The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? Gabriele Brandstetter (Berlin) With the ‘ turn ’ of post-dramatic theatre and conceptual dance since the 1990s, the narration of history and the performance of stories became central in the practices and theory of theatre and dance. In this context, the format of the anecdote gained a key position for strategies in history, and narrating and dealing with the ‘ effect of the real ’ . I will ask how narratives in/ as performances work against the master narratives of social and economic hierarchies and of thought patterns of (neo-)colonialism and power relations. Theory of narration in historiography (H. White, S. Greenblatt) will be discussed, along with a reading of the performances of contemporary artists: Boris Charmatz, Rabih Mroué, and Mette Ingvartsen. What kind of knowledge do the fragments of (autobiographical) anecdotes provide - and how do performing artists practice and challenge ‘ historiography ’ ? In September 2015, as the number of refugees fleeing to Europe from the chaos in their own countries continued to rise, an image flashed round the world: It was the photo of the drowned Syrian boy, Aylan Kurdi cast up on the beach of the island of Lesbos. The image seemed to symbolize the deadly danger that cost the lives of thousands of migrants as they tried to cross the Mediterranean in unseaworthy vessels. In January 2016, the Chinese artist and dissident Ai Weiwei had himself photographed in the pose of Aylan Kurdi: Weiwei called this action a ‘ recreation of the image ’ a spectacular re-enactment. This tableau vivant of the dead was part of Weiwei ’ s engagement with human rights in the Western (! ) world and his work as a campaigner, critical of Europe ’ s refugee and asylum policy. Weiwei ’ s work took the form of a series of installations, such as the happening at Berlin ’ s Gendarmenmarkt in February 2016. This event involved Weiwei decorating the ancient Greek (Doric)-style pillars of the Concert House with the life jackets of refugees who had made it to the island of Lesbos. Reactions to these installations were mixed. While some praised Weiwei ’ s critical engagement, they were outnumbered by critics who felt he was cynically using the suffering of nameless refugees to market his own name. I should like to take this image and its ‘ re-creation ’ - the reenactment of the dead Syrian child by the body of the Chinese artist Weiwei, - as a starting point for seeking an answer to the questions: In whose name? What is re-presented by the ‘ re- ’ of this re-enactment? And what role is played by the body, the story, and the random images of memory? Has a wave of empathy been released by the photo of the dead child, a re-sonance of the ancient myth of the arrival of Odysseus on the island of the Phaiakians, when he was found and taken for dead on the beach by Nausicaa, only to be hospitably received afterwards? Would then the large body of Ai Weiwei re-producing the body of the boy on the beach symbolize a stranger ’ s need for hospitality? Or disqualify it? ‘ Who is afraid of representation? ’ This question (which I have borrowed from Rabih Mroué) will be a recurring theme in the Forum Modernes Theater, 32/ 2 (2021), 288 - 302. Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen DOI 10.2357/ FMTh-2021-0026 following remarks on the subjects of archives, re-enactment, and historiography. Contesting the Canon The status of sources is often referenced as a means of conveying an archive ‘ in transition ’ to an audience. “ Many Sources, Many Voices ” , 1 as Lena Hammergren points out in her reflections on “ source criticism ” 2 and “ sources as social constructions ” . 3 What documents, objects, events are found, what makes them representative and - as in the case of the photo of Aylan Kurdi - gives them iconic status? What is forgotten, suppressed, marginalized, and what is accidentally rediscovered, re-invented? In 1992, at the request of Elisabeth Schweeger, the film-maker Peter Greenaway curated an exhibition in Vienna entitled 100 Objects to Represent the World. 4 The exhibition, which was highly representative, was held to mark the 300th anniversary of the founding of the Vienna Academy. It was shown in two historic and symbolic spaces: in Vienna ’ s (Imperial) Hofburg and in former Habsburg service depots, two spaces with both political and theatrical dimensions. Greenaway borrowed the spaceship idea for the exhibition: “ The Americans sent a payload off into space to represent the world ” 5 as a temporary museum in which the things, ideas, conditions, materials, and bodies are included as exhibits. Greenaway attacked the idea of ‘ representation ’ both playfully and offensively: A museum, a gallery, a collection of artefacts assembled in one space, with one idea, one heading, from one curator - is a particular representation of the world. This one view mocks human endeavor by seeking to be totally representative and encyclopaedic - but brief. [. . .] It should leave nothing out - every material, every technique, every type of every type, every science, every art and every discipline, every construct, illusion, trick, and device we utilize to reflect our vanity and insecurity, and our disbelief that we are so cosmically irrelevant. 6 Greenaway ’ s 100 Objects represent a hybrid and impossible undertaking which - in this temporary archive - realizes the idea which Baudelaire identified as characteristic of the Modern Age: “ le transitoire, le fugitif, le contingent ” . 7 Thus Greenaway appeared as curator, author, indeed as creator with the power to decide what was representative and what was not. 8 A different approach was adopted 20 years later by Neil MacGregor who, as a curator and museum director, developed his project for a representative ‘ 100 Objects ’ by a collaborative selection process. MacGregor, who had been Director of the British Museum in London, published his A History of the World in 100 Objects, 9 in 2010. “ Telling history through things, ” he writes in his preface, “ is what museums are for. ” And he explains this complex undertaking is to breathe narrative life into the (! ) “ history of the world with 100 objects ” . This includes things, artefacts, objects of the most varied kind. From the earliest times to the 20th century, these objects from all parts of the world are supposed to tell us about their travels, changes of ownership via cultures, and time strata, relations between humans, and between them and their environment. Not texts, but things are supposed to stand in for those dimensions of cultural life in actions, exchange, negotiations and find expression in performative acts. However, these objects only ‘ speak ’ when their ‘ stories ’ - these complex interweavings and transitions - are (re)told. And this was what MacGregor had in mind when making his selection: a history in 100 objects that attaches importance to the fact that “ different peoples ” 10 and those whose voices have left no written records should be heard. But 289 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? what may be deemed ‘ representative ’ ? Mac- Gregor stresses that there can be no balanced selection, given the role of chance in oral history. Thus the contingent afterlife of things and the ‘ poetry of things ’ is also evident in meticulous historical and palaeographical research into the provenance of objects: What we need, according to Mac- Gregor, is “ a generous measure of imagination if we want to uncover an artefact ’ s previous life, if we approach it as generously, as poetically as possible in the hope it will yield up the knowledge it bears within it ” . 