by Sara Muthi

When we think about a balanced lifestyle we rarely think about the balance of our brains. While our consumption of sustenance and physical activity fuels our precious bodies to build strength and maintain health within the flesh that wraps our bones, we often neglect the balance of our minds.

What Sara French manages to do within the performance Rooting for Wimps is provide an accessible, interactive and engaging lesson into our brain’s hemispheres. Benefits and solutions to the problem of our left-hemispheres are also uniquely addressed. In our left brain, there is a world…

where bureaucracy flourishes, the technical becomes important, uniqueness is lost, an obsession to govern and control seethe through every crevice of modern life. Our right hemisphere sees the world on a broader plain. That’s where we want to be. That’s who we want to be, the life force power of the universe.

Rooting for Wimps was not a lecture or seminar, French created a refreshing space in which striving for the betterment of ourselves, and by proxy society, I believe I was not alone in experiencing.  This performance is an encouragement by French, a rooting for us to begin to take control of our minds, our strength and our agency and it starts with 3 simple exercises, 3 times a week:

3 sets of 30 jumps on your left leg.

Approx. 20 back curls and then presses, using a dumbbell on your left arm.

2 sets of 1 min running on your left leg, with 10 seconds rest between.

These simple exercises are not about strength, endurance or stamina, French states it’s about balancing your left and your right.

As a “rightie”, I have myself noticed something which has been proven and French recounts within the script of her performance. Humans tend to prefer things that are in front of their dominant side, their comfort zone. It’s natural and impulsive. It’s research like this that would make you feel claustrophobic within your mind, and is what French describes as feeling trapped inside her own body. Making automated choices you never knew you were making is not an easy truth to process. Being on autopilot when you thought you were in the pilot’s seat can be unsettling. These concepts don’t just have small implications in our everyday decision making, but also in major political discourse as well. We cannot begin to fathom how many of our choices are automated or nudged certain directions due to things outside of our control.

French is rooting for you and your cognitive liberty. Escape your left brained ways to finally tap into your potential, be the lifeforce power of the universe.  By following these simple exercises our minds may be moulded and lean towards the right side of our mind, allowing us a less than illusionary version of agency, agency which is consistently under threat. By gaining awareness, and actively improving our cognitive agency, we may begin to think for ourselves and regain control of our minds, our society and our democracy.

“Let’s be our own choice architects.”

French achieved a complex goal, a method to achieve an escalated human experience, by developing awareness of your mind through the persona of  a simple, a relatable and familiar character. to many of us. An online video tutorial often features a character which is fun, motivating, educational and occasionally convincing convicting. All these traits are for the betterment and growth of the viewer, a persona in which French embodied effortlessly. The day of the performance, an air of motivation swept across the audience as she interacted directly with some enthusiastic and less than willing participants, bridging the gap between performer and spectator, counting together, stretching together, and spotting each other.

French’s persona never broke from the upbeat character, nor was it ever misleading. While the piece was intentionally accessible to a wide audience, its implications were clear: a need for cognitive liberty was read between her words and actions with ease.

The success of the accessibility of this performance is a testament to the artist, but also the curator Roisin Bohan, whom organised this four-part performance series, each being incredibly stimulating (including works by Lisa Freeman and Ciara Lenihan, Mark Buckeridge and the ALL CHOIR, and Celina Muldoon), yet thoroughly enjoyable and thought provoking. Rooting for Wimps is the last in this series.

French has crafted a performance that has shone a light on a widely unnoticed, yet invaluable information about cognitive liberty which is not beyond our reach, or genetics. Through persistence and awareness, we too may “improve our problem-solving skills, develop better spatial awareness, hone on home in on empathy, be more playful and master the skill of thinking up and telling compelling narratives, with 3 simple exercise, 3 times a week.”

