Dynamic Cartography: Body, Architecture, and Performative Space 9780367266202, 9780429294198

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Information
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Table of contents
Illustrations
Acknowledgements
Introduction
References
1 Body and the surrounding space: Scoring body movement
Introduction: spatial body rituals
The representation of movement
The body in motion
Representation systems
Movement scores in dance
Rudolf Laban: Kinetography as a spatial scoring system
Kinespheres and bubbles
Kinetography and diagrams
Scores: the representation of processes
Scoring: mapping spatial processes
Contemporary scores: cartography versus scoring
Experiments
Kinetography I, II, and III
Kinetography I: movement notation for one body
Objectives
Methodology
Conclusions
Kinetography II: movement scores on stage
Objectives
Methodology
Conclusions
Kinetography III: movement scores in complex environments
Objectives
Methodology
Conclusions
From the surrounding space to geometry
Conclusions
Notes
References
2 Body and geometry: Contemporary rituals
Introduction: performativity and ritual
Body, space, and geometry
Oskar Schlemmer: Euclidean geometry and the Bauhaus
The Laboratory of Movement Study – L.E.M. (Le Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement)
Viewpoints
The Judson Dance Theater
Improvisation and indeterminacy
Viewpoints: a spatial composition tool
Time and Space Viewpoints
Composing with space
Experiments
Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III
Objectives
Methodology and development
What? How?
Exercises
Conclusions
From geometry to the scenic space
Conclusions
Notes
References
3 Body and scenic space: Ritual spaces
Introduction: the origins of space
Reflections on space
The Work of Living Art: radical proposals for the mise-en-scène of Wagnerian drama
Space and time
Rhythmic spaces
The body in the theatrical space: the Greek theatre
From Epidaurus to the Hall of Hellerau
Atmospheres
Experiments
Interferences with the genius loci
Micro-actions in Greece
Objectives
Methodology and development
Epidaurus Theatre
Treasury of Atreus
Conclusions
Strings, Old Vinegar Factory (2015, Limassol, Cyprus)
Objectives
Methodology
Conclusions
From scenic space to the architectural programme
Conclusions
Notes
References
4 Body and architecture: Spatial dramaturgies
Introduction: the architectural script
Once upon a time, a laboratory of fun
A theatre based on movement
Event and situation
The art of action
Performative architecture
The philosophy of indeterminacy
The architecture of the Fun Palace
An interdisciplinary collaboration between Cedric Price and Joan Littlewood
Cybernetics and game theory
Breaking the architectural fourth wall
Experiment
Wooosh! (Winchester, 2016)
Objectives
Methodology and development
Conclusions
From programme to landscape
Conclusions
Notes
References
5 Body and landscape: Performativity and social space
Introduction: urban anthropophagy
The representation of landscape
Corpografias (corpographies) and corpocidade (corpocity)
The body as a means of artistic expression
Environmental art and Thirdspace
Delirium Ambulatorium
Experiment
Trellick Tales: the Thirdspace of Trellick Tower
Objectives
Methodology
Conclusions
From landscape to the surrounding space
Conclusions
Notes
References
Conclusions: Towards the creation of a dynamic cartography – an interdisciplinary methodology
Notes
References
Index

Citation preview

Dynamic Cartography

Dynamic Cartography analyses the works of Rudolf Laban, Lawrence Halprin, Anne Bogart, Adolphe Appia, Cedric Price, Joan Littlewood, and Hélio Oiticica. They are practitioners who have worked on different areas of enquiry – from the existing relations between body and space through movement, events, or actions – but whose work has never been presented from this perspective or in this context. The work and methodologies set up by these practitioners enable us to develop a practice-​based exploration. Some of the experiments in the book –​Micro-​actions I and II –​explore the presence of the body in the space. In Kinetography I and II, Laban’s dance notation system –​ Kinetography –​is used to create these dynamic cartographies. Kinetography III proposes the analysis of an urban public space through the transcription of the body movement contained on it. The series, Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III, analyses movement in geometrically controlled spaces through the Viewpoints techniques by Anne Bogart. Finally, Wooosh! and Trellick Tales present two projects in which performance is applied in order to analyse and understand urban and architectural space. María José Martínez Sánchez is a lecturer at the Birmingham School of Architecture and Design (BCU), UK, and a researcher at the Centre for Interdisciplinary Performing Arts at the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire, UK. Her work has been published in international journals and presented at the Dance Biennale of Venice, the Biennale of Architecture in Venice, the Spanish National Theatre (CDN), and the Prague Quadrennial of Scenography.

Routledge Advances in Theatre and Performance Studies

Dynamic Cartography Body, Architecture, and Performative Space María José Martínez Sánchez Situated Knowing Epistemic Perspectives on Performance Edited by Ewa Bal and Mateusz Chaberski Japanese Political Theatre in the 18th Century Bunraku Puppet Plays in Social Context Akihiro Odanaka and Masami Iwai Aotearoa New Zealand in the Global Theatre Marketplace Travelling Theatre James Wenley The Scenography of Howard Barker The Wrestling School Aesthetic 1998–2011 Lara Maleen Kipp Modernizing Costume Design, 1820–1920 Annie Holt The Teaching of Kathakali in Australia Mirroring the Master Arjun Raina Practices of Relations in Task-Dance and the Event-Score A Critique of Performance Josefine Wikström For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/Routledge-Advances-in-Theatre--Performance-Studies/book-series/ RATPS

Dynamic Cartography Body, Architecture, and Performative Space María José Martínez Sánchez

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 María José Martínez Sánchez The right of María José Martínez Sánchez to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-26620-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-29419-8 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Newgen Publishing UK

For Sasha and Mateo

Contents

List of illustrations  Acknowledgements 

ix xi

Introduction 

1

1 Body and the surrounding space: scoring body movement 

9

Introduction: spatial body rituals  9 The representation of movement  10 Rudolf Laban: Kinetography as a spatial scoring system  17 Scores: the representation of processes  23 Scoring: mapping spatial processes  27 Experiments 29 Kinetography I: movement notation for one body  30 Kinetography II: movement scores on stage  33 Kinetography III: movement scores in complex environments  37

From the surrounding space to geometry  41

2 Body and geometry: contemporary rituals 

45

Introduction: performativity and ritual  45 Body, space, and geometry  48 The Laboratory of Movement Study –​L.E.M. (Le Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement) 50 Viewpoints: a spatial composition tool  55 Experiments 60 Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III 60 From geometry to the scenic space  68

3 Body and scenic space: ritual spaces  Introduction: the origins of space  72 Reflections on space  73 The Work of Living Art: radical proposals for the mise-​en-​scène of Wagnerian drama  75

72

viii Contents The body in the theatrical space: the Greek theatre  80 Atmospheres 84 Experiments 86 Micro-​actions in Greece  87 Strings, Old Vinegar Factory (2015, Limassol, Cyprus)  92

From scenic space to the architectural programme  96

4 Body and architecture: spatial dramaturgies 

100

Introduction: the architectural script  100 Once upon a time, a laboratory of fun  103 Event and situation  109 The art of action  110 Performative architecture  113 Breaking the architectural fourth wall  120 Experiment 122 Wooosh! (Winchester, 2016)  122

From programme to landscape  127

5 Body and landscape: performativity and social space 

132

Introduction: urban anthropophagy  132 The representation of landscape  135 Corpografias (corpographies) and corpocidade (corpocity)  137 The body as a means of artistic expression  140 Environmental art and Thirdspace 142 Experiment 147 Trellick Tales: the Thirdspace of Trellick Tower  147

From landscape to the surrounding space  153

Conclusions: towards the creation of a dynamic cartography –​an interdisciplinary methodology 

157

Index 

163

Illustrations

Figures 1 .1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 2 .1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 3.1 3 .2 3.3 3.4 4.1 4 .2 4.3 4.4

As Built Photo Seattle Freeway Park Ca. 1975 Score for the Seminary South Fountain Kinetography I. Movement score for one body Kinetography II. Transcription of the movements of the performers in QUAD I+II by Samuel Beckett Key for the final iteration of Kinetography to score body movement in urban contexts Kinetography III. Movement score in Rue Saint Denis in Paris Diagram for Gesture Dance (1926). Oskar Schlemmer Mobile (2015). Gisele Edwards Dynamic Cartography I (2014) Dynamic Cartography II (2014) Dynamic Cartography III (2014) Dynamic Cartography III (2014). Mapping of the movements of the participants Dynamic Cartography III (2014). Transcription of the movements of the participants into Kinetography Model box by Picado –​De Blas Arquitectos based on the atmospheric sketch for Orpheus and Euridice (Gluck, 1926) by Adolphe Appia Micro-​action at Epidaurus Theatre (Greece, 2014) Micro-​action at Treasury of Atreus (Greece, 2014) Strings at the Old Vinegar Factory (Limassol, Cyprus, 2015) Perspective for the Fun Palace Lea River site on photomontage (1964) Typical plan of Fun Palace complex (1964) Wooosh! (Winchester, UK, 2016) Map of Wooosh! (Winchester, UK, 2016)

25 26 32 34 38 39 50 51 63 64 65 66 67 80 89 90 93 102 115 124 126

x  List of illustrations 5.1 Hélio Oiticica, Tropicália, Penetrables PN 2 ‘Purity is a myth’ and PN 3 ‘Imagetical’, 1966–​1967 5.2 Trellick Tales (London, 2016). Map 5.3 Trellick Tales (London, 2016)

134 150 151

Table 4.1 Epic theatre. Published in The Modern Theatre Is the Epic Theatre 

121

newgenprepdf

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the mentors and colleagues that accompanied me through this journey, especially to Javier Ruiz Sánchez, Alberto Morell Sixto, and Pablo Berzal Cruz. I would like to express my gratitude to all the people that have made this book possible. To all my Brazilian friends and colleagues from Fortaleza, who hosted and welcomed me, Jober Pinto, Kalu Chaves, Euler Muniz, Nice Holanda, and especially to Manu and Marana Figlioulo who gave me a home in Fortaleza. I would like to thank all my colleagues at Birmingham School of Architecture and Design for their support. I would like to thank the institutions that have supported me in the development of this work: Universidad Politecnica de Madrid, the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama, the University of Winchester, Universidade de Fortaleza (UNIFOR), EDISCA, SPID Theatre Company, and the Canadian Centre for Architecture. Especially to the Research Department of the Faculty of Arts, Design and Media (Birmingham City University) which offered me invaluable support in the last stages of production of this book through the Faculty Research Investment Scheme (FRIS) which I was awarded in 2019. Finally, thank you to my parents, as this book wouldn’t have been possible without their support and understanding.

Introduction

This book has its precedent in my PhD study, Dynamic Cartography, an architectural analysis of space based on the body movements that take place in it. After years of investigating this topic, my initial research has evolved into a broader work on how spaces can be shaped by a wide range of performative actions linked to them. The actions are either everyday life routines or contemporary events –​political, social, and cultural –​that take place in the spaces; in both cases, the activities are approached from a performative point of view. This book presents the work of practitioners connected to theatre and performing arts, such as Adolphe Appia, Anne Bogart, Lawrence Halprin, Rudolf Laban, Joan Littlewood, and Hélio Oiticica, and applies their artistic methodologies to the exploration of architectural space. Furthermore, this book presents not only theoretical research but also several pieces of practical work, developed over the last six years, which are related to each of the five chapters. Each of the chapters follows the same structure: a theoretical framework, the work of a practitioner presented as a case study, and practical experiments. This book’s primary objectives are the identification, representation, and crystallisation of the dynamic features related to both architectural and performance space, through the process of the creation of cartographies. These objectives will be met through observation, mapping, and scoring of the practical work presented. There is a link between the everyday life of spaces and the different meanings and layers of events  –​historical or quotidian  –​ encompassed on them, they form a palimpsest. The concept of palimpsest is very relevant in this context in the same way as in the manuscript what has been written before remains and is still visible after writing over it, it happens equally with space. For example, although the Berlin wall fell in 1989, it will always be present in the city, no matter how the city addresses the separation between the two parts, there will always be a gap, a trace of the wall; the two parts will never fully merge. The city of Rome is an excellent example of a palimpsest that can be found in a city whose foundation has its origin on rituals. The city has survived up to our time; however, the rituals that generated the urban traces and the main civic spaces of the city were so powerful that nowadays it can just be a museum. The contemporary city of Rome has not been

2 Introduction able to escape from its past, it has been frozen in time, unable to transform. A specific example of this is the Teatro Marcello. It was a roman theatre that over the years has transformed its use from Reinassance palace to a housing building. However, the original use is always present, and its narrative within the city will not disappear. When we look at Teatro Marcello, we can see how the different layers of history have been imposed to the previous one; however, the original one –​the theatre –​will always be present. Interdisciplinarity is the key driver of the research presented in this book, which aims to be equally useful for architecture and performance practitioners. On the one hand, architecture as a discipline needs to develop methods that unveil and understand these narratives to be able to create sustainable cities, urban developments, and successful architectural interventions. On the other hand, performance is one of the departure points in this project, along with the understanding of the city space as an urban drama: ‘it is in the city, the city as a theatre where man’s mere purposive activities are focused and work out, through conflicting and cooperating personalities, events, groups, into more significant culminations’ (Mumford, 1937:  94). There is not just a physical reality; spaces are linked to actions and rituals that provide them with a meaning beyond the configuration of spaces, and this can be read and understood from the point of view of performance studies (Filmer & Rufford, 2018). Spaces have their own memories that are kept in them, and these memories have an impact on the future events that take place in them. The existing link between memories and spaces occurs through two processes: the first one occurs when the spaces are designed to host specific actions. The clearest example is the Greek civic space, where spaces, such as the theatre, are designed based on the rituals that generate them, as in Richard Schechner’s definition: ‘rituals are collective memories encoded into actions’ (Schechner, 2002: 52). The second process takes place through the creation of collective memories in space –​usually through events or festivals that are transmitted from one generation to another. A phenomenological approach to space is essential to undertake this journey. As a departure point, apart from the reference book by Merleau-​ Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception (1962), the book published by Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin (2005), that reflects on how our different senses engage with architecture is especially relevant. He affirms that ‘every touching experience of architecture is multi-​sensory; qualities of space, matter and scale are measured equally by the eye, ear, nose, skin, tongue, skeleton and muscle. Architecture strengthens the existential experience, one’s senses of being in the world […]’ (Pallasmaa, 2005:  41). The body is the receptor of multiple experiences and sensations, and the concept of synaesthesia is explored not only in the architectural site but also as an element in performance: ‘The architectural impact of site makes the audience aware of the haptic quality of spatial presence and their position within that. With site-​specific performance the workings of the (syn)aesthetic hybrid ensure that space truly becomes “a tangible, physical place” ’ (Machon, 2013: 57).

Introduction  3 This book also explores the concept of Spatial Dramaturgies, to reference how space (public, civic, or domestic) responds to a series of narratives in everyday life, which, in many cases, we could analyse through performativity. These narratives are understood metaphorically as a theatrical text to which the other elements of the theatrical performance need to respond, in the same way that architects and urban planners need to consider the narratives of citizens and communities to develop urban structures. This approach to urban narratives has emerged from the studies of Henri Lefebvre and his spatial triad presented in The Production of Space (1974), which was later revisited by Edward Soja in Thirdspace (2006) and Michel de Certeau in The Practice of Everyday Life (1980). As the place where the dramatic action occurs, space has been proved to be essential in performance practices (MacAuley, 2000); in his book, Postdramatic Theatre, Lehmann (2006) highlighted the importance of space in the dramaturgical process, and Lepage’s work in the 1990s has been characterised by the use of mixed media on the stage, where spatiality becomes the main element (Dundjerovic, 2009: 19). The practice of using non-​theatrical spaces by companies, such as Shunt and Punchdrunk, has pointed to the use of sites and architectural spaces as part of the play’s dramaturgy or performative event; author Mike Pearson presented this use of space in Site-​Specific Performance (2010). The analysis of space can be articulated in relation to five different scales; the smallest one is movement in a quotidian space, such as a housing unit  –​going back to the studies developed by Le Corbusier with the Modulor in the 1950s. The biggest scale includes the landscape or urban interventions –​spaces such as Syntagma Square in Athens, a place for protests and demonstrations, which are performative events. However, as this work has developed, the scales have evolved into categories that represent and describe space in relation to these scales and to the historical, political, cultural, social, and even physical features of space. The five chapters will examine the different contexts and approaches to the main theme of this book, in which architectural space is approached through the analysis and application of performative and artistic processes. The book will focus on the following key questions:

• • •

How can we score events –​either performative or everyday life actions –​ to present the relationships between bodies and the spaces where they take place? Which methods can we use to identify the main features of a space to develop an architectural or performative intervention? How is the identity of spaces shaped through performative events and everyday life?

Each chapter comprises three parts:  the first one presents the theoretical framework and a methodology developed by the practitioners studied; the second part presents an experiment or a project undertaken by the author as

4 Introduction an application of that methodology for the analysis of the architectural and everyday life space; and the third part outlines some conclusions and a transition between the findings of the chapter and the following one. The first chapter, ‘Body and the surrounding space:  scoring body movement’, explores the representation of physical actions and movement. This chapter explores Rudolph Laban’s Kinetography as a method to represent body movement in relation to space and Lawrence Halprin’s concept of scoring that he defines in his book The RSVP Cycles scores as ‘symbolizations of processes which extend overtime’ (Halprin, 1969: 1). Scoring emerges as a new approach to architectural mapping or cartography as it presents actions through time. This idea is taken forward in the development of movement scores; Kinetography – Laban’s scoring system – is transformed with a few variations in order to be able to present the movement dynamics of architectural and public urban spaces. The methodology followed in this chapter is the creation of cartographies based on scores. The experiments of this chapter focus on the transformation of contemporary dance notation systems in order to respond to the lack of a regulated system that represents everyday life movements such as walking, turning to the right, or walk faster because the traffic light is turning red. Studies as the ones developed by Space Syntax at the Barlett School of Architecture in London present ways of representing movements. However, in these experiences we are looking at how to represent the movements of each specific part of the body, in order to identify body rituals. These experiments correspond to the exploration of two elements, the kinesphere and the Kinetography, and how they can become movement scores applied to the analysis of everyday life spaces. Kinetography I explores the representation of one body in the space. Kinetography II develops a series of modifications in Laban’s Kinetography in order to create a scoring for the piece QUAD I+II by Samuel Beckett. Kinetography III keeps developing the notation system in order to present a movement score of a street in Paris. The second chapter, ‘Body and geometry: contemporary rituals’, focuses on the relationships developed between the body and the physical configuration of the space, analysed with the Viewpoints techniques for theatre composition developed by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau. In this chapter, the Viewpoints technique is applied to unveil patterns of movement within specific physical environments, being these named in the context of this work contemporary rituals. Viewpoints is presented as a tool to reveal and analyse the movement patterns that emerge from the physical and perceptive features of space. Viewpoints is a technique of spatial composition in which the scenic space and the bodies of the actors are the triggers of the dramatic action: ‘In working on Architecture as a Viewpoint, we learn to dance with the space, to be in dialogue with a room, to let movement (especially Shape and Gesture) evolve out of our surroundings’ (Bogart & Landau, 2005:  8). Viewpoints allows actors to break free from the pressures of creativity in the rehearsal

Introduction  5 room, and let things happen in space  –​and in response to it  –​instead of making them happen. They also lead us to be aware of our environment, of everything that happens, and make us start taking conscious choices about how and what to do in space based on the stimuli we receive. In this sense, Viewpoints is presented as a tool to reveal and analyse the movement patterns that emerge from the physical features of space. In the experiments carried out in this chapter, Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III, Viewpoints is applied to the study of the dynamics of space. Dancers and performers are put into movement labs and through the Viewpoints exercises, there is an exploration of movement patterns associated with those specific environments. The sessions were recorded and the movements transcribed which configured some sets of scores that analysed some unveiled patterns linked to the geometrical and physical features of each movement lab. The third chapter, ‘Body and Scenic Space:  ritual spaces’, analyses how space can be generated and designed from a ritual or an action. The collaboration between Adolphe Appia and Émile Jacques-​Dalcroze is studied as a methodology to design spaces that emerge from a movement rhythmical score linked to a dramatic action. Adolphe Appia is a reference in order to study all the spatial mechanisms that influence the movement of bodies in the scenic space. This is present in his designs for performance, where the physical elements of the space are interwoven with the movement scores of the performers. This methodology is contrasted with Ancient Greek ritual spaces, where spaces responded to a set of rituals and actions, which have been crystallised in them. This chapter has two experiments that explore the ‘interferences with the genius loci’: Micro-​actions in Greece and Strings. Micro-​actions I and II are a set of small performative actions that have been performed in Ancient Greek spaces such as Epidaurus Theatre and Atreus. A  group of researchers and performers developed some rhythmical exercises that these ritual spaces linked to the geometry of the site. These experiences were documented and scored, showing different aspects of the relationships between the rituals that were originally performed on those spaces and their spatial characteristics. Strings is a site-​specific theatre piece that was performed at the Old Vinegar Factory in Limassol (Cyprus). This experiment explores how the characteristics of the space became part of the dramaturgy of the play. In the fourth chapter, ‘Body and architecture:  spatial dramaturgies’, the concept of architectural script, as a narrative that triggers architectural spaces, is explored. In this chapter, we move one step forward analysing a case study –​the Fun Palace (Littlewood and Price, 1959–​1961) –​in which the narratives contained in a society shape an architectural project. Much has been written about the Fun Palace and Cedric Price from an architectural point of view; however, in this chapter the objective is the study of the Fun Palace from the body, understood as an element that, through action, is capable of generating architecture. Cedric Price and Joan

6 Introduction Littlewood, architect and stage director, worked together on the Fun Palace. This was an unbuilt project but of great interest, since it is based on the study of the movement generated by the different actions or programmatic content for its formalisation. It even raises the possibility that it would vary in the case of actions, for which it had been projected, change over time. It is not only a project with formalistic and design objectives, but it also proposes an identification of the body with its cultural, political, and social context, and it is these parameters that will give rise to the final proposal. The work of both creators is analysed separately, each one in their discipline, since their previous works help us to better understand the spatial mechanisms in relation to the body in movement. The practice work related to this chapter is Wooosh!, a project developed in the city of Winchester (UK) in 2016 (Martinez & Ruiz, 2017) supported by the University of Winchester and Winchester City Council. This project presents a series of performative actions in different points of the city centre using as a dramaturgical text the fragmented narrative of Hopscotch (Cortázar, 1963). The objective of this action was to understand how a fragmented narrative such as Hopscotch can articulate and modify the use of some public spaces from the experience of the user, applying some of Joan Littlewood’s ideas on the development of the Fun Palace. The devising process of the performance was documented as well as the final events. In the fifth chapter, ‘Body and landscape: performativity and social space’, the body is put in relationship with the landscape and the city, highlighting how, even at this scale there is an exchange of information between the body and the urban context. The visual artist, Hélio Oiticica, is especially interesting when analysing the body in relation to the landscape, not just from an expressive point of view, but also from the relationships between physical and subjective parameters, which have to do with the expression of movement. Among the subjective parameters, we find the corpographies, which can be defined as the impressions generated by the physical environment in the body, and which will then be expressed (Jacques, 2008). Among the objective, we find the cultural, the social, and the political. Oiticica creates the Parangolés (1964–​1979), which was a colourful cape, whose textures, forms and sometimes even messages, were only perceived when actioned by the movement of the one who wore them. It is the experience of space that leads him to create the cloaks. It seeks the creation of an inter-​corporal artistic space, thus generating environmental art (Martínez Sánchez, 2019). There are two ways of relating to the Parangolés: on the one hand, from a subjective–​experiential way –​when the role of the participant is assumed  –​and on the other hand, from an objective–​assistance way –​when only the activation of the cloaks by the participants is observed. Although sometimes they have been decontextualised, the Parangolés acquire greater expressivity when they are framed in the physical context that has given rise to them. In this way, there is a double action of superposition: the cloak, which collects the essence of the environment, and the body, which

Introduction  7 gives life through its rhizomes of movement to the corpographies, printed on it by the complex and labyrinthine urban landscape of the favela. The body thus becomes an expressive vehicle, giving rise to an environmental art, with political and poetic consistency. The experiment presented in this chapter is Trellick Tales. As an architect, space designer, and performance maker, I collaborated with SPID theatre, a community-​based theatre company, in the development of a site-​specific performance project in which Trellick Tower and their residents were involved in order to create an artistic product for open audiences. Trellick Tales (March, 2016) was a site-​specific performative exhibition around the spaces of Trellick Tower. This project was funded among others by the Twentieth Century Society, the British Council of Arts, and the BBC. During the devising process, a similar methodology to Delirium Ambulatorium (drifting through the spaces of the building) was applied, in order to define the performative and design interventions through the space, which had as an outcome a performance and an exhibition. The final part  –​‘Towards the creation of a Dynamic Cartography’  –​ reviews the materials presented in the book reflecting on its journey with a focus on interdisciplinarity. The exploration around the questions proposed at the departure point underpins the definition of new lines of enquiry. This book aims to establish a new experimental field that lies in between the disciplines of architecture and performing arts. The methods presented in this book will lead performance practitioners to approach spatiality as a dramaturgical device, taking into consideration that space is an active element for telling stories  –​something that has not been explored extensively before. In addition to this, architects and other space practitioners –​such as scenographers and exhibition designers –​will find in this book methods to approach space analysis, which will provide them with tools to explore their designs innovatively. Dynamic Cartography aims to be a reference for researchers and professionals that work on the fields of arts and architecture; it is not necessarily a handbook –​although it defines methodologies and presents their possibilities applying them to practical experiments –​ but a source of inspiration to explore new methodologies and break the boundaries in between disciplines.

