Vespers, Musings
Artists:
Curator:
PWW Gallery (performative evening series)
17 October – 14 November 2020
When the day’s back breaks, worn to bone of the evening, ascend the mountain of the silent night.
– Stanisław Antosz
Vespers, Musings is a series of performative evenings devoted to creating an intimate atmosphere by listening to and sharing the experience of various narratives concerning loss, mourning, trauma, violent memories, and transgressions. The timing is crucial: autumn, according to many traditions, is a time for contacting the dead and for melancholy, while the evening offers a moment of silence and mindfulness when anxieties and reminiscences are born.
HYMN:
Oh Season, Thou entereth inside with Thy mainstay Saving us with Thy arm, Thy root Glory to air, and earth, and the holy Season that cometh in the beginning, now, and forever. At this late hour, exhausted In humble concourse We await for Thee To settle down quietly, offering strength. Lean over us Breath our fatigue away So that we may be refreshed And take a rest in good faith. May our deeds Be Thy intentions Oh evening moment, Thou arriveth In a blue veil with the bird in the sky. And with joy in Thy might, in air And earth, and the holy season we praise Thee Until Thou settleth down, magical moment Filling our hearts with peace. Why, therefore, is everything Trembling within me with fever? Awakening my eyes before dawn To the glooms around a-fallen? Moment of vengeance, show Thyself in glory! Move forests, clouds, and the earth So that the wicked give up their greedy deeds Which they insolently boast about. Those who trample on the commons Exploiting us and refusing hospitality To strangers and orphans in need Thou offereth us shelter in the darkness. With the black nocturnal veil, Thou spreadeth The land of silence, the snug home A respite in days of misfortune The holy shelter. And I know Thou art close by And I know Thy benevolent gaze So why does fear still gnaw away At my tired heart? Between the windows of an empty house Between the branches of an old tree Thy shadows still wander We humbly listen to Thee. And Thy tongue is a quiet sigh Let out from inside in the world To stars outside like rays Into outer space. Oh Season, Thou entereth inside with Thy mainstay Saving us with Thy arm, Thy root Glory to air, and earth, and the holy Season that cometh in the beginning, now, and forever.