Achtsamkeit in der Partnerschaft: Was dem Zusammenleben Tiefe gibt (German Edition)

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Julia is currently reading. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Aug 25, Julia rated a book really liked it. Sep 02, Das Manifest gegen das schlechte Gewissen by Tommy Jaud. Schlaf gut,Baby by Herbert Renz-Polster. Julia wants to read. Kleine Philosophie Der Passionen. Aug 21, Eine Spezies wird besichtigt by Dietrich Schwanitz. Die Wahrheit beginnt zu zweit by Michael Lukas Moeller. The outlook is nothing less than infinite A performance as an unparalleled gesture. Als normale autobiografische Arbeit geht Hunter keinesfalls durch.

Doch ihrem Tanz ist zu entnehmen, wie hart dieser Kampf gewesen sein muss — auch wenn Meg Stuart zu Beginn von Hunter noch harmlos an einem Tisch bastelt. Was da passiert, ist in einer Videoprojektion zu beobachten. Erst nach erfolgter Selbstbefreiung spricht die Choreografin selbst und live. Hunter ist ein Schatz von finsterer Brillanz. Vielleicht war das der erste Funke — ein kollektiver Traum, der aus dem Theater hinausfloss und sich langsam verbreitete, getragen von all den Anwesenden.

Das hat einen hedonistischen Aspekt. Je mehr das Feuer brennt, desto unsichtbarer und kleiner wird die Konstruktion, und dann wird auch die Gruppe von Leuten, die darum herumsitzen, kleiner, bis alle zusammenhocken und Stockbrot essen. Ist Empfindsamkeit eine Energiequelle? Oder die noch ungeborenen Fossilien, Minerale und Kristalle, die die Spuren unserer Zeit in eine ferner Zukunft tragen. Die Wirtschaftskrise und die sozialen Dramen, die mit ihr einhergehen, sind aus diesen Bildern, die zu keinerlei kritischer Betrachtung einladen, subtrahiert.

Brauchen wir vielleicht andere Bilder, um zu einer alternativen Betrachtungsweise dessen zu gelangen, was diese Ruinen hervorgebracht hat? Verwandeln wir sie in Museen der Moderne? In einem Essay kommt er zu dem Schluss: Wenn man nach rechts blickt, sieht man wie die Fotos sich an der Wand bis zur Decke erstrecken. Vor etwa einem Jahr fanden wir uns in einer ehemaligen Zementfabrik wieder, wo Jozef Wouters eine Probe leitete, die sich mit dem Vokabular des Bauens befasste. Geht praktisch an die Sache heran. Manche halten sich nur einen Tag.

Die Bilder an der Wand werden jeden Tag neu arrangiert. Die Reise entlang oder durch diese Fotografien erlaubte uns, uns mit den vielen nomadischen Figuren in ihnen und ihren extremen Reisen zu identifizieren. Ich freue mich darauf, es herauszufinden. Wir werden es nie erfahren. Was sollen wir damit machen? Dies, sagte sie und deutete mit ihrem nunmehr schmutzigen Handschuh auf alles um sie herum, ist kein Feuer; aber es ist trotzdem die Vergessenheit. Man stelle sich ein Museum der Erfahrungen vor, eine Zeitkapsel, in der Praktiken am Leben erhalten werden.

Verkleinere, um zu beobachten. Zwei weitere Bilder, in leuchtendem Gelb und Rot, haben auf der Karte zueinander gefunden. Working on Actions in Performance , Amsterdam, , pp. Robert Pogue Harrison, Gardens. An Essay on the Human Condition , Chicago, Barry Lord, Art and Energy. Or where people gather to collectively burn all their Ikea furniture in a ritual statement. Different actions, you know. Perhaps that was the first spark — a collective dream spilling out of the theatre and slowly dispersing itself, carried by all the people present.

How do we envision theatres and other art spaces today and tomorrow? How do we shape these places of encounter, these laboratories for living together? During the past years these questions have been recurring in our conversations — with choreographer Meg Stuart and scenographer Jozef Wouters, and with many others collaborating on Projecting [Space[. During one month the company Damaged Goods will work on location in the Zentralwerkstatt Lohberg in Dinslaken, transforming it into a temporary environment for imagining and experimenting with collective practices of meeting and making — and for sharing these activities with others.

We did spend some time in cold industrial buildings, but then the transformation of energy also became a research topic in its own right, with a variety of resources gathered to feed the smoldering bonfire that is a rehearsal process. Setting something ablaze means to consume it, to expend it. There is an aspect of hedonism in that. And as the fire burns the construction grows invisble and smaller, and then the circle of people around it becomes smaller too, until everyone sits down and eats marshmallows together.

In rehearsal we discussed the impact of energy sources on cultural production, but quickly moved away from wood and coal to what drives bodies dancing, sensing, witnessing. Or the heat of a large group of bodies at a rave party? How can we catalyze the energy of the audience? Is sensitivity an energy source?