References Bogart, A., & Landau, T. (2005). The Viewpoints Book: A Practical Guide to Viewpoints and Composition. New York: Theatre Communications Group. Cortázar, J. (1963). Hopscotch. Translated by G. Rabbasa. New York: Pantheon Books. (Edition consulted 1987.) De Certau, M. (1988). The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dundjerovic, A. (2009). Robert Lepage. Oxon, UK: Routledge. Filmer, A., & Rufford, J. (2018). Performing Architectures. London: Bloomsbury.

8 Introduction Halprin, L. (1969). RSVP Cycles:  Creative Processes in the Human Environment. New York: George Braziller. Jacques, P.B. (2008). Cenografias e corpografías urbanas, Vol. 7, edição especial  –​ Paisagens do Corpo. Salvador de Bahía: F. Cadernos PPG-​AU/​UFBA. Lefebvre, H. (1974). The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell. Lehmann, H.-​T. (2006). Postdramatic Theatre. Translated by K. Jurs-​Munby. Edición, new ed. Abingdon, England, New York: Routledge. Mumford, L. (1937). What is a City? Architectural Record, 82 (November 1937). n.p. MacAuley, G. (2000). Space in Performance: Making Meaning in the Theatre. Reprint ed. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Machon, J. (2013). Immersive Theatres:  Intimacy and Immediacy in Contemporary Performance. Basingstoke, UK and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Martínez Sánchez, M.J. (2019). Collaborative practices in the work of Helio Oiticica. In:  L.F. Ramos and A. Dundjerovic (eds.), Brazilian Performing Arts. Madrid: Abada, pp. 143–​60. Martínez Sánchez, M.J., & Ruiz Sánchez, J. (2017). Sensitive bodies in the cityscape. In: F. Aletta and J. Xiao (eds.), Handbook of Research on Perception-​Driven Approaches to Urban Assessment and Design. Hershey, PA: IGI Global. Merlau-​Ponty, M. (1962). Phenomenology of Perception. London, UK: Routledge. Pallasmaa, J. (2005). The Eyes of the Skin. Chichester, England: Wiley. Pearson, P.M. (2010). Site-​Specific Performance. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Schechner, R. (2002). Performance Studies: An Introduction. Oxon, UK: Routledge. Soja, E. (1996). Thirdspace:  Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-​and-​Imagined Places. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.

1  Body and the surrounding space Scoring body movement

Introduction: spatial body rituals This chapter explores different systems of representation  –​or scoring  –​of body movement that have been developed in areas such as performing arts and dance, and which have applications to other spatial disciplines. The principal objective of scoring is to represent process. Scoring can be very sophisticated and requires a clear notation system. This chapter aims to demonstrate how the application of scoring to the design and analysis of performance space and/​or architecture can contribute to contemporary and experimental design methods through case studies of Lawrence Halprin’s and Rudolf Laban’s movement scoring systems. Lawrence Halprin (1916–​2009), an environmental designer based in the United States, worked at the intersection of architecture and dance, demonstrating the value of scoring as a practice and of interdisciplinary collaboration between the two disciplines more broadly. He began using an innovative methodology within his design process called Motation, a scoring system he developed which represents movement in relation to space. It emerged from the need for a new design tool that could respond to his idea that cities and people’s dynamics in them are complementary: ‘the city comes alive through movement and its rhythmic structure’ (Halprin, 1963: 9). By this assertion, it is essential to take people’s actions into account as part of the design; scores can facilitate this process. As Halprin affirms, ‘what is necessary in order for a score to be useful is motion over time’ (Halprin, 1969: 54). Motation was primarily inspired by the RSVP cycles, a creative artistic methodology that he developed with his wife, dancer Anna Halprin, for performance devising. Halprin applied a truly interdisciplinary process based on scoring actions within living environments. Lawrence Halprin defines the process of Scoring as part of the RSVP cycles. The RSVP cycles –​an acronym of Réspondez S’il Vous Plait, or ‘Please Reply’ commonly used on invitations –​were applied within theatre and performance as a method of devising. The method has four stages performed cyclically –​ Resources, Scoring, Valuaction, and Performance –​and this chapter focuses on Scoring as a process to reveal hidden body rituals in a spatial environment.

10  Body and the surrounding space One of the systems that Halprin used as a reference point for his work is Kinetography, a contemporary dance notation developed by Rudolf Laban in the beginning of the twentieth century (Halprin, 1969: 40). Laban (1879–​ 1958), primarily known for his choreographic work, was another interdisciplinary practitioner working between dance and architecture. Rudolf Laban’s dance notation system, Kinetography, is one of the most extended systems to score dance. It can represent any micro-​movement that dancers perform in a choreography, and later in his life, Laban also applied it to other areas such as industrial production (Davies, 2006). Kinetography allowed Laban to transform expressive movement into an analytic language (Laban, 1980). Both systems – Motation and Kinetography – focus on the representation of temporal processes performed by human beings; in the case of Halprin, the representation of movement has a performative point of view when it is part of the RSVP cycles, or in the context of his landscape practice, an application to design. In this chapter, Laban’s work will be applied along with Halprin’s as the foundation for Kinetography I, II, and III, the practice-​based case studies in the Experiments section of the chapter. Their work proved how one discipline could influence the other and trigger new ways of thinking in different fields. The chapter begins with an analysis of the work of Rudolf Laban –​with a focus on kinespheres and Kinetography –​which is presented as a case study. Next, the chapter focuses on a general consideration on scores as a way of presenting movement, relating them to Halprin’s approach to scores within the RSVP cycles process. The process of scoring will be contextualised in the history of representation of movement as a time-​based process, reviewing different ways of representing movement and dance notation as a clear example of this. Finally, a brief examination of contemporary expansions and experiments in cartography will redefine and recontextualise scoring as a potentially valuable tool in architecture, a dynamic cartography. Kinetography and other tools presented in this chapter have been taken forward in the practical experiments presented in this book.

The representation of movement Different ways of capturing movement have emerged in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, primarily related to advances in technology  –​photography, cinema, or animation. The emergence of these movement capturing tools and techniques has facilitated deeper understanding of movement and how it can be recreated. Body movement  –​which is referred to not in performative dance terms, but as a manifestation of human actions in the space –​ is a complex process that is not easy to crystallise or even visualise. Any movement creates invisible traces in the space that vanish almost instantly. The images that we receive through our retina last approximately a tenth of a second after the image in front of us has disappeared. This

Body and the surrounding space  11 characteristic of vision is the reason why, when we see images passing by quickly, the illusion that they are moving is created. If we think of people’s movements in everyday life, their traces vanish as they move. Yet counter-​ intuitively, the faster the movement is, the more perceptible the trace is. In his book The Aesthetics of Disappearance, Paul Virilio refers to the way velocity impacts our perception; when we travel on a high-​speed transport, the object becomes an amorphous mass. This mass is composed of movement traces (Virilio, 2009). Photography is one way of capturing those traces. The word photography comes from the Greek phos-​(light) and -​graphis (needle or brush) and can be translated as writing or drawing –​literally, to draw with light. When we take a photograph with a camera set to a slow shutter speed, the film will capture movement and generate an image. This technique is called light painting, which can also be considered a scoring process. Perhaps, this is the less rational system, as we automatically set up the camera for it. However, it allows us to record movement processes that otherwise would be very difficult to make visible. Pablo Picasso used this technique for his light paintings. The dancer Loie Fuller (1862–​ 1928) also explored different ways of visualising movement through textiles and lighting, using lightweight fabrics to expand the movements of her body. For the spectator, the fabrics visually actioned by the body constituted part of the movement of her body: both end up being part of the same organism. Perhaps the most eye-​catching effect of Fuller’s work is that due to the fabrics, her body and its movement disappear, an effect which was captured in the Lumière Brothers 1897 film Serpentine Dance. In this example, the movement traces of Fuller’s dance are extended through the fabric, and then captured on film where they can be reproduced, viewed, and manipulated at different speeds. The painter Jackson Pollock is another example of an artist whose work embeds and represents movement. While at first glance, his works appear to be just a composition of colours and shapes on a flat surface, but in actuality are the trace of his body moving over the canvas, making of Pollock’s works a representation of a choreographic sequence. If one could identify the movements that have generated each of the lines of his drawing, the result would be a choreography. This affirms that his works are the projection or visualisation of his ‘dance’, which has been called ‘action painting’.1 The body in motion This section includes the nature of body movement and how it has been captured and represented through different techniques. The human body is structured as a tree in its hierarchy; in the same way, a tree has roots, trunk, and branches, the body has the head, the torso, and the limbs. Just by looking at it, we can identify an internal logic and how the different components relate to each other. Movement, however, has the power of distorting the body, challenging this hierarchical structure, at least visually. In contrast, Gilles Deleuze

12  Body and the surrounding space and Felix Guattari define the concept of rhizome in opposition to the tree structure: ‘any point of a rhizome can be connected to anything other, and must be. This structure is very different from the tree or root, which plots a point, fixes an order’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987:  7). These two different structures can be applied to the way we perceive the static body and the impact that movement has on our perception of it. In his text Nymphs, Giorgio Agamben explains the concept of phantasms as defined by the choreographer Domenico da Piacenza. Phantasms emerge when, in between two movements, the body stops, allowing its inner tension to contain the memory of the whole choreographic sequence. As in animation, it is the transition from one static image of the body to another what generates movement: for Domenico, dancing is essentially an operation conducted on memory, a composition of phantasms within a temporally and spatially ordered series. The true locus of the dancer is not the body and its movement but the image as a ‘Medusa’s head’, as a pause that is not immobile but simultaneously charged with memory and dynamic energy. This means, however, that the essence of dance is no longer movement but time. (Agamben, 2013: 10) In The Passions,2 video artist Bill Viola presents an image with five people that, at first sight, appear static; however, after a few seconds, they begin to be animated almost imperceptibly. The spectator realises at that point that, in reality, they had always been moving and the prolonged display of the image, a temporal dilatation, made them perceived as static. In this case, returning to the concept of phantasms, the piece could be considered a set of continuous phantasms, not entirely a movement nor just a figure. This idea of capturing the series of static images performed by the body is the concept behind many of the existing representations of movement. Following this, a body in motion has three elements to be analysed:  the body, the ­figures  –​the fixed postures  –​and the movement, which is what transitions the body from one position to another. Generally, when we try to represent –​or score –​movement, we draw the body’s trajectories, failing to capture any of the above three elements fully. Arguably, a score should also be trying to capture the postures or crystallised figures, understanding movement as the transition from one to another. This basis is the principle of chronophotography, the representation of movement based on the capture of different postures or images through a timeline. Representation systems In the second half of the nineteenth century, the phenomenon of movement started to be studied through chronophotography, the capture of images of an object or body moving at fixed intervals of time. Photographer Eadweard

Body and the surrounding space  13 J.  Muybridge (1830–​1904), a pioneer in photographic capture of motion, made a series of snapshots between 1878 and 1881 that recorded different positions of moving bodies; for example, a series of snapshots of a horse during a gallop. He also developed a new system to capture movement: the zoopraxiscope, an adaptation of Jesuit scholar Athanaisus Kircher’s magic lantern. The zoopraxiscope, a predecessor to the movie camera, held a series of photographs on a wheel, and could cycle through them to recreate a representation of their movement. In 1884, Muybridge was hired by the University of Pennsylvania to research human movement in activities such as dance, gymnastics, and boxing. His systems tried to capture and explain what the vision is not able to understand, the controversy around the fact that the eye cannot apprehend a moving body (Virilio, 2009: 16). The first light painting was made by the principal assistant of Étienne-​ Jules Marey, Georges Demeny in 1889; he placed incandescent light bulbs in the joints of another assistant, creating the first drawing-​photograph, ‘Pathological Walk from in Front’. In 1863, Marey devised a graphic method of motion studies using polygraphs. Movements such as the walk of man were published in the Machine Animale in 1873. Marey gives light instead another role; he makes it leading lady in the chrono-​photographic universe: if he observes the movement of a liquid it’s due to the artifice of shiny pastilles in suspension; for animal movement he uses little metallicized strips etc. With him the effect of the real becomes that of the readiness of a luminous emission; what is given to see is due to the phenomena of acceleration and deceleration in every respect identifiable with intensities of light. He treats light as a shadow of time. (Virilio, 2009: 28) Marey’s interest in the development of a more precise visualisation methodology took him to develop chronophotography in 1882. It consists of the registration of the different phases of movement on a single plate. In order to do this, he built a chronophotographic fixed plate camera with a timed shutter; this way, all the movements could be captured. As Virilio explains, Marey was interested in capturing what seems more uncontrollable from a formal point of view. We could understand this process of chronophotography as a systematised way of scoring the process of movement; thus, chronophotography and other photographic techniques such as light painting are systematic spatial methods of scoring. It is also during this period –​second half of the nineteenth century –​when an interest emerged in deciphering certain human illnesses that had visible symptoms reflected on body movements. One example of this was the epileptic attacks documented by psychiatrist Jean-​Martin Charcot in the Sálpetriére Hospital. The philosopher Georges Didi-​Hubermann writes in The Invention of Hysteria (2008) about the psychiatric hospital for women

14  Body and the surrounding space located in the outskirts of Paris during the period when Charcot was a psychiatrist. Through observation of the patients’ hysteria crises, Charcot establishes charts of drawings and a series of images with the characteristic postures of the attacks. His purpose was to give an abstract correspondence to reality through drawings, intending to create charts that could be used by other doctors to interpret the ailments of their patients and diagnose them through them. Since he was also in effect creating a language, his method had to be bidirectional –​able to be written and read. With this, we can also find an example of scoring a movement process. Charcot was looking for certain figures or postures; he was looking for the phantasms of Domenichino (Agamben, 2013: 15), the static images that characterised the movement. Chronophotography is different as it does not look for the postures, but makes captures at moments separated by a constant time interval to construct the ‘cinematographic illusion’; Deleuze explains that cinema constitutes a system that reproduces the movement according to any moment in terms of equidistant instants chosen in such a way as to give an impression of continuity (Deleuze, 1985). When proposing a system of representation of movement in relation to space, this statement by Deleuze is of interest, since it is not an aesthetic question –​although it could also be. For the purposes of scoring, we do not look for how bodies in space acquire an artistic value, but that sense of continuity, asking how the space is used over a given time interval. Therefore, as anticipated, a representation system capable of reflecting the passage of time in order to map the movement must be developed. Movement scores in dance This section addresses the systems of notation in choreography, not as an exhaustive study on their application to dance, but with the idea of transferring these systems to other fields of study. Lawrence Halprin identifies dance notation as a scoring system specifically because of its capability to present the process of movement through time. Dance scoring can be applied not only to what is referred to in one notation system as ‘movement writing’, but also to the writing system as a tool for the generation of new compositions. Since the first civilisations, the representation of movement has been fundamental. Primitive humans began to try to represent moving prey, giving rise to the cave paintings. The Egyptians also had a desire to capture movement with their drawings. In ancient Greece, artists developed conventionalised images for representation, such as Tanagra statuettes, sculptural friezes, and mural paintings. These represented frozen images, a crystallisation of the movement, which, as argued at the beginning of this chapter, are really what the dance is made up of  –​what happens between them is only the transit. They studied ways of representing movement and made attempts at systematisation.

Body and the surrounding space  15 In dance, however, the choreographer’s drawing has some fundamental needs related to its own function to preserve and transmit the choreographies, and in many cases, constitute a way of thinking and projecting. At first, the representation of movement was approached as a drawing exercise led by the movement of the dancer, but this is insufficient for choreographic language since abstraction is fundamental for the choreographer. The choreographer’s vision is thus closer to a diagram, a rhizomatic diagram that can be detached from the movement of the body, and represented independently –​an abstraction. Through this diagram, we no longer need the dancer in front of us to see the dance; it can be interpreted through a series of abstract symbols, a system closer to calligraphy than movement. Yet in order to communicate a choreography through this diagram successfully, it is necessary to establish a grammar of signs that can be interpreted by dancers and choreographers. The development of ballet led to one of the first pre-​ choreographic notations systems for movement in dance. From the end of the sixteenth century to the beginning of the eighteenth century, dances became one of the pillars of court life; new ceremonies appeared that required a precise determination of the movements of the participants. From here, and with the progressive professionalisation of the dancers, gestures and movements of what we understand today as classical ballet were derived. Until this moment, choreographic drawings were frontal engravings of the dancer. They did not give an idea of movement, but of precise gestures that explained the transits between them. Later, choerographers gave the transcriptions of the movement greater abstraction. The first systems of notation for ballet choreographies consisted of a mixture between a musical score and a floorplan of the dance trajectories. The Manuscript of Cervera (1495) is considered the first establishment of a repertoire of signs, a pre-​choreographic system; Cervera used the same signs that were used in music (whole, half, quarter, and sixteenth notes) placed on a new ‘pentagram’ representing the trajectories. In this way, the dancer was able to interpret from the paper the movements to perform. The page held two different and contradictory types of information, although it was no longer necessary to represent the concrete gestures and postures, as they had been previously established and the dancers knew them. Rudolf Laban (1879–​1958) appears as the fundamental figure of cartographic annotation, establishing an abstract notation that applies not only to dance but to patterns of movement in other areas, such as martial arts, work environments, and people with mental or physical disabilities. Laban provides a systematic vocabulary to describe the movement qualitatively and quantitatively, and thus his notation is applicable to dance therapy, sports, theatre, psychiatry, anthropology, and sociology as well. Laban’s notation system, which will be discussed in more depth in the following section, has many followers; the critical moment of its evolution is in Vaslav Nijinsky’s choreography of The Afternoon of a Faun (1912) for the company of Sergei Diaghilev featuring Nijinsky himself as the leading dancer, an example which demonstrates the necessity of the scoring system itself. The choreographic

16  Body and the surrounding space annotations for the piece were made with Laban’s method in combination with photography, the choreographic diagram, the text, and the musical score. This results in a fragmented representation, much in the same way that Nijinsky –​ by generating his choreographies –​divided the movement into compositional gestures. The notation is modified so that it articulates the different gestures together with the music, rather than following it. While video is a tempting option for resolving this fragmentation, many details of the choreography would be lost in a video recording and, depending on the point of view of the recording, could be confusing if left as the sole notation of the dance. A recording is not sufficient to document a piece of music, either; this is why musical scores appear; the score is fundamental for the transmission and subsequent interpretation of the musical piece. Notation in dance is halfway between drawing and writing, but it is fundamental for many choreographers, and Laban’s system is thus very popular. Today, not only does notation serve as a recording system, but also as a way of generating movement. In the twentieth century, with the appearance of new artistic and aesthetic currents that influenced the field of dance, all the rules of movement were broken on stage. New ways of recording the movement necessarily gave rise to more contemporary notation systems, and some choreographers, aware of this need, begin to develop their own personal notation systems. Many choreographers also use notations or preparatory notes to generate their choreographies, creating a fascinating evolution when the choreographer’s own scoring system becomes a choreographic tool. For example, in Trisha Brown’s notation for one of her choreographies, lines drawn on the text are vectors of movement, a map of energies that represents the movements of the dancers in the scenic space. Trisha Brown has made multiple choreographic diagrams with this system, in which the text narrates a series of concepts or ideas concerning movement, and the lines try to capture the movement to those ideas –​the ‘pure movement’. These diagrams are not notations of movement, but act as the trigger –​a choreographic tool in which the drawing is a fundamental part of the process of choreographic and spatial composition. Merce Cunningham, in his choreography for ‘Suite by Chance’ (1953), worked separately with time and space, dividing the musical piece into sixty-​ four changes of movement and space into sixty-​four quadrants. Randomly throwing coins into the air generated different combinations of rhythmic phrases in the space that made up the choreography. The coin determined what movement, where, in what direction, for how long, and with whom it should be performed  –​the notation system became the generative tool for the piece. (‘Suite by Chance’ was inspired by his work with John Cage, who was also beginning to explore randomness in his musical compositions.) For Cunningham, this notation-​led generative process is inextricably linked to his vision of the body in motion in relation to space and time, detached from music3 (Boisseau, 2008:  144). For ‘Suite by Chance’, which features music by Christian Wolff, Cunningham composed different independent movement

Body and the surrounding space  17 phrases which he then assigned a number. He then divided the stage into different squares and, by flipping a coin, assigned each movement phrase a location on the scene. In their later collaborations, Cage and Cunningham worked in music and choreography, respectively, so that both were generated at the same time; the choreography was not subordinated to musical composition. Cunningham offers a clear example of how notation –​in his case, drawing –​not only serves as a recording system but as a tool for composing moving scores on stage, due to the great importance it gives to space. His notations for ‘Suite by Chance’ are now part of the collection of the ‘Museum of Modern Art in New York’. The drawing is able to represent the movement in space, abstracting it from the music and the body, giving us only an idea of time in relation to certain positions, and is therefore the ideal tool for the choreography as it allows the choreographer to distance himself and consider the space in its entirety.

