Tim Crouch - "An Oak Tree"

If you want to know what Tim Crouch's An Oak Tree is about, and what it is like, first read his own description. You can also read the great reviews, although it might not be necessary after the first text. If you want to go deeper, there is a work called An Oak Tree, by Michael Craig-Martin, which inspired the piece. Now, join me.

This is not about hypnotism. Contrary to what Tim Crouch suggested after the show, I don't think a spectator is ever in a state of semi-hypnosis.
And this is not about hypnotism anyway. Although it might seem so - since it's all about the idea of believing in a world that isn't real. For the spectators, this means that we need to imagine most of the story. We get little fragments, bits and pieces, interpreted in a very "minimalist" way. The rest is our job. And that's fine, since we get lots of hints and aides in this imaginative work.
On the other hand, for the invited actor (every night a new one, and who doesn't know anything about the show) who simply follows instructions, believing in a world that isn't real means being manipulated. Doing things just because you are told to do so. How will you deal with it? And who are you when doing them? Are you the person that's trying to obey, are you some sort of an instant character, or are you yourself that decides to be someone else?
All this appears on stage in Tim Crouch's new piece. It is a true gem, a balanced, daring performance that left me fascinated by the mechanisms of belief and obedience. The story is a sad one, one of those tragedies that bring about the relief of melancholy. But we know it's just a story. We are being reminded time and again that this is all fake. Jumping in and out of the role, and insisting that the second actor not interpret (he simply doesn't get a chance to really go for it), Tim Crouch makes sure this doesn't become a psychological drama. One could even think the drama is taken away through all these theater and manipulative tricks and halts. But exactly the opposite happens: because it's so apparently dry and distant, we have breathing space. And we are forced to make the distance and imagine it all ourselves. Can you be any more distanced than having actors not act? Actually, you can, and Tim Crouch was - in his first play for adults, My Arm (before that he only made theater for children). And I think he went too far. In My Arm, the different roles were played by objects brought by the spectators. And since they were randomly chosen, they really had nothing to tell us. And it made little difference if we were watching, or just listening - the objects were sadly disposable. This time, though, everything changes. For suddenly, Tim Crouch, the master of objectification, has a challenge: a human being. And this human being on stage looks incredibly powerful and attractive because of the very fact of being one of us. And no matter how submitted he becomes, his presence is never disposable. The game between obedience and liberty is very subtle (little to do with gameshow situations). It has to do with orders, with subordinating oneself for the sake of something that is beyond you. And this is a little disturbing. We feel that Tim Crouch is using the actor, that although he doesn't ridicule him, he could, and this very possibility is discomforting.

The first night I saw it, the invited actress (the gender of the actor is indifferent to the play) was Cathy Nadan from Forced Entertainment. It was an unbelievable show. And although Tim insisted that no show is better or worse because of the actor, that they are simply different, I had a different impression. The next day I went to see the show again, this time with Teatro Praga's André C. Teodosio. He is a very good actor and it went fine. But it also confirmed what I'd suspected: that previous night was something special. You see, you have a show where it's all about instant reactions - reading from a text, repeating what you are told, making the actions you are told to... and you have an actress that has been doing exactly this (well, not only) for some 20 years. Maybe that's why she simply didn't let him manipulate too much - she gained a very delicate, and yet powerful, autonomy. It looked as if the role had been written for her: the perfect amount of an "amateur" attitude, just the right touch of pure theater interpretation, and above all, going with the flow as if this were the most natural of all things that can possibly happen on stage. Because of that, the strange feeling that it's a one man show after all went away, leaving us with what one of the best things the stage can offer: a true performance, where people do things and react and make us wonder how come we never see anything that pretty.

Technorati: theatre, theater, performance, art, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Pole

Marcin Maciejowski, Emmigrant, oil on canvas (2006)


found at this great Polish blog about art, where you can discover some excellent contemporary works by artists both Polish and foreign.

Technoratiart, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Night-Seeing

Here, have some Bill Henson.






If there were only darkness in the darkness, we would never look into it, would we?

