Would you let a person you just met caress you? Would you allow them to put their hands on your shoulders, head or neck? What about intertwined fingers? What do these touches mean? How close do we have to be to another to touch them? And what if we put the question differently: is it possible to find true closeness and intimacy through touch with a stranger?
The project initiated by KALD DAMU student Magdalena Malinová and multidisciplinary artist Nitish Jain, a graduate in scenography from DAMU and architecture from SSAA (Sushant School of Art and Architecture) in India, asks these and other related questions. Magdalena addresses the same topic in her master's thesis, and the project is therefore an expansion of the field of research, enriching it with further impulses. At a time when corporeality is becoming commodified and even the act of trust and care can be turned into an article of trade, the pair, working with other artists, educators and teachers, are looking for ways in which closeness and intimacy can be experienced without expectations, demands or consequences.
There haven’t been too many similar projects in the country to date, with the few representatives including the Naked Forms Festival exploring nudity in live art, and One on One, a series of projects for one viewer organised by the Pomezí theatre group before the COVID pandemic. As not even the theoretical background exploring intimacy and closeness in theatre is broad in our country, Magdalena and Nitish assumed from the beginning that the creation of the master's thesis and the performative installation In All Its Glory would be accompanied by ongoing critical reflection, theoretical research and a symposium at which artists who already have experience with this type of theatre would speak. The process lasting just under a year was thus intended to foster a deeper understanding of the phenomenon and more general conclusions concerning it.
My role was and is not intended to be entirely objective and "passive". I regularly discussed the upcoming installation with Magdalena, participated in rehearsals as a test viewer, and tried to provide a different perspective of, say, a theatre-critical nature. In addition, the team consulted with DAMU faculty, fellow students, and artists whose work also involves intimacy. In the annotation to the performative In All Its Glory installation, Sodja Lotker (dramaturgy), Petra Hauerová (choreography) and Ian Mikyska (sound) are listed under the heading Consultations.
Meeting at Rybárna
The aforementioned symposium entitled The Performing Arts and Intimacy was held on 30 October at the Skautský Institut at Rybárna. Over the course of several hours, five artists spoke about specific projects thematically related to communication, closeness, touch and intimacy. There were also two discussions at which participants had the opportunity to ask questions, provide feedback, share their own experiences, or elaborate on the topics discussed by the five. The symposium was opened by Michał Salwinski, a graduate of directing at the National Academy of Theatre Arts in Krakow and the Master's programme in directing within the Devised and Object Theatre programme at DAMU. In addition to individual performances, he also creates audio walks and installations. However, Salwinski mainly talked about his connection to the concept and phenomenon of intimacy, which for him is the very way of existence. Later, he described specific projects, such as the audio walk The Dream in a Supermarket, in which he instructed only one person at a time when visiting a supermarket, asking them questions and providing impulses. Participants could reminisce about childhood snacks and perceive the space and the shopping process in different contexts. Another individual project was Journey with the Boy to Willow Tree Land, for which Michal drew inspiration from dreams and his regular diary entries. Later, a discussion addressed, among other things, whether working with one's dreams, recording them, and developing and refining them artistically can have an effect on dreaming as such. Can dreams in this way become more regular and consistent?
The multidisciplinary artist and dramaturge En-Ping Yu shared her experience with the COVID project Someone Has Shared A Document With You, which again involved one-on-one communication between her and another person through Google Docs. The dialogue of the two cursors was to avoid written words to the greatest possible extent, giving space instead to the exploration of proximity or complete communion, or perhaps overlapping (which two human bodies are incapable of), the creation of patterns and a wide variety of worlds. We then discussed the paradox that "virtual performance" offers: we tend to see the internet as a tool for detachment, for alienation. But Ping's experience provided insights that enable a different, more positive aspect of the virtual world. In fact, when the cursors were about to part, Ping noticed how the other party hesitated to leave the document. And she herself was reluctant to end the dialogue. And so the two short lines that don't actually exist represented a closeness that neither side wanted to end after several dozen minutes of communication. Moreover, if we see the project in the context of the COVID pandemic, it assumes yet another dimension.