Rudolf Laban: Kinetography as a spatial scoring system This section explores Rudolf Laban’s work in greater depth, including eukinetics, choreutics, and the development of Kinetography, a system that records movement in relation to space. His notation differs from others in the fact that he ‘allows the notator to depict movement from the point of view of the person who is moving at the time, not from the perspective of the audience’ (Lucas, 2016: 179). This may be the reason why Kinetography can be easily understood as a scoring system, as Halprin states that its purpose ‘is not compositional but controlling’ (Halprin, 1969: 40). Kinetography cannot be understood without being contextualised within Laban’s choreographical work. Laban developed a system for understanding human movement called Choreutics and published a book of the same title (1966), which is dedicated to the study of the existing relationships between movement and space. In choreutics, dance is an essential tool to research space because it expresses qualities that can be perceived only through the experience of the body. These perceptions –​which have a phenomenological origin –​ are revealed through the way a dancer’s sensitive body uses the space. This approach to space opens up new research lines that seek to establish how body movement is related to space: ‘as Laban’s study of dance as living architecture proceeded, the geometry of space became a focus. After all, patterns in space are what geometry is, and patterns in the space are what dance is’ (Preston-​ Dunlop, 2013: 16). Laban explored the idea of geometry having a meaning in dance, studying different movement patterns by using the platonic solids as a foundation to develop a series of geometries: the kinespheres. The kinespheres define the space that is directly in contact with the body, and they constitute an essential element to be analysed when constructing a theory of body movement. Starting from the kinespheres, Laban created an abstract graphic system that represents movement: Kinetography or Labanotation. This system

18  Body and the surrounding space has become a key in the development of this book, as it constitutes a scoring tool which makes it possible to represent the different layers of movement inherent to space. Through studying the movement of the human body, Laban determined a spatial shape in which all the movements of the human body could be included. Initially, this shape had only eight faces; it became more sophisticated, growing to twelve, then twenty, until finally, it evolved into the kinesphere; (although the shape most used was the icosahedron). The kinesphere was the foundation on which Laban developed Kinetography which is based on the assignment of specific symbols to each body movement, resulting in a movement score that allows those who are fluent to record a choreography and then re-​perform it. Each shape has an associated movement scale whose complexity varies depending on the geometry: the simplest scale is that of the octahedron, and the next in complexity is the cube. These scales were used to teach students basic movement exercises, just as musical scales serve musicians developing their skills with an instrument. Laban gave great importance to the study of time across industries, especially time linked to movement and the way in which it is fundamental for the development of mechanisation.4 This was evident in his studies of body movements concerning industrial manufacturing processes, as well as in urban planning, which could be interpreted as a direct translation of his collective choreographies designed to be performed in public spaces.5 Laban’s interest in the relations between the body and space around it concerned areas additional to dance: he tried to develop methods to help factory workers eliminate ‘shadow movements’ which caused them to waste energy and time, analysing their movements at work to try to discover which were strictly necessary movements. His movement notation began to adapt also to these fields when he arrived in England with the purpose to transcribe the movements of people in work, agriculture, and industrial processes in order to improve working conditions in these processes. Laban’s studies led him to work with more than ten thousand people across four different professions. He interviewed a blacksmith who related the rhythm of the body’s movement during blacksmithery in different regions to the rhythm of the local traditional dances; the result was the same but the process varied following the theory of eukinetics and the characteristic personality associated with a region (Davies, 2006:  19). Together with F.C. Lawrence, an engineer, Laban conducted the ‘Time and Motion study’, where they studied movement at work with the aim to reduce the unnecessary movements of workers, enabling them to perform their work most efficiently. At this time, industrial workers were conceived as part of the production mechanism. This system, established by Henry Ford, is seen in his assembly line and is reflected and criticised by Charlie Chaplin in his 1936 feature film Modern Times. In June 1942, also with Lawrence, Laban taught a course in rhythmic movement in industry and agricultural processes. For the Mars chocolate company, he designed a choreography of movements for the

Body and the surrounding space  19 fingers, which enabled assembly line employees to do their work much more efficiently.6 This sequence of finger movements was combined with a whole series of general body movements that contributed to improving performance, as well as scheduled breaks. At first, the owners of the company were concerned about having their workers spend an average of thirty minutes a day resting, but once analysed, the results demonstrated that performance increased with the Laban and Lawrence system. While Laban, as a practitioner, has been extensively researched, especially in relation to his dance methodology (Guest, 2005; Davies, 2006; Bradley & Chamberlain, 2008; Preston-​Dunlop, 2013), within the context of this book, it is essential to focus not only on the kinespheres and Kinetography but also on how the concept of ritual can be found in his work through movement choir and the development of eukinetics in Nazi Germany. Laban placed great importance on the development of collective dances, choreographies designed to be carried out by a group of individuals in a specific public space. He developed the art of movement choir –​originally called Bewegungschören7 –​ in the context of Nazi Germany. The movement choir consisted of performance of choreographies for a large number of people, allowing each person to express themselves individually through eukinetics. Laban never intended that these community dances be performed as a show in front of a passive audience8 and encouraged his dancers to perform in public spaces instead of in theatres  –​the movement choir invited to the spectators to participate in the choreography. In the movement choir, what captivates the viewer are not the characters or the roles that the dancers take, nor even the dramaturgy, but the sight of a group of bodies moving together in unison. It is this interpenetration, together with the dissolution of the individual in favour of the community, that attracts the audience. As Colin Counsell explains in his essay ‘Dancing to Utopia: Modernity, Community and The Movement Choir’:9 Comprised only of kinetic unity, Bewengungschöre dances remain visibly built of communal action, actually consist of real individuals functioning as an organised collective, and it is this ‘embodied’ rationale which so spectacularly presents itself to the audience. The Bewegungschöre provides not simply an ‘image of Gemeinschaft but an example of it, a successful working model of social interaction which refutes the logic of modern instrumentality, proffering instead the relations of an actual, albeit short-​lived community. (2004: 163) Between 1934 and 1936, he worked for Joseph Goebbels choreographing the parades of the Nazi festivals. Group choreography in the parades was one of the regime’s strategies for controlling the population. Through the movement, they tried to emphasise the feeling of belonging to a group and to eliminate individualism, which could threaten the stability of the dictatorship. Laban developed a theory of the eukinetic aspect of human behaviour, that

20  Body and the surrounding space which reveals personality and characterises people as individuals. Eukinetics reveals qualities of movement in terms of effort, space, weight, and time; ‘If Choreutics places emphasis on the sculptural quality of movement, then Eukinetics is the intensity and the nature of the effort put into that activity’ (Davies, 2006:  36). Eukinetics allows the individuality of the person, their independent character, to become clear in the group choreographies. He had been in charge of choreographing the inaugural session of the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin, but when Goebbles saw the rehearsal Laban vetoed for being too intellectual –​by not communicating any explicitly Nazi message, he left the choreography too open to any interpretation. The development of eukinetics was perhaps one of the reasons why, in 1936, he left Germany. Laban gave a lot of importance to eukinetics as the way to manifest individual conscience in both collective dances and industrial manufacturing processes. This concern for movements in the work environment gave rise to a new movement of traditional dances in Germany, related to the industrial revolution. Laban’s relocation to England led to a separation between the two branches of the study of his notation. On the one hand, Kinetography notation continued to develop in Germany, and on the other hand, Labanotation continued to develop in England and the United States.10 Laban’s systems of notation have been normalised over the years, giving rise to grammars,11 and even the development computer tools12 to facilitate its registration and interpretation. Laban’s notation systems have been the most used in the history of dance, primarily because of their precision. Kinespheres and bubbles One of the premises of this chapter was to identify how rituals are enacted by bodies in the space through the repetition of patterns, and there is a cultural, sociological, and political dimension to this. Anna Halprin’s choreographic work reflected the way human beings live in society, inspired by the Bauhaus, which ‘proposed a reconstruction of human living conditions and consciousness’ (Ross, 2007: x–​xi). This was also captured in Richard Schechner’s interview of Anna Halprin, where she explained her fascination with the work of Peter Brook, specifically in relation to the Mahabharata. She turned to Brook when facing the challenge of ‘attempting to maintain a cultural identity while moving toward some kind of universality’ (Halprin, 1969: 70), demonstrating how cultural features are carried with us throughout our lives, and remaining present in the way we live –​cultural features which involve spatiality, as we live in a space and a time. German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk explores the cultural features of personal space in his Spheres trilogy, Bubbles, Balloons, and Foams. In these works, Sloterdijk reflects on the spaces generated by coexistence and human relationships, from the intrauterine (mother and child) to the sentimental, to larger scale relationships such as belonging to a community or political system –​our ways of ‘being in the world’. The sphere is nothing other than

Body and the surrounding space  21 the place that all men create in order to exist and be what they really are (Sloterdijk, 2011). With his trilogy, he intends to demonstrate the hypothesis that being-​in-​spheres is the basic relation in which human beings are constituted, giving shape to their existence and psychologically protecting them from external aggression by constituting a protective environment. These spheres can vary in size and even combine to form more complex structures called ‘foams’ which he explores in the thus-​titled third volume of the work, Foams (2016). The microspherical units of the foam are the bubbles, which also constitute the intimacy of the human being. In the Prologue of Bubbles, Sloterdijk highlights a detail of Hieronymous Bosch’s ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’ in which a couple appears inside a bubble. By suggesting this image, he gives visual correspondence to this reality of spheres generated by the interpersonal relationships on which his discourse is based. In this sense, human death always has two consequences: on the one hand, the death of the body, and on the other hand, the remains of spheres left by the body once it has left, remains which can be reabsorbed or left abandoned. All the ideas and concepts that Peter Sloterdijk establishes about being-​in-​spheres have great complexity and have to do mainly with intimacy and psychology. But if from a conceptual level we can understand our societies as a sum of individuals that carry with them virtual spaces that come together giving rise to foams, we could understand a kinesphere as the physical correspondent to this idea. Sloterdijk himself gives a physical and geometric presence to his ideas, not only in the title but also through the accompanying images. For example, Annika Von Hausswolff’s Attempting to Deal with Time and Space takes this idea further, presenting a deforming balloon. This deformation makes reference both to the psychological and social pressures on the space of intimacy that we generate around our existence, as well as to the physical deformations suffered by our sphere of movement, our kinespheres. These concepts are closely related; our movement and the projection of our body in space is a direct reflection of our interior. As previously established, Laban’s kinesphere is a shape determined through the study of the movement of the human body, capable of embedding all possible combinations of human movements. Laban made physical Kinespheres –​models of movement at a 1:1 scale dancers could enter, enabling them to improve in the art of movement through repetition –​but a Kinesphere will still exist around a moving body even if not physically constructed. The Kinespheres of several individuals can be combined, generating more complex shapes or becoming deformed when affected by different conditions or external pressures. Kinetography and diagrams Kinetography, the system that Laban uses to record and transcribe movements,  can be considered a diagram, using two complementary types of information; first, a sign system that represents the exact movement of

22  Body and the surrounding space the dancers in every moment, and then a second order of information that is the representation in a floorplan. In the past, ballet was represented by placing the movement of the dancer on a trajectory, with a direct translation of musical scoring placing noteheads of various duration on the trajectory of the movement. This gave the dancer an idea of the tempo and the trajectory, but not of the movement of each of the parts of the body, and was additionally problematic because if the dancer wanted to follow the notation, he or she had to be continuously turning the paper. Dance had never been studied as a composition in floorplan; it was always seen from the point of view of the dancer. In this sense, Laban’s method is unique as he conceives dance as a spatial act, hence taking the kinesphere as a starting point. The notation itself is a projection of the dancer’s movement placed in reference to the shape containing that movement. To generate this system, Laban came up with four questions with which it is possible to determine and describe any bodily action: 1 2 3 4

What part of the body is moving? In which direction or directions of space is the movement directed? How fast does movement progress? What degree of muscular energy is used in the movement?

It is not necessary to give all the information about what happens in each moment, since the action of the body will have various associated movements in each of its parts. (For example, in representing the action ‘raise the right leg’, it is not necessary to indicate that the weight will be transferred to the left part of the body in order to release the right leg.) The system establishes four stripes, each one containing the signs of movement of a particularly body part. The two central stripes or lines correspond to the movements of the legs, the two external stripes to the arms and the upper part of the body, with the head in the area furthest from the centre; it is as if Laban has split the body in half and made a projection on each side. The stripes give information about direction, speed, and intensity. The speed, in principle, corresponds to time and gives us a direct relationship with the times of the musical notes, correlating with the musical noteheads (whole, half, quarter, eighth, etc.). Time is also represented on the vertical axis –​the slower the pace of a movement, the longer the sign will be. Finally, Laban classified the movements into three planes of action:  the lower plane, in which the sign is in black; the middle plane, in which the sign is white; and finally, the superior, in which the sign is drawn hatched. This notation is read from bottom to top and is always a straight line. Despite being complemented by another document with the trajectory, the main document alone may give an idea of the movement of the dancers. If we see a turn or a change of weight, we will know that the trajectory has been modified. In the first chapter of Choreutics, Laban differentiates between the space in general and the space belonging to the body –​the personal space or the

Body and the surrounding space  23 kinesphere (Laban, 1966:  10). His studies of Choreutics were based on the postulates of Plato  –​Laban worked with polyhedral volumes to catalogue how the body moves through space. Although he used several polyhedral figures, Laban’s favourite volume for his exercises was the icosahedron, formed by twenty equilateral triangles. The kinesphere, with a spherical shape, has an inscribed cube that is the container volume of the most commonly represented directions in space. Laban’s study of movement is related to the order of the paths –​or trajectories –​in which the different limbs move inside the kinesphere (Laban, 1966: 27). Two elements characterise the kinespheres. On the one hand, the tensions between surfaces or sides, and on the other, the lines that cross the structure –​diagonals, diameters, and transversal lines. (Transversal lines, unlike diagonals and diameters, do not intersect in the central point of the volume.) In the last chapters of Choreutics, Laban proposes systems for the generation of scales of motion from the different volumes and the lines in which they can be deconstructed. With this system, Laban explores the different directions and vectors by which the moving body can be affected in relation to its closest space, the one belonging to its body. Therefore, the kinesphere, whether built or not, will never be a vacuum, but a set of lines and vectors of movement with which we move, not only in dance, but in our daily lives.

Scores: the representation of processes Scores are especially relevant in many creative processes, especially those that encompass different human actions and activities over time, such as art installations, theatre, set design, architecture, or landscape. It is essential to understand the principles of scoring in order to apply this technique to other disciplines. Halprin defines scores as ‘symbolizations of processes which extend over time’ (1969: 1). While both Lawrence and Anna Halprin apply the RSVP cycles to performative events, Lawrence also brings this methodology into the design process of his environmental designs. Even though Halprin published his book in 1969, the idea of introducing scoring as a way of representing action in space is still quite innovative and unique. Robert Lepage13 incorporated the RSVP cycles into the theatrical creation process of his company Ex Machina, founded in 1994. He affirms that an essential value of the RSVP cycles is that they ‘can be adapted to any human creative process and can have a varied range of applications’ (Dundjerovic, 2009:  37). The most significant aspect of RSVP cycles and especially of scoring is that it is a process-​ oriented, rather than result-​ oriented, methodology, making it widely versatile and interdisciplinary by nature. RSVP cycles were created by Lawrence and Anna Halprin as a methodology for creative disciplines –​specifically dance and performance –​to trigger participation and integrate ideas and input from a group of people; the RSVP cycles are an interdisciplinary collaborative process that can be applied to

24  Body and the surrounding space different artistic and creative disciplines (Halprin, 1965). The RSVP cycles have four stages: Resources, Scores, Valuaction, and Performance. While this section will focus on Scores, it is important to understand the general flow of the RSVP cycles. In the Resources stage, the artist takes into consideration all the pre-​existing elements, such as the performer’s abilities and space, and the contribution that participants make to the process –​ideas, various backgrounds, life experiences, etc. In the Scoring stage, the artist and participants visualise the process through sketches, task lists, plans, etc. Scoring emerges as an ‘urgent need to clarify a process of creativity that would allow many different people with different lifestyles to come together and create collectively’ (Halprin & Kaplan, 1995: 124). Scoring also constitutes a way of realising the potential of resources: as a process, scoring organises resources and presents them either in a series of graphic representations or written tasks. During the next stage of the RSVP cycles, Valuaction –​a term derived from value and action –​the artist critically analyses the work produced, facilitating a collaborative decision on which elements should remain and which should be dismissed. The last stage is Performance, where the outcome will be presented. This will not necessarily, however, be a final polished outcome, as the cycle can be restarted again and again. As an environmental designer, Lawrence Halprin had a strong input on the Scoring stage and was particularly interested in its potential. He approaches scoring as a graphic mapping exercise, and in his book, RSVP Cycles (1969), he presents examples of multiple types of scoring. The main objective of a score is to show the process, as scores ‘are not of much use in delineation of static objects where change is not an essential ingredient’ (L. Halprin, 1969:  54). Scoring embeds the dimensions of time and process within the visual representation. Both Lawrence and Anna express their ‘concern for registering, scoring and choreographing the emergence of multiple events and happenings in the urban environment’ (Merriman, 2010: 434). Lawrence Halprin claims that ‘what we are really searching for is a creative process, a constantly changing sequence where people are the generators, their creative activities are the aim, and the physical elements are the tools’ (1963: 7). This follows the principles of Jane Jacobs, an urban planning scholar who approaches the city from the point of view of movement: ‘the ballet of the good city sidewalk never repeats itself from place to place, and in any other place is always replete with new improvisations’ (1992:  50). Each urban or inhabited space contains some actions that are reflected and made visible through movement; this can be understood as a ‘fingerprint’ of the space. The movement patterns that one space triggers correspond only to that specific spatial configuration and the meaning and actions encompassed on it. As scholar Derek McCormack affirms, ‘the quality of moving bodies contributes to the qualities of spaces in which these bodies move’ (2008: 1823). This can be appreciated in the context of an Ancient Greek theatre’s use: in Epidaurus Theatre, for example, there is an annual theatre festival where the theatre recovers its original use, constituting a complete transformation of a space that on its daily basis is a tourist attraction. This dimension of space can

Body and the surrounding space  25

Figure 1.1 As Built Photo Seattle Freeway Park Ca. 1975. Lawrence Halprin Collection, Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.

only be represented through scores and ‘the need for a new notation arises out of the inability of the traditional approach to express new concepts’ (L. Halprin, 1969: 71). This process of notation is not only a documentation exercise; when it is embedded within the RSVP Cycles, it becomes part of the creative process. Halprin applies this method as a design tool in the creation of his environments (Figure 1.1). While his ‘exercises in architectural choreography clearly have political resonances’ (Merriman, 2011: 102) due to the search for control of behaviour that they suggest, this was not his objective; he was looking for a better integration of design in the users’ lives. ‘Scores make the process visible’ (L. Halprin, 1969: 4) that is what makes of them the constant to the RSVP cycles. Scores can also be a representation of collective memories of a specific community; as Schechner states:  ‘rituals are collective memories encoded into actions’

26  Body and the surrounding space

Figure 1.2 Score for the Seminary South Fountain. Lawrence Halprin Collection, Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania. Source: L. Halprin (1969, p. 54).

(Schechner, 2002: 52). When discussing ways of representing movements of the human body to identify movement patterns in different spatial environments, the term ‘ritual’ is of particular importance. In this context, ritual alludes to repetitions and patterns that articulate the existing relationships between bodies and space. By being able to represent the actions, we can make patterns whose correspondence with collective memories then becomes visible. This explains why Halprin sees in scoring a powerful tool to improve and integrate design within different communities. Lawrence Halprin developed his professional career in the area of environmental and landscape design, and he developed his preferred scoring system, motation, in that context (Figure 1.2). As a landscape architect, technical drawing and graphic ways of representation were essential for him; he investigated different ways of scoring and notation in order to be able to represent different aspects of reality. Although maps or cartographies may appear to be more appropriate for his work, he preferred scores, as the realities that he tried to capture are related to time and change during different processes. He developed a system called motation to notate movement based on the principle that perception changes depending on the speed and movement of the observer. The most relevant feature of motation is that ‘it is a conception that environments and people can be scored together’ (L. Halprin, 1969: 71). Motation is ‘a tool for choreography as much as description; choreography in the broadest sense· meaning design for movement’ (L. Halprin, 1965: 130). Motation was applied by Halprin and other practitioners in the design of urban public spaces. He applied motation to the design of Nicolett Avenue in Minneapolis where the objective was to capture the liveliness and

Body and the surrounding space  27 the activity of the street during day-​and night-​time: ‘The score for a street such as Nicolett Avenue remains a linear experience, just as does the voyage in a car on a freeway’ (L. Halprin 1969: 79).

Scoring: mapping spatial processes Today, various methodologies exist to map movement, but Halprin initiated a unique approach to the representation of different phenomena related to spatial practices, phenomena which are a most crucial part of the scoring process. When Michel de Certau refers to the representation of the movement of people in urban spaces, he describes them as an absence of everything that is happening. It is true that the operations of walking can be traced on city maps in such a way as to transcribe their paths (here well-​trodden, there very faint) and their trajectories (going this way and not that). But these thick or thin curves only refer, like words, to the absence of what has passed by. (De Certeau, 1988: 97) De Certau speaks of a representation of a trajectory, which is a line that joins the points configuring the different positions of the bodies. Certeau affirms that ‘Itself visible; it has the effect of making invisible the operation that has made it possible’ (De Certeau, 1988: 97). He speaks of the trace of the movement as a representation that leads us to oblivion, which eliminates reality by simplifying it in such a way that makes what has happened illegible. Scoring allows presentation of the content of the curves referenced by De Certeau. Scores are a way of showing not just the trace but the whole process of actions that have taken place in space. There are many different ways of scoring, as Halprin presents: scores can be created for football strategies, a shopping list, an event, or a dance, to name a few examples. Depending on the objective of the score, different parameters will be placed and represented. However, the contribution of scoring to the already existing methods of spatial mapping relies first of all on what Halprin claims: the representation of a process. Any process has implicit time, and thus scores do not show a final configuration, but a series of estates or situations that evolve through time. It is essential to highlight the importance of scoring within the context of Halprin’s work, which accounts for the passage of time in spatial mapping. Traditionally, architects have communicated their designs graphically, using floorplans, sections, or perspectives. Cartographies have also been used to represent more abstract features of space in addition to its physical configuration, which can be drawn on maps. Lawrence Halprin introduced the idea of scoring as a way of including time in its spatial representation, offering a way of mapping through time. He presented the concept of introducing time to the representation of diverse spatial parameters as an innovative way of approaching space mapping. This is especially relevant when we approach the experience of space as an event that cannot be detached from time. Therefore,

28  Body and the surrounding space the human experience of spaces and places takes place through time, and scoring allows a more accurate representation of experiences and living actions. Contemporary scores: cartography versus scoring Traditionally, space has been represented through maps, static documents that present either geographical locations or physical parameters, but cartographies, a more contemporary option, are becoming quite versatile. We can find cartographies of sounds, smells, and many other more or less complicated representations of abstract and sensorial parameters. Cartographies also have an artistic element attached to them as they are representations through drawings and diagrams: ‘One of the benefits of diagramming and drawing is the possibility of translating them into another format, another convention. Each inscriptive practice [notations, diagrams and maps] can be translated into another  –​in this case from diagram into notation’ (Lucas, 2016:  179). Inscriptive practices are expanding, including several noteworthy examples of work that engages cartography and the phenomenal human experience. For example, we can turn to Christian Nold’s work on bio-​mapping, compiled in Emotional Cartography.14 Nold developed a project that investigates ‘the implications of creating technologies that can record, visualise and share […] intimate body-​states’ (Nold, 2007: 3). He created a bio-​ sensor that adapts the mechanism of a lie detector, measuring the sweat levels in the fingers in relation to physiological responses to the environment. He also integrated a GPS system that allows recording of geographical locations, creating a map of emotional changes:  the personal emotion map. These maps are able to record and crystallise physiological reactions to the environment. That said, they show only facts, data, and measurements, as Halprin affirms that ‘by themselves scores could not deal with the humanistic aspects of life situations including individual passions, wills and values’ (L. Halprin, 1969: 1–​2). When the participants looked into their own maps, they were able to give further explanation on what actions corresponded to each of the emotional changes, that is, drinking a coke or eating ice cream. Thus, Nold’s work begins to integrate the personal phenomenological experience into cartographic practice. One fascinating contemporary exploration on spatial scoring is that undertaken by Space Synthax, an established company that has its origins in a laboratory at the Bartlett School of Architecture (UCL –​University College London). The architects at Space Synthax have created different maps showing how people move in different spaces, such as the British Museum, where they were used in order to design an exhibition. Bernard Tschumi’s major fundamental work ‘Manhattan Transcripts’ consists of a series of drawings based on the hypothesis that architecture itself consists of the superposition of space, movement, and events. With the appearance of these three layers, a tripartite notation system is needed. Movement is the most complex layer,

Body and the surrounding space  29 as it implies introducing one order into another, requiring specific graphic conventions to represent the different choreographies in order to eliminate preconceived meanings that we have for the different actions (Tschumi, 1996, 2012). In the article, ‘Spaces of Moving Bodies’ Derek McCormack explores the ways in which bodies are geographical from the point of view of human geography. He claims that geographers have been using ‘ “an explicitly choreographic vocabulary” since the 1970s, initially in humanistic geography and time-​geography, and more recently in post-​structuralist writings on subjectivity, performance and dance in cultural geography’ (McCormack, 2008: 428). While moving bodies have not historically been present in cartographies, as we have seen, various systems of representing bodies spatially in the field of dance and choreography have emerged, and the work of these contemporary cartographers demonstrates that the field is ripe for interdisciplinary exchange between architecture and dance through scoring practice. Scores are presented as an abstraction of our complex reality in order to make its capturing more comprehensive. They constitute a systematic way of representing different aspects of a complex environment and present the possibility of presenting an action through time. This is what differentiates them from cartography, the primary tool used to describe and represent different aspects of spatial reality. Following the idea of a score as a representation of a process and of the implications of time, we could also define a score as a dynamic cartography.

Experiments Kinetography I, II, and III This first block of experiments is focused on the development of a scoring system based on contemporary dance notation that could be applicable to space design or other spatial practices such as set performance design, architecture, exhibition, and installation design.

• • •

Kinetography I constitutes the first approach to representation of the movement of a single body. Kinetography II uses Beckett’s choreography for his play for television ‘QUAD I+II’ as a starting point to explore simultaneous scores of more than one body in space. Kinetography III aims to capture the complexity of a public urban space with the third iteration of the scoring system.

