Are you a steamboat or a sailing boat?
by Thusnelda Marìn Jungmann
Whilst in the main tent a man explores various relationships with a stick and a couple work through their toxic relationship within the confines of a Cyr wheel, another part of the CircusDanceFestival shifts to a side stage. It is not a hidden spot, but neither is it one that imposes itself. Here, the Feminist Circus Initiative is present with three items of the programme: an introductory session, a presentation of their scholarship holders, and a workshop entitled “Risking Nearness”. Three formats, three attempts to examine the circus from within.
Unheard needs of a scene
The initiative itself is still young. It emerged in 2021 out of the pandemic, initially online in Zoom rooms, born of a need for exchange and networking. Today, it is a decentralised network of circus practitioners, educators and other circus enthusiasts. Its goal: a scene more sensitive to discrimination – and ultimately a world more sensitive to discrimination. For the circus, too, is no utopia. It reproduces what is found everywhere in society: exclusions, hierarchies, blind spots.
This quickly becomes clear during the ‘Meet-up’ get-together under a sunshade. In small groups, the question is asked: What does the circus scene need? Answers are written down, shared and added to. It’s about structural changes in training, about greater sensitivity to discrimination, about visibility. Also about the question of who actually tells the story – and who is the subject of the story. Time and again, the conversation shifts from the general to the personal. In the process, tensions within the group itself also emerge. When the desire for more plays about disability is voiced, the objection comes immediately: people with disabilities are more than just their disability. A brief moment of confusion, then a collective reflection. It is, after all, a constant process of negotiation.
The initiative operates on several levels: through the magazine “scheinwerfen”, through awareness-raising work in productions, and through the “Safe(r) Space Circus?!” project. The latter comprises interactive workshops developed in cooperation with Start2Act – a programme of the Federal Association for Cultural Education of Children and Young People – and the circus educator Brenda Akele Jorde, with the aim of jointly designing a utopian Safe(r) Space for social circus work and training spaces. The programme has recently been expanded to include a grant specifically aimed at people who face structural exclusion: one year of financial support, mentoring and a residency – deliberately free from any pressure to produce.
Support in the form of a safety mat
Off to the tent. The presentation by the scholarship holders is not a traditional showcase. It is more of an insight into processes, into works that are still developing – and it is precisely in this that their urgency unfolds. Silver glitter stones arranged on a T-shirt: “Riot”. The work by Tana Onochie, an aerial artist and educator from Berlin, begins with a rustling sound; a constant background frequency. The aerial silk lies on the floor at first; later, Onochie carries it through the room, almost tenderly, as if it were a fragile body; she sits down amongst the audience and clears the stage: voices in the room. Voice-overs speak of Hanau, of police violence, of the question of how safe Germany is – and for whom.
A mat is brought onto the stage, a familiar object from the circus: safety, cushioning, protection. Yet here, the meaning shifts. Where is this mat in real life? Who has access to it? And who must constantly manage without it? The question lingers: “Why must we concern ourselves with this if we are affected by it?”
Luciana Luthi, a 2026 scholarship holder, is also working on a shift in what can be visible in the circus. She calls her practice “minimalist circus” – an approach that deliberately moves away from virtuosity and focuses instead on presence. Her performance does not take place at the centre of the stage, but at the edge, slightly offset, in front of a glittering curtain. It feels like a spatial positioning: as if a position were materialising here that had long been situated outside the scene and is now asserting its own place.
Between these works, it becomes clear: virtuosity is being renegotiated here. Not as mastery, but as a decision about what is shown – what is no longer kept hidden. Yet even here, a question remains for the initiative itself: who actually decides whom to give this funding to? Last year it was a jury, this year random selection. An attempt to break down hierarchies – and at the same time an indication of how difficult it is to create fair structures without creating new problems.
Steamboat vs. sailing boat
Same place, different day: this time not just watching, but taking part. The workshop “Risking Nearness”, led by Johanna Monnerjahn, opens up a space that at first seems unremarkable – and quickly turns out to be a complex web of relationships. To begin with, everyone is sitting in a circle, two seemingly simple questions: Where do I want to be touched (or not touched) today? It is a slow approach. A discussion about boundaries, about consent, about what often remains unspoken. No sooner has the ground been established than the consensus is already being tested, even challenged:
A card is drawn, the game begins: some become “steamers”, others “sailboats”. One group moves directly, makes contact, takes up space. The other group evades, reacts, adapts. Some hesitate, others laugh, yet others try to take the rules seriously, whilst others don’t quite dare to. No clear fronts emerge, no temporary communities of resistance. Instead, a diffuse field of movements, uncertainties and decisions. In the debriefing, there is discussion about privilege, how we interact with one another within the scene, and Monnerjahn’s role is also questioned: What insidious power lies behind this?
The workshop demonstrates: making contact is risky. And with closeness comes responsibility. What happens when I truly see – and am seen? And what if I am unable to do so at that moment? Perhaps one of the most important exercises is being able to say precisely this: I need more time. I need space. For time and again, it is also about language. About the right wording, about shared understanding. It’s about how misunderstandings arise – and how they might be avoided if it’s clear what starting point we’re talking about. In the end, there is no definitive result. Rather, a sense of just how complex closeness is. And how much it has to do with power. And that it is just as risky to not even attempt to engage with it in the first place.