Gesine Danckwart

A young woman is pondering while sitting in the bathtub. Mostly about herself. Debating the difficulties of urinating in train toilets and asking when she should wash her hair again. It’s a babbling, a feeling and a digging in the foam of words, under which there is nothing solid, nothing tangible. But the speech is not all hot air either, for the play with fragmented images of female identity is much too intimate, much too tender. Relaxed and cheeky, she takes stock: of the female body, men and sex. In the end, the bathtub-sitter is left with only one question: “Am I a yummy offer?”