The objective is to explore the body in motion in relation to the space that surrounds it, its kinesphere. Scoring emerges as the most appropriate method for revealing the conscious and unconscious interactions between space and the movement of the people in it. As Halprin points out, ‘our present systems of design and planning are inevitably limited by our techniques

30  Body and the surrounding space of conceptualizing and our methods of symbolizing ideas’ (L. Halprin, 1963: 208). In the same way that Halprin researches and compiles different scoring methods in order to develop his own (L. Halprin, 1969), dance notation was identified as the most efficient system to represent the moving body. However, the existing dance notation systems present limitations, so a revision and adaptation are needed. Kinetography, as explained in this chapter, emerges as the most thorough system to represent movement in the space. Kinetography was chosen because it is notably systematic in the transcription of movement and because it is the most widely used notation system in twentieth-​century dance notation. It is also important to remember that this system is based on projections of the position of different parts of the body in space, so that the representation language has similar characteristics to architectural graphic expression. In these three experiments, the presence of the body in motion and its transcription into the Laban system is explored. The main objective is to test and demonstrate how Kinetography can be an efficient system to score and spatialise body movement. These three experiments also outline the iterations that need to be applied to result in a scoring method that could facilitate deeper understanding of the complexity of space –​architectural, urban, or performative –​and its dynamics. Kinetography I: movement notation for one body Objectives The main objective of this experiment is to apply Kinetography to a simple case study in order to reveal the notation system’s viability for the generation of dynamic cartographies of space. Kinetography I consists of the design and transcription of a simple choreography, supported by the additional output of a small video in a first attempt to parallel and support the movement and its transcription. This is important as video has been demonstrated to be the best way of documenting movement; however as argued in the chapter, it contains too much information to be used for generative and cartographic purposes. Scoring isolates movement, and the video exists to contextualise the score. As it was designed for dance, Kinetography is a very complex language that aims to represent all the different variables of movement in an expressive art. However, this is not the objective of scoring –​the objective here is to define and develop a method to show the interactions between space and movement. Therefore, there needs to be also a process of simplification and identification of the essential movements that are relevant to this kind of study. Methodology For the realisation of this experiment, a simple choreography was designed, containing only those most basic Kinetography signs which are

Body and the surrounding space  31 most relevant in the study of space –​walking, movement of arms, turns, etc., and a transcription was performed. This transcription was placed next to the video of the choreography, making it possible to identify the movements and the signs belonging to each of them as they were made. As in Kinetography, the signs are placed along a straight line, from bottom to top (Figure 1.3). Conclusions This first approach to Kinetography through a practical experiment made it possible to detect a series of deficiencies and problems that the system has when representing movement, especially when putting the body in relation to the space. However, in order to transcribe the choreographies of a dancer, it is not necessary to make this relationship visible, since the ultimate goal is to record the movements of which the choreography is composed, and not the dancer’s relationship to the space. In Kinetography I, the signs of the basic movements most relevant in the analysis of space were represented, including steps, turns, and simple movements of arms. However, what is interesting from an architectural point of view is the possibility of integrating the movement of the body with its location and displacement in space. The ability to represent the movement of more than one body in the same space is also fundamental; Kinetography allows us to place the movement of one body next to another, but does not show how both are related. Another fundamental problem presented by Kinetography in its original form lies in placing the signs along a straight line from bottom to top. This works well when representing a single body, but when there are multiple bodies moving, it does not allow us to see the movement in relation to the space in which it takes place, due to the scoring being laid along one line with no trajectory. Further, since there is no correspondence between movement and space, the duration of the movements is also presented on the same axis. In other words, even if the system was represented on a trajectory line, time would occupy space in that line, which therefore does not allow us to represent the movement in the space in which it takes place. After this experiment, two proposed lines for the adaptation of Kinetography are proposed: 1 The possibility of introducing the trajectory, as well as the simultaneous representation of the movement of several bodies. 2 The representation of space and time in a different axis so that the reading of space, movement, and time in the same score is possible. This experiment constitutes the first step in the adaptation of this system of notation. The first iteration above is developed in Kinetography II and the second in Kinetography III.

32  Body and the surrounding space

Figure 1.3 Kinetography I. Movement score for one body. Performer: Alba Loureiro.

Body and the surrounding space  33 Kinetography II: movement scores on stage Objectives Both this experiment and Kinetography I were carried out in order to explore and make necessary adaptations to try to apply Kinetography to body movement in architectural space. Kinetography as a system is based on projections of different parts of the body on the ground plane. Along a line, signs are placed representing the direction, time, and projection on the floor –​ floorplan  –​of each of the different body parts’ movements (Figure  1.4). Depending on the detail with which we want to express these movements, the language acquires with greater or lesser complexity. As a system of projections that allows us to introduce the variable of time, Kinetography becomes an extremely useful way to represent the implicit reality of projected movement; this projection remains hidden, veiled by the ephemeral nature of the movement of bodies in different spaces. Kinetography I presented the movement of a single body in space; representing the movement of a body in motion can involve varying degrees of difficulty, but this movement representation system becomes decidedly more complex as we begin to introduce more bodies on stage (or in space). We could therefore define the fundamental objective of this second experiment as the search for a representation based on Kinetography that allows us to express the movement of several bodies in the same space. We pursue simultaneity of representation on the one hand, and on the other hand, that the movements are referenced to the space in which they take place. This experiment thus proposes the transcription of the movement in the concrete case of ‘QUAD’, a piece for television by Samuel Beckett which presents the simultaneous and repetitive movement of four dancers in a quadrilateral. Methodology In this experiment, the first iteration based on the conclusions of Kinetography I: the trajectory of the movement is introduced into the plan. In order to do this, I chose remove ‘QUAD’, a piece composed for television by Samuel Beckett in 1981. In it, four people wrapped in robes appear, each one with a different colour –​white, red, yellow, and blue –​moving on a square. These four actors never touch –​they take four rotating and symmetrical paths on the square base while listening to a rhythm. In Kinetography II, the work is focused on this piece in order to develop a possible movement-​writing system applicable to complex systems such as public spaces. The fact that the same movements are always repeated from different points in space with the presence of four actors emphasises relations with space in addition to the individual movement. The movement of each individual is relatively simple since consisting of equidistant steps at a constant time and changes of direction using the sides and diagonals of a square.

34  Body and the surrounding space

Figure 1.4 Kinetography II. Transcription of the movements of the performers in QUAD I+II by Samuel Beckett.

Body and the surrounding space  35 That said, as more individuals are introduced, the system begins to take on greater spatial complexity. The fact that each body has a constant rhythm makes adapting the representation of time unnecessary in this experiment. In Kinetography, time is also represented along the axis of movement, but when introducing the trajectory, it was used exclusively as the axis of spatial representation; a different solution will have to be found to represent time. This iteration to represent time becomes essential when the time it takes different participants to perform the movements varies. This will be addressed in Kinetography III, the next experiment. The communication of the four dancers’ movements becomes much more complex if the trajectory in the plan is not introduced. By combining trajectory and Kinetography, we begin to be able to understand movement through this abstract scoring system. Working with the trajectory allows us to begin introducing the movements of many bodies and to place them in relation to space. Beckett devises the three pages of text for ‘QUAD’ almost as if they were rules of a game (see excerpt below). The movements of the dancers are equal, symmetrical, and complementary. This complementary character can be particularly observed when the dancers are in the centre of the ring:  the individual corporal scores indicate a step to the left, which in turn allows the other participants to continue with their choreography. The players (1,2,3,4) pace the given area, each following his particular course. Area: Square. Length of side: 6 paces. Course 1: AC,CB,BA,AD,DB,BC,CD,DA Course 2: BA,AD,DB,BC,CD,DA,AC,CB Course 3: CD,DA,AC,CB,BA,AD,DB,BC Course 4: DB,BC,CD,DA,AC,CB,BA,AD 1 enters at A, completes his course and is joined by 3. Together they complete their courses and are joined by 4. Together all three complete their courses and are joined by 2. Together all four complete their courses. Exit 1. 2, 3 and 4 continue and complete their courses. Exit 4. Exit 3. 2 and 4 continue and complete their courses. Exit 4. End of 1st series. 2 continues, opening 2nd series, completes his course and is joined by 1. Etc. Unbroken movement. 1st series (as above): 1, 13, 134, 1342, 342, 42 2nd series: 2, 21, 214, 2143, 143, 43 3rd series: 3, 32, 321, 3214, 214, 14 4th series: 4, 43, 432, 4321, 321, 21 Four possible solos all given. Six possible duos all given (two twice). Four possible trios all given twice. Without interruption begin repeat and fade out on 1 pacing alone. (1,5) (Frost, E. & Beckett, S., 2009: 143)

36  Body and the surrounding space Another interesting element of ‘QUAD’ is the strong identification between the choreography and the geometry of the space, which can be read only through the trajectory’s transcriptions. The process for this experiment started from the observation of the video. The first step was to draw the trajectory as a floorplan. From there, the kinetographic transcription was created, still in its linear form. Finally, the transcript was placed on the trajectory. As in the previous experiment, the last step is to make a compilation in which the original video of ‘QUAD’ and the transcription are placed in parallel, with the transcription appearing as the dancers move through space. ‘QUAD’ allows for a fairly limited experiment that allows working with the notation system, but this scoring system, taking into account the representation of time, could also be applied to complex environments, as is the case in Kinetography III. Conclusions This experiment explored the viability of the first transformation applied to Kinetography using Samuel Beckett’s ‘QUAD’ as a case study. The superimposition of Laban’s signs on a trajectory in a floorplan allows us to reference the movement of the body in space, simultaneously representing the movement of two or more bodies in a specific space including the spatial location in which the movements take place. In this way, we can represent the physical space and the movements that develop within it in a single drawing. The movement can thus begin to be understood as a spatial layer, not only in a conceptual way, but also graphically. With this type of graphic information, we can understand both what exists materially in the space, and the movements generated by those configurations; these are also the principles of motation (L. Halprin, 1969). However, as we have seen in this first chapter, it will be necessary to make a second adaptation as, if the ‘QUAD’ dancers did not move with the same tempo, this score would not have worked. Laban proposes that to represent a slower tempo in Kinetography, the signs lengthen in the direction of the trajectory. Therefore, if what is intended is that the symbols in the plan occupy the same dimension in scale as the space they occupy, time could not be represented in this way. With respect to the transformations made in this experiment, it is verified that: 1 The superposition of Kinetography to the trajectory in the floorplan allows identification of movement with its location in the space. 2 The symbols on the floorplan must occupy the same dimension as the space they occupy, at a corresponding scale. 3 A further transformation is necessary to solve the problems with representation of time in the score.

Body and the surrounding space  37 Kinetography III: movement scores in complex environments Objectives In Kinetography III, the third set of proposed iterations to Kinetography were developed and tested. The aim was to systematise and objectify the action of walking in a public space or urban environment, create a series of scores that express that action, and understand how the physical elements of the space have an impact on the way it is inhabited. With this objective, and as the last step in the transformation of the Kinetography dance notation into a movement score system, the results of the previous two experiments are applied to the analysis of the movement in a complex environment. The main objective of this last experiment is to solve the problem of representing time that had emerged in the two previous experiments. The secondary purpose of this last experiment is to analyse the viability of Kinetography in a public space or urban setting and to explore the resulting graphic materials. Methodology From a video recording of a fragment of an urban road –​the Rue Saint Denis in Paris –​the movements of people were observed and transcribed. The use of Kinetography in this experiment also refers directly to the procedures followed by Merce Cunningham and John Cage for the generation of their choreographies. This means that dance and music coexist, neither depending on the other. This can also occur in spatial design: the movements of people and the design of space can be taken at equal consideration, coexisting without predominance of one over the other. Just as a musical score facilitates the teaching and transmission of music, making reproduction by other musicians possible, when analysing an urban environment we need to be able to have the same type of graphic language that allows a similar comparison of physical and ephemeral information (actions and movements). Contrasting the score with the existing reality establishes relationships between movement and external stimuli. These relationships are invisible at first glance watching a video, but once the representation of the movement takes time into account –​not just the trace, as Michel de Certau argued (1988:  97)  –​we are able to see further. We can appreciate parameters (such as light or proximity to others) on the movement not only on trajectory but also on speed. This enables us to detect movement catalysts hidden or encrypted in the recording, and therefore hidden or encrypted in reality. As indicated in the objective, this last experiment attempted to solve the problems in the representation of time. The first approach was to

38  Body and the surrounding space

Figure 1.5 Key for the final iteration of Kinetography to score body movement in urban contexts.

represent time on an axis perpendicular to the trajectory of the movement. This way, the scale of the movements and the space occupied by each can be maintained while, at the same time, the speed of the movements is expressed. With this iteration results a score capable of capturing not only the movement but also the space and time that it occupies, without entering into conflict when it is superimposed on the representation of a physical space. Figure 1.5 presents a diagram of how this system of representation would look. The direction and the plane of the movement are defined by the signs. The placement on the axis, as in the Kinetography, indicates the part of the body that moves. The adaptations of this experiment are in the trajectory, where the distance in the corresponding unit of measure can be measured, and in the axis perpendicular to the tangent of the trajectory in each point, where time is represented in its unit of measure (Figure 1.6).

 39

Body and the surrounding space  39

Figure 1.6 Kinetography III. Movement score in Rue Saint Denis in Paris.

40  Body and the surrounding space Conclusions From this experiment, it can be concluded that an efficient spatial scoring system must have the following qualities: 1 The score must be measurable with a specific scale that allows it to be superimposed on the floorplan of the physical environment to be analysed. 2 The score should allow for the representation of time and make time easily visually recognisable. 3 The score should not be developed from the point of view of the user, but from the point of view of an urban ‘choreographer’ who visualises the movements of people from an external point. 4 The score must contain a double perspective: that of the ‘dancer’ and that of the ‘choreographer’, thus allowing for representation of the concrete movements of the user and of the trajectories facilitating the perception of the interactions between the users. As we have seen in the previous experiments, in dance the fact that the movement transcriptions are developed in a single line is sufficient, because the score is interested in the movement of each dancer in isolation. If, however, we want to start working with multiple people with a more complex space occupation which provides more spatial information, we will need to incorporate the trajectory into the system. The advantage of this is that we can simultaneously see the movement of several users and their interferences –​ or those of their kinespheres. It also allows us, assigning a certain scale to the trajectory, to superimpose the transcription onto the space in which it is being developed. This is why the two types of documents that were originally produced by Laban in the Kinetography –​the trajectory and the specific movement of the dancer –​are integrated; what interests us in this case is not that the individual is able to read the movement through a movement score, but a person outside the scene can interpret what is happening. Another addition is the introduction of an exact time scale on the axis perpendicular to the transcript. This allows us to follow the trajectory with the different signs depending on the thickness or width of the system. In doing so, we are able to imagine the speed and duration of the movements without affecting the correspondence between plan and reality. Once the required characteristics of the representation system have been defined, the necessary alterations to Kinetography have been made, and the transcription of movement in an urban space has been tested, we can evaluate the usefulness of this system, as well as its viability as a project tool for the analysis of architectural space: 1 Spatial scores offer us an objective and abstract view of the movement generated by the physical configuration of space and external conditions. They constitute one more layer of reality.

Body and the surrounding space  41 2 The crystallisation of the movement resulting from the scores offers more information about the patterns that occur in the movement of people in a space. This enables us to begin to identify and reveal body rituals in a specific space. 3 In the analysis of scores, singularities can be identified, which, when contrasted with reality, can give clues as to what is triggering them. The use of this tool offers us an objective view of the elements and external conditions that influence the experience of space. However, as in most of the proposed experiments, this is a first approximation of this methodology, which should be revised and developed with a greater number of participants and other physical conditions (see experiments in Chapter 2).

From the surrounding space to geometry Conclusions In this first chapter, we have focused on the study of the body and the space around the body, which, as explained in Laban’s Choreutics, differs from space in general. However, this approach is not sufficient to analyse the elements that are relevant in the study of movement in the architectural space. We must consider that the body is our medium of perception, and that it functions phenomenologically as through it as we experience the world and the phenomena around us. Therefore, the body’s relevance in perceiving and understanding space makes the study of movement –​especially through applying dance and performance processes and tools –​relevant to this study. The representation of movement is fundamental to the ability to understand how space can influence the experience of the body. The work of Lawrence Halprin and the development of scoring systems as a tool for design has highlighted the importance of considering the actions that will take place in a space in order to define its design. His work also provides us with case studies in which he has applied motation; based on the RSVP cycles, the methodology, and process for performance devising that he developed with Anna Halprin, motation is presented as a design method that can be applied in other artistic areas –​landscape, architecture, performance design, etc. –​not just in performance devising. Halprin’s work exists within the larger context of the history of capturing movement. At the beginning of the chapter, we defined the concept of phantasm as different frozen images, the movement that leads from one to another (Agamben, 2013). But as we saw in Marey’s chronophotography and Deleuze’s approaches to cinema, in our object of study the fundamental thing is continuity:  we can represent movement by taking photo captures across a fragmented time sequence in equal intervals. Since we are interested in representing movement in a space, in this way, we can also obtain a diagram not only of how the movement varies over time but also of the location of the

42  Body and the surrounding space body in space. This will result in a narrative of the space studied in terms of movement. To this end, the notation system proposed by Rudolf Laban, given its spatial nature, enables us to make transcriptions of movement in space. Laban’s Kinetography further allows us to provide diagrams of movement with a time scale. It is interesting, as suggested in the last section, to approach these dynamic cartographies not only as a representation system but as a working tool for composition and design. Kinetography I, as the first practical approach to the experiments of Kinetography in this chapter, has allowed us to identify a series of characteristics that must be modified or adapted for application in the study of architectural space. A way to combine the time trajectory with the notation system must be developed to add the positions of the movements in relation to the container space and to enter the time so that it does not interfere with the representation of the space in the system. Kinetography II and III present the next two phases in the adaptation of Kinetography to represent not only one dancer’s movement but also simultaneous movements in complex spaces. Kinetography III constitutes the culmination of the experiment, presenting a system that has evolved in order to create a dynamic cartography of a public urban space. This iteration of Laban’s original notation allows us to apply this form of representation to landscape design, architecture, exhibition design, or performance design. Kinetography can constitute a part of the design process, in the same way as Halprin was using notation, but with the difference that Kinetography can be more precise and systematic and is widely known in the context of performance and dance. There is also existing software such as LabanWriter that can assist with the generation of more complex maps. The fact that there is an intrinsic beauty to the movement diagram opens up another dimension when analysing architecture from the perspective of movement:  should there be beauty in dynamic cartographies to consider a beautiful space? Once the movement of the body and its surrounding space have been studied, the next step is to study of the body in motion in context. In our case, to conduct that study focusing on the geometry of the space that contains it. As a starting point, we might raise the question: How can geometry affect the kinesphere of a moving body? If so, is there any tool or method that could be used to analyse these influences? We will begin to answer this question in Chapter 2.

Notes 1 Pollock’s works have been classified within the field of ‘performance art’. It is not just about the painting as an outcome but also the action of painting. 2 Bill Viola, The Quintet of the Astonished (The Passions), 2000. Getty Museum, Los Angeles (24 January–​27 April 2003).

Body and the surrounding space  43 3 The original quote was published in French ‘Pour moi, the danse est un mouvement dans le temps et dans l’espace, et tout l’espace lui convient’ (Boisseau, 2008: 144). 4 Davies (2006). 5 See the urban ballets defined by Jane Jacobs in The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1992). 6 See the second chapter of Davies (2006). 7 The Nazis’ regime renamed it as Gemeinschaftstanz or community dance. 8 See Partsch-​Bergsohn & Bergsohn (2003). 9 Counsell (2004). 10 Guest (2005). 11 See Challet-​Haas (1999). 12 For example, LabanWriter. 13 See Dundjerovic (2009). 14 See Emotional Cartography in http://​emotionalcartography.net/​Emotional Cartography.pdf (accessed 21 June 2019).

References Agamben, G. (2013). Nymphs. London, UK: Seagull Books. Banes, S. (1995). Moving Toward Life:  Five Decades of Transformational Dance. Hanover: University of New England. Boisseau, R. (2008). Panorama de la danse contemporaine. Paris:  Les Editions Textuelles. Challet-​ Haas, J. (1999). Grammaire De La Notation Laban T1:  Cahiers De La Pédagogie, Vol. 1. Pantin: Centre National de la Danse. Counsell, C. (2004). Dancing to Utopia: Modernity, community and the movement choir. Dance Research:  The Journal of the Society for Dance Research, Vol. 22, No. 2, pp. 154–​67 Davies, E. (2006). Beyond Dance. Oxon, UK: Routledge. De Certau, M. (1988). The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Deleuze, G. (1985). Cinèma II. L’Image-​Temps. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1987). A Thousand Plateaus. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Didi-​Hubermann, G. (2004). Invention of Hysteria:  Charcot and the Photographic Iconography of the Salpetriere. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Dundjerovic, A. (2009). Robert Lepage. Oxon, UK: Routledge. Guest, A.H. (2005). Labanotation: The System of Analyzing and Recording Movement. New York: Routledge. Halprin, A., & Kaplan, R. (1995). Moving Toward Life: Five Decades of Transformational Dance. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Halprin, L. (1963). Cities. New York: Reinhold Publishing Corporation. Halprin, L. (1965). Motation. Progressive Architecture, Vol. 46, No. 2, pp. 126–​33. Halprin, L. (1969). RSVP Cycles:  Creative Processes in the Human Environment. New York: George Braziller. Jacobs, J. (1992). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New  York:  Vintage Books.

44  Body and the surrounding space Laban, R. (1966). The Language of Movement: A Guidebook to Choreutics. Boston, MA: University of California Press. Laban, R. (1980). The Mastery of Movement. 4th ed. Edited by L. Ullmann. Hampshire, UK: Dance Books. Lucas, R. (2016). Research Methods for Architecture. Oxon, UK: Routledge. McCormack, D.P. (2008). Geographies for moving bodies: Thinking, dancing, spaces. Geography Compass, Vol. 2, No. 6, pp. 1822–​36. Merriman, P. (2010). Architecture/​dance: Choreographing and inhabiting spaces with Anna and Lawrence Halprin. Cultural Geographies, Vol. 17, No. 4, pp. 427–​49. Merriman, P., & Cresswell, T. (2011). Geographies of Mobilities:  Practices, Spaces, Subjects. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Nold, C. (2007). Emotional Cartography. http://​emotionalcartography.net (accessed 4 July 2019). Partsch-​ Bergsohn, I. & Bergsohn, H. (2003). The Makers of Modern Dance in Germany: Rudolf Laban, Mary Wigman, Kurt Jooss. Princeton, NJ: Book Company. Preston-​Dunlop, V. (2013). Rudolf Laban: Man of Theatre. Hampshire, Reino Unido: Dance Books. Ross, J. (2007). Anna Halprin:  Experience as Dance. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Schechner, R. (2002). Performance Studies: An Introduction. Oxon, UK: Routledge. Sloterdijk, P. (2011). Bubbles: Spheres Volume I: Microspherology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, Semiotext(e)/​Foreign Agents. Sloterdijk, P. (2016). Foams:  Spheres Volume III:  Plural Spherology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, Semiotext(e)/​Foreign Agents. Tschumi, B. (1981). The Manhattan Transcripts. London, UK: Architectural Design. Tschumi, B. (1996). Architecture and Disjunction. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Tschumi, B. (2012). Architecture Concepts: Red Is Not a Color. New York: Rizzoli. Virilio, P. (2009). The Aesthetics of Disappearance. Los Angeles, CA: Semiotext(e).

