This blog serves to give an overview of some of my journalistic and other written work. All works posted here were previously published in other print or online publications (as indicated). Tabs below lead to distinct publications or to a selection of specific articles. For further articles scroll through the different years of publication (at left).
Rubina De Paolis and Vanessa Morandell in LASCIAR ANDARE, presented at Brücki 235's August performance showcase Photo Michael Meili
Mary Staub looks at Brücki 235, an artist-led Zurich organisation that aims to help independent dance and theatre artists with rehearsal space and performance opportunities. Could it provide a model for cities elsewhere?
On the first evening of a three-day performance showcase at the Kulturhaus Helferei in Zurich’s old town this August, audiences found themselves mesmerised by the ebb and flow of Rubina De Paolis’ LASCIAR ANDARE, an abstract contemporary movement duet about letting go.
The next, the interactive performance stilles geld by radikal plüsch, forced viewers to consider the role of money in their and their neighbours’ lives with projections of financial data, such as the percentage of people in debt in distinct city districts, forming a backdrop to the piece. The works showcased on subsequent evenings were similarly varied, each the creative output of a different Zurich-based independent dance or theatre artist or collective.
stilles geld by radikal plüsch, presented at Brücki 235’s August performance showcase Photo Michael Meili
This Helferei showcase was the fourth such performance block that the newly established non-profit organization Brücki 235 has brought to the public since its founding eighteen months ago. The next block, which is geared specifically to young audiences, takes place in November at a community centre.
The purpose of these largely uncurated showcases, each produced in collaboration with a distinct performance venue, is to give as many independent performing artists as possible a foot in the door, so diversifying whom is seen on this city’s stages and who starts to get access to public funding. It also broadens the range of work that Zurich audiences come into contact with, thereby giving them a more comprehensive understanding of the local artistic community than what is produced on established mainstages and through traditional streams of funding.
Brücki 235 came into being after large-scale city surveys revealed a dire lack of rehearsal space and performance opportunities for independent theatre artists, dance artists, and artists working for young audiences. This lack of space, funding, and visibility is by no means unique to Zurich. Comparative research into the realities of independent performing artists in thirteen European cities, conducted by The European Association of Independent Performing Arts, revealed similar deficiencies.
The artists from the opening day of Brücki 235’s August showcase at Kulturhaus Helferei Photo Michael Meili
Following the survey, in November 2022, the city put out a call for proposals that would help begin to meet the needs of independent artists. For each of an initial four years, 250,000 Swiss Francs would be awarded to a proposal that could serve these artists by establishing rehearsal space on the one hand, and uncurated performance opportunities on the other.
Thus, Brücki 235 was born, a joint-initiative developed by members of three local dance and theatre associations: Assitej-Regiogruppe Zürich, representing theatre for young audiences; TanzLOBBY IG Tanz Zürich representing dance; and t. Zürich representing theatre.
Since May 2023, Brücki 235 has operated out of the second floor of a non-descript office building in Zurich’s former industrial quarters, Zurich West. There, a central administrative office with mini-kitchen, co-working space and lounge area is flanked by two 90 square-metre rehearsal rooms, one for dance, one for theatre.
Brücki 235’s dance space Photo courtesy Team Brücki
One thing that distinguishes the Brücki 235 spaces from private dance studios is that the rehearsal spaces can be used completely free, as long as the artists are Zurich-based, professional, working within theatre, dance, and related performance styles, and not otherwise funded by the city of Zurich.
Another thing that distinguishes Brücki 235 is that it aims to be a collaboratively-run organization, operated for the independent theatre and dance community by that community, free from gatekeepers who dictate whose aesthetic, theme, or purpose is worthy of being practiced and seen.
Meant to be together by Merge Dance Collective, also presented at Kulturhaus Helferei in August Photo Michael Meili
A so called ‘Szenerat’ (scene council) is tasked with deciding how to shape the performance showcases. How many groups should perform each evening? How should the available budget be divided to compensate the artists? If too many artists or artistic groups register for a showcase, how should the performers be selected in a way that still maintains its uncurated nature? These scene council members are selected by lottery every year, and rotate, thereby ensuring that no one particular interest group or aesthetic holds the reins over who appears. Anyone from the independent performing arts scene can put themselves into the lottery pool.
Additionally, the entire Zurich-based independent theatre and dance community has a voice in how Brücki 235 evolves. Multiple times a year, all Zurich-area performing artists are invited to workshop new ideas, propose projects, voice concerns, suggest better ways of operating, or similar. Recent changes that resulted from these inputs include the establishment of a Telegram channel for users to post last-minute cancellations for reserved rehearsal studios.
Company Bettina Zumstein in Erde, performed during the Brücki 235 August showcase Photo Michael Meili
Despite the collaborative decision-making processes at Brücki 235, it’s striking just how quickly things get done. Within three months of being awarded funding, the people at the heart of the organisation had transformed office spaces into rehearsal space, developed operating procedures, launched a website, built a prop storage space, built partnerships with already-established performance venues, and informed the independent dance and theatre scene of the new rehearsal and showcase opportunities.
That performance opportunities happen at existing venues, rather than on a siloed stage created specifically for independent artists, hopefully means that artists will become more visible as a part of the city’s artistic makeup. Since launching, about120 distinct performing artists or collectives have become members and users of the Brücki 235 spaces. About 90 have performed on Zurich stages who would otherwise not have, which may be a first step towards getting more financial support too.
Hosting the MULTIVERSE by Company O, a participatory workshop about inclusivity of and with neurodivergent people, part of the Brücki 235 August showcase Photo Michael Meili
As Michael Rüegg, in charge of theatre and dance for the city of Zurich, said in a recent interview with Swiss radio SRF, “It [Brücki 235] is used a lot. People show up who we haven’t seen before. There is hope that communities or groups who previously did not partake in the cultural funding system will find an entryway here.”
