He couldn’t delete Chu Shwinden’s bath. Not the shy red cat who flirts with affection. This also includes pumpkin seeds, which are on the seat he booked at ICE. Not even nature that imposes itself on him and in her, fortunately, there is a chocolate wrapper, otherwise the poetess would be unbearable. Everything should go in the diary total.
For a year, playwright Wolfram Lutz wanted to write about “everything” and find out what would happen with and with the script. In the summer of 2017, he moved to a small town in Alsace because his wife worked there. Two little kids, a few books and a lot of vines. So he sneaked around with notebooks, writing things down as straightforwardly as possible. I retreated to the toilet when an idea came to him. Present experience as “talking to oneself in the open window”, writing that is penetrable, open and for errors. Give the text complete control and don’t stare at any kind of post. In the summer of 2018, he completed the work – and directed it. And now there is still, “Bible 1”.
How is it together? First the maximum invisibility and then the noise, here is the 912 pages dear reader? Because if I understand one thing after these 912 pages: Wolfram Lutz doesn’t seem like the impulsive type. If you email this question to the publisher, you are suddenly in the middle of an openness experiment conducted by Wolfram Lutz. He is calling.
Lutz is funny, fast, straightforward – and totally ineffective. Despite receiving awards, he publishes little
He would like to explain it briefly himself. He knows this sounds like good PR: the struggling artist who had to be persuaded to save his deleted work, and that’s only possible because he emailed the first part to a friend at the right time. A bit of Kafka and Max Broad? No, that’s what happened, confirms Wolfram Lutz.
He deleted it because the project was becoming more and more uncontrollable day by day and he had the feeling that he wanted to free himself from the monster. He also deleted it to prevent the diary from being published because otherwise, he says, he likes to be “talked about” by others. And now, well, he allowed himself to be teased. Luckily. Because the “first bible” is, conceptually, in the Lotus’ favorite home: the really big theater. What happens in 912 pages is poetry and prose, the finest humor and the most beautiful nonsense.
Wolfram Lutz, born in 1981, is one of the most important contemporary German playwrights. Through “The Absurd Darkness” he wrote, so to speak, Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” for theatre, in Politicians (2019), ripping the audience into the abyss of the politician’s soul with a rhythmic spoken word. Lutz is funny, fast, straightforward – and totally ineffective. Despite receiving awards, he publishes little. Of course, the theater has long acquired the “first bible”; On May 14, the world premiere will take place in Munich Kamerspiel as an “immersive installation”, organized by Falck Richter.
For Wolfram Lutz, writing is an end in itself, and his way of turning into the present. “Writing, texting, transforming: writing sanctifies things here, the mundane things of life, only then do I really see them, are/were; only then am I here” https://www.sueddeutsche.de/kultur/ “Bible” doesn’t really mean The document itself (although, of course, a slight provocation is easily accepted), rather, it means the process of translating his reality into writing. The form of existence that the text then takes is irrelevant: “This is how a good text develops in writing: where the form is not previously known, but by the pursuit of an aesthetic idea.”
When reading, one is quickly drawn to a stream of notes, mini-plays, proverbs, new utterances, and poems
Reading these “worldly things of life” one is quickly absorbed in the winding stream of thoughts. “The wine festival is raging here in the village,” Lutz continued on daily family life, and night walks. On ICE trips, he always writes, of course, there is plenty of time: “The train comes on time, although it should be canceled, it’s great.” Lotus struggles with theater, literary works, and writing. Quickly write down a shopping list and then: “To school, early in the morning.” In notes, mini-dramas, proverbs, neologisms, and poems, he reveals “everything” he has written day in and day out. In the fall of 2017, Donald Trump is still president of the USA, while Berlin occupied Volksbühne and The New York Times It publishes allegations against Harvey Weinstein. While this sounds like notes from another world, it’s more of the madness of the present than Lutz’s fault.
In love with transformation, he tries other roles, answers the phone as Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, and lets Peter Handke, Durs Grünbein and Miley Cyrus do things for himself: “Peter Handke doesn’t feel like hiking in the woods now, because she still It rains all the time, that’s too humid for Peter Handke.” He has a huge enthusiasm for everyone, in the case of Miley Cyrus above all for the fact that she also produces very embarrassing things out of complete control. He is interested in deviations in art, perhaps because: “The most realistic text can only come through errors.”
The contradiction between claim and execution inevitably arises with the question of what “everything” Lutz actually means. Because “everything” is of course not “everything”. Every author who writes an autobiographical novel faces the problem of where to draw the line. Emmanuel Carrier resolved the dilemma by defining his own concept of truth in his writings. In his books, Karl Ove Knausgård goes on a Maixmal attack and crawls to the last tip of his fellow human beings’ hair only to pick up “everything”, which, as a result, often means complete exposure for himself and others.
Lutz found the following formula for himself: private conversations remain confidential. No one close to him should fear the waste of the soul. Only his two sons, O and E, float in the author’s daily life like two friendly hooligans in every few scenes. He decided he wanted to write about them because in 20 years maybe they’d have little in common with the kids walking home chanting happily “Donald Trump.”
No line was edited, only typos were allowed
Relationship with N, his girlfriend, the mother of his children does not take place. No fight, no sex, no idea what N really thinks about the diary project. Which is especially astonishing because Lutz calls for great openness. And he calls it himself: “And then, with a sense of sadness, I thought how sad it is that the relationship between me and her is completely left here,” he writes. And then: “Why do I practice this kind of not cheap stuff; what a contempt for these things is, for life, the desire to sell them in secret.”
Revealing loopholes, permeability, and advocacy – which fit the new self-image of many authors, including many stage-makers, under which they no longer claim to offer a polished final product, or even claim any kind of “right” for themselves. On the other hand, the back doors always remain open, and where no one has claimed to be true, the business also escapes criticism to a certain extent. On the other hand, as in the case of Wolfram Lutz, this permeability creates a shimmering work of great credibility.
Wolfram Lutz assures us over the phone that not a single line has been proofread, and only typos can be corrected. That was one of his conditions for publishing the text. So it remains a large quarry, interconnected, raw, open everywhere. However: this book is absolutely not lacking in anything. One could hardly resist the power and magic of Wolfram Lutz’s “First Bible”, so why would one want to? There will only be a second part. Because, Lutz says, it has already been permanently deleted.