Imagine a group of highly sensitive bodies entering a former mining factory. What if these bodies would softly brush up against a concrete floor? Would they become site-specific? Material and spatial conditions would be partners in the conversation, an encounter of heterogeneous surfaces and desires — human bodies, machines, wood, stone and cloth, remote urban clamour or a beam of light. Perhaps it would manifest in abstract lines or in slow, unison dances.

Or maybe in stirring attention for the smallest particles when someone blows a handful of dust across the room. What would these meetings tell us about transformation of energy, or about relations of care? Nicht immer ein Theater. Ich erinnere mich, wie stark das Publikum auf diesen Vorschlag reagierte, sich sein Theater anders vorzustellen, und wie die Menschen im Foyer nach der Vorstellung ihre eigenen Ideen diskutierten.

Vielleicht war das der erste Funke: Bei den Proben diskutierten wir den Einfluss von Energiequellen auf kulturelle Produktion. Auftritt eines Gabelstaplers und eines Baggers. Sie knubbeln sich zum ekstatischen Pogodancing. Hier geht es um mehr als eine getanzte Architektur-Annexion. Doch ihre eigenartigen Gestenfolgen kann niemand verstehen. Das interkulturelle Kommunikationsdefizit als peinigende Chaos-Choreografie. Es gilt die Menschheit nicht nur zu richten, sondern auch zu retten — wirklich?

Projecting [Space[ , the hallucinatory apotheosis of that quest, was subsequently shown at the Ruhrtriennale. Johan Simons played Accattone there two years ago, in a huge hall that is now half demolished. In this stony wasteland, Stuart, Peeters and Wouters, together with eight performers and two musicians, set up camp in and around the ruined brick warehouses.

Their performance begins outside, on the paved surface surrounding the building. A couple transform their car into a kind of carnival wagon. Another pair, wearing swimsuits, ride in circles on mountain bikes that are far too small. Poised in the background are two men with a forklift truck and an earth-mover. Sounds assail you from every direction, ranging from dub reggae and soundscapes to simple songs. Passers-by watch the strange, indefinable spectacle from a distance. The occupants of the car then lead the audience into the cavernous machine hall where the impressive scale of the building finally becomes visible.

Viewed only from the outside up until that point, it had been consumed by the vast surrounding emptiness. The hall is crammed with equipment, most noticeably an abundance of robust, towering racks. In the first half of the building, there is barely a metre between them. Further on, they are used to create a semi-circular seating tribune. At the entrance, sounds emanate from a tractor tyre that spins aimlessly round on chains. In another spot, there is an embellished TV screen, filled with trinkets.

And so it goes on, seemingly without end. It transcends immediate comprehension. Between those racks, the performers, complemented by Meg Stuart herself, seek contact with the people via gestures and touches. Many participate in this opening rite.

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Only afterwards do the performers develop their own rituals. For what other word can be used to describe the strange gestures they make, and which invariably hover between tics, secret signs and a group dance? Many of the subsequent scenes seem to share mutual relationships, but these frequently overlap and are also supplemented by the voices of the performers, who talk about their experiences.

It is impossible to follow everything at once. The only certainty is that the performers not only dream, but that their dreams become ever more indulgent. For example, Jorge De Hoyos, running as fast as he can, tries to take-off with a parachute. Mor Demer, who is naked, suddenly darts between the viewers. Sigal Zouk and Renan Martins, who dance almost continuously, provide the piece with a baseline.

And Mariana Tengner is, to all extents and purposes, the master of ceremonies. Meanwhile, the double bass and electronic sounds of Klaus Janek and Vincent Malstaf reverberate throughout the proceedings. What this means, if anything at all, is not the point any longer. Projecting [Space [ is a quest for what might happen when people come together for one reason, and one reason only: But no one in Dinslaken could resist the enchantment of the giant campfire at the end. This temporary construction, destined only to consume itself, was the perfect symbol for this work: During the month of August the dance company Damaged Goods works on loca-tion in the Zentralwerkstatt Lohberg in Dinslaken, transforming it into a temporary environment for imagining and experimenting with collective practices of meeting and making.

They address various transformations of energy, ecstatic encounters and care for the unfamiliar — all of it through a gamut of materials that were gathered to feed the smouldering bonfire that is a rehearsal process. And as the fire burns the construction grows invisible and smaller, and then the circle of people around it becomes smaller too, until everyone sits down and eats marshmallows together. One wall of the studio is covered with images collected by all the collaborators.

An arrangement of blue and red-brown images shows a body lying flat on an asphalt road, next to a huge land-scape grazed bare by bulldozers; and below that an underground parking lot that leads to a fantastic grotto with a shimmering light at the end. More worlds can be imagined underneath, perhaps reaching 1. Once the coal excavated and burned in the Ruhr area spurred on a whole industry and culture of workers and production, while society and cultural patterns are now defined by different energy sources as fossil fuels are quickly running out.

If particular energy sources have a profound impact on the cul-tural production of a certain era, then what will the future look like? Our discussion quickly moved away from wood and coal to what drives bodies dancing, sensing, witnessing. What would it be like to harvest a crystal?

