Karolina Plicková a Tereza Ondrová

DUETY

VERBAL DUET ABOUT PERFORMATIVE IDENTITIES: TOWARDS A POROUS AND COLLABORATIVE CHOREOGRAPHY *

AN INTRODUCTION TO BEING IN ACOUPLE

Bonds between couples in contemporary “liquid” times are the subject of Zygmunt Bauman’s book Liquid Love, aptly subtitled On the Frailty of Human Bonds (2003).[1] Bauman’s thesis that forming a couple requires both partners to consent to an uncertain future can be applied to other kinds of partner relationships, for instance that between a performer and spectator in a participatory theatrical form. In Duets, we enter into a similar temporary relationship with an uncertain future and then reflect on this theatrical form to reveal our mutual thinking, weighing up, and balancing out ideas, impressions, and approaches.

One of us is a dancer and choreographer, the other a theatre theorist. Let’s imagine that one day in 2022, for a few minutes, we became part of a liquid, transitional pair in the project Duets (2019)[2] made by the Czech independent creative platform Temporary Collective.[3] Becoming part of a couple means meeting another person whose inner essence will never be fully accessible to us. “Although we can ‘perceive the minds’ of other people, although others are intelligible to us in their expression, this does not mean that all that they are is visible,”[4] writes the philosopher Alice Koubová. Otherness is an inevitable part of expression. However, becoming part of a couple also means agreeing to share oneself with someone else. To hide a little and at the same time disclose yourself a little. To look, feel, and sense your counterpart. To oscillate between ego and empathy. To enter the game. To be open to change, although its specific course will never be fully predictable. As Duets allow for ex­periencing such a change, we will now seek to undertake it again, this time verbally.

Duets are short encounters between two people, based on a simple scenario written on a small piece of paper. They take place on stage in front of an audience, between professional dancers and “non-danc­ers”, people who have never stood on stage before. The starting point is the act of inviting a spectator on stage. What happens afterwards is partly in the hands of the performer, partly in the hands of the spectator – and partly in the hands of the audience, which influences the whole duet through an autopoietic feedback loop described by Erika Fisch­er-Lichte. This “fundamentally open, unpredictable process that cannot be interrupted or controlled during the performance”[5] enters the course of the action as a specific choreographic actant, along with many others. Can a lip-bite or a blink of an eye become choreographers? Can a single raise of the eyebrow take part in the choreography?

Methodological note: Theoretical physicist David Bohm defines two seemingly identical concepts – a discussion and a dialogue. He argues that a discussion is a phenomenon of essentially competitive nature. It is about who will gain the upper hand, who will win. In a dialogue, on the other hand, the goal lies in something quite different: “In a dialogue, however, nobody is trying to win”, claims Bohm. “[…] Rather, whenever any mistake is discovered on the part of anybody, everybody gains. It’s a situation called win-win, in which we are not playing a game against each other but with each other. In a dialogue, everybody wins.”[6]

We believe that the duet could form yet another distinctive stage on the imaginary scale from a discussion to a dialogue. We hope to show that the duet is a specific case of such a dialogue where an initially clearly separated pair potentially trans­forms over time into one biunique figure. The boundaries of the two personalities are blurred; the figure acts in unison. Through our joint writing, we will try to mirror the course of the duet and gradually desist from distinguishing the boundaries of the text’s authorship, as they will no longer be significant. The textual fragments will coexist, intertwine, and provoke each other in symbiosis, synergy, and collaboration.

PART ONE: INVITATION

Porous dramaturgy is a term used by Cathy Turner and Duska Ra­dosavljević. It implies work that “attempts to engage the audience in co-creation”,[7] for instance through interactivity or immersion. Both the researchers wonder whether the artwork may “realise democratic aims through its ‘porous’ construction.”[8] They are much more interested in ethical questions than in aesthetical ones. Similarly, we try to explore the social context of such a collaborative creation and ask the follow­ing questions: What is choreography? Where does a dance performance begin and end? Who is allowed to create it in our society, who is allowed to perform it, and what conditions precede it? How can we define our­selves against a culture of acceleration dominated by the adoration of speed, performance, and activity?[9] How to seek other possibilities of being in the world, another relationship to temporality and rhythm, gen­der and sexuality, visibility and invisibility… How to create a safe space for peaceful formation of one’s own identity?