2  Body and geometry Contemporary rituals

Introduction: performativity and ritual This chapter proposes the exploration of space through performativity and rituals, with the body as the main generator of space. The origins of civic spaces have historically been linked to action: performances, demonstrations, and religious events are just a few examples. Tracing this lineage forward into contemporary performance practice, this chapter will survey several techniques for performance making that are seated in the ritual of bodies moving in space, with spatial relationships seated as a primary generative point. This exploration will reveal techniques from performance making that can then be applied to spatial mapping and consideration of movement in architecture, including Oskar Schlemmer’s work in the Bauhaus, Jacques Lecoq’s Laboratoire d’Etude de Mouvement, and Mary Overlie’s Viewpoints as expanded by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau. Contemporary ritual is one of the key concepts that frame this chapter. It starts from the assumption that the origins of civilisation can be found in rituals and the cities are a reflection of human interactions. If we look at the origins of the main civic and ritual spaces in Western civilisation (although this can be found globally), there is always a ritual or series of social actions that have defined the space. Clear examples of this include the Ancient Greek theatres, where the architectural typology responds to dramatic actions which originate from the ceremonies for Dionysius. The ways spaces have changed during the centuries also have a narrative behind them. It is important, if we accept that rituals in the origins of civilisation shaped the spatiality of our everyday practices, to identify and understand what are the rituals that take place in our contemporary society and what drives them. Richard Schechner defines rituals as ‘collective memories encoded into actions’ (2002: 52). How do we create these collective memories in our contemporary society? Is their creation possible? The visual and performing arts, which are the primary generators of new forms of social ritual today, offer a framework for understanding the dynamics of ritual in contemporary Western society as articulated by Richard Schechner. Today, ritual has lost its original purpose; there is a

46  Body and geometry lack of transcendence within the social interactions of community groups; thus, there is a need for new forms of ritual and the creation of collective memories. This need has been addressed by the arts, as both visual and performing arts offer events that bring people together and serve the same societal function as ritual did historically by generating a similar sense of belonging. Rituals or ritualistic elements have been absorbed and incorporated into the performing arts  –​visual arts, performance art, and theatre –​offering an evidence of the modernisation of ritual as it has been traditionally understood. In ritual, there has always been a performative intention, as rituals are performed to be seen and experienced collectively. Performance studies scholar Richard Schechner founds his work on the assumption that ‘there are points of contact between anthropology and theater’ (Schechner, 1985: 3). Victor Turner, in his foreword to Schechner’s book Between Theater and Anthropology, affirms that performance is a form of restored behaviour1 (Schechner, 1985:  xi). Following anthropologists’ observation-​ based methods, Schechner identifies performative elements and the roles of the actors in rituals. Then, with the freedom that performance allows him, he assumed a director’s role ‘to interference’. In this context, perhaps the most valuable aspect of his work is the connection that he establishes between the rituals performed in the moment and the various forms of performing arts developing in response, demonstrating the suitability of performing arts for studying contemporary ritual. Performance art in particular can help us identify and consider new social rituals with an emphasis on performativity. If we think of the practices that we develop as society, especially in terms of their performativity, what are our contemporary rituals? On one hand, we have the everyday life patterns and repetitions which we looked at in the first chapter. On the other hand, rituals can encompass some kind of transcendence (in ancient civilisations, given by beliefs in gods and the afterlife). Nowadays, this doesn’t shape or have a great influence in many Western societies. We are here looking for the creation of new events –​and therefore narratives –​that are both relevant to people and capable of creating collective memories. In this sense, performance art is especially relevant. Linked closely to the fields of fine arts and visual arts, with crossovers to performance studies, performance art emerges from the need to explore new art forms which would bring together different audiences. Although the beginning of performance art has been identified with Futurism in the first part of the twentieth century, it was not accepted as a ‘medium of artistic expression’ until the 1970s (Goldberg, 1979: 7). Following the work of some of these artists, such as Joseph Bueys or Ana Mendieta, these events congregated people that would follow the rules set up by the artist. The case of Marina Abramovic became quite relevant, as she created almost a mythology around her with pieces like the infamous Rhythm 0 (1974) or The Artist is Present (2010) which drew enormous crowds who waited in line for hours to see the work, and which inspired a biographical film of the same title. The long lines to see the work constituted a unique social ritual in itself, highlighting

Body and geometry  47 the performative ritual of waiting in line as the sidewalks around New York’s Museum of Modern Art became impassable. In the context of performance art, dance theatre becomes particularly important to this enquiry. In performance art, traditional understandings of dance, mainly ballet, go under review as artists create a mix of movements inspired on the everyday life and put on stage. Pina Bausch’s Tanztheater is one notable example, but the pioneer company who introduced this technique was the Judson Church Theatre Group, in the 1960s. A group of artists from different disciplines, including contemporary composer John Cage and postmodern dancer/​choreographers Trisha Brown and Lucinda Childs, came together to free the staging choreographies of psychology and drama in an attempt to discover what the minimum expression of dance could be; could it simply be walking in a space? Their choreographic work was framed within postmodern dance (Burt, 2006: 5) and largely based on improvisation. Moving away from a memorised choreography, their method implied communication among performers and reaction to the environment. In this sense, the stage became also a key element of the piece, later giving rise to Viewpoints, a technique which will be discussed in greater depth later in this chapter. This chapter aims to understand the relationships between the body, its movement, and the physical configuration of the space in which the movements are contextualised through dance composition techniques. This first part of the chapter will look at how these relationships are established through geometry, presenting the work of Oskar Schlemmer, whose Triadic Ballet2 created in the Bauhaus explored the relationships between the performers’ body and geometry. Schlemmer’s work highlights the importance of the relative position of the moving body in the space, looking for tension and geometrical relationships. In the search of defining movement rituals, awareness of geometry makes the mapping of those patterns possible, as well as predicting body movement scores. As Schechner states, ‘a score can change because it is not a “natural event” but a model of individual and collective human choice’ (Schechner, 1985: 37). The second part of the chapter presents Viewpoints, a performance composition technique created by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau inspired by the work of Mary Overlie. Viewpoints enables the creation of movement patterns that emerge from space as part of a staged piece. Anne Bogart in particular has been instrumental in bringing an exploration of space into the rehearsal process through the Viewpoints technique:  ‘In working on Architecture as a Viewpoint, we learn to dance with the space, to be in dialogue with a room, to let movement (especially Shape and Gesture) evolve out of our surroundings’ (Bogart & Landau, 2005: 8). Both Schlemmer’s geometries and Viewpoints provide excellent case studies for the establishment of spatial connections between the body and the performance space. The experiments developed in this chapter will utilise the Viewpoints technique as a performance art methodology, applying it to discover patterns and movement rituals in spatial physical environments. The experiments of

48  Body and geometry this ­chapter –​ Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III –​aim to uncover whether there is a direct relationship between the geometry of the space in which a movement takes place and the movement itself. If this relation is proved to exist, the experiments will propose a series of possible tools that can help us to make them visible. Taking the ideas and concepts presented in the first chapter forward, this chapter aims to understand and create conditions for the creation of body movement scores and subsequent iterations in order to unveil movement rituals associated with a specific space.

Body, space, and geometry Oskar Schlemmer: Euclidean geometry and the Bauhaus This section will look at the work of Oskar Schlemmer and his investigation of the body, space, and geometry in the Bauhaus through Triadic Ballet. In this context, his work is significant not for its plasticity and visual features, but in the establishing of geometrical relationships between bodies in the space, and the way these geometries impacted the choreographic design. Schlemmer, a designer and a sculptor, created the Triadic Ballet in the interdisciplinary context of the Bauhaus. Founded in Weimar Germany in 1919 and directed by the architect Walter Gropius, the Bauhaus was the first school of design, and one of its main characteristics was cross-​over between disciplines:  the Bauhaus established various workshops that included disciplines such as architecture, design, painting, sculpture, and theatre. This cross-​disciplinarity can be seen in the Triadic Ballet’s prominent design features. The Triadic Ballet, which opened in 1922, was composed of three parts, each focused on a different character: in the first, we are presented a lemon-​yellow scene with a comic burlesque character; in the second, a pink, festive-​ceremonial scene; and finally, a mystical or fantasy scene with a black background. Inspired in part by a series of Der Abstrakte figurines, and composed of choreographies or movements of the dancers in an abstract space, the movement and visual design elements were equally important, exemplifying the interdisciplinarity present in all Bauhaus work. One can appreciate the strong influence of Schlemmer’s skills as a visual artist on all of his scenic works: his paintings and sculptures are created in direct relation to the space in which they should be exposed and experienced, extending the work to the real space in which it is contained, beyond its physical support. The real space is always part of the Gestalt3 and emphasises the experience of the observer, which is not only visual but haptic. James Gibson first defined the word haptic4 in 1966, and his definition was subsequently extended by Kent Bloomer and Charles Moore in 1977 as the sense of touch reconsidered to include the entire body, not just tactile instruments such as hands (Trimingham, 2011:  47). It is the body as a whole that feels and experiences a space when it is in it, and the sensations, as Merleau-​Ponty

Body and geometry  49 indicates, take place in space, as space is the means of coexistence between the object or reality to be perceived and the receiver (Merleau-​ Ponty, 1962). In this context, the most interesting thing that Schlemmer proposes is an intellectualisation of space through geometric analyses, almost like a Euclidean treatise in which he is able to position the different actors and generate dynamics and evolutions in space that strictly have to do with geometric and formal qualities. Following Schlemmer, the experiments in this chapter will relate the movement of the body to the geometric properties of space based on Euclid’s treatise.5 Schlemmer believed that there is a hidden form and order in the world of external appearances, which exists above all in the form, movement, and functioning of the organic human body, and he attempted to capture it using notation. This order was based on geometry and mathematics, not in the rigid sense, but in the most artistic sense of metaphysical mathematics. Schlemmer proposes an outline of the cubic space and defines its laws as an invisible linear network of planimetric and stereotomic relationships: This mathematic corresponds to the inherent mathematic of the human body and creates its balance by means of movements, which by their very nature are determined mechanically and rationally. It is the geometry of calisthenics, eurythmics, and gymnastics. (Gropius, 1961: 23) The abstract cubic space is just the horizontal and vertical frame in which the flows of the human body –​heartbeat, circulation, breathing, and activities of the brain and nervous system –​are inserted. Body movements are determined organically and emotionally, and constitute physical impulses. The dancer (Tänzermensch) is subject to these laws, and moves according to both the laws of his body and those of space. In his 1929 essay Eléments scéniques,6 Schlemmer explains how, due to the fact that space can only be appreciated by the tangible, that is, by its limits, he uses the line and the exploration of its palpable limits to articulate the space (Schlemmer, 1978: 87). In practice, this implies tracing the geometry of the stage and making visible the axes, diagonals, and curves, as well as its central point. The first action that he proposes when facing an empty stage is to analyse it from the point of view of its geometric characteristics in order to understand it. In Diagram of the Gesture Dance, Schlemmer makes a notation of the movement of the dancers on stage. This notation shows his attempts to reference every movement of the dancers to the abstract cubic space through geometric laws. In making this diagram, Schlemmer attempts to create a script in which he includes different layers of text, music, etc., but, as he explains, superimposing all the information and collecting all of the action is a task of great complexity. As we saw in the first chapter, the diagram in Figure 2.1 validates the capacity of Laban’s notation system to represent movement.

50  Body and geometry

Figure 2.1 Diagram for Gesture Dance (1926). Oskar Schlemmer.

The Laboratory of Movement Study –​L.E.M. (Le Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement) Jacques Lecoq was a French actor who developed a methodology of physical theatre, movement, and mime that he taught at L’École Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq, the school he founded. Its methodology emphasises working with masks, and one of the first exercises that Lecoq proposes in this methodology is work with the neutral mask:  ‘Essentially, the neutral mask opens up the actor to the space around him’ (Lecoq, 2000: 38). Behind the neutral mask, the face disappears and the movements performed by the body acquire a greater force. In 1976, at the same time that Lecoq’s course was given to the architecture students of L’Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux Arts, Lecoq created a set design department within his school: the Laboratory

Body and geometry  51 of Movement Study (L.E.M.  –​Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement) with architect Krikor Belekian, who taught there until June 2011. The L.E.M. is currently managed by architect and set designer Pascale Lecoq, along with a team of school teachers. Both in the case of Schlemmer and Lecoq, spatial relations are materialised through physical objects or constructions. The L.E.M.7 aims to investigate the dynamics of space and rhythm through plastic representation: portable structures are developed as part of the mask work. As Lecoq explains, the masks claim to be an extension of the body, which is transformed into planes, lines, points, and masses. As with Schlemmer, the constructed lines exist to support the insertion of the human figure into the geometry of space. I have had a direct relationship with this type of work through the performer Gisele Edwards,8 an alumna of L.E.M., and her project Mobile. Edwards, whose professional career spans across physical theatre and circus, conceived the project as an abstract constellation of moving geometries that support a body hanging from a harness in empty space. I  worked on the conceptualisation of Mobile, the development of geometries, and the choreography of their movements. From the first stages of the process, Wassily Kandinsky’s Point and line on the plane9 appeared as a reference (a contemporary of Schlemmer’s, Kandinsky is also a notable alumnus of the Bauhaus). The geometries developed for the performance began as trapezoidal and rhomboid shapes that acquired volume as we began to consider the different positions from which the piece could be observed (Figure 2.2).

Figure 2.2 Mobile (2015). Gisele Edwards. On the left, the performance at Proteus Creation Space (Basingstoke, UK). On the right, exhibition Betwixt and Beyond at Circus Gallery (London, UK). Photography: María José Martínez Sánchez.

52  Body and geometry During the process, we began to establish some of the concepts we were using regarding geometries and their relationship with space. The choreography began to be developed, understanding the lines suggested by the geometries –​ at least four per figure, depending on the point of view –​as tensions in space. The process itself was based on the search for images,10 not only with physical geometries but with the prolongations of their tensions and lines in the space. In the end, the choreography was designed as the passage from some images to others. After the initial performance at Proteus Creation Space (Basingstoke, UK), the Circus Gallery11 in London invited us to transform this performance into an exhibition in the form of an installation. In this case, the task was to invert our previous operations, as the pieces would remain static, articulating and influencing the way in which people accessed and interacted with the space. After the assembly of the exhibition was complete, we went several times to the gallery, being able to witness each time how the space and its use had been radically transformed with our intervention. Anton Mirto is another performance artist who has explored tension through geometry and movement. In Tights, the performers are physically connected with the space through tights, possible thanks to the malleability and elastic quality of the material. Their movements are determined and limited by these connections, which in turn establish explicit geometric relationships. This type of work, where geometry is evidenced through other materials, explicitly demonstrates the existence of said geometry. But how can we define those connections without physical elements? In a geometrically defined space, is it possible to establish movement patterns through open-​ ended movement scores? Viewpoints proposes one possible response. Viewpoints This section will present Viewpoints as a technique for creating open-​ended movement scores responding to specific spatial environments. The Viewpoints is a spatial composition technique used in performance devising that, through task-​based actions, creates movement patterns based on scores. The Judson Dance Theater In the United States in the 1960s, a political and cultural revolution triggered by protests against the Vietnam War and demonstrations in favour of civil rights gave birth to abstract expressionism, postmodernism, and minimalism. This artistic and cultural effervescence gained strength in New  York, San Francisco, and other major American cities, and had a great inspirational force in many young artists of that time, including a group which gathered around Judson Church on Washington Square in New York City’s Greenwich Village. Among others, the group included painters Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, composers John Cage and Philip Corner, filmmaker Gene Friedman,

Body and geometry  53 and dancers Yvonne Rainer, Trisha Brown, David Gordon, Lucinda Childs, Steve Paxton, Laura Dean, and Simone Forti (Bogart, 2005: 3). The Judson Dance Theater rejected the modern dance of the early twentieth century in favour of the artistic and cultural environment of plastic artists, installations of Pop Art, and the happenings and the performances of the early 1960s, and began performing avant-​garde dance experiments, This group emerged from a dance composition class led by Robert and Judith Dunn, who had studied with John Cage. One of their primary influences was Merce Cunningham’s way of working with Cage, proposing the independence of choreography and music:  the choreography was never subordinate to the music. By 1962, the Judson Dance Theater was working in a direction that differed from conventional assemblies in both text (choreography and action) and context (the forms of representation). Professional dancers worked together with others who were not, sometimes even to present a more natural approach to movement, and it was difficult at times to distinguish professional dancers from each other. No artistic form was in a hierarchical position superior to another. Formally, the choreographies could resemble dances, exercises, or games or tasks. That idea of taking daily movements on stage determined the development of dance and scenic composition of the twentieth century, and in this, one can see the beginnings of physical theatre, where the boundaries between theatre and dance are blurred. The break with previously developed dance is particularly evident in the introduction of improvisation, which, as Trisha Brown points out, gives it a different quality: There is a performance quality, that appears in improvisation that did not in memorized dance as it was known up to that date. If you are improvising within a structure your senses are heightened; you are using your wits, thinking everything is working at once to find the best solution to a given problem under the pressure of a viewing audience. (Brown, 1978: 48) The Judson Dance Theater conducted numerous experiments that today do not surprise us so much, but that at the time, were completely innovative. They performed rooftop performances, made viewers watch through door locks, suspended dancers in the air, mounted them on roller skates. The premise was ‘anything is possible’. Improvisation became their common language. They raised real-​time activities in their improvisation structures, and to reach them, introduced games and task-​based lists. In opposition to modern dance, they did not seek a virtuosity in technique; they replaced it with decisions made in real time based on a set of structures and rules which created a context which shaped the final performance. Any movement that arose within those boundary conditions became a dramatic action. This philosophy is the basis from which viewpoints and Anne Bogart’s composition are built.

54  Body and geometry Improvisation and indeterminacy The concept of structured improvisation in dance was introduced by the Judson Dance Theater, and was further developed as a complimentary concept, indeterminacy, was introduced in the happenings of the 1970s. Sandford defines indeterminacy as ‘limits within which the performers are free to make choices are provided by the creator of the piece: a range of alternatives is made available from which the performer may select’ (Sandford, 1995: 37). There are several differences between indeterminacy and improvisation. First, in the latter, the author foresees the different options that the performer can choose. The piece depends entirely on the moment in which it takes place and the performer’s decisions. The difference between the two could be quantified by the number of moments in which the performer has to use his creativity spontaneously to solve different situations in the scene. Further, in improvisation, other factors come into play, ‘Improvisation [makes] the spectator aware of what might be called the performers’ bodily intelligence’ (Burt, 2006: 14). Therefore, improvisation is based on the haptic sense of dancers, a feeling that we all have to a greater or lesser extent, but that, for obvious reasons, dancers have developed more than the rest of us. This leads us to Mike Pearson’s assertion at the 2015 Prague Quadrennial of Performance Design and Space: ‘put twenty dancers in a hallway, and you will discover its characteristics’. Through improvisation, these dancers would be able to reveal qualities of a space that we would not otherwise notice in them. Robert and Judith Dunn introduced indeterminacy into their classes, as well as action lists to create movement materials and structure their choreographies, as many of their components already used improvisation; this was possible to a large extent because they worked with the boundaries between movements that can be considered dance and those that cannot. As Pina Bausch states: It is a simple question of when is it dance, when is it not. Where does it start? When do we call it dance? It does in fact have something to do with consciousness, with bodily consciousness, and the way we form things. But then it needn’t have this kind of aesthetic form. It can have quite a different form and still be dance. (Bausch in Servos, 1984: 230) Following this argument, there is a diffuse boundary between dance and the movements of our everyday life; the only difference may lie in our awareness of the movements we make. In this regard, actor trainer Konstantin Stanislavsky writes in The Actor Prepares (1937) that: Our conscious mind arranges, and puts a certain amount of order into, the phenomena of the external world that surrounds us. There is no

Body and geometry  55 sharply drawn line between conscious and subconscious experience. Our consciousness often indicates the direction in which our subconscious continues to work. (1937: 245) We could then ask whether these movements could be classified as improvisation or indeterminacy. If we take into account the statement we made regarding the difference between improvisation and indeterminacy, it would be argued that we do not make any creative decisions about our way of moving in our day to day life, but, we still make choices. Usually, our movements are conditioned by our environment by how it has been designed. Can we therefore consider indeterminacy in this context?

Viewpoints: a spatial composition tool Following the publication of Bogart and Landau’s The Viewpoints Book, over the last twenty years, choreographers, actors, directors, designers, playwrights, and writers have worked with Viewpoints.12 Today, Viewpoints is taught in schools around the world and are used in rehearsal processes. They present a new way of working based mainly on collaboration, in which no element is in a higher hierarchical situation: for example, space acquires the same importance as the text. This idea of the loss of the supremacy of the dramatic text is something that Lehmann explores in Postdramatic Theater. For Lehmann, postdramatic theatre is the result of the separation and decomposition of the elements of dramatic theatre. The text is no longer going to be the key element but only one more part of the theatrical project. In dramatic theatre both the visual qualities and the experience of the architectural space were subordinated to the text (Lehmann, 2006: 86). However, although Viewpoints is very well defined from a performance practice perspective, from its possible applications to space analysis, Viewpoints constitutes an excellent tool to engage with space. I wanted to take Viewpoints to the next step and look at the basic concepts on which this technique is based: for example, what does space composition mean in performance? In addition to this, I want to look at how Viewpoints can be used to understand better the dynamics of the moving body in space. These questions will be addressed and set a foundation for development by first tracing Anne Bogart’s development of Viewpoints as a composition tool and then surveying each of the six Viewpoints. My exploration of Viewpoints begins with Anne Bogart, a stage director who has transformed the American theatre scene through her work with the Viewpoints or Scenic Views. She is currently a professor at Columbia University and artistic co-​director of SITI Company, a theatre company she founded with Japanese director Tadashi Suzuki in 1992. As a young artist, Bogart was deeply influenced by two dancer/​choreographers, Aileen Passloff and Mary Overlie, before she met Tina Landau, with whom she

56  Body and geometry developed the Viewpoints we work with today. In the early 1970s, Passloff, an important reference for the Judson Dance Theater, taught Anne Bogart at Bard College. Her composition class had a great influence on Bogart and determined the development trajectory of Bogart’s artistic work:  students were asked to develop their work based on dreams, objects, advertisements, or anything that could serve as a trigger or stimulus. These processes led Bogart to find sources of inspiration in painting, architecture, music, cinema, and theatre (Cummings, 2006:126). Later, in 1979, Bogart met Mary Overlie, who created the six Viewpoints at New York University, where both were in the Experimental Theatre Wing at Tisch School of the Arts. Although she developed her work later than the Judson Dance Theater, Overlie attributed her innovations to the experiments performed by the group. She established the six Viewpoints; which are nothing more than a way of relating movement on stage to time and space. The six Viewpoints established by Overlie are space, form, time, emotion, movement, and history (argument, dramatic action). These six Viewpoints formed the basis of Bogart’s later explorations with Tina Landau. Landau and Bogart met in 1987 at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and it was clear to the two from the beginning that the techniques and processes proposed by Overlie to create movement on stage could be extrapolated to the theatrical scene. For the next ten years, they worked together experimenting with and developing the six Overlie Viewpoints. They expanded on Overlie’s work, giving rise to nine physical viewpoints  –​spatial relationships, kinesthetic response, form, gesture, repetition, architecture, tempo, duration, and topography  –​and five voice viewpoints:  game, dynamics, acceleration/​ deceleration, silence, and timbre. Among the physical ones, Bogart separates the Viewpoints into those belonging to dramatic time  –​tempo, repetition duration, and kinesthetic response –​and those concerning dramatic space: body shape, gesture, spatial relationship, architecture, and scenic topography. Bogart and Landau establish the scenic space and the bodies of the actors as triggers of the dramatic action: ‘In working on Architecture as a Viewpoint, we learn to dance with the space, to be in dialogue with a room, to let movement (especially Shape and Gesture) evolve out of our surroundings’ (Bogart & Landau, 2005: 8). These aspects of the staging led Bogart to develop performances based on tensions generated between the bodies of the actors and their relationship to space. This technique allows us to spatially compose the scene with the actors’ bodies, with all the spatial tensions that this would imply. Significantly, it also allows us to analyse the formal qualities of the spaces in which the dramatic action takes place. By facilitating exploration of space through movement experience instead of rationally through intellect, Viewpoints awakens a sixth sense referred to by both Laban and Bogart. Viewpoints awakens all our senses, making it clear how much and how often we live only in our heads and see only through our eyes. Through

Body and geometry  57 Viewpoints we learn to listen with our entire bodies and see with a sixth sense. We receive information from levels we were not even aware existed, and begin to communicate back with equal depth. (Bogart & Landau, 2005: 20) As Merleau-​Ponty suggests, having a body is what enables us to understand the space, because the experience of the space –​the only way of approaching it –​relies on the body: ‘The possession of a body implies the ability to change levels and to “understand” space just as the possession of a voice implies the ability to change key’ (Merleau-​Ponty, 1962: 251). Bogart defines Viewpoints as a technique for training actors, for collective creation and for the generation of movement materials for staging. They are a series of names with which certain movement principles are designated in relation to time and space; they constitute a common language to designate what happens on stage. Viewpoints allows actors to free themselves from the pressures related to creativity in the rehearsal room and simply allow things to happen in space –​and in response to it –​instead of making them happen. They also lead to heightened awareness of our surroundings and of everything that happens around us, forcing us to begin to make conscious choices about how and what to do in space based on the stimuli we receive. Time and Space Viewpoints In The Viewpoints Book: A Practical Guide to Viewpoints and Composition, Bogart and Landau outline and explain the physical Viewpoints, which are subdivided into time and space, as the moving body engages with space and experiences it through time. The viewpoints relating to time and space are as follows (Bogart & Landau, 2005: 7–​11): Time Viewpoints

• • • •

Tempo: the speed at which a movement occurs; how fast or slow action is. Duration: how long a movement or sequence takes place. Specifically, it refers to how long a group of people maintains an action or movement before it changes. Kinaesthetic response: a spontaneous reaction to an external movement or a sound, and the tempo with which this response takes place. In other words, impulsive movement resulting as a reaction to a stimulation of the senses. Repetition: is the repetition of something on stage. It can be internal –​ repetition of a movement with the body  –​or external  –​repetition of something outside our body.

Space Viewpoints

•

Shape:  the forms that the body makes when moving through space. They could be classified as (i) lines, (ii) curves, or (iii) a combination of

58  Body and geometry

•

lines and curves. In addition, a form can be (i) stationary or (ii) moving through space. Finally, a form can be configured by (i) the body in space, (ii) the body in relationship to architecture making a shape, or finally (iii) the body in relationship to other bodies making a shape. Gesture:  a movement that includes one or several parts of the body. A gesture is differentiated by the way it has a beginning, a knot, and an outcome. Gestures can be made with the hands, arms, legs, head, mouth, eyes, feet, stomach, or any other part, or combination of body parts that can be isolated. The gesture can be classified into the following categories: Behavioural: gives us information about the character, time period, physical health, clothing, etc. It usually is defined by the character of a person or the time and place where they live. This category could be subdivided into private and public, depending on whether the actions take place alone or taking into account the proximity of others. Expressive:  expresses an inner state, an emotion, a desire, an idea, and a value. It is abstract and symbolic, not representative. It is universal and timeless, something we would not normally see someone do in daily activities. Architecture:  refers to the physical environment in which the work is being developed, and how movements are affected by awareness of it. By working with this viewpoint, one learns to ‘dance with space’, to establish a dialogue with it, to allow the movement to emerge from the environment. Bogart divides architecture into five elements: Solid mass: walls, floors, furniture, windows, doors, etc. Texture: the materials –​wood, metal, fabric, etc. Light: the light sources in the room, the shadows we make in relation to these light-​emitting sources, etc. Colour: the colours of the space and its elements. Sound: the sound created by and from the architecture, such as the sound of the feet against the ground, or a door when closed. Spatial relationship: this refers to the distances between bodies, between a body and a group of bodies, or between a body architecture. Topography: the landscape, the floor patterns, and the design we create with movement in space.