Imagine the almost endless amount of time and pressure required to arrive at such a precise shape and substance. Or imagine the yet unborn fossils, minerals and crystals that carry traces of our time into a distant future. Pushed to the side of the studio wall, there are some photos of dis-used industrial buildings, abandoned amusement parks and shopping malls, or derelict world fair pavilions and Olympic sports stadiums. Modern ruins devoid of human presence. What do the glossy photos of these imploded dreams tell us? Do we perhaps need different images to practice alternative ways of looking at what produced these ruins?

The many disused coal and steel factories in the Ruhr area are in a sense giant rehearsal spaces. Some are in actuality converted into environments used for very different purposes, including the per-forming arts. And not to forget: Along with the interest in industrial archaeology, the reconversion of these factory buildings also provides training spaces in another sense.

In the future, there will be new and other disused buil-dings awaiting new purposes. Imagine all those abandoned airports in the not-so-distant-future beyond peak oil — what will we do with them? Turn them into museums of modernity? Or will they, now hubs for impersonal and swift mobility, in the post-labour society become spots for lingering? Gym spaces for people to keep their atrophied bodies in shape when drones and robots do all the work? Environments for gathering, encounter and ritual?

Imagine all the behaviours and lifestyles that could be practiced in such a space. Also theatre buildings fall to ruin, even though the time of decay eludes the attention and imagination of us, theatre visitors. And yet, long before the forest takes over the debris of a derelict theatre, the elements are already fully alive in there. How can we attend to events and phenomena that lay beyond the senses?

Or he wonders how we can look at a theatre also as an actual stone building. Suddenly, the background shifts to the foreground, non-human agents and different temporalities come into play. In an essay, he concludes: Or imagine your highly sensitive body brushing up against the concrete floor of a former mining factory. Would your body become site-specific? Would material and spatial conditions become partners in the conversation, in this encounter of heterogeneous surfaces and desires? Imagine your attention to the smallest particles being stirred when someone blows a handful of dust across the room.

To the right, the photos climb higher up the studio wall. They follow the dynamics of the people in the images constructing spaces with wooden frames, organising things or drawing abstract lines in the air — gestures that defy gravity and entropy. About a year ago, we found ourselves in a former cement factory, where Jozef Wouters guided a rehearsal around the vocabulary of building. In a delimited space full of stuff — stone, metal, wood — he asked everyone to elevate things. You can order things, put them upright, stack them, or throw them out if needed. Go about it in a practical manner.

The next task was to sit somewhere — to look at the environment from within, to inhabit it, perhaps to transform it yet again. How does your body fit in this space? The memory of these improvisations lingers on whilst reading a wonderful essay by Robert Pogue Harrison on the gardens of homeless people in New York City. The images on the wall are rearranged every day. Together they also enable us to create scenarios and dream about the work in the making, or to explore how people would behave in certain environments.

Travelling along and through those photographs, we could identify with the many nomadic figures in them and their extreme journeys. Would we be able to understand their reports about the future state of things? Would we be spurred on to sen-sitize ourselves and experiment with spaces and situations of encounter? Would we be able to push our imagination of the present to the edge of the familiar, approach other worlds and begin to experience and care for the foreign in our midst? Detached from the undocumented practices of the Sepik, these objects are now only touched with white gloves and remain in limbo.

A fishing net; ceremonial head-gear; a bat for playing some kind of game; a cooking implement… Who knows? What should we do with it? Imagine a museum of experience, a time capsule in which practices are kept alive. Perhaps you could partake in the revival of extinct languages and practices of another era. It might be an invitation to tune and hone your sensorium, experiment with ways of feeling and perceiving differently. After a speculative writing session, dancer Mariana Tengner Barros said it this way: We develop, as masters, practices of perception, from different stimuli of the senses that we accept as valid and all the others for which we still do not have a name or form.

Two more images with bright yellow and red colours have landed side by side in the map. A few years ago, several blast furnaces and containers to transport molten iron from the disused Phoenix West factory in Dortmund were sold and shipped to China. In a distant future they might travel back to the Ruhr area, transformed and embodied in an altogether different shape, their energy now contained in a fire-spitting Chinese dragon, with a large group of people dancing to hold up its cloth canopy high above their heads with sticks as the fabulous beast keeps on snaking and fuming.

Deux heures bien bon. Mais Until our Hearts Stop pourrait durer bien plus encore. Je donne tout de mon poids pour mieux soutenir celui de mon partenaire. Et cela implique de plus en plus de partenaires, par agencements passant aux limites. La conduite de tout cela tangue dans une ivresse de la fragmentation spectaculaire. Tout semblerait pouvoir se produire. Et quoi d'autre encore. Or c'est toujours, furieusement, du Meg Stuart. In her first evening-length solo, Meg Stuart takes her body to the stage as an archive of memories, both of family life and her artistic career.

In Hunter, running from 28 to 30 January at the Teatro Maria Matos, the choreographer and dancer is both the hunter and the prey. There are sure to be a large number of respectable studies from those who propose one thing, to the opposite, or the coexistence of both arguing that anyone who finds themselves alone seeks immediate solace in the radio or television. There will even be those who argue that radio or television would be enough to remove the solitude from that equation.