Whether Brücki 235 will remain a part of Zurich’s dance and theatre landscape beyond its first four years remains to be seen. What is clear, though, is that such innovation in the independent performing arts scene is desperately needed.
Perhaps similar endeavours could serve independent performing artists in other European cities too.
To read more about Brücki 235, visit bruecki235.ch (in German)
Upon entering the lakeside, park-like main festival grounds of the Zürcher Theater Spektakel at the Landiwiese this year, one of the first sights that visitors came upon was a house made of bales of densely packed used, discarded clothes donated by the global north to the global south. Inside the installation, titledReturn to Sender, created by Nairobi-based Nest Collective, a documentary illustrated that up to forty percent of the clothes we donate to the global south are unusable, and that we thereby export the burden of disposal to these countries. What’s more, the sixty percent of donated clothes that are reusable prevent local textile industries from developing. Our good deed is their misfortune.
The urgency of the installation’s message, confronting visitors with a complex global injustice in which they are no doubt complicit, was echoed by innumerable other works I encountered over the course of my six days at Theater Spektakel.
Return to Sender, an installation by Nest Collective at Zürcher Theater Spektakel Photo Kira Kynd
A celebration of contemporary performing arts, the festival’s main program showcased the perspectives of more than 240 artists and thinkers from about 30 countries, many of whom put concrete inequities near and far centre stage in their theatre and dance work.
In Dies ist keine Botschaft (Made in Taiwan) (This is not an Embassy), the Berlin-based documentary theatre group Rimini Protokoll confronted, educated and entertained audiences as they established a Taiwanese embassy in the safe space of the theatre, with the audience as accomplices. The cast of three, a former Taiwanese diplomat, an activist and a musician, shared personal stories and conflicting perspectives on Taiwan’s past, present and future, letting all points of view resonate across stage. In so doing, they also directly challenged the Swiss audience to ponder their own complicity in Taiwan’s oppression through their (neutral) refusal to recognize it as a sovereign entity.
Dies ist keine Botschaft, and many other works at the festival, integrated documentary techniques, leaving audiences uncertain at times as to what was real and what was not, thereby blurring the line between fact and fiction. Were those true, personal anecdotes or composite stories based on fact? Not that it truly mattered, as, in all instances, the experiences and situations relayed were all too real.
Dies ist keine Botschaft (Made in Taiwan) by Rimini Protokoll Photo Claudia Ndebele
Similarly, in Song for Wartime, by Polish director Marta Górnicka, audiences encountered Ukrainian and Belarusian women singing of personal wartime experiences beyond the frontlines. And, in the documentary musical Los días afueras (The days out there), by Argentinian writer and director Lola Arias, viewers experience via former inmates what it means to live in a women’s prison on the outskirts of Buenos Aires.
Most of the works I saw also blurred the boundaries of clear-cut categorisation, emerging out of innumerable artistic genres and styles to present as something entirely new. In Hatched Ensemble, for example, South African dance artist Mamela Nyamza cracked the constraints of Western classical ballet and other imposed, Western movement styles, by integrating incantatory opera, traditional dance, percussive sound, storytelling, and more into a haunting, liberating visual poem. Other works included everything from aerial acrobatics to silent theatre, from contemporary-krump street dance battle to performative therapy session, from multi-media projection to museum tour.
Hatched Ensemble by Mamela Nyamza Photo Mark Wessels
In addition to the main program, innumerable performance sites were freely accessible across Landiwiese’s 400 meters of lakefront grounds, with the price of a ticket whatever you put in a hat. On the days I was there, with temperatures soaring above 30°C, the site resembled a mix of street market, carnival, and county fair with families, theatre aficionados, groups of friends and sunbathers mingling among musicians, storytellers, balloon artists and food vendors.
Frequently, at one end of the grounds, street performers vied for audience attention, while, at the open-air central ‘Zentral’ stages, shows ranged from circus acts to tragicomic puppet play to poetry reading to diversity-themed game show. At the same time, ticketed shows took place at temporary main stages such as Seebühne, half open and with views of the Alps; the barn-like Nord and Süd; Werft, a shipyard hall; Rote Fabrik, a former factory; and at collaborating theatres and museums throughout Zurich.
Maud le Pladec’s Silent Legacy, one of many dance works presented at the Zürcher Theater Spektakel Photo Kira Kynd
I attended a handful of ticketed performances and free, non-ticketed shows, participated in various audience-engagement events, listened to lectures, and explored performance venues throughout the city. Overall, what stood out, was the breadth of the programme. The mere presence of such disparate works communicated a point of view on the performing arts that advocates an inclusive understanding of what they are and who they are for. Indeed, being accessible to a wide range of people was a main concern of the festival programmers this year, as was explicitly noted in a one-page program spread on efforts to be ‘A Festival for Everyone.’
Beyond breadth of programming, one way Theater Spektakel aimed for this was through complementary events that gave visitors opportunities to engage with works, artists and issues in ways beyond passive consumption. Public warm-ups, such as a 30-minute krump workshop before that evening’s performance, gave spectators an embodied experience of certain works. A weekend-long dance workshop for children gave them an experience of dance making.
Nest Collective’s Return to Sender installation Photo Kira Kynd
Nightly 9pm ‘Stammtisch,’ sessions invited festival goers to share perspectives on questions that arose related to artists’ works. At each of these, over drinks at a long table, different hosts including artists, activists and socially-engaged people, offered their view on the issue in focus as a starting point for an unmoderated discussion. One session focused on Switzerland’s obligation towards artists at risk; another dealt with restitution of stolen artworks; another, hosted by the local Jewish and Muslim organization, Gemeinsam Einsam (together alone), focused on ways of sharing, listening, and being open to individuals whose viewpoints and experiences are contrary to one’s own; a focus that in many ways was emblematic of the festival’s overall aims since its inception.