11 Media participate in different ways in the process of these appropriations and re-animations: The book, which documents with photos and texts the 100 selected objects from the British Museum, originated from a BBC radio series: but how can physical objects, which are invisible to radio audiences, be ‘ represented ’ orally/ auditorily? The listeners who could not see the things had to imagine them, and thus recreate them on the basis of what the historians told them: “ Each listener would make the object in question his own and build his own story around it ” 12 . This constructive and imaginative process of creating 100 objects is an indication of how canonical selection in such transmission processes is unlimited and transformed: a museum in transition! 13 André Malraux first propagated the concept of a ‘ musée imaginaire ’ in 1947 - a virtual museum, as a boundless, open and constantly metamorphosing collection of images. He pursued this further in a 42volume series entitled Universum der Kunst (Universe of Art): a media-supported delimitation of art history, which (while still in the media of books and photography) anticipates global (and yet contingent) availability on the World Wide Web, so that everyone can start his own image collection. The “ total museum for home use ” ? 14 Can this idea of assembling 100 objects to represent the world be applied to the world of dance? What shape would the tension between archive and repertoire (as Diana Taylor puts it in The Archive and the Repertoire) take? Are we witnessing the rise of a dual policy on the part of the archive? If we look at the collection of dance pieces which the Goethe Institute lists in its Internet portal, we find, on the one hand, active support for dance as an art form; on the other hand, the 50 dance pieces chosen to represent dance in Germany have a claim to canonical authority. Is there any escape from the policy of power and exclusion? Can one escape the ‘ mal d ’ archive ’ as Jacques Derrida defines this aporia? Boris Charmatz has been working on the difficult, indeed impossible, project of a ‘ museum in transition ’ and (non)representation. When the dancer and choreographer Boris Charmatz became the director of the “ Centre chorégraphique national de Rennes et de Bretagne ” in 2009, the first thing he did was to change its name from the ‘ Centre national ’ to the ‘ Musée de la danse ’ (the ‘ Dancing Museum ’ or ‘ Museum of Dance ’ ). He declared his aims in a manifesto. 15 His intention was - and still is - to replace the idea of the ‘ Centre ’ and the ‘ National ’ with a concept which does not involve a fixed space (like the middle or centre) nor a (national) identity with its corresponding cultural and political hierarchies. Instead he proclaims a ‘ living archive ’ , in which the idea of ‘ collection ’ , ‘ exhibition ’ , and what is traditionally understood by a ‘ dance archive ’ has been shifted. Charmatz talks of a “ wild approach ” 16 (in which one may discern an echo of Lévi-Strauss ’ s “ wild thinking ” ) and stresses the idea of a museum from the perspective of the “ supposed impermanence, immateriality, and non-collectability of dance ” . 17 Through projects such as 20 Dancers for the XX Century (since 2013) he has been asking: “ What can dance do for museums? ” By ‘ inventing ’ a new kind of museum through his projects, he creates 290 Gabriele Brandstetter transitions between exhibition, gallery, and performance rooms, which, as “ disruptive forces ” 18 , shift the boundaries between ‘ living art ’ and ‘ visual art ’ . Both the idea of the museum and that of choreography and dance are thus “ extended ” , according to Charmatz, to a space for experimental encounters between dancers and audiences; “ itinerant museums ” , like the “ Trojan horse ” 19 are supposed to extend their influence to institutions like the NCC (National Choreographic Center). It was not so much a desire to preserve the national legacy that inspired the ‘ Musée de la Danse ’ project as a desire for archaeological exploration: “ excavating gestures from the past, to be performed by a dancer ’ s body in the present. Metaphorically and quite literally, the collection for a museum of dance resides within and through dancers ’ bodies ” . 20 Here Charmatz is using a formula familiar in dance and performance discourse, namely that of the ‘ body as archive ’ . He develops his productions in collaboration with both dancers and curators. The same goes for the selection of the pieces, and the selection changes depending on the place, the space, and the history of the ‘ museum ’ / exhibition space. What kind of a museum is it if the display area - the venue - no longer has an architecture? No more halls of the White Cube, as in New York ’ s MoMA or London ’ s Tate, nor the foyers and auditoriums of theatres, such as the Palais Garnier, Paris - venues where Charmatz produced various versions of 20 Dancers for the XX Century. 21 What changes when the public space changes, when the public space and the bustling city are the ‘ Musée de la Danse ’ ? There has been much reflection in theatre and performance studies (against the theoretical background of philosophers such as Jacques Rancière, Jean-Luc Nancy, Alain Badiou, and Michel de Certeau) on projects involving dance and choreography of/ in the public or urban sphere and an art of the collective. 22 What would it mean if we were to reverse the perspective and inquire how transitions of the museum to other spaces and time regimes affect the idea of storage, archival practices, and canon-related concepts and hence what is representative in the history of dance and performance? Charmatz ’ s 20 Dancers for the XX Century transports quite deliberately the gestures of the representative and canonical; this can even be seen in the choice of title as well as in the allusion to Maurice Béjart ’ s challenging name for his company, Ballet of the 20th Century, which expressed his conviction that dance was the art form of the 20th century. To be sure, quoting such gestures after the post in postmodernism also means for Charmatz the right to violate and camouflage them while also being ironical at their expense. In Charmatz ’ s dance, highly varied styles and concepts of dance are displayed along a course which leads the audience through the rooms as in an exhibition: Richard Move personifies Martha Graham (in New York, MoMA); Ashley Chen shows excerpts from pieces by Merce Cunningham (Suite for Five, Rainforest); and Raphaëlle Delaunay from, inter alia, Pina Bausch ’ s Café Müller. We also see extracts from canonical works, such as Anna Pavlova ’ s Dying Swan (Le cygne), Nijinsky ’ s Petrushka, and Peggy Grelat-Dupont from Nijinsky ’ s Sacre du printemps. In Reinhild Hoffmann ’ s choreography of Heiner Müller ’ s Die Horatier at the Foreign Affairs Festival (Berlin 2014), Hoffmann played herself. 