Tag: Posts by Lauren Watson

With the baby oil handcuffs and gags…do you still want to see me?
I wasn’t expecting this…

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / / Documentation, Home, Performance process, Rooms

In my final performance I cried.  I found my way into hysterics. This is because I had female voyeurs in the chair. My friends who know and love me…and who cried first.
When I heard their sobs, it made me realise my situation – that I was actually tied, bound and gagged in a cupboard, naked and completely vulnerable. At first it wasn’t too bad, just a few tears and silent sobs. But by the second female voyeur, we both ended up in hysterical sobs. I had to keep looking at them, the voyeur, my friends in the chair, but it became impossible. By the end of the second female voyeur, I had to cover my face and cry into my hands just as the cupboard doors were closed.

The experience left me shocked, shaken and very emotional. I had never expected to feel like that, I had always expected that the male voyeur would be harder…to look a man in the eye and exert dominance. But to feel empathy from a fellow woman, and to reduce each other to tears is something completely different, unexpected and exceptionally unique and moving. Just like it Marina Abramović’s work, my “audience became genuine co-creators of the performance” ((Freshwater, Helen (2009) Theatre & Audience, London: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 63.)).  The reactions by all voyeurs, male and female, were triggered by me. My body, and my voice. “You are the topic…You are the centre. You are the occasion. You are the reasons why” ((Freshwater, Helen (2009) Theatre & Audience, London: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 1.)), and all these reactions were different. Some men knelt, some studied the pictures around the room with forced intensity, some looked away, others looked confused, sad, and some looked me over.

It was a shame that I couldn’t record the voyeurs reaction to me, my body, my voice. After all, I was getting filmed and observed, so my emotional breakdown was seen not only my the voyeur, but also by the CCTV crew, so it is a shame that the voyeur was in the CCTV blind spot, so only I could see their reactions. I am the only one to see their reactions, and will be the only one. That moment will never be re-shown or re-lived, making it truly a once in a life time experience. The submissive having all the knowledge, and therefore power is honestly an empowering, yet juxtaposed, position.

“When should you be naked and when should you be dressed?
What is performance?
What is the performance body?
…What is your responsibility to your audience?
If the performance is performed again, what are rules?
What is the role of the audience?
Silent voyeur or active participant?
What about reputation?” ((Marina Abramović (2010) ‘Foreword: Unanswered Questions’ in C. Conroy Theatre & the Body, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. viii-x. Pp. ix-x.)).

These questions caused anxiety, especially in relation to the naked body and reputation. I thought it would most difficult to perform to lecturers and men, as I would have to see them again afterwards, and I was worried about my reputation and the working relationship which had been previously developed would be forced to change. However, on the evenings of performance, these turned out to be the easiest. Although initially scared, I began to enjoy the performance; watching their reactions and their discomfort, and final submission was empowering.

Were the audience “just viewers, or accomplices, witnesses, participants?” ((Freshwater, Helen (2009) Theatre & Audience, London: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 3.)). In relation to our performance in the bedroom and cupboard, the audience can be seen as all four. The house as a whole challenged the audience/performer relationship, and changed the pre-established dynamic. As they entered our performance space, the audience are unknowingly turned into accomplices and witnesses; witnessing the hidden adult world of the bedroom, while also becoming an accomplice to the performer in the bed, viewing and examining the female form in the cupboard. As performers, we knew what relationship we wanted to forge with the audience; “the relationship with the audience provides the performance with its rationale. This relationship is indispensible” ((Freshwater, Helen (2009) Theatre & Audience, London: Palgrave Macmillan, p. 2.)).

Pushing past my personal boundaries, often being pushed rather than walking willingly, while dealing with nudity, the body, and eye contact have definitely shaped me, not only as a performer, but as a person. It’s interesting that at the beginning of this entire adventure I stated that when I was younger, the cupboard was the place which shaped me, and made me grow up faster than I should have done. So to have this experience mirrored is a little disconcerting, but also comforting.  This process, although difficult at times, created a moving and unique performance. Not just in the cupboard, but in the bedroom as a whole. By supporting and pushing each other as performers, we managed to create something which we were incredibly proud of, and something which will never be performed again.

“Presence. Being present, over long stretches of time, Until presence rise and falls, from Material to immaterial, from Form to formless, from Instrumental to mental, from Time to timeless” ((Marina Abramović (2010) ‘Foreword: Unanswered Questions’ in C. Conroy Theatre & the Body, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. viii-x. P. viii.)).

Although we have left the house, our rooms and our performances, our presence will always be felt in that house on West Parade. How the rooms were transformed and broke away from the conventions of a ‘house’. The cupboard will now always be tainted, at least in my eyes. A place which created its own meaning and now stirs its own memories.

This experience, this journey, and the barriers I have overcome during this process…nothing can compare to it. And I don’t think it ever will.

