dance art journal

Jules Cunningham talks choreography, power dynamics and m/y-kovsky | fire bird

Words by Stella Rousham

In preparation for my interview with dance artist and choreographer Jules Cunningham last Saturday, I decided to listen to Stravinsky’s The Firebird and Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto, No.1 – two canonical classical pieces of music that inform Jules’ upcoming double-bill m/y-kovsky | fire bird at Sadler’s Wells next week.

Whilst I’ve typically perceived classical music as a symbol of prestige and elitism, speaking to Jules introduced a new lens through which to navigate this seemingly impenetrable genre. Reflecting on their own choreographic processes and artistic journey, Jules shared with me the intricate connections between the self, the everyday and personal experience that can be found within classical forms. Originally made in a pre-pandemic world, Jules further voiced the complexities of choreographic power and collaboration, that has come with bringing fire bird and m/y-kovksy to the stage this month.

SR: Would you be able to briefly introduce the two works: m/y-kovsky and fire bird.

JC: In November, I will be performing two shows. m/y-kovsky which was first made in 2019, and fire bird, made in 2020.

The m/y-kovsky piece is a quartet I made to the First Movement of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No.1. It was originally made for Art Night, which is like a visual art, mostly performance, platform that happens in London. I listen to a lot of classical music, like on the radio. I had definitely heard this piece of music before. But when I heard it in 2019, I really liked it. I started questioning: Why am I drawn to that music this moment? What is it about in me that needs to connect to this music in this moment in time? I wasn’t feeling very well at the time. It was sort of it this thing that I would go into listening and imagining. I started listening to it every day.

fire bird is a solo. I’ve been thinking about fire bird and the music for more than 10 years, before I even started to make things. Around 2012 I was dancing in Michael Clark Company in New York. They did this Stravinsky programme. At the beginning of the show there was a video projection of Stravinsky conducting the finale of The Firebird. I don’t think I should really say this, but the projection was the best part. All the rest of the show was great. But that really stuck with me. I guess I’ve always connected that music with that part of my life.

SR: I’d love to hear a bit more about the movement of the two pieces; did you have certain method or approach for devising the movement?

JC: fire bird is very much me. It’s all the movements I’ve ever done contained in my body. I think it was about finding where different parts of me could come out or the different ways that I move or want to move, can come out. The movement also came from times I’ve been asked to dance in ways that feel beyond me or I felt like I had to force it out. So I guess it’s also about sensation, things that can feel very internal or private.

It’s also related to my mental health. What movements or ways of being in yourself that you mask because it’s not socially acceptable. What are those impulses? How can that be in the work? The making process was actually quite mysterious. Often I would have no idea how a certain moment or movement had happened.

That was really different to m/y-kovsky. In this piece, it was actually very clear to me what the movement was as I went along. The Tchaikovsky is a massive orchestral piece; it’s really over the top.

With the actual process of making the dance, I made it really quickly. It’s quite dense. A lot of movements in it. The whole process felt like listening. I feel like the music told me what to do; I didn’t think ahead, it was really sequential. The sequences fit with different bits of the music, because the music is broken down into short sections, with a repetition of the earlier sections.

SR: How did it feel taking, as you said, very grand orchestral pieces of music and playing with them in this creative way; personalising and queering these really iconic, classical forms.

JC: People often feel that classical music can be really elitist. Oh, ‘it’s not for me’, it’s ‘intellectual’ or ‘posh’ or whatever. When you listen to Tchaikovsky or Stravinsky, there’s sounds in them that are relatable to sounds that we hear all the time. Especially in London, there’s a lot of construction – drilling, banging and traffic. We just think of them as like nuisance and sound pollution. But if you expand what music is, it’s really all the sounds like that, which we hear every day.

I work with a person called Joyce Henderson, who has worked with Complicite for a really long time. We’ve thought a lot about a way of being, thinking and listening that doesn’t separate the technical or structural aspects of dance or music from everyday experience.

I guess I can also explain the title of the piece, m/y-kovsky. The work I made before m/y-kovsky was a piece I made called m/y. This title comes from this book called The Lesbian Body by Monique Wittig. When I was making the quartet, that book was very much still in my head. Also, because it rhymes with Tchaikovsky, I think it might have been a bit of a joke – bringing the ‘my’ into the Tchaikovsky music. The m/y is also about breaking open the self and magnifying it.

“People often feel that classical music can be really elitist, but there’s sounds in the music that are relatable to sounds that we hear all the time.” ~ Jules Cunningham.

SR: Originally, m/y-kovsky and fire bird were made and performed separately. Now, at Sadler’s Wells, they’re going to be performed alongside each other. Does that feel different?

JC: I’ve yet to find out. I think it’ll work! Especially with the help of the people who work with me closely. I also think you have an instinct that it’ll be okay. They’re both really different pieces, really different worlds. Maybe there is a connection through the classical music.

When I’m performing them now, I’m thinking a lot about the time I first made them, which was before the pandemic. Where was I and what I was thinking about at that time? But also, where am I now doing them again? The whole the world is different, I’m different. I’m working with different dancers and not dancing in m/y-kovsky this time. This is first time that I’ve not been in a work that I’ve made. It feels actually really nice to see it from the outside, I feel like I can do a bit more work with it. But also I find it more stressful to not be in.

SR: I guess because there’s so much more you can see?

JC: And I think with nervousness, at least if you dance, you sort of get through it. But if you’re not….there’s a lot more going on in my head. I think [being on the outside] also makes you think about or question that weirdness of power that can happen between the choreographer and dancers. It can so easily be manipulative. Even to have the power to say: Okay, can you do this? And then, the dancers just do it. I found it a bit weird. I was like: Oh my God, why would they do it? Why would they want to do that? But also, I’m really amazed and grateful for them.

SR: It must be quite warming to see people wanting to do something that you’ve created. But then there’s, as you said, all these power dynamics and questions around ownership.

JC: I don’t ever want to take that for granted. Because I think, some of my experiences as a dancer, really just felt like I was a body. Somebody just wants my body to do things. There’s no care at all for the person who’s doing the thing. It feels really important to keep acknowledging that this is a person having an experience. To acknowledge the whole self of the person. Never take for granted what that person is giving.

SR: Would you be able to explain some of the costumes and the ideas behind the scenic aspects of the piece.

JC: In fire bird, most of the set is this a thread that connects across the stage and creates a sort of web structure. I worked with Tim Spooner, an artist and designer, who came and helped me make the thread a bit stronger and more visible. I think the web was about creating a home. Maybe a place of safety. But also entanglement, feeling trapped in what might feel like home. The different sections of the web also take the idea of different rooms or different parts of the self. In yourself, there are some parts or rooms that you don’t really want to go into.

There’s also a video projection onto the back wall. This came from an artist that I collaborated with called JD Samson for Art Night. I guess [the projection] was about bringing her into the piece and how she expresses her gender identity; it felt important that she was in it somehow.

For m/y-kovsky, there’s not really a set. Originally, we did it in quite a big hall in Walthamstow. That was quite a different space from a theatre space, as people were watching it on all sides, rather than just the front. In that way, the piece is not a spectacle. It’s more like us at work, doing this thing.