“Bringing people with different backgrounds and perspectives to Zurich has been a fundamental commitment of the Zürcher Theater Spektakel since 1980,” the festival directors state in a program editorial. “The international encounter with contemporary art requires openness to other points of view and the courage to examine one’s own.”
Many festival goers may have gravitated towards artistic styles and current issues that they already cared about, rather than seeking out new perspectives. Sometimes, a few audience members walked out on what the were seeing, perhaps thereby not fully examining their own views. But it’s also true that, for juts over two weeks, a wide array of backgrounds, perspectives, experiences, and agendas mingled throughout the festival sites, creating opportunities for new encounters, ways of engaging, and possibly questioning one’s point of view.
L’Opéra du Villageois by Zora Snake Photo Kira Kynd
One striking example of this happening outside curated formats was during a tour of the exhibition, In Dialogue with Benin: Art, Colonialism, and Restitution, at the Museum Rietberg. The tour was to be followed by the Cameroonian artist Zora Snake’s performance of L’Opéra du Villageois, which condemns European museums for housing stolen African artifacts. While the museum exhibition had been a joint effort, developed by it and partners from Nigeria, and while it also included works of contemporary African artists, our initial tour guides were European and white.
Halfway through the tour, one, then two, then several more audience members questioned this choice. The organiser paused the planned programming for long enough for a debate to at least start between audience and exhibition collaborators. No consensus was reached, but perspectives were allowed to be voiced and heard, before the regular programming continued and Snake’s performance denounced the practices of establishments like the very one we were standing in and summoned to life the spirits of stolen artworks.
For more about Zürcher Theater Spektakel and what was on, click here.
Landiwiese and other venues, Zurich, August 15-September 1, 2024
Tanzhaus Zürich, Zurich, September 17, 2023 Dance: Alice D’Angelo, Naomi Kamihigashi, Ambra Preyer Artistic direction: Marie Alexis Impressions- Tanznachtisch by Tanz LOBBY IG Tanz Zurich Moderator «Tanznachtisch» (audience talkback): Tina Mantel Text: Mary Staub https://tanzlobby.ch/ Audience members frame two opposite sides of the central stage-space, rising on bleachers on either side, peering down on a rectangular black rubbery, crumpled tarp that covers most of the floorspace in between. An oil spill that suffocates that which lies beneath? A wrestling ring for living versus non-living matter?
Some audience members already wrestle with the non-living matter of their seat cushions— seemingly scrunched up plastic in a gauze-like pillowcase. They try to adjust it just so for comfort, while taming the crackle and rustle it emits. Living matter?
Three dancers in glistening, scaly tight rubber unitards slide down rubbery ramps that run down the center of the bleachers. One limb oozes over the next, heavily, slowly, passively, without will or muscle—the only sign of volition when the dancers climb back up to the top of their side of the bleachers, in a dreamlike trance. A softly crackling soundscape contrasts the smoothness of the sliding bodies. One by one the bodies slither under the black tarpaulin center-stage, the details of the dancers thereby disappearing, but not their form—the tarp bubbles, rises and falls from the bodies moving underneath. These breathing pulses create cracks and crevices in the plastic surface. Various forms of seemingly non-living matter slowly spill forth—grey rubber foam, translucent cellophane, white gauzed netting, a hand, a leg, an eye, a head. Or is it living matter?
The title itself begs the question. “living matter(s)”. Matters of life? Matters that live? The meaning of living? Is matter alive? What matter lives? Does living matter? Is it important to live? Who is alive? What is alive? The questions are endless.
Occasionally the dancers connect with one another, at times forming and reforming malleable sculptures, limbs heavily flowing over one another. At other times, the formations are angular, jerky, like mobiles, a pull on a knee, a hexagon of limbs, a lunged diagonal. Embodied chemical compounds? Throughout the piece, more matter enters the stage. While initially invited by the dancers through a soft tug, jerk, or jolt, the matter soon seems to flow onto stage as though on its own.
In one section, all three performers heave themselves over one another, pushing and tugging, but passively, to drip back up a ramp. At its top, they unleash, first slowly then rapidly, endless reams of cellophane-like material from an infinite-seeming reel. They tug as though trying to empty the role, but soon the ribbons of tape take over, carrying the bodies down the ramp on a slippery slide of cellophane. The bodies run up, slide down, dash up, tumble down, a stream of cellophane gushing and ripping underneath.
Or are the dancers ripping at it after all?
In another section, the dancers start pulling on lengthy drapes attached high overhead on reels in the rafters. Again, first they tug slowly, but soon a waterfall of drapes releases ever-more- rapidly from the rolls overhead, inundating the world beneath.
Other matter enters the stage, giving rise to various images—waves of gauze swirling and rising and crashing; ripples of tarp, glistening like water in the sun; the glistening sculptures of three bodies slicked together as though by oil; vibrating nets with either the nets themselves swinging in resonance or being swung by fish caught therein (screaming “living matters”!?).
In this way, there’s a constant interplay of living and non-living matter, frequently blurring the boundary of who or what is which.
The program notes raise similar questions: “Matter surrounds and permeates us, can be shaped and manipulated, but can also affect the human body in unpredictable and uncontrollable ways. How does our approach to the world change when we consider matter not as manipulable and lifeless, but as effective, capable of action, vital and self-effective?”
