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Like everywhere, like everyone

Kaip visur, kaip visi (EN) || Rež. Naubertas Jasinskas, Valstybinis Jaunimo teatras



who lived here?


what do I know

like everywhere, like everyone







if you look at it that way, it’s a shithole

there’s that house nearby, full of strange artworks

sculptures ready for the Centre Pompidou

in that greenhouse, a wall of an old house or Tate Modern, just left on the ground

everything looks like rubbish but costs thousands, maybe even more

it’s like this super strange paradox, you know

we’re sort of making art here, rehearsing

and then suddenly Andrėjus walks out to the yard

nods, like, says hello

pulls down his trousers

and starts pissing on the street, by a tree

but the best part’s when Andrėjus’s gang gathers

and we have to skip all the scenes in that corner of theirs

cause that corner’s occupied, how do I put this

by real people

and it’s us who’s “unhappy” in the end, you know

we’re these little, like you like to say, gentrificators

sounds super non-organic actually, but oh well


we need to get this grass cut soon or we’ll pick up a bunch of ticks



Andrėjus (RU)


the director asked me to record it, I’ll just record it

you don’t wanna do it here? alright

ok look, so we’re doing a play here –

the director and me, and there’s also this girl, she’s the playwright

so you’ve always lived here, huh?

I told you, forty years I’ve lived here, yeah

four years I lived in Germany also

I see

and tell me, from your side, this place, did it change somehow?

since ‘81

I mean all the houses, they weren’t even here

and this one, did you know him?


who was he, a hunter or something?

yeah, a hunter, and a fisherman

was he a cool dude?

he even knew me since I was a kid

yeah, he was cool

he was even shooting at me with a rifle here

you? with a rifle?


was he catching you or something?

I was a kid, and he had some planks lying around

we took those planks and built a hut there

so he was like, oh…

later he stopped drinking, but he did drink alright

and here, who lived here?

do you remember?

there was this grandma here—

I remember fucking everything

there was this grandma here

with this grandpa

and where I’m living now, there was also a grandma and a grandpa living

her son sold this place to Mindaugas


what changed? they built the houses, the road changed, everything

what else changed here, nothing

and the people now? if these all moved out

these ones moved out

others moved in

yeah, there, where you have these cottages fuckotages

when you go behind the garden, did you see that tall house?

the new one?

yeah, there used to be an old one

yeah, yeah

some moved in there also

and did you have friends from those who moved away?

from here?

yeah, or you didn’t interact too much with those ones?

almost everyone moved away

and is there anyone you were interacting with who grew up here and still lives here?

I mean, of course there are, a lot of them

but they’re getting fewer and fewer, right?

some of them died, others hanged themselves

others became junkies, that’s how it is 



Wake up / Alvydė


I was thinking how nature—

nature doesn’t have it’s own voice

and then it’s like it doesn’t really have anything to say


although when I came here, I felt somewhat unwelcome

I didn’t know where to put myself

and it was dark

and so many of those slugs

so many

and I tried to step into that meadow, still half-asleep

and wherever I step, it’s always on those slugs

I even thought maybe this place was just waking up

and the slugs were just waking up

and the grass, still all wet…


it felt almost a little intimate

don’t know how to put it


I, for instance, like to wake up alone

that’s what I’m used to

falling asleep, of course I like with someone

but waking up…


actually it was exactly that feeling, as if I’d caught nature waking up

and what if it wants to be alone?