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

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / / 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.

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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 / / 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.

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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.

Over Exposure.

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / / Documentation, Research, Rooms

“Even to an entirely female audience, female performers who expose their
breasts will appear more “naked” than male performers who expose their bare chests” ((Toepfer, Karl (1996) ‘Nudity and Textuality in Postmodern Performance’, Performing Arts Journal, XVIII (3) September: pp. 76-91, p. 76.)).

Nudity in performance exploits the performers’ innate position of vulnerability, exposing everything, giving them nothing to hide and nothing to act behind. Leaving all inhibitions at the door, revealing and performing the most intimate parts of yourself to strangers. Although nudity is becoming more common place within the theatre, with the mantra “bums on seats and bums on stage” ((Masters, Tim (2012) ‘Actors reveal challenges of stage nudity’, BBC News, Online: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-2165403 (accessed 06 March 2013).)), often filling the auditorium and having a greater pull of an audience. Nudity no longer “throw[s] an uneasy frost across an auditorium” ((Masters, Tim (2012) ‘Actors reveal challenges of stage nudity’, BBC News, Online: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-2165403 (accessed 06 March 2013). )) when done with sensitivity and distance. However, what would happen if we brought this nudity closer the audience, and placed it in such a space in which they couldn’t escape?

Having a narrative played to an audience member, leading and coaxing their reactions, and encouraging them to interact with a naked performer changes the dynamics of a performance beyond recognition as the performance is no longer ‘safe’. Being ‘naked’ is accepted, but to be naked and chained. Or bound. Gagged? To have no voice or identity, and just to be a naked object. An object to be possessed and owned could be highly unnerving to the audience.

Carolee Schneemann, Up To and Including Her Limits. Photo: Courtesy Henrik Gaard
Carolee Schneemann (1996),’ Up To and Including Her Limits’ photo: Courtesy Henrik Gaard in Karl Toepfer  ‘Nudity and Textuality in Postmodern Performance’, Performing Arts Journal, XVIII (3) September: pp. 76-91, p. 81.

 “This potential of the nude performing body to shock, incite, frighten, disgust, or otherwise produce intense emotional turbulence” ((Toepfer, Karl (1996) ‘Nudity and Textuality in Postmodern Performance’, Performing Arts Journal, XVIII (3) September: pp. 76-91, p. 77. )) can be considered as pushing the boundaries of performance and what we call art. Showing a naked woman in a compromising position will shock any audience member who views the piece, making them question what they deem acceptable as ‘performance’. For the woman to show herself, and not a character, is a brave thing to do. No aesthetics of performance to hide behind, no fake identity, no alternate reality. 

Being naked, and exposed is a challenge.

To let others see you in such a demeaning position. Those who are your elders, superiors, friends, peers and strangers. Hiding behind nothing but handcuffs and a thin layer of baby oil.

I am not a professional performance artist, this isn’t my job. Although…for this performance, I guess I am. Trying to forget the pre-established relationships is the hardest block I have come across as “in the act of stripping, actor and character become indistinguishable: the flesh that is exposed  by the character is the actor’s flesh” ((Scolnicov, Hanna (2010) ‘Stripping as Gesture’, ASSAPH: Section C: Studies in the Theatre, XXIV, pp. 139-152, p. 139.)).

“Stripping is a radical and unique gesture because it collapses the gap between the actor and the character” ((Scolnicov, Hanna (2010) ‘Stripping as Gesture’, ASSAPH: Section C: Studies in the Theatre, XXIV, pp. 139-152, p. 150.))

The reactions.
Forcing the audience to share something intimate about themselves by them possibly showing their raw reactions . Personally, I find this thought comforting. Knowing that the audience members are also ‘stripping bare’ while we were literally stripped bare offers some sort of comfort – the audience is also being placed in a slightly compromising position, while at the same time,  witnessing us in, and simultaneously adding to our established comprised position.

“Detached from the desirability of bodies, mythic nudity invites the spectator to emulate without “anxiety,” the naked identity of the performer: all bodies become “the same,” since it is the condition of nakedness, not the condition of bodies” ((Toepfer, Karl (1996) ‘Nudity and Textuality in Postmodern Performance’, Performing Arts Journal, XVIII (3) September: pp. 76-91, p. 79.)).

Toepfer argues that “all bodies become “the same,”” ((Toepfer, Karl (1996) ‘Nudity and Textuality in Postmodern Performance’, Performing Arts Journal, XVIII (3) September: pp. 76-91, p. 79.)) due to the exposure, then our naked bodies might strike a chord with the audience members.

