« Istanbul: what does one do when everything is lost? What happens to people when they go from possessing something to losing it in an instant? Yuvaya Donmek / Back Home, by director and author Alessandra Paoletti, is the story of a forced exodus, of a separation of bodies and souls. It is the tale of a single moment: that of memory, but also of the question, “and what are we to do now?”

There are intense Chekhovian atmospheres intertwined with elements and objects that recall the symbolism of the Lithuanian director Eimuntas Nekrošius. There are chiaroscuro effects, darkness and brief shafts of light that belong to the soul; breaths that hold back the stirrings of the heart; and songs from an area of the world that is both East and West, that is Sicily, Turkey, the Balkans. There is the long swaying of coloured garments and wind-blown hair, of outstretched arms, of turning movements, of dances on the ground, and feet beating to the rhythm of breath — a heritage of gesture that belongs to Bausch and that never fails to move us profoundly. There is a physical progression, now slow, now accelerated, of voices and stories that unfold with the rhythm of a musical score. There is a dense web of references to works of art — above all to the Albanian-born Adrian Paci, in the form of the enormous upturned roof from his work Home to Go, granted by the artist, which on stage becomes at once house-refuge, boat, and container of memories — images that become the memory of our time. There is a hovering presence of myth drawn from Aeschylus’ Persians (the first great tragic account of the war between the two shores of the Aegean), and an interweaving of real stories drawn from the past yet tragically present; for it is not only poetry but an ever-current tragedy that speaks in the line from Shakespeare’s King Lear: “As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.”

And it remains a drama of today, that forced transfer of almost two million people decreed by the Treaty of Lausanne in January 1923, when for the first time the international community accepted and sanctioned the “compulsory exchange of Turkish nationals of the Greek Orthodox religion established in Turkish territory and Greek nationals of the Muslim religion established in Greek territory”. There is a family suspended in an undefined space, in a grey zone in the shadow of some great city. There is celebration and waiting, marked by the rhythm of the seasons.

There is the happy dream and the harsh reality that erases every fantasy; the innocent memory and the bitter one; carefree games soon transformed into games of hatred; the premonition of a heavy burden to be borne and the search for happiness that is truth; the need to know and the refusal to see; memory turning into affliction; laughter and tears intermingled; the farewell to house and homeland, the enforced flight, the shattering exodus, the landing on another shore, the loss of identity. There are frantic searches for the missing, brides without husbands, armchairs like rocks from which to watch the distant horizon; dolls and lamps and gloves and other cherished objects bound to true personal memories; furniture laden with affection then heaped together like ruins stripped of history and covered with greatcoats; white veils like sails in the wind; roofs transformed into rafts; ropes and lines to cross shores and rugged paths; and tree branches descending from above to sketch barren landscapes. Finally, there are embraces of farewell and return — restrained, stifled, then empty, deprived of the presence of the other.

All this unfolds within suspended time: a past that becomes present. All this, and more besides, is Yuvaya Donmek / Back Home, a project hosted by the Istanbul Şehir Tiyatrosu – Istanbul Municipal Theatre, conceived by Alessandra Paoletti, director and playwright of the production (together with the choreographers of the Wuppertal Tanztheater Pina Bausch, Julie Anne Stanzak and Damiano Ottavio Bigi), who brought together a group of people of differing origins, languages and artistic backgrounds, enabling them to meet in Istanbul, on the threshold between East and West — worlds set apart and placed face to face in order to shape a “common” space. And there could be no more emblematic setting than this city, animated by a daily experience of otherness, where myriad ethnicities coexist between modernity and archaism, individualism and ancient values, in order to give body to the story of a family — or what remains of it — which, confronted with sudden, unforeseen and forced migration, must abandon its home and its condition to find itself in an unknown land. Begun in Istanbul in 2012 through the collection of testimonies from some of the relatives of those “exchanged at Lausanne” — whose statements reveal how unfounded were the official motives and claims of the time that the measure had been enacted in the common interest — the text gradually took shape, through historical and literary research, into a scenic writing that Paoletti carefully constructed over time with the actors of the Istanbul Şehir Tiyatrosu. Driven by the urgency to weave a fabric that would give voice to that profound desire for reunion and reappropriation — a universal sentiment of those who have known separation and migration — and to reaffirm the unacceptable and explicit use that has been made, and continues to be made, of religion and ethnic belonging as criteria for condemnation and expulsion, the Roman director has created a production of great visual and emotional power, for which the word necessary seems more than ever imperative. A production one would wish to belong to everyone.»

[Giuseppe Distefano / Exibart – Read in Italian]

INTERVIEW FROM THE BOOK LE SIGNORE ATTRICI by ANDREA PORCHEDDU

I had known Alessandra Paoletti as an actress, practically since her debut after graduating from the “Silvio d’Amico” Academy in Rome. One day, a few years ago, she told me she was leaving for Istanbul. From time to time, she kept me updated, via Skype or email, about her activities in Turkey: first a workshop, then a performance, and eventually a full production.

