Too good to be true?
by Tana Onochie und Thusnelda Marín Jungmann
The festival is going swimmingly: lovely weather, delicious food, a varied programme, stimulating conversations, an atmosphere that seems almost too perfect. A festival as a utopia. With so much harmony, a certain scepticism can creep in: “Where’s the hidden catch?” Or one might ask – thinking more constructively and positively: What is the source of this smooth running, of all this goodness? And more to the point: Who is responsible for this apparent ease?
Inspired by the festival motto “Come closer”, we as the editorial team also want to get closer to the people and perspectives that tend to remain slightly invisible amidst the festival hustle and bustle: the volunteers. Countless volunteers who hold the festival together structurally, yet often remain in the background. Who are these people without whom the CircusDanceFestival would never be possible? Why do they invest so much time and energy? And: Who actually looks after those who look after us? We set out to find the answers.
The care cosmos behind the scenes
Across the vast grounds, off the main tracks, there is a turn-off to the “Snackstage” – behind a small partition, nestled between sleeping caravans and the circus tent, lies a pavilion: a meeting place for festival staff, a retreat and, at the same time, a hub of hospitality. The freshly cooked buffet reveals what might be described as a care cosmos: sustained by the volunteers, structured by everyday care. Here, you can strike up a conversation with the volunteers. With Zaelea (27), for example. She grew up in Frankfurt and now lives as a circus artist in Melbourne, Australia: “I’d heard about this festival quite a few times; I had some time this weekend and wanted to lend a hand.”
And she’s not alone in this: the paths to volunteering are as varied as the volunteers’ own backgrounds. Some come from social work, others from the independent arts scene. For some, the festival is a place of reunion, a temporary reconnection with existing networks. For others, it is a consciously chosen, temporary adventure. And yet others highlight the opportunities that open up: attending workshops, watching performances, meeting artists. “I was able to watch every show I wanted to see,” says Zaelea. Volunteering here, then, means not just work, but also access – to art, to encounters, to a temporary social fabric.
The work itself begins long before the official opening. Shift schedules are drawn up, initial meetings organised – often online, even before the hustle and bustle on site begins. But how many volunteers are actually involved? “There’s no proper answer without looking at the list,” they say. That’s because participation is too flexible: some are involved continuously over the three weekends, others take on a three-hour shift for a single day. A model that works surprisingly well – partly because it leaves room for a kind of work-circus balance: working whilst simultaneously being part of the festival experience.
The tasks themselves are varied: kitchen, admissions, box office, site organisation. “Every task is important in its own way,” emphasises Veronika Pelz, who is responsible for coordinating the volunteer programme. And it is precisely this decentralised approach that is its strength: many small, seemingly unspectacular tasks together form the infrastructure that supports the festival: “You’re tired in the evening, of course,” says Tamara, “but then you just sleep well.”
Tamara found out about the volunteer programme through a workshop at Latibul – the venue where the festival takes place. Above all, however, it is her enthusiasm for dance and theatre that draws the special needs education worker from Stuttgart to the festival.
Being strategically nice
One thing is clear: the atmosphere of a festival is not created solely by the artistic programme, but by the social fabric behind it. “Through working together as a team,” says Luzie Schwarz, the festival’s production manager. “It creates the feeling that everyone wants to shape this place together.” Together with Veronika Pelz, she is responsible for ensuring that everything runs smoothly behind the scenes.
On site, everything is meant to look calm, almost effortless. The stress behind the scenes thus remains invisible. But how can this atmosphere be maintained? How are such diverse needs coordinated? Veronika Pelz’s answer is as simple as it is complex: “You might think I’m just a nice person, as a private individual. But it’s actually my job to be strategically nice.” Friendliness as a conscious practice, then. Thinking preventively, being present, listening – even when things get stressful.
“I’ve had different experiences at other festivals – here I wasn’t perceived as ‘just’ a worker,” reports Zaelea. She also finds the conditions fair: food and accommodation are free for the volunteers. “That’s just really good because you don’t have any out-of-pocket expenses.” The volunteers live together in sleeping caravans on the site, in single rooms. This, too, creates a micro-community of its own, a parallel social space within the festival, a collective closeness. Sometimes perhaps a bit too much closeness: whilst visitors are still dancing to DJ music in the evening, some volunteers can barely drag themselves to the bathroom and ask, half-jokingly: “Why are you still dancing in my living room?”
“I constantly feel the need to say thank you,” says Luzie Schwarz. “Without these people, nothing here would work.” And yet, for the volunteers, it’s less about recognition in the sense of visibility. Mutual trust seems more important: “You have to be able to rely on one another,” says Tamara – drawing a comparison with the circus: “When I go to a partner acrobatics class, I’m reluctant to stand on a stranger’s shoulders straight away. You have to trust people. And trust takes time – you have to get to know each other, step by step. Of course, I can assume that the person won’t let me fall, but I also have to experience for myself that it’s really true.”
Swapping roles
In the end, it’s clear that the volunteer programme is thoughtfully and carefully designed. Amidst all the gruelling set-up and dismantling shifts, a sense of shared care emerges here, precisely because the shifts are planned to ensure a pleasant work-life balance: this is probably exactly why the festival seems almost too harmonious at times. “Perhaps we’ve just been lucky. We tried to organise a really lovely festival, and fortunately it went really well,” enthuses Veronika Pelz. And what do the volunteers take away from their time at the CircusDanceFestival? “How to work well together,” said Tamara. “And to treat each other with care.”
As we are writing this, the festival is currently being dismantled. We look out of the window and watch as two volunteers, the artistic director and a dancer from Overhead Project take down a shelf together. Work that is shared, regardless of roles. A lovely sight. Too good to be true? No, it’s real. Probably because at this festival, the invisible work is valued.