SR: Have you had experience collaborating with artists and designers before? Or was this something new for you?

JC: I have worked with both costume and set designers before. Collaborating is hard. I think because I do a lot of stuff in my head, I don’t always have words for it. When things make sense to you, you don’t have to articulate them to someone else. The process of collaborating, and trying to be a better collaborator, has been about trying to communicate better. It can be hard sometimes to say what you think, what you want or don’t want. It’s a very particular kind of relationship. I’m still trying to understand and trying to be better at it.

SR: It’s really interesting thinking of collaboration as a relationship that you’re always working out and negotiating. It’s important to communicate what you want or don’t want, but then sometimes realising you might not even know what you want. And that’s quite an interesting thing that can come from collaboration, because it really does throw out all of these questions that you have to confront.

JC: I think it’s scary as well, because I always feel like there’s a certain perception of: Oh, I should have my shit together, I should know what I want all the time. It’s quite vulnerable to say, actually, I don’t know, or to say, I need help. Maybe not for everyone. But I think for people who are not men, it can be hard to say what you need.

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Don’t miss out on Jules Cunningham & Company’s double-bill performance of m/y-kovsky and fire bird at Sadler’s Wells, from 10^th – 11^th November 2022. Find more information and ticket booking here.

For the latest updates on Jules Cunningham, their company and work, check out their Instagram.

NOISE by Nua Dance at The Place | Review

Words by Bengi-Sue Şirin

I am deaf. And I love dance. So I must say, I was very, very excited to see Nua Dance’s NOISE at The Place featuring the brilliant Deaf dancer Chris Fonseca, who I was thrilled to see in his element.

It was not only Fonseca that drew me in. The concept of a ‘promenade performance’ that claims it is ‘not just a dance piece… [but] an invitation to a physical experience,’ is also pretty rare and tempting. The title NOISE doesn’t give much away, and I approach the show with curiosity about how deafness will be considered.

However, considered it most certainly is! Entering The Place I immediately see a trolley of electronic ‘subpac’ vests and a couple of technicians strapping people in. When it’s my turn they tell me that I will feel the music through vibrator pads, which cleverly translate the aural sounds into their equivalent vibrations. My vest-attacher jokes, ‘Be careful at the end! It might make you start dancing yourself!’ I laugh but must admit I think, we’ll see. I have never experienced these vibrating vests before, although I’ve seen that they have growing popularity in the deaf community. Deaf DJ Troi Lee incorporates them into mixing workshops and dancing events, and they are at the forefront of the changing attitudes about deaf access to sound and music.

Also right at the forefront is the Access Consultant of NOISE, Ruth Montgomery. I have come across her and her company Audiovisability before, and they are fantastic; ‘making audio visible’ is their mantra, and they use myriad ways to encourage deaf engagement with music. Although there are very few deaf people in the audience I am pleased to say it is a very accessible event, with the vests, with Ruth Montgomery and Chris Fonseca on board, and with several interpreters around in bright t-shirts.

And an even better start from the piece itself, happening before we knew it. All of us showgoers were congregated in The Place foyer, chatting and waiting in groups. Then I noticed Fonseca walk past us, so I excitedly tapped my friend. “Should I go and say how much I’m looking forward to it?” I asked her, but before she could answer he had started actually dancing! It was a beautiful kind of solo, sort of inward-reaching and solipsistic with its arm twines and spiralling angles. He stayed in the same small spot, and it was marvellous how the crowd of us made one big swivel to see him. I think we were all so surprised by the swift start that conversations just naturally went unfinished and forgotten. After a few minutes of lyrical loveliness, Fonseca made off for the stage. We all followed him in a sort of daze, into a room which was daze personified, with mirrors hanging down at random angles, moody blue lighting bouncing off them, and slightly trippy projections on a large back wall.

Another dancer came in. She was Shelley Eva Haden and she looked fantastic, all edgy silver futurism, big headphones and short slicked blonde hair a là Ema from the Chilean film EMA. As if to prove her cool, she began with a very impressive stint on a large balance board, controlling its steady sway with immense inner strength. With blue beams reflecting on her slowly rolling back, Haden reminded me of a kind of mythical sea dweller emerging after hibernation. Through my hearing aids I could hear delicate sounds, apparently a part of Vivaldi’s Aria, noise in the lower-case. Fonseca walked over to join her, playing with her experience of noise by removing her headphones. Suddenly it sounded like feedback. Unsurprisingly, Haden’s priority was to replace her headphones and resume for her and us the melodic Vivaldi. This fluctuation was interesting and well-reflected in a careful duet that tested the balance board to its gravitational limit.

The dynamic totally changed when the third dancer entered the stage, Tommaso Petrolo. He changed his outfit into the very epitome of upper-case NOISE, a somewhat steampunk amalgamation of punky moon-boots, what looked like leather, and a face cover. Stomping about to ever-increasingly loud sounds, a thumping heartbeat undertone and intensely building electronics. At this point I began to feel the vest working in sync with the noises filtering through my hearing aid microphones. Petrolo’s dancing entirely embodied what I felt, what I heard, in a cacophony of floor-based motion that ensured all attention was riveted to him. He imbued his movements with such energy and defiance that it matched the shaking that my vest was doing. The vest-attacher wasn’t wrong!

For me, the highlights of NOISE were moments of utter synergy between what we saw, what we felt, and what we heard. Choreographer Neus Gil Cortés achieved that in several instances with her cast of three dynamic dancers. A favourite moment was during a Petrolo and Haden duet, when they transformed their bodies into literal inversions of one another. She dived forward into a downwards facing dog while he plunged backward into a crab, and they joined together leg-to-hands like an enormous arachnoid. Somehow, they moved back and forth. It was thrilling.

Just as the audio went on its own journey, so too did the dancers and therefore us. They kept changing their location in the space, sometimes gradually and oftentimes erratically, meaning we often needed to swiftly step back to avoid colliding with a toned and extended limb. An effect of this was that, as promised, we had an interactive experience of not only the piece but one another, needing to interact mostly non-verbally. A little taste of the deaf experience!

Certainly for hearing audience members, the value of needing a clear line of vision to access the show made a cognitive connection with the deaf audience members, for whom sign language is often the preferred or only mode of communication and which obviously requires vision to work. I thought it was interesting when the three dancers split up in the space and danced simultaneously in different corners of the room. We either had to hone in on the one we had chosen to stand by, or try to take it all in peripherally. I of course gravitated towards Fonseca but I must say that the assurance of Haden and the flourish of Petrolo caught my eye more than once.

Towards the end of the piece they all came together for a trio, although by the feeling of my subpac, it was convinced it was a quartet. The audio was rousing and rib-rattling, urgent and harsh. Energy poured from body to body. And then – it stopped. I didn’t know what to expect but what I take away from NOISE is something I’ve rarely seen in dance before but hold very dear; an exploration of the varieties of ways we experience ‘noise’ as a concept, be it the intrusion of another on our private music-listening moments, or the strong vibrations of a subpac or a dancing body, or even the loud projection of a clothing style… I found NOISE both highly enjoyable and highly accessible, and definitely a concept worth making some noise about.