After “living matter(s)”, during Tanznachtisch (the audience talk-back led by members of TanzLOBBY), a small group of spectators—some were regular dancegoers, but others weren’t—exchanged their impressions from the piece. For most of them, while the movement and staging were abstract in nature, “living matter(s)” created concrete images or even full-blown narratives. An oil slick that suffocates everything and continuous to develop and take new forms throughout the piece. Three bodies in bridal gowns of gauzed netting swaying together. Waterfowl unable to move as intended by nature because their feathers are glued to their bodies by sheets of oil-slick matter. Fishing nets. Undulating waves.
What stood out was that the piece gave produced many questions related to living and matter—is it possible for the living to fuse with matter? Has it already? Were the workers (dancers) slaves to the matter, heisting and heaving their way through ever-growing heaps of non-living matter, a Sisyphean task? Or did the workers shape the matter, thereby creating the world they wanted?
(One question of a more practical matter was: who’s going to clean all this up?)
The movement of the performers captivated most of the Tanznachtisch participants, as did the images created by the materials onstage. The abundance of these non-living materials also gave rise to the question of whether it’s ok to aestheticize plastic when we know of all the harm it does. Some in the audience commented that the performers rarely showed emotion, only an occasional inner smile when they connected with one another. Those moments were relished. Some people would have liked more such moments—a clear presence of the living within the non-living surrounding matter. Or maybe that was the point—to have the living disappear into the matter and make us think about what that means.
living matter(s) Artistic direction - Marie Alexis Concept - Marie Alexis, Ivalina Yapova, Mona De Weerdt Choreography - Marie Alexis in cooperation with the performers Dramaturgy - Mona De Weerdt Stage, light, props - Ivalina Yapova Costumes and props - Karen Feelizitas Petermann Composition and sound design - Serafin Aebli Text - Mona De Weerdt, Marie Alexis Performance - Alice D’Angelo, Naomi Kamihigashi, Ambra Peyer Co-conception performance - Lyn Bentschik Production - Marie Alexis, Karolina Sarre Choreographic assistant - Soraya Leila Emery Dramaturgical advisor Tanzhaus Zürich - Jessica Huber Scenographic assistant - Hannah Förster Graphic design, photography - Pascale Lustenberger Video - Esther Petsche (camera), Marie Alexis (editing)
Kulturmarkt, Zürich, 29. Oktober 2022 Tanz: Federica Aventaggiato, Lionel Ah-Sou, Claudio Costantino, Clémentine Dumas, Loar Labat Berrio, Katharina Ludwig Aufführungsimpression Tanznachtisch der Tanz LOBBY IG Tanz Zürich Text: Mary Staub (https://tanzlobby.ch/) Tanzinteressierte bilden eine lockere Schlange im Foyer des Kulturmarktes, während sie auf den Einlass zu Nunzio Impellizzeri’s 60-minütigem Stück "Sch.nee" warten. Bloss sechs Personen aufs Mal dürfen in den Theaterraum übertreten. Der Rest hält inne. Einmal durch die Tür geschritten, hält ein schwarzer Vorhang die Teilnehmenden erneut kurz auf, bis eine erpTänzerin das Gewebe sachte zur Seite zieht, und die Zuschauer*innen über die Bühne und zu ihren Plätzen führt. Beim Überqueren der Bühne stoßen sie auf mehrere Tänzer*innen, die sich auf der Bühne und zwischen den Zuschaulätzen dehnen, leicht aufwärmen, sanft Posen einnehmen. Das Publikum schaut zu, wie die nächste Gruppe von sechs Tanzerinteressierten den Raum betreten, die Bühne überqueren und ihre Plätze einnehmen. Und nochmals sechs, und nochmals sechs.Das Publikum sieht zu, wie sechs Tänzer*innen im Bühnenraum sich weiter leicht bewegen, strecken, posieren. Manchmal fordert ein/e Tänzer*in eine/n Zuschauer*in zur Partnerarbeit auf, eine einfache Dehnungs- oder Bewegungssequenz. Die Trennung zwischen Tänzer*innen und Zuschauer*innen wird so verringert. Der Raum und die Zeit—der Übergang—von der Außenwelt zur Aufführungswelt wird derweil ausgedehnt, bis alle Zuschauenden sitzen und die eine Welt fliessend in die andere übergeht.
In "Sch.nee" erkundet der in Italien geborene und in Zürich lebende Nunzio Impellizzeri die Rolle von Lärm und Stille in unserer zunehmend hyperstimulierten Gesellschaft. Was ist Stille in diesem Kontext? (Wie) existiert Stille? (Wie) können wir mit Stille umgehen? Welche Rolle spielt die Stille in einer Gesellschaft, in der diejenigen, die am lautesten schreien, am weitesten kommen? Wenn der Lärm weg fällt, was füllt dann den Raum?
Als das Licht angeht, sitzen drei Tänzerinnen und drei Tänzer in einer Reihe, von der Bühne aus dem Publikum zugewandt, und halten die Blicke des Publikums fest. Langsam stehen die Tänzer*innen auf, behalten den Blickkontakt zuerst noch bei, während sie sich weiter in den Raum begeben. Die Brücke von Publikum zu Tanzenden wird dabei stärker. Sie tragen leuchtende, zweifarbige Basics: Shorts, T-Shirts, Hotpants, Trikots—leuchtendes Rot mit strahlendem Türkis; heißes Pink mit glänzendem Grün; kräftiges Orange mit glühendem Gelb. In diesen feurigen Zweifarben schreiten, ziehen, posieren und schneiden die Tänzer*innen exakte, bewegte Formen, mal allein, mal paarweise, mal als einheitliches Sextett. Breite Ausfallschritte werden breiter. Sie tauchen und drehen sich in tiefen Arabesken. In Barrel Turns attackieren sie den Raum mit fesselnder Präzision. Diese Bilder werden untermalt von einer crescendierenden elektronischen, perkussiven Klanglandschaft. Aus einem sanften Ton entwickelt sich ein leicht pulsierender, zunehmend rhythmischer, pochender elektronischer Sound, der die Tänzer*innen durchdringt. Sie schlagen, stampfen, springen. Sie pulsieren den Beat der Musik, der Beat pulsiert sie, treibt ihre Körper an, lässt ihre Körper aufeinanderprallen. Alles steigert sich—der Klang, die Geschwindigkeit, der Rhythmus, die Kostümfarben. Viele im Publikum nehmen den Beat auf, spiegeln den Puls der Tänzer, das Dröhnen der Musik, den Rhythmus der Körper auf der Bühne.
