The Body as an Infinite Landscape
Nudity, contagion, landscape: at Uferstudios, Isabelle Schad presents Studies on Infinity – Nudity and Landscape, a two-hour performance installation in which the audience is invited to move and sit freely within the space. A rigorous piece that stretches stage time until it coincides with each spectator’s own experience of it.
Studies on Infinity – Nudity and Landscape is the latest chapter in a choreographic enquiry Isabelle Schad has pursued for years, treating movement as an infinitely variable material. The work continues her investigation into nudity and landscape as a relationship between self and group, skin and environment, begun with Pieces and Elements (2016): an almost energetic principle, whereby the body reflects and is reflected, in a continuum that passes from one dancer’s skin to another’s, until it dissolves into the surrounding space.
A thirty-minute sensory introduction precedes the piece, in which Schad herself guides the audience through exercises drawn from qi gong, aikido and breathing techniques. It is she who lays out the implicit rules of the experience: the performance/installation is to be inhabited rather than watched; one may stand, move, shift position around the large pale tatami that fills the performance space, so long as one stays comfortable, and cushions are placed there precisely to signal that the stillness of a conventional audience is neither required nor, perhaps, even desired.
The tatami is also the first landscape we encounter: a nude male body, lying on his side with his back to the audience, one leg extended and one bent, opens the sequence with a barely perceptible movement of the spine rising and falling. Full nudity is never absent from the tatami, though it isn’t constant for every individual performer: those who leave the space get dressed, those who re-enter shortly after remain nude – with no wings to retreat to, these transitions happen in full view, functioning as a further gesture within the action rather than a pause from it. Skin exposed as scenic material, on a par with the tatami, the sound, the light. From there the choreographic material multiplies as if by contagion: other bodies join in, alternating between solos that become duets, then small groups, in a work that handles the sensory qualities of gesture – crawling, rolling, reaching for one another’s feet in a twist that binds the bodies together – much like sculpture treats form.
The principle of contagion here is not merely a choreographic metaphor: Schad’s practice is also rooted in Body-Mind Centering and in the embryological ideas of Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen (movement artist, educator and therapist), according to which the body, in its earliest weeks of formation, develops “from and within its own space” before it is even connected to the mother. It is an idea of the cell as a unit that organises and reorganises itself in relation to others. By letting solos dissolve into duets and duets into small groups, Schad builds not a composition but a self-generating organism.
Gradually the action lifts off the ground: the dancers rise to their feet, cross the edges of the tatami, run and skip beyond the perimeter marked out by the mats, let their hair loose, echo in their spines the same undulating movement seen at the opening, now amplified by verticality.
There is something, in this gradual expansion of the space occupied by the bodies, that recalls Gilles Clément’s notion of the “third landscape”: those undecided margins, like the edge of a wood, the verge of a road or a derelict plot, where humans stop designing and let the living beings that inhabit them determine their own evolution. As the bodies cross the boundaries of the tatami, they seem to claim the same status: no longer choreography traced onto a designated surface, but an organism expanding into the margins of the room, into an undecided space that the staging itself stops trying to control.
Towards the end, the material intensifies further: Damir Simunovic’s score builds, the bodies rise up to full verticality, then exit sideways, leaving the stage to a final collective surge, almost a choral thrust, before the blackout. What strikes most, in this closing surge as throughout the piece, is the quality of mutual listening between the eleven performers: they move with the complicity of those following the rules of a game only they know, attentive to one another more than to any fixed score, able to fall into unison or veer off in a new direction without ever revealing a hint of hierarchy or command.
For all its exposed, stretched-out format, the performance never loses its sense of direction over its two hours. Between the heat of that August evening and a packed house, moving with the freedom the artist herself had encouraged wasn’t always easy, though that, too, was a sign of just how gripped the audience had been, filling every corner of the room. What remains is an intense experience well worth living through: an invitation to lose oneself in a time that is “out of joint”, where performance and landscape, individual and group, keep mirroring one another, endlessly.
Elisa Frasson, published August 26 in: teatro.persinsala.it/