Words by Florence Nicholls.
When I’m pining for some performance, I look to see what’s on at the big venues, inevitably picking a £25 nosebleed seat to look down onto a perfectly lit stage. It’s dancing in all its production-valued glory. But, if every time I wanted to hear live music I went to a stadium show, I’d think I’m really missing out on something: All the work that is yet to be finished, refined or heavily funded. So, it was a welcomed end to the week to see the open performance curated by KWAM Collective at Longfield Hall where each work-in-progress piece opened up a new avenue for connection and inspiration.
The night kicked off with Nicola Adilman’s choreography, As of Right Now, previously performed at The Place as part of the Resolutions festival. Adilman reimagined the space like a life drawing session, opening the audience up to the internal dialogue of the model (Adilman) as they prepare to hold their pose. The audience too were in fidgeting stillness as sketch after sketch was drawn, torn from the easel and let drift to the floor, collaging the surface with Adilman’s impression. How much of oneself is reflected in an image? I thought as Adilman danced over the portraits, leaving graphite marks against their skin like a blurred photograph.
The hall was low lit when Tash Cordeaux descended the steps of the narrow proscenium stage in the opening moments of Svasta Nešto. They clutched an orange towel in their grasp before laying it perfectly in front of them and coming to the ground. A persistent, agitating drip scored the six minute choreography, intercepted by dizzyingly frantic narration. In Svasta Nešto, Cordeaux draws from a well of complexities that manifest in a fleshy, jittering, cathartic performance.
To bring the first half of the night to a close, Gail Seres-Woolfson and Samuel Adebayo brought Tightrope to the space, accompanied live by Deniz Dortok. Seres-Woolfson and Adebayo mastered a nail-biting performance, balancing on nothing but two thin metal frames. Dortok reflected their physicality, agile and suspensive, in dynamic shifts on the double bass as the two ascended, then returned to the floor, drenched in gravity.
We retook our seats, curved around the edges of the hall for Klaudia Wittman’s Head Bucket Bed. This ongoing project is based on Wittman’s research into gender structures in women’s gymnastics and psychiatry. Head Bucket Bed was as surreal and uncanny as dreams can be. I felt as though a part of my subconscious was projected in sections of the performance, like the fuzzy waking moments where reality intertwines with ruminating thoughts and REM sleep visions.
This daydream was followed by Tsoi-Heun Wong and Christiano Mere’s Anticlockwise, marking the final performance of the night. Wong and Mere circulated the circumference of the hall, interlaced by curious eye contact and moments of corporeal connection. I enjoyed catching a glimpse of their playful interactions as they flashed smiles in response to each other’s counterpoints. Wong and Mere’s connection through movement was undeniable, riffing on principles of capoeira and contact improvisation in their own fluent language. There is something inexplicably joyful that happens when entering into a dance with someone we know that radiated from the duo as they spun further and further in circles.
After the performance, I took the opportunity to walk across the space towards The Surreal Banquet, an installation by Annelisse Pfiefer. Pfiefer’s selection of wearable objects played with themes of desire and identity, making a satire of table manners and proper etiquette. The installation stood in the corner of the hall like an altar for people to come and admire, or to construct meanings out of its symbolism.
The energy of KWAM Collective’s performances rippled on post-show. Drinks were served and crisps in big bowls were laid out for sharing. I greatly enjoyed the conversation that flowed outside the venue in the lingering evening warmth. I often find myself scuttling off after a show to catch a train or head to the pub with the same people I came in with, but the down to earth and approachable mood created by KWAM Collective, invited us all to stick around and feel at ease. If you ever, like me, feel jaded by the big venue advertisements, it is time to remember that going to the theatre is not the only way, and Swan Lake is certainly not all there is to see.