Karolina: I’m sitting in the auditorium. The audience is coming in. I’m waiting for the auditorium to fill up. I observe the empty space; white stage; white horizon; blank, unmarked page. The lights in the auditorium are still on, and the small talk murmurs from all sides. I am a spectator, and I am full of anticipation.

Tereza: I’m sitting in the auditorium. The audience is coming in. I’m waiting for the auditorium to fill up. I get a signal from the production that everyone is in. I wait a little longer. I rise from my chair and enter the stage. I stand in the middle so I can see all the audience. I look around the auditorium. I breathe in, breathe out, and smile. I give a speech: Good evening, I’m glad we met here in order to meet. Tonight’s performance is called Duets. A duet means two performers, two people meeting here on stage to­night. There will be several encounters of this kind. Some will be short, some will be long, or there will be none at all, that can happen, and that’s okay. Each meeting has a short script, a text, an instruction that is written on this little piece of paper. (I take it out of my pocket). And I’ d like to meet one of you tonight. I’m going to hand someone a piece of paper, please read it quietly and then come up here to join me on stage. (Short pause… I continue.) If anyone doesn’t want to, or if you have a problem, pass the paper to your neighbour. Thank you.

K: The lights are still on in the auditorium, so the play area is not sep­arated from the audience area by light. I should have thought of that. I’m a panic-stricken spectator. I’ve always been terrified of participation. I’m worried that I won’t come up with anything original, and/or that I’ll say too much about myself, and/or that everyone will judge me. At the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that this exact mixture of fears provokes me. Will I try to overcome it? After all, I may not get picked, and maybe I’m scared for nothing.

T: I look around again. And I start walking towards the chosen spec­tator. I hand her the paper, we look each other in the eye, and I go back on stage. The paper reads: “Stand facing each other, and look into each other’s eyes. Find peace. When the time comes, find the end together.” I’m waiting.

K: I am a spectator who is safe. The card with the instructions has been given to my neighbour, and she is examining it at length. The audi­ence silently laughs at her hesitation, while she is probably preparing for her moment of glory. I exhale, as I’m safe today. Suddenly the instruc­tions appear right under my eyes. My neighbour has changed her mind and sends the challenge on. My blood runs cold. I read the instructions on the paper carefully, struggling to breathe for a moment. I catch my breath. I am the spectator entering the scene.

PART TWO: COLLECTIVE CHOREOGRAPHY

T: The spectator comes to me. She stands in front of me. We stand side­ways to the audience. We are both nervous. We keep looking into each other’s eyes. We look at the details on each other’s faces. We are hover­ing. Negotiating distance. Suddenly, the spectator pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket and hands it to me. I take it from her. She offers me her hand. I take her hand. We shake hands goodbye. We turn together towards the audience. We’re still holding hands. Together, we take a slow step to sit down. Normally, I tend to disconnect from spectators when entering the auditorium and going back to our seats. But this time the spectator won’t let me go. She’s still holding my hand and leading me to my seat. I sit down. She’s standing over me, her hand searching in my pocket for another piece of paper. I let her pick one. She takes the paper and goes on stage. She takes over my part. That’s never hap­pened before. What usually happens is that a new performer enters the stage and challenges the audience to another duet. Yet this time it is the audience that takes the lead. She looks from the stage into the audience and chooses a partner for the duet. She hands over a piece of paper and waits on stage. A short duet takes place. My spectator says goodbye and returns to me. I stand up to make way for her chair. And I go and sit in mine. This was the first time the audience decided to move on and expe­rience one more duet. That’s how she interpreted the rules of the game. It was great. And very brave.

K: To be honest, I got carried away. In fact, the spectator sitting next to me never passed the paper on. She kept it and entered the scene herself. However, this transformation from a “mere” spectator to a par­ticipant, performer, and player, made me connect to myself. She became my avatar, my extended body. I put myself in her position… trying to influence her actions at least slightly by expressing reactions that spec­tators have at hand (friendly attention, concern, and laughter).

