Once upon a time a group of people with varied backgrounds in music, science and business came together in a beautiful house to have a shared conversation. They wanted to talk about ‘memory’ from the perspective of learning and playing classical music. One of them had initiated this meeting. He had invited a neuro-psychologist to deal with the brain and a ‘research-friend-musician’ from London to deal with an experimental improvised workshop part. All the people had prepared a quotation as input for the conversation. The last days before the meeting they had been searching for personal relevant sources in literature, in music, in visual art or whatsoever.The opening, immediately a narrative, was the story of a grandmother that had to see her daughter leave the house for Indonesia at too young an age. The grandson, initiator of the meeting, told this story sixty years later, bringing back the ‘memory’ of the situation by playing a 78′ record Debussy’s ‘La fille aux cheveux de lin’, while playing some ‘crying overtones’ on his cello at the same time.

Then the group split up into small groups to reflect on the imported quotations, the house full of murmuring. Agatha Christie, Henri Bergson, the Beatles, you can find the whole range of quotations on www.connectingconversations.nl. The part with the neuro-psychologist that followed was an intellectual journey. We went into the world of fascinating unknown aspects of the brain. One of his patients, he told us, lost all factual memory. Every moment everything in his life was completely new. But he could play all the music he new and even improvise on it. We listened and asked questions and learned more. It confirmed lots of intuitive notions we have about music and the brain.

Then the ‘research-friend-musician’ from London took the floor. She told a story about the very nature of research in the arts and that we know nothing for sure. We don’t know what we have to do and how we have to do it when we go ‘beyond text’. But at the same time it is essential to go ‘beyond text’ because there’s a lot of hidden tacit knowledge to discover. We cannot do that with the regular rational approach so we look to the arts. What can research in the arts mean here? Research of this kind tells each individual something different addressing different interpretations and experiences. Can we do an artistic experiment and after that reflect on it from different angles? That was the challenge. Afterwards we would bring those individual reflections together in something that might be called ‘collective memory’. That is how we ‘create memory’ in research.

All the participants stood up from their chairs to start a shared improvisation with no leader, no rules, no limitations, no defined playing ground, no time slot and no cue or clue at all. Shy voices were heard. Chairs were picked up to move around, to put them upside down. Arms were crossed before chests. More chairs were taken. Some waves of loud sound production brought the group a little bit together. It seemed however as if everything took place in anarchistic chaos. Few sustainable connections were made. Gestures, movements and images that grew were not really full of joy. It seemed as if all fantasy already was gone from the very start. We all were amazed by the fact this improvisation didn’t stop. How on earth could it be that we were actually doing all this seventies rubbish? And why didn’t it stop? Was there no leader? No there wasn’t! Was there no clear direction or some ‘rule-making’ in between? No very little! The grandson that just an hour ago told his aesthetically and emotionally very fine and effective story was now lost. He used to be the leader and moderator of these meetings. But he couldn’t manage to connect with the things happening. He found himself inviting different participants to sing or murmur with him. But he failed and remained in isolation. He felt anger, frustration, pain in his stomach, necessity to defend (but against what actually?). The impression was, however, that he might not have been the only one. The whole ‘play’ was clearly expressing these feelings and imaginations of all participants.

After an incredibly long time (it seemed) the improvisation came to an end. There was a time out for five individual minutes and then the group came back together in conversation to reflect on what had happened. The exchange was rather honest. We critically examined the things that had happened. Participants expressed indeed a wide range of different perceptions. The conversation felt a bit like a group of friends after a risky adventure. The conversation had a completely different character from the intellectual journey before: more tentative, more intuitive, more explorative and of course with much more personal engagement. The improvisation now turned out to be not so much about art or creativity or imaginative expression. It seemed more like the continuation of the conversation on a completely different level. We closed the session with singing for three minutes, leaving all the chairs and difficulties behind in a simple humming song related to the painting on the wall, as if we saw once more the running ‘fille aux cheveux de lin’ vaguely on the horizon. (That was of course the hyper-romantic impression of the grandson…)

This story keeps me (the grandson) awake the following night. I keep going back restlessly to it the following day. What happened? How to interpret this, how to give it all meaning? At first I don’t succeed in interpretation. I cannot get rid of the feeling that it should have been ‘music’ instead of such a free chair-driven improvisation. I cannot get rid of the lonely feeling in the play and the search for my role, a search that for me is rather strange. Normally I have a structuring role also when I’m moderate in my expression. But now?

On Sunday I find the book On Dialogue by David Bohm. Bohm, a famous physician in quantum mechanics was interested deeply in the fundamental nature of mankind and the essential role of thought and dialogue in it. While reading his essay ‘On Dialogue’ step by step all experiences of Friday fall into place! It is amazing to read it. Some parts are accompanied by goose bumps, since his descriptions come so close to certain experiences I had. Underpinned with a brilliant and simple analysis of the nature of thought, Bohm proposes to start dialogue groups without a leader, without a clear purpose to give fundamental attention to the process of dialogue and go to the roots of differences between peoples assumptions. Doing so and continuing such a weekly dialogue during several weeks and months, ‘thought as such’ changes, people start to relate more fundamentally, different opinions become part of a bigger enclosing meaning, and so on. Reading it I remember how fundamental and valuable the exercise of real free improvisation as a ‘sitting not knowing’ actually is. It is not easy. It is not always beautiful. It can be harsh. It can confront. It might not feel at all free. But it is also an exercise to touch deep layers that usually stay out of sight. Those layers you miss if you stay within certain rules or when you make the playground too narrow. It is indeed about ‘not knowing’, ‘not leading’, ‘no purpose’. Now I realise how difficult this is for the grandson that always want to give structure, always want to connect and so on.

I have had this book with me for months. I knew it was important. Now it is connected with the meeting on ‘memory’. Later I will write a short article about the text and I will argue that improvisation in relation to the writings of Bohm can be a strong methodical element in opening up this kind of fundamental dialogue. If I now bring back the meeting of 7 March in my memory, it is indeed like going through difficulties towards a deeper understanding. I remember I had this strong experience of starting really ‘seeing’ the others as complete human beings with all their potential. And I remember the closing dialogue as a real dialogue were everybody could have a different interpretation or emotion or value in what we were doing. Indeed a dialogue in which we became equal all our differences included.