Taw’am, meaning “twin” in Arabic, explores the grief of artistic director and performer Jouana Samia over the loss of her twin brother. It premiered on 10 July 2025 at Uferstudios Berlin.
Grief is an individual, intimate, and physical process. I remember when I was submerged in it. Everything, including myself, was floating in slow motion, as if being underwater. All sounds were muffled and it was challenging to walk. A void was created in me that swept away all other feelings. Watching Taw’am, which portrays Jouana Samia’s sorrow at losing her twin brother when they were five, I wonder if the images and sensations the piece delivers reflect her inner landscape:
fog
sweat
a dark room
heavy breathing
silhouettes and shadows
a staggering and falling body that catches itself over and over again
beautiful and often loud music composed of multiple elements and layers.
.
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At center stage, there is a large reflective floor on which Jouana Samia dances.
In the mirror, I see:
her twin image
fog gliding on the surface like a swamp of clouds
that meet the air
change shape
melt on the mirror
turning it hazy
Jouana Samia’s footprints
clearing the haze
marking her presence on it.
.
There are parts that read as literal:
black veil covering her face while she is kneeling
under the veil she screams, but no sound comes out
heavy breath sounding like sobbing
heaving of the torso as if sobbing
she buries her face into the veil that she later holds in her hands
her clear solitude when she is beyond the edges of the reflective floor
and the togetherness with her brother when she moves within them.
.
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When Jouana Samia kneels on unmirrored floor and carries out similar movements—reaching her hands out, bending backwards in circular motions with her head and torso, contracting her core to curve inwards—for a length of time, I catch a fleeting sense of boredom passing through me. Boredom is not inherently bad and can indeed be an authentic expression of grief. The sensation repeats itself in varying degrees and patterns that are not coherent or comprehensible. I recall the time when I was exploring my own physical experience of it. The person who was with me in the studio told me that she was bored by my expressions.
The music overwhelms the performance with its fullness. The four live musicians positioned upstage, whom I do not notice during the first two thirds of the performance because of the continuous darkness of the room, are:
Noah Slee, the musical director and vocalist.
Lina Makoul, another vocalist.
Amer Chamaa, on percussion and the wind instrument nay.
Alex Rapp, the sound designer..
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Immersed blissfully in the eclectic harmony of sounds, I wonder:
has sound been one of the prominent sensory factors for Jouana Samia in her mourning?
is there no cacophony or ugliness
or uncontrolled rupture
in grief?.
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In the program note, Jouana Samia writes:
Most of my life, I was busy surviving. I didn’t know I was grieving. I didn’t know the emptiness came from the absence of a twin.I reflect on emptiness.
Taw’am is filled with movements, sounds, and light changes.Emptiness is indeed not empty.
When one dares to open it up
and dive deeply into it
it can be frighteningly
and poignantly
crowded
Taw’am, by Jouana Samia premiered on 10 July 2025 at Uferstudios Berlin.
