Having written several articles on the subject, but not yet published, is too fast a change of circumstances, and the text is always delayed and retroactive. In short, today I would like to return to the earliest point of origin and return to p4 and its history.
The only thing that has rocked me most in the history of art is that it's more exciting than some Abraanović and Uray looking at MOMA, more than van Gogh cutting his ears and drawing a self-portrait in the mirror, more than Dushan secretly and anonymously putting his urinals in a gallery, more than tall to divorce his son and go to the island to find the wildlings, and more than Da Vinci's 13-year-old drawing of Mona Lisa, which is more exciting than these so-called "story" stories, which are inspired by the impressionists' losers Sharon, even the "impressionist" name, which was born out of the irony used in the exhibition. I lament the fact that such a group of people, a group of people moving backwards, have never bowed to their heads in terms of closure and debasement in the "college", but have given their personal authorization to assemble and publicly present their works, even in the humble living room rather than in the palace, writing themselves and transforming history.
P4 has been completely publicized since 19th, and I say to the big black space that this black box should no longer be private, that it should belong to more people and that those who have no chance need it more. Then a great deal of creativity, drama, workshops, dialogue, events came out of this big machine, a living sponsor who had stripped the social sculptural symbols of society, who, like beasts, unleashed their long-pressed desires, drew the most moving shadows in the light, filled with the hard-to-earth scars and burned with tears.
I saw love
And I see hatred.
Only in the eyes of the losers will they shine, a loser who struggles in despair, who shouts rain in the desert, crawls in mud and flies without wings in the air.
Failure to be recognized and non-acceptance will be combined into a new split. As in the history of the losers, the history of the p4 has shrunk into a strong bunker with the lightness and reality of the dream. From the great theatre to the hut, there is no room for compromise, and even the smallest cost requires great courage, and only the last breath remains to breathe. The data in the laboratory are constantly being updated to measure the direction of value in the control variables.
But in the end it will be wrong, the human being will not be measured, and all scales will be put to blame. The losers leave the fly unheaded, and the bleeding of their heads dry all that can detonate. The bitterness of the outcome and the hardness of the process are the persistence of the power of faith and exploration, but it must be repeated.
The theatre, our smallest unit of practice, is still calling on the soul that is moving, and this time I will no longer be paralysed by so-called success, and I will not join in the awkward award, dancing with wolves, the blood and the flesh, the wine in the light of the moon, the shadow of the forest, the silence of everything.
Let the glory continue to shine, and the brightness remain bright, and the beautiful song will still be ringing, and the cry will only sway between you and me, and I am still waiting for you to break my heart. The bone marrow is a well-calculated electrical signal, as well as a monitor code to hide the skin, with cone cells wrapped in Russian squares and dead white cells in three or two.
It is natural that the seeds will sprout when the failure persists and the desire for success is devoured and turned into a permanent motivation for burning, sowing faeces in the agitated vast grasslands. Wandering, scattered, lonely, single, one-sided, angry, depressed, unspoken, silent, dead, forgotten, exposed, openly confided, left behind, lost, arrows piercing, burnt, warm, numb, cold, nags, obstinate, and Weak
To what we still can't forget.
And those whom no sign has been given.
Let us once again slowly try to get closer, resonate and build strength.
P4 chronicles are a history that everyone can write again.
You can come and change it.
It changed me.
And it's changed you.
And it's the history of you and me and him.
Come to me.
If you still can't find a place to reassure you
Let's face to face.
Drama Jean.
We meet again.
♪ In fiction ♪
Run in reality.
P4 Theater, a joke from 2015. After hatching its eighth drama in June 21, it left the large factory at the Changping Sculptor Platform in Beijing, and has since drifted into the city's cracks. During the three years of the epidemic, it had gathered a large number of talented creators who had not stopped breathing because of the scarcity of resources and the harsh environment in which they continued their performances in the streets, in their bedrooms, in parks, in subways, in water tanks, in garbage dumps, in the boxing counters, in writing buildings and in telephone booths. And the creators record their existence with the movement of life itself, and they mark our hearts with signs that will not be forgotten for long.