For the choreographer and dancer whose solos had, until now, only been short exercises in a break between two longer pieces the sort that clean the palate or reset the timer before continuing the journey , Hunter is too populous a piece for any trace of solitude to be felt in the solo. In fact, Hunter is quite the opposite: Sometimes, these are perfectly audible to the audience, including those of Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs or an aunt, mixing the family history that she discovered when digging back seven generations as suggested by a shaman with a host of artists that helped to shape her movement.

At other times, those voices are barely discernible and yet capable of suggesting references that are essentially presumed to be to Jonas Mekas, Yoko Ono, Laurie Anderson, Trisha Brown or Miranda July. In some sense, the piece is summarised in that idea: I felt that while I have the energy and interest to perform, it was a good way to put Damaged Goods [her company] and my creative process into perspective.

With Hunter, Meg Stuart is putting herself into the development of her own discourse. She has thought of and defined the body as a repository of memories for a long time, but never before has she taken this belief so literally and to such an extreme. Looking at her body and her movement as an archive, she decided to amplify and delve into it as far as possible. By moving into the personal domain, the choreographer is identifying a possible response to this previous piece; another form of digging down to try and see herself more clearly.

It was in these excavations that Stuart found herself looking at a diary filmed by the Lithuanian filmmaker, Jonas Mekas: In investigating her own choreographic language and what makes it flesh, Meg Stuart accepts the idea of transformation and uncertainty about her present. Hunter therefore dispenses with the need to establish an order that others can share and work with; it does not appear concerned with defining a collective environment.

It is a piece with many layers to it: In fact, Meg Stuart is amused by the idea that Hunter could seem like an excessive narcissistic obsession, simply because around her — somewhat as strange as it is cosy — there are always several ghosts following her every move. Struggling with the issue of togetherness, Meg Stuart expresses an imperious desire to live and create, showing everything through an exhilarating freedom of tone and movement, which results in a few well-known scenes we are thinking, in particular, of the incredible pair of nudes. This is our pick of this Tanz Im August Meg Stuart began with contact improvisation, but quickly dispensed with its usual taboos — such as violence, or touching in sensitive places.

To the looping, sometimes overwhelming jazz strains of Marc Lohr, Stefan Rusconi and Samuel Halscheidt, the six performers paw at, ambush and exploit one another every which way. They squeeze together onto a single sofa in order to pick and pull at one another, like children abandoning themselves to an explosive mix of curiosity, boredom and listlessness. Finally, they scamper across the stage like young foals that have just been turned out, before ending in an ardent embrace. This looks like absolute freedom. Both mentally and physically, it sweeps embarrassment aside. Meg Stuart wanted to create a situation that went beyond simply role-playing, and to extend this into the theatre auditorium.

You constantly seem to be witnessing an original world in which everything could go in any direction, and in which the imagination knows no bounds. Only Kristof Van Boven stays above the fray, acting as the standard bearer for an adult audience that no longer wishes to take these kinds of excesses seriously, for fear of the implications. What purpose is served by the long epilogue, in which Claire Vivianne Sobottke begs for love, attention, money and warmth, or by the collective ballet of incomprehensible signs with which the performance ends?

Her performers dance, sing, curse and flirt as if their final hour has come. Stuart breaks open her linguistic idiom to create lyrical dance theatre that unites performers and spectators in admiration and, yes, love. Hier geht es um etwas anderes: Alles drei auf einmal, ununterscheidbar, leer und derart verstrahlt, dass man erleichtert feststellt: Des miroitements fusent dans tous les sens. In Built to Last , the mood stays light, bordering on irreverent, as the dancers assume historic movement patterns reminiscent of Isadora Duncan or German expressionist dance.

Meg Stuart sets herself a challenge before creating a new dance. The American choreographer, who is based in Brussels and Berlin, claims to develop an entirely new movement language for every piece as she collaborates with directors, visual artists, musicians and designers. Rather than following well-trodden routes, these works explore the edges of what is possible. There is no new language emerging from sparky interactions with bolshie musicians here, just an acceptance of prewritten music from a dead composer.

Her response was not to overthink it. The primary response was heroic. When you play it in your living room, your life becomes bigger. Composer Alain Franco joined the rehearsals as a kind of music dramaturg and suggested adding other composers, so the soundscore expanded into a rich tapestry of fragments by Dvorak, Rachmaninov, Schoenberg, Xenakis, Stockhausen and others. This openness is unusual within contemporary dance, where many choreographers have resisted the aural backdrop offered by classical music, fearful it might gentrify their incendiary aesthetic with plush sounds and a veneer of respectability.

Additionally, an association exists between classical music and ballet, whose narrative-driven choreography is antithetical to the conceptual purity pursued by many contemporary choreographers. But classical warhorses such as the Eroica can prove more than an aesthetic threat. Mindful of this, Stuart quotes the Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Zizek, who claims: Or it can be read in a much more ambiguous way. With music we cannot ever be sure. In so far as it externalises our inner passion, music is potentially always a threat.

The threat is proportional to monumentality, a theme that quickly emerged in rehearsals for Built to Last. History is a manner of perspective, not a question of being right or wrong. This questioning needs to be constant, as there is a danger of losing sight of the original meaning and intention behind a monument.

