The conversation between Lisa-Marie Porst and BBB Johannes Deimling took place following the 86th edition of PAS | Performance Art Studies, titled Absurdity – the hole in rationality, held in collaboration with POPOP ART in Nijmegen, Netherlands, in 2023. The interview was part of Lisa-Marie Porst’s state examination thesis at the University of Dresden, supervised by Dr Antje Dudek. Her research explored the question: How are ideas generated during the development of performances in teaching and learning contexts? The study was conducted using qualitative research methods, combining participant observation during the workshop with semi-structured interviews with the participants and BBB Johannes Deimling.

LISA: The big question in my research is: how do you guide the development of the final performances during a workshop week?

JOHANNES: In the beginning of a course I don’t focus on the final result in terms of what it will exactly look like, what the participants will present at the end of the workshop. But I always have in mind that there will be time and space for participants to present their own performance work to a public. It is important to free the participants from these thoughts, because during the process of a course I know there will be a lot of material generated that can lead to a sturdy public performance. If I focus in the beginning too much on the final result, I will destroy an important factor of artistic research and creation.  

There are many ways to navigate a workshop process, and I have developed over the years a wide range of choices and even have the flexibility to make changes along the way. What matters is that the workshop consists of different phases: a research-driven, experimental phase where presentations are internal – just for those participating in the course – and then a later phase where the work opens up to a public audience.

Knowing from the start that there will be a public presentation that allows me to shape certain strategies: what to introduce when, how to structure exercises, when to let material rest, and when to revisit it. These choices ultimately influence the decisions participants will make towards the final performances. In this sense, the process of teaching closely resembles the process of creating a performance – it’s about making choices, developing strategies, and shaping the work step by step. It is important to sense the group of participants to know what they need.

Initially, there is an introduction phase, a space for first experiments where participants observe each other, gauge where others are in their own processes, and begin to respond to tasks or exercises. Some may have never performed before, so this phase is largely about orientation. It is designed to be playful and light, ensuring that everyone can engage without feeling overwhelmed or disengaged.

Early on, I encourage everyone to present something in front of the group. This serves two purposes: participants learn about each other through action, and they receive feedback on how their work is perceived. This dynamic creates a setting in which I, as a teacher, can step back – which I believe is crucial. By stepping out of the process at times, especially during feedback rounds or when performances take shape, the setting becomes self-teaching. Participants observe, interpret, ask questions, and engage in dialogue. Somewhere within that exchange, an understanding emerges. This interplay of stepping in and stepping out is a key aspect of my approach.

The second part is based on the course’s theme. In this case, it was absurdity – the hole in rationality – which immediately provides a framework for exploring performance art practice, theory, and philosophy. This phase typically lasts three to five days and is entirely experimental.

By “experimental,” I mean that we step into an unknown territory. Even though I may guide certain exercises, the outcome is always “new” because each participant brings their own qualities, habits, and possibilities. These experiments often take completely different directions, which is a good thing. I understand experimentation as something where you can’t predict the result until you’ve done it.

For instance, if we focus on the beginning and end of a performance, participants make individual choices about how to approach these moments. One might enter the space before the audience arrives, another might start already by entering – the variations are endless. Seeing others make different choices in the same setting is incredibly inspiring. If you remain attentive, you become aware of the vast range of possibilities. How can a performance start? How can it end?

This experimental process requires a careful balance in facilitation. As a teacher or guide, you need to know when to step in and when to step back, ensuring that the group remains engaged while allowing enough freedom for genuine exploration. The same approach applies not only to beginnings and endings but also to action, material choices, duration – all elements involved in shaping an individual piece.

After this experimental phase, we move into preparing for the final performances. Sometimes, this preparation lasts only a day because a well-structured experimental phase already provides plenty of good material. Participants can reflect: This was interesting. I felt comfortable here. That was challenging. I’d like to test this in a public setting. With so much material to draw from, shaping it into a performance that can stand before an audience doesn’t require extensive additional time.

The transition from experimentation to public presentation is crucial. In the experimental phase, everything is open – you can fail, make mistakes, try absurd things. There is no audience (only the classmates that are going through the same process), so the space feels safe. Often, the results are already strong enough to be performed publicly, yet they remain within that protected environment. The shift towards the final presentation needs to be gradual, like a video fade-in. If it happens too abruptly, participants may become hesitant and avoid taking creative risks, playing the safe card.

Why is this important? Because when it comes to presenting one’s own work in front of an audience, there is always a mix of excitement and nervousness. Overthinking often creeps in – we worry too much about details that aren’t essential and risk missing the opportunity to create a strong piece. If the transition from experimentation to final presentation is blended smoothly, participants remain engaged without feeling pressured to suddenly shift focus.