20 Dancers for the XX Century is performed by dancers who jointly select pieces which they rework as solos, which in turn are designated as ‘ Collective Gestures ’ . The selection procedures raise certain questions: How can solos, even if they are exhibited simultaneously as ‘ collected gestures ’ in separate rooms, tell us something representative about 20 th -century dance? What gaps 291 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? are revealed? And what happens (without the spectator being able to see it) when a transition takes place between different ‘ exhibition ’ rooms? With the exhibition of the project in Berlin 2014 as part of the Foreign Affairs Festival at the Soviet War Memorial in Treptow Park, the Museum was literally expanded and, in transition, turned into an urban space. What is changed by the context? Political history, immanent in the architecture of the monument, adds another layer of meaning to the solos. 23 The Treptower Park was created as a recreational area in the 1880s and in 1949 it turned into a cemetery for more than 3,000 Soviet soldiers, all of them killed during the battle in Berlin in the final weeks of the Second World War. How can we apply the gestures and iconographies embedded in this location to gestures of dance? How do monumental architecture and the history of bodies relate to each other when both narrate the history of the 20th century in their own specific way? 24 Is the utopian desire to let the museum go back to being what its name proclaimed - a museion, an institution for the Muses - still attainable? And how is there friction between the “ wild, expanded and shifting notion of art ” 25 that Charmatz aspires to, and the representative canon, which in spite of everything is continued by the 20 Dancers for the XX Century project? What do we learn of the history of violence, grief and death in this convergence of dancers and visitors to the Soviet War Memorial in Treptower Park? In full view of the monuments, cast in bronze and carved in stone, they affect the solos, the gestures of selected dance pieces from the 20 th century through their time difference and their symbolism. Is there any overlap, for example, between the body language of voguing, or of Michael Jackson re-enactments, or the repetition of Jérôme Bel ’ s Shirtology with the pathosformeln of struggle, of victory, of soldierly and military gestures? Perhaps, on the other hand, the freedom of strolling, of sauntering, and the casualness of the movements of the patrons with the dancers brought them some way back into the institution. The most exciting question - even if it can ’ t be precisely answered - may be: What strokes of good fortune, as a result of the invitation policy of curators and festivals (or that of Foreign Affairs; or in June, of the Dance Congress, Hanover), contribute to the programming of the latter (and how)? What will be displayed/ selected as ‘ representative ’ of the 20th century? Will this not create a feedback loop confirming the canonical authority of institutions (museums, opera houses, festivals)? If the intention was to move away from the idea of a ‘ centre ’ (Centre Chorégraphique), where was the fringe supposed to be? And what ‘ drift ’ from the margins would bring what ‘ transition ’ to the decision-making structures? The question of what traditions, institutions, and strategies influence the decisions of what is to be revived (re-performed/ reenacted) and what is to receive an old or new place in the archive of the performing arts, is closely linked to the politics of representation. The selection criteria have changed in comparison to the concept of the repertoire in the 19th or 20th century. Diana Taylor has subjected these issues to a close critical examination, and has thus not only reflected the discourse but influenced it. 26 But even if today - in casting Charmatz ’ s 20 Dancers for the XX Century for instance - the selection of pieces and dancers would naturally take account of gender, queerness, cultural diversity, and inclusion of non-mainstream pieces, precisely this ‘ correct ’ policy of the representative is - paradoxical though it may seem - an expression of a certain theoretical, Western-flavoured discourse on the postmodern/ postcolonial problems of inclusion or exclusion in the archive of the dominant 292 Gabriele Brandstetter culture. It is Derrida ’ s “ mal d ’ archive ” 27 . There is no escaping these aporia - i. e. the power and authority of archive and canon creation and the simultaneous movement of suppressions and revisionisms. 28 Considering these aporia, the question keeps arising: ‘ Who is afraid of representation? ’ In view of the spread of globalization to the sphere of performance cultures, the demand for a national (! ) cultural legacy has become strangely ambiguous. On the one hand, tending the canon continues to be relevant to cultural policy - e. g. France has the ‘ Centre national de Chorégraphie ’ and Germany the ‘ Tanz-Kulturfonds Erbe ’ or the programme of the Goethe Institute. On the other hand, the practice of the ‘ re- ’ sets the research and re-enactments of historical works against the ‘ canon ’ , or representational programme. Thus, a theoretical and historiographical critical ‘ reading ’ of such processes would have to be able to reveal such tensions and micro-movements of the ‘ transition ’ between archive and embodiment in a ‘ close reading ’ . This is where we see interweavings, new entanglements and also breaches between otherness - historical, cultural, and sexual - and clichés of identity. For example, the re-construction of Mary Wigman ’ s dance cycle Schwingende Landschaft/ Shifting Landscape, 1929, by Fabian Barba (2009) is an amalgam, or rather an assemblage, of various modes and codes of a process of re-doing, re-presenting, reembodying; a performance which these practices and transversals of the ‘ re- ’ implicitly and explicitly reflected (as Christel Stalpaert has shown in her article “ Re-enacting Modernity ” ). 