OTHER PERFORMANCES, OTHER ROOMS

In 2023, the year Timișoara was the European Capital of Culture, it also hosted HomeFest, a performative arts festival with events that only take place in houses and apartments. The shows transpired in the Fabric neighborhood, in historical Baroque-era buildings, most of which were more than 100 years old. Until 2023, the festival had only taken place in Bucharest, often in communist apartment blocks. As an organizer in both cities, I wondered about the extent to which the Timișoara edition was different from the previous ones. To this end, I met with hosts, artists, and spectators from Timișoara to find out what their experience was like at homemade culture events.

On September 1, after an 11-hour train ride, I arrived in a two-room apartment, empty except for a mattress and the luggage I brought. I got the mattress from Glad, one of the hosts of last year’s HomeFest. Later, he would also give me a fridge I had to carry up the same stairs we’d transported a piano on in 2023. It was an upright piano because a grand piano would have been impossible for two people to carry. Glad lives on the first floor, where the staircase leads into an exterior porch called a cursive. In fact, it’s a kind of long, continuous balcony that runs along the residents‘ doors. The building’s façade is being renovated; the records claim the structure was erected in 1900, but Glad, who is an architect, says it’s likely to be 100 years older. This could only be determined by consulting the archives in Budapest. Timișoara is the city with the most historical buildings in Romania (almost 14,000, according to the press). Their construction started after Eugene of Savoy reclaimed the city from the Ottomans and followed an urban plan conceived by the new Austrian rulership.

I wanted to live in one, especially since, during the festival, I lived in a newly built complex that looked like the extension of a parking lot.

My neighbors on the ground floor are Andreea and Alex. Andreea was also a HomeFest host and Alex is the former tenant of the empty space I’ve temporarily taken residence in. Thinking of the life of the former residents of a house, Edwin Heathcote asks: »Can intense psychic moments be captured in the texture of the home, just as smoke and smells are layered through the walls and floors? A place that belonged to someone else becomes ours through habitation, which means that, despite being contained in the same physical space, one place can become another.«¹ My place.

During HomeFest people open their homes not only to friends and kin, but also to strangers. Before returning to Timișoara I knew some things for sure: the local HomeFest had only taken place in historical buildings, the line-up featured exclusively local artists (while in Bucharest it’s international), and the public was from Timișoara. The viewers were also young, far below the average age of Bucharest audiences.

Over time, a group of loyal hosts formed in Bucharest, but we still issue an open call every year that loops in new people who want to turn their living rooms into domestic boxes. I define the domestic box as the lived-in space where intentionally organized artistic performative acts take place. It activates when an encounter in it happens between artists and the public, mediated by the host through their presence or indirectly through the space they offer. While writing the first HomeFest application, which was also my first interaction with the bureaucracy in the cultural sector, I began using the term domestic cultural operator. This pompous name is reserved for people who make their personal space available for artistic events. If they also happen to involve neighbors or members of the community, they become akin to cultural managers of their own living spaces.

Given that it would have been impossible for me to come to Timișoara two weeks in advance looking for hosts, we relied on local organizations and acquaintances. And acquaintances of acquaintances. The search was all the more difficult because we wanted to organize all events in the Fabric district. It wasn’t easy to find Glad, Geanina, and Andreea from 544 km away. Another event, a workshop and concert of the band Berlin Division, took place in an apartment belonging to the Jakab Toffler Association, also located in a gorgeous historical building, but not permanently inhabited.

At one point, more than half the population of the city lived in Fabric: The city’s first mills, manufacturing centers, and factories were built here, giving rise to the saying »all good things come from Fabric.« The statue of Hermes that watches over the Traian Market from the top of a building marks it as a place of commerce. Built on a marshy area two hundred tears ago, Fabric was a kind of Venice, crossed by canals used for transport and trade. It fell into decadence during the communist period, but lately it’s been seeing a cultural and social regeneration thanks to the activity of NGOs. This may lead to gentrification, something all the sociocultural actors in the area are aware of.

The home is a place where we withdraw after our body is exhausted from work, but we also withdraw there from social interaction, where we recharge our batteries (what was the equivalent expression a hundred years ago?). A home puts a wall between us and the wild word, between ourselves and others. And still some people sometimes choose to open gates in this wall.