Plötzlich herrscht Stille.
Und in dieser Stille hören wir wie die Körper atmen. Und in dieser Ruhe sehen und spüren wir deutlicher, wie die Körper sich bewegten.
Und plötzlich herrscht Dunkelheit. Und in dieser Abwesenheit von Licht und Lärm wird deutlich, wie laut die Farben schrien, wie intensiv die Musik pochte, wie präzise die Körper auf der Bühne Formen, Skulpturen und Bewegung in den Raum schnitzten.
In "Sch.nee" bilden solche ausgedehnte Blackouts durchlässige Unterteilungen zwischen den einzelnen Abschnitten des Stückes. Jeder Abschnitt ruft eine eigene Welt ins Leben, und diese fliesst ins Blackout hinüber. In der Stille des Blackouts wird das vorher kreierte noch deutlicher gehört, gesehen, gespürt. Diese dunklen, stillen Zwischenräume laden zum Reflektieren ein.
Ein Abschnitt von "Sch.nee" erinnert an eine Unterwasserwelt. Eine Figur gleitet dem Boden entlang, an eine Meeresschnecke erinnernd, mit einem hell erleuchteten Auge am Kopfende—ein surreales Bild, welches eine bezaubernde Atmosphäre entstehen lässt. (Ein Tänzer, der eine Tauchermaske trägt, die von innen leise beleuchtet ist.) In dieser Unterwasseratmosphäre, werden die Bewegungen der Tanzenden flüssiger, die Klangfarben gedämpfter, die Farben weniger schrill. Die Tänzer*innen tragen meist nacktfarbene, netzhafte Bekleidung, bewegen sich sanft wogend, die Konturen von Klang, Bewegung, Licht und Farbe sind weich. Manchmal klaffen die Münder fischartig auf, als ob Luftblasen atmend oder lautlos sprechend.
Hin und wieder in "Sch.nee" halten die Tänzer*innen inne, fixieren den Blick ins Publikum, laden dieses weiter in ihre Welt ein. Mit den Zeigefingern umrahmen sie die eigenen Nasen- und Mundwinkel—eine zarte Geste. Ein leises "ssssshhhh" ertönt. Der Titel "Sch.nee" setzt sich aus dem verstummenden Geräusch des "ssssshhhh" und dem stummen Element "Schnee" und einem verneinenden "nee" zusammen.
Im letzten Abschnitt erscheinen die Tänzer*innen überwiegend in Weiß, die voreinst grellen Farben verschwunden (verschneit?). Ihre Bewegungen sind gewichtet und zugleich leicht, als ob sie sich durch Schneewehen winden. Der Ton ist meditativ, hypnotisierend, als ob auch der Ton vom Schnee absorbiert wird. Plötzlich halten die Tänzer*innen eine weiße Kugel, an einen Schneeball erinnernd, im Mund, der Übergang fast unbemerkbar. Ein beunruhigendes Bild: Geknebelt zum Schweigen gebracht. Jedoch: Der Blick der Tänzer*innen verbleibt weich, sanft, vereint mit dieser Stille. Unmerklich verschmelzen sie zu kollektiven Skulpturen, die einzelnen Körper ineinander verflochten, bevor sie wieder zerfliessen um anderswo zu einer neuen Figur sich zu vereinen. Eine Tänzerin wird hochgehoben und getragen und gehalten, sanft geschaukelt und in Kreuzespose getaumelt. Der Fluss der Skulpturen hält das Publikum in einem meditativen Bann.
Im Anschluss an "Sch.nee" teilte eine kleine Gruppe von Zuschauern beim Tanznachtisch ihre Eindrücke aus dem Stück mit, während Nunzio Impellizzeri und Manfred Dachs zunächst zuhörten und am Ende Fragen aus dem Publikum beantworteten. Was das Publikum stark ansprach, waren die gegensätzlichen Qualitäten von Klang, Bewegung, Kostümen, Beleuchtung und Gesamtwelten, die in verschiedenen Abschnitten geschaffen wurden. Diese gegensätzlichen Welten bildeten ein Ganzes, wie auch Lärm und Stille zwar gegensätzlich, aber vereint sind. Auch unzählige skulpturale Bilder hinterließen starke Eindrücke—Tänzer*innen mit von Bällen gestopften Mündern; klaffende, fischähnliche Mäuler; Unterwasserwesen; leuchtende Farben; grelle Farben; unheimliches Licht; der Blick der Tänzer; das verstummende "sssshhhhhh". Das Publikum empfing diese Bewegungsbilder offen, ein Geschenk, welches die Tänzer*innen in "Sch.nee" ins Leben erweckten.
Der Übergang von Aussenwelt zur Theaterwelt wurde ähnlich offen empfangen—die anfängliche Nähe zwischen Publikum und Tanzenden ermöglichte den Zuschauenden noch intensiver selbst einen Teil der erschaffenen Gesamtwelten zu werden. Das Publikum erlebte die Verbindung zu den einzelnen Tänzern, und folgte körperlich und emotional zeitweise einer einzelnen Figur. Gleichzeitig genossen sie die Welten, die durch das Zusammenfließen von Klang, Licht, Farben und dem Kollektiv der Tänzer*innen entstanden. Das Publikum nahm die Erfahrungen, Bilder und Welten, die diese Tänzer*innen in den 60 Minuten so eindringlich verkörperten, dankbar auf—unzählige Geschenke, die es mit nach Hause nehmen konnte.