EQ DANCE CO.’s Sanctuary at Longfield Hall | Review & Interview with Artistic Director David West

Words by Jodie Nunn.

Paved with poeticism, poignancy, and playfulness, EQ DANCE CO. offers a conversant take on the quest for physical, mental, and spiritual Sanctuary, emblazoned with a profound nuance that glistens like golden flecks in a woven tapestry of everyday existence.

Having previously reviewed an excerpt of this piece as part of Resolution Festival at The Place (London) in May this year, I was delighted to receive an invitation to attend EQ DANCE CO.’s final week of rehearsals to review this performance in its entirety. EQ DANCE CO. creates dance works centred around mental health and the human experience, with Friday 30th September 2022 marking the premiere of the company’s first full-length piece, Sanctuary.

At the helm of the project, Artistic Director David West leads the cast of four in this spiritual search for security, emblazoned with a profound nuance that glistens like golden flecks in a woven tapestry of everyday existence. With a spiralling acceleration, the dancers circumvolute the physical, mental, and spiritual manifestations of sanctuary, navigating the ritual of repetitive routine, the struggle for connection and companionship, and the sabotage of self-image.

Sanctuary opens with West’s character: a statuesque representation of physical sanctuary. A whirring soundscape dissonantly lingers in the air, its cyclical, sinister strings pushed forward by a plucking undertow. The cyclical rhythms in the accompaniment are reflected in West’s movement, depicting the relentless rigmarole of routine, each time becoming more crazed, flailing, and uncontrollable, as if been manipulated by an external entity. West demonstrates a grounded lightness as he soars through the space, the accompaniment shifting to support the atmospheric luminescence of his circling. The juxtaposition of violent frustration and accepted quietude is well controlled by West, particularly prominent in moments aided by staging, draped in what appears to be a child’s blanket, or later donning a pastel pink cape, matching that of his childhood toy bunny.

Pagan Hunt and Ellie Trow are in constant communication. The vivacious warmth of the classical guitar, melodically intricate, softens the spearing projection of the piece. A platonic soulfulness is outstretched via the exchange of origami hairgrips, worn and pinched, the theme of connection and companionship clear. The playful and meandering exploration is sliced by the ruin of the home-base tent, designed by Loe D’Arcy, and crash of thunder and subsequent rainfall, the demolition of their shared sanctuary. Trow exhibits pain, struggle, and desperation, showcased in breadth and breath, her body opening and closing in vast concaving and convexing movements, initiated from torso, expanding to extremities. Hunt on the other hand sweeps with a frantic, hurried anxiety, pinpointed in a morass of dynamic intention. Hunt and Trow tentatively mirror one another in a trance-like state as they suspend in a vaporous, transcendent promenade. As the score erupts with verve, so does the pair, boasting wide smiles and vast, hovering floor sequences. The duo navigates the light and shade of searching for sanctuary in community with honesty and integrity.

Mental manifestations of sanctuary and the omnipresent shadow of self-image are expertly confronted by Alys Davies. The ominous undercurrents present in West’s opening solo rear once again, now refracted in Davies movement, entangled in a chaos of cloth and conceit. Davies masterfully shifts her weight both actively and passively across the space with unfathomable ease, liquifying durationally in the face of tension. Davies darts with an accelerating charge, ravaging up the space, blind to her surroundings, a simple pink cloth tied across her temples. Her solo is poignant, the perfect vessel for which to carry the audience through to the final quarter.

Sanctuary’s finale spirals with liquid warmth. For the first time, all four characters interact, weaving in and amongst one another, the simple sheeted set, and the central, golden strand of sanctuary. Appliquéd with a playful poeticism, the company embroider a relatable tale with nuance and poignancy.

I spoke to West after the performance, dissecting the notion of sanctuary, his approach within the studio, and his hopes for the reception of this piece.

Q: Having cultured the notion of sanctuary, initially conceived from shared experiences of the pandemic, do you think your understanding or even experience of sanctuary has changed as a result of creating this piece together?

West: “I would say it’s definitely developed from an origin point and continues to do so even now after its debut. I think our sense of sanctuary is always going to be challenged at some point of our lives, and for potentially various lengths of time, be it physically, for example your health or living situation can change overnight, or mentally, you can deal with a couple of problems, but what about when it comes in waves, then oceans, how do you stem the tides? Within this work we look particularly at self-image, crippling indecision, frozen by external pressures, and learning to look inward to find strength. Spiritually, we look to finding sanctuary in others, be it friends or family; this expands into community and what constitutes as that, understanding the individuals within it and understanding that not everyone will necessarily get along. I think we can all agree that we all want security, sanctuary. I believe that this is an important place to practice empathy. With all that said, to answer the question, the context of sanctuary is always shifting, changing in us and around us, therefore my experience of it is in constant flux.”

Q: What was the process of creating this piece, and did you understanding of sanctuary influence your approach within the studio?

West: “When we took on our cast after an online audition process last year, my collaborator Josh Baker-Mendoza (the writer for this project, helping to flesh out the narrative, storytelling element of the show) and I led with effectively interview style questions, giving our cast some artistic license, sharing their thoughts on what sanctuary meant to them. Slowly but surely, we started to see a framework appear, which led to the anthology of the individual characters and their stories, where the main pillars of sanctuary appeared, as a physical, mental, and spiritual thing. This would lead to a RnD structure, gaining understanding of each character; working with the artists, we created first drafts, and when developing the final section, we worked on how each character would co-exist in the space together, and to figure out what was their shared goal was, what was the shared form of sanctuary.

Most recently, leading up to the debut, we spent the last month reworking and redefining the individual characters. We took the time to define what really mattered to these characters, to see them as living, breathing people; what would they care about in certain moments? This was the driving force in the final stages of production. What was also the main driving force leading us to where we are now was the kids. We originally aimed at 12+ years, but we were encouraged by Creative Scotland, following our last RnD period, to aim for a younger audience. Working with schools in Camberwell, London, performing and conducting workshops, made the project so much more worth it. Even with this younger age group, kids are starting to discover what their sanctuaries are.”

Q: What do you hope audiences take away from this performance?

West: “Ultimately, we want people to be able to relate to the characters in a real way, we are a mental health dance company after all. We want to make people laugh, cry, even feel frustrated, it’s all important. The experience we want to provide is an authentic one. We aim to provide people a chance to see themselves on stage, so they can process some of their trouble from an outside perspective looking in, to see it before them, rather than existing in thoughts running around inside their heads. Dance is great way, and especially with us being a dance theatre company, to show these thoughts and manifest them physically to the highest standard, and with honesty.”

For future performances and workshop opportunities, you can find EQ DANCE CO. over on Instagram.

“Experience, aliveness tell us that time isn’t linear” | Interview with SERAFINE1369

Words by Stella Rousham.

Time is an essential organising principle. It determines when we sleep, wake, work and play. Whilst the mechanisms of time are often taken for granted, SERAFINE1369’s (Jamila-Johnson Small) latest multi-part installation, We can no longer deny ourselves, seeks to rupture the illusionary coherence of linear time.

