Rooms – Page 6 – ________-Safe House-_________

Site & Sculpture: Physical manifestations of the things we cannot/do not see.

Tom Briggs / April 6, 2013May 13, 2013 / Performance process, Rooms

Every Sculptor , like every performer, must to some degree tackle the questions of site, ‘what am I creating?’ and ‘how will it interact with its surroundings?’. There are artists that put this concern at the forefront of their work, their site is their stimulus, their source of material and it defines their work.

Within these artists there is further distinction, which element of the site is it your sculpture aims to subvert/complement/interact with?

Red Incomplete neon circle — Taken by Greg Heins, 14 November 1980.

In 1979 a group of sculptors undertook a commission to create site inspired sculpture around the campus of the Wellesley College Museum, Stehpen Antonakos was one of the artists commissioned, his unique response was rooted in the pre-existing architecture “in terms of its formal stylistic features” (( Hoos Fox, Judith (1980), Aspects of the 1970s: Sitework, Boston: The Wellesley College Museum , p. 3 )) . His final piece Red Incomplete Neon Circle (pictured here) completely breaks up the straight oppressive geometry of the existing building, creating a new dialogue between the conflicting angles.

This dialogue between architect and sculptor then transforms the entire building into the art work, forcing the observer to re-assess what was took for granted before, this is then a prime example of site art; It both responds to and enhances the site on which it is built. Antonakos’s ideas, however, are somewhat distant from my own, he focuses on the finished product, assembling it in his own workshop off site. My work needs to take shape before the audiences eyes, the sculpting itself and the possibility of collaboration within that makes it not simply site art but also site performance. It is a single artists visual response to a visual stimulus, as such it is a simple piece, which hold resonance only if we wish to think about the structure, there is so much more to site which we can access however.

Another artist tackles the same question with a very different process. Lars Kordetzky travelled to a decommissioned psychiatric hospital shortly before it was to be demolished, in order to create an artistic response to the site. He began building sculptures that would suggest the psychological footprint of the isolation cells former inhabitant. Using the drawings of a former inmate Kordetzky began to understand that to this inhabitant the room was not as small as it seemed, instead he found complex mesh of worlds built in “a different scale for different mental dimensions” ((( Kordetzky, Lars (2001), Saw Only The Moon, New York: Springer-Verlag Wien, p. 80)) . In isolation the patient had created numerous worlds within his cell, invisible to all but himself, consisting of whole towns connected by an impossible network of tunnels. His sculptures (one of which is pictured below) start with a cuboid frame, then gradually he begins to build up each individual world of the patients imagination, the picture below (( Koredtsky, Lars (2010) Sequences: Saw Only the Moon Online: http://lebbeuswoods.wordpress.com/2010/01/23/lars-kordetzky-sequences/ (Accessed 6 April 2013) )) shows one such world which has clearly been ripped into three by the fragmented nature of the patients grasp on reality.

Kordetzky recognised that the worlds and towns that the patient had created were not fully formed, each one bled into the next, this “Architecture of blurredness” (( Kordetzky, Lars (2001), Saw Only The Moon, New York: Springer-Verlag Wien, p.86 )) as Kordetzky calls it is shown translated in to the sculpture as wood and plastic intersect and interrupt each breaking through the imagined barriers of the worlds, none are enclosed or separate, each is forced to interact with those around it. The Effect of looking through one of Kordetzky’s sculptures is then to perceive the world through the eyes of the patient, within the frame there is such a chaos of these intersecting worlds that the frame is no longer obvious, the observer like the patient can no longer see the physical boundaries, which form the metaphor for walls of the isolation chamber, but are enraptured by the contents, the insanity of the interior. Kordetzky then accurately recreates the psychological landscape of his site and most importantly for my own work, roughly half way-through the process he asks the inmate to come and assist with his work. This is of course the only person that can help Kordetzky, being the only person with any actual knowledge of what is being recreated.