Ein Geschenk, welches in der Stille unserer Häuser uns weiter bescheren wird.
SCH.NEE Künstlerische Leitung, Konzept und Choreografie Nunzio Impellizzeri Originalmusik Tarek Schmidt Tanz Federica Aventaggiato, Lionel Ah-Sou, Claudio Costantino, Clémentine Dumas, Loar Labat Berrio, Katharina Ludwig Licht- und Kostümdesign Nunzio Impellizzeri Kostümproduktion Theama for Dance, Probenleitung Irene Andreetto, Outside Eye Silvia Scipilliti, Technische Leitung Viktoras Zemeckas, Produktionsmanagement Manfred Dachs
Impressions -Tanznachtisch by TanzLOBBY IG Tanz Zurich Text: Mary Staub (https://tanzlobby.ch/)
Dancegoers cluster, forming a loose line in the Kulturmarkt foyer as they await entry to Nunzio Impellizzeri’s 60-minute piece “Sch.nee”. Just six people at a time are allowed into the theater. The rest must slow down and wait. Once inside, a black curtain stops entrants short, causing them to pause once more. A dancer gently draws the fabric aside and shows the audience members across the stage and towards their seats. In crossing, they brush up against several dancers who are stretching, posing and warming up on the stage and in between audience seats. The audience watches further groups of six dancegoers enter the theater, cross the stage and find their seats. And another six. And six more. The audience observes as six dancers continue to make shapes, reach and loosen up throughout the theater. At times one of them invites a audience member to partner in a simple stretch or movement sequence. The separation between dancer and dancegoer is thus reduced, a bridge established. Meanwhile, the transition from outside world to performance world expands—an extended in-between—until all audience members are seated and one world flows into the other.
In “Sch.nee” Italian-born, Zurich-based Nunzio Impellizzeri explores the roles of sound and silence in our increasingly hyper-stimulated society. What is silence in this context? (How) does silence exist? (How) can we deal with silence? What role does silence play in a society where they who scream loudest are those who get farthest ahead? Once sound is gone, what fills that space?
As the lights come up, six dancers are sitting in a line, facing the audience from the stage, holding their gaze intently. As the dancers slowly stand and begin moving, their eye contact initially remains strong—the bridge between dancer and dancegoer thus reinforced. The dancers wear vibrant two-toned basics: shorts, t-shirts, hot pants, a unitard, a leotard—glowing red with brilliant turquoise; hot pink with radiant lime; bright orange and strong yellow. In these fiery two-tones, the dancers reach, pose and cut precise, moving shapes into space, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in nuggets of uniformity, moving as a sextet through the room, first slowly then faster. They dip and turn in deep arabesques. In barrel turns they eat up space with captivating precision. They lunge, lunge further, and even further, until they can lunge no further and are drawn across the room. An electronic percussive soundscape supports the scenes. From a soft rumble it builds into a mildly pulsating, increasingly rhythmic, throbbing electronic sound that penetrates the dancers. Crescendoing. They beat, stomp, drill, jump. They pulse the beat of the music; the beat pulses them, driving their bodies, clashing their bodies against one another. Everything intensifies—sound, speed, rhythm, colors. Many in the audience pick up the beat, mirroring the dancers’ pulse, the music’s thrum, the rhythm of the bodies onstage.
And suddenly there is silence. And suddenly there is stillness.
And in this silence, we hear the bodies breathe.
And in this stillness, we see and feel more clearly how the bodies moved before.
And when the lights go out, and there is darkness, in this absence of light and sound, it becomes apparent how loudly those colors screamed, how intensely the music throbbed, how precisely, sharply, astutely those bodies carved shapes, sculptures and movement into space. In this silence the noise is visceral.
In “Sch.nee”, such extended silent blackouts form porous boundaries between individual sections, each one creating a distinct world that trickles into this stillness. In this calm in-between space, the previously created world is more deeply heard, seen and felt, magnified by the absence and inviting audiences to reflect.
One section of “Sch.nee” seems an underwater world. A creature slithers across the floor, like a sea slug with a brightly lit eye fixed atop its head, creating a surreal image and magical atmosphere. (A dancer wearing an old-school diving mask, lit up from within.) In this world, the dancers’ movements are smoothed, the sound is softened, and the colors are less loud, as though diluted by water. They wear mostly nude-colored netted costumes, undulate lightly and gently move through this world of soft contours. At times, they gape fishlike, as though breathing bubbles or producing soundless speech.
Throughout “Sch.nee”, the dancers pause briefly now and then, gazing fixedly into the audience, inviting the audience further into their world. They raise their fingers to delicately frame the corners of their nose and mouth. ‘Sshhhhh’. The title “Sch.nee” comprises the silencing sound of ‘sshhhh’ and the silent element of ‘snow’, or ‘Schnee’ in German, and the negation ‘no’, or ‘nee’ in German. (Perhaps ‘sshhhhhs.no’ in English would be equivalent.)
In a final section, the dancers appear in mostly white, the earlier colors whited out (by snow?). Their movement is weighted yet sinuous, as though moving through a snowscape. The soundscape is muted, meditative, mesmerizing. Snow absorbs sound. Each dancer suddenly holds a bulging white ball (a snowball?) in their mouth—an unnerving image of being gagged into silence. Yet, the dancers’ gaze remains soft, gentle, at peace with this sound of silence. Almost imperceptibly, the dancers merge into group formations, creating brief living sculptures, before melting away to mould into a new formation elsewhere. One dancer is lifted and carried and held and softly swayed and tumbled in crucifix pose. The sculptures develop and dissolve fluidly with a meditative gracefulness.