It imposes thoughts and memories, and makes it clear that the present has a past. Music has also constantly imposed itself on dance. Seeking to to divorce dance from any historical cliches, it opened with the lines: With such a weighty subject matter, there is a danger that Built to Last could be self-involved and yawnsome, but Stuart insists the mood stays light, bordering on irreverent, as the dancers assume historic movement patterns reminiscent of Isadora Duncan or German expressionist dance.

This is true freedom. An epic on the shoulders of musical warhorses Dublin Dance Festival review. In taking on classical music warhorses, choreographer Meg Stuart has created a theatrical experience equally epic. Sprawling across two hours, Built to Last throws stones at monuments to the past, questioning our tacit relationship with bombastic expressions of heroism and ultimately presents an uplifting affirmation of the human spirit. Fourteen excerpts are used as metaphors for historical narrative.

Stuart questions how this music can be appropriated and given an immovable mythical status, even though our perceptions of history constantly change. Actor Kristof Van Boven quotes Beethoven: This is the tension underpinning the entire performance: The overall effect is complemented with energetic and pitch-perfect performances by the five performers, that include Maria F Scaroni and Dragana Bulut. It begins to sway. Then the hand, seeking simple gestures, clenching and unclenching.

Next the arm, extended, bending, seeking shape and form. The urge gradually brings all parts of the body to movement and from there to motion. Set against an electronic soundscape, five performers relentlessly seek, find and are frustrated by patterns, culminating in a cacophony of movement and sound before one of the performers quietly brings the others to a halt before turning to nervously address the audience.

So begins Built to Last, by renowned choreographer, Meg Stuart, making her Irish debut and kicking off the Dublin Dance Festival with an excellent production that sets the bar high. When describing itself as a history of dance, Built to Last does itself a great disservice. For it speaks not just to the history of dance, but to the making of dance, to the need of the body to give expression, with or without music.

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Of an insatiable urge that can find momentarily release in forms and patterns, none ever big enough to accommodate all that needs to be expressed. At times fleetingly recognisable moments appear, tender tableaux temporarily take shape before passing away in the search for newer forms. At other times it appears as if the lunatics have taken over the asylum as the struggle to find shape grapples with restrictions and the need for form. If all is shifting, what never changes is the striving for expression, the endless searching, the body constantly reaching out to catch the stars and channel all that heaven will allow.

Self-consciously self-deprecating at times, it never ceases to engage, despite its uninterrupted two hours in length. Scaroni and Kristof Van Boven give a delightful ensemble performance, as well as creating exquisite individual moments. The only thing to do is surrender to it. If dance forms aren't built to last, dance surely will as evidenced by this charming, insightful and, at times, sublime production.

Sie beschnuppern sich gegenseitig, kitzeln die nackte Haut der Partner. Egal ob Mann oder Frau. Doch Voyeure kommen in diesen pausenlosen zwei Stunden nur selten auf ihre Kosten. Dass das jemand macht, beweist, wie Meg Stuart das Publikum zu lockeren Partnern gemacht hat. Aber auch zu dritt bekommen die Musiker um Bassist Paul Lemp, der schon lange mit Stuart zusammenarbeitet, einen fetten Sound hin, der dem massiven Klang einer Big Band um nichts nachsteht. Erst in Zweierkonstellationen, dann als Gruppe.

Die Musik nimmt Fahrt auf, die Bewegungen werden schneller. Dann kehrt Stille ein. So nahe kommt einem Theater selten. Die Grenzen des Wahrscheinlichen dank Zaubereinlagen. Die Messlatte liegt hoch. Beim Saisonendspurt geht es dabei Schlag auf Schlag. Tantra- und Hypnose-Workshops bzw. Das ist gut so! Three women and three men build towers and bridges with their bodies.

In groups of three or four, they twist and entangle their bodies. All this is not new. The nose gets a run for its money; its urge to explore does not stop at the pubic border. Irony, parody, comedy and genuine feelings are mingled together in this sensuous composition of body images, that Meg Stuart is now presenting at PACT Zollverein as part of the Ruhrtriennale. But this piece, which goes on for two hours without a break, has nothing to do with voyeurism. Carelessly and naive, they run free, rub each other and throw each other around.

Some of them frequently comment their own actions. The way Meg Stuart engages the audience without making it feel uncomfortable is extraordinary. In a fully lit theatre, the spectators receive water, fruit and cake. They are offered clay to give their hand muscles a work out as the piece continues. Unrestrained, the performers talk to visitors, spray cologne or open their shirt and ask spectators to smell their sweat.

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The fact that they are willing to do so proves that Meg Stuart has succeeded in making the audience become a licentious partner in crime. Until Our Hearts Stop marks a fresh step in the research that the choreographer Meg Stuart has been engaged in for more than two decades. She tirelessly attempts to pin down the strange interplay between what we feel physically and what we experience mentally, and in so doing, she rarely leaves the viewer unmoved.