The Shed is a place for thinking, “Spaces we construct in which to dream” ((Heathcote, Edwin (2012) The Meaning of Home, London: Frances Lincoln, p.114)) and here is the similarity, the isolation cell serves to isolate the individual and confine his madness, while the shed exists to facilitate the thinking. They leave a somewhat similar psychological footprint, that of place which is a concentrated centre of thought, dreams and creativity, the only difference being that between the rational and the irrational, which is quite possibly, not such a huge distinction after all. Kordetzky when concluding his project explains that the inmates “eternal struggle for home, means creating structures of one’s own” (( Kordetzky, Lars (2001), Saw Only The Moon, New York: Springer-Verlag Wien, p. 24 )) these structures are psychological for the inmate but could just as easily be made physical. Indeed men in their hobbies often build models, jigsaws, spice racks or even as the patient does whole towns of their own, perhaps in as literal a form as a model railway. Both are spaces which exist primarily for thought and dreaming, the only difference is between the necessity of the isolation room and the luxury of the shed.

Because of these similarities there is more in my project to sympathise with the process of Kordetzky than Antonakos because like Kordetzky’s project, mine seeks to go beyond the physical remnants of site into something which is not immediately obvious, it calls upon the subjective experience of the individual co-inhabiting the site.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs the aim of this half of the performance was specifically to settle the question: ‘how are men perceived?’, but in light of the kind of work that was undertaken by Kordetsky, I feel it might be appropriate to focus the question a little more upon dreams, so for now the question is “How do we build a dream, from the comfort of home?” and these dreams belong to everyone, so it makes sense to invite anyone to to contribute to the sculpture as it slowly develops.

Oh My God are you Naked?

Lauren Simpson / April 6, 2013May 8, 2013 / Performance process, Research, Rooms

Is it socially acceptable to be naked in a performance? Where does the line sit separating performance and real life? Does this line change when the performer is naked? These are all questions we have to deal with when creating this performance in the bedroom.

(http://artintelligence.net/review/?p=529 :accessed 06/04/13)

It would be “useful to distinguish among approved, liminal, and subversive spaces with regard to the acceptability of nude performance.” ((Jones, MT (2010) ‘Mediated Exhibitionism: The Naked Body in Performance and Virtual Space’, Sexuality & Culture, 14, 4, pp. 253-269.)) With regards to the cupboard, it is not a subversive space because no one has specifically denied the right to be naked in a cupboard. In an everyday society I doubt it would be considered an approved space for nudity.

It could be considered a liminal space. It has a purpose (storage) but it is never really considered to be a room of its own. “Liminal spaces are experimental zones where social roles and relationships are tested and redefined.” ((Jones, MT (2010) ‘Mediated Exhibitionism: The Naked Body in Performance and Virtual Space’, Sexuality & Culture, 14, 4, pp. 253-269.)) The socially established roles of performer and audience member are tested in our performance. The eye contact that is made while the narrative is playing through the headphones puts the audience member in a vulnerable position. They are used to being passive; simply sitting and watching others perform. A cupboard in a bedroom is usually there to store clothes, which implies the opposite of nakedness. Our aim is to shock the audience and so by taking a place not usually associated with nudity and filling it with a naked female should achieve this goal.

“Nudity is often associated with freedom from the constraints and demands of culture.” ((Jones, MT (2010) ‘Mediated Exhibitionism: The Naked Body in Performance and Virtual Space’, Sexuality & Culture, 14, 4, pp. 253-269.)) We also challenge this notion, by alluding to the prospect of bondage using ties and gags. Nudity in plays is often approached at a very domesticated level, so it seems normal to an audience and a lot less shocking. In an article by the BBC on nudity and performance one actor comments; “We were expecting a lot more guffaws and giggles and awkwardness, but because it’s so domesticated and so real the audience feels quite relaxed by that point.” ((Phoebe Waller-Bridge in: Masters, Tim (2013) ‘Actors Reveal Challenges of Stage Nudity’, BBC News, 6. March.)) Our performance aims for two different reactions. At no point, do we aim to make any audience member feel comfortable. However, it will be a very different experience for males and females. The females will sympathise with the vulnerable girl in the cupboard and there is no dominant power source. With the male audience members, we want to make them feel as uncomfortable as possible and want to reverse the power so the naked female is in control. This is an unexpected turn and so will prevent the viewer from relaxing into the situation.