Glad heard about HomeFest at Taproom, a craft beer bar in the Traian Market, where everyone knows everyone. »Someone said to me, hey, Glad, you have an apartment here, don’t you want to host? Hmm, the idea of having an event in my apartment seemed interesting. And then, when it was decided it would be a kind of duet piano concert, I thought wow! I mean, I don’t have to go to the Philharmonic, the Philharmonic will come to me. I was sorry the apartment wasn’t bigger so I could bring even more friends. I mean, you know, I had to make a selection, I didn’t tell just everyone.«

Taproom is a center point of Traian Market, the heart of Fabric. It’s there that the »cream of the crop« gathers, as Alex, Andreea’s partner, would say, where you can find someone to talk to anytime. Geanina saw the open call for hosts on Facebook. She thought her space was very well suited to this kind of event, especially since she’d thought about organizing some small social gatherings. »At one point, a friend and I were thinking of cooking and inviting people over once a month. Just as a community initiative. I thought it would be useful, since no one really practices this sort of thing anymore, we’re a bit… All the events are organized by all kinds of organizations that charge tickets.«

Homemade culture events can take extremely varied forms, and so can the art presented in them – theater, visual arts, contemporary dance, music – which is why I use the term »manifestation« instead of concert, theater piece, exhibition, performance, or show. In short, any artistic genre present in public space can be presented (transmuted) in domestic space. In the case of HomeFest Timișoara, the audience was offered theater, performance, electronic music, and a piano concert, all of which they thoroughly enjoyed. For Ioana, the experience was aesthetic as well as social: »I liked the whole vibe and atmosphere and the idea of transforming people’s houses into a place for the community. The home is your soul, and you open it up to the public, not just to your friends, but also to strangers interested in culture. The home becomes a cultural space where people can socialize and chat.« Angi, who works part-time at Taproom, wanted to host, but the fact that she shares a hallway with older neighbors made her give up on the idea. However, she enthusiastically attended all the events of the festival, which she had never heard of before. Comparing them to a stage show, Angi mentions the intimate space and the warmth of the house, stemming from its furniture and personal paraphernalia: »You feel very comfortable because you’re welcomed by a host and people chat a bit before and after, you see a performance in an unconventional space, since not everyone has a living room full of people for this kind of event.«

Unlike theater studies, which focus on analyzing what happens on the stage, performance studies also center what happens before and after a show and are therefore more fitting for the analysis of homemade culture manifestations, where socialization is an essential part of the aesthetic events. The hosts, the (domestic) space, the spectators all receive the same level of interest with the artists and their productions.

For the artists, the experience was memorable because of the proximity to the audience. »Usually, I’m open to anything new and to direct interaction with the public. There’s an openness on both sides. On the one hand, the host makes their home and intimate space available. And opens the door to the public this way. And on the other hand, we, as performers, being so close to the audience, somehow get to have a very dense interaction,« said Livia. »I was drawn precisely to the idea of doing a performance in a home, so close to the public. Apart from the experience of being on stage, I was also part of a nomadic dance project that took place on streets, where we were very close to people. And I wanted to see what it would be like to dance in a living room, in a small and intimate space.« The way the house and the person’s particular interests are laid out add to the atmosphere of the piece. The domestic space becomes a co-author, as noted by Ana-Maria Ursu, the director of the piece Over Your Head, hosted by Flavia. Elena Popa wanted the concert in Glad’s house to be attended by people who don’t usually attend concerts, so she didn’t invite many of her friends. »This kind of event brings out certain parts of your personality, not necessarily completely new things, but things come to the surface … Good ones, usually.« Apart from her, none of the artists from Timișoara had ever performed in an apartment before HomeFest. In Bucharest, thanks to lorgean theatre, which functioned for seven years, and the nine HomeFest editions, a group of artists formed who got used to the challenges of domestic space. »The challenges are always technical and you can turn them into artistic challenges … And, as I was saying, the intimacy also brings up a lot of emotions. It’s a different kind of artistic interaction,« said Ursu.