More and more, it is about experiments in which not only the performers, but also the spectators have a role to play. She regularly confronts viewers head on with the inherent difficulties of the human condition, which can leave them confused. In Highway , for example, she dragged the spectators through a building, before unexpectedly abandoning them to weirdos who went on to indulge in some embarrassing rants.

People often had no idea how to behave.


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All Together Now tore up theatrical conventions still further. It began with the audience being packed into a space that was far too small, while a voice expressed disgust at the ensuing sweat and odours. It ended with a feel-good session in which everyone was entreated to hold hands. Some felt that they could have died of embarrassment. But as ever, this is precisely her point: Why do we long for others, yet bolt if someone comes closer?

What can we tolereate from one another, and what not? This is endlessly fascinating to watch, as Stuart always manages to find fresh ways of exploring this theme, and never fails to unsettle. The piece wrong-foots you to such as extent that at a certain point half way through, you barely know whether you are coming or going.

To the overpowering jazzy sounds of the trio Samuel Halscheidt, Marc Lohr and Stefan Rusconi, the six performers have already groped, stalked and made use of one another in every conceivable way. It all begins with a strange yoga session, followed by an equally strange acrobatics exercise. After this, all six performers plonk themselves down on a sofa together. Whether out of boredom or embarrassment, they pick at one another until they are rolling over the floor in a knot of bodies. Two men become embroiled in a dogfight.

Two women separate them, before immediately going on to attack one another with equal savagery - and stark naked - before winding up in an intimate embrace. The fourth wall is breached An hour of these edgy, absurd scenes culminates in a synchronous dance comprised of incomprehensible signals. Just as you have almost given up trying to understand it, the mood shifts.

The spectators are suddenly involved in the action, whether they like it or not. The performers offer drinks and presents, sing birthday songs or stage a variety show. The performance then takes a magical turn, both literally and figuratively, with conjuring tricks and a mysterious ritual involving incense and a drum roll. However, the mood is abruptly broken by the heartrending speech of a lone woman who endlessly begs for attention and love for her pitiful self. This is reminiscent of the weird, embarrassing figures that appeared in Highway Although you are aware that this is only theatre, it still makes you uncomfortable: She illustrates how desperately we long for contact and attention, until our hearts stop.

But you are left alone with that uncomfortable feeling, because the performance ends here. Until such time as Stuart comes to knit another chapter onto this endless tale. Nackt steht sie da. Aber das kann eigentlich nicht sein. Aber irgendwie hat es Meg Stuart doch geschafft: So etwas gelingt nur ihr: Man kann es selbst nicht so richtig glauben. Meg Stuarts Compagnie, die Damaged Goods, ist dagegen etwas ortlos geworden: Das ist der Grundimpuls von Meg Stuarts Arbeit. I take it back.

Wie geht das zusammen? Hunter ist zwar ein Abschluss, aber zugleich ein Neubeginn — ein Durchgangsstadium und Sammelpunkt von Energien. Die Spiele der Muskeln, die zeitliche Perfektion: Das Muskelmassiv in der Schulterregion ist deutlich sichtbar nach Meg Stuarts fordernder Tanzpraxis geformt. The dancer and choreographer Meg Stuart performs her first evening length solo Hunter. The American choreographer, who has been living in Berlin for several years now, has created her first evening length solo at the age of With her unremitting distortions and displacements she proves, yet again, the expressive power of the body.

She explains her so-called embarrassment: And then she begins to talk: The performance is about the memories that have brought her to this point, and that she has poured into words. Meg Stuart explores how experiences leave their imprints on your body — a constantly recurring theme with her. In Hunter , she again opts for a multimedia approach and works with a range of materials. At the beginning we see her sitting at a table, lost in thought, cutting up black and white photos from her personal photo album and then arranging the cuttings.

In one photo, the faces of a mother and child are replaced by animal heads; other photos are painted over with nail varnish, or have shiny paper stuck on top of them. The soundtrack is a collage of different musical works, sounds and voices. Two women speak about the fallout from a divorce, another woman reports on a feminist who tries and fails to ruffle a playboy bunny.

A broken male voice lectures about the need for change. Private life and philosophy, humour and profundity go hand in hand. The scenographer Barbara Ehnes has built a spacious construction for Meg Stuart, constructed from Plexiglas and metal tubes, which covers the stage like a screen. As a result, the space is already alive with meaning when Meg Stuart finally takes to the stage.

She then lies down on the ground and starts, as though she is charged with electricity. Her body is under huge pressure. She flounders and shakes, throws her arms around and jumps up. She is totally subject to the uncontrolled movements of her body. In Hunter it is as though her insides are being torn. The variation in her syntax of movement is unique.

The scene in which she only uses her arms is overwhelming. Her arms begin to lead a disturbing life of their own. They knot together, become entwined, break free again and only allow themselves to calm down when they are forced to do so. In the flickering projections, you see the father, or the young daughter showing off her first dance steps.

They show Meg Stuart revolving as if in a trance, or a Stuart who is exploring her body as if it were a strange object. Meg Stuart moves between extremely divergent emotional states. For example, she suddenly sinks into an extremely colourful patchwork tent with a series of side-arms. Childhood is never completely over. At a different point, she takes to the stage with her upper body bared, hiding behind a long, blonde wig.

