Yesterday I visited a small rural town in Franconia. It is the residence of a bishop, has a unique old town-center and, of course, a large church in its middle, a cathedral. I was told to look for the architecture of the “Altstadt” and it is a marvel: Undestroyed, well kept (you look at situations that were formed in the 18th century), and has a beautiful geographical situation in a fine and (hopefully) undisturbed river-valley. Catholic to the bone. I stood in front of the Dom’s northern side-entrance and admired the mason-works: Saints to the left, worldly figures to the right, still in their original color, it is at least recognizable. It is an 18th and 19th century myth, that medieval art and architecture would be gray or monochrome, and the classics plain white: It was colorful, quietschbunt!
I stepped in and the first thing I saw was a monument for a bishop. This Dom is smaller as the one in Wuerzburg, which is famous for its bishop-monuments: Every single “shepherd” has at least a picture in his cathedral, mostly at the pilars that organize the large space and form the ships of the room: In more than thousand years a lot of bishops come together.

In this church they tried to get it right. Four or five of them. And it went totally wrong. In the end it is a large country-church, of course with marmor and good imported stone-work and all: It was not meant to be a large Dom, a cathedral. It is just the wrong stage. The Dom zu Wuerzburg, Wuerzburg cathedral, was meant to be what it is: A very large, throughout baroque stage for the representation of the catholic church and its shepherds here, a kind of Gesamtkunstwerk, amazingly put together over generations and centuries. In Eichstaett they tried and did not reach the goal: A “Kaltblut” is no “Araber” …

The most touching room for devotion I encountered was in a monastery in the Tauber-valley. The monastery was/is a pretty large collection of buildings, founded as Cisterce, later taken over by Augustines, today Franciscans may be there, I am not sure. A thundering baroque church, gothic building of course with breathtaking space and rich painting, masonry, glass-works, especial the “Chorgestühl” is an impressive work of art. I saw the grounds more than 20 years ago used as brewery and hay was stored in the church. Now it is renovated, restored to its lavish baroque grandeur.
When you go around the church, de-climb a staircase to the basement and follow the sign to the “Andachtsraum” you finally enter a kind of semi-subterranean room with columns, broken stone-plates on the floor, a simple altar and collected chairs; someone put flowers in glasses; an old carpet to the altar; it is quiet there, some window-glasses are colorful; no “chains” around the altar …

I do not campaign for the catholic church here, or the protestant, or any other christian denomination. I want to speak about the directness of a feeling, a belief, maybe a truth.
And stages. Acting, directing, putting on a play, finding and fulfilling a role, expecting and anticipating expectations and stereotypes, braking them, extemporizing and method acting: The job is to divide the real from the unreal, to find oneself under the rubble of outside expectations, images, projections.
There is the simple need to establish a stable basis, simply stop turning around, running, considerating other people’s needs .. time to play one own, to be self. And to act out than.

To be present, besides all the wobbling.

Welcome, A.

And kick my arse for being patronizing, I deserve it.


8 thoughts on “Wobbling

  1. Have you been up all night? It’s almost 3am there. I find the world a stranger place at 3am then I do at midnight.I like your description of the church. Do you have any pictures you could share with us perhaps?A church, a playhouse… you know ol’ William Shakepeare was a smart man about the world being a stage. Foruntaely though, I do not believe it is a masterpiece theatre for puppets though.There was a movie in late 1990’s called “Boys on the side”. Not the best movie in the world by any means, but one simple, memorable line did stick in my mind.“When don’t know which way to go, maybe you should just stay still.”I’ve always been a fighter. I didn’t know how not to fight. How to live without challenge after challenge. Like a soldier that can’t survive peace time.Take Care,-P

  2. I’ll have just a sip of wine and then go to bed. Walked the web, looking for some blogs, missed them in the last days.I had no time to photograph there, sorry. I will take some pictures the coming days, I feel the need to do something creative, in my case to look i guess, and trying to find the picture.Bill Beershaker is a kind of genius. And it IS a stage. Goethe put on the real stage of the first national theatre an imaginary stage for his Faust. William always saied that he lets them act on a stage, a screen, the villain be a villain, the hero be a heroe, BUT: It IS a stage, a machinery, it is MADE – the fate, Lady Fortuna, the director, always is a hand in there … – I guess my next catch of the week will be about Meyer Lansky. I like him.I am no fighter. That does not mean that I stand still. In fact I move a lot. I avoid fighting. I need harmony. False harmony is just painting over mould – as portia described it – plastering over. Real harmony means togetherness from the basis, the beginning – no lies. Lie is sometimes easier.In this sense lie is death and life is truth. But I am pretty fucked up and it is half past three in the morning.

  3. Amanda says:

    No, no, not at all! What would the fun be in growing older if we could not use it to patronize the younger ones now and then. 😀Seriously, good stuff.

  4. austereDo not know whether I will come back to this area, but I can put on some pictures of the Dom here. The subterranean room is intimate, no nonsense, no unnecessary things. Here is pilgrimage to a small chapel, started in the 16th century I guess. The small chapel became a pretty large church, baroque of course, like the most here. Besides the large center-room is a small entrance that leads into the “Miracle-corridor” where once the original miraculous image was kept. People go here to pray and burn their candels. It is simple, a little shabby …I do not know whether truth is simple. But a lot of things are simply vain and few remain.When I moved in this apartment I had to get rid of a lot of things. Most of it I gave to a friend who is selling on flea-markets. Myself is totally unsuitable for such merchand activities. On the last sunday I was in their village, they had a kind of” village-fiesta” and were selling al the lumber an the streets. It gave me a little sting to see things that once belonged to my mother or myself on this table. On the other hand: What have I done with that the years before? nothing. It just lay around. And it just became things again, I hope. I am not yet over it. I think everybody has a kind of cellar or basement to clear, things to get rid of. Okay, that was the “word for Sunday” …

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