Technorati: photography, Bill Henson, art, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Objective criticism

A judge is not allowed to take a case if he knows personally the one he judges. Shouldn't it be the same in art criticism?
But then, how would criticism be possible, if the critic is everybody's (quasi) friend? And, after all, social life is, many would say, crucial to the art world.
If this is the case, the reviewer should clearly state his relation to the reviewed (e.g., degree of intimacy, number of conversations in the last week, month, year, common friends, social events both attended, etc.). I mean this quite seriously. This would also allow the reviewer to write more objectively, without worrying about the pain of hurting the ones we care about (and whatever you say, a bad review can hurt). It would make things clear: everyone knows about us, so I simply can't promote you. I can advise you, help you, work with you. I can listen to your explanations (which is already a great advantage you have). But this is where it stops.
And if it doesn't, if you resist everything but the temptation to "help" your friends, at least things are a little clearer for the public that is not in.

Technorati: art, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Jerôme Bel by Pichet Klunchun by Jerôme Bel

Pichet Klunchun and Myself, a performance directed by Jerôme Bel, at the Alkantara Festival in Lisbon

Is it really that simple? Dancer X meets dancer Y, asks dancer Y some questions, dancer Y demonstrates, than vice versa, dancer Y interrogates dancer X... and you have a show?
Almost.
Jerôme Bel, the master of entertaining conceptual performance (that some still call dance), seems to like simple formats: dance to (pop) music (The Show Must Go On), discover the body (Jérôme Bel), explain what you do (Isabel Torres). This time, the idea is of a meeting. Two people from different cultures, unknown to each other, meet. They sit down and ask each other questions about who they are and what they do and why they do what they do.
For some time, it might seem like a TV program. Pichet Klunchun, a Thai traditional dancer, tells his story and his art, he explains the basics of his work, and translates the complex vocabulary of Khon, an incredibly formal dance theater. Just a few elements distinguish this from a talk show: the attitude of Bel - respectful and purposefuly ignorant (the only element on stage besides two chairs is Bel's laptop), some very carefuly prepared answers and actions. Bel asks well. Almost as if by chance, the topic becomes death. Klunchun's incredibly slow and formal dance entry, showing one of the ways they represent death in Khon, is one of the shows most touching moments.
Another is the Thai's reaction to Bel's presentation of how he dies on stage. Because - you guessed it - the roles switch and now it is up to Bel to show the power of his art. Klunchun asks apparently innocent questions, Bel gives apparently silly answers. Klunchun is suprized, but accepts them and appreciates them. And somehow convinces us, through this strong, deep reaction, than there is more to Bel's provocative on-stage attitude (he openly admits he provokes the public, because they'll pay for the ticket anyway) than just provocation.
It is a beautiful meeting. There isn't a sign of interpretation, it all looks fresh and honest, nearly genuine. The show-and-tell format allows us to feel comfortable, as if the show went on and off, giving us plenty of room to think or just be comfortable. Of course, that is also the idea behind talk shows and circus: show a little, talk a little, don't make it too hard on the audience. But that is something I can live with. I much prefer this to actually trying to make it too hard on the audience which is so often the case. We are simple people, we see the show once, we don't know you and are unsure if we want to know you - don't scare us away too fast, please.
If there is something I found less convincing, it was the manipulative and somehow stereotypical way of seeing this meeting. Here is what I mean. Klunchun is Thai and dances a traditional Thai dance. But he says himself that he has lived in the West for many years and studied Western dance. And, although he claims he "didn't understand it", from his questions one could deduct he simply didn't understand a single thing, or lived isolated from the world. They are questions of a traditional Thai dancer, but I'm not sure such a dancer actually exists, let alone in that theater. It seemed more like Bel needed a somewhat naive, innocent character, asking the simple questions, so he could explain what he did. And that's a pity, because it would be quite fine if Klunchun simply admitted he will ask some questions from the traditional Thai point of view, as apparently he became interested in this perspective once again (in real life, that is).

Another question, which has been bothering me in several other performances, is the convention of "first time meeting". Why should we accept it, if we are to assume they are being honest? Isn't this cheating, as in, not admitting that you're not being genuine, you are reproducing something? But what alternatives are there?

Technorati: performance, performance art, dance, theater, theatre, art, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Cláudia Dias - performing on this side

This is me. I am here. On my side. Giving you and idea of what my side is. Presenting it as well as I can, with what I have around me. I am no painter, my life is not filled with oil paint, or watercolor. Or clay, for that matter. It is filled with toothpaste and cigarettes and matches. This is what I know, and this is what you know. It is our shared vocabulary.
So I build my stories with our common vocabulary. I tell you about what I know best, about the things I specialize in - my town, it's places, it's memories.

