Earlier this month I had the pleasure of attending ARD. Hosted by FACT in their Box space, and curated by Jessica El Mal & Elodie Sacher as part of arts initiative A.Mal, this event brought together performances developed by a collective of artist-researchers whose interests coalesce around themes connected with the political, social and environmental realities of North African contexts.
Ard is the Arabic word for soil, ground, territory or homeland. Interestingly (for me at least) Ard is also a false cognate of the Dutch ‘Aard’, which shares its root with the German ‘Erde’ and the English ‘Earth’. But before I digress, let me roll back and tell you about the actual event.
To begin, Jessica El Mal led an interactive discussion on behalf of Esmat Publishing (Cairo) exploring the intricacies of Ard with audience members. Attendees had been invited to bring source material – texts, poems, thoughts, ideas – that connected with their own interpretations of Ard, or the significance of the ‘thing’ that’s beneath our feet. I imagine that this in itself would have been a grounding experience, setting the tone for the proceeding performances. However due to other commitments (my day job) I was unable to catch this section of the programme and only managed to get there part way through the second performance.
When I arrived Sabrina Mumtaz Hasan was in full flow of her performative lecture ‘Parasitic Soils’ . Reading her paper to the amplified sounds of a pulsating gut, Hasan juxtaposed research into the benefits of parasites with an examination of the anti-migrant rhetoric coming from countries in the Global North. Migrants are described as parasites. Flipping this metaphor on its head with subtle humour, Hasan described how parasites are being used to treat certain autoimmune diseases prevalent in the Global North. Ailments caused, in part, by our commitment to sanitisation. Hasan’s rehabilitation of the parasite seeks to flatten social hierarchies by identifying reciprocal relationships as the most effective vehicles for societal change. From the micro to macro, nothing survives in isolation. This is where the lecture ends, leaving the unsaid hanging in the air: the false borders we impose and defend are good for no one.

After a short interval, Hallima Imane Zoubai, facilitates ‘Transmission Is a Bodily Circuit’, a performative essay exploring Moroccan oral and somatic musical traditions. Sat on the floor we’re asked to lay our hands on our neighbours’ so that we can clap together. We practise: my left palm faces the ceiling to receive the right hand of the person on my left, and my right hand greets the left hand of the person on my right with a slap. It is confusing, particularly as I am so uncoordinated. Next, Zoubai taps out a series of increasingly intricate rhythms for us to repeat together. It is hot and we are all sticky. Somehow this adds to the performance with the exchange of sweat enhancing the physical sensation and somatic memory of the claps. We are clumsy, laughing and it is fun.
Accompanying this participatory performance is a photocopied pamphlet or zine: a handwritten text briefly describing the historical and cultural contexts of this practice. We learn that the tradition in Morocco is not to preserve music by writing it down, rather it is transmitted from one person to another through a relational process. The teacher who transmits the song to is called a Tebaâa (طابعة) a word that shares its root with the Arabic word for impression (intibaa – انطباع).
This reminded me of a conversation I had with a person from Dublin a few months ago who was telling me about their daughter learning the fiddle (violin) in the Irish tradition. The child is taught through memorising the sound of the songs and the feel of the instrument rather than learning how to read musical notation.
In both instances the songs are carried with you in your body and are only able to be transmitted to another through an active relationship. The song is alive and relies upon connection and interaction to stay living, and as such leaves itself open to mutation through (mis)translation or novel reception in the same way any language does. The responsibility for the song is collectivised. In contrast, cultures such as ours privilege preservation through recording and we practise music through rote learning. Relationality is lost. Songs are preserved in notation, creating a rigid hierarchy of knowledge: ‘correctness’ is copied and remains static.
These thoughts of preservation circle back to Hasan’s lecture. Maintaining correctness through instruction leaves little room for novelty to flourish. Keeping things sanitised or protected from parasites (new relationships) results in autoimmune diseases (cultural and physical). Ard, Aard, Earth: as our struggles coincide, we need novelty to sustain ourselves; seeking new possibilities in the unknown is how we build shared meaning together, a language for now.

Whilst this web of ideas lands like scribbled spiders in my notebook, the final act begins. ‘Casa Tkbr O Tnssa’ ( كازا تكبر و تنسى ) is an audio visual collaboration between Younes El Hossaini and Saad Elbaraka exploring their relationship with Casablanca. The name of their performance references an old Moroccan proverb ‘Once you get old in Casablanca, the city’s hustle vanishes your memories’. Elbaraka’s hybrid set (part electronic, part guitar) unfolds to the backdrop of El Houssaini’s visuals, their music and imagery weaving field recordings together with suggestions of half remembered experiences. Immersed, you find yourself filling in the blanks of their unfinished sentences, to the point where you question if you yourself have been there… perhaps in a past life? Speaking to the audience, Elbaraka describes his Casablanca as a melting pot pregnant with chance and a place of novelty where stagnation is impossible.
‘Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine’ – is an old Irish saying meaning ‘we live in the shelter of others’. As I reflect upon Ard I think of these words alongside another similar phrase from Zulu ‘Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu’, which literally means that a person is a person through other people. We are relational. This is not a message dredged up from late 90s multiculturalism, but instead a call to keep ourselves alive together through culture and fight against the sterilising myth of homogeneity.
ARD took place at FACT Liverpool on Friday 8th of September 2023.
Natalie Hughes is a writer and producer based in Liverpool.
Published 25.09.2023 by Natalie Hughes in Reviews
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