29 Barba comes from Ecuador, where he trained as a dancer (Modern Dance Ballet, and practice in the tradition of those expressive dancers who emigrated to Latin America). He did a second training course at P. A. R. T.S., in Brussels - a course that combined contemporary practices, release techniques, and the theory of the ‘ reflective dancer ’ . With this mix of different cultural and historical styles of movement he embodies, as a male dancer, the solos of Mary Wigman on the basis of prints which are documented in the archive by photos, texts, and (in some cases) film. An archive persona of the dance icon ‘ Wigman ’ (and her dances of the ‘ shifting landscape ’ widely regarded as ‘ feminine ’ ) is re-presented here in a new form, like a lost legacy that is only restored to its rightful owner via another physical culture (in more ways than one) - a “ Re-enactment in Perpetual Modulation ” . 30 Talk of the body as an archive has been an element of discourse in the realm of dance for some time now. Only the emphasis varies depending on whether dancers are using this metaphor or theoreticians are discussing it. In 2004, the dancer Koffi Kôkô said in an interview: “ The body is a library ” . 31 He took this idea from cultures of memory and oral tradition in Africa - even in the media age - and pointed out that the task facing contemporary dance is to take concrete decisions on “ how to deal with the library the body has stored ” 32 . However, what this ‘ library ’ , this archive of the body specifically consists of is difficult to define. It is not so much the content as the access routes to this physical ‘ storage ’ and the possibilities of transmission that are experienced and addressed by dancers. Martin Nachbar distinguishes between ‘ archive ’ and ‘ storehouse ’ in his commentaries on his re-enactment (redoing) of Dore Hoyer ’ s Afectos Humanos (1965) entitled Urheben/ Aufheben (2008). The body archive, according to Nachbar in conversation with myself and other students, is the dimension of active knowledge which enables us to call up what has been learned. The ‘ storehouse ’ , on the other hand, contains - in no particular order - the wide variety of unconscious habits of movement: “ The ar- 293 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? chive cannot exist without remembering, repeating and also differentiating the body ” . 33 Here Nachbar draws upon the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze. 34 Deleuze ’ s thinking is also the central theoretical reference in André Lepecki ’ s article “ The Body as Archive: Will to Re-Enact and the Afterlives of Dances ” . 35 Lepecki discusses the basic questions of the debate about re-enactment in dance, between archive and act(ing), with reference to Foucault ’ s The Archaeology of Knowledge (1972) and Deleuzian thoughts of reconstruction as re-activation; creating “ compossibles ” and “ incompossibles ” [. . .] to re-define what is understood by “ archiving ” and what is understood by “ re-enacting ” . And Lepecki carries his thesis so far as to make archive and body identical: “ The body is archive and archive is body ” . 36 While the theoretical discourse considers questions of temporality, processes of remembering and forgetting, media for storage and transmission, and aspects of irreproducibility, dancers and choreographers, in their specific and individual research, often ask how this ‘ archive ’ should be composed, and how and why transmissions should take place. Deborah Hay comes to a completely different conclusion to the above-mentioned theories on the ‘ body as archive ’ : “ My body, the archive, will not be archived. ” 37 She relates how, on the occasion of a dance commissioned by Ralph Lemon for a project at the New York Museum of Modern Art (Blues, 2012), she gave instructions to the 22 dancers in writing - in the form of emails and feedback - in the belief that such a form of transmission was possible. However, it was not satisfactory, as the text and the dialogues only came alive through the physical practice and the different embodiments of each of the dancers. Hay remembers, “‘ Blues ’ was a bittersweet reminder that there is no method to convey my work because my work is practice. That is all. It is a practice for the choreographer, the dancer and the audience ” 38 . There are no general rules or methods for the transition between the museum and the body archive. A historiography of these trends and turns of re-enactments and re-doings would have to reflect such differentiations between ways of working and shifts of transmission. And that would mean choosing the close-up perspective, the microperspective. Generalizations lead to ideology - such as ‘ the body as archive ’ . Nevertheless, is not the entire ‘ archival turn ’ - by which I mean the trend that began in the 1990s (e. g. with Marina Abramovi č’ s The Biography, 1999) characterized by ‘ re ’ words such as repetition, reconstruction (of historically informed music or dance practices), creative or deconstructive re-enactments, and the many ‘ re ’ words: (re-play, redoing, re-making, etc.). Was this discourse movement reacting to delimitations of the postmodern, post-postmodern, and the effects of post-migration? Or is it seeking an answer to these de-limitations? Has a search partly in the gap between ‘ historical ’ , ‘ proprietorial ’ , and the multiple medial practices of appropriation and transference made those particular boundaries and identities obsolete? Back in 1989, in his pioneering article “ Repeatability, Reconstruction and Beyond, ” 39 Mark Franko pointed out that the reconstruction of a dance piece, even if sources and documents have been well preserved in the archive, is a ‘ reinvention ’ up to a point. This process contains a study and analysis of sources which ultimately does not end up as a reproduction (or ‘ repetition ’ ) of a performance “ up to a point ” , but a “ creation ” which “ actively rethinks historical sources. ” 40 Considering the fragmentary nature of dance/ theatre history and the “ deep storage ” 41 of the archive, how can we imagine the “ Museum as Art Practice ” 42 , as Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblettsuggests? This means recognizing that art itself is a 294 Gabriele Brandstetter form of re-search and that, conversely, science is an art, 43 a form of “ choreographing history ” 44 , as Susan Foster has shown. This also means, above all, reading historiographical traditions against the grain, to confront them with a counter-history. Are not Western perspectives, traditions, documents (sources), and theories dominant in the greater part of performances and the selection of works and discourses on reenactment and performative re-appropriation of the cultural legacy? Who is afraid of Representation? 