Getting the correct balance of nudity and performance is important. The nudity must serve a purpose, whether it is to shock the audience or simply to make a scene more ‘real’. For example, you couldn’t perform a scene in a bath being fully clothed: it would look unrealistic. Using Carolee Schneemann as an example, her work was extremely avant garde and not always received well. In academic books, she doesn’t tend to be mentioned other than a few of her early works. She was considered a performance artist and nudity became like a trademark for her work.

“Often, her focus on the body, on sex, was seen as a problem both by feminists and by the (male) audience.” ((Sundberg, M (2011) ‘A One-Work-Artist? Carolee Schneemann and the Reception of her Work’, Konsthistorisk Tidskrift, 80, 3, pp. 168-179.))

This is a lot to do with the male and female gaze. It would be considered normal for the male audience to accept her work as it is more common to have a male gaze on the female form. However, her work was rejected and criticised by men as well as women. She wanted to break down the stereotype of women being the ‘image’. Trying to portray this message in a time where men were still very much the dominant figures in society would have provoked critique.

“The line is very fine between making this point clear to the audience, and once again being turned into an object by the still powerful male gaze.” ((Sundberg, M (2011) ‘A One-Work-Artist? Carolee Schneemann and the Reception of her Work’, Konsthistorisk Tidskrift, 80, 3, pp. 168-179.))

This is something that we considered with our performance. We want to shift away from the male gaze and make this naked female form in the cupboard gain total control over the male viewer. When creating and recording the narrative we needed to make sure our voices were strong enough to gain instant control over the audience member. Our eyes once the blindfold is removed will also help this process.

Watching you, watching me

Elizabeth Soper / April 2, 2013May 13, 2013 / CCTV, Performance process, Rooms

“Lone Twin negotiate not only their relationship with each other but also, more importantly, their relation with other people.” ((Williams, David and Carl Lavery (2011) Good Luck Everybody: Lone Twin: Journeys, Performances, Conversations, Wales: Cambrian Printers, p.69))

www.lonetwin.com

The audience and the performer have very different roles. In theatre the audience come to watch a performance and to be entertained in a friendly and safe environment. In site specific performance, the roles are the same, yet the environment will be different depending on the chosen site. ‘Safe House’ is in an interesting site to perform in, and isn’t the most welcoming house to invite the audience into. They won’t know what to expect and they will be interacting with the performers which generally in theatre, wouldn’t happen. “Rather than simply occupying an ‘ususual setting’, site-specific performance is adjudged to hold ‘possibilities for responding to and interrogating a range of current spatial concerns..” ((Pearson, Mike (2010) Site-Specific Performance, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, p.8))

Although our audience is coming to watch a performance, the idea of them being watched will be present as they will notice and be aware that there are CCTV cameras in each room. This questions who is doing the watching and who is being watched; the audience or the performer.

“Here the term ‘house’ is to be understood in a general sense as any closed individual area beyond the body, in which man can remain and move with safety.” ((Bollnow, O.F. (2011) Human Space, London: Hyphen Press, p.267)) Thinking about this, I have decided to experiment with this whole concept in my performance in the kitchen. I would like the audiences experience in the kitchen to be different from any other room in the house, and to go away with different reactions to it. Perhaps trying various performances on my audience will create a whole new reaction, one performance idea being me watching my audience.

Having a television playing a film of the adventures I have had as a rabbit is quite humorous, and will draw the audience in. But perhaps instead of interacting with my audience, I could just ignore them. Standing quietly in the corner gives a different feel to the room completely, as it contrasts to the humour and makes them aware that they are the ones being watched. Me watching them watching me on the television is particularly interesting, and will be fascinating to see the reactions I then get from them.

“if you dress up funny…people will shout at you” ((Govan, Emma, Helen Nicholson and Katie Normington (2007) Making a Performance, Devising Histories and Contemporary Practices, London: Routledge, p.125))

Another performance technique I could experiment with is discussing with the audience the reactions I have received, using what people have said as verbatim to tell others: “Moreover, in some examples of verbatim theatre the performers also incorporate elements of their own lives into the production, employing a self-reflective mode.” ((Haedicke, Susan (2009) Political Performances: Theory and Practice, New York: Columbia University, p.115))

Having filmed in different places in the bunny costumes I have met different people with a variety of reactions to me. Whatever reaction I get will be written down or recorded, and this can be used as conversation in my performance. This will create a different reaction all together from the previous performance idea as I will be verbally interacting with my audience in the bunny costume, which again brings humour and absurdity to be having a civilized conversation in a kitchen with a giant rabbit.