T+K: It is questionable whether the term choreography can be ap­plied to Duets. Originally from Greek, the term is a compound of words: χορεία (circle dance) and γραφή (writing), thus it literally means dance writing, writing through dance.[10] In Duets, the rules of such writing are given in advance as much as they are negotiated by the actors them­selves during the actual event. The participants in Duets are faced with a cascade of subtle dramatic situations in which they must decide how to act – and they do so without fixed choreographic guidelines.

A question may arise as to whether Duets can be labelled as dance performance. Duets are based on authentic encounters with people who have never stood on stage before, and their dancing is minimised to common movements such as scratching one’s hair, smiling awkwardly, or just shuffling from one foot to the other. Is this still dancing? Accord­ing to Jérôme Bel’s statement from 1995, it is, as dance performance only requires “three elements: bodies, music, and light.”[11] At the heart of Duets is the coexistence of bodies in a shared space-time, which is de­fined by a simple light design, alternating between cool and warm, and the music is moving in “light”, shimmering chords, flooding the space like an iridescent acoustic nebula. An initial compositional principle is the choreographic authorial gesture, which is realised “only ad hoc – ‘by assigning a task’”,[12] as the dance scholar Gabrielle Brandstetter would say. Even in this case does dance writing take place. However, it si­multaneously intertwines with dancing or directly choreographic reading,[13] which partly focuses on the audience itself or a chosen representative of the audience polis.

The pairs on stage are gradually tasked with, among other things, perceiving their counterpart’s breathing, exploring their partners’ faces with their fingers, or feeling each other’s heartbeat. They carefully read each other’s faces to guess how the other will approach the task, observ­ing every tiny tic in the face, studying even the most subtle signals. There is a simultaneous process of writing and reading, which is, according to Brandstetter, “analogous to Roland Barthes’ notion of reading-writing as an intertwined process of text constitution.”[14] The performance itself is “organised as a writing practice; that is, there is no spatially descrip­tive or graphic realisation of (pre)written rules concerning the body (which has, in general terms, dominated the practice of choreographic work for a long time).”[15] Instead, it unfolds as a postmodern process of reading, delineating, and transcribing the movement and non-movement of the other person.

The bearers of the choreographic function are unusual, to say the least. The choreographer can be someone’s breath that I am trying to tune into, or someone’s gaze guiding me somewhere. Moreover, most of this “reading” or “writing” process takes place in a state of seem­ing immobility, in a moment of “staying still, thinking, and resting.”[16] Time seems to freeze; but it can start passing again through a multi­tude of possibilities, permanently gurgling, tingling, and vibrating in the background. From a dance-scientific point of view, this state can be described as “the topos of ‘stillness/standstill’.”[17] The couple on stage resembles a motionless sculpture in a gallery; however, there is move­ment in their bodies that is not necessarily visible from the outside (e.g. relaxation of muscles, or, conversely, their tension). “The figure appears to be ‘resting’, but the movement takes place within the body itself, just beneath the surface of the skin; it can only be seen by the dancer herself, while being watched by the viewer in this act of ‘still’ self-observation.”[18]

We watch the performance in an imaginary negative, or at a certain zero point. “Zero” does not refer to the intensity of the experience, but to minimising or even hiding the resources that are usually visible or au­dible on stage. The stage is empty, the lighting is simple, the music goes silent. The drama plays out in complete silence inside the bodies. “My current definition of choreography is this,” says Jonathan Burrows, “- choreography is about making a choice, including the choice to make no choice.”[19] Instead of feverish action, Duets focus on what we normally overlook. We offer the audience closeness rather than judgement, be­cause judgement is quick and leads to an immediate result. What we needed to create was the conditions to follow the process.

While in the 1990s the triad of body-music-light sufficed for Bel, in 2017 he reduced his demand even more. A constitutive element of a theatrical or dance event could be one person’s gaze at another: “Nei­ther sense nor duration nor concept nor direction, just theatre – people looking at other people unlike anywhere else.”[20] Since Duets is a partic­ipatory form which invites members of the audience on stage, the vec­tors of all the gazes are multiplied, resulting in a situation that could be summarised as “people looking at other people looking at other people.” The nature of the gaze can obviously change. If I find myself on stage as a spectator, am I automatically protected by the gaze of the audience? Is the audience my conspirator, whose wishful and protective gaze will not allow the performer to put me in a borderline situation? Or, are there dozens of pairs of eyes shining in the audience like those of “a hungry animal that needs something to happen, bloodthirsty, eager for quick pleasures”,[21] as Tim Etchells suggests. How do I act when I know I’m being watched?

