Filip Jakš: Výlevka (Drain)
Český Krumlov… no city I have visited has a similar acoustic atmosphere. I locate within it a stray “man of the enlightenment”, who is searching for the end of the world. Not as in the edge of a flat Earth, nor with a Jules-Verne-style entry into its core. He is of the opinion that the emptied out character of Krumlov is a consequence of an accumulation of hyle – the primeval matter from which God created the universe, but also a state of absolute indecision, of being without sense, before God said “let there be”. What is the point of mystical-scientific knowledge if it is practically impossible to transmit? And who in this city would one transmit it to? Those are the questions in Filip Jakš’s new feature-fiction.
The sonic specificity of Český Krumlov lies particularly in its cumulation of people. During the summer, the city is filled with tourists looking for a few days of history and entertainment. Without them, however, the historical centre seems quiet, almost lifeless.
What if, however, some of the visitors are not looking for your run-of-the-mill historical tourism? What if there is a stray “man of the enlightenment” roaming among them, looking for the end of the world? Not as in the edge of a flat Earth, nor with a Jules-Verne-style entry into its core. He is of the opinion that the emptied out character of Krumlov is a consequence of an accumulation of hyle – the primeval matter from which God created the universe, but also a state of absolute indecision, of being without sense, before God said “let there be”. And that, he believes, is the hidden reason for the number of confused tourists that come here. Our man of the enlightenment is searching for a drain under the weir of the main Krumlov floodgate. He believes that if he can find the plug, he can let the hyle out into the world, or the world out into the hyle, and this deed of his will thus become a brave scientific experiment.
In 2016, his search was documented in the form of a fictional diary recorded onto a dictaphone. The narrative of this sound-text composition is built on field recordings of the city, complemented by quotations from 17th and 18th century mystics, with an industrial experimental accompaniment made in the very particular acoustics of the Egon Schiele Art Centrum.
Another component of the narrative are the man’s musings on the sense of recording his expedition onto a specific medium. Why is he using an outdated magnetic tape recorder? What does a diary mean for him and what is his relationship to memory? What is the point of mystical-scientific knowledge if it is practically impossible to transmit? And who in the city can he transmit it to? The composition also includes attempts by the enlightenment man to engage the townspeople and consult them on his theories, but he struggles to find a local scientist. He only gets in the canoeists’ way and nobody takes him very seriously…