Through sound, poetry, video, live performance and sculptural objects, We can no longer deny ourselves, transforms the River Rooms at Somerset House, into an ‘exploded clock’, inviting audiences to reflect on the fragmented components that construct our perception of “reality” in time. Identifying as a ‘body-based artist’, I spoke to SERAFINE1369 on how their training in dance has influenced their on-going interest in how spaces affect bodies and bodily sensibility, capable of conjuring feelings of welcoming or hostility; holding or rejection.

SR: What can audiences expect when they visit, We can no longer deny ourselves?

SF-1369: Some visually subtle interventions in the dilapidated rooms of a grand old house. A spatialised soundtrack that feels like many voices, dialoguing and harmonising, chattering and shifting, something like weather, rebalancing as you move. A sense of the presence of invisible forces, something like haunting. Your attention being drawn to the shifts in light brought by the weather, and the way this demarcates space differently each time. Many archways that frame and reframe the elements and bodies in each space as you move. If you are open to tuning to it, an energetic shift and an opening up of space. Between 12 and 3 you will encounter a performer: either Alexandrina Hemsley, Steph McMann, Fernanda Muñoz-Newsome or myself.

SR: Can you tell us a little bit about your background as an artist? I like how you identify as a ‘body worker’?

SF-1369: I trained in contemporary dance from 18, at Lewisham College for a year and then at London Contemporary Dance School for 4 years. The thinking that emerges from dancing informs my approach to everything, and I’ve been searching for a way to articulate that. I’m still training in dance, it’s always my teacher. If I say to someone “I’m a dancer” it is often very apparent that I am not communicating for them the scope of what I actually do. I relate all the work I do, and the interventions I make, to body work.

SR: In what ways have movement and dance informed the installation and the material objects/space you use?

SF-1369: I think I make installations similarly to the way I make performances. I consider what the space says, immediately and culturally, how that impacts bodies generally and my body specifically. I’m thinking about the dis/comfort of bodies and how I might support people to stay present in and with their bodies whilst in the space. What might make me feel welcome and want to stay, if and how it’s possible to move there, where the exits are, which gestures I might make to establish territory.

I’m trying to make less hostile conditions. People in heightened states of alarm have the tendency to lash out or revert to habitual ways of thinking and doing. We live in a culture where the unknown is something to be feared. Inviting people into performances of experimental, unresolved unnamed dance practices with a queer black performer jerking around can be confronting for people. I work to host, to hold, to welcome and to shift the terms.

SR: What was the making process behind the exhibition? Did you see the space first or have the idea?

SF – 1369: I’ve been a resident at Somerset House (as Project O with Alexandrina Hemsley) since 2016, so I was familiar with the River Rooms from other events. The space – and the choreography it suggests to me – was very much in mind, something I was responding to, when coming up with the idea.

I’m working to elaborate upon, re-frame or further follow threads from previous works, and the speaking clock is something Josh Anio Grigg (Sound Designer) and I have been working on/with for a while. So the clock was already present in one way, then seeing these rooms – their archways and multiple doorways – the space sort of spoke of a display of fragments – connected but separate – and I thought about physicalising this clock somehow.

The large bowl of water is also something that features in another work, a performance called When we speak I feel myself, Opening which premiered in March 2022 at Sadler’s Wells. And the lilies, which are in the pendulum room [of the installation], were also present in from darkness into darkness an installation I did for Art Now at Tate Britain in 2021.

SR: How have you reflected or used the space at Somerset House for the installation?

SF-1369: I’ve been thinking a lot about what is framing what and how the different elements sit in changing relation as you move through the space. The space is not a white cube or a black box. I like that there’s no fantasy of neutrality. At the same time, it’s a very particular space in a building with a lot charged history and it’s also a protected space, being a listed building, where many things are not allowed. These parameters have definitely informed the installation. It’s been a good challenge to figure out how I can get my voice into those rooms that are already speaking so loudly.

I think of the first room as a reception space – this is where the large bowl of water is, offering an initial proposition of stillness, reflecting the light and forms from the surrounding room. TV monitors flank the archway beside the bowl, framing its stillness and heaviness with movement and light to create a sense of opening. This leads on to the space where the pendulum is suspended, at heart height, and a speaker which plays voices and the sounds of rain. I think of these voices as that of an oracle, as they chatter above whilst you are with the pendulum.

SR: I’m interested in the way that the installation offers an imagining of time that is non-linear. The conception of time progressing in an evolutionary, chronological way seems to me to be connected with capitalist and colonial projects. What was your thinking behind ‘non-linear’ and ‘imaginary’ time?

SF -1369: I think it’s something I feel necessary to assert as it comes from – or through – my experience of blackness as an embodied position, and the particular knowledges this brings to/of death, erasures and gaps in space-time/memory/history. This is a knowledge that speak through rhythm and cycles of trauma as they move through lineages, ‘out of time’.

I think imagining ‘non-linear time’ is also a matter of listening, feeling, dreaming and cultivating. Imagining, as a word, only functions in relation to constructions of reality right? Children are told to stop making things up, to stop imagining things, and sometimes that’s just about their experience and sensitivities not matching up with the vision of reality they are being groomed into believing is “real”, yes, capitalist and colonial projects. Sometimes I feel like I am living in someone else’s fucked up fantasy.

I think as (so-called) adults it’s important to keep imagining, to access alternate realities and aspects of our experience as living beings. Experience is a tool of imagination. Equally, imagining, is the way we can access experience, knowledge, memory, sensation and truth. Where we attribute meaning has a lot to do with imagination and conceptions of reality, how we conduct ourselves, what we assume and anticipate.

“EXPERIENCE, ALIVENESS TELLS US THAT TIME ISN’T LINEAR, THAT WE CAN JUMP TIME, GET FOLDED INTO TIME, CREATE ROUTES BETWEEN DIFFERENT TIMES…”

I’m very interested in dream work – and what is time in dreams!? It’s wild, so much happens or seemingly nothing at all in those hours of sleep. I’m thinking now about Jeremy Narby writing about DNA in The Cosmic Serpent (a book we sometimes read from in the performance), how we have enough DNA in each of our bodies, that would, if unravelled, encircle the earth 5 billion times. Experience, aliveness tells us that time isn’t linear, that we can jump time, get folded into time, create routes between different times…

SR: I think perceptions of time and the seemingly logical coherence of chronological time has really been disrupted by COVID induced lockdowns, when ritual markers of time were halted. Has this informed your installation in anyway?

SF-1369: No doubt my experiences over the last years have informed this work. But I’d say my interest in cycles and breaks in time has been present since I started making choreographies. In my early choreographic processes, I often worked with timers in – egg timers, alarms. When my father died in 2014 how I understood time totally transformed. Grief is a different register of time; as is blood, as is DNA. It is always a shock that he’s dead even though I don’t forget.

I was broken in 2019. 2020 I needed to stop because there was just too much movement inside of me to handle doing things like talking to people, feeding myself, making plans for the future. I needed to tune in. This is one of the offerings in my installation, to be with all the internal and external movements.

SR: Was it intentional that the installation is taking place during a marked transition between time/seasons, with the clocks going forward soon?

SF-1369: No, just appropriate timing for the work! A kind of encouraging aligning.