While preparing Duets, we asked ourselves various questions. What makes us identify and connect with others as well as with ourselves? It is a constant dialogue that flows interpersonally and intrapersonally, a dia­logue with other people and with our own inner doubles. Every breath is followed by an exhale. When we walk, we shift our weight from the left foot to the right, when we listen, we then speak, or we don’t. The prin­ciple of constant movement and exchange of information between two people, or between a person and everything that surrounds him or her, is described by David Zambrano in his method Gathering and Sending: “We gather and send through one another, like light bulbs emitting light. You learn from one another, absorb what you have learned and take it with you to the other side of the room. On the way, you pass people and you make a connection with them, as well as with the walls, the ceiling and the floor. That everything is linked and penetrates through to us.”[22]

Each play enables me to create a nuanced catalogue of experiences, encounters, and relationships. There is no way to prepare for an en­counter: you find yourself on stage with a stranger, and only then does something start to play out. In the case of professional dancers, the great challenge was to rediscover authenticity again, stop using the learned and established methods and strategies we are used to. It can be com­pared to an autopilot that kicks in the moment you find yourself on stage. That’s what we needed to uninstall in this case. The “non-danc­ers”, on the other hand, tended to gradually lose their authenticity by repeating the given tasks. Thus, what proves to be effective is the com­bination of dancer and “non-dancer.” They stand as two poles-chaos and order, where the dancer is the bearer of order, and the “non-dancer” is the bearer of chaos, together creating a balance. Bonds between part­ners according to the sociologist John Urry always consist of closeness and remoteness, intimacy and distance, reality and imagination that are simultaneously co-present.[23] The essential factor is the temporal frame: we know that Duets offer a short-term contact; therefore, we can afford to take risks – in fact, perhaps we must. Although the duet may unfold at a contemplatively deaccelerated pace, a certain covert pressure for effi­ciency is working in the background. The shared dialogue thus consists of a permanent interweaving of many dualities.

I am on stage and I know they are watching, I know I am being watched, I know they think something of me. Tereza puts her hands behind her back. The woman does it too, putting her legs apart as if she was about to fight, and didn’t want to leave yet. She is staring at her, pressing her lips together, perhaps whispering something. Tereza steps closer and leans in. When the other starts to move, she backs away. The audience laughs, but the atmosphere is thickening. Just a few seconds of non-movement. Tereza swings her body towards the audience, trying to see the woman off stage; she doesn’t move. The question of expression and its legibility is addressed by contemporary phenomenologist Dan Zahavi. Drawing on Alice Koubova, Zahavi argues that “our experi­ence of the other’s expression is always an experience of the other that we do not own, do not absorb him or her with our capacity to under­stand all that the person expresses, and it is precisely this quality of being un-appropriable that makes the other person appear before us as human […]. In other words, in order to see ‘someone else’, the other must somehow reject us in his or her expression, resist us, appear inaccessible.”[24]

Similarly, we are not entirely and completely clear to ourselves. Ac­cording to Judith Butler, one does not present oneself; instead, there is a so-called performativity of identity. “In this sense, J. Butler crit­icises E. Goffman and his theory of social role-playing,” in which, as Alice Koubová explains, “the author does not work with the idea of the performativity of identity, but that of presenting oneself, assuming that behind the different roles we play in social space there is an autonomous ‘director’ capable of making decisions about which roles to choose in the name of maximum social profit (or minimum social stigmatisation).”[25] Performativity is neither a force that I myself fully control, nor is it a force that would be socially determined, pulling and manipulating me like a toy without my own will.[26] Our social identity is by its very nature performative, and the same can be said about our social identity pre­sented on stage. It is shaped according to social conventions that repeat themselves in our actions with an infinite number of differentiations.

