but briefly:
OTHER is a confession between two people, strengthened (or cooled) by an open and immediate conversation with the viewer. It is a conversation that raises questions but does not give its own answer. A conversation without moralising or didactics. A conversation as a great opportunity to continue the dialogue at home and in schools about puberty, sex, love, feelings and responsibility without shame. Not only to ourselves, to each other, but also to...(?)
If more:
After 11 years of hiding her vast experience, the artist KIOKIA decides to dedicate her new album ("OTHER") to Those and Those who have been, are or will be on the path she has walked/is on. Through 11 musical pieces, 11 monologues and conversations with the audience, the artist tells her own experience. She talks openly about what neither her parents nor her school taught her. About love and responsibility towards others. About life and its origins. About a point that is not just a POINT, accidentally crossed out with a pen in a maths book.
< Yes, I am SOMETHING and I am taking a big risk today.>
< Yes, I am a murderer and I am free. No one has sentenced me to life, even though I have ended the life of another.>
< At night, I ran to the police and begged them to lock me up, never to let me out of there. They said, "You can be locked up. Only not here, but on Vasaros 5.>
< After the murder, there were two of us in the ward for an hour. We looked into each other's eyes and turned to our own wall. Today is the first day that I have turned away from that wall. This is not a ward. You are not it. And that's saying a lot. I know I'm taking a risk by talking about it, but I can't keep quiet any longer. Not just to confess my mistakes, but to see what a dragon we have bred. No, he is not a deviant. I'm not even sure if it's possible to count the heads.>
< One day, I went to the cemetery to visit David's grave. I looked at the tombstone and argued to his mother that she had made a grave mistake: he had died ten years ago! After all, that was why I came. My mother, she pleaded, said that no, it had been eleven years since her son had been gone. I screamed at all the cemeteries, arguing: how could you cross out a year like that? It turns out that mistakes are made not only in the (birth) passport, but also on the headstones. I felt myself trying to erase the year of my beloved's death, set in stone, with the sleeve of my jumper, until I finally realised: I was erasing myself and my own unhealed pain. One year inside me was simply gone. It has been layered over. I did not live them. I breathed them out.>
KIOKIA invites the viewer to an open conversation with the sounds of electronic/idm/dance/triphop music. Yes, maybe this conversation won't be full of light and speckled joy. Maybe it will be more silence and questions: why is it still shameful and uncomfortable to talk about sex and abortion? Why does the sight of a naked body make you feel hot? And if a 12-year-old sees it, it makes him want to cover his eyes or change the channel: it's not for you, it's for adults. At school, teachers still talk about sexual maturity in sweaty tones, and menstruation is still considered a shame and a disease (?). There is still a reluctance to admit that nothing ends with the termination of life and only half a mouthful about what happens to a woman afterwards. Is there a cure for post-abortion depression? Curable? Is 'sort it out and that's it' really the same as sorting out your wardrobe and throwing out the unnecessary clothes? Why do the women (this work is based on three real women's stories) mention Rachel's vineyard? What is it? Where does life begin? When is life a life, and when is it just a dot, a cell?
< All this time I have been my own priest and God's house from which the baby was thrown. >
And what dragon are you feeding?