SR: How do you envision the installation changing in the future?

SF-1369: The real test of this work will be presenting it another venue. At this point, I don’t fully know what is a specific response to the space and what is ‘the show’ – if I can make that distinction. It’s very entangled and I’ve spent a lot of time in those rooms, tweaking details so that the work speaks to – and from – the space.

* * *

Catch We can no longer deny ourselves at the River Rooms, Somerset House Studios from 23rd September – 30^thOctober 2022. The installation is open from 10am – 6pm, with a daily performance between 12 – 3pm. Entry is FREE!

As part of the final weekend of We can no longer deny ourselves, on Saturday 29th October, there will late night opening of the installation with live responses from a selected group of artists. Tickets for the long night can be purchased here.

To keep up to date with SERAFINE1369’s work on social media:

Instagram: @serafine1369

Web: https://jamilajohnsonsmall.wordpress.com/work/

“Experience, aliveness tell us that time isn’t linear” | Interview with SERAFINE1369

Words by Stella Rousham.

SR: What can audiences expect when they visit, We can no longer deny ourselves?

S1369: Some visually subtle interventions in the dilapidated rooms of a grand old house. A spatialised soundtrack that feels like many voices, dialoguing and harmonising, chattering and shifting, something like weather, rebalancing as you move. A sense of the presence of invisible forces, something like haunting. Your attention being drawn to the shifts in light brought by the weather, and the way this demarcates space differently each time. Many archways that frame and reframe the elements and bodies in each space as you move. If you are open to tuning to it, an energetic shift and an opening up of space. Between 12 and 3 you will encounter a performer: either Alexandrina Hemsley, Steph McMann, Fernanda Muñoz-Newsome or myself.

SR: Can you tell us a little bit about your background as an artist? I like how you identify as a ‘body worker’?

S1369: I trained in contemporary dance from 18, at Lewisham College for a year and then at London Contemporary Dance School for 4 years. The thinking that emerges from dancing informs my approach to everything, and I’ve been searching for a way to articulate that. I’m still training in dance, it’s always my teacher. If I say to someone “I’m a dancer” it is often very apparent that I am not communicating for them the scope of what I actually do. I relate all the work I do, and the interventions I make, to body work.

SR: In what ways have movement and dance informed the installation and the material objects/space you use?

S1369: I think I make installations similarly to the way I make performances. I consider what the space says, immediately and culturally, how that impacts bodies generally and my body specifically. I’m thinking about the dis/comfort of bodies and how I might support people to stay present in and with their bodies whilst in the space. What might make me feel welcome and want to stay, if and how it’s possible to move there, where the exits are, which gestures I might make to establish territory.

SR: What was the making process behind the exhibition? Did you see the space first or have the idea?

S1369: I’ve been a resident at Somerset House (as Project O with Alexandrina Hemsley) since 2016, so I was familiar with the River Rooms from other events. The space – and the choreography it suggests to me – was very much in mind, something I was responding to, when coming up with the idea.

SR: How have you reflected or used the space at Somerset House for the installation?

S1369: I’ve been thinking a lot about what is framing what and how the different elements sit in changing relation as you move through the space. The space is not a white cube or a black box. I like that there’s no fantasy of neutrality. At the same time, it’s a very particular space in a building with a lot charged history and it’s also a protected space, being a listed building, where many things are not allowed. These parameters have definitely informed the installation. It’s been a good challenge to figure out how I can get my voice into those rooms that are already speaking so loudly.

S1369: I think it’s something I feel necessary to assert as it comes from – or through – my experience of blackness as an embodied position, and the particular knowledges this brings to/of death, erasures and gaps in space-time/memory/history. This is a knowledge that speak through rhythm and cycles of trauma as they move through lineages, ‘out of time’.

“EXPERIENCE, ALIVENESS TELLS US THAT TIME ISN’T LINEAR, THAT WE CAN JUMP TIME, GET FOLDED INTO TIME, CREATE ROUTES BETWEEN DIFFERENT TIMES…”

S1369: No doubt my experiences over the last years have informed this work. But I’d say my interest in cycles and breaks in time has been present since I started making choreographies. In my early choreographic processes, I often worked with timers in – egg timers, alarms. When my father died in 2014 how I understood time totally transformed. Grief is a different register of time; as is blood, as is DNA. It is always a shock that he’s dead even though I don’t forget.

SR: Was it intentional that the installation is taking place during a marked transition between time/seasons, with the clocks going forward soon?

S1369: No, just appropriate timing for the work! A kind of encouraging aligning.

SR: How do you envision the installation changing in the future?

S1369: The real test of this work will be presenting it another venue. At this point, I don’t fully know what is a specific response to the space and what is ‘the show’ – if I can make that distinction. It’s very entangled and I’ve spent a lot of time in those rooms, tweaking details so that the work speaks to – and from – the space.

* * *

To keep up to date with SERAFINE1369’s work on social media:

Instagram: @serafine1369

Web: http://www.basictension.com/

Mapping Gender by Anders Duckworth | review

Words by Francesca Matthys. Mapping Gender was performed at The Place in September 2022.

Mapping Gender by Anders Duckworth in collaboration with sound artist Kat Austen—is a beautifully tailored piece of performance art/dance theatre that entices the senses and maps both a personal and historical story of gender.

The story begins in the theatre foyer, even before the actual performance, through an exhibition of Duckworth’s process and research. Photographs, quotes, videos, punch needle art and images. This thoughtfully curated tapestry created a curious foundation for what we were to witness.

As the audience entered the performance space that had been completely stripped of any wings, the seating arrangement of the theatre had been extended to accommodate watching from the sides. This exposed the performance space that held large wooden boxes stacked as if they were in a warehouse. A liminal space where objects are held in transit. In these boxes perhaps one’s identity is hidden, packed up to be taken away or ready to be opened, shown. To come out.

The bare space and the DJ/sound desk positioned stage left evoked feelings of being in a nightclub or a ballroom space, offering a potentially more intimate connection to the performer.

After a prolonged silence, an unlocked latch and the sounds of physical struggle and scuffling amplified through a microphone, a hand with glistening ‘burnt Sienna’ nails gently rested on the edge of one of the boxes. This, our first clue of the performer, a first in flesh taste of what is expected. Poised and prim yet cautious of what awaits them.

This tone soon shifted as we were witness to a cold and hard object that looked like a crowbar. The violent connotations immediately made my body quiver as thoughts of the many injustices experienced by queer bodies reverberated through the space. The sensitivity through which the object was handled allowed its purpose to translate in and out of both harm and protection; of both self and other.

“Duckworth’s choice to conceal their body as if it were an unfamiliar, foreign object as well as label their body as unknown is an impactful and harsh representation on the way that non-binary bodies are in many spaces still seen as ‘other’”

Duckworth’s full body was soon displayed to us in what looked like a white hazmat suit made famous during the beginning of the Covid-19 outbreak. Protecting its contents. As it is carefully unzipped, Duckworth’s body was adorned in an extravagantly designed Rococo style dress famously worn in the 18th century by Marie Antoinette. Like a barbie out of a box. As Duckworth danced closer towards us the intricate lines of a unique map, including landmarks like ‘parts unknown’ were illuminated.

