When a monk dies, his buttons are re-used. In the film, there is a scene where we see the button collection in the tailor's shop. There are also boxes of threads, and even the smallest usable bits and pieces of a monk's habit are recycled. If you look at the habits closely, you can see that they are often pieced together from countless patches. Basically, nothing is ever thrown away. And all the income that has not been spent by the end of the year is donated. They thus never have a surplus of money.

Is that a philosophy?

Yes. I remember that I once threw something away; I don't recall what. The tailor immediately came looking for me to ask me why I had done that. Did I have no respect for the fact that this had once been made through the work of someone's hands? Why did I think this was worthless? This has nothing to do with thriftiness, but with care. The care with which one deals with everything here: with things, with time, with oneself, with the soul.

Is there any individual freedom in the monastery?

Absolutely! I met only forceful individuals there. In contrast to the Cistercians or the Trappists, who also observe silence, the Carthusians live each on their own. Their individuality finds its expression quite strongly in their cells: you can see how Benjamin, the African, has gathered together quite a bit of things after only six months. Yet Francis lives in a practically empty cell even after seven years.

During the shooting you lived like one of the monks yourself. Is it because you wouldn't have been able to shoot the film otherwise? Or was it a personal decision to experience such a lifestyle for once?

I wanted to do it since otherwise you have no idea whatsoever of what those people are doing there. If you go there for a week and live in the hotel next door, you cannot capture the rhythm of this life — and thus neither the rhythm that a film on this subject should have. Only because I lived there for several months was I able to penetrate into the monks' work rhythms. I did everything on my own: operated the camera, recorded the sound, carried 20 kilograms of equipment. I often felt that I wouldn't make it — until I discovered another image that fascinated me. It was particularly exhausting at night. I have to admit that I omitted the night prayers a couple of times.

But on the whole you were there every night?

Yes, Carthusian monks do not sleep through one full night in their lives. Three hours of sleep are followed by two to three hours of prayer, and then by three hours of sleep again. They are never truly relaxed, but always highly concentrated through the permanent adrenaline surge. Carthusian monks also have no vacations. And no free time. The longest interval in which they carry out an activity at one time is that of the night prayer. Then comes the 45-minute morning mass and the 30-minute evening mass, along with the prayers that are recited in one's cell seven times a day. In addition, everyone has to wash his clothes, do the dishwashing, work in the garden, cut wood, read books and do his chores for the monastery. There is no such thing as time for oneself: whenever I felt that I was finally about to have some peace, another bell started ringing, and something else had to be done.

How much material did you have at the end?

About 120 hours. I shot one cassette per day, that's 49 minutes every day. Since I was following the monks' lifestyle there, and did the washing and cleaning and worked in the garden, I only had two to three hours a day for my work as filmmaker. Moreover, I tried very hard not to repeat any shots. If a scene was good, I practically forced myself to not shoot the same scene again. My main effort actually consisted in avoiding clichés and not shooting the type of scenes that we expect from our view of monastic life.

How did you communicate in the monastery if everyone is silent?

In the film you can see the slip box in the anteroom, where the monks leave messages for one another. For example, there was one monk who was explicitly against my shooting there. In this case, I insisted on contacting him beforehand — for if he opposed my project so strongly that he would leave the monastery during that time, then I would not shoot the film. I thus left him notes with the locations and shooting times for the following day and asked whether this was acceptable to him. Likewise, the scenes with the gardener or the tailor were also arranged in this manner; I would write notes to the administrator of the lay brothers, which were then answered. Among the Carthusians there is also the rule that you can speak if it is necessary for your work. And since filmmaking was my work, I was able to say something like: "Now I need the three-pole pin plug."

Thus no absolute vow of silence?

The Carthusians' rule is that one should speak as little as possible. There are certain places where one must never speak: in the chapel, in the anteroom, in the hallways. By contrast, there are other places where it is expressly desired that one speak, for example on the Sunday walks. Basically, however, one should maintain one's sphere of solitude. That is why the workshops and rooms are so large there. If someone is chopping vegetables in the kitchen, another person also chopping vegetables should be so far away as to practically forget the presence of the other. This is also clearly a mechanism for making it easier to observe silence.