Getting naked in performance is not a new idea, or even so much a radical one for modern audiences. But for me, personally, it “is a radical and even violent theatrical gesture” ((Scolnicov, Hanna (2010) ‘Stripping as Gesture’, ASSAPH: Section C: Studies in the Theatre, XXIV, pp. 139-152, p. 141.)).  By doing this performance, and getting over personal reservations and boundaries has made me a stronger performer. And, arguably, person. To know I have the power to push past pre-set social and personal restraints is liberating. Personal reservations? Personal revelations is perhaps more fitting.

Installing…
Please wait…

Lauren Bethany Elouise Watson / / Performance process, Research, Rooms

“Installation art actively engaged with the experience of the human perception, which tested its limits and expanded its possibilities” ((Oliveira, Nicolas de, Nicola Oxley and Micheal Petry (2003) Installation Art in the New Millennium, London:Thames & Hudson, Ltd., p. 6.)).

Mixing Installation Art and a live performance. Can they be argued to be intertwined?

Borofoky, Jonathan (2000), ‘Dream Drawings (1971-87)’ in Susan Hiller Dream Machines, London: Hayward Gallery Publishing, p. not paginated. Shankie, John (2000), ‘Go To Sleep (1995)’ in Susan Hiller Dream Machines, London: Hayward Gallery Publishing, p. N.P.

 

Robert Storr states that “the experience they provide is much like wandering onstage and picking up loose pages from a script, overhearing bits of recorded dialogue and trying to figure out what the setting is…and what actions might still be taken” ((Oliveira, Nicolas de, Nicola Oxley and Micheal Petry (2003) Installation Art in the New Millennium,  London:Thames & Hudson, Ltd., pp. 17-18.)). If we create an installation performance, rather than a simple piece of tangible art, we are hoping it will have the same effect; two separate, yet intricately combined performances happening simultaneously, yet only one audience member is directly engaged with one of two performances, creating a sense of anticipation, wondering what will happen next, and with who the performance will engage with.

If our bodies become a piece of installation art work, this would change the dynamic of the performance – rather than simply having the audience members as passive onlookers, we turn them into active voyeurs who have the option to give a ‘physical’ addition to the performance. To frame this within the work of an existing performance artist, Marina Abramović has created this audience-performer interaction, but rather than choosing to limit the audiences’ involvement, and therefore their effect on her, she gave them free reign, something which we are keen to limit. Abramović stated after her performance of Rhythm 0 (1974) she realised that “…the public can kill you. If you give them total freedom, they will become frenzied enough to kill you” ((Abramović in Sean O’Hagan (2010) ‘Interview: Marina Abramovic’, The Guardian/The Observer, Online: http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/oct/03/interview-marina-abramovic-performance-artist (accessed 01st March 2013).)).

“Rather than only “touching with the eyes” [we] arrive at seeing through a sense of touch” ((Hiller, Susan (2006) Susan Hiller: Recall. Selected Works 1969-2004, ed. James Lingwood, Gateshead: Baltic, p. 17)) implies that physical contact is essential is really ‘seeing’ the performance, rather than simply observing. To leave your mark on the performance as an audience member whilst also taking something personal away for the experience. Allowing the audience to touch you as a performer is a very intimate act, especially with all the connotations of the bedroom, but for the performance to be ‘seen’ rather than simply viewed, I think that is it essential  that the audience must leave their trace in the space, while also taking some of the performance away with them.

“The immersive space remains fundamentally an experimental and sentient place, though it is also a means of escaping our everyday conditions” ((Oliveira, Nicolas de, Nicola Oxley and Micheal Petry (2003) Installation Art in the New Millennium, London: Thames & Hudson, Ltd., p. 53.)).

While exposing the audience to something which is usually  witnessed behind closed doors, we are  creating a fully immersive space; a space which holds its own realities, rules and atmosphere. By surrounding the audience in a fully fledged experience, this will allow them to temporarily escape from their everyday conditions, but hopefully allow them to leave our created world in a changed state, with an experience which they will hopefully remember. Be it either through some traumatic experience, or one of pure safety and comfort.

When you were younger your cupboard was home to a monster or two. Under your bed held the Boogie Man. And your bed protected you, kept you safe. Your night light or landing light also made you feel safe.

Yes?

What happens if we expose those ‘monsters’ hiding in cupboard and the inherent fears that something is lurking under the bed and bring them to light in such a way that you are unable to escape them? Susan Hiller argues that “I think we have enough mysterious darkness within ourselves and our own culture to be getting on with” ((Hiller, Susan (2000) Dream Machines, London: Hayward Gallery Publishing, p. N.P.)), implying that we don’t need to show the darkness which dwells within; to leave the grotesque at home and not to solidify it in art. However, I think this give us more justification to stage the grotesque and hidden secrets. For people to face their “mysterious darkness”, we must show the subconscious and the usually hidden fantasies unashamedly in order to evoke a reaction from the audience. Whether it be fear, disgust, admiration or even arousal.