Duckworth’s choice to conceal their body as if it were an unfamiliar, foreign object as well as label their body as unknown is an impactful and harsh representation on the way that non-binary bodies are in many spaces still seen as ‘other’, not fitting into ‘conventional’ gender categories. The many borders that informed the piece. And the map; a tool for a process of discovery. In the post performance discussion, the creative team highlighted the importance of maps in the work and mentioned maps that are both oppressive and empowering in allowing one to share more about oneself.

The work is informed by thoughtful conversations had with non-binary individuals who have consented to sharing their stories. In the post performance discussion, dramaturg Emma Frankland mentioned that the work is held by the community rather than a representation of it. This community of voices were layered through the rich performance score. The spirits of these many individuals, divulged their opinions on borders and what it meant to exist in their bodies. This was the score as Duckworth moved from coyly sashaying across the stage to sword fighting on tiptoes and of course contorting their face into a silent scream while holding up the crow bar-like object above their head. This poignant image reminded me of Hitchcock’s haunting shower scene, though Duckworth’s version subverted this, resembling both victim and perpetrator. Duckworth was soon swept away, through dynamic whirlwind movements, by the sea of gender perceptions and binaries that dictate gender privilege. Another voice questions who is allowed leisurely walks; men in suits and woman in dresses. A ruthless polarity that has been infiltrated through our humanness.

Duckworth’s playful use of scenic devises allows the words ‘Gender playground’ to rest in the foreground of my mind. How are we able to be playful with our gender expression?

Their use of an array of scenic devices from boxes to ropes, to costume pieces to crowbars paints both beautiful and harrowing illustrations for us as watchers. We are witness to the body of the dress becoming a horse, a more dated yet still present mode of transportation. Transportation as a liminal experience becomes a metaphor in the work for the journey of many individuals who exist on the outskirts of ‘gender norms’. Though Duckworth’s exploration allows us to travel towards a place of reparation and resilience as it develops.

We watch as the bright orange string, inspired by the colour of the routes on the map, is retched out as if Duckworth were sea sick, purging old ideas of gender or ill as a result of them. The research around liminal, natural landscapes is a large part of the work in both its imagery and soundscapes. Water and the sea specifically as a powerful and immense body, both disturbs the performer’s body but can also be seen as a metaphor for the depth and magnitude of this subject matter. As we are more than 70% water it may also be seen as a metaphor for the self, the non binary body that is waved through a tumultuous existence of becoming and acceptance.

“The juxtaposition of what is shown and hidden in costume is a smart and very clear commentary on not belonging to one polarity but choosing to exist in-between spaces.”

As Duckworth begins to undress, the many layers of their costume are exposed that include a very restrictive corset that reminded me of the practice of ‘chest binding’ where a trans individual will compress their breast tissue with tight clothing, bandages or a binder to create a flat chest. As Duckworth sat with their back towards us they very carefully untied the ribbons that held their chest tightly together. The care in this action conjured up thoughts of the emphasis of care that is needed to be shown for non-binary bodies navigating the world. As Duckworth undresses they also expose their knee high socks and pink 18th century shoes that have been mostly hidden until now. The juxtaposition of what is shown and hidden in costume is a smart and very clear commentary on not belonging to one polarity but choosing to exist in-between spaces.

Before the final moments of the work, Duckworth now, stripped down to a white 18th century nighty almost like an embodied surrender, drinks water from a bottle and pores some into a makeshift bath created from one of the boxes. This act is synonymous with that of the often African practice of libation where one pores liquid or grains in recognition of one’s ancestors. Whether conscious or not, it is a moment of awareness for those that have began the fight for queer rights across the globe and those that are to come, those that are here like Anders Duckworth. This sentiment echoes the words of those in the space with Duckworth; ’My existence is activism’.

Throughout this important and sensitively loaded work we are reminded of the journey that is filled with not only joy, self appreciation, playfulness but mourning as we see the crinoline dress structure mimic a dead carcass and Duckworth’s body displayed in a crucifixion pose. We swiftly move through these various moments as if we are in a fever dream, afraid to look but also afraid to miss out.

The impossible nature of mapping gender as mentioned by the creative team is exactly what the work tackles. The creative team once again mentioning that ‘…sometimes we need to map our gender to communicate…’. Duckworth as a performer is a strong and present and ultimately the work offers an intentionally highly physical experience of how non-binary bodies and anyone who experiences themselves on the boundaries may dig deep, excavate and land on fertile soil in their own journeys of self discovery.

Choreographer /Performer: Anders Duckworth

Sound Artist: Kat Austen

Designer: Kit Hinchliffe

LX Designer: Martha Godfrey

Dramaturg: Emma Frankland

Costume Designer: Nadia Miah

Costume Makers: Nadia Miah & Laura Rose Moran-Morris

Scent Artist: John Foley

Outside Eye: Ania Varez

Imagery: Rosie Powell & Guy J Sanders

Producers: Reece McMahon & Emily Beecher, The REcreate Agency

Maud le Pladec ‘Twenty-seven perspectives’ | review

Words by Maria Elena Ricci.

Maud le Pladec’s Twenty-seven perspectives, presented the 1st and 2nd of October in Rome’s Auditorium Parco della Musica, is certainly not definable in a few, concise words. With dance works of this kind, dance writers often become suspicious of the power of the written word, which can represent univocal meanings, categorisations which leave little to no space for imagination and free interpretation, of which art is the medium itself.

The French choreographer has defined her work as both formal and abstract. It is certain that there is a clear relation between Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony No.8, from which le Pladec generates the choreographic composition, and the dancers’ defined and literal movement language. Nevertheless, the almost imperceptible, yet constant rhythmical variations suggest ambivalence, dissonance which is audible musically and visible choreographically. Still, this “chaos” is accompanied by moments of solidarity, signs of peace, playful and competitive gazes. These elements coexist together all in the same space, as if this was a unique and intact musical piece. Instead, as the title of the work suggests, there are not one but twenty-seven perspectives or variations of Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony No.8 by the musician Pete Harden, with whom le Pladec collaborates translating music into movement.

When the dancers enter the stage in sporty clothing they stop with decision, projecting solemn gazes. The solemnity, supported by the classical music in the background, is immediately contrasted by the athletic and competitive aesthetics of the dancers, who act as friendly game opponents. Schubert’s music lifts their presence beyond us to the point of making them appear as unattainable, out of reach, only to suddenly break the established tension with instinctual, geometrical movements which we recognise in repetitive sequences moving the “players” everywhere around the space. Unexpectedly, exquisite unisons surface, satisfying, although only momentarily, the audience’s need for harmony. Then, the tired dancers enter and leave the curtain-less stage, taking off and leaving jackets and pants on the sides, as if this was a real competition in a real field. The dynamism of the pausing and resuming of the game, a virtuosic and tridimensional dance, leave us hanging until we are left with nothing. A suffused light is projected on the empty, quiet space… we begin to breathe again.

Top images: Konstantin Lipatov. Bottom: Laurent Philippe.