Amid countless difficulties – while the revolt in Taksim Square was erupting, while the Middle East was catching fire – she stubbornly continued to pursue her theatre: slight in build, with piercing green eyes, she shows a rare determination. She spoke to me about the wonderful encounter with Julie Anne Stanzak and Damiano Ottavio Bigi, from the Wuppertal Tanztheater Pina Bausch, who would gladly join the project; she told me about a long conversation with the artist Adrian Paci, who would give her the image of Home to Go, that upturned roof which would shape the atmosphere and vision of the performance to come.

From all this emerged a work (the performance is entitled Yuvaya Donmek, babam için – Back Home, to my father) that tells an uncomfortable, complex and politically sensitive story: the story of a return home, involving Turks and Greeks, rooted in events that began over a century ago. We meet Alessandra again in Rome, passing through between Naples – where she is developing a new project – and Wuppertal.

Do you still have contact with Istanbul? Of course, very often, although I am not entirely sure what the situation there really is today. Whenever I ask something directly, I receive vague answers: it is very difficult to explain what is happening or what may happen.

How did you end up in Turkey? I first arrived in Istanbul in 2011. I stayed for forty days: I had gone to get to know the reality of the place, to better understand that city which I had only visited on holiday. I felt the need to leave Rome, to leave Italy, and to go somewhere I knew no one – and Istanbul is ideal from that point of view. I wanted to set certain questions back in motion. I wanted to test, to search, to understand something that might concern me more deeply.

In those first forty days I tried to learn as much as possible, even intuitively, without any particular aim. It was a very important moment of great openness for Istanbul: I found a lively city, in the hands of young people. There are many private initiatives, especially art spaces and galleries run and frequented by young people seeking to bring about change and to break out of cultural isolation. And this is only one of Istanbul’s many faces. One need only walk a few metres to encounter very different and even contradictory situations: many of these initiatives are growing in neighbourhoods close to the centre where a certain “tradition” still strongly persists.

And you thought about theatre… I wanted to create a workshop there, leading to a performance: a project with the people of Istanbul. My first contact was with the Italian Cultural Institute, to whom I presented the idea of the workshop and the theme of my research. It was clear that the undertaking was not considered easy, but rather full of obstacles, from the language barrier to the complexity of the geographical context. Nevertheless, I was given the contact of the then director of the Istanbul International Festival (IKSV). I met her and, after an hour of questions – she practically interrogated me! – she told me she liked my ideas and put me in touch with the director of the Research Department of the Istanbul Municipal Theatre, which is no longer active today. That theatre offered free workshops for actors. There too they wanted to know everything: what kind of work I had done, what the aims of the proposed workshop were

And how did it go? My proposal was accepted. I led a ten-day workshop, during which I was asked to create a public performance. During and after the Academy I had studied extensively on actor’s dramaturgy with various masters, from GITIS in Moscow to the Guildhall School in London, ENSATT in Lyon and the Institut del Teatre in Barcelona. I had also collaborated in directing.

There were specific themes I wanted to explore, and I wished to develop my ideas on the actor’s craft. After the final performance of the workshop, I was asked to submit a project for a full production for the Municipal Theatre’s Genç Festival. In May 2012 a Study for Yuvaya Donmek was presented. The Study was positively evaluated by an internal committee, which decided to include it in the repertory. It is worth remembering that the Istanbul Municipal Theatre is a vast institution, with seven venues across the city’s districts and a permanent company of 350 actors.

But things took a different turn: Istanbul and Turkey changed course. Within twenty days everything changed: the laws, the theatre’s board. Strikes began. The theatre was funded publicly by the Greater Municipality of Istanbul, and the novelty was the establishment of a supervisory commission and the appointment of members nominated by the Municipality to the board. From that moment on, artistic directors were no longer the sole decision-makers, effectively losing the autonomy they had previously enjoyed.

We worked under great strain. We knew nothing about what would happen. In order to go on stage, the final text had to be authorised by a Government Censorship Committee: bureaucratic procedures that were confusing and unclear to me.

Meanwhile, I had come to know the city from many angles, also through interviews and research into memory that I was conducting: all this flowed into the final version of the script I was developing. The initial idea had been for the performance to arise from collective dramaturgy, but Turkish actors are not accustomed to scenic writing, and we would have needed much more time for that kind of work.

But everything came to a halt: those responsible kept postponing rehearsals, until they told me the project would probably collapse. The theatre director informed me of a further obstacle: in the new budget law there was no provision for paying foreign artists.

What was the problem? The subject matter? I had chosen a very complex topic that had fallen into oblivion: the population exchange between Greece and Turkey sanctioned by the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923. A starting point to speak about something still deeply felt in Turkey today and beyond. The migratory flows, forced escapes and uprootings that continue to mark those lands are visible to all.