Lone Twins, ‘To The Dogs’, is a good example of a piece of their work that gradually built and expanded as it was carried out. Gregg and Gary cycled two folding bicycles through Brussels, Belgium for 24 days and ended each day by putting on a short performance at the Kunsten Festival des Arts retelling the events of that day. The experiences they had built up over this period of time and each performance expanded as they experienced more things, interacted with more people and witnessed various different places: “The interest is in how those small moments, each five minutes long, will change over time as they become situated in the growing, differing contexts of each other.” ((Williams, David and Carl Lavery (2011) Good Luck Everybody: Lone Twin: Journeys, Performances, Conversations, Wales: Cambrian Printers, p.69))

It’s okay, this has been done before.
…this however, is our first time.

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / March 29, 2013May 8, 2013 / Documentation, Research, Rooms

Hotel Medea (2011) CHAPTER II – DRYLANDS –. Online, http://vimeo.com/18224931 (accessed 24 February 2013).

Hotel Medea “allow for a participatory, immersive and interactive perspective of the theatrical event” ((Hotel Medea (2011) Hotel Medea Online: http://vimeo.com/hotelmedea (accessed 24 February 2013). )) within their work, and it is this immersive and interactive experience which we are trying to create, for both audience members, despite the fact the two audience members will never experience both performances. An example of Hotel Medea’s immersive theatre is their performance, Drylands.

In this durational evening performance, the audience became part of, and were offered an intimate part within the performance and it is this immersive, intimate and safe atmosphere which we are trying to inhabit in the bedroom. The experience will still be immersive for the cupboard…but not necessary safe.


Lauren Watson. Date taken: 22 March 2013.

As well as immersing the audience in the piece with spoken narratives and bed-time rituals, the room itself has been decorated and transformed by children’s drawings and paintings. The child’s room is safe and secure, with all the usual sexual context of the bedroom removed. We needed this essence of innocent and safety to be in the bedroom, as the cupboard which is built into the main wall holds none of these values. It subverts them, showing the true and heightened nature of what we associate with the bedroom. There is no safety or comfort to be found in the cupboard. You will find no bedtime story or hot chocolate to send you off to sleep to “the place in which we are allowed to dream” ((Heathcote, Edwin (2012) The Meaning of Home, London: Frances Lincoln Ltd., p. 76.)). What you will find is a narrative made to confuse, question and attempt to control you. It will put you in a position you would rather not be in, try and escape from, a place in which you wouldn’t want to stay.

“The remnants of site-specific performance can be extensive. It generates documents relating both the creation of performance and to the engagement with site before, during and after the event” ((Pearson, Mike (2010) Site-Specific Performance, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 191.)).

To let these two simultaneous events go undocumented would be a loss on our part as performers. The documentation “made during…often assert themselves to be the true record of what really happened, or else we ascribe that capacity to them” ((Pearson, Mike (2010) Site-Specific Performance, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 191-192.)), to be able to look back on what it felt like, and how we made people feel would ensure that we would not lose the performance entirely after the performance had finished. How many performances have you been to which take place in a house? And how many had you wished you’d been to? With documentation you would be given the chance to glimpse into the world we had created in our ‘safe house’.

“Site-specific performance as an unlikely and fleeting moment in history of a place, known only through the traveller’s [or audiences’] tales of those present” ((Pearson, Mike (2010) Site-Specific Performance, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 194.)).

Could we, as performer, document the performance and reactions during the periods in the performance where there were no audience members or visitors in our room? To have a note-pad and pen hidden in our space, at hand to record emotions, feelings, reflections and reactions would be invaluable.

Writing by tainted light, struggling to hold the pen in our greasy hands, struggling to move and see due to restraints. This would make the documentation as much part of the performance as we are. A living, breathing, active part of the performance. Just a part which no audience members will witness.