After “Sch.nee”, during Tanznachtisch (an audience talk-back led by members of TanzLOBBY), a small group of audience members shared their impressions from the piece as Nunzio Impellizzeri and manager Manfred Dachs initially listened and later answered questions. What resonated strongly with the audience were the contrasting qualities of sound, movement, costumes, lighting and overall worlds that were created in different sections. These contrasting worlds formed a unity, just as the opposites of sound and silence are part of a whole. Also, innumerable sculptural images remained vivid—white balls protruding from mouths; gaping fish-like mouths; underwater creatures; an eerie light; vibrant colors; the dancers’ gaze; the silencing ‘sssshhhhhh’. The audience received these moving images openly, as gifts brought to life by the dancers through “Sch.nee”.
Similarly, the initial transition from outside world to performance world, slowed down and with a connection to the dancers, was warmly received. Several audience members indicated being more involved with the individual dancers throughout the piece as a result, viscerally following one dancer or another at different times. At the same time, they found themselves yearning to follow the whole—the melting together of sound, light, colors, collective dancers into distinct world. The experiences, images and worlds brought to life so viscerally by these dancers throughout the 60 minutes of “Sch.nee” were experienced as gifts to be taken along and savored at home.
A gift that keeps giving in the silence of our homes.
SCH.NEE Artistic direction, conception, choreography Nunzio Impellizzeri Original music Tarek Schmidt Dance Federica Aventaggiato, Lionel Ah-Sou, Claudio Costantino, Clémentine Dumas, Loar Labat Berrio, Katharina Ludwig Light and costume design Nunzio Impellizzeri Costumes Theama for Dance; Rehearsal direction Irene Andreetto; Outside Eye Silvia Scipilliti; Technical director Viktoras Zemeckas; Production management Manfred Dachs
Conventional wisdom often has it that mixing family and business is a
route to ruin. Conventional wisdom also often has it that if you are going to
start your own business, you might want to enter a field within your expertise.
But, conventional wisdom is just that—conventional. And those who fly in the
face of convention reap unexpected rewards.
Or thus has been the case with Big Dawg Party Rentals, a local,
family-owned-and-operated party equipment rental business that, in less than
three years, has gone from idea to go-to source for party equipment in Red
Hook, Brooklyn, Manhattan and beyond. Co-owned by a team of two,
father-and-son-in-law Michael Giordano and Brendan Quinlan, Big Dawg has gone
from cold, empty warehouse on Bowne Street in 2013, to 6’000 square-feet of
equipment the first year in operation, to 15’000 square-feet of equipment
today. (And they are ready for more.) Big Dawg has gone from being a complete
newcomer to being the exclusive vendor for numerous local business (Pioneer
Works, Methodist, among them) and working
the recent democratic debate at the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
“All told about 2000 chairs, 250
tables, we set it all up and took it down in a 24-hour period,” said Giordano.
“One of the biggest events in the country. And then we had to go to set up at
the Intrepid within 36 hours. We got very little sleep. I looked at my partner
and said: you know, I think we’ve made it.”
How did they get from there to here, then to now?
It all began with Wall Street, an engagement party, and a misplaced
delivery.
Around 2008, Giordano, who had been working on Wall Street for three
decades and ran two corporate brokerage firms, decided he didn’t like the
direction Wall Street was taking. So he took stock of where he was and where he
was headed. He started playing with the idea of opening his own business.
“I started kicking around a few different businesses,” Giordano said.
“And Brendan [my then future son-in-law] was good with technology. So we
analyzed four or five different businesses.”
The seed for a party rental business was planted at Quinlan’s engagement
party, organized by Giordano and his wife Catherine (whose daughter, Justine,
Quinlan was about to marry). “We threw an engagement party,” said Giordano.
“And the company we rented equipment from left it on the wrong floor. So we had
to shlep all this equipment up to the right floor. They didn’t seem so big on
customer service.”
Fast forward to today and you have Big Dawg Party Rentals, whose mission
and driving force are just that—customer service. Giordano and Quinlan crunched
some numbers and decided to dive in.
“I knew we needed to attack the customer service angle,” said Giordano.
“Whether people are in the office or in the field, there’s one rule: customers
set the rules so work hard and be nice. At the time, we didn’t know anything
about party rental. We just knew that customer service was lacking.”
Since then, Big Dawg’s family of two has expanded to a family of 23,
many of whom come from outside the party business. A former lawyer, real estate
broker, and interior designer are among the mix. These disparate influences
from outside the party business have helped make Big Dawg into what it is
today, says Giordano: “The interesting thing about this story is there’s a
mixture of five or six people in the administrative part of the industry.
Because of that we’re not restrained by the typical things. It creates an
interesting dynamic.”
At the same time, there’s a glue that binds the team, said Giordano’s
wife, Catherine, who began working with her husband at Big Dawg about a year
ago. And this glue is the commitment to customer service.
“The trick is when you grow [as a business], not to forget what was in
our mission statement,” said Catherine. “There are really no degrees for party
rental specialist and some of it is in one’s make-up. Do we have the patience
to talk someone through the process? Do we listen carefully? This is in our
DNA.”
It’s this DNA that
flows through Big Dawg’s veins and makes the 23 current employees into a
family. When new hires come on board, Giordano might say, “we’re gonna be
family here and we’re gonna build a business. They look at it and realize it’s
something special.”
Another binding
force is the fact that more than a quarter of the team are blood family. In
addition to Michael and Catherine Giordano, there are Catherine’s son James,
her daughter Justine and Michael’s son Patrick who work for the business.