PART THREE: DISCONNECTION

T+K: Maybe each of us can speak for ourselves again. But that doesn’t seem quite possible at the moment. Although the tension eases, we still have the other in mind. Hannah Arendt argues that openness to others is a necessary precondition of humanity in every sense of the word. A truly human dialogue, she says, differs from mere talking, or even discussion, in that it is completely permeated with the joy of the other person and what he or she says.[27] This joy connects me to not only the other person, but also all the witnesses in the audience, and temporarily lingers.

Zygmunt Bauman adds that theatre has found a way to give voice to those who have not been or could not be heard. The theatre invented languages for others, for those who normally do not speak until they are asked to do so; languages adequate to express unspoken experiences unfit for public expression and unaware of the possibility of their ex­pression.[28] This language can be words, but also bodily expressions. A space for bodies that have been rarely made visible in the social space. Theatre creates a space for experiences that are still waiting to be heard.

Although the basic concept of Duets is relatively simple, it allows for a surprisingly intense experience of sharing public solitude, intimacy, embarrassment, and natural curiosity. It is no coincidence that the dra­maturge Sodja Lotker refers to such an event as “no money magic.”[29] Thus, to answer the initial question of “who is the choreographer?”, it is not necessary to seek and consequently identify a single main holder of power, but it is enough to acknowledge the empowerment of those who may not have been fully aware of their potential.

Setting aside the body work, what is left of the stage experience that I can develop with ‘non-dancers’ in performance? It is working with time and space, perceiving time and space, composing time and space… without aesthetics. And that’s how encounters are created, somewhere between us: it’s neither about me nor about you; it’s about what takes place between us. The only thing we both know is that we have to find a common end to this encounter when the time has come.

CONCLUSION

Porous dramaturgy not only establishes a specific sense of ‘together­ness’ and produces a temporary inclusive community during the per­formance where the authorship of the choreography in a conceptual participatory performance becomes blurred, and creates the potential to transform the way we interact with others in everyday life. For Duets, we suggest the term porous choreography by which we mean a collective choreographic process that is only partly predetermined and that takes place mostly during the performance through a performative collaborative experience. We found that these encounters can in some cases trigger powerful life-changing experiences that have a potential to overcome fears of entering into interactions and empower each participant to find one’s voice.

Bibliography:

Amalvi, Gilles. „Entretien: Jérôme Bel“ [online]. Festival-Automne.com. 2017 [cit. 8. 4. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www.festival-au­tomne.com/uploads/spectacle/Dossier_de_presse_Portrait_ Jerome_Bel_20171.pdf.

Bohm, David. „On Dialogue“ [online]. Academia.edu. s. a. [cit. 24. 3. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www.academia.edu/32178979/ ON_DIALOGUE.

Brandstetter, Gabriele. „Klidový stav / pohyb“. In: Dita Dvořáková (ed.). Tanec prostor a světlo: Antologie současné německojazyčné taneční vědy. Translated by Petr Pytlík a Markéta Polochová. Brno: Janáček Academy of Perform­ing Arts in Brno, 2017, p. 42-67.

Bauman, Zygmunt. „O místě divadla v postmoderním umění“. Trans­lated by Jan Hyvnar, edited by Honza Petružela. In: Jan Roubal (ed.). Divadlo v průsečíku reflexe: Antologie současné polské divadelní teorie. Praha: Institut umění – Divadelní ústav, 2018, pp. 17-28.

Bauman, Zygmunt. Tekutá láska: O křehkosti lidských pout. Translated by Zuzana Gabajová. Praha: Academia, 2013.

Burrows, Jonathan. Choreographer’s Handbook. London – New York: Routledge, 2010.

Fischer-Lichte, Erika. Estetika performativity. Translated by Markéta Polochová. Mníšek pod Brdy: Na Konári, 2011.

Fischer-Lichte, Erika. The Transformative Power of Performance: A New Aesthetics. Translated by Saskya Iris Jain. London, New York: Routledge, 2008.

Koubová, Alice. Myslet z druhého místa: K otázce performativní filosofie. Praha: NAMU, 2019.