I was walking around the house

there’s this sitting spot made by the locals

a little table with a brass picture

a fresh outlook on beauty, I’d say

something between the Virgin Mary, a mermaid and the hippie sexual revolution

a pretty lamp on the table, a little sort of altar

I go ’round the corner, closer to the street

where it’s blocked off from the street

I see this hobo sitting on that side

just out of bed

sitting half-naked

of indescribable age, maybe sixty, seventy

all wizened

wearing nothing but a shirt, half-unbuttoned

this sort of white flannel rag, lightweight

no trousers, completely bare

like a little angel

and he’s pulling his thing

I don’t know what he was trying to do there

he looked like some kind of primate

or a monkey, something from the zoological world

it didn’t look like trying to arouse some kind of passion


a moment of discovery

like children sometimes explore themselves

he was just staring at it, that act of pulling

wonderful sight

you should sort of just turn and walk away, pretend you didn’t see

but it was just amazing, I couldn’t stop myself from watching

I think he saw me

later I did turn and walk away, leaving the man alone in his affairs

to wake up in his morning





feels like you’re being watched

you can’t see them

but everywhere around you feel the presence of someone else

keeps coming out in all sorts of forms

you can’t sit down anywhere

because there’s an invasion that’s herding you out of here



they’re everywhere

they’re huge, climbing up your feet

and your legs are bare

surely I must find a place where there’s none

and I found it—firewood

covered with a plastic film

there was rainwater on it

these little plastic rain holes

I stood on that wood and I looked at them, those ants

I accidentally touched one of those plastic holes with my foot

and the water spilled out

running downhill

it painted little paths on the pavement

this kind of map emerged

an island appeared

two ants fell into that island

couldn’t get out

while all the others

running around, chaos, panic

the neat movement of those ants was disturbed

a total image of a world apocalypse


and I was watching


what surprised me the most

was that I—

when I saw that the sun had dried the pavement very quickly

and the ants went back to their normal quiet lives

I moved another of these plastic rain holes and poured it out on purpose

I feel this temptation for such things






seventeen to six

on the other hand, what’s the point if it stayed the way it is


I was once travelling to Colombia

but I was keeping bees

and I asked my husband to go and open the entrances holes

’cause in March, although there’s still snow, they have to fly around a bit

they already check the territory

and so he went

I come back

he’s not telling me anything

we’re driving to the farmhouse

and before we get there, he turns to me and goes like

“I want to tell you that there are no more bees

I don’t know, maybe someone was looking for honey or something”

“the hives are open,” he says

everything scattered around




I never even went to check on them

for three years I didn’t go to the farmhouse at all

in those three years the weeds grew four foot tall

reaching the doorstep

where there is no man, nature takes over very quickly

so that’s the meaning of a place, to exist through time?

I don’t know

maybe, and maybe not


or maybe the fact that cities are becoming more beautiful is good?

I mean look, now you can sit down anywhere with your coffee

you go anywhere and it’s always nice, clean, bright

the places you would pass by quicker are disappearing

the city’s just waiting for you





I was also thinking

don’t know how to say this without being offensive

but maybe it’s more about me

I mean the realisation that you don’t live in this time anymore

although the fact itself isn’t really sad

there’s something beautiful about it, that you’ve had the chance to live somewhere else

in a bit of a different time


nowadays, people are super concerned about some kind of wording

I don’t know

maybe to show their intelligence, erudition

I don’t find myself in contemporary wordings

like these ones, for instance

all these performances, projects

in the past, people would make art

now everybody started making projects

and cover themselves up in all these fancy buzzwords

immersive, gentrification, site-specific, self-localisation

some kind of dead words

only meant for some ministry to get cash for a new project

it feels like what matters now is to register oneself, to get approval

like a sort of collection, like “I was here”

but there’s no relationship to the place, no love

ok, maybe “love” sounds too pompous here

but that relationship’s somewhat artificial

these are just my thoughts, nothing serious

when I hear all this, I’m somewhere nearby

not in there

I understand in my mind what it is, but I guess I don’t want to let it in

I feel that it’s gonna ruin something

I think the place itself has nothing to do with it

the relationship with the locals

well, ok, I mean the locals that there are

maybe just that hobo

if you’d tell him “I’ve come here to localise myself”, he’d tell you “go fuck yourself with your localisation”