Rooting for Wimps, performed by Sara French, curated by Róisín Bohan, took place on July 15th, 2017, at the Temple Bar Gallery + Studios. Images by Gary Teeling.

by EL Putnam

Imagine a childhood dreamscape embodied by the adult imagination: fantastical creatures, biomorphic forms, and elongated amalgamations of body parts — all constructed of household materials. Such is my primary impression of Celina Muldoon’s untitled live installation, which exudes a perfect crudeness in its performance of an engineered mythology. The work encompasses eight performers, with each adorned in a complex costume made of masking tape, hand drawn features, and in one case, a flowing plastic sheet. These participants shift through the space in a distinctive choreography that emerges from the material forms they wear. There is a delicacy to the actions that contrasts the bulkiness of the costumes. The energy builds as the gestures loop, accompanied by an electronic soundtrack that imbues an ethereal quality.

The limits of this fantasy are revealed in the theatricality of the materials; instead of striving for seamless representation, the complex constructions do not hide their rough and ready nature. However, I cannot help but get caught up in the illusion, despite its obvious staging, imbuing the performance with a captivating honesty.

Muldoon sits in the middle of this all, wearing a monstrosity of couture that transforms her into a Centaur-like creature. She gazes at the audience from her position on the ground, though over time, her face wears a pained expression as she bears the weight of her headpiece. At one point, she breaks the looping choreography as she rises from her seated position. Other performers disrupt their patterns to assist her, as the weight of her costume limits mobility. The performers form a line, circling the room with Muldoon in lead. She awkwardly navigates the space, hindered by the ampleness of the horse’s body she adorns. Throughout this process, she maintains a poise, occasionally thrusting the weight of the body she wears, which is supported in the back by a pair of roller skates. Her clumsy gait promotes laughter from the people sitting next to me; an appropriate, affective response to the scenario unfolding before us.

There is a term in German — spielraum — that literally translates to “play room,” but it is used colloquially to describe if there is “wiggle room;” some space of discursive negotiation. Martin Heidegger (2008) uses the term in his essay “The Origin of the Work of Art” when he describes how truth is revealed in the strife and free space [Streit- und Spielraum] that art affords.  Art, therefore, opens a space for conceptual and sensory play. However, as Samuel Weber  (2004) emphasizes in his reading of Heidegger, this play in not harmonious, as it is accompanied by “irreducible and generative strife” (56). In her live installation, Muldoon takes advantage of the Streit- und Spielraum opened through the work of art, letting her imaginative negotiation of theatrical materiality and performed gestures present an awkward fantasy.

Watching Muldoon’s live installation also evokes Matthew Barney’s fantastical creatures and Thomas Hirschhorn’s consumerist spectacles, though what makes her vision distinctive is her feminist position. The creatures carry an androgynous air, as gestures play with a gender fluidity, which is most poignant in the tall insect-like creature, performed by Austin Hearne. Hearne’s tall and solid corporeal structure is amplified by his costume that looks like an intersection of a medieval knight with a winged arthropod. The sturdiness of his stature is contrasted with a graceful step—his feet delicately moving along the floor, as if he is wearing an invisible pair of stilettos. The plastic sheet that floats under his masking tape wings contribute to the daintiness of his appearance, providing a contrast of gendered behaviors that embrace the freedom of play that the scenario invites.

At the same time, Muldoon presents herself as the focal point of the event, exuding a matriarchal force. As I watch the other performers assist her move around the room, countering the material weight of her costume, she asserts her role as the queen of this whimsical colony. Her sure and steady presence is affirmed through her unrelenting gaze. Muldoon’s reliance on others to catalyze her movements suggests Judith Butler’s (2004) observations of the body, which she describes as our own, but also not quite our own:

Although we struggle for rights over our own bodies, the very bodies for which we struggle are not quite ever our own. The body has its invariably public dimension. Constituted as a social phenomenon in the public sphere, my body is and is not mine. Given over from the start to the world of others, it bears their imprint, is formed within the crucible of social life; only later, and with some uncertainty, do I lay claim to my body as my own, if, in fact, I ever do (26).

