Portraits
Joana von Mayer Trindade & Hugo Calhim Cristóvão / NuIsIs ZoBoP
May
2022
Wed
18
About Portrait of a Dancer as Velvet
Can we look at your show as an autobiographical work? In what way? What do you think this show can reveal about you as a creator?
“Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s'ouvraient tous les cœurs, où tous les vins coulaient.” There is the disease and there is the disease in disguise. The first one is a Reality to deal with, a way of existing as Human. The second stealthily procreates the monstrous. It's an ethical choice. Not because of what the disease is, but because the disease is hidden. In the lair, choreographies of perpetual misery are danced. "Il faut être absolument moderne". It's hard to judge the insanity of being portrayed. Confused signs emerge from these lives that look petrified. Obsessed with narcissistic disorder, obsessed with the controlling compulsion of remaining visible when they no longer see each other. Suffocating in the act of strengthen their future look to exist in the now. “Je n'ai jamais été de ce peuple-ci; je n'ai jamais été chrétien, je suis de la race qui chantait dans le supplice.”
During your creative process, were you inspired by any autobiographical work or self-portrait?
It is difficult to predict whether it is the Picture that distorts itself in sickness what is alive or if it is the disease that constrains what is alive to a Portrait. Then it's predictable. Movements of incarceration and framing. A double movement of being a restricted form that is strictly restricted to a form. A dance appearance trapped in closed circumvolutions. A superficial grimace, a mask that can not escape, a machine buried in rules and more rules, rites of a murdered spontaneity that contaminate even the very moments when the form should retreat and give in, wreck. "La vraie vie est absentee. Nous ne sommes pas au monde." It's not surprising that that the Reality of a Dancer as portrait is insanity. An insane cowardice that pursues pacification in the dead to portray dead forms. Or, in the dead, portray in order to not seem a dead form, demonstrating the opposite of desire. Creatures immersed in disease and small limits, thus trained and built. Desperate for adequate security, adequate perfection, adequate reinforcement. Murdering what is alive. "Voici le temps des assassins." Succession of well-executed portraits, or unsuccessful attempts to escape the portrait, in false corpse-like resourcefulness. Like if you want to drown, but you don't drown.
In a confrontation between the portrait and the real, in which side destruction plays and serves? For what reason?
“L'amour est à réinventer.” Will we be able to deal with reversing and converting, of portraying the destruction of the Portrait? To eliminate the missing nobility and bourgeoisie, dressed in purple and velvet, that the Portrait is born to serve? After all, it's just a dead body or face. A shell, an automaton. Moved only if the mirror or the eyes look at it. In a way in which dancing will never blow it away. (Interlude : "Fake it until you make it", the greatest insanity ever written, the disease hiding itself). Who knows if we can shatter it, moving it closer to us, by dancing? Even if closer? "L'ivresse, c'est le dérèglement de tous les sens." Can the Portrait after being burned, shredded, seduced by itself like Narcissus, experience at one point its own dissolution? Drown in the waters? Through spirals and resonances overlapped by other resonances, if what is not part of the Portrait could destroy a small part of it that its roots ended up giving in, even if a little bit.“Oh ! nos os sont revêtus d'un nouveau corps amoureux.”
Can the portrait move on from the “velvet” and the “purple”? It must? What would the portrait wear then? And what about the Dancer?
In sowing and following the faces of the Dancer, which already existed even before the portrayed face. In sowing and following the movement that already existed even before the Portrait of the Dancer being sculpted in velvet. Velvety and restricted. "Je est un autre." Thus, insanity, disease, compulsion, obsession to be portrayed, can plough their own epitaph. For a Dancer who dances it away from the Portraits of Dancers like Velvet. "On ne part pas. - Reprenons les chemins d'ici." So, the paradox we pursue in this creation –what is a Dancer who has to dance everything that does not dance itself, while dancing theirself. "J'ai tendu des cordes de clocher à clocher ; des guirlandes de fenêtre à fenêtre, et je danse".