Meg Stuart is one of the most influential choreographers of the contemporary dance scene. Since she has been linked to HAU Hebbel am Ufer as an artist in residence, her career has once again been given a boost. Her creations can now be seen regularly, and are almost always sold out. In Hunter she now shows that she is not only a collector, but also a hunter. She picks up the things she finds and digs into the deepest layers of memory. The dancer accepts her past, which has a liberating effect. She concludes with an amusing speech in which she sends all those shamans, life coaches and craniosacral therapists packing.

In short, she danced for a crowd of Meg Stuart fans. She rewarded their loyalty with a performance that once again personally highlights her style and her unique ability to create moods. Cutting; tearing; daubing; turning on unusual axes; creating new compositions; distorting and accelerating.

These are the techniques that you often see in her choreographies, used alongside everyday movements and dance movements. However, for the first time, she also applies this approach to images. With her back to the audience, Meg Stuart sits at a table messing around with scissors, felt tips, glue, photo clippings and other fragments of memory. A camera projects this, much enlarged, onto a piece of fabric. Everything recognisable changes continually in front of our eyes. She starts to dance in swinging, shocking movements to a soundscape consisting of all kinds of sound fragments that change in under a second.

The movements become mechanical, graceful, fragile and aggressive. The most contradictory emotions and situations are brought together in a highly compact way. Even though they are impossible to name, the movements do not appear abstract. Time and time again, they approach a form of emotional expression or physical state. The battle for memories that simply do not want to become clear is a dramatic element that plays out here in the unique and fragile body of the choreographer.

Super 8 family films and childhood photos are regularly beamed onto a series of projection surfaces. The voices of an old man and an old woman who are trying to express in detail the way things once were can also be heard. At the end, Meg Stuart takes a purring projector whose speed has been adjusted incorrectly, and the snowy image it projects creates an eventful void. Slowly the image moves to the ceiling and fades out.

Such expressive visual and acoustic elements create a reference context for the dance. As well as allusions to the biographical and the personal, there are images of burning houses or bleeding mouths whipping past at high speed. But the difference this time lies in the embarrassment and the toughness, the vulnerability and the violence as facets of one person; as a part of her past. Lighting Jan Maertens , sound design Vincent Malstaf , scenography Barbara Ehnes and video Chris Kondek combine to create a space that is not so much a solitary environment, but a tiny fragment of a universe: In this world, objects — such as a gleaming foil that changes colour in different lights — connect with the dancer to form moving installations.

This creates the effect of seeing, and at the same time not seeing, her body, and the balling of the light that can expand into a space. It is all rather ominous, a little unworldly, and over before you know it. Es ist eine lange und dichte Erinnerungsfahrt, auf die einen Stuart mitnimmt. Die Eltern sind krank, vielleicht sogar schon gestorben. Bis jetzt bildeten sie so etwas wie das Dach der Vergangenheit, jetzt muss man sich selbst eines bauen.


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Sie hat sich eine Erinnerungsbude gebaut. Trotz ihrer Gastspiele rund um die Welt musste sie zu Interviews regelrecht getragen werden. Hat sie denn in den anderen 70 Jahren nichts erlebt? Und gesehen, wie sie das wirklich verlegen macht. Zwischendurch war Stuart halbnackt zwischen Zotteln vergraben. Impossible de tout saisir, la sarabande est multiple. Meg Stuart mistrusts words. She says so herself. It is worth trying to use many words, and expressing them as if each were of equal importance. You can incorporate images, sounds, movements and materials in this. You can show a great deal of all sorts of things behind, beside and layered on top of one another; mix fiction and truth, documents and moods, memories and dreams, the visible and the invisible, your own thoughts and those of others.

The key thing about Hunter is its idiosyncrasy, which it approaches in multiple phases. Meg Stuart as an artist, as a woman, and as a human being invites us to discover the world from the perspective of her questions and positions, but at the same time, to understand their origins. This is easy, indeed very easy to understand.

For over twenty years, Meg Stuart has been working in the fields of dance and theatre on projects with a wide variety of forms and performance formats. However, Hunter is the first solo she has created for herself that is designed to fill a whole evening. The idea of a solo, especially in the field of dance, can rapidly lead you astray. Her announcement that she intends to study her body as if it were an archive is also misleading.

One can argue in many respects that Hunter is major piece and leans towards a Gesamtkunstwerk [total work of art]. In addition to the choreography on the stage, a number of other artists were involved with Hunter. The dramaturge Jeroen Peeters provided the audience with two pages of text that are very much worth reading and keeping. The text contains all sorts of expressions of the creative process, and draws on the ideas of Charlotte Selver, Yoko Ono, Miranda July and many others.

The sound designer Vincent Malstaf designed a collage of sounds, lieder chiefly from the 80s and electronic music. This provides a structure for the performance and also perhaps for the house in which Meg Stuart paces about. It is an overcrowded house that does not actually do anything, apart from continually recounting stories. This both amuses and disturbs us. It alternates between silence and howling.