In this atmosphere, I also tried to move as quietly and slowly as possible. At the start of the shooting, the most difficult thing was the noise that I myself was making. In the silence that reigns there, any rattling or scraping of material seemed outrageous. I already found it unbearably loud when the fabric of my jacket rubbed together.

It was a wonderful dramaturgical idea to accompany a novice who, in effect, is also initially a foreign body in the community. But this was by pure chance. I had just arrived and made one or two shots of the architecture when I was informed that someone new would be coming the next morning at 9 and that it was essential that I film this. I felt it was much too soon for me, and didn't feel confident in documenting something as intimate as this. But I didn't know if I would get another chance.

Was he the only one who was admitted during this time?

No. Four were admitted in the five months during which I was there. They did not all stay. There are many who think that they want to become a monk, but then they realize that it really isn't the right thing for them. I'd say that about 80 percent of the novices leave. And of the other 20 percent, some of them are sent away by the monks.

Isn't it terrible to be sent away from the monastery?

In the admission ceremony, it is made clear that everyone has the right to leave — and that the community also has the right to send one away. This is also a protection for the postulants: if the monks clearly see that the postulant cannot live in such a rigid order, he is sent away. At the beginning, I tried to convince the monks who were against my film that this would be a kind of publicity for the monastery. But this idea is totally absurd to the Carthusians. Nothing could be worse than having a monk enter the order and then, after perhaps 25 years, realize that this really isn't his type of life after all. What would he do then? Moreover, no one in the Carthusian order is worried about the survival of the order. It has been in existence for nearly a thousand years now. But if God wishes that that it is over tomorrow, then so be it.

Why did you decide against any voice-over commentaries?

You cannot use language to describe a world that revolves so far beyond the realm of language. The monks end endeavor to deepen their understanding of things. I can only hope that the viewer also experiences something like this. But this obviously cannot function if I immediately offer explanations to everything that he sees. It was also clear to me that this was also going to be a film about seeing things and listening to things precisely. Whereby, of course, commentaries result from the montage. . . . .

Naturally, but they have a different quality. Through the editing, the viewer is left to make out for himself what he sees and hears, when it is light, when it is dark. . . .

It is a quiet film, but not a silent film. The soundtrack is really exciting. You start to hear things differently in the monastery. And to see things differently. Through the silence, objects become your counterpart, such as the buttons for the tailor, for example.

As a viewer, one often does not understand right away what the monks are doing.

That's fine with me! My film does not have to answer all the questions. If it arouses the viewer's interest, he can go into the Internet afterwards and do some research on his own. Today, we're literally flooded with information. What's missing — and what one must find out on one's own — is the meaning of things. My film also wants to be a film about the viewer himself, about his perceptions, his thoughts. He should focus on himself. It is also a film about contemplation. Just think: on average, the monks spend 65 years of their life there – 65 years in which they carry out the same rituals day after day. I cannot explain the meaning of this to any viewer, and one can only get an impression of this at the most through the repetitions in the film. I think this is the only way that I was able to make this film: by not giving the viewer any directions, but leaving him his freedom.

A freedom that the monks also have?

The monks are offered a certain freedom through the strictness of the rules, since they've given up all control over their lives. We think that we are able to fashion our lives ourselves, or even that we should be fashioning our lives ourselves and that this is the only way to attain happiness. This is why so many people today are afraid of life. The monastery is a place that is free of fear. One has the age-old trust that God will provide.

In some scenes there is something almost childlike about the monks.

Absolutely. For example, there is the scene where they slide down the mountain on their shoes and throw snow at each other. I think there are parallels here. But you should not forget how athletic the monks are. They helped me drag my equipment onto the mountain when I wasn't able to anymore — even those who were against the film pitched in. One question that was important to me was physical contact: where does physical contact take place in the monastery? After all, it is an important component of human life. This is why the scenes at the barber's were so important, when one's hair is cut, or when the old monk is rubbed with a salve.

What is the current position of the Carthusians? How great is their influence?

