A SOLO MEMORIAL CEREMONY
As the wool is unravelled, memories are being pulled out.
And this state of unraveling;
Resonates from the winds of the road to tribal songs, from dengbejs to the crackle of vinyl records intersecting with gazelles.
These organic sounds turn into melodies dripping from the curves of the body.
No note is ornamentation; each one is a part of a memory.
A woman…
Carrying the weight of the past on her back.
With a book in her hand.
Containing thousands of voices.
Nokta, the storyteller of forgotten stories;
Shapes the truth of the time we have covered up, out of a sack of wool.
Every thread re-emerges as a face, a language, a geography.
Every thread is a transformation.
Every transformation is a confrontation.
And no transformation remains hidden.
Nokta carries the memory within her body.
She invites the audience not into the stage, but into the depths of memory.
A woman’s body;
Becomes an African tribal song,
The fragmentation of an alter ego,
Afife Jale’s last breath,
A criminal walking on a red carpet, turned into a tabloid sensation,
And the cold face of a mechanized human.
But behind all of this, there is always the same voice.
Nokta’s voice.
Face to face, hand in hand with the audience.
To retell what was once told, then forgotten.
This is a memory ritual.
A solo archive of the body.
A space to face our own past, our culture, and our fractures.
Urla Dam