45 is the title of a performance by the Lebanese artist Rabih Mroué. It is the performance of an act of stocktaking that also takes stock of performance art: a stocktaking of the most representative works of Western (European-American) body art (performances by artists whose works involve self-inflicted bodily injuries). In Mroué ’ s performance two series of data are confronted with annals of historiography, whereby the order of the representations is not fixed, but determined on the basis of a game of chance. Chance is a player in this performance. Both series of events (performance and history) are reports on pain, physical violence, and wounds. The female performer Lina Saneh recounts, in the first person and in laconic, encyclopaedic diction, the self-inflicted wounds of her art. Between them steps Rabih Mroué. He “ represents ” the spree killer Hassan Ma ’ moun, who has shot dead eight of his colleagues: Lina, what is your name? My name is Chris Burden. And you, what ’ s yours, Rabih? Me? My name is Hassan. Hassan Ma ’ moun. Actually, I am the one who shot all these people. And how about you? I only shot my arm. 46 The question of the “ simultaneity of the non-simultaneous ” 47 is directed by Mroué at the history of violence in the 1970s. War and terror run parallel to the monologues of performance artists of both sexes and their painful and cruel physical experiments in their struggle for individuality. Mroué asks why it is well-nigh impossible to imagine, in today ’ s Middle East, the body art that was so popular in the 1960s and 1970s. “ It is a wellknown fact that the religious communities run the political and public institutions in Lebanon, strangling any attempt to build a state based on the rule of law. Could this be the reason for the absence of Body Art in that region? ” 48 The dramaturgy of Mroué ’ s piece however, does not aim to re-enact body-art performances, nor to re-construct the terror of the killing spree. The performance runs more in the mode of the ‘ re ’ arts. The events, the acts of cruelty, are not embodied as a “ theatre of cruelty ” , 49 but are ‘ re-ported ’ from sources and documents in the archives. Lina Saneh reports with the aid of multiple media, language, text projections, and projected body tableaus, on the self-inflicted injuries of artists such as Chris Burden, Marina Abramovi č , Gina Pane, and Orlan. Rabih Mroué quotes, in the first person, the course of the violent act of Hassan Ma ’ moun, as in a body performance, while Saneh behind the screen marks the positions of the dead bodies. Their outlines then remain fixed on the screen like a police sketch. The sober report conveys the shock of the violent deed more vividly than any re-enacting or embodiment: Rabih: I shot Marc with nine bullets in his chest and hips and back . . . they entered him from behind, came out the front, hit the wall . . . he died. Sonia: Several bullets . . . one of them in the head, leading to the fracture and pulverization of the skull, and a leakage of brain matter. I used exploding bullets. She died. 50 Between these narratives, brief reports detailing events from Lebanese history, involving war and terror, have been inserted. 295 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? These montages and juxtapositions question the legitimacy of art, of body art as performance, and of the ‘ Self ’ . They also point to the limits of a policy of representation in the face of violence and terror; as Rustom Bharucha argues: “ Dramaturgically, these juxtapositions concretize the infinitesimal limits of different kinds of representations ” . 51 Mroué ’ s performance is a challenge for the spectator, as emotion and unfeelingness confront each other. His performance is also a challenge for historiography. In the confrontation of a political history of religiously motivated violence in the Middle East and the self-inflicted wounds of body art, the perspectives shift to the narrative of performance historiography, and of dealing with documents and their contexts. What events are relevant, worthy of a re-presentation? And how does a store of sources move “ into transition ” if the “ space of coincidence, accident, and incident ” - instead of an ordering of the factual - opens up situations of “ unpredictability ” ? 52 On the Margins of History - The Function of Anecdote The position of the coincidence between event and documentation, and between the selection of what is worth preserving and the canon is also of great relevance for the practice and theory of historiography. Reinhart Koselleck has described coincidence as a “ motivation rest ” . 53 It marks, so to speak, the blind spot and the openness between fact and fiction in the narrative of historiography. A historiography that includes this transformativity of the ‘ material ’ and reflects the contingency of the processes will necessarily end up at the controls governing the interactions between art, science and society - a dynamic which, in the terminology of ‘ New Historicism ’ , is known as the “ circulation of social energies ” : 54 How does one relate the history of such processes? How does one relate the transfusions between the ephemeral and precarious status of ‘ objects ’ , which have been consigned to oblivion and which ‘ ruin ’ themselves as ‘ documents ’ , and an archive, a magazine, a fund, that under certain circumstances transforms itself? In a traditional chronological history - as in art or performance history - such processes cannot be meaningfully consolidated. By telling ‘ history ’ as representative history, one misses the obstinate peculiarities of the things that have been left out - the transfusions between object, document, source, and restitution in a story. What if it were a story of relics, which are not consistent with a coherent view of history (in the sense of the historical concept of a “ collective singular ” , after Koselleck), 55 but one that had to be observed from the edges? In such transitions between social processes and the subsequent construction (invention) of a story from the events and relics, the anecdote plays an outstanding role. This little tale, (a form of “ nanophilology ” 56 ) becomes a transmitter and catalyst to those restructurings of events, documents, historical narratives, and their transference of “ social energies ” 57 (i. e. what Stephen Greenblatt calls “ cultural poetics ” ). Anecdotes are the ‘ petites histoires ’ , so to speak, the ‘ spot ’ , the blemish, the breach in the history, in contrast to the ‘ grand récit ’ of an integrative, progressive historiography which knows where it is going. 58 Greenblatt, in his later reflections, stressed the relevance of the anecdote, with reference to Joel Fineman, who in his ground-breaking essay “ The History of the Anecdote: Fiction and Fiction ” 59 presented a subtle theory of deconstructive historiography. Fineman described the anecdote as the “ narration of a singular event ” , 60 as a “ historem ” , 61 the history as a whole ( “ the whole and the rim ” 62 ). Punctuated: a “ double intersection, the formal play 296 Gabriele Brandstetter of anecdotal hole and whole, an ongoing anecdotal dilation and contraction of the entrance to history ” 63 - and therein consisting of “ the aporetic operation of anecdotal form ” . 