What has the tree seen? / videoperformance

Góra św. Anny (Annaberg, Mount of st. Anna) is a destination for pilgrimages – the official commemorations od the Stations of the Cross ritual, resulting in a visit to st. Anna’s Basilica as well as my private peregrination. The extinct volcano in the Opole region, which is placed underneath the village is a microcosm of sorts. Everything is present here – the sacrum entangled with profanum, on one side of the mountain among the trees we come across wayside shrines, on another, further down in a beech forest, an amphitheatre, built by the nazis31 in the thirties of the twentieth century. On a scarp behind the amphitheatre, a geometrical block rises, designed by Xavery Dunikowski, right after the World War II, finished in 1955. The monument commemorates bravery of Silesian partisans. Before the war, there was a monument and a mausoleum Ehrenmal, designed by Robert Tischler here, built to commemorate German soldiers who were killed in battle. Connected to the architecture of byzantine temple, the mausoleum with a mosaic dome was blown up in 1945, it exploded in the place of the volcano… like the already extinct volcano woke up, and erupted once more.

This area full of meaning is the arena and the background of my intimate actions. It’s Autumn, acute light is piercing through reddish leaves, I’m pouring menstrual blood into a small glass. I’m approaching a tree, the knots on the tree look like eyes, I have always wondered what could a tree see, while growing here. Was it face to face (eye to eye) with a partisan or a German soldier? Perhaps it witnessed a lovers meeting, a rape or other secret nazi initiation rituals? Or perhaps from where it stood, only the forest could be seen? I put the glass to the knot, resembling an eye, and pour the blood slowly out. Bloody tears fall down the trunk. I immerse my fingers in the blood and mark a trace on the tree. It’s not clear whether this is an eye, a bloody vagina or a crater after the volcano explosion. Condemned, forbidden female blood flows ono Autumn leaves, reflecting the Sun, and attracting flies. Nobody builds monuments to commemorate it.