May, Emily. „Review: The Genius of ‚The Show Must Go On‘ Is Its Ability to Take the Audience from Laughing out Loud to Som­bre Reflection“ [online]. TheWonderfulWorldofDance.com. 17. 10. 2018 [cit. 14. 3. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www.thewonderfulworldofdance.com/review-jerome-bel-show-must-go508

* This publication was written at the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague as part of the project „Verbální duet pro časopis Acotaciones” with the sup­port of the Institutional Endowment for the Longterm Conceptual Deve­lopment of Research Institutes, as provided by the Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports of the Czech Republic in the year 2022.

Studie Karoliny Plickové a Terezy Ondrové je původně publikovaná v časopisu o divadelním výzkumu a tvorbě Acotaciones. Přikládáme na něj odkaz: https://www.resad.com/Acotaciones.new/index.php/ACT/issue/view/53

O projektu Duety tvůrčího týmu Temporary Collective se dozvíte více zde: https://temporarycollective.cz/projekt/duety/

Úvodní obrázek: Duety. Foto: Vojtěch Brtnický


[1] Zygmunt Bauman. Liquid Love: On the Frailty of Human Bonds. Translated by Zuzana Gabajová. Praha: Academia, 2013, p. 32.

[2] Temporary Collective: Duets, CONCEPT: Petra Tejnorová and Tereza Ondrová, Viktor Černický and collective, DIRECTOR: Petra Tejnorová, DRAMATURGY: Sodja Lotker, CONCEPTUAL COOPERATION: Nina Jacques, MOVEMENT COOPERATION, RESEARCH: Petra Hauerová, Matthew Rogers, LIGHT DESIGN: Katarína Ďuricová, MUSIC: Dominik Žižka, PRODUCTION: Laura Zemanová, PHOTO: Marek Bartoš & Vojtěch Brtnický, SUPPORTED by Ministry of Cultu­reof the Czech Republic, State Fund of Culture, Metrostav, Život umělce Foundation, PARTNERS: PONEC – theatre for dance, Studio ALTA, CIRQUEON, COPRODUCTION: Tanec Praha z.ú. / PONEC – theatre for dance, PREMIERE: 20 December 2019, PONEC – theatre for dance.

[3] Temporary Collective is a contemporary fluid community of independent dance and theatre artists based in Prague. Founded in 2018, it builds on the earlier work of its founders. It focuses on exploring the terrain of the contemporary alternative scene, devised theatre, contemporary dance and crossing boundaries between types and genres. The central duo of the col­lective are director Petra Tejnorová and dancer and choreographer Tereza Ondrová, who build on their earlier work in the groups Sgt.Tejnorová & The Commando and VerTeDance. The core team also includes manager Michal Somoš and producer Daniela Řeháková. Currently, the collec­tive also includes photographer Marek Bartoš, musician and visual artist Dominik Žižka, and more distant collaborators Tereza Baschová, Adinka Hanáková and Roman Poliak. More on https://temporarycollective.cz/en/

[4] Alice Koubová. Myslet z druhého místa: K otázce performativní filosofie. Praha: NAMU, 2019, p. 24.

[5] Fischer-Lichte, Erika. Estetika performativity. Translated by Markéta Polo­chová. Mníšek pod Brdy: Na Konári, 2011. The original citation: „[…] a fundamentally open, unpredictable process emerged as the defining prin­ciple of theatrical work. A shift in focus occurred from potentially con­trolling the system to inducing the specific modes of autopoiesis. More in: Fischer-Lichte, Erika. The Transformative Power of Performance: A New Aesthet­ics. Translated by Saskya Iris Jain. London, New York: Routledge, 2008, p. 39.

[6] The work comes from 1996. More in, e.g., Bohm, David. „On Dialogue“ [online]. Academia.edu. s. a. [cit. 24. 3. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www. academia.edu/32178979/ON_DIALOGUE, p. 2.

[7] Turner, Cathy – Radosavljević, Duska. „Porous Dramaturgy: ‚Together­ness‘ and Community in the Structure of the Artwork“ [online]. Expanded­Dramaturgies.com. 1. 11. 2012 [cit. 22. 4. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://expandeddramaturgies.com/porous-dramaturgy-togetherness-and-com­munity-in-the-structure-of-the-artwork/.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Media theorist Sarah Sharma points out that the acceleration we are cur­rently experiencing is not necessarily always an objective reality, but rather a temporal construct that is constantly being imposed on us. The sense of an accelerated (and continuously accelerating) time has become a generally accepted fact, perhaps even a ‘cultural fixation’. According to the theorist, it can be resisted by focusing attention on the “micropolitics of temporal coordination”, i.e. individual switching between differentiated temporal modes. See Sarah Sharma. In the Meantime: Temporality and Cultural Politics. Durham, London: Duke University Press, 2014, pp. 6-7. In the original: “a cultural fixation” or “micropolitics of temporal coordination”.