and in a way he, as a local, would be right

I, for one, am on his side in this case





I didn’t find my place here

if I’m in nature

I’m afraid I’ll meet some unexpected person, if he just shows up

because of that fear I need to walk around, to sniff around three times more than what’s normal

and when I’ve done a bunch of circles already

and know for a fact that nobody’s sleeping there, nobody’s lying, nobody’s whatever else

then I can stay for a bit


but those ticks…

when I saw how many I’d picked up

I just sat down and sat in one place


there was once normal nature

just like there are some normal people

same with the ticks

ok, so they bite you, they suck a bit of that blood and could just continue on their way

you wish

they have to mess up your whole system


and same with people

they could be a normal part of nature

that’s why I like theatre

a writer leaves a book, a painter – a painting

a composer – music

and an actor’s work doesn’t remain

here it exists, here it doesn’t

and so I think, thank God, at least you don’t make a mess, you act and you leave

paintings are rubbish if you start stacking them up

does nature need your paintings?

does the tick need them?

doubt it

at least we didn’t put up any decorations here






feels like you’re being watched

you can’t see them

but everywhere around you feel the presence of someone else


I know this place

I come here

I know how things are here, visually I know it

it’s raining now, I know I’ll have to hide somewhere

and I had a place in mind where to do it

but all of the sudden, after walking down this stony path

my body carried me somewhere else


these little steps

a canopy keeping the rain off my head, my face

the feet? it’s hot, so it’s good they’re getting wet

I leaned against the wall

and I felt safe

’cause I knew there was no one behind that door

the house was empty

I always look for places

where there’s no one behind my back

like in cafes, I always look for a table

where I could sit and lean against the wall

maybe we need to listen more to our body, where it’s taking us

I like this idea, that it’s not the human mind

but the body that suggests decisions

it has intuition

animals, for instance, do something similar

when they come into a house

you can’t make them lie down wherever you like

maybe it’s instincts

I mean even when you come to a really nice place

our body feels anxious for some reason

it has a memory

of something

and so this Užupis

I personally never wanted to live here

although a lot of people, lots of my friends live here

really such a VIP, representative place

everything’s nearby, everything’s so charged with history

but for me it’s a bit…




Don’t tell it


I always thought that you have to be very careful with places

better not to even tell anything about them

and if you are telling something, then maybe better avoid names

cities, streets, house numbers

so that nobody follows you there

and I think it’s up to you to make sure you don’t listen when somebody’s talking about places

’cause people…

when they tell stuff, they always talk about the atmosphere

I mean they don’t describe the pavements

or the shape of the fountains

or the canopies

like what kind of canopies there are over the doors

and all those atmospheric stories immediately program disappointment

for anyone who goes there afterwards

and these places, the way we see them

they don’t even really exist


that’s why I’m very sceptical about guide services

what do they tell there?

they just pour you over with some outdated stories

nothing they talk about even really exists anymore

they don’t help us in any way

they don’t even allow us to put these places into ourselves, inside

it’s like someone—

like someone would stand by your bed and tell you how to have sex

“here, the leg goes here, the hand here”

“the back, the lips, uh-huh, there you go”

“here, they used to sell teapots, here, there was a cemetery”

“this is where Andrėjus lives”

no, that’s not the way to do it

I think you should just let a person—

let a person into a place

and see what happens






five to six

there is no more water in the well

why a person, eighty percent made of water

doesn’t merge with it after getting inside?

why does he float like rubbish?


twelve after six

the bird’s gone quiet

Užupis has always been near me

like now, I stop at the Angel

cyclists are locking their bikes

glancing at Špunka and their clocks

it’s still early, Špunka’s closed

but they’re not upset, the weather’s nice

you can have a walk around the Angel

and everyone’s like under a spell

taking pictures of the Angel

taking pictures of themselves

taking pictures of themselves in front of the Angel

taking pictures of themselves, everyone and the Angel

pictures, pictures, pictures, pictures

and that sound of taking a picture!

sounds as good as a Bach cantata

and if you listen carefully, mass in B minor


Užupis has turned into a hotspot for supermoms


twenty-seven to seven

the bird’s back

not alone


is it the place that changes a person or the person that changes the place?

actually, when I’m here

I’m thinking more about dislocalisation

when a person is being moved to another place

like a pin

I wonder

what calls us back home

to that place

where only the mark of the pin remains

or maybe people don’t leave holes after themselves?