Again: these answers can be obtained elsewhere. I did not want to shoot a film about the monastery, but a film about being a monk. Especially since I also see parallels here to the life of an artist. And to my everyday life as a filmmaker. I am concerned about the many sacrifices one makes because of the things one wants to do, and how one consistently pushes away certain other things. In both worlds, we are dealing with concepts such as concentration, perception, the meaning of doing.

Can or may Carthusians also be artists?

Of course. One of the monks there paints, another writes poetry. But above them is the concept of humility. If one of the monks becomes too successful and the attention he gets disturbs the life of the community, the prior will quickly tell him to stop. And the monk will do so. Thus one of the stringent conditions under which I was able to shoot my film at all was that it could be premiered at a festival, but not in competition.

Are you a Catholic yourself?

Yes, I was raised as a Catholic. I do not agree with many things prescribed by the official church, but I think that it would be too great a chain of accidents if the world we live in arose completely without meaning.Inspiración

Segundo Proyecto

Desarrollo de Proyecto

¿QUÉ quiero hacer? Descripción y finalidad.

El Islam es la religión surgida en el siglo VII d.C. con la revelación del Corán a Mohammed, a través del arcángel Gabriel. Según el Islam, el Corán es la palabra directa de Dios. Desde que fue revelado, hace cientos de años en la lengua sagrada para los musulmanes, el árabe, no ha sido modificado en una sola letra o una simple coma. Así como Jesús es la base del cristianismo, el Corán es la base del Islam y su alto contenido poético lo hace susceptible a múltiples interpretaciones, causal de que ramificaciones divergentes de musulmanes se dividan unos contra otros. Un musulmán es aquel que afirma que no hay más dios que El Dios (Allah).

El sufísmo es la corriente mística del Islam, y una de sus características principales es la aplicación espiritual y esotérica del Corán. El sufísmo está basado en la comunidad, la hermandad y el amor. Al igual que el Islam de los tiempos de Mohammed, es una corriente universal e inclusiva; abierta a practicas místicas tanto cristianas como judías, e incluso platónicas.

Los místicos sufíes afirman que en el corazón del sufísmo se encuentran verdades que deben ser conocidas por todos los seres humanos, verdades globales e incluso universales.

Mi intención es lograr un acercamiento documental y emocional, en primera persona, a la teoría y sobretodo a la practica de la espiritualidad en México, en especial del sufísmo y preservar un poco de este patrimonio intangible y continuamente cambiante.

¿POR QUÉ lo quiero hacer? Fundamentación.

Porque es interesante sondear la permeabilidad de la tradición oriental y ancestral del sufísmo hoy en día, su vigencia, renovación y alcance en un país lejano a su origen, así como también, sus efectos.

Me interesa indagar en la amplitud de su mensaje y en la universalidad de sus rituales y enseñanzas, experimentar de primera mano los efectos de sumergirme en una disciplina con siglos de tradición, para conocer y profundizar en aquellos conceptos milenarios que son aplicables en la actualidad.

Los rituales tienen el poder de desvanecer las diferencias jerárquicas entre las personas, y los rituales sufístas ponen en alto el espíritu universal de comunidad.

¿PARA QUÉ se quiere hacer? Objetivos.

Me parece que hay un hueco informativo en México y en el público generalizado, con respecto a las ceremonias sufístas y creo que es importante dar voz profunda y sentido cohesivo a todo lo que el sufísmo tiene detrás, pero más importante aún, a su importancia hoy en día, así como sus posibles paralelos con todo sentimiento de unidad y de búsqueda inherente al ser humano, más allá de pertenecer a algún país o algún sector sociocultural.

Quiero hacer esto para divulgar y hacer visible una forma de vida, la del sufí; y hacer visible su mensaje integrador, que va más allá de cualquier religión, idioma o país.

Para evidenciar a través de la investigación y su aplicación directa, las reflexiones y efectos que tienen en mí y las personas involucradas los conocimientos místicos del Islam; par dar forma coherente y material a aquellas experiencias físicas, mentales y espirituales y así poderlas compartir.

¿QUÉ quiero conseguir? Metas.

Un cuadernillo manual o un video que sintetice de manera consistente el quehacer sufísta y se acerque a sus principios fundamentales.