[10] „Choreography“ [online]. Wikipedia.org. 8. 1. 2022 [cit. 11. 4. 2022]. Re­trieved from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Choreography.

[11] Stated at 2:08 min. More in: Christophe Wavelet. „Jérôme Bel – interview – Jérôme Bel (1995)“ . Portál. 15. 12. 2016 [cit. 14. 3. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Aggn9IMxTQ.

[12] Gabriele Brandstetter. „Klidový stav / pohyb“. In: Dita Dvořáková (ed.). Tanec prostor a světlo: Antologie současné německojazyčné taneční vědy. Translated by Petr Pytlík a Markéta Polochová. Brno: Janáček Academy of Perform­ing Arts in Brno, 2017, p. 48.

[13] Ibid. p. 56.

[14] Gabriele Brandstetter. „Klidový stav / pohyb“. In: Dita Dvořáková (ed.). Tanec prostor a světlo: Antologie současné německojazyčné taneční vědy. Translated by Petr Pytlík a Markéta Polochová. Brno: Janáček Academy of Perform­ing Arts in Brno, 2017, p. 56.

[15] Ibid. pp. 56-57.

[16] Ibid. p. 59.

[17] Ibid. p. 59.

[18] Ibid. p. 60.

[19] Jonathan Burrows. Choreographer’s Handbook. London – New York: Rout­ledge, 2010, p. 40.

[20] More in: May, Emily. „Review: The Genius of‚ The Show Must Go On‘ Is its Ability to Take the Audience from Laughing out Loud to Sombre Reflection“ [online]. TheWonderfulWorldofDance.com. 17. 10. 2018 [cit. 14. 3. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www.thewonderfulworldofdance.com/review-jerome-bel-show-must-go. The original French-language version comes from an interview for the Festival Automne in Paris: “Ni sens, ni durée, ni concept, ni dis­positif, juste du théâtre: des gens qui en regardent d’autres, comme nulle part ailleurs.” More in: Gilles Amalvi. „Entretien: Jérôme Bel“ [online]. Festival-Automne.com. 2017 [cit. 8. 4. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://www. festival-automne.com/uploads/spectacle/Dossier_de_presse_Portrait_Je­rome_Bel_20171.pdf.

[21] Dagmar Walser. „Can You Trust the People Sitting Next to You?: [A Con­versation with Tim Etchells]“. Passages. 2011, vol. 57, no. 3, p. 20.

[22] David Zambrano. „David Zambrano on Improvisation and the Power of Different Cultures: ‘I Sometimes Feel Just Like Oprah Winfrey’“ [online]. E-tcetera.be. 9. 1. 2015 [cit. 18. 4. 2022]. Retrieved from: https://e-tcetera.be/ david-zambrano-on-improvisation-and-the-power-of-different-cultures/.

[23] Zygmunt Bauman. Tekutá láska: O křehkosti lidských pout. Translated by Zu­zana Gabajová. Praha: Academia, 2013, p. 68.

[24] Alice Koubová. Myslet z druhého místa: K otázce performativní filosofie. Praha: NAMU, 2019, p. 25.

[25] Ibid. p. 74.

[26] Ibid. p. 73.

[27] Zygmunt Bauman. Tekutá láska: O křehkosti lidských pout. Translated by Zu­zana Gabajová. Praha: Academia, 2013, p. 145.

[28] Zygmunt Bauman. „O místě divadla v postmoderním umění“. Transl. Jan Hyvnar, edited by Honza Petružela. In: Jan Roubal (ed.). Divadlo v průsečíku reflexe: Antologie současné polské divadelní teorie. Praha: In­stitut umění – Divadelní ústav, 2018, p. 28.

[29] More on: https://www.facebook.com/CzechDancePlatform/vid­eos/924092944998531/

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