Silence is Gold: How To Disrupt A Performance

I must admit I don't know much about contemporary dance.
Therefore, when G. handed me two tickets to go and see Rosas Danst Rosas that a colleague had generously passed on to him because she couldn't go, I just went all ??
A Google search revealed it to be a choreography based on austere, pure dance minimalism, devised by the Belgian Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker. The review I bumped into gives a meticulous description of the dance, including the fact that nothing really happens for the first twenty minutes and, half-way through it, there are quite a few exasperate walk-outs. Ouch. That did put me off a bit, but then You Tube overturned the situation by showing me this:

That's when I got all excited about it.
It reminded me of what I studied during my university days, when I took two modules of History of Theatre and got fascinated by the Odin Teatret and...hum, that other guy, Russian perhaps, who turned the actor into a machine. I think this very same thing of forgetting the name happened at the exam, too, and the lovely Professor gave me a 29/30 mark (30 being the maximum in the Italian marking system. Come ON! How mean is that?) Anyway, on show day we turn up at the Sadler's Wells, which by the way was full, with curiosity and great expectations. When the lights go down four women walk in and lay on the floor. As predicted by the article, nothing happens. Not a sound, with the exception of the women's sudden breathing and coordinated, identical and repetitive movements.

The silence engulfs everything, as thick as a blanket. It's total, and gripping.
And then, surely as breathing, here it begins the coughing.
One cough from the right hand side of the stalls. A second cough answers from the other side. This prompts a third, then a fourth.
The four women do another quick sequence, breaking the silence with their breath, and the cough stops. Then, back to immobility and to it's-oh-so-quiet-it's-oh-so-still.
And someone coughs. Just once. It's a performance within a performance.

Now, with the exception of those who maybe are allergic, phthisical or actually caught a cough, have you ever wondered about the complexity of this phenomenon?
Silence is an issue. It kind of leaves you alone with your thoughts, which may be too noisy, and may crush you down. To me, the cough that breaks the silence is like one of those miniature sorghum brooms used to protect houses from evil spirits; brush it away.
That's the only explanation I have, for there must be a reason why silence is gold. For example, hadn't the silence being so gripping, I wouldn't have thought of this whole post.
It contains neither pearls of wisdom nor philosophical truths, but not all thoughts bring up evil spirits.

Back to the show, suddenly a very mechanical music begins, and the silence issue is archived.
One hour and forty minutes of five different, but identical movement sequences. An intense work for the dancers, and also for those who watch. 

The (late) Events

All is left of the show is the orange vinyl on the door, that we forgot to remove. 

Russel Charter's installation next to it, that was blocking the view from outside, is gone too, leaving place to an exceptionally shiny window. Dylan Shipton's structure was dismantled piece by piece, several of which were just thrown away. All the other framed works, including the huge Odyssey panel, are bubble-wrapped and awaiting collection.

The plinths we recycled from the room in the basement came back to their place, one painted black, another pierced in various points with a drill in order to let some cables passing through. 

Dust, screws, plaster and a hammer.

Fresh white paint on the walls and on some tape, to try and conceal the drilled holes on the plinth.

After the hard work, nothing remains but pictures, and some mention here and there. For example, let's remember the Events before the memory fades away (musica, Maestro!)

First of all, a big thank you to Digby Washer for having taken these glorious pictures.

Digby likes to construct the picture by assembling different frames, creating elements of surprise and displacement. In this picure, Cesare Pietroiusti was just starting his talk about The Artist and the Given Space. He told us about his different experiences, as an artist, of trying to go beyond the wall, like for example when he worked for three hours to demolish a wall in a cellar during an art event in Rome. 

He though he would have found a passage to go to a garden on the other side and ended up in a private loo, instead. Behind the wall, there stood another one. Back to the talk, people interacted with him (which, in fact, is one of the points of his practice) making questions, and everyone seemed to have had a good time. We were very pleased to see, among the public, Whitechapel Gallery's director Iwona Blazwick and Documenta's curator Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev. 

The cream of the crop was, in the end, to finally see the performance Dancing on Kelkulè devised by artist Sophie Vent. 

Sophie was introduced to the show by Will and Clementina gave a description of her work in the handouts: "Dancing on Kelkulè is a live performance of the B-Endorphin molecule translated through dance. The translation derives from the chemical structure of the molecule; the skeletal diagram is re-built and represented as a physical form, translating the language and symbols of the diagram into a new system of interpretation. Vent worked alongside choreographer Jummy Bolanji & Child of Zion dance group for a new language growing up from the molecular shapes, physical properties and Kekulè's Laws."

Art and Science. Again.

So, how does a molecule behave then? It jumps, up and down. It changes direction quite suddenly, it tries to mingle with the other ones without succeeding. It wears quite a serious face, it knows what its job is and can't get distracted. What does it transmits? Energy. Pure energy.

To conclude with Thank Yous, hail to the participating dancers and their coreographer: Arinthia, Jummy Bolaji, Ta’Shanh Clarke, Jaigh Ejakpovi, Davida John, Abraham Kanu, Santhy Sivananthan.