One simple way to achieve this is through clear announcements or suggestions. If for example a result of an experiment was satisfying for the performer, or got encouraging feedback from the group, a short note, like “This is something you could explore for Saturday night’s presentation” can open interest and inspiration to use that developed material for a final performance.

Even the introduction phase plays a crucial role. It sets the baseline for the entire process. If the introduction isn’t fluid and open, the experimental phase can feel stuck, which in turn affects the final performance. Every stage needs to be carefully designed and managed to allow a seamless progression.

From the experimental process, there is an abundance of material to work with – elements can be adjusted, enhanced, or reimagined. By the time we reach the one-and-a-half or two days dedicated to finalising performances, participants find themselves in a privileged position. They have the freedom to choose what to include and how to structure their work. These choices are theirs alone – not dictated by the teacher or the group. The process empowers them to shape their performance in a way that feels authentic to them. And of course, making your own choices is not an easy thing to do. It requires to know what you want, what you are looking for. You know, you want chocolate, but which one is one you really desire? Metaphorically speaking in this moment, you stand in front of supermarket shelf filled with different kinds of chocolate and now is the moment for you to choose which one will you buy and eat.

This is how a structured study process can guide participants from the first day to the final performance.

“Performance art thrives when there is genuine involvement and openness – when you engage deeply with core artistic elements, the process becomes both a personal and shared journey of discovery.”

LISA: Do you have any exercises or tools that you’ve found particularly useful in idea development – things that have worked well for you?

JOHANNES: Yes, of course. Sometimes it might sound a bit simplistic, but so much depends on the people in the group. If they’re open, responsive, attentive, and willing to engage in these experiments, you can do almost anything – or even nothing – and still generate a strong performance. But if there are hesitations, personal or group-related challenges, then achieving a good flow becomes more difficult.

I believe that in performance art, and in artmaking in general, it should ultimately feel natural – something you genuinely want to do. Even if it’s difficult, there must be an inner drive, a real sense of involvement, a willingness to push through and see it through to the end. That includes being open to the experiments being offered. The most important is to enjoy what you are doing.

For me, Scriptwork is an essential foundation. It’s a fantastic tool to understand, from A to Z, what is happening in the space of performance art. I’m very glad to have this method, because it allows people with different levels of experience – whether beginners or professionals – to learn something in an experimental setting. In Scriptwork, you engage with the fundamental elements of artmaking: space, body, gesture, movement, balance, impulse, contrast – core artistic principles that help construct a work. And this knowledge isn’t just useful for performance art; it applies to painting, sculpture, theatre, and many other forms of artistic practice.

Another valuable tool – something I consider almost a standard – is what I call the “Sculpture Park”. This is particularly important when you’re constantly active. Using the Sculpture Park at the right moment can open up a completely different perspective. It’s not about creating actions or being in motion – it’s the opposite. It’s about limitations. Standing still for an hour in an artistic situation. Because of the extended time and the stillness, deep reflection starts to take place. You experience exhaustion, struggle, fatigue – you become acutely aware of your body. But once you push past that, another space opens up, where you begin to find answers. Sometimes, this process is far more insightful than spending three hours on action-based exercises.

And then, of course, one of the major tools – whether as an exercise or a structured task – is giving small performance assignments. For example, “Word-and-Action”, “The Playlist”, or other formats we use in PAS. Watching others perform is incredibly valuable. It’s a world of its own – you don’t need to explain much because the framework is already there. Everyone is free to interpret it in their own way and present their work. Seeing other performances gives you such a rich understanding of your own practice and preferences – what resonates with you, what you find compelling. It’s an essential part of the learning process. Observing others helps you refine your own artistic language, which is ultimately what these exercises are about.

LISA: Connecting to that – you just mentioned it – which performative basics do you need to have learned or come into contact with in order to develop an independent performance if you’ve never done one before? What should you have learned about theory and practice in such a week – about performative dimensions or the like?

JOHANNES: The first step is to understand your body as a tool – not directly as a person, but as a tool. By stripping back your personality you become something powerful. Metaphorically speaking, you become a blank canvas, a figure, a simple block of clay. What I mean is that your personal body undergoes transformation. The body shifts into an artistic figure. Understanding how to make that transformation is crucial. You achieve it by seeing your body as a form element – no more and no less than a circle, a triangle, a square, a line, or a dot. This is moment where Scriptwork comes to play. When you recognise these possibilities, you have one of the fundamental building blocks of performance.

