Wooly-ness abounded this day all round, regardless of whether the Adelaide Film Festival had been attended. Perhaps our connections are becoming aligned? Certainly, after the synchronised feeling it seems like it.
The day prior we had been introduced to each other in concept and word. This day was opportune for literal demonstration of each other’s practice. Audience to artist, artist to audience, insight was offered and duly consumed.
I was surprised that save for two, there was no preparation. We left it instead for inspiration to come upon us. I realised upon reflection that this was the way I almost always did it before… freestyling. Thus enquiry was met as the artist trusted the intuition of their practice.
It flowed forth, the autobiography of our identity in performance.
Lorcan delved in, positioning us, the audience, in a perfect circle surrounding his singular facing self. iPad at feet, crouching to trigger sounds, sometimes flipping between sound-scapes, he physically responded to each and lithely leapt to assume a final posture or movement; grace, flexibility and bodily awareness on display.
Hayley set her stage purposefully with chance findings of appropriate lamps in a line at her feet, delineating stage from audience. There were singular pieces of paper strewn, together with discarded pens between them. Holding the requisite writer’s lubricant, her cup of coffee, laptop resting atop her outstretched palm, she dictated a verbose articulation of her chosen evasion of writer’s block.
Kirsty, high from coming in late and thrown by her support workers reaction to a minor emergency; her clothing was an unusual combination as it was chosen by another. This had offered her a dawning realisation. Revived through the liberating chaos and thrilled through circumstance, she wheeled imaginary paint across the floor.
Cinzia set us up as a catwalk and laid a mat of light green bubble wrap between us, red carpet style. This led to the wall where a piece of paper was stuck, graduating lengths of coloured tape affixed to it in ‘what the heck’ positions. Each of us had selected lengths and where to stick them. Cinzia stood at the far end of the mat, a tube of bubble mix in her hand. She proceeded to pump the stick, preparing, and blew softly, sending streams of bubbles along the length of bubble wrap. After each bubble had met it’s timely end, either in the air or at her feet, she took a step forward until she had reached the wall and our collective work.
Eva, I went next. How to describe my newly re-found practice? By what had led me here. Audience in a close horseshoe around me, I physically described once familiar dance movements of my arms, from clubs to cabaret stage and ended with a bang, splayed across the far wall and fell to the floor. Drawing myself up to look each person in the eye, I descended into very real grief. When the sobs had subsided and pulling myself to my feet, I walked with purpose the length of horseshoe and drew each hand to clasp that of the next member of the audience. With love, understanding and connection projected, I joined the community created.
Gaele edged her chair around the roughly assembled circle. Holding her mobile phone, set to selfie mode, in her hand she showed each person’s lips to the owner and took out her own lippie, painting her lips. A writer, I realise she was showing taking a person’s words and painting her page with them.
Matt came before us then, demonstrating his bodily usage of the Sigil Wheel. He moved across and onto the floor, his explanation of the irritation brought on by mixed messages on Ikea instructions through to stream of consciousness. This intersected with his dance, crossing over and reflecting his words.
Pony ended our showings justifiably utilising our input to describe their practice. In silence and positioned at will about the room, we listened, drinking in aural input from our environment. In a wave of sound, our mimicking of what was heard climbed to a peak then naturally subsided, a thoroughly consuming and completely unrepeatable performance.
Some random takings from what was said throughout the day;
Lorcan – All of your back-round noises faded like lights.
Jo – Rise-a-matic, always making choices about time and space, what languages are you speaking in?
“Slip across from the private world to the public. Are you at risk in this?” – Tim Etchells
Eva – How can you choreograph the intangible?
Pony – Audience etiquette gets in the way. Balancing the needs of the audience and performer.
Cinzia – Wanted to be rescued by the audience.
Jo – Invest each time in each death.
When do you want to be? Where do you want us to be?
Intimacy and Closeness