También un tapete tejido que sea testigo o muestra simbólica de la ceremonia sufí de remembranza y en sí, del sufísmo.

Mi principal deseo es poder documentar a través de video la ceremonia y poder utilizar la imagen como medio de investigación y memoria. Combinar esto con la palabra escrita, (para potenciar significados a través de citas o puentes de texto), y la observación directa, para lograr una síntesis audiovisual y objetual simbólica.

¿DÓNDE se quiere hacer? Localización física. Cobertura espacial.

Investigación: Escuela Nacional de Pintura, Escultura y Grabado "La Esmeralda".

Ceremonia: Comunidad Sufí Nur Ashki al Yerrahi de México. Calle Sinaloa 213, Colonia Roma. Ciudad de México. México 06700.

Reflexión y edición de material: Río Yang Tse #25, Colonia Cuauhtémoc.

¿CÓMO se quiere hacer? Actividades y tareas. Metodología.

La investigación está basada en los libros:

Mystical Dimensions of Islam, de Anne Marie Schimmel. El Libro de la Certeza, La Doctrina Sufí de la Fe, la Visión y la Gnosis, de Martin Lings. Las Contemplaciones de los Misterios, de Ibn ‘Arabi. El Sagrado Corán. Entre otros.

Por medio de esta investigación, y a través de la experiencia directa de la ceremonia sufí de remembranza, intento decantar los conceptos principales de la tradición. Profundizar en ellos y sintetizarlos a través de citas, imágenes y reflexiones; encontrar vínculos directos con momentos específicos de la ceremonia y traducirlos a elementos del "tapete tejido".

Por ejemplo: Los círculos, símbolo importante en "el Baile de los Planetas" serían traducidos en los nudos del tejido, así como la forma circular del tapete. La dirección de los giros en la ceremonia, que es la dirección en la que la vida fluye, sería traducida en la dirección en que se teje y se da forma al tapete. La integración y formación de hombres y mujeres en el baile ceremonial sería igual a la integración de dos tipos de hilo diferente, ambos fundiendose en un solo tejido.

¿CUÁNDO se va a hacer? Calendario.

Investigación: martes y jueves de 9:00 a 12:00 Hrs.

Ceremonia: jueves de 20:30 a 01:30 Hrs. Aprox.

Reflexión y edición de material: sábados, domingos y lunes.

¿A QUIÉNES va dirigido? Destinatario.

A personas con inquietudes antropológicas y quizás etnológicas. Con interés por la religión, por los rituales, y su influencia y presencia contemporánea. A aquellos con sensibilidad al respecto de las practicas espirituales que ocurren en el país y el mundo. En general, a la persona con ganas de descubrir un poco más sobre el ser humano.

¿QUIÉNES lo van a hacer? Recursos humanos.

Yo, como investigador, escritor y documentador. Los sufís como protagonistas y objetos de estudio, a través de la convivencia y el diálogo, y como fuentes de información y de inspiración.

¿CON QUÉ se va a hacer? Recursos materiales.

Cámara de video, computadora, cámara fotográfica, bibliografía y bitácora.

A la mitad ..

El trabajo que me ha ocupado a lo largo del semestre, tiene que ver con exploración dio aspecto espiritual del ser humano, ya sea a través de meditaciones solitarias o de ritos comunitarios. Sé, de antemano, que este es un tema amplísimo, basto y casi podría decir, molesto en su grandeza.

No logro comprender aún las estrategias del arte como objeto fetiche, aunque me gusta sorprenderme y ser llevado a lugares distintos a través de una pieza o un concepto. Sin embargo, no puedo evitar sentir que esto, estoy jugando infantilmente a la realidad, mientras que la verdadera realidad está pasando en otro lado, muy lejos del museo o las galerías, inclusos ejes de la escuela.

Hacer surgir magia o crear ilusiones intelectuales, al simbolizar o crear algoritmos, se me está apareciendo como una actividad tediosa, elitista y artificial. Es divertido y quizás algunas veces excitante; pero no puedo dejar de sentir que lo más esencial y profundo del proceso está siendo dejado de lado. La obsesión por alcanzar LA pieza y el trabajo solitario e individual me tiene cansado.