(Michael’s other son, Michael, Jr., used to be part of the team, but he
recently moved.) James wears many hats, mostly in construction. Justine works
in the office. Patrick is about to join full-time after completing a degree in
food studies.
So what of
conventional wisdom?
“I did think
initially, ‘Oh my goodness, this could be challenging,” Catherine said of
sharing an office with her husband. “But Michael never really questioned it. He
said immediately, ‘I think it’s a great thing. Who am I gonna trust more?’”
Big Dawg’s work is reaching beyond Red Hook and Brooklyn more and more.
But their initial focus was on serving the Red Hook community, with a
commitment to local businesses and venues and work at Hometown Bar B Q, Liberty
Warehouse, local schools, Lobster Shack, and more.
“We concentrated very hard on Red Hook itself,” said Giordano. “It’s an
interesting place. It’s done well for us. Brooklyn is a slice of the country.
Everyone lives together in a very compatible place.” Or, in the words of
Catherine, who grew up in Dyker Heights, “Brooklyn is hot.”
On the surface, Coney
Island’s Mermaid Parade may seem like it is all about glitz and glam, costumes
and crowds, pomp and personas. What has drawn Luke Ratray, a Carroll Gardens
photographer, to the parade for the past twenty years, though, is the people behind
those personas. Every year since 1996, Ratray has set up his old-fashioned film
camera along the Coney Island boardwalk during the parade to find and capture
the individuals behind these created identities.
“The pageantry is fun
but not as interesting,” said Ratray. “The parade happens because people show
up. It happens because people want it to happen. I’m more interested in the
personality of those people.”
The images that Ratray
has shot of these people over the past twenty years are on view for the first
time this summer, through July 24th, in “Coney Island Mermaids, 1996
– 2016” at the Boerum Hill gallery Urban Folk Art Gallery.
Ratray’s great passion
throughout his photographic career has always been for capturing people. And people
who create identities for themselves are of particular interest to him. These
images often expose more about a person than images of a person standing naked.
“What’s funny is that
someone who creates an identity for himself and becomes someone else often
reveals more about them,” Ratray said the day before the exhibit’s opening
reception last month.
“They’re telling me more about who they are. My attempt
is to always get someone to reveal something of themselves that they normally
wouldn’t.”
Ratray shot all of his
images in black and white for a reason. First, it was just convenience. (He
could develop the images in his own dark room). But after a few years, he
realized that black and white was the best way to capture the people behind the
mermaid personas. The brash color palette of the Coney Island landscape would
easily blind a person’s ability to perceive the subtler nuances of the people
that populate that landscape.
“The noisy, chaotic
environment of Coney Island can be a distraction; it’s meant to be a distraction,
deliberately, meant to be eye candy,” said Ratrey. “I’m trying to photograph
the people inside the costumes. By shooting black and white it takes the person
out of the environment. If I were shooting color, if there’s a neon Budweiser
sign, even across the street, down the block, it will come shouting out at
you.”
Similarly, Ratray’s
use of film (versus digital) is all in service of bringing out the individual.
For him, photography is as much about the process as the product, as much about
interaction as image.
“Making portraits on
film is a completely different experience both for photographer and subject,”
said Ratray. “In terms of interacting with the person [whom your
photographing], it’s a very different thing when you’re looking in their eyes and
you get them comfortable and then immediately after you take the picture you
look into your camera. You break the interaction. People [the subjects]
immediately want to see the result, too. But the interaction is almost as
important as the picture itself.
If I’m shooting film, there’s a process, an
effort, a bit of mystery because you can’t see the picture right away. Showing
someone that I’m making the effort, they treat me differently than someone
who’s across the street with a camera and long lens.”
Over the past twenty
years, Coney Island has of course changed dramatically with chains such as
Applebee’s and It’s Sugar setting up shop. These changes are symbolic of the
broader changes that characterize all of New York City, says Ratray, and have
also colored the parade itself.
“Because [the parade]
is built off the people that show up, it tends to be a microcosmic reflection
of the city as a whole,” said Ratray, who grew up in Manhattan and has lived in
Carroll Gardens for the past twenty years. “New York City has become a
different city in the past twenty years. It’s harder to be a small business,
harder to be an artist.”
Ratray sees this
reflected in the parade. It has gone from being a small, community event when
it first launched in 1983 to being the nation’s largest “art” parade, with more
than 3000 creative participants and more than half a million spectators. And
this broader appeal has changed its flavor, says Ratray.
“I don’t want to
criticize any of it because people are having a good time and doing their thing—and
that’s all good,” said Ratray. “But as with anything else, when things grow,
with more people showing up, there’ll be less of an element of individual
creativity. Not everyone is a hard-core do-it-yourself costumer. There are
mermaid costumes being sold in Halloween stores. That’s fine. It means, though,
that many people are buying their costume and looking the same. The parade
becomes a little watered down.”
But that’s the parade,
not necessarily the people who make up the parade. It’s in search of these
people behind the personas that Ratray has kept going back year after year.
Also, he hopes that what he is doing, his images of individuals, his spotlight
on people, his emphasis on creative enterprise will bring the importance of
local artists and small business to the fore.
“Coney Island is a
place of dwindling small business—I’m a local artist and small business myself,
like many others,” said Ratray. “New York City is changing dramatically. I want
to encourage people to support small business and local artists.”
So will he ever stop?
“I’ll keep going as
long as it remains interesting—interesting to me, that is,” he said,
emphasizing that all of this, the images on view and the words spoken were just
that: his view—nothing more nothing less.
“Coney Island
Mermaids, 1996-2016” at Urban Folk Art Gallery, 101 Smith Street, Boerum Hill, www.urbanfolkart.com
Exhibit open daily through July 24, noon-8:30 pm. Free.
Rubina De Paolis and Vanessa Morandell in LASCIAR ANDARE,
