What's going through my head right now #15

LIKE GHOSTS

... was the title of one of my first short stories, which I still remember very well. It was about an elevator mechanic who looked after and maintained the elevators in the Augsburg Hotel Tower (the tallest building in the city with 35 floors). He often sits on the flat roof next to the huge antenna and watches the city wake up in the morning from a lofty height while chatting with a crow. He usually works late at night when hardly anyone needs the elevators, and he is glad not to encounter anyone during his work or later on his way home during the day. He lives a very secluded life without being depressed, enjoys life in the middle of a city, is an observer and interpreter with his own unique worldview—and at the same time finds himself in an almost hermit-like state.

If I were to venture an interpretation today, it would be my expression of an artist pondering in his ivory tower, who knows that his art will remain unprofitable as long as he does not market it effectively to the outside world (or someone does it for him) and that he will never be discovered or appreciated for his work as long as he remains invisible, hidden away. Like a ghost that is there but cannot be seen—or perhaps does not want to be seen.

The writer Patrick Süskind achieved such fame with his novel “Perfume” (also through the film adaptation) that he withdrew from public life and has hardly been seen in public since. He has turned down numerous honors, awards, and offers for new works and lives almost undisturbed near Munich and in the south of France. Well, he can afford it, and in the 1980s and 1990s, there was no social media or digital options where you could put your life on display, as we are all used to today. AND: At the time, he probably received enough money for his artistic work to be able to afford such an anonymous life.

That's not the case for many of us. Especially nowadays, people are always trying to stay in the public eye, maintain their network, open new doors, and find ways to bring their work, knowledge, and skills to an audience, or rather to stay in contact with institutions and remain in their memory so that they can stay on the ball and be continuously noticed. That's the only way to get jobs and earn money.

I remember how, in my first year as ballet director at the Augsburg Theater, I was overwhelmed by the numerous inquiries from dancers, choreographers, and ballet masters. Most of the job inquiries came in by mail, with a few arriving by email. Among them was Marco Goecke, now an internationally renowned choreographer, but also “ostracised” for his dog poo attack on a cultural journalist. His application video at the time, featuring one of his earliest works, resurfaced while I was sorting through my archives. I know that I didn't reply to him at the time and I don't even think I watched his video. As I said, I was a little overwhelmed at the time with my numerous tasks and new responsibilities and first had to find my way around all these positions and obligations. By the second year at the latest, however, that had changed and every applicant received a reply – provided the application was addressed to me, the ensemble/theater, with a clear personal salutation and basic knowledge of the local situation. So mentioning “To whom it may concern” or one of my predecessors as the addressee was definitely a killer argument for the letter to end up in the trash.

Now, it has happened often enough in my career that I myself have never received a reply. Even in places where I thought I had contacts, or rather people I knew locally, whom I would bump into again at the next opportunity. I always found this strange and, to a certain extent, disrespectful, because even though I was overwhelmed in my first year at the Augsburg Theater, I replied to everyone I knew in any way (even if only fleetingly). Even if it was just a three-line reply. But the correspondence was guaranteed and the other party could tick off the request, stay on the ball, or be pleased that I had aroused their curiosity.

Meanwhile, this bad habit of “not getting back to people,” not responding, or insisting on self-imposed rules (e.g., at publishing houses, agencies) is spreading like wildfire. The term “ghosting” comes to mind—and that brings us full circle to my old story. Even if this is a rather abrupt form of distancing oneself from the other person, usually found in romantic relationships, of no longer maintaining contact, of refusing or even denying oneself. Cutting off all contact options. A kind of self-protection that completely alienates the other person. It makes it impossible to discuss or clarify the situation and prevents the problem or the real reason from ever coming to light. Or simply does not allow you to be surprised. Discovering something that you are not allowed to ignore or block out. Becoming blind and deaf to any options that do not conform to the norm.

We are treated like ghosts—or we treat others like ghosts. We make ourselves invisible instead of communicating. This is an approach that does not suit me at all. In recent years, I have not only experienced this repeatedly in my private and professional life, but have also learned not to take it too personally. To see it more as the other side's problem. Because my willingness to communicate, to clarify things, to get to the bottom of them and remain curious, or to discover and admit my own mistakes, as well as to find solutions together, is a very important development process for me and part of working on my personality.

In the last year and a half in particular, I have noticed once again that I am simply being avoided by several people from the current Swiss dance scene. People with whom I have had more or less contact, who have known me for a long time or who are very familiar with my work and achievements. Our contacts were never negative. On the contrary. But I am ignored, I get no answers, despite several conversations, suggestions, or ideas. I am excluded from certain events.

I have a rule that I will contact someone a maximum of three times. At longer intervals. And then that's it. No more follow-ups, no more calls, letters, or suddenly showing up at the door. I know myself how busy and hard-working many of these people are. But I'm not a supplicant. I'm offering something (and I can say that with great certainty after more than 35 years as a successful theater and cultural professional). Not responding or even ignoring me is not respectful, shows a lack of loyalty in certain respects, or demonstrates an unwillingness to communicate, which (in my opinion) is simply unacceptable, regardless of the times we are living in.

Someone recently told me that these people might be afraid of me. And I could only reply: afraid of what?

Of my appearance? Of the way I speak or write? Of my knowledge or my ignorance? Of my directness, which I always try to convey in a certain form of diplomacy? Of the fact that I could outrank them? Of their own perceived weaknesses or my perceived strengths?Of course, I have goals, and I stand by them and try my best to achieve them. But I am neither unscrupulous nor calculating, nor do I stop at nothing to get what I want. That is in no way consistent with my nature or my way of dealing with other people.

Well, on the one hand, I am an artist and like to retreat to my ivory tower, where I can be alone and enjoy these moments of solitude. But I am also someone who likes to communicate, who shares his thoughts, experiences, and knowledge/ignorance with the outside world. Who shares them with others and cultivates exchange. It's a balancing act. In many ways.

Perhaps that is the difference between a chosen and an imposed ghostly existence. Between conscious solitude and involuntary isolation. Between retreating as a creative necessity and refusing to communicate.

My elevator mechanic in the Augsburg hotel tower had a choice. He sought solitude in order to observe, reflect, and understand. He was not a ghost—he was an observer of life. And if he wanted to, he could descend back into the world of humans at any time.

We should all have this choice. To use the ivory tower as a place of retreat when we need it, but also to open the doors when someone knocks. Communication is not a one-way street—it thrives on give and take, on speaking and listening, on showing oneself and being seen.

Becoming like ghosts is a choice. Treating others like ghosts is too.

Jochen, cordially