Quotes: Jean Arthur Rimbaud
Can we look at your show as an autobiographical work? In what way? What do you think this show can reveal about you as a creator?
“Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s'ouvraient tous les cœurs, où tous les vins coulaient.” There is the disease and there is the disease in disguise. The first one is a Reality to deal with, a way of existing as Human. The second stealthily procreates the monstrous. It's an ethical choice. Not because of what the disease is, but because the disease is hidden. In the lair, choreographies of perpetual misery are danced. "Il faut être absolument moderne". It's hard to judge the insanity of being portrayed. Confused signs emerge from these lives that look petrified. Obsessed with narcissistic disorder, obsessed with the controlling compulsion of remaining visible when they no longer see each other. Suffocating in the act of strengthen their future look to exist in the now. “Je n'ai jamais été de ce peuple-ci; je n'ai jamais été chrétien, je suis de la race qui chantait dans le supplice.”
During your creative process, were you inspired by any autobiographical work or self-portrait?
It is difficult to predict whether it is the Picture that distorts itself in sickness what is alive or if it is the disease that constrains what is alive to a Portrait. Then it's predictable. Movements of incarceration and framing. A double movement of being a restricted form that is strictly restricted to a form. A dance appearance trapped in closed circumvolutions. A superficial grimace, a mask that can not escape, a machine buried in rules and more rules, rites of a murdered spontaneity that contaminate even the very moments when the form should retreat and give in, wreck. "La vraie vie est absentee. Nous ne sommes pas au monde." It's not surprising that that the Reality of a Dancer as portrait is insanity. An insane cowardice that pursues pacification in the dead to portray dead forms. Or, in the dead, portray in order to not seem a dead form, demonstrating the opposite of desire. Creatures immersed in disease and small limits, thus trained and built. Desperate for adequate security, adequate perfection, adequate reinforcement. Murdering what is alive. "Voici le temps des assassins." Succession of well-executed portraits, or unsuccessful attempts to escape the portrait, in false corpse-like resourcefulness. Like if you want to drown, but you don't drown.
In a confrontation between the portrait and the real, in which side destruction plays and serves? For what reason?
“L'amour est à réinventer.” Will we be able to deal with reversing and converting, of portraying the destruction of the Portrait? To eliminate the missing nobility and bourgeoisie, dressed in purple and velvet, that the Portrait is born to serve? After all, it's just a dead body or face. A shell, an automaton. Moved only if the mirror or the eyes look at it. In a way in which dancing will never blow it away. (Interlude : "Fake it until you make it", the greatest insanity ever written, the disease hiding itself). Who knows if we can shatter it, moving it closer to us, by dancing? Even if closer? "L'ivresse, c'est le dérèglement de tous les sens." Can the Portrait after being burned, shredded, seduced by itself like Narcissus, experience at one point its own dissolution? Drown in the waters? Through spirals and resonances overlapped by other resonances, if what is not part of the Portrait could destroy a small part of it that its roots ended up giving in, even if a little bit.“Oh ! nos os sont revêtus d'un nouveau corps amoureux.”
Can the portrait move on from the “velvet” and the “purple”? It must? What would the portrait wear then? And what about the Dancer?
In sowing and following the faces of the Dancer, which already existed even before the portrayed face. In sowing and following the movement that already existed even before the Portrait of the Dancer being sculpted in velvet. Velvety and restricted. "Je est un autre." Thus, insanity, disease, compulsion, obsession to be portrayed, can plough their own epitaph. For a Dancer who dances it away from the Portraits of Dancers like Velvet. "On ne part pas. - Reprenons les chemins d'ici." So, the paradox we pursue in this creation –what is a Dancer who has to dance everything that does not dance itself, while dancing theirself. "J'ai tendu des cordes de clocher à clocher ; des guirlandes de fenêtre à fenêtre, et je danse".
Quotes: Jean Arthur Rimbaud
© DR