•

• •

• •

Composing with space Bogart and Landau explore how the Viewpoints relates to composition, the foundation upon which Viewpoints is used generatively in devised theatre. Perhaps, the compositional characteristic of greatest interest to this inquiry is that which reveals impulse and intuition: Composition is a method for revealing to ourselves our hidden thoughts and feelings about the material. Because we usually make Compositions in rehearsal in a compressed period of time, we have no time to think.

Body and geometry  59 Composition provides a structure for working from our impulses and intuition. As Pablo Picasso once said, making art is ‘another way of keeping a diary. (Bogart & Landau, 2005: 12) Similar characteristics to those of the viewpoints can also be found in devising, a theatrical form that originates from the United Kingdom, in which the piece can be developed from any stimulus. It is determined and defined by the creative team that will decide what your framework will be. Alison Oddey tries to establish a definition and methodology for devising: Devising is a process of making theater that enables a group of performers to be physically and practically creative in the sharing and shaping of an original product that directly emanates from assembling, editing, and re-​ shaping individuals’ contradictory experiences of the world. (Oddey, 1994: 1) It is a process in which you can start from any point, not necessarily from the text, so in this sense –​although also in many others –​it is framed within the postdramatic theatre. ‘Devised theatre uses space in a significantly different way from text-​based theatre’ (Oddey, 1994: 17); the function of space in any devised piece is essential, an active part of the dramatic piece. The choice of space is not random, but a conscious search for space that can act as a reason to devise a specific piece. It is another ingredient of the artistic work equal to elements such as the performers, sound, or lighting. Viewpoints is often part of the devising process, and is part of the curriculum in related Higher Education institutions worldwide because they make spatial and rhythmic relationships emerge between the actors from their own physical characteristics and those of the space in which they work. They are also very useful at the beginning of the working sessions, to facilitate the concentration of all the components of the group as well as to activate sensory abilities with respect to space and others. Therefore, Viewpoints constitutes a technique of collective creation in which space and the relationships established from it appear as fundamental subjects in the creative process. In principle, as a technique whose fundamental basis is spatial sensitivity, it seems appropriate to try to make certain characteristics of the space visible that otherwise would not be appreciated. The geometrical analysis of a space provides us with a scaffolding to start working within, but the information given is in many ways incomplete. There is a need to apply another layer, the experience of the space, which gives us further information and deals with the atmosphere of the space. Viewpoints helps us to discern the spatial qualities of the space while discarding our preconceptions around it, making it a very good tool to approach site-​specific performances. The Viewpoints contextualises the three experiments in this chapter, in which they are applied as a technique to explore architectural space

60  Body and geometry as well as performance devising, in order to ask to what extent the geometry of a space can determine our movements.

Experiments Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III These three experiments constitute the three phases of the same project, and their objectives, approach, and conclusions are described together. Each of the experiments is done at a different time and in a different location. The departure point of this project is the possibility of establishing through the technique of the Viewpoints specific relationships between the geometric parameters of the space, and the movement that takes place in it. Investigating how spatial configuration affects movement is an approach that has not been addressed so far in dance or architecture. Architects and designers have tried to design from the movement, from a usability point of view, but we have not analysed how our environment influences the way we move. The movement has always been appraised from the rational or the conscious, or as we will see in Chapter  3, from the concept and meaning of space, not from experience. Actions strongly linked to a place and in a specific spatial context are proposed. In this project, movement is detached from any context, generating an abstract environment in which to study and analyse movement itself. Objectives The main objective of these three experiments was to try to establish the relationships between the body in motion and the morphology of space. To do this, movement is analysed in an environment13 with relatively controlled contour conditions applying Viewpoints. For the first experiment, it is proposed to study movement just in relation to the geometry of the container space and lighting. This experiment is based on the study of simple geometric shapes. Trying to mimic a science laboratory test,14 I designed a space in which it was possible to identify the contour conditions to which movement is subjected in the specific environment that I wanted to analyse. Samples from individuals –​video recordings15 and mapping –​were taken, and the stimuli to which they are exposed were isolated. On the one hand, I worked only with the form and shape, and on the other hand, with the shape and light source. In this way, by contrasting the results, obtained through recordings and mapping, I  obtained indications of how light and geometry affect the body in motion. The performers, once inside the laboratory, received a series of instructions to move through space. These movement rules are based on both Viewpoints and the geometric properties16 of the environment in which they are located.

Body and geometry  61 Methodology and development Applying the concepts established by the Viewpoints technique and working in the different areas proposed, a series of spatial composition exercises were developed. These exercises do not leave time to think or be aware of our movements; they allow us to reveal situations of our body in relation to the environment in which we move. This will give us clues to understand how specific variations in outer space can affect our movement. The movement lab space was carefully designed to isolate, the stimuli to which performers were exposed. WHAT? HOW?

The experiments start from a series of departure conditions in all the spaces subject of study. These conditions are repeated in each of the environments. In parallel, there are a series of exercises that vary depending on the spatial delimitation of the space studied. These spatial delimitations are different simple geometric shapes superimposed (square, rectangle, triangle  –​two types, circle, and ellipse). These exercises are based on the geometric properties of these figures. The exercises aim to address different parameters of movement. There is always a facilitator that guides the participants through the process. There is an exercise associated with each of the parameters: Parameter 1: Time: is the speed of movement. The facilitator indicates the group to move freely, without setting a tempo. Later on, the speed will be scheduled, from slower to faster, being able to introduce stops or changes of rhythm. Parameter 2: Duration:  the time that a group can remain in a dynamic of movement before it changes. Periodically, the facilitator lets the group move freely to see how long it is able to remain in a dynamic of movement before the tension falls. Parameter 3: Shape: how we move in space, through curves or lines or combining both. It has different aspects: The body in the space. The facilitator indicates the participants to move in straight lines with sudden changes of direction, or through curves (we always talk in this case about the projection of the trajectory on the ground plane, which means to draw with the feet). The body in relation to architecture (understood in this case as spatial delimitation). It works the same as the previous one but taking into account the variations in the delimitation of the space in which the movement is framed.

•

•

62  Body and geometry

•

The body in relation to other bodies. At this point the kinaesthetic response is implicit (the spontaneous reactions we have to the movements of the bodies that we have around, for example. If someone stops by our side, how does this affect the way we move?). Parameter 4: Architecture: the environment in which the movement develops. This parameter also contains different aspects: Form (solid mass). The shape of the space we move. Each of the environments in which we work have a different spatial delimitation, not only in plan but also in section. Light. The light sources in the room. The light sources are changed (spotlights are mounted on the trousse and a lighting design is carried out by directing the spotlights and turning off and on depending on the different spaces) to see how these changes affect the movement. In the lighting design, the different spaces will be taken into account to geometrically match the points that we are interested in lighting. Parameter 5. Space relations: the distances between bodies or things on stage. One body with another body. Relations of distance or proximity, or equidistance between several bodies may be established. A body with other bodies. It would work the same as in the previous one but it may be the facilitator who is established as a reference body. The body with the architecture. In this case, we always put the bodies and spatial relationships between them in relation to architecture, either explicitly or implicitly. All the exercises proposed are designed to highlight these relationships.

• •

• • •

EXERCISES

In the following, there is an explanation of the main exercises developed in the sessions:

•

Choose a participant in the space and go to the furthest point from that participant that the space delimitation allows.

Depending on how the delimitation is, participants form groups in some points of the space or others. The chosen person does not know who has chosen him or her, so changes of position are made until equilibrium is reached with all participants.

•

Choose two participants and position yourself: 1. Middle point between the two of them,

Body and geometry  63

2. Aligned with the two, at the same distance from the second that separates him or her from the first one, and 3. Forming an equilateral triangle with them.

The chosen people do not know who has chosen them, so changes of position will be made until equilibrium is reached with all the participants. Dynamic Cartography I17 was carried out in May 2014 at the School of Architecture of Madrid. It was the first of the three experiments. The feasibility of this type of experiment for the proposed purposes was tested. I created a movement lab where we were able to test spatial environments with the shapes of rectangles and squares, adding lighting at some points (Figure 2.3). Dynamic Cartography II took place in Fortaleza (Brazil) and was performed with the dance company EDISCA. In this experiment, only the circle was

Figure 2.3 Dynamic Cartography I (2014).

64  Body and geometry

Figure 2.4 Dynamic Cartography II (2014).

analysed (Figure  2.4). Through these experiments it has been possible to observe in detail how movement patterns and repetitions –​almost ritual –​that occur between different individuals when moving in a space vary depending on whether the space in which they are located has a geometry or other. The case of the circle is something particular, the circle is a figure that has special qualities. Throughout the history of mankind, it has been the most used figure in sacred and religious rituals. In the article O toré two Tapeba indians of Caucaia (Ceará, Brazil): Performance, communication and political visibility, it is indicated how the rituals of the Tapeba Amerindians are performed in a circle. They explain that this geometric form is the one that contains the most energy when performing the ritual. This statement, which may seem as the result of superstition, is confirmed through these experiments performed with the Viewpoints, specifically, when participants are asked to place themselves at the point of the space farthest from that of another that they have chosen

Body and geometry  65 randomly and without prior agreement. There are no pre-​established partners, so a global balance or cessation of movement is reached. In the circle this does not happen; due to the energy of geometry itself, a balance is never reached; the movements that take place could happen infinitely in time; in this case, we could say that the energy is infinite. Dynamic Cartography III was held at the University of Fortaleza (Unifor) in August 2014. There were two sessions with the Grupo Mirante Teatro directed at that time by Kelva Cristina Saraiva. In these sessions, we worked on the triangle with two groups simultaneously, which allowed me to analyse more thoroughly the influences of this geometry in the movement of the body (Figure 2.5). In this session, the trajectories of the actors were mapped, as a first approach to the visualisation of these movements (Figure 2.6). Once the trajectories of a chosen fragment were made, the movements were transcribed to the Kinetography. Whereas with the trajectories we obtained easily

Figure 2.5 Dynamic Cartography III (2014).

66  Body and geometry

Figure 2.6 Dynamic Cartography III (2014). Mapping of the movements of the participants.

predictable information on the areas of greater frequency of passage, with Kinetography, it is possible to appreciate the details of the movements; we can read the number of steps, which limbs begin the movement, etc. (Figure 2.7). By putting all the transcripts, one next to the other, it has been easier to detect the patterns of movement and repetitions –​almost ritual –​that occur due to geometric laws. Conclusions At this stage, it would not be appropriate to draw concrete conclusions regarding the analysis of movement in the geometries studied. This is mainly due to the fact that it would be necessary to repeat these experiments with many more people and in a more systematic way. However, these essays

Body and geometry  67

Figure 2.7 Dynamic Cartography III (2014). Transcription of the movements of the participants into Kinetography.

shed light on the use of this methodology in the analysis of architectural and performative space. On the one hand, the use of the Viewpoints technique is a very useful tool in the phenomenological experimentation of space. Through simple instructions, it allows us unconsciously to experience space with the movement of our body. Through simply observing these exercises, we have already been able to establish differences in the movement patterns. In Dynamic Cartography II, we see how triangular spaces generate different patterns than rectangular ones, explored in Dynamic Cartography

68  Body and geometry I. In Dynamic Cartography II, through work with the circle, fundamental differences have been found in how geometry influences development of the exercises of the Viewpoints. In the circle, the movement, which in other spaces reaches a balance, does not cease. But the observation is still subjective, even in the video recordings. This is why in the case of Dynamic Cartography III, there is a rigorous transcription of these movements. The first stage for these transcriptions is the drawing of the trajectory lines as a floorplan or map, which gives us a first information about the most used areas. Secondly, Kinetography is used, for the transcription of detailed movements of the body. It is in this second stage where the most interesting findings are made. Kinetography allows us to put the movements of the participants next to each other, abstracting them from space and the movements of others, something that is needed for this experiment. Through the study of these transcriptions and the comparison and contrast between them, we see the repetition of patterns in the space. When the movements are put back in relation to geometry, they indicate how that geometric shape may have an impact on the movements developed in it. This does not lead us to conclusions about how a specifically triangular geometry affects movement in space. However, it does demonstrate the hypothesis that this working methodology, properly applied, can give us a series of data that could be applied not only to the design process in architectural and performative spaces but also in devising performance.

From geometry to the scenic space Conclusions This chapter began with the definition of contemporary rituals: a review on the origins of rituals and how they have evolved in our contemporary society into live art and performing arts events. This exploration has led us to identify performance arts as field that can help us to find ritualistic elements in the inhabitation of spaces looking at the perception of space through the body. This is due to the importance of the body and the mechanisms that different performance artists have developed in order to deal with space in their artistic creations. This chapter has introduced the question: How can the physical configuration of space influence the actions and movement patterns of people?  –​being geometry the key parameter in the definition of spatial configuration. We have seen several examples in which attempts are made to determine the geometric relationships of the body with the space in which it is located. Schlemmer used the Gestalt as a departure point for his works and approached the abstract cubic space as if it was the Euclidean treatise. Lecoq’s L.E.M. uses portable structures based on the neutral mask to also show those geometric connections with the environment. But in the search to find ways of

Body and geometry  69 visualising these connections through non-​explicit mechanisms or tools, the Viewpoints technique has proved to be the most appropriate. The analysis of the Viewpoints and its contextualisation in the history of the performing arts have led us to the Judson Dance Theater, whose work is a precedent of the Viewpoints’ spatial composition techniques. In this context, the dichotomy that appears regarding the concepts of indeterminacy and improvisation is especially interesting; the concept of indeterminacy will be redefined in Chapter 4 when we address the programme in architectural projects –​or the architectural script. The three experiments carried out –​Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III –​ have clarified the answer to the second question of this chapter: Is there any method or technique to prove that the geometry of the space influences our movement? The experiments have shown that Viewpoints is capable of making visible the relationships between the body in motion and the geometry of space. All experiences have been recorded, and some of them have been transcribed to the Laban system. The transcripts reveal some repetition in the movement patterns which are related to the geometry of the space. The more singular the geometry is, the more visibility and impact it has on movement, as can be seen in the experiments done with the triangle and the circle. In the experiments, the movements were transcribed into the original Laban system –​Kinetography –​ without subjecting it to any modification. In this case, this has allowed abstraction of the geometry that contains the body scores which occur within them. Through the comparison of the transcriptions, it has been possible to identify repetition patterns that are directly related to the geometry. In the next chapter, theatre is considered as an intermediate step between the abstract performative space and architectural space. In theatre, practitioners work in a space charged with meaning. Lehmann affirms in Postdramatic Theatre (2006) that space can be an active agent and even a generator of dramatic action, a concept touched on in this chapter. The next chapter explores in depth the relationships between space and the ritualistic actions that have generated them:  the spatial rituals. In addition, the chapter will identify methods of spatial analysis that will contribute to unveiling the rituals and actions that have configured them. The methods tested will involve a phenomenological approach that encourage the experience of the space through body movement.

Notes 1 ‘Restored behaviour is living behaviour treated in the same way as a film director treats a strip of film.’ (Schecher, 1985: 35). 2 Das Triadische Ballet. 3 The term Gestalt was first introduced by the Viennese philosopher Christian von Ehrenfels. It is a theory whose central idea is that perception is a vision of an organized group, and not the sum of its parts. Merlau-​Ponty bases his phenomenology of perception on Gestalttheorie.

70  Body and geometry 4 The sense of touch reconsidered to include the entire body rather than merely the instruments of touch, such as the hands (Trimingham, 2011: 47). 5 In the experiments of this chapter, Dynamic Cartography I, II, and III, the analysis of movement takes place in relation to the basic geometries of the Euclidian treatise. 6 See Schlemmer (1978). 7 See www.ecole-​jacqueslecoq.com/​ (accessed 14 August 2019). 8 Gisele Edwards trained in physical theatre at the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama in London. She was one of the founders of the theatre company SHUNT, winner of several awards, and one of the most recognized performers in the United Kingdom for her work in site-​specific performance, of which she was director until 2010. In 2008, she completed the L.E.M. As of 2010, he has concentrated on his work as an aerial performer (mainly rope and harness), music, and his theatrical work. 9 See Kandinsky (1979). 10 See the concept of Phantasms (Agamben, 2013: 10). 11 The Circus Gallery is located at 58 Marylebone High Street in London. The Betwixt and Beyond exhibition was in the Circus Gallery from 10 June 2015 to 27 August 2015. Circus ‘ “Betwixt and Beyond” –​Sculpting the Invisible’. 12 My interest in Viewpoints is not only from the point of view of spatial composition but also from teaching. Because of Viewpoints’ characteristics, it is possible to work with people who have not had a specific training in performing arts and who have not even developed a concrete interest in them. This is evident in the different experiences that have been carried out during this research; in some cases, we have worked with dancers and actors, but in others, as in Dynamic Cartography I, we worked with a mixed group of students of architecture and acting. In this case, the interest does not lie in composing a play or movement, but in making certain characteristics of the spaces visible through the movement triggered by perception and bodily experimentation of space. 13 A complex environment in this context would refer to any space in which the stimuli to which the bodies are subjected are not controlled. 14 The materials used to create the ‘laboratory’ are translucent so that visually the recorded materials also have a visual interest. 15 The recordings are used to transcribe the movements to a notation writing system based on Laban’s Kinetography. This allows to obtain a graphic documentation of the session. These transcripts, put in relation to the geometric properties of each of the spatial delimitations, have led us to a series of conclusions about the relationships between movement and space. 16 The exercises are based on the geometric properties of the figures or volumes that configure the spatial delimitations. These properties are based on Books I, II, III, and VI of Euclid. 17 Space Design:  María Gil and M.J. Martínez Sánchez. Pablo Berzal Cruz, José Velasco Abarca, Xoan Forneas, Nestor Santos, Irene Donate, Hector Aliaga, and Tania García-​Albertos.

References Agamben, G. (2013). Nymphs. London, UK: Seagull Books. Bogart, A., & Landau, T. (2005). The Viewpoints Book: A Practical Guide to Viewpoints and Composition. New York: Theatre Communications Group.

Body and geometry  71 Brown, T. (1978). Trisha Brown:  An interview. In:  Anne Livet (ed.), Contemporary Dance. New York: Abbeville, pp. 44–​54. Burt, R. (2006). Judson Dance Theatre. New York: Routledge. Cummings, S.T. (2006). Remaking American Theater. Charles Lee, Anne Bogart and the SITI Company. New York (USA): Cambridge university Press. Goldberg, R. (1979). Performance Art: From Futurism to the Present. New York: Thames & Hudson. Gropius, W., & Wensinger A.S. (1961). The Theater of the Bauhaus. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Kandinsky, W. (1979). Point and Line to Plane. New York: Dover Publications. Kandinsky, W., & Marc. F. (1965). Der Blaue Reiter. Munich, Germany: R. Piper. Lecoq, J. (2000). The Moving Body (Le Corps Poetique): Teaching Creative Theatre. London: Methuen, Bloomsbury. Lehmann, H-​T. (2006). Postdramatic Theatre. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Merlau-​Ponty, M. (1962). Phenomenology of Perception. London: Routledge. Oddey, A. (1994). Devising Theatre: A Practical and Theoretical Handbook. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Pearson, P.M. (2010). Site-​Specific Performance. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sandford, M. (1995). Happenings and Other Acts. London, New York: Routledge. Schechner, R. (1985). Between Theater and Anthropology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Schechner, R. (2002). Performance Studies. An Introduction. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Schlemmer, O. (1978). Théâtre et Abstraction (L’Espace du Bauhaus). Lausanne, Switzerland: L’Age d’Homme. Servos, N. (1984). Pina Bausch –​Wuppertal Dance Theatre, or, The Art of Training a Goldfish: Excursions into Dance. Köln, Germany: Ballett-​Buhnen-​Verlag. Stanislavsky, C. (1937). An Actor Prepares. London, UK: Geoffrey Bles. Trimingham, M. (2011). The Theatre of the Bauhaus:  The Modern and Postmodern Stage of Oskar Schlemmer. New York: Routledge.

3  Body and scenic space Ritual spaces

Introduction: the origins of space This chapter explores the meaning of space from the perspective of the human body. Having as a departure point the performance space and a focus on ritual spaces, this chapter considers different mechanisms of engagement with space through the body. Some of these mechanisms are inherent to the body, such as movement or perception, whereas others belong to the space, for example, the atmosphere. These considerations are essential to understand how space becomes what it is:  scenography has the ability to create atmosphere; each time that a scenography is set in a black box, space changes its meaning. We would not have the same space for a Greek tragedy –​Antigone, Medea, Oedipus –​than for Ibsen’s The Doll House. The space becomes part of the meaning of the play, which also applies to architecture and how rituals are an important part of the spatial configuration of everyday life spaces. By understanding theatre processes, these ideas can be applied to all types of spaces, being very useful when applied to site-​specific work. As Read writes, The skills to create theatre are the skills of urbanism, the deft creation of places where people come together to speak and listen in the many forms of social encounter. Buildings play a part every day in the actions of those who inhabit them, often at the boundary of awareness, like Boal’s invisible theatre. (Feuerstein & Read, 2013: 4) In the case of performance space, the relationships between the body and a space are based not only on aesthetic parameters but also on the response to a dramatic text, something that transcends movement and geometry. Jacques Copeau defines a scenario as the place where dramatic action takes place, does not belong to technicians or set designers, and must always be prepared for the actor to develop the action: ‘The stage is the instrument for the dramatic creator. It is the place for the drama, not the décor or the equipment’ (Copeau, 1990: 87). With this definition, Copeau establishes the supremacy of the body and movement, motivated by action in the dramatic space, since its ultimate goal is to serve the drama.

Body and scenic space  73 This chapter presents the work of the Swiss set designer Adolphe Appia as a case study. Appia’s approach to performance design constitutes the largest and most relevant change in the history of contemporary scenography. Appia’s spaces are not meant to be seen but to be perceived and experienced in an experience closer to architecture –​based on the creation of atmospheres –​ than to theatre. In Appia’s work, the performance space becomes part of the dramaturgy:  a space charged with meaning and not just a background for dramatic action. In Appia’s designs, time, movement, and space are fundamental parameters, as he explains in The Work of Living Art (Appia, 1981). Appia began his professional career by proposing a total reform of the performing arts with a critique of the staging of Wagnerian drama. In the scenic spaces, the relations between time, movement, and space are revealed because they are seen from the point of view of the body, as it demonstrates Appia’s collaborations with Emile Jacques-​Dalcroze, the creator of rhythmic gymnastics. The body becomes the centre of the dramatic action where the three parameters are condensed:  the time of the play, the space of the stage, and the movement performed by the body. The pedagogy established by Dalcroze  –​eurhythmics  –​inspired Appia to make sketches of rhythmic spaces. His research culminates in the construction of the dance hall in Hellerau, a German community near Dresden, based on the concept of a garden city and built by the architect Heinreich Tessenow. The experiments in this chapter present an experiential approach to ritual spaces located in Greece and Cyprus. The spaces selected for the micro-​ actions –​ Treasury of Atreus, Tomb of Agamemnon, and Epidaurus Theatre –​ had ritualistic actions in their origins. The Treasury of Atreus was a monument built for funerary rituals, while Epidaurus is linked to Dionysian rituals and the origins of theatre. In both cases, there is an exploration of the experience of the body; a series of actions are performed in spaces manifesting inherent dynamics that are not necessarily explicit. The performed actions are mapped and presented in relation to the geometry and spatial configuration of these spaces. On the other hand, Strings presents a site-​specific performance and the interferences that the site can have with the dramaturgy of the play. These experiments have shined a light on the relationships between architecture and the rituals that generated them.