64 This form and function make the anecdote, whose etymological meaning is the unpublished or (not yet published), 65 into a twin pillar of coincidence and the periphery: “ If anecdotes on the one hand record the peculiarity of the fortuitous - and [. . .] and have closer connections to the periphery than with [. . .] the wearisome average - they will on the other hand be told as representative anecdotes [. . .] ” , 66 i. e. they mediate between the “ blind sequence of limited moments and a comprehensive strategy ” 67 of narration. They are plucked out in passing from the bustle of experience and receive a certain form. This form is on the one hand sufficiently provisional for the chance nature of the anecdote to be still recognizable - otherwise we would describe it as weightier and more pompous than ‘ history ’ (in the singular) - but on the other hand so snappy that one can endlessly repeat it. 68 Not only the chance aspect, the view ‘ from the periphery ’ , but also the tendency of the anecdote to collect and/ or discuss ‘ discards ’ , ‘ rejects ’ , or marginalia of the ‘ grands récits ’ , 69 make it a subversive element of ‘ counter-history ’ . 70 Thus dealing with the anecdotal becomes a method of tracking down “ whatever is thrown out of official history, the ‘ other ’ of power, and the means by which it was discarded ” . 71 Is it this glimpse of that which has been driven to the fringes of the official historiography, the discarded, the newly gathered up, following the anek-doton through the back streets of history that produces the effect of the real (as Fineman says)? 72 In what way have such transfusions (and Greenblatt ’ s circulations of energies) had any effects on that process and those historical replies, which have been produced in dance with the ‘ archival turn ’ of recent years? 73 The transfusions, or “ negotiations ” 74 alternate between archive, relics (objects and documents), and various ‘ stagings ’ in showrooms. Like Greenblatt, we could ask what negotiations, omissions, resonances, and energy circulations take place here. And whether, and in what way, the chance nature of the anecdote and/ or the anecdotal, play a part in such productions. From the wide range of possible examples, I choose extracts, by way of example, from the ‘ exhibition ’ 69 Positions by Mette Ingvartsen. 75 I wonder how she will present in this play those various historical events which in the performance installation take up so many time scales. Ingvartsen leads the visitors through the performance, which in a spatial and sequential sense is laid out like an exhibition, a guided tour through a selection of stations and events of performance art, which are represented by documents from various media (texts, photos, videos). This selection follows a given structure - a matrix of selection. The emphasis is on group activities that feature nakedness and sexuality. The figure of ‘ 69 ’ refers to the year, so to speak, as a cross-section 76 of the performances dating from that year 1969, or the 1960s liberation movement in general. In this context, the legendary performance of Dionysus in 69 by Richard Schechner was quoted and - symbolically - the 69 sexual position. For this historical time frame, where documents and ‘ keywords ’ configure a kind of ‘ dual emplacement ’ , an exhibition set with partition walls and video screens has been moved into the theatre. The audience moves within this marked-out space, consisting of a stage and a temporary Museum of Performance History. It is history in the sense of historical retrospect (regarding history/ showroom of history) and in the sense of a story, an oral history in the here and now. 297 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? Both as a guided tour and as a story, the performance is divided into three parts. In the first part, Ingvartsen leads her visitors through the selection from the history of performance art that she researched for this installation. As she does so, she recapitulates, relates, and comments on the ideas and actions and their contexts: the themes of sexual liberation, the anti-war movement and the anti-capitalism of the 1960s. While talking, she quotes from documentary letters, which are displayed in a glass case nearby; she refers to Carolee Schneeman ’ s Meat Joy, speaking of her correspondence with the artist and the latter ’ s suggestion of a re-enactment in the form of an anecdote. The visitors are confronted with what is, for the moment, an impossible position of having to decide whether this story is fact or fiction. Another method is used to transfer the disrobing scene from Anna Halprin ’ s Parades and Changes 77 . At the time the scene caused a scandal, nudity on the stage was an affront, and the presentation by Halprin of her idea of an ‘ action ’ , of ‘ doing something ’ , in which nothing more than the slow-motion act of dressing and undressing while maintaining constant eye contact with the public was repeated three times, was provocative precisely because no ‘ acting ’ was involved, just mere ‘ actions ’ . Ingvartsen ’ s transference to the context of her Exhibition/ Installation retained the basic operations and structures of this scene, but she minimized it, as it were, ‘ anecdotally ’ ; perhaps she succeeded precisely because she managed to create a moment of alienation, while at the same time capturing the vibration/ resonance of the historical event, not with a group of performers, but with a disrobing Solo. Ingvartsen herself slowly sheds her garments. Because the spectators are not viewing the stage from afar but are standing cheek by jowl in the same room and are sharing it with Ingvartsen, the feeling of exposure to alien eyes is more intense. Nakedness and the naked body appear among the clad both in the way in which Ingvartsen uses eye contact, directly and intensively, with the spectator (whose compliance she commands) and in action as she takes off her clothes, whereupon she immediately repeats the action - as the ‘ anek-doton ’ (the un-published). 