The performers’ actions emphasize the human interconnectedness of bodies through the choreography of their movements, engagement with the audience with the gaze (and for one character, gestures of listening), and by providing necessary support to Muldoon as she manoeuvres the weight of cardboard and masking tape. Muldoon also manages to lay claim to her body, through the enunciating flick of her rear-end and punctuating hop of the roller skates.

In this work, Muldoon creates a mythological dreamscape, where bodies embrace the theatricality of material. The work opens a spielraum that is visually and sonically captivating, while also playing with notions of human interconnectedness that emerge from a feminist position. Delightfully subversive, Muldoon emphasizes the value of play.

The untitled live installation/performance by Celina Muldoon took place 27 May 2017 at Temple Bar Gallery and Studios. Performers include: Terence Mc Eneaney, Susan Buttner, Elaine Grainger, Stephane Bena Hanly, Austin Hearne and William Murray. The event was curated by Roisin Bohan. Photographs are courtesy of the artist.

References

Butler, J., 2004. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. Verso, London and New York.

by EL Putnam

When watching performance mediated through the camera (either as a film, video, or photograph) means watching it through someone else’s eyes. The camera has a special relationship with performance art, commonly used to document the traces of ephemeral actions. However, this tool is not an objective observer. It is a machine capable of capturing time, which it can manipulate, frame, and modify, only to present it in another space. Such a mediation is referred to as post-phenomenological, which Don Ihde (2010) describes as the recognition that the perceivable extends beyond the bodily senses and thus can be mediated through instruments. I am fascinated by the relationship of the camera to the physicality of performance, not so much as a documentary tool, but how it extends the experience of a performance through the interplay of technological and corporeal gestures.

I recently watched Paddy Cahill’s film Amanda Coogan: Long Now, which contains footage from Coogan’s RHA exhibition, I’ll sing you a song from around the town. I had visited the exhibition regularly — at least once a week or sometimes more, staying several hours each time, as I let myself get sucked into the passing of durational performance. Therefore, I felt well versed in what the exhibition offered. However, as I watched the film flickering on the screen of the Triskel Arts Centre in Cork, I was captivated by what Cahill composed of these same experiences, and how his use of the camera brought new depth to performances I already thought I knew. The camera allowed him to obtain a closeness to the subject, presenting an intimacy I otherwise did not experience, emphasized by the caress of the camera lens as he shifted focus, presenting details just outside the limits of my ocular perception. With the camera maintaining a steady gaze, I took in the subtle details I previously overlooked, such as the wrinkles on Coogan’s fingers from being immersed in water for so long when performing Yellow. The camera elongates gestures, allowing them to linger beyond the threshold of live perception. The camera directs me where to see, valuing Cahill’s attention to details, which is difficult to focus on when witnessing multiple performances simultaneously within a gallery. Cahill also took the liberties to change the speed of documentation. For example, when presenting a time-lapse sequence, I am taken aback by the different pacing of the performers in contrast to gallery observers, who seem to be moving in distinctive timelines; passersby scurry about as the performer indulges in the present.

Such utilization of the camera in relation to performance exceeds the role of documentation, emphasizing what is possible when bringing together this technological machine with bodily action. The relationship of performance to the camera is one of translation — the live action and the captured trace are never quite the same. However, I do not qualify this relationship as one of loss, since the camera also opens new forms of perception and participation for a viewer while extending the space of creative potential for the artist. The camera produces something different than a live performance, but it also opens the membranes of engagement, drawing out the folds of experience into other times and other places.

Works Cited

Ihde, D., 2010. Heidegger’s Technologies: Postphenomenological Perspectives. Fordham University Press, New York.

Paddy Cahill’s film Amanda Coogan: Long Now was screened at the Triskel Arts Centre on June 20 2017, as part of the Perforum Conference, “Body Activities,” organised by Inma Pavon and hosted by the Drama and Theatre Studies Department, University College Cork.