The scenographer Barbara Ehnes constructed a giant sculpture made of extra large craft materials on the HAU2 stage. And sure enough, the evening begins with a glitter, moss and photo collage of Meg Stuart herself. The costume designer Claudia Hill worked on the same principle: The lighting designer Jan Maertens shaped the opening or protective closing off of the stage, and the possibilities of seeing and being seen.

And last but not least, the video artist Chris Kondek used the three projection surfaces for a montage of photos and video recordings. He created a composition using clippings, raw material, and overlapping images, often of people and often of landscapes. Although it actually revolves around autobiographical documents, outsiders, who know nothing and no one, do not understand its true character.

There is apparently no hierarchical structure between the elements and their meanings. Coincidentally, what this world shows and tells us is just like the world in our heads. At the same time, the evening is highly structured. Later, Meg Stuart says: She stands, walks, kneels down, does not dance and does not look in front of her.

And even when she does look at the audience, we can barely see her face. Hair, hands or arms block our view. In the meantime, she gives the impression of being distraught. Phases three and four, or five; in any case the final one: Meg Stuart gets dressed again. Eventually, at last, she has really danced. In silence, she improvises with dance material and changes her expression numerous times.

For specific, extremely short moments, she is totally relaxed and happy. There is a lot you could say about this. But now only the following can be said: So Meg Stuart can now put on a lifejacket and pin on a microphone. The first thing we hear her say is: Meg Stuart as an entertainer. She goes on to talk in an increasingly less desperate way about all sorts of things. She makes no distinction between the intimate and the public, between the banal and the visionary. She asks about our future. There is nothing to suggest that there is any kind of calculation behind her words.

This is not often the case, and it is thus extraordinary. It touches us, but in a totally unsentimental way — and will also irritate some people. It was a very special evening, a gift. Pour ne pas regarder devant. Meg Stuart se change. Ein Chaos im positiven Sinne. Twenty years after setting up her company Damaged Goods, Meg Stuart is staging her first, evening-length solo.

Oddly enough, solos offer an inherent promise of truthfulness. As an artist, there is nothing you can behind — other than yourself. And it so happens that this is precisely what Stuart does, without equal, in Hunter. She conceals and then exposes herself in a capricious stream of images, movements, video and sound.

The result is a kaleidoscope of mirror images whose contours blur before your very eyes. Copper pipes emerge from a Perspex tube several metres high and extend deep into the hall. This serves to immediately highlight the ambition behind Hunter, which is to turn the personal inside out.

The performance begins with the choreographer sitting at a table, working on a kind of collage. Old family snaps and a photo of Yoko Ono are covered in glitter, while cuttings fastened with pins are re-arranged and set alight. Here, you see in microcosm what Hunter is about to do for the next two hours on a larger scale: Mind you, the image with which you are presented is anything but objective. The pins in the photographs work like acupuncture, and this becomes apparent when she hesitantly begins to dance.

Her arms and legs are like antennae that pick up the strangest frequencies. This is no less than a synthesis of the arts, a thrilling phantasmagoria. Hunter shows us a thousand faces and demands the same number of eyes to take it all in. The elusive Stuart transforms herself from one shadow into another, with her body as the only tangible reality. And yes, you will rarely come closer to the truth about a person or perhaps the whole of mankind than you do here: Beautiful cutting up and reassembling the past: Some performances are gone the next day.

Some stay with you a little longer. And some keep on popping up in your mind. Such as Hunter, the first evening-length solo by Meg Stuart. I watched the American choreographer perform it a couple of months ago in Essen, and scenes and images from it have been coming back to me regularly, since. Hunter, a piece about memories. The Venice Biennale wanted it on its programme last June, and the well-respected German magazine tanz awarded Meg Stuart the title choreographer of the year for it.

The piece will have its Belgian premiere this week at Kaaitheater, Brussels. A first of a special kind. It premiered in Berlin March It is a piece centered around memories, but it is certainly not solely about the past, as it is strangely contemporary too. Hunter also consists of a series of scenes in which Stuart mixes movement with elements from visual arts colors, light, video, the texture of things and theatre.

It is set to a dizzying soundscape by Vincent Malstaf: Look at what my body is doing. As if she herself is amazed by what those arms are coming up with, oh and look how they move in a completely unexpected way. Hunter comprises once again one of those sequences Meg Stuart is extremely good at. It looks as if her body is an antenna, and it keeps on receiving different signals, from one surprise to the next. From one remembered movement to another one.

The body as a brain: Just as that soundscape seems to be continuously switching channels too, jumping from music to spoken word. Its one of the scenes that have been coming back to me. Or that moment she all of a sudden starts talking, almost in a stand up-comedy sort of way. Explaining why she tried to stay away from talking on stage, and then telling an amusing story that jumps from Trisha Brown to Casper The Friendly Ghost and kundalini yoga. I remember the color orange. A set design mixing a spiderweb with a circus tent.

And then that fantastic scene in which a pair of speakers descend from above and Meg Stuart starts singing with Yoko Ono. I also clearly remember sitting there, in the bar, afterwards, perplexed by this information overload, wondering what to make of it.


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