The second step – and very closely connected to the first step – is the understanding of space – in a very broad meaning and understanding. Since our bodies are always and at any time connected to space, it becomes a unity. Body & Space are inseparable and create a universe of possibilities for the creative process. Just with these two aspects everyone can make a performance.

And then there’s transformation itself – shifting, twisting, placing something in a new context, thinking in a way that deviates from everyday logic. I often say that in life, one plus one is two – but in art, one plus one can be five, seven, a hundred, or not even a number. Art and the artistic process don’t follow strict logic. Understanding this shift from rationality to a language that may not make immediate sense is essential.

Combining the body, space and transformation is very powerful.

The third crucial element is the desire to create something – to express something that perhaps you can’t fully articulate in words. It could be a personal struggle, a political stance, a sociological reflection – anything. But there has to be something driving you, something you want to put into shape through transformation of your body within a space. And that’s the essence of performance.

There are many more steps waiting to be discovered, but with mentioned elements, you can already create wonderful performances within a few days.

Other steps to dive deeper into the performance art universe would be for example material – a huge research field, or time – an even bigger research field, or context. Since in PAS we connect performance art practice to other art forms, it seems that there is endless pool of research waiting to be explored.

“The real challenge in performance art is moving from personal attachment to creating a form that invites the audience to engage, interpret, and connect beyond the individual story.”

LISA: Do you have certain methods or questions that you ask participants to guide this transformation – so that an obvious theme becomes an artistic action?

JOHANNES: The challenge is that if the process stays too direct – too close to what you personally want to talk about – it may feel important to you, but it’s not necessarily compelling for an audience. Performance art is a space where others watch, where meaning is created in the interaction between the performer and the viewer. That’s the difficult part.

What we’re talking about here is the transformation of something deeply personal into something that is more universally accessible – something that others can connect with. So let’s take a theme like transience – or ephemerality – rather than love, which is too obvious and, to be honest, a bit boring.

The first challenge participants often face is that once they find a topic that’s personally important, they become very attached to it. And that’s great – many people struggle to even identify what truly matters to them. But the next step is crucial: how do you take that personal connection – that deeply individual experience – and make it accessible, not in the sense of making it more sensational, but in the sense of opening it up so that others can find their own way into it?

If a performance remains purely personal, it risks becoming therapeutic – which is valid, but then it might not belong in a public performance setting. You could process it in another form, perhaps in a more private space. But performance, by its nature, invites an audience. So, the challenge is to recognise that something important to me might also be meaningful to others.

Take any fundamental human experience – loss, anxiety, longing. These are not only personal; they are shared. Many people know what it feels like to lose someone, to be in love, to feel hated, to experience fear. The aim is to create overlaps – connections between the performer’s experience and the audiences. That opens a larger space – a space that extends beyond the purely personal.

The direction of expression should move outward – from me towards the audience. That’s what expands the field of meaning. And this is where we use artistic methods like abstraction and reduction. We don’t simply state something; we create a form that allows for interpretation. This is what allows a personal experience to transform into something broader – something that resonates beyond the self.

And this process is difficult. For those new to performance, I’m already satisfied if they can make that first leap – recognising what matters to them, understanding the core principles of body, space, transformation, and creation, and then using those to shape an artistic action. At this stage, we don’t judge artistic quality – the simple act of making that shift is already significant.

From there, it’s about experience. The more you perform, the more you learn. Mistakes from the first performance might not repeat in the second – but new challenges will arise in the third. That’s the nature of the process. Over time, as you gain experience, you develop a stronger awareness of that crucial space between your act of creation and their act of witnessing. And that’s where performance truly comes alive.

“In guiding someone’s creative process, the most important task is to step outside your own taste and help them find their own artistic voice without imposing yours.”

LISA: Yes, thank you very much. We’ve now talked a lot about the first phase – experimenting and gradually finding your own idea for a performance. In the workshop in Nijmegen, you guided participants through this process in personal conversations during the last day or two. I’m not sure whether to call it a consultation or a personal conversation, but do you have specific strategies for developing ideas in these discussions?

JOHANNES: That’s an interesting question, because these conversations – whether you call them consultations, tutoring, or personal talks – require a very specific approach. For anyone in a teaching role, the most important thing is to step outside your own taste. Your own aesthetic preferences – how you would do something or how you would like things to be done – belong in your own artwork, not in someone else’s creative process. When working with participants, I have to consciously avoid imposing my personal view, because the reality is that I wouldn’t approach things the way they do. But that’s not the point.