This moment is completely different from what we have seen until now: we move from classicism to minimalism. We are gifted with the time to immerse our senses in a contemplative and abstract prospective. The cosmic void triggers our imagination and we begin to wonder about the limits of the spatial-temporal confines, beyond the physical space in which we are currently present. For a moment, I considered why people go to watch shows. I believe we crave the desire to feel something powerfully different, something that looks nothing like the world of crisis we experience daily.

Our wondering minds are resettled when, from the parterre, we see dancers raising with bowed heads, as if they are called to finish their unfinished game. After all, to complete an action, like finishing Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony, means nothing else than restarting it. Paradoxically, one must act in order to finish something. In the same way, the dancers resume their effort of bringing this work to an end: they climb up and down the stage, sitting on the sidelines to then go back in the field, over and over again. Audience members begin to predict, almost crave an ending, yet the constant resuming of the dancers’ game expresses a sense of continuity which goes beyond the performance apparatus. While the show does come to an end, the work, then unfinished, stays unfinished: the dancers have initiated a mechanism of new and infinite beginnings which knows no limits. While darkness swiftly pervades the space, we have the sensation nothing is really ending. Spinning on their axis with arms stretched at 90 degrees, gaze inwards, bodies generate infinite and circular trajectories which make us want to reach them, to be with them in that visible state of constant infinity where there are no endings, but only beginnings.

Joseph Toonga on Born to Exist | interview

The final piece in Joseph Toonga’s acclaimed trilogy comes to The Place next week 25-26 October. We reviewed the first piece Born to Manifest a couple of years ago, and the second work Born To Protest toured the UK to outdoor festivals last year.

Ahead of Born to Exist’s performance next week, we sat down with Joseph Toonga to talk about the work.

Born to Exist is part of a trilogy – can you give us a brief description of how the three works fit together thematically?

The three works fit together as they look at the themes of black excellence, black experience and black journeys. I think the thread between the three pieces is the insight into the journeys and experiences of black brotherhood and sisterhood. The trilogy overall looks at relationships and how they are perceived and seen through another lens.

When you started out with the trilogy did you already have in your mind the overriding themes of each piece? Did you always know you would end up telling this female-focused story?

No, originally Born to Exist was meant to be part of a double bill when I did my R&D in 2018. It was meant to be a solo on myself and then a trio on three females. However, I realised that those two stories needed a separate show, so I started Born to Manifest which became a duet. From there, I realised that I wanted more people who looked like me and reflected my journey and my background to see the pieces of work. Born to Protest came out of this and was an outdoor piece because I wanted non-theatre goers and non-dance lovers to be able to access work like this. So the trilogy came out of the want for more people to be exposed to Born to Manifest.

I always knew the last part of the trilogy was going to be female-focused as I wanted one part of the work to reflect the different females in my life and my upbringing. I also wanted to bring in other viewpoints and shine a light upon the journeys of their mothers, aunties, best friends and cousins.

Born To Exist tells the story of how you were brought up by your mum and aunties when you came to the UK – can you briefly describe this experience?

I think Born to Exist has moved past my upbringing. My upbringing was a stimulus, but through the process we had a survey and I spoke to a lot of people, including the performers. I tried to get consensus from the performers on the themes and issues covered and on how we explored them. We didn’t want to make it cliched or stereotypical or for it to feel like I’m telling a story of how they are. It’s more of an insight from my research and their opinions, and we’re presenting their journey to you.

In terms of my experience growing up, it was good, but it was also hard because I had to watch my aunties and my mum be very resilient in a place that wasn’t home for them. And of course, there were certain scenarios that they couldn’t hide from me as a child. But they tried their best to make sure that we were brought up in a positive, hard-working environment. They really tried to form a sense of community, a sense of home, a sense of being proud to be African, to be black, because it wasn’t the norm at that time.

What was it like for you to move to the UK from Cameroon 25 years ago?

It’s hard to talk about this because I don’t have a lot of memories – just images and pictures. I know my family had to work hard and sacrifice a lot for myself and my cousin to be in this country, so I’m grateful for that and I try to limit the amount of questions I ask. I think my mind is still trying to gather information and put it together…so it’s still very puzzling.

Can you tell us a bit about how you make your work – the collaboration process involved with your cast and creative team?

I think it varies depending on the subject and what I’m exploring. For Born To Exist, we had a research and development period where we solely focused on quality and texture of movement. We looked at what movement within hip-hop spoke and didn’t speak and how we could break down and decode the norms associated with a female style and a male style.

In terms of the creative process, I always try to find a team who believe in my idea but will also challenge me when they feel it’s the right time. I always have a premise for my creative team that they understand my vision and what I want to do, and I have to trust that they will match my vision. I think that’s the same way I work with my dancers – I give them stuff, but I’m also very interested in what they give back and how they respond to the space.

Why do you feel it is important to tell your story at this time? Is there a political message you want to get across?

It’s a message that needs to come at this time because we’re at a point where while black and ethnic minority stories are starting to come out in little drops, there is a lack of focus on black female stories. I don’t want to neglect the stories of my mum and my cousins, and other black and biracial females whose stories are not being told because they’re not in the mainstream. There’s so much beauty in their journeys and strength in their sisterhood, and I felt that my work needed to highlight this. I have a spotlight right now where people are wanting to hear and see my opinion, so I think it’s the right time to put this work out and start conversations that will hopefully give others a platform to make work and know that their story is relevant.

I don’t try to convey a political message, but I think the journeys and stories are political in and of themselves. There are three black women on stage who all come from different backgrounds, different tones of black, a different mix of what black can look like. The political message is in the piece of work: to see them how they are, for who they are, and see their journeys. Who they are is important and we need to hear their stories. We need to celebrate their journeys and realise that their stories are just as complex as anyone else’s.

How do you imagine seeing the work will affect its audiences / make them feel?

I don’t have an expectation in terms of what people should come out feeling, but I want people to think – to think about others around them who don’t look like them and consider their journey. The piece isn’t trying to educate anyone; it’s about giving an insight into someone’s journey.

How would you describe your choreographic style?

Fluid, raw, a mixture of hip-hop and contemporary language. I would describe my style as hard-bodied – taxing on the body but in a way that hopefully activates different muscles. My movements are very action-based, very practical movements that sometimes don’t feel nice but look nice to the audience.

You are Emerging Choreographer in Residence at the Royal Ballet, has this had an impact on your career, plans, trajectory?

If I’m being honest I don’t know yet. I think it has had a personal impact on me, and I’m still on a journey to feel like I belong because not many people look like me in that space. I feel a responsibility to expose new creative ways and make sure I implement my creative practice on the company and on that part of the dance sector, as much as take everything that they give. There is a reason why I’m there, and my journey and experience is valid and needs to be in those spaces.

In terms of trajectory, I couldn’t say, but I hope other companies that see me want me in their spaces and want to commission me. I hope that what I do can also open up more doors for other artists who look like me or have similar journeys.

Anything else you’d like to say about Born to Exist to potential audiences?

I hope it gets the exposure it needs in order for more people to come and watch these stories.

Born to Exist comes to The Place 25-26 October. Book here.

Engaging older people through community dance | interview with Moving Memory

Words by Katie Hagan.