Reflections on space The departure point of this chapter is a reflection on how we inhabit space as human beings and the different mechanisms of providing space with meaning. In the prologue of Max Jammer’s book, Concepts of Space, Albert Einstein defines space in two ways: first, as a positional quality of a material object; and second, as a container for all material objects1 (Jammer, 1954: XV). In both definitions, space is discussed from the geometric and kinetic points of view. Due to the implications of location in both definitions, it is also necessary

74  Body and scenic space to address the concept of place. Einstein defines place as a small part of the earth’s surface that can be identified by a name. In her book entitled Space in Performance,2 Gay McAuley writes about staging but only from the point of view of space. McAuley explains that ‘while theatre can take place anywhere (outdoors, in the street or on bare earth), the point is that it must take place somewhere’ (McAuley, 2000: 3). This affirmation highlights the importance of place; any action, whether performative or ritualistic, must take place somewhere. The location will impact the action and, vice versa, space will always be transformed by location. We no longer work with the abstract geometric cube presented by Schlemmer;3 instead, space is an active agent in dramatic action. Aristotle, in Poetics (2013 [IV B.C.]), gives more value to the dramatic text than to the staging of the play, simplifying the complexity of the theatrical act in the dramatic text (McAuley, 2000: 3). Also interesting are Aristotle’s reflections on the concept of space since antiquity; as Max Jammer explains, the concept of space itself is not abstract (1954). Space has always been related to beings, whether living or inert, that were contained or placed in relation to space itself. In this case, the focus is on the understanding of space through experience, not abstraction. For the thinkers of antiquity, space was a series of concrete orientations –​ a multitude of ordered location coordinates. However, it was not until the Enlightenment, with Descartes, when coordinate systems were introduced. Aristotle defines space as the total sum of all places occupied by bodies or objects. However, the location of these objects is defined by the area of space where limits coincide with their own shapes. Aristotle also dedicates part of Physics (1961 [IV B.C.]) to describing emptiness. Although space and void may seem synonymous, the word void is much more restrictive since it corresponds to an unoccupied space. Relative positions could be replaced by generating dynamic space, which, according to Rudolf Laban, can only be perceived by our sixth sense, movement.4 Laban also denies the existence of emptiness, since all the space near a body can potentially be occupied when it moves. The body not only occupies the space that delimits its shape when it is at rest but also the entire space that forms its area of action which is crossed by infinite lines of possible movements that body could perform. Therefore, all that space would potentially be occupied, so we cannot speak strictly of emptiness. Peter Brook describes his theatrical poetics in The Empty Space ‘I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A  man walks across this empty space while someone else is watching him, and this is all is for an act of theatre to be engaged’ (Brook, 2019 [1968]: 9). However, ‘Brook’s empty space of performance only works when surrounded by people’ (Feuerstein & Read, 2013: 4). Still, all scenic space is part of a communicative action, as McAuley explains when referring to the contributions of Anne Ubersfield: ‘Dramatic space is made up of both textual and performance signs; it is accessible to the reader of the playtext and, differently manifested, to the spectator experiencing the

Body and scenic space  75 space as constructed by the given production’ (McAuley, 2000: 19). This communicative action takes place thanks to perception, and the perception of space is completely linked to its atmospheric qualities. The architect Peter Zumthor delivered a lecture entitled Atmospheres in which he describes the existence of atmospheric qualities in space: I enter a building, I see a room, and –​in a fraction of a second –​have this feeling about it. We perceive atmosphere through our emotional sensibility –​a form of perception that works incredibly quickly, and which we humans evidently need to help us survive. (Zumthor, 2006: 13) Zumthor begins with the question, What is the magic of the real? Zumthor finds the magic of the real world fascinating, with atmospheres already created that we experience every day. Therefore, he asks how we can imitate and create atmospheres based on the observation of reality. Zumthor lists a series of elements that compose and influence the atmosphere: the body of architecture, material compatibility, the sound of a space, temperature, the surrounding objects, between composure and seduction (referring to the time necessary for the experimentation of space), the tension between interior and exterior, and the light on things. These elements are necessary to define atmosphere. All these qualities can be appreciated in the thermal baths of Vals (Switzerland) which, from my point of view, constitutes the project with the greatest atmospheric development by Zumthor. Vals is a perfect environment for the set of actions involved in a thermal bath, which could be compared to scenography. Vals could not be anything else but a thermal bath that uses the elements present in the building materials, the water and its different states, and the lighting and architectural elements that work collaboratively to create a unique atmosphere. There are similarities between the thermal baths’ interior spaces and some of Appia’s scenic proposals, not only at the formal level but also atmospherically. If space implicitly has such atmospheric qualities, we can understand the empty space not as a vacuum but as the sensitive absence of physical matter.

The Work of Living Art: radical proposals for the mise-​en-​scène of Wagnerian drama This section presents the premises of Appia’s work and how his work constitutes a turning point in the history of scenic arts, bringing the use of real objects and lighting to the imaginary theatre. The first part of this section presents early influences regarding Appia’s designs, culminating in collaboration with Emile Dalcroze in Hellerau, where he developed his most experimental and innovative works.

76  Body and scenic space In his first professional project, Appia proposed a radical staging for Wagnerian drama.5 Until then, scenographies were extremely realistic, and most of the time, the scenographies were simply painted curtains. Appia, as a great admirer of Wagner, is a regular visitor to Bayreuth,6 where he was constantly disappointed by the staging. However, Appia felt very close to both Wagner’s and Bayreuth’s genius loci, which for Appia was a model of modern theatrical architecture. This feeling of closeness to Wagner’s work is what motivated Appia to write La mise-​en-​scène du drame wagnérien, published in Paris (1895), which constituted a kind of manifesto. Despite his attempts to influence Bayreuth in some way –​he even met Cosima Wagner –​Appia was not allowed to put his ideas into practice. Appia affirmed that the musical text itself contains the formal qualities of the piece. Therefore, all additions that Wagner made to his librettos were not in organic relation with the musical and poetic texts. In other words, Appia argued that the staging was implicit in the score: The recognition that the mise-​en-​scène was already contained within the score. It was the original music-​drama itself that encompassed not only the temporal element but, by extension, the movement and consequently the physical setting as well, which the director should think of as music projected and taking form in space. A second principle was that the actor must serve as the intermediary between the music and its spatial expression: the setting. The performer was placed by Appia at the very heart of his revolutionary theory; the setting was no longer to be thought as illustration or background to the drama, but as a direct extension of the actor himself, as he, in turn, was given meaning and motivated by the musical score. (Beacham, 1993: 4) As Beacham explains, with Appia, we could talk about a musical spatiality via the actor. Appia identifies the duration of the music by the scenic time: ‘Music not only gives the drama its expressive power but also fixes it in a very precise and strict manner during its duration’ (Loeffler, 1988:  40). The expressiveness of music is transferred to space through the movement of the actors, and the design of the space is only an extension of the body in motion. All scenery, Appia explains, is composed of scenic paintings (painted curtains), the configuration of space (the distribution of scenic elements) and lighting. The space’s configuration serves as an intermediary between scenic paintings and lighting, which in turn serve as a union for the other two elements. Of the three elements, Appia gives the most importance to lighting (Beacham, 1993:  114). Lighting is to the production what music is to the score:  ‘an expressive element as opposed to external signs and, as in the case of music, light can express only that which belongs to the inner essence of each vision’ (Beacham, 2013 [1994]: 59).

Body and scenic space  77 Function with the configuration of scenic elements is what Appia calls Practicability –​and, as said above –​it is determined by the actor. Although the actor himself does not have freedom, his movements are defined by the Wagnerian drama (Loeffler, 1988:  53). Appia configures his scenic spaces through ramps and stairs that represent the ideal of opposition and the difficulty that the actor’s body must face in the space. These oppositional elements gain special relevance in Appia’s scenic work. His scenographies are fundamentally horizontal since he intends to build a three-​dimensional base upon which the movement of the actors’ bodies will be superimposed. Despite the refusals Appia received at Bayreuth, sometime later, the Scala di Milano invited him to apply his proposals, receiving the support of Arturo Toscanini. In 1923, Tristán and Isolda premiered. In 1924, Appia travelled to Basel, where he began working with Oskar Wälterlin, who had read all of Appia’s texts. Although Appia’s vision had changed since the publication of his proposals for Wagnerian drama, he saw that his goals remained the same: release the scenario of all realistic elements and create an ideal space where the musical-​dramatic impulse could express itself without obstacles.7 Space and time Appia is a reference for the analysis of all spatial mechanisms that influence the movement of bodies in the scenic space. Time is a key parameter in Appia’s designs, as body, space, and time are closely related. The Work of Living Art, one of Appia’s fundamental works, begins with a statement by Protagoras: ‘Man is the measure of all things’, and Appia ends it with ‘and the actor is the measure of the scenic space’ (Appia, 2000: 325). This book begins with some reflections on space and time: the line is the meeting of Space and Time. It is impossible to conceive the line without the Movement: it is the Movement, then, who performs the conjunction of Space and Time. The movement is, therefore, what occupies the space. Keep in mind that in the context of Appia’s work, there is only movement from the aesthetic point of view, and this is only body movement. Any other type of movement would be mechanical. There would be two ways of understanding space; the first would be closely linked to time, and the line, which would be nothing other than the trajectory that joins two points, between which the displacement would take place. The second would be the existing space outside of us, constituted by a material we use to trace either the lines of our movements or the obstacles in that space that oppose those lines (Appia, 1981: 58). The conflict between time and space is interesting. If the movement is more influenced by time, less influence will have space. Vice versa, if space has great power over the body’s movement, time will be relegated to the background. Everything is a game of balance and the art of movement that Appia defines as ‘the art of balancing the variable proportions of the two kinds of feelings

78  Body and scenic space of Space over a certain period (time)’. Appia’s performance designs accentuate the feeling of unlimited space since both ramps and stairs are elements of a link between different spaces. In fact, when we try to draw standard drawings from some of Appia’s sketches, we are not sure where those ramps and platforms end. Ramps and platforms are unlimited dynamic spaces formed by dynamic elements that invite movement through them, but whose foci or vanishing points are out of our visual range. In contrast to these spaces defined by architectural volumes that escape beyond the black box, the bodies appear, which can visually contain the space to give rise to the dramatic act. This concept is very interesting since it could be affirmed that Appia’s staging is fundamentally based on a confrontation of opposing forces. On the one hand, we have the conflict of horizontal–​vertical directionality. On the other hand, the body, with its strength and vertical expressivity, must be balanced with the horizontal lines that govern the scenic space. The scenic space and the body present themselves as a contradiction. The scenic space is composed of static elements that energise the space until it loses its limits. The ramps, the stairs and platforms, suggest a continuity of the dramatic space that transcends the scenic space. However, the body, in constant movement, is the one that limits and contains the space, giving it the necessary statics for dramatic action to take place. The body in motion makes us identify the scenic space in the dramatic action, thus setting the limits of the dramatic space that may not coincide with the entire scenic space. When referring to this outer space and the matter in which the movement of the body is going to be contextualised, we must also consider obstacles or conditions and the movements of other bodies. If we understand the line as a pure movement that is only subjected to space and time, there are no obstacles, which is why space outside the movement only exists once the trajectory has been determined. As in the first chapter, where we explained the concept of phantasms,8 Jacques-​Dalcroze defines attitudes as pauses in the movement: It was at a performance of Debussy’s moving ‘Après-​midi d’une Faune’ a few years ago that I discovered the cause of my doubts and objections. A procession of nymphs slowly moved on to the stage, pausing every eight or twelve steps to show the admiring spectators beautiful attitudes copied from Greek vases but continued their walk in the last attitude assumed, they attacked the next attitude  –​at the moment of the fresh pause in walking  –​without any preparatory movement, thus giving the jagged impression that would be given in the cinema by a series of movements in which essential films have been suppressed. Then I understood that what shocked me was the lack of connection […] the absence of that continued movement […] Taught by this experience, I analysed, in the same way, the movements of several dancers […] respected the principle of continuity no more than did these nymphs. […] Attitudes are pauses in the movement. Every time

Body and scenic space  79 that in the uninterrupted succession of movements forming what might be called the plastic melody, there comes a punctuation or phrase mark, a pause corresponding to a comma, semi-​colon or full-​stop in speech, the movement becomes static, and it is perceived as an attitude. (Sadler & Jacques-​Dalcroze, 1913: 24) Here, we have the trajectory as a line that joins the phantasms,9 which make up the outer space to the movement. Appia’s belief that to measure space, our body needs time, is especially suggestive and, therefore, the duration of the movements measures its extent (that of space). Appia’s affirmation also leads us to the idea that the extent or size of the space is relative. Obviously, the space in which we are working has a true magnitude that can be expressed in units of measurement of the metric system. However, the fact that the extension of a space is directly related to the body and what it takes to move through it leads us to imagine many very interesting spatial situations: Do we move across all spaces in the same way? At the same speed? If two spaces in terms of magnitude are equal, but the speed at which our body travels them is different, it will significantly make one space greater than another. But what can it depend on our body to move differently in one space than in another? Rhythmic spaces In 1906, Appia met Emile Jacques-​Dalcroze, and from their collaboration was born the growing interest of Appia for the role that the body plays in the rhythm of the scenic space: ‘the discipline of eurhythmics will make him [the actor] particularly sensitive to the dimensions of space, which corresponds to the infinite variations of sound’ (Beacham, 1993: 91). Dalcroze taught his students to translate musical compositions directly into space through the reactive medium that constitutes their own body (Figure 3.1). He trained his students with his pedagogical exercises until this happened automatically. Like Laban,10 Dalcroze refers to a sixth sense related to movement, which he calls ‘kinaesthetic or movement-​feeling sense’:11 Bodily movement is a muscular experience, and this experience is appreciated by a sixth sense, the muscular sense which controls the many shades of force and speed of those movements, in a manner which enables the human mechanism to these emotions and thus make dance a complete and essentially human art. (Jacques-​Dalcroze, 1917: 27) For Appia, the fundamental component of eurhythmics is that it enables the main scenic principle since it did not allow anything not arisen directly from the rhythm expressed by the human body: ‘In its natural development, eurhythmics will generate for itself a setting that inevitably emanates from the

80  Body and scenic space

Figure 3.1 Model box by Picado –​De Blas Arquitectos based on the atmospheric sketch for Orpheus and Euridice (Gluck, 1926) by Adolphe Appia.

solid form of the human body and its movements, idealised through music’ (Beacham, 1993:  94). In the spring of 1909, Appia gave Dalcroze twenty sketches of rhythmic spaces. The rhythmic spaces are compound spaces used to make a specific movement with the bodies of the actors but are not intended for a specific dramaturgy. In these sketches, Appia’s obsession with movement and light is seen, noting that the way to bring these spaces into reality is by contrasting them with the human body. Their rigidity, lines, angles, and immobility, in dialogue with the movement of the body, will borrow part of the performers’ vitality (Beacham, 1993:  6). In the rhythmic spaces, Appia established and emphasised the mass and volume for the spectator, because only in the context of that scenic configuration could the actor’s body be appreciated and how the actor’s body occupied the space rhythmically. In this way, it is possible to perceive and measure the movement concerning the static elements on the scene (Beacham, 2013 [1994]: 79).

The body in the theatrical space: the Greek theatre For Appia, the differentiation between the stage and the auditorium was unacceptable. Thus, it was necessary to develop a new form of theatre architecture: ‘As theatre, one means both the auditorium and the stage, the spectator as well as the performer’ (Beacham, 1993: 90) Unlike Schlemmer, we do not work with the abstract scenic cube but with a theatrical space superposed

Body and scenic space  81 on a context in which the scenic space and the auditorium belong in some way to a ‘whole’. When Walter Gropius, as we will see in Chapter 4, carries out the Total Theatre project commissioned by Erwin Piscator, he classifies the types of scenarios according to their relationship with the spectator, one of which is the Greek theatre12 in which there is no complete separation between the area destined for the performance and the spectators. The Greek theatre has a strong spatial component, not only when referring to the space where theatrical performances took place but also in its dramaturgy. Aristotle, in Poetics (2013 [IV B.C.]), gave a fragmented view of the setting, scene, and dramatic text that led us to study theatre as part of literature. The staging of tragedies and their spatial configurations were part of the scenography, therefore not considered. In Greek theatre, the scenery never appeared as such, and the body and movement were kept as protagonists. However, there was a spatial evolution, using the bodies that were supporting the dramatic act. The customarily flat surface of the stage floor should be changed to provide a variety of levels, steps and slopes: there must be variations in high and depth calculated to emphasise the solidity and mass of the actor and the space that supported him. Instead of flats, solid ‘practicables’ should be used, whose reality was established by their displacement of space. (Beacham, 1993: 4) In the origins of Greek tragedy, Tespis creates the first actor, thus giving narration to the theatre and staging based on a chorus and an actor.13 If we analyse the staging in spatial terms, the fact that there are two elements in the scene generates a linear tension:  on the one hand, a choir, and on the other hand, an actor faced with a line of tension that joins these two points. However, the line that linked chorus and actor was still a flat element not only from the spatial point of view, since the line belongs to a plane, but from the interpretative point of view, the staging of the tragedy was a dialogue. Regarding the dramaturgy of tragedies and its impact on the theatrical space of the Greek theatre, the most interesting thing is that each of the great tragic authors added an actor14 and, therefore, additional spatial complexity. With the introduction of these actors, space begins to fragment. It is no longer a flat stage space based on dialogue or, in the same way, the tension between two points. The fact that several bodies appear in the scene, with their movement and expressiveness, creates a more complex space of tensions, which are always reinforced by the intervention of the choir. Therefore, although the Greek theatre has a clear spatial configuration since it was performed in a centre where the spectators’ eyes converged, it is possible that the dramaturgy and movement of the actors became decentralised. It may be that when the vanishing points of these geometries were established, the tensions of the bodies moved outside the theatre’s centre, which would be an inverse operation to what Appia15 proposes. In this case, we

82  Body and scenic space describe a limited and contained space where the body appears as an infinite element, which breaks boundaries through movement and dramaturgy. Most of Appia’s staged works have a tragic theme based on classical mythology. The sobriety of his spaces and the references to the Greek scenarios as an aesthetic option give the spaces a tragic character and are charged with intensity despite the sobriety of their forms, something that does not necessarily imply spatial simplicity. Like other creators of the moment, Appia held a reference to Greece not only from the point of view of the theatre space but as an aesthetic option. In fact, it is not difficult to find spaces in the Greek ruins that could be a stage of his, as is the case with the main entrance to the Festos palace in Crete. The Greek theatre building is unifocal; space is contained in one point. Not only the scene but also the strength of the theatre building is condensed into one point, the centre of the skene. It is highly recommended to visit the Theatre of Epidaurus and spend some time sitting in the grades. After a certain time, a series of geometric relationships are established between the grades, the orchestra, the stage, and the landscape begin to be revealed. Epidaurus is supported by the natural topography on the side of an elevation, but the landscape it faces is spectacular. The construction of the theatre frames this view, incorporating it into the scene. Even the relationship with the exterior landscape is done in a focal way; the scenic space does not escape to the outside. It is the landscape that, by a centripetal force exerted by the Greek theatrical space, is contained in the theatre, again manifesting the strong focus of this construction. Appia breaks with this focus regarding its staging, using static three-​dimensional elements that make the scenic space transcend the limits of the scene. From Epidaurus to the Hall of Hellerau In 1910, Dalcroze and Appia had the opportunity to take another step in their scenic investigations. At this time, Appia saw how eurhythmics could become in themselves all the staging, and that could lead them to the transformation of the performing arts (Beacham, 2013 [1994]: 79). One of the performances by Dalcroze’s students in Dresden was attended by Wolf Dohrn, the general secretary of the Deutsche Werkbund,16 which he had found in 1907. Dohrn, together with Karl Schmidt, had established a small factory on the outskirts of Dresden with the idea of enabling workers to overcome the threat of dehumanisation in the modern industry to increase the feeling of satisfaction and pride in the work. Around the factory, which was on a hill and next to a pine forest, they decided to establish a settlement based on the English model of the ‘garden city’, which would be the first city of this kind in Germany. Dohrn and Schmidt called the settlement ‘Hellerau’.17 For Dohrn, meeting Dalcroze was a revelation; Dohrn was convinced that through eurhythmics, Hellerau could become a future centre for spiritual and

Body and scenic space  83 physical regeneration that would precede a social renewal. Thus, Dohrn’s goal was to convert eurhythmics into the renewal spirit of the Hellerau community. In November 1909, Dohrn invited Dalcroze to build an institute in Hellerau, which would become the main site for the practice, research, and propagation of eurhythmics. Dohrn expressed a wish that this institute would be built according to his requirements and specifications, so Dalcroze proposed that Appia would be directly involved in the planning of the institute and its construction from the beginning. After two weeks, Appia had prepared some initial designs which they discussed between them –​Dalcroze, Dohrn, and Appia –​before Tessenow began building the project. The Russian painter Alexander von Salzmann was responsible for overseeing the project’s lighting, which promised to be complex and unprecedented. The dance hall ended up as a rectangular hall providing a unique space for dancers and spectators. The latter was one of Appia’s contributions to the contemporary theatrical scene: the dematerialisation of the black box or the introduction of spectators into the stage, which was one of Appia’s premises. Also, here we can appreciate references to the Greek theatre building. In Greek theatre –​ what Walter Gropius defined as the second type of theatre space –​actors and spectators are included in the same space; the circle’s geometry makes this happen. The Hellerau Hall had seating for 560 spectators and space for 250 actors. Apart from the central hall, the Institute had classrooms, changing rooms, and small rehearsal rooms. The facade of the building was composed of four large pillars that supported the roof, and the central space was flanked by two lateral wings. At the rear, there was a closed patio with an area covered with arches where outdoor exercises were performed. Dalcroze was especially interested in both the nature of light in the central space and the role of the viewer. In an article entitled Eurhythmics and Theatre (1911), Appia wrote the following: Up to now, only quiet attention has been required of the audience. To encourage this, comfortable seats have been provided in semi-​darkness, to encourage a state of total passivity –​evidently the proper attitude for spectators. In other words, here, as elsewhere, we have attempted to separate ourselves from the work of art; we have become eternal spectators! Eurhythmics will overcome this passivity! Musical rhythm will never enter all of us, to say: you yourself are the work of art. And then, we will feel it, and nevermore be able to forget it. (Beacham, 1993: 92) In the same essay, Appia refers to the atmosphere of the space that is determined by light: ‘Light, not having to be subordinated to painted curtains, and not being one of its only functions to illuminate them, acquires autonomy, and

84  Body and scenic space begins to be itself, an active element in space’. Until Hellerau, Appia had not had the opportunity to experience his ideas, but together with Salzmann, he created a system to generate diffused and punctual light. Hellerau’s room (also the spectator area) was illuminated by 7,000 lights installed behind a translucent panel. These panels were on both the walls and the ceiling; Salzmann describes this element in this way: ‘instead of lighted space, we have a light-​ producing space’ (Beacham, 2013 [1994]: 94).

Atmospheres For Appia, the contact the body establishes with matter is the one that outlines its existing geography. For architects, this statement has special relevance since it highlights the important role that matter plays in spatial configuration. Matter is important, but without the interpretation the body makes of space when it comes into contact with it, the information we have is incomplete. Until the moving bodies do not interact with this space, we will not know its geography. Instead, we will obtain cartographies that do not necessarily coincide with the architectural plans that represent space. The atmospheres that Appia created in his staging also generate interference in the actors’ movements. Light is the element granting material qualities to scenic topographies, and it is also through light that atmospheres are generated, which, as we saw at the beginning, are implicit in the dramatic text. This chapter begins with the lecture Atmospheres, published by Peter Zumthor, in which he explains the elements that influence and shape the atmosphere. Many of these elements are also found in Appia’s approach to scenography: in the first place, the magic of the real, since all representation is based on a real model. Zumthor describes this first element as the body of architecture ‘the material presence of things in a piece of architecture, its frame […] That kind of thing has a sensual effect on me […] To me, it is a kind of anatomy’ (Zumthor, 2006:  21–​23). Precisely because of that attempt to capture reality on stage, Appia proposes the elimination of painted curtains, the first step to generate an atmosphere. The use of three-​dimensional and real elements that give depth, together with the integration of the auditorium into the stage, makes the scenic space a real space: a single space for all the ones present18  –​performers and audience  –​in which you can perceive the strength and materiality of the scenic elements. The sound of the space is explained as follows: interiors are like large instruments, collecting sound, amplifying it, transmitting it elsewhere. That has to do with the shape peculiar to each room and with the surface of the materials they contain, and the way those materials have been applied. (Zumthor, 2006: 29) Appia also identifies the sensitivity of space with an audio sensitivity; ‘the discipline of eurhythmics will make him [the actor] particularly sensitive to

Body and scenic space  85 the dimensions of space, which correspond to the infinite variations of sound’ (Beacham, 1993: 91). The temperature of a space is the next element; ‘it is well known that materials extract the warmth from our bodies. Steel, for instance, is cold and drags the temperature down’ (Zumthor, 2006: 35). However, this temperature of the materials also has to do with the temperature of the light; each material will provide the space with a certain temperature of light. Temperature can be controlled on stage with colour, something Appia is aware of and that it uses as a medium for its creation of atmospheres: Light can be coloured either in itself or through glass slides placed in front of it; it can project images, and indeed ones of every intensity […] Through the projection of combinations of colours, or of images, light can create a stage milieu, or, indeed, things which prior to the projection were not even there. (Beacham, 2013 [1994]: 25) The next one is the Surrounding Objects, and as the name indicates, it refers to the things that surround us. At this point –​although it could also be applied to other elements –​we can talk about the relationship between the dramatic action and the spectator proposed by Appia. The novelty lies in not hiding spectators as a collective through the absence of light. With the diffused light he introduces, all the spectators become visible; therefore, in some way, they become active elements of the dramatic atmosphere. This unity between the stage and the auditorium is also present in the Greek theatre, where the public’s own disposition around the orchestra made them visible and aware of their status as spectators, and evidently had an impact on the atmosphere of the play. Zumthor names the following element between Composure and Seduction and indicates the time needed to experience a space: ‘Architecture is a spatial art, as people always say. But architecture is also a temporal art. My experience of it is not limited to a single second’ (Zumthor, 2006:  41). Zumthor also suggests that spaces seduce users not to be driven but to be able to walk freely, drift. As we have already seen in one of the sections, Appia states that ‘to measure space, our body has the need of time’, and therefore, ‘the duration of the movements measures its extension (that of space)’. In other words, the atmosphere of space will directly affect our movement and our perception. The next one is the tension between interior and exterior and the existing difference between the inside and outside: These thresholds, crossings, the tiny loop-​hole door, the almost imperceptible transition between the inside and the outside, an incredible sense of place, an unbelievable feeling of concentration when we suddenly become enclosed, of something enveloping us, keeping us together, holding us –​whether we be many or single. An arena for individuals and the public, for the private and public spheres. (Zumthor, 2006: 47)

86  Body and scenic space The staging of Orpheus in Hellerau was a resounding success, specifically the scene of his descent into the underworld. Orpheus entered from the highest point of the illuminated scenic structure and slowly descended the stairs into the darkness, confronted by the Furies. This transit of Orpheus shows the tension between two spaces that can either be interior and exterior or ‘the earthly’ and ‘the underworld’. However, the important element is the differentiation of two different atmospheres. In the case of Orpheo, Appia achieves this differentiation: on the one hand, through the lighting, and on the other hand, with the configuration of the scenic elements –​in this case, the staircase represents the transit. The last one is The Light on Things, that is, how things are revealed to us through light; ‘Where and how the light fell. Where the shadows were. And the way the surfaces were dull or sparkled or had their own depth’ (Zumthor, 2006: 57). Appia indicates that it is necessary to apply two types of light. The first type of light is a diffused light that provides luminosity and that later will serve as a basis for other effects. Diffused light is a neutral light which purpose is to facilitate vision; the most creative effects are achieved through other types of light. The other lights can be used as a tool by the stage artist, as if he were a sculptor, to highlight, distort, or dematerialise. Appia’s greatest achievement was the generation of architectural atmospheres through scenography, giving up a whole naturalistic tradition to elevate scenery to a truly spatial art. Appia was able to create aquatic and gaseous spaces or make atmosphere become such a heavy element that it could even hinder movement, always speaking from the perceptual point of view. However, the aesthetic characteristics of the atmospheres are closely related to the movement of the actors in that space. As noted above, Appia states that ‘to measure space, our body needs for time’ and therefore, ‘the duration of the movements measures its extent (that of space)’. The atmospheres influence the duration of the movements as if they were the physical environment. To generate a perception of an aqueous atmosphere, the actors must adjust their movements to the characteristics of that medium. However, this also happens in the spaces we inhabit; the differences between the atmospheres of two spaces as different as the Pantheon of Rome or the Barcelona Pavilion of Mies van de Rohe, have an influence on the characteristics of our movements.