All the actors who worked on the production have very powerful personal histories: some directly linked to that population exchange. One actress in the company had been in exile for sixteen years. Sixteen years in which she constantly felt compelled to explain who she was, to justify herself, because no one had known her before. Another, Kurdish, comes from the village where the PKK was founded; her father was imprisoned and tortured. The title of the performance is Back Home – and for someone like her, “going back home”, in a village set on fire 56 times, was a painful, living prospect.

Three Italian filmmakers – Antonello Savoca, Stefano Cormino and Pier Paolo Patti – shot a documentary retracing each actor’s life, showing the arduous existential journey each experienced throughout the creation of the performance. The theatre granted us all a return home as a journey into memory, giving back to us both the hardship and the joy of awareness.

How did you manage to carry on? After a year of real struggle, seeking support to overcome the impasse, a possibility opened up. We began rehearsals in October 2013 without official approval. There were many concrete problems to face, starting with finding somewhere to live. For nearly three months I had no home, but I found two extraordinary angels who supported us.

I think of Ayla Algan, a great actress and a marvellous 78-year-old woman who, with her husband, brought research theatre to Turkey. She still continues to fight. When I came home at midnight, she would warm up dinner for me and tell me about what they had done in the past…

Then Koza Tamdoğan, former manager of Pina Bausch’s company, a woman who gave me her bed and slept on the sofa for twenty days to support us.

What is more difficult? Being an actress in Italy or a director in Turkey? Being a woman and European in Turkey can be incredibly difficult. But the fundamental difference lies in the willingness to listen. The sentence I was told – “I like your ideas and I’ll give you a chance” – is no longer heard in Italy.

Let’s talk about the performance… We premiered in one of Istanbul’s most conservative districts, Üsküdar. There were many veiled women in the audience. Theatre tickets cost very little, the equivalent of two euros – a small amount even in relation to local salaries. Each district has its own theatre. People who go to one theatre do not go to another: it is a matter of “neighbourhood” life, and neighbourhoods are as large as cities.

The work had a strong impact on audiences: they are not accustomed to seeing Turkish dance-theatre. They are used, rather, to theatre that tells a comprehensible story, where everything is stated and explained. For example, in Turkish there is no word for “ambiguous”. During rehearsals we did not know how to translate “ambiguity”. We undertook a long journey with the actors to enter into an idea of “theatre” they did not possess. After a month I understood who should do what, but I made decisions only after developing the material together with them.

For them it was difficult even simply to “remember”: in Anatolian culture there is a tendency to forget; there is so much to remember or to forget… We encountered very guarded mental structures. A “representational theatre”, such as the Turkish one, does not require actors to explore their emotional universes. I asked one actress what her hopes were and she confessed she had none for herself. For an entire lifetime these actors had simply executed; I asked them to be themselves, which disoriented them. When for twenty or thirty years you have done things in a certain way, it is difficult to change, and yet they went beyond their limits and fought through moments of crisis.

Would you therefore define it as dance-theatre? I met Julie at a workshop, and it was as though – after years of encounters, studies and exchanges – things finally fell into place. She was the right person at the right moment: she helped me greatly to understand and to bring things together. A beautiful relationship was born, one that honours me. Deep communication. At a certain point I told her about my project in Turkey: she liked it very much. She is a generous and open person. I asked her to take part and she accepted.

After Julie, Damiano also joined, working on the choreography for over two months; then the photographer Ninni Romeo – Pina Bausch’s assistant for the Italian creations – and Giuseppe Sangiorgi, assistant director during the first phase. These extraordinary people came to Istanbul with great generosity, accepting to work in difficult conditions, and their presence could not but positively influence the outcome of the performance.

After the Turkish experience, what do you think of the Italian theatre system? After three years spent almost entirely abroad, I feel I do not know the current Italian situation well, but I have the impression that theatre and people are increasingly distant from one another.

Mine was a flight. It was asking myself: “And now what do I do?” Even in the performance, the fundamental question is “What do we do now?” In a sense I chose a form of exile; I experienced solitude; I found myself in situations far greater than me, difficult to comprehend.

Is it political? Back Home tells the story of a family given only fifteen minutes to gather what they could and leave their home forever, constantly asking themselves, “What do we do now?” An entire generation at that time experienced what it meant to be “a stranger twice over”: in the land where one was born and in the land where one grew old.

Even today the world continues to be torn apart by loss. I believe Back Home is a political performance.

Now I would like to tour this production with the Turkish actors, who have shown extraordinary commitment and great talent. And not only them: I think of the technicians who kept the theatre open late into the night because they became passionate about what we were doing.

But I would also like to ask in Italy the same questions I asked in Istanbul. There may be no rifles here, but I believe there is much to say – and to do – to understand how we are living.

If you could ask the President of the Republic, Giorgio Napolitano, one question, what would it be? Why? Why is it never enough for you? Is what has been taken never enough? Why can one not choose to remain in one’s own home? Why can one not work here?

Here everything is less violent; one thinks one risks much less. And yet, in the long term, one risks a great deal. ».

[Andrea Porcheddu / Le Signore Attrici]