On the Upper Balcony Vol. 1 | The Warehouse of Memories

2021.05.30 Dark Tao Tao joins the balcony and becomes the "owner" of the balcony
2021.08.28 Go to the balcony space "Rope Bonding First Experience Salon"
2021.09.11 Go to the balcony space "Rope Bonding First Experience Salon II"
2021.10.10 ok center music "Rope no Yumeng" performance 2021.10.17 "Fire" theme performance

Chapter 1 The Warehouse of Memories

Author: Hermann, dark peach peach rope hand.

We are Dark Peach, a community that we don't even know how to define ourselves.

On the balcony, a co-governance space that is neither desired nor defined.

The collision of the two is coincidental, but more coincidental.

The first time I visited the balcony, I saw an organization called "Bright Eyes". They were rehearsing, and when they saw us, they immediately said excitedly: Come and experience our performance.

It was a roaring fan, I closed my eyes, the wind was blowing, and later they said it was a time machine that would take me back to the era I most wanted to go back to. Strange voices sounded in my ears, my shoulders were touched and then pressed, they made me open my eyes and said it was 2005.

Of course I wasn't taken back to 2005, and it wasn't the year I most wanted to go back to. At that time, I was only slightly embarrassed to cooperate with their performance.

Then I thought, this fan did not blow away time, but blurred space.

Before that, I hadn't looked closely at the space on the balcony. It was like a warehouse, with toys and clothes of the times scattered all over it. They said that these were picked up from the street. There was a puppet sitting in it. A product of the 10's, only she made this time-travel a little real.

After that, under the impetus of Boom, we joined the balcony, and I still think it was a warehouse. Until the first time to hold an event on the balcony like testing the water.

Before the event, leaving the familiar rope hall and playing rope with unfamiliar participants caused us a little anxiety, fear of strange eyes, fear of not being understood, and fear that we would become a catalyst for exacerbating prejudice.

It was not until we built a hanger with bamboo poles in the upper balcony space that I felt that this was not only a warehouse, or that the warehouse began to become different because of our own objects.

The opening demo was me and Joe. The lights in the venue were dim, like a fire. I couldn't see the audience in the last row under the hanger. The time-traveling fan was facing me, and I felt that the venue was extended. Like a bonfire in the prairie, I started tying up.

The drummer in the sound also came out. The drumbeat seemed to be the rhythm of Joe's breathing. The last action was the hanging upside down and the fan was spinning, and I remembered the words "stunning" and I told Joe that it was 2005.

This event is not a demonstration, the point is to give the participants a "first experience with rope binding".

My first experiencer was a doctor. We were bound in the Indonesian rainforest. Her body was entangled by vines, her upper body was pulled off the ground during the struggle, followed by her lower limbs, with only a little focus on her buttocks, and then the vines that were strangling the plants began to tighten. The body arched up, waiting for rescue.

After letting go, she said the time is so fast, I said it has been a long time.

Then an architect and I entered the dream-like world of Inception. He said that rope binding was like a building, and he was using rope to guide and carve the bound body, so I dragged it from the ground to the tall building, and then in the The top roof made him fall

He said that he felt the dying struggle for a moment, probably because of trust in the communication. This fear was fleeting, and it was a pity. I said that this is enough.

Until the event was over and the crowd dispersed, the event was expected to end at nine o'clock and continued until twelve o'clock. I was exhausted and cleaned up the space. It turned out to be the same warehouse, but I began to feel that the warehouse, one reserved The memory warehouse is also very good.

To be contiued. The story continues.

Author | Hermann

Photography | Tons, nautical miles

Editor | Sensualist Joe

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