Gareth K Vile gives more thoughts and views on what he's seen at this year's New Territories.
Being self-indulgent, and always ready to find new ways to impress my intelligence on innocent, and bored, bystanders, New Territories always encourages me to speculate upon the boundary between Live Art and Dance. While this is less fascinating for anyone outside of my decreasing circle of friends, it seems to be essential for me to come up with some sort of distinction, if only to be able to look informed the next time I am at the top secret critics circle meeting. New Territories, which has its roots in the dance festival New Moves, is so eclectic, so diverse, that a spot of categorising is quite useful, even to help audiences to find their ideal evening.
Anna Krystek is a case in point. Although she is obviously a trained dancer – her kicks and isolations have the hall-marks of disciplined years of training – she acknowledges that she is not inspired by dance. The third of the Small Dances, Big Ideas strand, her Face On is more cerebral than Jack Webb or Iona Kewney. Where they are both inspired by the body – for Kewney in particular, her unique physique and skill defines her presentation – Krystek begins with an idea. Face On focuses on waiting, and, true to her minimalist aesthetic, works it hard through a repeated, and limited series of pacings and gestures.
I declare Face On Live Art, partially due to its appearance. In dark light, Webb’s The Hardest Thing... could be mistaken for ballet. There is less interest in narrative, and far more expected of the audience. The repetitions, which refuse to lull, often thanks to the aggressive sound score, do force contemplation. The waiting that Krystek explores is felt as much by the audience as dancer, and the formal beginning of a contemporary dance, which often introduces the steps and movement vocabulary, is replaced by the first of repeated sequence. There is no clear shift of mood, lurches between re-iterations and despite her obvious technical skill, Krystek never tries to wow the crowd. The relationship between her, the sound and the video is not obvious. This is serious and provocative, compelling me to speculate on the meanings of the kicks and walks to the front.
While dance isn’t entirely unconscious, Live Art is more often engaged in questioning performance. It also encourages a sort of choreographic idiolect, where dance is a cipher, hard to decode. Like the expression on Krystek’s face in her twin videos, the meaning is gnomic.
As a consequence, the viewer is likely to weave their own narrative around the piece. This might account for Live Art’s controversial nature: when the message is not fixed, it’s bound to cause arguments. This can lead to some terrible conjecture – the programme notes included a comment from one critic that Krystek engaged with Field Theory, an idea impossible to verify without a PhD in mathematics. Equally, it gives plenty of fuel for post-match analysis.
Having seen all three Small Dances, however, I am taken with Nikki Millican’s smart programming. Both Kewney and Krystek take dance but apply this Live Art aesthetic – no narrative, awkward structure, allowing audience conjecture. Yet they could not be more different. Where Kewney is physical, Krystek is intellectual.
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