78 Not Ingvartsen ’ s nakedness, but the ‘ stripping naked ’ (of all) is what is going on in this ‘ intermediate state ’ . The framework, the setting, and the physical transference of the tale interact to create what Fineman has called the ‘ effect of the real ’ , the conjuring up of proof of the historical event, its evidential value, and materiality. Is the fragmentary nature of performance history and its re-enactments justly conspicuous for that vein, the (apparent) selection of coincidences of the 69 Positions Ingvartsen, in the totality of this work, does precisely what historiography as narrative has done since time immemorial; namely, telling history in a way that has a beginning, a middle and an end - a whole, as defined by Aristotle in his Poetics (although it also notes the artificiality of the performance archive). In the second part of her performance, Ingvartsen goes from the performance history of the 1960s to the present. She talks about herself and shows excerpts from her own performance history: a reenactment, a transposition and documentation (narrative, performed nude) of pieces she has been producing since 2005. Finally, in the third part, she talks about future sexual practices: She talks about and quotes from Beatriz Preciado ’ s cult book Testo Junkie (2013) and translates it into theatre practice; she looks forward to sexuality in the age of the ‘ post-human ’ , in which objects, things (a lamp, a bulb, a chair) can become an object of desire and ‘ partner ’ in the sexual act. Now that we have reached an apparently coherent history of performance and sexu- 298 Gabriele Brandstetter ality, is this the signal for the broken-down, in-coherent and rupture-ridden principle of the anecdotal to return? Traces that lose themselves, moments that flare up only to fade away leaving unanswered questions behind, after the mending of the link between archive and ‘ now ’ , after the canon and its rewrite, and after relics of this performance, whose story and history crumble into fragments. If artists (and scientists) - even now - are experts at quoting, appropriating and plundering archives, storerooms and funds: how will the remnants and fare be processed in renewed, re-appropriated contexts? This is an open question, which in various ways affects materialities and their uses - until the last remnants and abandoned relics are all washed away. Let us conclude with the question we raised at the beginning: In what way is the work of artists in the performing arts a challenge for historiography? Do the structures of a ‘ doing history ’ , which are produced by artists in dance and performance, have an influence on critical historiography? If so, every archival turn and museum in transit would find the prospect of a move from the centre to the outskirts more necessary than ever: the search for accommodation and temporary shelters. The ‘ documents ’ that are washed up here call for a re-vision of conventions in the relation and ‘ doing of history ’ . Among the things that are important today ‘ to represent the world ’ , we might include a piece of driftwood, a piece of wood from a ship that transported refugees across the Mediterranean. This piece of wood represents an art project, a transfer that has made possible a re-construction out of the fragmentary accounts of refugees. Under the name of the ‘ Cucula ’ project in Berlin, refugees from Africa are working on furniture design and other handicrafts (such as cabinet-making and design) while not forgetting their stories of origin and flight. Could this not serve as a social model - “ culturally poetic ” (in the Greenblatt sense) - directed against forgetting and against discourse for its own sake, against the self-restoration of institutions and policies of the so-called ‘ Old World ’ ? Performativity of historiography would then mean a restructuring of the categories of narration and the evaluation of the canon. Notes 1 Lena Hammergren, “ Many Sources, Many Voices ” , in: Alexandra Carter (ed.), Rethinking Dance History: A Reader, London et al. 2004, pp. 20 - 31. 2 Ibid., p. 20. 3 Ibid., p. 22. 4 Cf. Peter Greenaway, A History of the World in 100 Objects, Stuttgart 1992. 5 Ibid., “ Introduction ” (with unnumbered pages). 6 Ibid. 7 Cf. Charles Baudelaire, Le Peintre de la vie moderne, Œ uvres complètes, pub. by Y. G. le Dantec, Paris 1954, p. 892. 8 Five years later, in 1997, Peter Greenaway produced a second version of A History of the World in 100 Objects, this time as a theatrical version. In July 1997, first in Salzburg and then in numerous international theatres, he displayed the 100 objects in a new setting as a ‘ Prop Opera ’ , in which the objects were no longer shown transitively in an exhibition, but embedded in a narrative, accompanied by the soundtrack of Jean- Baptiste Barriere (engineered at IRCAM, Paris), composed by Kaija Saarinho. 9 Neil MacGregor, A History of the World in 100 Objects, London 2010 (German title: Eine Geschichte der Welt in 100 Objekten, Munich 2011). 10 Ibid., p. 18. 11 Ibid., p. 15. 12 Ibid., p. 12. 13 At the same time, of course, the 100 objects were shown visually on the Museum ’ s web- 299 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? site. They were also published later by Mac- Gregor in book form. 14 Cf. Werner Grasskamp, André Malraux und das imaginäre Museum. Die Weltkunst im Salon, Munich 2014, pp. 78 - 80. 15 For the English version, printed in Dance Research Journal, cf.: Boris Charmatz, “ Manifesto ” , in: Dance Research Journal 46/ 3 (December 2014), pp. 45 - 49. 16 Cf. Interview: “ Boris Charmatz and Ana Janevski ” , ed. by Leora Morinis (MoMA 2013), see https: / / www.moma.org/ momao rg/ shared/ pdfs/ docs/ calendar/ charmatz-jane vski-inteview.pdf, pp. 1 - 5, here: p. 4 [accessed 14 May 2021]. 17 Cf. “ Interview with Boris Charmatz ” , in: Dance Research Journal 46/ 3 (December 2014), pp. 49 - 52, here: p. 50. 18 Ibid., p. 51. 19 Ibid., p. 47. 20 Cf. Interview: “ Boris Charmatz and Ana Janevski ” , p. 4. 21 Boris Charmatz, 20 Dancers for the XX Century, Museum of Modern Art, New York 2013; Palais Garnier, Paris 2013; Treptower Park, Berlin 2014; Tate Gallery, London 2015. 22 Cf. inter alia: Kai van Eikels, Die Kunst des Kollektiven. Performance zwischen Theater, Politik und Sozio-Ökonomie, Paderborn 2013. 23 Cf. Gabriele Brandstetter, Stefan Troebst and Barbara Gronau: “ Choreopolitics: Gestures of History, Gestures of Dance ” , in: Barbara Gronau, Matthias von Hartz and Carolin Hochleiter (eds.): How to Frame. On the Threshold of Performing and Visual Arts, Berlin 2016, pp. 142 - 149. 24 Ibid., p. 143. 25 Cf. Charmatz, Interview, MoMA 2013, p. 5. 26 Diana Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire. Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas, Durham/ London 2003. 27 Cf. Jacques Derrida, Mal d ’ Archive, Paris 1995. 28 Cf. Michel Foucault, who examines the problem of the (historical) differentness of what ‘ archive ’ (in the singular) theoretically means in his study L ’ archéologie du savoir: “ Thus the analysis of the archive comprises a privileged area which is both close to us, but different from our everyday lives, it is the edge of the time that surrounds our present, towers over it and points at it in its differentness, it is what limits us from outside ourselves ” . Michel Foucault, Archäologie des Wissens, Frankfurt a. M. 1973, p. 189. 29 Cf. Christel Stalpaert, “ Re-enacting Modernity: Fabian Barbas ‘ A Mary Wigman Dance Evening ’ (2009) ” , in: Dance Research Journal 43/ 1 (Summer 2011), pp. 90 - 95. 30 Ibid., p. 94. 31 Johannes Odenthal, “‘ The Body is a Library ’ - Conversation with Koffi Kôkô ” , in: The Third Body. Das Haus der Kulturen der Welt und die Performing Arts, Berlin 2004, pp. 49 - 52. 32 Ibid., p. 50. 33 Martin Nachbar, “ Training Remembering ” , in: Dance Research Journal 44/ 2 (Winter 2012), pp. 5 - 13, here: p. 11. 