Before the events, the artists visited the hosts‘ apartments. »I went there with Livia one time to see what kind of lighting or atmosphere we could create and how to arrange the space so it works for both of us. Andreea was very generous with her space and energy. On the day of the show, we went there early so I could rehearse a bit and move everything into place.« For Ana-Maria, a window in Flavia’s house became particularly important. »I moved around some objects that were in that space, with the host’s permission, of course, which I didn’t want because they didn’t fit with our idea. It was about a houseless person, so it would have been strange to have valuable things in a space where you’re talking about someone who lives on the street. I went with the idea that this houseless person isn’t out in the street anymore but ended up in this apartment by accident. Meaning we incorporated the context. Somehow, he entered this space, it wasn’t others entering his space, so he had to adapt.« In Livia’s case, she used a plant from Andreea’s collection, not the one she’d used in previous performances. Elena and her colleague placed the upright piano between Glad’s two rooms so that spectators seated in the bedroom and living room could enjoy the same sound quality. In order to make more room, the door to Andreea’s living room was removed and some objects were moved to the bedroom.

The proximity between artists and spectators is beneficial for both. »I cried during the theater show at Geanina’s place. Yes, because I felt like it was talking to me. It touched me a lot more because it was right there, a step away. Personally, I really enjoyed this closeness to the artist. It gave me the chance to feel, to let the performance resonate in me more. It’s a very cool experience to have the chance to go to someone’s house and see artists so close to you. This direct participation really worked for me; it moved me.«

»The challenges stem from the limited space,« according to Livia, »since it’s a lot smaller, but this is also a perk because it creates this closeness and closes the distance between the performer and the public. We’re all there somehow, much closer. We’re on the same level and we can interact very amicably and directly. And I think it’s an advantage for the public to be able to see this side of the artist, the more human side, so to speak, not the side of them in the limelight.«

After the performance, people can approach the artist and share their thoughts. Ioana, a spectator, confirms this: »I thought this living room setting was a lot more intimate than an art gallery. When you’re having a glass of wine in someone’s kitchen, people open up differently, they’re a lot more relaxed. And you can talk about anything, not just the performance. I made a lot of connections with the people who attended. I still see them, even the artists, like Livia, who performed, or Elena, who played the piano. I am a lot more in line with this kind of connection than going to an exhibition opening, talking to the artist and never hearing from them again, or having them not even say hi when you run into them.«

Having grown up in a family that constantly had guests, hosting came naturally to Andreea. »When you’re used to being hospitable, it’s very easy to welcome people into your house and the fact that they’re fun strangers makes no difference. Sometimes it’s cool to make your home available as a space where people can meet, talk, and form friendships, getting to know interesting people. It’s nice how the house comes alive, to see it suddenly transformed, and the next day it’s as it was again.«

»I was relaxed about having strangers over,« said Geanina. »I didn’t stress about it. Since it was a cultural event, it’s a certain kind of person, not anyone is going to sign up for this kind of thing and make the effort to go who knows where to see a show. Whoever wants to drink can go to a bar.« Glad ended up with 25–30 people in his house, the largest gathering he’d ever hosted. He borrowed hangers from Andreea for their coats. Like Geanina or Andreea, he didn’t have a problem welcoming strangers into his intimate space. »If my mother heard of something like this,« he confesses, »she’d say: really, having so many people in your house, strangers, who knows what could happen, something might get broken, you know? That’s how some people think. They’re normal projections. And at the same time, it seems fun to me and it’s not something you do every day.« Geanina’s fears had more to do with the manifestation: »I was just hoping it wouldn’t be the kind of theater, like Romanian theater is generally, super tense, all shouty. But it was great, I liked it a lot. And I wanted to see how many people were going to fit in, what an event in my space would be like.«

Livia and Elena talk about the differences between performances in a domestic box and in spaces dedicated to art. »There’s this contrast between a museum space, where multiple artists are shown, and the small space of an apartment where everyone is huddled in one room. The difference was that, for example, people in the museum would come up, some would join, others were just passing through, and others would get up and leave, while here they all stayed from start to finish. I mean it was like they came for this, and they stayed to the end. That’s why I think the experience was probably a bit deeper,« says Livia. Elena follows up: »It depends a lot on how you position yourself as an artist relative to the person you’re playing for. To the public. Because if you’re there to show off what you know or from a very detached position where you’re the artist and everyone has to look at what you’re doing, then when people, when the public enter your working space, you’re not going to be comfortable because you’re not in control anymore. You’re more vulnerable with them so close to you, and you feel like if you take a wrong step, if you say something weird, or miss a note, others will notice, and you’ll be judged. But if you start from the idea that okay, I’m making art, this other person consumes it, but I want to share what I do with them and make it important for them too, then I’m not necessarily putting myself first. I’m just the person making music in that moment, but you don’t have to look at me because, wow, I’m making music. The music is for us and I’m just the one moving my fingers. At that moment, the distance to the others doesn’t matter anymore. And you’re comfortable being close to people because you’re actually sharing something, like in a conversation. It’s a conversation where you’re sharing things and then the distance, whether it’s larger or smaller, is just part of the whole.«