Organisations based in local and regional communities are true agents of change. Moving Memory Dance Theatre Company, a north Kent based dance organisation established in 2010, is one such example, using movement or dance to challenge the stereotypes surrounding older people.

Led by director Sian Stevenson, a choreographer who’s been working in physical-based storytelling and community dance for over 30 years, Moving Memory Dance Theatre Company has had a demonstrable impact in its community and beyond, creating connections between dancers and audiences in Kent and overturning ageist perceptions around what a dancing body is.

We caught up with Moving Memory to chat about why community dance is vital in the UK, Moving Memory’s latest project DamnitDanceit! and how they are dismantling numerous geographical and social barriers to the arts.

Q: Thanks for chatting to us, Sian! When and why was Moving Memory established?

Sian: When we first set up the company there was little opportunity for older women’s voices and bodies to be heard and seen in a performance space. There were lots of problematic stereotypes.

It took time to convince venues that older women can and do get bums on seats, which is one of the reasons we took to the streets, as well as mainstream venues, to reach a non-traditional theatre audience. This wish – to offer opportunities to new audiences – has remained central to our vision and became manifest in our participatory programme, ‘Moving Well’.

Moving Memory started in 2010 as the result of a commission from the University of Kent Creative Campus initiative. We worked with older people in a care home and then found a group of older women (we invited all genders, but it was the women that came forward) to carry those stories about friendship and love into a performance space. Following this event, the group of women involved said that they didn’t want to stop moving, so the core company was born, and began to train and devise work as an ensemble of seven women, 50+ who have stayed together (with one or two changes) ever since.

Q: In your experience, how does community dance benefit older people?

A: The work we produce, and the way it is produced, addresses the ageism which “leads to poorer health, social isolation, earlier deaths and cost economies billions”. By showing that getting older can be liberating and life enhancing, and through working intergenerationally, we demonstrate the richness, value and importance of older people’s lives and contributions to local communities.

Moving Memory has a strong track-record of making a significant difference to the health and activity levels of the people we work with. The way we do this is described in feedback from the commissioners of Moving Minds – a project for adults with enduring mental health issues in Medway.

Q: Why is it important for dance to have this community presence in regional areas where access to art is very limited?

A: Traditionally, dance and movement-based performance opportunities have been concentrated in cultural meccas – the major cities in the UK. Access to the creative spaces and training opportunities have been the domain of those who are privileged. We need to establish a presence in places that are deprived of such resources, harnessing the diverse experiences of different communities, celebrating those people and offering new ways of putting their stories into the spotlight.

This feeds individuals’ and communities’ heart and soul, with knock on benefits in terms of health and well being socially, economically, culturally – in all ways.

Q: What’s the story of the Damnit!Danceit! project so far?

A: DamnitDanceit! was conceived as a result of a conversation I had with one of my daughters during lockdown about mental health and the need for a place and space to dance out sadness, anger, the heebie-jeebies, the stuff that pulls us down at times.

Moving Memory has done a lot of work in shopping centres and, in doing so, met and worked with a really diverse mix of people. So for DamnitDanceit! the basic idea was to take over a space in a shopping centre and explore the idea of establishing a flash mob company, investigating the benefits for participants, the community and the centre. It’s about empowering people to become the movers and makers of dances that tell their stories and experiences, and in doing so encouraging people to become the founders of a distinctive creative community.

We’ve piloted the project at two centres; the Pentagon in Chatham, and Royal Victoria in Tunbridge Wells. The response has been fabulous. Some people join us for the whole run of six weeks for the full two hour sessions, others pop in for a quick 10 minute groove and leave us feeling lighter. Both groups have subsequently been invited to be part of other performance events so, fingers crossed, we can really build on these successes in the next run.

Q: What has the reaction or feedback been when audiences watch the flash mob style performances?

A: Quite fabulous! Lots of passers-by stop to take part in the dance, lots of people filming and sharing the work on social media. It’s creating a sense of buzz and momentum around not only the participants but the wider community using the centres.

Q: What’s next for Moving Memory?

A: We’re at a really exciting time in our development. We are expanding our programme of work in various different localities, offering a comprehensive package which includes DamnitDanceit! groups and ‘Groovin Well’ groups which will take place in community settings run on similar principles to DamnitDanceit! but approaching the work at a slightly deeper level. The aim is to work towards creating an ongoing committed creative company which devises performances. These initiatives would be run by local facilitators who have been trained in Moving Memory practice, but who, in turn, would look to train others ensuring sustainability, led by locals, for locals.

We’re building partnerships with theatre venues in the localities to embed performances by older people in their programmes. This is kick started by our professional core company and their new piece, ‘The Devil’s Doorbell’ which goes into R&D this autumn. We hope to work with local groups to create ‘Openers’ for the venues’ shows.

And lastly, in collaboration with People Dancing, we’re in the process of creating an accredited Facilitator Training course which will be a mix of online and in person learning.

DamnIt!DanceIt! sessions run across Kent in Chatham: Pentagon Shopping Centre Wednesdays at 1.15-3.15pm until 26th October.

Tunbridge Wells: Royal Victoria Place Fridays at 1.15-3.15pm until 28th October.

kid subjunctive by Funsch Dance | Review

Words by Maxine Flasher-Düzgüneş

SAN FRANCISCO, CA – Things began before beginning…dancers danced behind oblivious raised programs…house lights buzzed. Was the dance in the adjusting curtains and the diagonal warm-up jogs? Was the dance in the placement of the microphone or in its rendezvous with a dancer’s pair of lips? When folks finally muted their chitchat, hovering over the sound of bare feet brushing against marley…was it also the dance?

The words “don’t say anything” raised ears, as if directed outwards, eerily accusing us of daydreaming with the start of the dance. And suddenly the stage resembled an invisible jungle gym, its kid players taste-testing its structures in randomised motions. The movement of the four dancers (including choreographer Christy Funsch) appeared compartmentalised, like the organized rooms and hallways of a building but at times rogue, unexplained runaways.

The dance itself described creation, the incomprehensible blurbs of the performers bleeding into the mic – “me me me me” – a gestural glossary referenced by an occasional synchronisation but otherwise abandoned in roundabout, lackadaisical sequences.

As in an improvisational score, the dance demanded attention, to the body’s pathways with and without others, and its ticks front and back. Before beginning, things began. The dance, both in and outside itself, reminded me about how makers loop-de-loop through decisions like rollercoaster routes, unsure of which and whose take priority over another. A choreographer might string beads like they do dances, selecting and de-selecting, sorting and tossing, accepting what doesn’t make it in exchange for what does.

kid subjunctive twisted and turned, a piece to sit and wonder about the why and the what of it. Dancers in day-to-day clothes, constructing themselves through linear sets of gesture and into an organism with a mind of its own.

kid subjunctive premiered 08-10 September 2022 in a double bill with Nol Simonse and Jim Cave at CounterPulse in San Francisco, California.

Performance, conversation, movement and sound generation: Christy Funsch, Emily Hansel, Zoe Huey, Peiling Kao, Jenna Marie, and Phoenicia Pettyjohn

Music: Lou Reed

Lighting Design: Jim Cave.