This is pretty much a summary of Cláudia Dias' Guided Tour, a performance shown during the Alkantara Festival. A beautiful performance. One filled with the unpretensious poetry of storytelling. And this is the storytelling I most crave: one absolutely devoid of any trace of interpretation, of dramatization, of anything not belonging to the person that's in front of me on the stage. When Cláudia Dias says I am here, on this side. For you, of course, it is that side, but for me it is this side, we know she speaks about the part of the city (across the river) she lives in and will go on to talk about. But she is also talking about where she is at that very moment - on the stage. And the only thing that's different between her and us seems to be this little word: that.
Which is exactly why she seems so close: she knows the distance. She doesn't pretend it's not there, but doesn't make a great fuss out of it. She simply moves, paints with her household appliances, and makes her painting, for us, the onlookers, the curious tourists, the ever unsatisfied voyeurs.

Technorati: performance, dance, performance art, theatre, theater, art, contemporary art, new art, vvoi, vvoitek, modern art, cool

Intimacy

impressions on Dani Lima's performance «Estratégia no 1: entre» at the Alkantara Festival

How close is too close? Say we're alone, just me, the spectator, and a performer. Say she holds my hand. Say she speaks gently behind my ear. Say she walks me through her world. Say she makes me share who I am. Is this too close? Is it too close to be a performance? Too close to be good? Too close for what? To keep the distance? To judge?
Is it too close if I let her? Of course, at first, I resist, feeling manipulated, cheated, as if I were the one making a performance for the performer. But it's not the case. My participation is only necessary to make me feel there is actually something between us. A relation. A shared experience. A picture. A recorded sound, a discovered paper or cell phone. A broken tooth.

entre is a performance. It is a performance in that it is a meeting of two people. One of them knows more than the other. One of them is a guide. The other is the guest. S-he walks through this ever-unexpected space. Accompanied. Walking into the one that guides.

entre comes as close to an encounter as one gets. You touch, but above all - you are touched. I'm glad they replaced the original title, which was Please, Choose. It is not so much about chosing, as it is about entering. Or about being chosen, about being touched. You are manipulated, laid on the ground, put into corners, on a chair, in a closet. You are being manipulated into believing there is an actual world. This is the actual world. And there is proof: this is the perfomer's real photo. This was really her grandmother. This was her real love story. This is her real smile in reaction to your answer.This, here, is a real living space you will visit. With real people saying hello, as I listen to some beautiful, melancoly music on the earphones (I chose the walk to be accompanied by music). Melancoly. The feeling accompanies me, haunts me, doesn't let go. As if I were visiting some other life, some potential life... Yes, memories of a potential life. With it's potential distances, gestures, smiles and beings. One being, that is. One person. That somehow evades me, that has a schedule, a hidden agenda. That is a performer, after all. But what do I care, as long as there is something else to discover. As long as I am being enchanted, as a spectator should always be. Does this mean I'm passive? I suppose that depends on me. Not being exactly of the passive type, I answer, I refuse a thing or two, I inquire. I act as if. As if I weren't really a spectator, as if I actually had a choice, as if I weren't manipulated into something that will not allow me to judge, to see clearly. And that's fine with her: she answers, reacts, smiles, laughs. She is a person. And that's why she is in control. And why I trust her. Until, all of a sudden, she's gone.
And that is so eerily alike to how it happens, when a person goes.
Thank You, Dani.


PS.: One thing bothered me. This is an elitist performance. It requires the knowledge and acceptance of a set of conventions. Contrary to what it might seem, anything doesn't go. More than that: you have to accept what happens, or very little actually will happen. Also, these rules go beyond the most basic, like sitting or respecting the performer. It simply doesn't seem to allow the freedom it claims to give. Especially in the parts that have more to do with the performer herself executing things. And that is a pity - as if the meeting were sometimes interrupted by fairly formal exercices, things that have more to do with the old-style hermetic performance art style than with the open and magical world that is being open. On the other hand, the festival director Mark Deputter told me in the original version (he saw the premiere in Brasil just a short while ago) there was even more of that. Hopefuly, they will keep cleaning it, focusing on the discovery of the relation with the spectator. And I hope this spectator will some day be me again.