34 Martin Nachbar, “ When I remember something, I don ’ t bring something back from the past to the present, but I contract and actualize it through myself and my senses (Deleuze 1988) ” . Ibid., p. 11 [Deleuze, Bergsonism, Ort 1988]. 35 André Lepecki, “ The Body as Archive: Will to Re-Enact and the Afterlives of Dances ” , in: Dance Research Journal 42/ 2 (Winter 2010), pp. 28 - 48. 36 Ibid., p. 31. 37 Deborah Hay, “ My Body, the Archive ” , in: id., Using the Sky. A Dance, London/ New York 2015, pp. 124 - 127, here: p. 127. 38 Ibid., p. 126. 39 Mark Franko, “ Repeatability, Reconstruction and Beyond ” , in: Theatre Journal 41/ 1 (1989), pp. 56 - 74. 40 Ibid. p. 60. 41 Cf. Ingrid Schaffner (ed.), Deep Storage. Arsenal der Erinnerung. Sammeln, Speichern, Archivieren in der Kunst, Exhibition Catalogue, Munich 1997. 42 Cf. Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, “ Refugium für Utopien? Das Museum - Einleitung ” , in: Jörn Reisen, Michael Fahr and Annelei Ramsbrock (eds.), Die Unruhe der Kultur. Potentiale des Utopischen, Weilerswist 2004, pp. 187 - 297; for the English ver- 300 Gabriele Brandstetter sion of Kirshblatt-Gimblett ’ s text, see: https: / / www.nyu.edu/ classes/ bkg/ web/ museutopia.pdf [accessed 14 May 2021]. 43 Cf. Gabriele Brandstetter, “ Aufführung und Aufzeichnung - Kunst der Wissenschaft? ” , in: Erika Fischer-Lichte, Bettina Brandl-Risi and Jens Roselt (eds.), Kunst der Aufführung - Aufführung der Kunst, Berlin 2004, pp. 40 - 50. Quod vide Susan Foster: Choreographing history, Bloomington/ Indianapolis 1995. 44 Ibid. 45 Performance seen by me, 24. 02. 2005, Hebbel Theater, Berlin. 46 Quotation from unpublished typescript by Rabih Mroué. 47 Reinhart Koselleck, “ Zum Verhältnis von Vergangenheit und Geschichte in der neueren Geschichte ” , in: id., Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten. Frankfurt a. M. 1989, pp. 17 - 105. 48 Typescript of the text of the performance, ibid., pp. 1 - 2. 49 Antonin Artaud, “ Le Théâtre de la Cruauté ” , in: id., Œ uvres complètes, Paris 1978, pp. 86 - 96, here: p. 86. 50 Typescript, ibid., unnumbered page. 51 Rustom Bharucha, Terror and Performance, London/ New York 2014, p. 164. 52 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, “ Refugium für Utopien? “ , p. 195. 53 Cf. Reinhart Koselleck, “ Der Zufall als Motivationsrest in der Geschichtsschreibung ” , in: id., Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, Frankfurt a. M. 1989, pp. 158 - 175. 54 Cf. Stephen Greenblatt, Wunderbare Besitztümer. Die Erfindung des Fremden: Reisende und Entdecker, Berlin 1994. 55 In his reflections on the theory of historiography, “‘ Erfahrungsraum ’ und ‘ Erwartungshorizont ’” , Koselleck stresses the artificiality of documents and tradition. Cf. Reinhart Koselleck, “‘ Erfahrungsraum ’ und ‘ Erwartungshorizont ’ - zwei historische Kategorien ” , in: id., Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, Frankfurt a. M. 1989, pp. 349 - 375. He speaks of remnants of a past that are only turned into sources by the work of the historian. (ibid., p. 349) Eric Hobsbawm is even more scathing about the artificiality of tradition in that he speaks of the “ Invention of Tradition ” . Cf. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, Cambridge 1983, pp. 1 - 15. 56 Cf. Ottmar Ette (ed.), Nanophilologie. Literarische Kurz- und Kürzestformen in der Romania, Tübingen 2008. 57 Cf. Greenblatt, Wunderbare Besitztümer, p. 115. 58 Ibid., p. 10. 59 Cf. Joel Fineman, “ The History of the Anecdote. Fiction and Fiction ” , in: Harold Aram Veeser (ed.), The New Historicism, London/ New York 1989, pp. 49 - 76. 60 Ibid., p. 56. 61 Ibid., p. 57. 62 Ibid., p. 61. 63 Ibid., p. 64. 64 Ibid. 65 Cf. Greenblatt, Wunderbare Besitztümer, p. 11; Fineman, “ The History of the Anecdote ” , p. 61. 66 Cf. Stephen Greenblatt and Catherine Gallagher, “ Counterhistory and the Anecdote ” , in: id., Practicing New Historicism, Chicago 2000, pp. 49 - 73, here: pp. 54 and 68. 67 Ibid., p. 11. 68 Ibid., p. 12. 69 Cf. Jean-François Lyotard, “ La délégitimation ” , in: id., La condition postmoderne, Paris 1979, pp. 63 - 68. 70 Cf. Greenblatt and Gallagher, ibid., pp. 54 and 68. 71 Ibid., p. 70. 72 Cf. Fineman, ibid., p. 61: “ The anecdote produces the effect of the real, the occurrence of the contingency, by establishing an event as an event . . . ” . 73 By ‘ archival turn ’ I mean a different development than that of the “ lecture performance and its narrative forms on the stages of the 1990s. ” Cf. Gabriele Brandstetter, “ Geschichte(n)Erzählen im Performance/ Theater der neunziger Jahre ” , in: Erika Fischer-Lichte, Doris Kolesch and Christel Weiler (eds.), Transformationen. Theater der neunziger Jahre, Berlin 1999, pp. 27 - 42. The turn that one might call an ‘ archival turn ’ combines the differing variants of the ‘ re- 301 The Effect of the Real: How Do Performing Artists Affect Historiography? enactment ’ trend with the reflections on the Tanz-Archiv, Tanz-Erbe (see the institutional funding of the Tanzfonds Erbe) and a revision of the relationship between archive, repertoire, and reconstruction; cf.: Gabriele Brandstetter, “ Stocktaking in the Realm of Dance. Scholarship on Dance: Theory and Practice ” , in: Martina Hochmuth, Krassimira Kruschkova and Georg Schöllhammer (eds.), It Takes Place When It Doesn ’ t. On Dance and Performance Since 1989, Wien 2006, pp. 73 - 79; Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire. 74 For this concept as a key turn of the New Historicism, cf. Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespeare Negotiations. The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England - The New Historicism. Studies in Cultural Poetics, Berkeley 1988. 75 Mette Ingvartsen, 69 Positions, premiered in 2014 in Essen. 76 With this ‘ cross section ’ Ingvartsen is following a historiographic concept for transferring random documents and their historical context into a representative narrative. Cf. relevant literature: Friedrich A. Kittler, Aufschreibesystem. 1800/ 1900, Munich 2003; Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht, 1926. Ein Jahr am Rand der Zeit, Frankfurt a. M. 2003; Stefan Andriopolous and Bernhard J. Dotzler (eds.): 1929. Beiträge zur Archäologie der Medien, Frankfurt a. M. 2002; Florian Illies, 1913. Der Sommer des Jahrhunderts, Frankfurt a. M. 2015; Deutsches Literaturarchiv Marbach, August 1914. Literatur und Krieg, Marbach 2013. 77 Premiered in 1965 in Stockholm; on the recreation of this piece, Parades and Changes, Replays (2008) by Ann Collod, cf. Gabriele Brandstetter, “ Re-Play. Choreographie von Stoffen zwischen Mode und Performance: Anna Halprins ‘ Parades and Changes ’” , in: Gertrud Lehnert, Räume der Mode, Munich 2012, pp. 217 - 233. 78 Cf. Gabriele Brandstetter, “ Der Körper als Anekdote. Beobachtungen zum Bewegungstheater der 90er Jahre ” , in: MLN Gesture and Gag. The Body as Medium 115.3, Baltimore 2000, pp. 403 - 422. 302 Gabriele Brandstetter