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The link between ruins and the monumental, the sublime and overwhelming can be traced back to the eighteenth century and the etchings of Giovanni Battista Piranesi. This contribution is less interested in the monumental ruin and instead looks at the ruin as memorial and at the function ruins perform in commemorative cultures. This encompasses memorials in which poignant remains have been preserved and turned into reminders of violent acts as well as memorials in which the iconographic traditions of the ruin are consciously reproduced for remembrance purposes. While there are numerous examples of the former, from Berlin's ‘Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtniskirche’ to the French village Oradour-sur-Glane, there are far fewer cases in which the language of the ruin is deployed to reconfigure our relationship with the past to allow not only for melancholic reflection but for actual mourning to take place. They range from eccentric projects such as the Neptune Memorial Reef off the coast of Key Biscayne, Florida – an alternative cemetery in which people can have their ashes combined with forms for a reef that is growing over the faux ruins of what looks like a lost city – to Argentinian clandestine detention camps which are left to go to ruin because any kind of intervention is seen to interfere with the forensic and traumatic real. The ruin allows for a visualization of different forms of mourning: we mourn loss, death, decay and destruction; man-made and natural catastrophes; humanity's futile and successful attempts to master nature; and nature's indifference to humans and their cruelty against one another. But do we need to conceive memorial ruins differently, depending on whether they commemorate gradual decay and mortality, a natural catastrophe, or various types of governmental, military or economic violence? Could the aesthetic of the ruin dangerously confuse very different forms of terror, violence and violation, directed against other nations, political opponents or ethnic minorities, perhaps even rendering invisible human agency and erasing the specificities of the historical context? Or may the ruin help us to discern where these structures and practices of violence converge? These and related questions will be explored in this contribution. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

This paper charts a changing relationship to ruins over fifteen years of making site-specific performance. It looks at three sets of ruins (a nineteenth-century water tower and a chapel and almshouses, both of medieval origins) and records how they each acted as the beginning of three separate post-dramatic performance projects. By re-visiting and walking between the three sets of ruins, the author tests his own changing understanding of their materiality: from inert properties waiting for invasive or re-compositional acts to unfinished and vibrant materials actively recomposing themselves as allies in resistance and ‘slow revolution’. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]