Lamentablemente me he enfrentado con la imposibilidad de encontrar en la metodología del arte una salida a mis necesidades; y tampoco estoy de ánimo como para dejar de dormir en busca de una beca. Antes de entrar a la escuela, tenía una vaga idea de lo que el arte significaba, y sin duda, lejos estaba del circo con el que me encuentro ahora; condescendencia al límite, separación entre grupos sociales que hiere.

Según mi mundo, el arte puede tener una función social bien clara; si acaso no definida per se, si con una evidente incidencia en un grupo social determinado. Es claro que el mercado actual del arte si tiene incidencia en un grupo social, solo es que ya estoy harto de ese grupo, snob, distante y privilegiado.

Alrededor del globo terráqueo hay miles de historias desarrollándose, miles de comunidades con problemáticas vivas. El peligro de abordar esas problemáticas con fines artísticos, es que la mayoría de las veces se deja de lado la problemática y simplemente se la utiliza para un fin artístico. Obviamente no puedo generalizar, y hablo solo de mis experiencias en el arte.

Si bien es muy seductor dejarse envolver por la retórica de alguien más, o por el brillo cegador del poder que tiene el conocimiento en sí mismo, no puedo dejar de preguntarme. ¿Qué sentido tiene saber esto para la comunidad a la que está siendo presentada esa información? Y ¿Quién tiene acceso a ella?

Veo con amargura como son aplaudidas replicas de piezas artísticas de antaño, la repetición perfeccionada de modelos del pasado, olvidando peligrosamente que aquellas obras surgieron dentro de un contexto y con una razón especifica. Surgieron de la reflexión y de la observación, del entendimiento de su momento histórico y social; no como demostración sensual de habilidades.

Voy a generalizar, pero por ejemplo, en la Esmeralda, el concepto de comunidad está borrado, no hay discusión ni profundidad lejos de un afán económico. Me parece que si alguna vez suceden cosas interesantes en la escuela, (que las hay), será por las carencias y deficiencias de ésta, más no porque el alumno sea apoyado y alimentado a algo más que la producción, (con la esperanza de que sea bendecido con el honor de una beca y así engordar el CV y el ego de la institución y de los profesores). Como si eso beneficiara en algo a alguien más que un diminuto grupo, como si eso moviera a aquel "artista" de la comodidad de pertenecer a una clase social anestesiada, ciega y egoísta.

Ideas y reflexiones me atormentan o me iluminan, ¿porque debería sacrificarlas en pos de un ente tangible y digerible, bien legitimizado con cara de obra de arte? Me parece que estas protestas y estas criticas absurdas que estoy escribiendo, tienen una repercusión más directa en mi entorno, que un objeto inteligente, pretencioso y muerto.

Podría decir que tengo intereses sociales y sonar como cualquier artista relacional. Pero en serio, tengo intereses sociales y si tengo que poner en la balanza producción artística y problemáticas sociales, definitivamente me inclino por lo segundo. ¿No es acaso la única continuación posible para el arte?

Una vez más, no estoy dejando de lado el hecho de que el arte esté empapado de su contexto y de su actualidad; pero me parece que la influencia del arte en la sociedad, en general, es secundaria, casi invisible para los no iniciados. Ahora entiendo que tampoco estoy negando el mercado y la necesidad de que existan diferentes niveles de apreciación de un fenómeno. Solo quiero hacer presente que estoy harto de que la única posibilidad que se aparezca para el arte, por lo menos en esta escuela, sea aquella relacionada con el FONCA, Kurimanzutto, etcétera, (yo creo que es bastante claro a que arte me refiero).

Lo interesante de las artesanías, por ejemplo, es que vida, arte y creencias son uno mismo. Y aunque hoy en día tienen un mercado especifico que las consume, sus orígenes son meramente sagrados.

¿Cuáles creo que son las estrategias del arte que funcionan para mi? Aquellas que potencian un sentido, un factor de la realidad y uno o varios significados, pero pensados específicamente, si no para dar respuesta, si para poner la mirada en una pregunta que está siendo preguntada por alguien más.