As Elena says, homemade culture events are a conversation between everyone involved: hosts, artists, space, and artistic product, all of these elements being in constant interaction.

The hosts’ energy and responsibility are essential. They become temporary cultural managers: They open their house to new people, they meet and make friends with the artists, they even get involved in the artistic act sometimes. They become lynchpins of the social connections produced by the festival. In short, it’s a privilege² that potentially translates to social recognition.³ Besides prestige, the combination between artistic and social performance produces an »affective« remodeling of the apartment. »It was nice to see my house transformed and then return to normal the next day. It’s cool to see how your living space can be used completely differently when you let others do their thing in your home. It’s an exchange of energies.«

The Italian group OSI (Occupare Spazi Interni) explicitly seeks the mental reworking of domestic space through artistic interventions: »The home is lived on the basis of routine; a mental space overriding the physical one; when people ask us to create an OSI event in their homes, they accept that their mental space will be reconfigured. The distribution of objects and people within that space will change with the works of each artist, producing new mental constellations; the habitants will see their home as they would never have imagined, and this renews their way of living. The question of the matter is to use an architectural language, as a form of replanning the home’s mental space. Instead of calling a designer to refurbish the home, you can call OSI to reconstruct the same perception which you have of your own home.«⁴

I wondered whether the architecture of the historical buildings where the festival took place offered a specific atmosphere that was truly different from what I knew in Bucharest. Would I have written a different text if I’d lived in an apartment building on Șagului St.? Or in a yurt? Certainly, the rooms are a lot more spacious: »I think the height helps, outside of the actual square footage. It helps you to not feel so claustrophobic, especially when there are a lot of people in the same room,« said Glad, who sees the inner courtyard as an amphitheater. The stage is in the eye of the beholder.

I left what had become my place in the historical building on Ștefan cel Mare 8 with regret, wanting to return to one of Glad or Andreea’s future parties. Because of the apartment’s austerity, I didn’t have guests, and the space remained private.

The term »private« is derived from the Latin privatus (privat in Romanian, privé in French), initially referring to a lack of public function. Domestic space became the generic term for the private space of the home, in contrast with the public space of streets or the urban space of cities. Though archeologists were already using the term »domestic sites,« it was anthropologist Mary Douglas who introduced the concept of »domestic space.« According to Irene Cieraad, feminist studies in the late seventies saw domestic space not only as the physical space of a house, but also as a space of isolation where women took care of the children and the home, while men spent their time in public space working and socializing with other men.⁵  Through homemade culture, private space garners a public role and function and can become a homemade culture bubble, which I’ve written about here: (https://antropedia.com/sfertulacademic/bula-homemade-culture-jean-lorin-sterian/).

Improving the living conditions of certain social categories through cultural events organized in underprivileged areas (and more) that involve people who wouldn’t normally frequent galleries, theaters, or museums, is a constant of socially engaged art, which also includes a significant number of homemade culture projects. Even though HomeFest never took on direct social stakes, they were implicitly present. Using houses and apartments (on a long enough timescale) for workshops, readings, concerts, plays, and performances is one of the most powerful ways to enter into the heart of communities.

Translation: Maria Mălcică
Photos: Andrea Nastac

Find more reports on the lorgennale/HomeFest on the homemade culture blog here.

 

Other performances, other rooms is part of the Energy! Creative grants 2024 and is implemented through the Timișoara Project Center, from the budget of the Municipality of Timișoara, within the Power Station, the component of the national cultural program Timișoara – European Capital of Culture in 2023 dedicated to increasing the cultural sector’s capacity. The material does not necessarily represent the position of the Project Center of the Municipality of Timișoara, and it is not responsible for its content or the way it can be used.