Video-performance (2024)
While yet a child,
And ignorant of life,
I turned my wandering gaze
Up toward the sun, as if with him
There were an ear to hear my wailings,
A heart, like mine,
To feel compassion for distress.
(Johann Goethe - Prometheus )
And ignorant of life,
I turned my wandering gaze
Up toward the sun, as if with him
There were an ear to hear my wailings,
A heart, like mine,
To feel compassion for distress.
(Johann Goethe - Prometheus )
Žiju pro to abych krvácela
V této performanci znovu prožívám mýtus o Prométheovi. Není to jeho oheň, co kradu – ten už ve mně dávno hoří. Jako žena ho nesu od narození. Místo, odkud dávám život, se stává místem bolesti. Řežu se do břicha – vědomě, rituálně – a nechávám krev stékat na kameny. Ležím mezi skalami, vystavená, syrová, zranitelná.
Stejně jako Prométheus jsem potrestaná za dar. On dal lidstvu oheň – já dávám život. A za to musím krvácet. Trest není božský, je společenský. Je zakořeněný v těle, ve výchově, v dějinách. Krvácím za všechny ženy, které byly umlčeny, zkamenělé pod tíhou očekávání, bolesti, viny.
Nejsem obětí. Jsem svědkyní i aktérkou. Krev není slabost – je to paměť těla. Je to dar, který je vidět. Krev, kterou nechávám odtéct, je mojí řečí. Tělo se stává posvátným prostorem, médiem, nástrojem vzdoru.
Skrze bolest se znovu spojuji sama se sebou. Vytvářím si vlastní mýtus. Přepisují se dějiny. Ne od začátku – ale od těla.
ENG
In this performance, I re-live the myth of Prometheus.
But it is not his fire I steal—the fire has long been burning within me. As a woman, I was born carrying it.
The place from which I give life becomes a site of pain. I cut into my abdomen—consciously, ritually—and let the blood flow onto the stones.
I lie among the rocks, exposed, raw, vulnerable.
But it is not his fire I steal—the fire has long been burning within me. As a woman, I was born carrying it.
The place from which I give life becomes a site of pain. I cut into my abdomen—consciously, ritually—and let the blood flow onto the stones.
I lie among the rocks, exposed, raw, vulnerable.
Like Prometheus, I am punished for a gift. He gave humanity fire—I give life.
And for that, I must bleed. The punishment is not divine, it is social. It is rooted in the body, in upbringing, in history.
I bleed for all the women who have been silenced, petrified under the weight of expectations, pain, guilt.
And for that, I must bleed. The punishment is not divine, it is social. It is rooted in the body, in upbringing, in history.
I bleed for all the women who have been silenced, petrified under the weight of expectations, pain, guilt.
I am not a victim. I am both witness and agent.
Blood is not weakness—it is the memory of the body. It is a gift that can be seen.
The blood I let flow is my language.
The body becomes a sacred space, a medium, a tool of resistance.
Blood is not weakness—it is the memory of the body. It is a gift that can be seen.
The blood I let flow is my language.
The body becomes a sacred space, a medium, a tool of resistance.
Through pain, I reconnect with myself.
I write my own myth.
History is rewritten—not from the beginning, but from the body.
I write my own myth.
History is rewritten—not from the beginning, but from the body.