Frie Leysen (1950 — 2020)

22/09/2020

It is with great sadness that we learnt that Frie Leysen passed away today. In 1994 she founded the Kunstenfestivaldesarts in Brussels together with Guido Minne. They radically counteracted division in the Belgian cultural landscape, and they brought the French-speaking and Flemish communities together, sharing international artists who were often shown in the European context for the first time.

Frie Leysen was an exemplary figure for all of us. Her outspoken social commitment, exceptional generosity towards artists, her public and sharp artistic vision and integrity were known far beyond Brussels and Europe.

We will miss her.

Our thoughts go to the family and friends and everybody who got the chance to know her.

The festival's direction has written a letter to share the grief and loss of this day.

Letters from Attica: extra performances

07/09/2020

Two extra performances of Letters from Attica by Begüm Erciyas have been scheduled on the 08.09 at 16:00. They will be performed in French and English respectively. 

Let the festival begin

04/09/2020

The five day festival we composed together with our enthusiastic team and artists is made as a reflection about the present. It is highlighted by projects in the public space by Guy WouetéBegüm Erciyas and Gwendoline Robin; exciting new creations by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker & Radouan Mriziga, Wang Bing and Jisun Kim and the presentation of the works of Tuan Andrew Nguyen and Phia Ménard as well as a discursive programme.

The whole program is happening at the same venue which makes it possible to combine the different performances, interventions and lectures on one evening.

The Diasporic Schools: open calls for participants

21/08/2020

The open calls for participation for the Yael Bartana's project The Shofar School and for the Christian Nyampeta's project École du soir are open. You can send your application to participate in one of The Diasporic Schools' projects until the 18th of September.

More info:
The Shofar School
École du soir

The tickets sale of Every Inside Has an Outside

19/08/2020

The tickets sale of Every Inside Has an Outside has started. Given the current situation shows are with limited capacity. We recommend to book your tickets as soon as possible.

Available tickets will be on sale online up to 30 minutes before the start of the performance. There will be no waiting list.

Our team is in full preparation with the artists to make safe and healthy presentations possible. If you have any questions about Covid-19 measurements, you can visit our website.

Job offer: communication collaborator

28/07/2020

We are looking for a communication collaborator to join our communication department from the middle of November 2020 until the end of June 2021. You can apply until the 4th of September 2020.

For more information, read the complete job offer.

Update of the September programme: three new projects in the frame of Every Inside Has an Outside

20/07/2020

The evolution of the situation in Brazil makes it impossible for the company of Alice Ripoll to arrive in Europe in September and present their new project, LAVAGEM.

The forced cancellation of this project comes with an update of the September programming, and three new projects in the frame of Every Inside Has an Outside.

After last year's solo, Trajal Harrell is back at the festival with an energetic group project; Phia Menard / Compagnie Non Nova arrives in Brussels with her legendary Contes Immoraux – Partie 1 : Maison Mère; finally, screened in the garden of Maison des Arts, Vietnamese artist Tuan Andrew Nguyen presents a poetic film on reincarnation, colonization and animal extinction.

Programme Online

01/07/2020

Despite the difficulties caused by cancelling the festival, we did not want to end the year without sharing a moment with you. We are happy to share with you a brand new programme in three chapters for autumn 2020, to thank our audiences and to support the artistic community by commissioning new creations.

Every Inside Has an Outside in September to celebrate and question the present; The Diasporic Schools as an online Free School accessible worldwide; News from Home to celebrate Brussels’ artistic scene.

All these ingredients normally culminate in a festival that runs for three weeks. This year we will be travelling with you from island to island over a period of three months.

You can read the full introduction of the autumn edition of the festival here.

You can find the overview of the programme here.

Tickets go on sale on 18th of August.

Ghost Tickets : last days

28/05/2020

Our mission has always been to support artistic creation, and we want to stay loyal to this credo. In this global crisis that has also deeply affected the artistic community, we committed to support artists not only at this moment but also in the (near) future.

You can contribute to our action by buying Ghost Tickets (€10/20) or a Ghost Pass on our website until Saturday May 30th.

Buy Ghost Tickets >>

Solidary Ticket = Solidary Shower

While focusing on the arts, we want to stay vigilant to the needs of the most vulnerable ones. That's why this year all the contributions for the Solidary Tickets will be passed on to our partner DoucheFLUX who offers Solidary Showers to people in need.

We'll be back (very) soon

We are working on different options, to be able to present some performances in the autumn. Stay tuned for more details coming soon.

Thank you!

We thank you very much for your help and support.

See you soon!

A playlist is an act of imagination

22/05/2020

As part of the Free School programme, Nigerian-American writer and artist Teju Cole conceived a series of lectures on history and politics whose syllabus is each time a Spotify music playlist. Today, the day he was supposed to have the first class, he sent this Spotify playlist to be shared with you.

Listen to the playlist memory of a night—were it not for and let’s connect in our collective listening tonight >>

Read Teju Cole's introduction to his playlist :

memory of a night—were it not for

This playlist is an act of imagination, the way certain cities feel like the ruins of empires that never existed. When the worldwide respiratory pandemic forced an alteration, and then a cancellation, of the elaborate plans for the 2020 Kunstenfestivaldesarts, I regretted that I would not get to participate in the Free School. But it surprised me that I regretted even more intensely the lost opportunity to meet the many hardworking organizers and conveners of the festival. This was because, in truth, what I had looked forward to the most, as I prepared to fly from Boston to Brussels, was the inevitable first-time encounter with many brilliant, fascinating, and interested young people. I knew I would make new friends and have my experience of the world expanded in unpredictable ways. I imagined that, after the day’s lectures and programming, we would head out to one or other late-night location in the city, some place with a welcome vibe, with good cocktails and low lights. This place would have good music playing, and it would be music that was familiar in some ways, but that also connected us to distant places, and maybe even to our personal prehistories. All this would be fuel for vivid and unending conversation. In such a moment, Brussels would become every city, and a kind of politics of borderlessness—apparent without being articulated—would be made manifest in our gathering.

A playlist is an act of imagination. Unable to fly to Brussels, I made a playlist. Every playlist moves according to its own logic, which cannot be determined in advance. The playlist now has the wayward title “memory of a night—were it not for.” There’s music from Jordan, Cambodia, Jamaica, Nigeria, Brazil, and numerous other stops, but the flow is organic. Much of the music is indeed from the ’70s: the decade in which I was born, and thus the first cultural moment I was aware of having missed. But some of it is more recent, though genetically connected to those 70s vibes. But all the music is, so to speak, from a single night. As I chose and listened, and removed, and evaluated, what I kept in mind was our imagined gathering on that night in Brussels that never happened.

What might someone experience in our imaginary bar, listening to “memory of a night—were it not for”? The listener might come to the paradoxical knowledge that sorrow can sometimes speak in an upbeat voice, and that the groove can be the conduit of a collective melancholy. But such a listener would also know, as the night deepens, that this is not the melancholy of surrender. It is something very different: the contemplative space in which we prepare for those future nights when we’ll all meet in person to continue our interrupted conversation.

Teju Cole, May 2020