Like his colleagues, Ian Mikyska moves across disciplines. Although he is primarily a composer, he combines his musical work with art installations, theatre, writing and video art. Of all the projects Ian talked about in his presentation, the one that captured me the most was The Reader's Score, a collection of experimental and visual poetry, or perhaps even better, a kind of instruction manual that produces very specific sounds for the reader. As a score, Ian offers a wide range of visual variations with short descriptions that remind the reader of subjectively experienced sounds. We all know the sound of raindrops falling on sheet metal, yet each of us has a slightly different song playing in our heads. As someone remarked in the discussion, this can be frustrating for the composer, who is constantly aware that none of the recipients will actually hear exactly what he himself has written in the score.
Nitish Jain and Ine Ubben spoke about their work in the afternoon session. Before theatre, Nitish studied architecture in India and was actively involved in it before joining the international programme in the Department of Scenography at DAMU. His original field of study is the reason for Nitish’s main interest in the perception of space in theatre. In the context of architecture, he speaks of spectacle, which is what most building designs are about. In the theatre, he therefore turns “to the shell" or "the corners" and, following the example of Gaston Bachelard and phenomenology in general, explores how to achieve the greatest cosiness, tranquility and security. To this end, he guides participants in his projects to engage all their senses as much as possible – art should be felt, perceived, rather than just observed. An ideal example is his "intimate multisensory experience" called Spoonfed for three participants and three performers. Blindfolds and headphones stimulate concentration on the touch of the other person and the various materials that are presented during the performance. After Nitish's presentation, there was a short practical exercise in which we were guided in pairs through the space and one of us, with eyes closed, explored the surroundings solely by touch.
After this bonding activity, Ine Ubben asked us to sit down on the floor with our mugs of coffee, tea or water and shared memories, experiences and stories related specifically to coffee consumption. About how a cup of coffee first thing in the morning is a highly sensory activity, how an Italian roommate advised against brushing one's teeth in the morning before consuming it, or about a meeting that takes place every week at the same time in the café where a friend works. An excerpt from the participatory theatre performance Home, which, in addition to cups, also thematises other everyday objects that we take for granted, and yet their very existence in one place means home for many, was interspersed with Ine's talk about her other projects and her approach to theatre, proximity and the audience.
Urgent Dance
Less than a month later, the premiere of the performative installation In All Its Glory took place. It was created after Magdalena and Nitish's victory in the January open call Emergency Dances IV – Space Womb curated by Miřenka Čechová and Tantehorse. In the description on the website of the Paláce Akropolis, the venue for the premiere, the creative team writes: "We don't know each other; we don't see each other. Together we search for reciprocity, we ask “what is otherness”. What's it like to shake hands with someone whose face you can't see? We enter together into a space where hands, arms, voices and feet communicate with each other through touch, movement and presence." This is the fourth time Tantehorse has organised a similar project, as the name itself suggests. They explain that the overarching theme should be the exploration of "pressing contemporary issues" through the "physical language of performance". The first of these in 2019 was titled The Pathology of Media, followed later that year by the second part Limits of Corporeality, and in 2021, the selected artists dealt with Self-Consciousness.
Magdalena already focused on intimacy and closeness in theatre in her bachelor thesis under the supervision of Lukáš Brychta. At that time, she analysed the interaction processes based on the new production 30 DAYS. In the PROCES KALD festival at DAMU, she continued the theme with her thesis projects Headless Body (2021), Process of Care (2022) and Texture of Sensuality (2022). Nadezda Nazarova, Nirav Prajapati, Jeries Abu Jaber and Nitish Jain collaborated with her on the installation In All Its Glory.
