Art and play versus “pedagogy”

“How keen we are to find a solution to our problems! We persistently search for an answer, a way out, a remedy. We never look at the problem itself, but search anxiously and fearfully for an answer… but searching for an answer means avoiding the problem – and that is exactly what most of us want… the solution does not lie outside the problem; the answer lies within the problem, not elsewhere. If the answer is separated from what is actually at stake, we create new problems; how to realise or implement the answer and the like.” (Krishnamurti 1977)

Many theatre projects in an educational context have little to do with theatre.

When I, as a theatre pedagogue, carry out a project on the topic of “violence prevention”, for example, the following is often expected of me: an organiser defines a problem (as described above), and I am supposed to work out solutions with the group. But the solutions are already predetermined. Play and theatre are to be used to achieve a predetermined goal. If, like Huizinga (Homo Ludens 1956), one defines play as “purposeful action”, then one can no longer speak of play here, and this approach does not have much to do with art either.

Educational theatre wants to solve problems, not look at problems. And in the back of their mind, the facilitator already knows what solution they are working towards with the group.

With an artistic eye, on the other hand, I don’t see the “problem” as a problem, but as a situation/theme that I am aware of and for which I am looking for an aesthetic/artistic expression. I don’t want to change, but to condense and shape. Example: a conflict between two literary characters. As an artist, similar to the educator, I look at their psychodynamics. I am also interested in their relationships with each other. What is their respective physicality? Their postures? What are their voices like? Thick, thin, quiet, plaintive or cheerful, clear, choppy or indistinctly heavy? Are there any contrasts? What rhythm results from their interaction? What relationships do they have with the space? What patterns or lines emerge? etc.

I do not evaluate or search for solutions, but rather try to lovingly appropriate the situation, i.e. to become largely one with it in order to find my own design. Often, a change in aesthetics (a certain gait, a change in voice, a variation in lighting, music or costumes) has an effect on the situation and thus also on the psychodynamics.

As an artist, I allow myself to “experiment”. I not only say goodbye to a specific solution to the problem, but even to the attempt to find a solution at all. I am not looking for a solution, but for expression and form.

Or to put it another way: the artistic solution is not a psychological one, but an aesthetic one.

A paradox: the intense, non-judgmental engagement with things often brings about psychological solutions at the very moment when I have found a “coherent form”. Suddenly, I have learned something about myself without consciously seeking it. (see quote from Krishnamurti, above)

The classical educator is separated from people, things and situations: he does not experience himself as connected to them, but makes them objects of his observation. He does not accept them, even if he may convince himself that he does because accepting pedagogy is in vogue. He wants to change people, probably because he cannot stand them as they are – although he probably thinks it is for their own good. They are convinced that they know exactly what change would be good for them. In doing so, they find themselves in a constant, irresolvable conflict because their endeavour cannot succeed. This is because human beings are not “trivial machines” (von Foerster: KybernEthik 1993) that can be changed by external influences.

You can give people suggestions, but neither an educator nor their client can predetermine how they will use them: a person’s inner processes and processing mechanisms are powerful and largely unconscious.

In artistic play, I try to be as “value-free” as possible, i.e. without anticipating patterns of meaning, or I deliberately put on a certain “pair of glasses”. “Glasses” can be mythical content, psychodynamics, dealing with space, power, time, etc. I use chance as a source of inspiration and always find something “newly revealing” – if I am open and receptive to it.

The artistic search is a playful one, an experiment with a thousand “ifs”: what happens if I do it this way? Or that way? What is it like…? The theatre maker Peter Brook expresses it as follows:

‘In everyday life, “if” is a fiction; in theatre, “if” is an experiment. In everyday life, “if” is an evasion; in theatre, it is the truth. Once we have brought ourselves to believe in this truth, then theatre and life are one….’ (Brook 1994)

As an artist, I not only accept people and situations, I even identify with them ‘temporarily’ (e.g. when I play a role), enjoying their complexity and what they reveal to me in play and experiment. I take the reality of the role, for example, just as seriously as my everyday reality and move simultaneously in both, i.e. in a double reality (cf. Schechner 1985). With artistic awareness, I seek a serious, accepting and loving encounter with my “counterparts” – with myself, my (co-)players, my role, with psychological content, social processes, things, ideas. An encounter not from subject to object, but dialogical, intersubjective (in the sense of Martin Buber).