I have this dream

that keeps recurring

I’m standing in front of a city

in this huge square

and I see a white streak coming towards me in the distance

like a wave

I’m standing there

it seems like I could run, but for some reason I don’t

and then this white streak starts coming closer

and I see that it’s a crowd of people

and they’re running towards me


and then they pass by me, like a flood

but they don’t even touch me

I remain standing

and then I turn to look behind me

and I see the city, completely destroyed

it’s at this moment that I realise

that it’s very good to pray here

I see the horizon

I can pray horizontally

not towards the sky, not towards the ground, but horizontally

and my dad, by the way, he also had the same dream

I inherited this dream from my father






I’ve been in this workshop recently

actually, it was all fine

but then I’m sitting and I’m thinking, shit

my bellflowers are blooming at home

and they only bloom for three days

and I’m sitting here

I mean I could be looking at them now


and I don’t really have anyone to talk to about plants anyway

if you say something

you see those eyes…

and that’s it, you shut up

I have a couple of people I can pour everything out to freely


I could probably talk about nothing but flowers

to be honest I never really understood them

I don’t know the names or anything

but I understand the processes

what happens to them

they’re actually totally communicative

both indoor and wild

if I stopped talking to them, they’d wither in a second

of course, I haven’t started telling them about my feelings or anything


I like these colourless fields

when you look from afar, it looks so bland

but when you get closer, there’re so many of these little colourful flowers

like rye:

you look at it, looks like rye

but when you get close, there’s so much of everything

all these sorts of cornflowers, all sorts of fuck knows what

pink, white, tall

a streak of poppies dropping blooms

and here, you really feel like bringing a trimmer






these are just my thoughts, nothing serious

when we were talking about animal husbandry

this idea came up

that animals are a resource for humans

I think this term, ‘a resource’

is also applicable to humans

there are people

who are no longer useful as resources to this society

and cities are taking action

to extract them from the landscape

like some kind of invasive plant

interestingly, they’re not enemies of that society

nobody’s at war with them

they’re just being wiped off the surface

being moved somewhere far away

where there’s no outside and no inside

just like in nature

and in that wasteland, you can pull your thing wherever you like

and that society, the public

it’s created a new time zone for itself

and it’s society that has to hide in its bathrooms

and here, there’s no bathroom

here it’s like a—

a graveyard of resources

and in some sense what we’re all doing here now

is a kind of preparation, whether you like it or not,

for a humble addition to this graveyard

so please

feel free to look around

pick a cosier spot, pick some flowers

arrange a little bouquet for yourself and your neighbour

and start preparing

for the humble addition to—

you know, you got it





can I imagine myself as a place?

more or less

the very end of the city, not the centre

when you walk, you feel the solid ground under your feet


but not rough concrete

maybe white concrete

carpet plants on both sides

beautiful houses

old Italian villas

and suddenly that solid road ends

and completely wild nature begins

no concrete

reeds, pine trees, water

and there’s this shit-covered pier nearby

like a thorn in the water

heavily shat over by birds

lots of shit


come here!


and so you’re standing on that pier and looking at—

I don’t know what you’re looking at

maybe the other shore

but it’d be good if there was fog

and you couldn’t see that other shore

but you’d feel that it’s there

so maybe it’s like this potpourri

something very solid, stable on one side

maybe there’s a bit of posturing in it

and on the other side, that shit-covered pier

and that’s where I feel myself

and what is this “feeling oneself”?


I like myself there

I’d like people to see me that way

as I am there