Theatrical Reflection of the Intimate Experience
The curtain in the hall of the Akropolis is down – the installation will take place on stage. At the front of the stage we receive instructions from the performer (Magdalena Malinová) concerning movement in the space we are about to enter. We set our backpacks and bags down, and those who want to, take off their shoes. We move to the right side of the stage covered with small rugs. The rest of the space is separated by a semi-transparent fabric, but it ends a few centimetres above the ground. I sit down on one of the rugs and see several pairs of legs waiting in the main installation area. They are coated and sprinkled with glitter, just like the feet of the performer-presenter. Maybe because apart from hands, shiny feet, toes and ankles are the only things we see. Four performers are also creating the music. It reminds me of relaxing meditation music and in some ways has an almost spiritual dimension. It is mostly quieter, with one voice occasionally taking the initiative and making louder drawn-out tones. But it is never about the words – all we hear are inarticulate melodies. I let a few participants go in ahead of me, and then I follow them. There are four separate "rooms" with individual performers around the perimeter of the space, all hidden behind a semi-transparent fabric creating an irregularly structured space. There are several small pillows on the floor, more rugs and papers covered with writing, some of which only briefly announce: These hands have never touched the snow. / These hands have touched many sick and elderly people in hospitals. As I read them, I observed in myself and others how these simple sentences easily evoke reactions in the readers. A faint smile, because I also don't like the greasy film that sunscreen leaves on my hands, or sympathy with hands that have never felt the chill of freshly fallen snow.
We could also read longer texts reflecting a highly subjective perception of one's own corporeality. One of them addressed the issue of excessive demands on appearance and weight, exacerbated by constant comparison with others, while another described the author's surprise when, as a non-white man travelling on a European train, he was not forced to prove that his luggage did not contain anything suspicious, that his very presence on the train was not illegal because he was travelling on business with a valid ticket. Instead, he watched as a "white Slovak" was subjected to a search.
Hands with a bag of candy emerge from one of the cloth robes. Without a word, he offers us a piece. After one of the spectators takes a gummy bear, an anonymous hand shows him a raised thumb and offers his hand as if to dance. The man shyly puts his hand into the palm of the anonymous partner. There are about ten of us in the whole space by that time and we are all curiously waiting to see what will happen next. The hands slowly begin to get to know each other, gently touching, stroking, intertwining, pressing, and finally the two bodies come closer together, dancing, the anonymous figure spins their partner. It lasts for a few minutes, then they both say a slightly embarrassed goodbye, naturally all without words. The hands disappear behind the fabric for a moment and reappear with gummy bears. Other stations offer a bit more organised communication. Perhaps I feel the need to say "more organised" purely because of the way the station works with words. While they’re just cards with short texts, they make the whole process more concrete. Anonymous hands perform here as well, but the way they relate to my body is determined by the cards and especially by my impulses. As a spectator, I sit on a chair, my back to the standing performer. I can only make out his silhouette behind the cloth. First we get to know each other; hands offer me a card that instructs me to trace the veins on the performer's hands with my fingers, to slap their hand if I've ever used my fingers to induce vomiting. Later, I'm supposed to place the anonymous palms anywhere on my body. When I attended one of the rehearsals as a rehearsal spectator, I didn't even think for a moment and put the "stranger's" palms on my shoulders. It seemed to me the most comfortable and also the least intimate of the places that anonymous hands could reach at that moment. What happened next was completely spontaneous and frankly quite surprising. Through the connection of the hands and shoulders I sense that our breathing is gradually synchronising, we are now breathing long and deep. I lean back in my chair so that I can feel the performer's body behind me, his moving belly. We breathe together.
During the performance itself, I intentionally sit so that I can watch the reactions of the participants who have chosen to sit in the chair. I knew what would be asked of them, and I wondered how their reactions would differ from mine. Some put the palms on their heads or necks. Some laugh out loud just before clapping, others first look around to see if anyone is watching, and then almost inaudibly slap their palms into the anonymous ones. Someone sits in a chair for barely three minutes, another sits with their eyes closed for an equally long time just breathing with anonymous hands on their body. After reading the last card, they sit for a few seconds, then gently stroke the two anonymous hands resting on the back of the chair. I feel like a voyeur because I feel like I have just witnessed the shared closeness of two people who may never have seen each other and may never see each other again. I remembered how much I surprised myself when I sat on a chair in rehearsal and spontaneously, without much difficulty, interacted with a person I didn't know, even if haptic communication seems to me to be quite intimate. To what extent does anonymity matter at that point? What if we were to repeat the whole situation, this time sitting across from each other looking into each other's eyes?