She Looks Back.

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / March 21, 2013May 8, 2013 / Documentation, Performance process, Research, Rooms

“As in life, actors need to be aware when staring at others is and is not appropriate” ((Schiffman, Jean (2005) ‘Eye to Eye’, Back Stage West, XII (22), 1531572X, May: N.P.)).

Eye contact in performance is vital. It establishes relationships between performers whilst also forming a relationship between the audience and performer/s. But what happens when this eye contact deconstructs or challenges a pre-established relationship? Forced or prolonged eye contact alters the dynamics of a performance, often leaving either recipient or instigator feeling uncomfortable, scrutinised or even exposed.

In our performance, it this surprisingly, usually easy and expected convention of the theatre that is becoming our biggest fear and ask.

“In the theatre, gesture appears typically in conjunction with spoken text, underlining, undermining or counterpointing it” ((Scolnicov, Hanna (2010) ‘Stripping as Gesture’, ASSAPH: Section C: Studies in the Theatre, XXIV, pp. 139-152, p. 140.)), however, in our performance we are playing with this convention. Subverting it, almost. The eye contact happens in silence. The performer is unable to speak, yet the eye contact becomes justified and essential. To hold eye contact is to hold the power within the scene or scenario. But when this scene is subverted, the eye contact becomes a challenge in itself. To create power where there was none through eye contact is an intimidating task, and to subvert a strong, dominating relationship through eye contact alone is empowering.

Witness, UCLA (2011). Counesy of Allison Wyper.’Witness: Notes from the Artist’, Platform, VI (1), pp. 57-76, p.62.

When we are hidden behind the blindfold, we become an object to be viewed. Aspects of the ‘actor’ are stripped away, and we become a possession, as “beneath the mask the actor hides not merely his face but also his identity” ((Scolnicov, Hanna (2010) ‘Stripping as Gesture’, ASSAPH: Section C: Studies in the Theatre, XXIV, pp. 139-152, p. 142.)). The audience knows us on merely an aesthetic level. A possession to be viewed. Although the identity of the performer is not known, the scene presented to the audience is still an intimate one. “Looking at someone is almost like touching them” ((Schiffman, Jean (2005) ‘Eye to Eye’, Back Stage West, XII (22), 1531572X, May: N.P.)), and when that person has no power to look back, this notion of touching them is heightened.

To subvert this power balance without the use of direct address is really an electric moment. “To deconstruct language is to deconstruct gender; to subvert the symbolic order is to subvert sexual difference” ((Showalter, Elaine (1989) Speaking of Gender, London and New York: Routledge, p. 3.)). Suddenly, through the abandon of language, our sexual difference has been subverted, with all the power handed over to us, the exposed performer. This “female self-unveiling substitutes power for castration” ((Showalter, Elaine (1992) Sexual Anarchy: Gender and Culture at the Fin de Siecle London: Virago Press, p. 156.)), castrating the voyeur (if male), removing all previous power he held. When we remove our blindfold, the male gaze becomes scrutinised and challenged and abhorred.

This transference of power, and a ‘one-on-one’ audience/performer situation is similar to Allison Wyper’s Witness (2010-2011). Witness is a “participatory performance for one audience member at a time in which the viewer is configured as accomplice to the performance event, a ritual in which power is borrowed, trafficked, and stolen” ((Wyper, Allison (2011) ‘Witness: Notes from the Artist’, Platform, VI (1), pp. 57-76, p.57.)). By participating in this transition of power and status, we make ourselves vulnerable, and question where we stand within the performance.

“As we watch others we are also conscious of being watched” ((Wyper, Allison (2011) ‘Witness: Notes from the Artist’, Platform, VI (1), pp. 57-76, p.62.)).

The behaviour of both performer and voyeur changes throughout the performance. Although first making eye contact is intimidating and scary, once our gaze restored, the power balance shifts. Suddenly, the object looks back and takes on a persona. Challenging the roaming gaze of the voyeur. In our practical sessions, the voyeur has held our gaze. This is either out of respect or fear. Fear to be seen looking at you naked and totally exposed, but also because you are owed respect.