At this stage, when someone is shaping an idea or finding their own way of articulating something, the process is incredibly fragile. A careless remark, even from the most well-intentioned teacher, can undo everything that’s been built up over the week. Participants are making their own choices – and these choices are usually very honest. They know their work will be seen by an audience, and they want to do it well. There’s a lot of dedication at play. So you have to be extremely careful with what you say, what you suggest – and even more so with what you don’t say. And I consider the participants of my courses not as “stupid”, they perceive, they know things, they think, … .

The key is deep listening. When a participant describes their performance idea, I listen closely – not just to their words, but to the logic of their choices. If they tell me, “I place a chair here, and a bucket of water there,” I consider the sequence. If they later want to stand up, will the bucket be in their way? I look for these structural inconsistencies – not to criticise, but to ensure their concept can flow.

At the same time, I never give ideas. That would be wrong. Instead, I offer hints, I ask questions, I steer the process slightly by re-examining the choices they’ve made. If I see that a concept is stuck, I sometimes use what I call the “sledgehammer method” – I disrupt everything at once, to see what remains. But I don’t dismantle the idea itself – only the process of how they arrived to it, so they can rebuild it with fresh insight.

Guiding an idea from the outside means asking the right questions: What if…? How could you move from here to there? Is there another way to approach this? Do you really want to do it like this? These kinds of questions challenge the concept without undermining the participant’s own creative source. It’s about circling the idea, testing its stability, seeing if it holds up under pressure.

I sometimes call this method “needle stings” – small, precise provocations. If a participant is too confident in an idea – taking the easy way out rather than pushing further – I might deliberately ask uncomfortable questions to provoke a deeper thinking. This works well when someone is engaged, open, and willing to experiment.

But there are also people who struggle with creativity – who find it difficult to generate ideas. Some participants are full of energy: I’ll do this, and then that – boom! And I could add this – boom! Here’s a drawing! Others are more hesitant. They might have a vague sense of space, a rough idea, but nothing fully formed. In those cases, I take a different approach.

Rather than talking about my own work, I refer to other artists. If someone is working with stillness, I might refer to a sculptural approach. Or I might introduce them to still-life performance artists, suggest research materials, recommend specific performances to look up. This is often less about a lack of ideas and more about a lack of inspiration – or a creative block. The way to unblock it is by offering possibilities: Have you seen this? Have you read about that? Do you know this artist’s work?

Most of the time, this process works in one direction: I give a lot, and the participant absorbs it. And then, at some point, there’s a click – a shift in their thinking appearing. They suddenly see what they need to do. And everything in between is just the work of getting there.

LISA: In your opinion, what are some common challenges when developing ideas for your own performances?

JOHANNES: Well, one challenge is exactly that – struggling to find ideas. But another common issue is not trusting your own ideas. Thinking they’re not enough. Often, people compare themselves to others whose work seems more interesting or impressive, and that can make them feel insecure about their own concepts.

Wait – what was the question again?

“The only way to truly know the strength of an idea is to bring it into reality – to do it – because performance thrives on openness and fluidity, not on chasing a perfect or ‘cool’ idea.”

LISA: In general, what are the challenges when finding ideas for your own performances?

JOHANNES: Right. I’d say these two points are the main ones. Let’s take the first: say you’ve seen a performance by an artist who used a table. That doesn’t mean you can’t also make a performance with a table. The key is that you’ll do it differently – it will be constructed through your perspective, your decisions. That’s the important part. It’s not about avoiding something just because it has been done before. The only thing to avoid is pure copying – that’s not particularly creative, and it would be more a re-enactment than your own performance. But if you take an idea and genuinely make it your own, that’s valid.

The second challenge – not trusting your own ideas – is often because we haven’t tested them yet. Most of the time, ideas remain in a conceptual bubble, a theoretical space. And in that space, we can speculate endlessly. But unless we bring the idea into reality, we don’t know what it is. That’s why doing it is essential in performance practice. It’s through doing that you get a sense of the idea’s strength. If you doubt your idea, the only way to know its potential is to enact it and see how it resonates. Without that step, you remain in an endless cycle of uncertainty, which is very uncomfortable.

Another issue I often see is what I call “the cool idea” problem. This happens when people fixate on making a performance that is the best – the coolest, the most impressive, the ultimate idea. But this mindset is counterproductive because it creates an impossible expectation. If you’re searching for a big idea, you block the natural flow of thought. You become rigid instead of open. Performance, by nature, thrives on openness. One of its most exciting aspects is that you can even change your performance during the live performance moment. You can shift something in the moment, alter a detail, reshape the structure. That fluidity is what makes performance so dynamic. So instead of fixating on the “perfect” idea, it’s much more important to stay open to the process itself.