Two other stations made it possible to strike up a conversation with a figure seated behind a curtain, again using only hands, and to participate in touching and exploring a piece of felt on the performer's lap. When the performers did not have a partner for a nonverbal exchange, they developed monologue variations in which they stroked their own wrists, travelled over their own skin, searched for its folds, or gesticulated into the space towards the anonymous group composed of us, the participants. The creative team established imaginary rules so that one did not have to feel uncomfortable when actively changing from station to station, or when just taking a place in the space and watching the surrounding action. I had the opportunity to see the dress rehearsal and then one of the premieres. The atmosphere was quite different. The rehearsal was attended by a group dominated by observers. There was a lot of sitting, reading, hesitation. Every greater movement was significant and we could concentrate more on the individual dialogues at the stations. And I think there were fewer of us and Magdalena and the photographers adjusted the number of people in the main area. If she thought it was too crowded, she asked a few of us if we could move to the "rug lobby" for a moment.
In contrast, at one point it was absolutely packed at the premiere. I don’t know if the artists lost control this time or if they were trying to see how much the atmosphere would change ... and it did. It was as if people yearning for touch and closeness had gathered onstage at the Akropolis. Again I took more of an observer position, but at times my body reacted as if I were on the chair or in front of the cloth curtain. It brought me a kind of quiet joy to see how openly the participants approached the game, how they didn't rush to the end of the conversation and instead let their hands really talk and get to know each other. The question that Magdalena Malinová and Nitish Jain, together with the entire creative team, asked themselves, among other things, was whether it was possible to create close contact without sexual, erotic and sensual connotations. And while I can't speak for the others, I didn't feel either a sexual or erotic aspect during the performance. Although I could tell by the hands whether I was touching a woman or a man, the touch had more of a familial quality for me. It was not a caress from a partner, lover or mistress, but rather a maternal, paternal, brotherly, sisterly, I would say asexual touching. On the other hand, without sensuality there can be no contact. Without eroticism, definitely. But sensuality is its very essence. When we touch someone’s skin, we feel its texture, softness, temperature, and perhaps we feel how the other person is breathing.
Aside from purely sensory and emotionally charged thoughts, sitting on pillows and reading anonymous personal confessions, I reflected on the broader perspective of corporeality. I realised that I was circling back to the initial questions that I had discussed earlier with Magdalena and Nitish. Today we are still debating whether it is too outrageous, provocative or daring for a woman to go out in public without a bra. We comment on the removal or non-removal of hair on both women and men. Not even Western societies are able to unanimously decide whether abortion is an individual woman's business or a public matter. We perceive every decision we make about our bodies as part of the strategy we choose when communicating with our environment, yet it is often a compromise or the path of least resistance. The question arises as to what would happen if the owner alone had power over their body.
Is it even possible to perceive another person's body without any particular tension or expectation? And related to that: can we even touch each other in a completely asymptomatic way? But even after several months of participation in the project, I still have no answer. But my overall view of the perception of intimacy in the theatre has changed. I don't really search out "frontally participatory" performances and shows; my body usually reacts negatively to them. It is in tension and I can't even perceive the situation as aesthetic. Instead, I hope that I can soon break eye contact, let go of a stranger's hand, or leave the confined space where all eyes are on me. It is not that I suddenly started to enjoy such situations, but rather, thanks to the project In All Its Glory and all the other associated activities, I realised that this closeness can take many more forms and does not always have to cause me anxiety. While this is a purely personal shift in perspective, I find it satisfying as a result and outcome of the whole project.
Barbora Sedláková
You may read this article here in Czech.
More about individual Emergency Dances projects can be found on the Tantehorse website.
An audio recording of The Performing Arts and Intimacy symposium is available upon request from Magdalena Malinová.
Barbora Etliková interviews Nitish Jain for Podhoubí here.
More about Ian Mikyska's work on his website.
More about Ine Ubben's work on her website.