And of course, there are many other challenges. Some are deeply personal. As a teacher, I can’t solve those – and I shouldn’t try. If someone is facing a personal barrier that is preventing them from creating, that’s something only a professional outside of the artistic process can help with. However, what can sometimes be done is to take that personal struggle and redirect it into the work – to transform it into something that has artistic value, something that can be seen and engaged with. But that depends entirely on the individual and their willingness to explore that route.

LISA: That were almost all of my questions. I have one last one – there’s no right or wrong answer to this. When, for you, does an idea become an idea for a performance? And how do you know when you’re done with it?

JOHANNES: When you’ve done it. When it’s there, when it’s born, when it has left the conceptual bubble and entered reality. That’s when an idea truly becomes a performance.

For me, an idea begins as a gut feeling – a vague notion that this could be something. From there, you start shaping it. You construct, deconstruct, shift it into different contexts, sculpt it, refine it. It builds and builds. You have moments where it feels like it’s taking shape, and then moments where you doubt it entirely. This back and forth, this up and down, is part of the process. It’s circular – you keep turning it around, twisting it, questioning it. And at some point, you reach a stage where you start gathering materials, preparing concretely for its realisation. That’s already a significant step.

But the real moment is when you step in front of an audience and do it. That’s when you know. In that moment, you feel it – it works, or it doesn’t. It clicks, it resonates, or maybe it falls flat. Either way, you know. That’s why performance is so compelling. There’s no hiding. You have to step into it, to live it, to let it be seen.

“The best answer to a bad idea is always a better idea – and better ideas grow from observation, awareness, contemplation, and exchange.”

LISA: Yes, thank you. That would be it from my side. But if there’s anything that comes to mind spontaneously – something you haven’t had the chance to say yet about the development of performances in this context – please feel free to add it.

JOHANNES: Yes. There are two things that come to mind as we’ve been talking about this. First, when I mentioned different tools in the idea-giving process – sculpture, park, script, etc. – that actually generates a lot. And when we look at performances, there are also two very effective methods:

One is the pitch, where you stand in front of others and simply articulate your idea – “this and this and this” – or say, “I’m looking for this.” Just the act of verbalising it in front of others is a powerful tool. And then there’s the market of ideas, where you go from person to person, exchanging thoughts, gathering inspiration, or seeking validation for your line of thinking. These methods can be incredibly valuable for finding ideas – it always depends on the participants, of course – but I wanted to mention them.

The second thing I’d like to add is: What is an idea? What does it mean to have an idea? When you say, “Oh, I have an idea! I can do something!” – you’ve essentially found a solution to a problem that, in the arts at least, you often create for yourself. You solve a puzzle of your own making.

In this process, there are certain skills that I feel are crucial. One is observation – the ability to really see something. A skilled observer is not lost in their own thoughts but is fully present, simply watching, analysing, trying to understand. It’s a beautiful skill. Then there’s attention – being alert, aware of your surroundings. How can I, while sitting on a chair, still have a sense of what’s happening in the kitchen or in another part of the space, while also being present with the people around me? Having that awareness is an invaluable tool for problem-solving and idea generation.

Another important aspect is contemplation – just sitting, waiting. Sometimes, no matter how much you research, read books, or analyse things, the idea doesn’t come. In those moments, you need a different access – allowing yourself to relax, to let your mind unravel. And in doing so, solutions often emerge on their own.

And then, of course, ideas rarely come in isolation. Sometimes they do, but often, the moment you start talking, sharing, exchanging, ideas pop up like mushrooms in autumn – one after another, everywhere. If you’re sitting alone with a problem, you might find a solution eventually. But if you share that problem with two or three others, it is in motion and suddenly you have an ocean of possibilities. Hundreds of different approaches arise from that conversation. Exchange is an essential skill – learning how to facilitate, navigate, and refine ideas together.

For me, these are fundamental skills that we all develop throughout life because we have to. Problems arise, and they demand solutions. If I can’t find a solution, I feel stuck. I keep thinking, rethinking – it’s a blockage. But these skills I’ve mentioned help open up the process of idea generation.

And one last thought: If we look at our time, the past years, the world we are living in – we need ideas. Desperately. We need ideas that help us understand what is happening around us. We need ideas that allow us to change things. What we don’t need are opinions. What we need are ideas because the best answer to a bad idea is always a better idea.

LISA: Thank you for this interview.

JOHANNES: My pleasure, Lisa – for you, always.