Experiments Interferences with the genius loci The experiments in this chapter explore how the actions and rituals that have originated a space remain in them through its spatial configuration and atmosphere. In addition to this, these experiments try to define the influence of space in the actions that we develop in them. The concept of the genius loci –​a term used in Roman mythology to name the spirit that protects a place –​is

Body and scenic space  87 here used to reference those features of a space that keep the memory of its origin. The first experiments  –​Micro-​actions in Greece  –​develop some abstract actions based on rhythm and geometry in several Ancient Greek locations. The second experiment is a site-​specific performance in the Old Vinegar Factory in Limassol (Cyprus), where there is a clear influence of the site on the performance, becoming an active element in the play’s dramaturgy. In both cases, it is visible that the sites still have a strong presence, even though they have lost their original purpose long time before. Micro-​actions in Greece In 2014, I  was teaching in a design unit at the School of Architecture of Madrid (Universidad Politécnica de Madrid) and during that academic year, we organised a trip to Greece and carried out a series of micro-​actions in different scenarios. All the selected locations are civic spaces that originated from a ritualistic action. These experiments deal with the interpretation of space through the responses of the body. Micro-​actions in Greece puts the human body in the centre of spaces generated from bodily action (ritual or performative) and provides a different mechanism to analyse space through performative actions. Once in the location, participants were given an action to be performed with their bodies. It is very important to understand these actions as part of a specific location; almost like ‘site-​specific performances’, the actions are so linked to the place that they could not be decontextualised. Every time we arrived to each location, we took possession of the site, which also generated certain disorientation and surprise in all the people that were not taking part of the action. These actions were, on the one hand, a different and unique way of experiencing the space in which we found ourselves. On the other hand, the actions constituted an approach to the scale of these spaces –​most of them of monumental scale. When placed in each of the spaces, the participants became part of the action, becoming both objects and subjects. This idea of using the body itself as a physical instrument for a better knowledge of space was previously used in the performing arts, in a more or less literal sense. On 2 December 1977, the year in which the Georges Pompidou Centre in Paris was inaugurated, Orlan began to measure the square in front of the museum with her body. The process began with its outer space and continued the action in the interior rooms of the museum. The action ended at 6  p.m. with a final gesture, imitating the Statue of Liberty. This action, called mesuRAGE, was one of the actions carried out in various parts of Europe and the United States where she always used her body, not only for aesthetic purposes but also as a tool to achieve a better knowledge of space. Another artist with a similar approach is Valie Export. Body Configurations is a series of photographs made between 1972 and 1976 in which she explores spaces by putting them in dialogue with her body through different postures.

88  Body and scenic space In the work of both artists, a series of actions are performed in different locations, perhaps in response to the need to know the world better through their bodies, a process that was one of our departure points when proposing these micro-​performances. Another aspect of these micro-​actions is that it was always the space that gave us the clues to act. Sometimes before arriving, we thought of a certain action, but once we were there, the geometry or spatial configuration led us to a completely different action. It is in this sense that these experiments become especially relevant in the way they underline the close relationship between the body and the way space was generated in first place. This experience leads us to a better understanding of the formal and spatial mechanisms and the separation that exists between the rational and the sensible, and why not, between the Apollonian and the Dionysian. Objectives This experiment had two main objectives; the first is pedagogical and based on the exploration and understanding of space through the body. This experiment proposes an active experience of selected Ancient Greek locations to pursue a better understanding of the architectural and spatial mechanisms. If possible, this approach acquires more relevance since these are spaces whose origins are linked to the actions of the human body since both have their origin in Greek rituals. The second objective, closely linked to the first, but that has acquired a larger dimension in the context of this book, is the relationship between the body and its actions within architectural space. In this context, we demonstrate that the actions of the body are capable of generating space and how, in this case, the body can make a different reading of it through concrete and abstract actions related to its morphology. To sum up, the intention of these actions is to underline and highlight the reading that the body, either as an individual or a group, makes of the selected locations. Not only is the individual experience taken into account but also the collective experience, thus establishing a duality between an active agent and a passive agent or spectator. This is because when undertaking the action as a group, each of the participants are actively engaging with the action, but at the same time they see as spectators the actions of the other participants. These experiences, as described below, have allowed an innovative approach to these spaces. Methodology and development This block of experiments presents the actions carried out in two of the locations: the first in the Theatre of Epidaurus and the second in the Treasury of Atreus – or the Tomb of Agamemnon – in Mycenae. The first location –​ Epidaurus –​constitutes an exterior space with a strong geometric and visual

Body and scenic space  89 relationship with the surrounding landscape. In the second case, the action was performed in an interior space configured with a dome. EPIDAURUS THEATRE

Epidaurus Theatre is inserted into the landscape, located inside a pine forest, set on a slope of the land. Epidaurus was designed in the fourth century B.C . by Polyclitus the Younger, and it is an ancient theatre with the best acoustics in the world. When we see this space in photos, it is difficult to imagine its real dimensions; we are only aware of its scale when standing in the orchestra. Also, in this case, we began with an individual exploration of the space, in which our impulses placed ourselves in the centre of the orchestra and the highest areas of the amphitheatre. Once we were in the highest part, it was possible to appreciate how the landscape is integrated into the theatre space. After the space was individually explored, appropriate actions began to emerge and become defined. It is important to emphasise the fact that it was the space itself that, on many occasions, gave us the actions to be performed. The first of these actions was to place ourselves in the radius that serves as the axis of symmetry for the theatre. Each of us stood on a step (Figure 3.2),

Figure 3.2 Micro-​action at Epidaurus Theatre (Greece, 2014).

90  Body and scenic space allowing us to measure the radius with 70 people (two of us were watching from another point). In the second action, we located ourselves in the lowest part, around the orchestra. We all sat in the first row. In the third action, we divided ourselves into groups forming circumference arches in the stands. This last position allowed us to see the space and the human figure from different points of view, also emphasising the real scale of Epidaurus. Each of these actions revealed different characteristics of the space concerning its geometry and physical configuration. No actions were planned; instead, they emerged from our explorations. TREASURY OF ATREUS

This monumental space is also called the Tomb of Atreus or the Tomb of Agamemnon. The main space consists of a dome of concentric rows of ashlars. Once our eyes were used to being inside, we began to explore the space, first individually and then as a group (Figure 3.3). When working as individuals, the first movements were the contemplation of the highest point of the dome and the exploration of the perimeter. Therefore, we could say

Figure 3.3 Micro-​action at Treasury of Atreus (Greece, 2014).

Body and scenic space  91 that the spaces of the greatest occupation in these first moments were the perimeter and the centre. This first contact with the place configured the action, formed by three key moments. In this collective exploration of space, the starting point was the perimeter measurement; how many people were placed next to each other to measure the perimeter circle? In each position, we also worked on the sound of space through rhythms we made with our bodies. The loudness of this space is very particular; through this experience and, as Zumthor pointed out in his lecture Atmospheres, we could see how sounds are a fundamental part of the configuration of a space’s atmosphere. We placed ourselves in a circle next to the walls at a distance of approximately one meter, and we slowly walked towards the centre until we found the concentric circle that could contain 72 people with our shoulders in contact. From that circle, located approximately in the mediatrix of the distance between the perimeter and the central point, we continued the transition to the centre of the space, our final point, from which we went outside. CONCLUSIONS

As in all previous experiments, we focused on the body in motion. In this case, the object of study is the different positions of the body and bodies as related to the architectural space. The configurations that occurred in these two spaces speak of their geometry but are treated more as static captures than transitions. Despite this change, the transitions in the case of the Treasury of Atreus are clear, due to the character of space. Unlike the Treasury of Atreus, in Epidaurus, the transitions between the three positions were not fluid. This variation has to do with differences in the genesis of space. In the Treasury of Atreus, the circular space is linked to the action of the funerary rite; there is a spatial narrative that determines the sequence of the actions. All the attendees in that space were invited to take part in the ritual and, therefore, to perform the actions. There was no static space. As we reproduced our micro-​action, a possible sequence could be the entrance, the exploration of the limits, the meeting under the highest point (where it is possible to reach a cathartic experience) and from there, once the change is operated, a procession to leave the space. There are similarities between the exploration of space with the stages of the hero’s19 journey as described in Greek tragedy, something that certainly did not arise a priori but was discovered through the analysis of this micro-​action. However in Epidaurus, the main space is the audience seating, although the action does not take place there but in the circular space, that is, the orchestra. Therefore, the seating area is a static space, which influences the development of static micro-​actions. The space is destined for action and ritual in the circular space; the rest is an observation space that also distances the spectators from the main performance. The actions in the Treasury of Atreus produced greater immersion with the participants; this outcome is closely related to the character of the space; a

92  Body and scenic space place for funerary rituals, before the death departed to the underworld. There is no possibility of alienation, instead of plunging the audience into a trance state. In Epidaurus, there was never a total immersion in the action; instead, it was purely an exercise of geometry, where the captures were more rational. Perhaps, as seen in Chapter 2 regarding the series of Dynamic Cartography experiments, this behaviour has to do with the circular geometry; the geometric characteristics of the circle in relation to movement are different from those of any other. In the circular geometry, the energy keeps being renewed, and there is no final static balance. Therefore, this experiment verified how the spaces that are generated by concrete actions –​that is, rituals –​despite losing their original use, keep in them the energy that generated them, almost like a fingerprint. The reminiscence of the original use of the space results in performative actions –​always based on the experience of space through the body –​that are reminiscent of the initial ritual that originated in this space. Strings, Old Vinegar Factory (2015, Limassol, Cyprus) Strings is a site-​ specific performance that I  co-​ directed in 2015, which presented a story based on interviews with people who have lived with depression and those close to them. Strings moves past the taboos and mistruths to invite a stark, intimate look at one of the most widely experienced mental health issues. Strings was presented at the Prague Quadrennial of Performance Design in Prague (2015). To develop the performance, we were granted an artistic residency within the programme The Yards Residency 2015 at the Old Vinegar Factory in Limassol, Cyprus. The residency provided us with time to work at the venue and to let the ‘dramaturgy of the space’20 emerge in many ways. Without having a previous concept in mind, we were able to reveal some hidden characteristics during the devising process at the venue (Figure 3.4). In this direction, the focus of this experiment is the findings made when analysing the superposition between Strings and two different performance locations. I was also able to define a methodology that has become my working approach to site-​specific  work. One of the starting points of this project was interviews with people who have previously suffered from or who are suffering from depression and with a psychiatrist. They helped us to define not only the message that we wanted to communicate but also the form of the piece that ended up being a series of fragmented real situations. In one of the interviews, the interviewee said that during the recovery, dancing was an essential activity, and after some dramaturgical discussions, we set the whole piece in the context of a salsa dancing class. The salsa class gave us the possibility of the audience engaging with physical activity. At some points in the narrative, we just delivered the class while the audience was sitting, and in addition to this, we spoke in Spanish to further distance the audience from the action. This mechanism evoked the moments in which, due to her mental condition, one of the characters wasn’t

Body and scenic space  93

Figure 3.4 Strings at the Old Vinegar Factory (Limassol, Cyprus, 2015). Photography: Spyros Kousouris.

able to engage with the actions happening around her. This dramaturgic decision was especially powerful because, at the beginning of the show, all the audience members experienced dancing, so the physical language was familiar, and they were able to project themselves mentally on the performance space. From the beginning, we worked in three languages: Spanish, English, and Greek. The other departure points were some elastics that linked the two bodies in the performing space and materialised the tensions between the characters during the performance. As one of the directors of Strings,21 I focused mainly on the aesthetics of the piece. Although I was directing and gave my opinion in many of the decisions, my main role was to ensure that any decision made was spatially fitted to offer the spectators a rich visual experience. Objectives The objective of this experiment is to analyse the different ways in which a site can influence a theatrical piece and how its dramaturgy incorporates

94  Body and scenic space the different features of the space. As Pearson says: ‘Context is ever-​present, unavoidable’ (Pearson, 2010: 144). The performance took place in two venues: firstly, a black box theatre at the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama (London), and secondly, at the Old Vinegar Factory (Cyprus). The use of two different locations was essential since it allowed me to identify the differences between performances, especially those concerning the spatial features. In both performances, there was a clear intention of exploring how the site could be an active part of the dramaturgy of the play by becoming an extra character, which was achieved by the application of explorative experiential processes in our first approach to the site. Methodology In Strings, space was an active element in the devising process, and we were able to observe how the conflicts shaped the piece. It seemed as if the piece had been created for that space, not just superposed to an existing reality, even though the first version of the piece was staged in an abstract black box in London. One of my first impulses, when I started working on the movement score, was to establish all the geometrical relations. In the first sessions, we worked with our movement director; we were just bodies, black elastics, and the two pillars. We started moving around the space, with and without the elastics, trying to figure out ‘What did that space wanted to be, concerning our piece?’ After a few sessions, we had more or less mapped all the movements. However, bodies, elastics, and lighting were not the only elements we had; we also had two projections, one with a video of the process of making coffee and the other with white letters on a black background, giving instructions to the audience. In addition to this, the salsa classes required having the audience in the ‘performance space’. In the theatre’s black box, the decisions in terms of space were obvious. There were pillars on one side of the room, so the elastics need to be attached there. We knew that the action had to take place in the middle of the room. We did not want a separation between the audience space and the performance space, so we arranged the seats in two rows, one in front of the other. The projections were displayed on the walls at the sides, which gave more tension to the space. I was able to get a further understanding of McAuley’s statement:  ‘Theatre space is never empty; the activation of spatial planes through the orientation of the performer’s body is always a means of bringing people and things into a relationship, making connections’ (McAuley, 2000: 112). Keeping this in mind, along with the previous experience in London, we arrived at the Old Vinegar Factory, where the geometrical characteristics of the space were more complex. All decisions we made in this phase were related to the geometrical laws of the space, taking into account the use of

Body and scenic space  95 the entrances and the visibility of the projections. We needed to have the projections on the wall, and we did not want both to be the same on, to activate spatial planes, as McAuley says, and generate more tension between the space and the performers. Once we decided the location of the projections and the audience in the Vinegar Factory, we began to create different movement exercises to figure out the characteristics of the space. Many of these exercises were based on Anne Bogart’s physical Viewpoints (Bogart & Landau, 2005), because they are related to the active elements of the performance space by including the architecture, topography, time and duration, and light and sound, among others. These techniques helped us to locate the most powerful locations in the space: not just those that worked visually but also those that felt right from the perceptions of our bodies. Viewpoints awoke the sixth sense that both Laban and Bogart describe by exploring the space through the movement experience, not rationally. As Merleau-​Ponty suggests, the possession of a body makes you able to understand the space, because the experience of the space –​the only way of approaching it, relies on the body. Eventually, within the movement mapping, everything fitted in its place, because the Old Vinegar Factory had a powerful character due to its atmosphere. One example was the pillar in the middle that was used dynamically, not just as a geometrical element. The pillar became the wardrobe: the everyday life of the characters was built with it. But what happens when the geometrical rules cohabit with others that are not related to them? In contrast to the black box, the inherent atmosphere of the Old Vinegar Factory was powerful. However, where does the difference lie? What provides an atmosphere with its characteristics? Conclusions In Peter Zumthor’s lecture Atmospheres, he enumerates the elements that configure the Atmospheres.22 If I  had to define these elements in both spaces, it would be very difficult for me to find correspondences in the black box. Features, such as materiality, smell, or uniformity, –​that allow you to explore faster than in a more complex space –​highlight the fact that the atmosphere of the play may belong almost entirely to the nature and decisions made by the company. In the case of the Old Vinegar Factory, its materiality –​the stone, the smell of vinegar that remained on its walls, or the temperature –​which was always the same, due to its ancient function to maintain vinegar in good condition, constituted such a powerful atmosphere that we could not ignore it. It was not just about the objective space or the factory’s materials but also about the concept that generated that space. A vinegar factory is an industrial space with spatial, programmatic needs, and where the characteristics of the constructive system used in the popular architecture of the area –​in this case, the

96  Body and scenic space arches –​play the main role in the configuration of the space. We superposed a narrative to this space and, in this way, articulated a dialogue between the vinegar production process and our dramaturgy. As Pearson says, ‘At the site, social, cultural, political, geographical, architectural and linguistic aspects of context may inform or prescribe the structure and content of performance’ (Pearson, 2010: 143). In this case, the performance was significantly influenced by the historical and cultural aspects of the space. Several subconscious decisions helped us to realise the kind of work processes that, as a company, we will develop in future projects. The geometrical analysis of a space provides us with a scaffolding to start working, but the information given is, in many ways, incomplete. There is a need to apply another layer, that is, the experience of the space, which gives us more information and addresses the atmosphere of the space. Viewpoints also helped us to figure out the spatial qualities of the space and removing our preconceptions.

From scenic space to the architectural programme Conclusions Appia’s professional career has, as its starting point, his admiration for Wagnerian drama and the harsh criticism that Appia makes of Wagner’s staging, which still uses painted curtains with realistic motives. For Appia, the manuscript itself should be the generator of the scenic space without the need for ‘additions’ from the director. The Wagnerian drama contains music, and music is duration and time. Appia has developed a whole series of reflections on movement, space, and time. From these reflections, the following questions arise: Are all spaces walked through in the same way? At the same speed? If two spaces in terms of magnitude are equal, but the speed at which our body travels through them is different, it will –​from a perceptive point of view –​make one space bigger than another. But what does it depend on our body to move differently in a space than in another? After studying his proposals for a new staging, it is possible to conclude that one of Appia’s greatest Appia’s achievements is his ability to control space and light to generate atmospheres. These atmospheres generate a geography that does not necessarily have to correspond to the objects or physical configuration of the scene –​what can be specified in the dramatic text since they depend solely and exclusively on the movement of the bodies. Through the elements that configure the atmospheres proposed by Peter Zumthor, this chapter presented an analysis of Appia’s work, trying to identify and define how they influence both perception and movement. This process has led us

Body and scenic space  97 to the identification of elements that define the architectural atmospheres in Appia’s scenic proposals. The mechanisms used by Zumthor and Appia are similar and seem to be valid in the design of both scenic space and architectural space. One of the key concepts that can be learnt from Appia’s approaches to space design is that movement is what fills the space: therefore, if the atmosphere is the main element that characterises space, it seems possible to establish a comparative analysis of different atmospheres belonging to different spaces through the study of motion. Just as a liquid material medium, the atmosphere will modify the speed and precision of the movements that occur in it, having certain influences on the movement of people. For the realisation and conceptualisation of his designs, Appia constructs a dramatic action, which triggers the movements of the actor and, therefore, the spatial configuration and atmosphere. This process is also done to some extent when designing an architecture project. The program can be understood as a set of guidelines and circumstances that exist in the ways of inhabiting a space, which determines the actions developed in it. However, is it possible to propose a design or architecture programme that generates spaces linked and determined by movement, and that at the same time, its spatial configuration is linked to the action of the body? This enquiry has been explored in the experiments of this chapter. The spaces explored had a very powerful set of actions on its origin. These actions –​either rituals or a specific architectural programme  –​have remained in them. As an outcome, any performance or use of these spaces is determined by its original use. This is due partly to the atmosphere –​which has remained on them through light, sound, materiality, or smell –​and their spatial configuration.

Notes 1 However, Einstein clarifies the imprecision of both definitions, since they constitute a simplification created to explain the experience of space (Jammer, 1954: XV). 2 See McAuley (2000). 3 See Chapter 2. 4 See ‘L’espace dynamique n’est saisissable que par notre sixième sens, le sens du mouvement’ (Laban, 2003: 21). 5 See Loeffler (1988). 6 The Bayreuth Festspielhaus is located in Bayreuth, in eastern Germany. It is a theatre built to represent the works of Wagner. The Ring of the Nibelung and Parsifal were released in this theatre. 7 ‘To free the stage from all the scenic accumulation of the late realistic school, and to create an ideal space in which the musical-​dramatic impulse could express itself without any hindrance’. (Loeffler, 1988: 28). 8 In the text of Nymphs, Giorgio Agamben defines what the choreographer Domenico calls phantasms; it is a detention between two movements in a way that allows the measurement and memory of the entire choreographic series to be concentrated in its own internal tension.

98  Body and scenic space 9 [F]‌or Domenico, dancing is essentially an operation conducted on memory, a composition of phantasms within a temporally and spatially ordered series. The true locus of the dancer is not the body and its movement but the image as a ‘Medusa’s head’, as a pause that is not immobile but simultaneously charged with memory and dynamic energy. This means, however, that the essence of dance is no longer movement but time. (Agamben, 2013: 10) 10 L’espace dynamique n’est saisissable que par notre sixième sens, le sens du movement (Laban, 2003: 21). 11 In Anne Bogart’s Viewpoints, we saw how one of the Time Viewpoints was the kinesthetic response, defined as: a spontaneous reaction to an external movement or a sound and the tempo with which this response takes place. 12 The second classic stage form is the Greek proscenium theatre, with its protruding platform around which the audience is seated in concentric half-​circles. Here, the play is set against a fixed background like a relief (Gropius & Wensinger, 1961: 12). 13 It is necessary to clarify that when there was only one actor, he could represent several characters. From the dramaturgical point of view, there was no such duality, which also constituted a contradiction. 14 Aeschylus introduces a second actor, and Sophocles a third. 15 Appia raises fluid spaces that suggest continuity beyond the scenic space. The body is responsible for containing the space. 16 The Deutsche Werkbund was an organization dedicated to the development and promotion of the applied arts in the German light industry. 17 Hellerau means ‘bright meadow’; it was named because of its location. 18 In the dance hall of Hellerau, the spectators are in the same central space, sitting on the side opposite to the scenery. Currently, this is the configuration that many alternative rooms have, but at that time, it came from an ‘Italian’ theatre configuration with a total separation between the scenic space and the spectators, something completely innovative. 19 The hero’s journey is studied by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, in which he establishes a series of stages. 20 Term borrowed from Mike Pearson. Lecture at Prague Quadrennial 2015. 21 The creative team was composed by six people; Mariana Sastre and María José Martínez as co-​directors, Adriana Marín as a writer, Alkistis Polychroni as a movement director, and Pablo Berzal and Photini Michaelidou as performers. 22 The magic of the real, the body of architecture (materiality), the sound of space, the temperature of a space, the surrounding objects, between composure and seduction (it refers to the time needed for the experimentation of the space), the tension between interior and exterior and the light on the things.

References Agamben, G. (2013). Nymphs. London, UK: Seagull Books. Appia, A. (1981). Work of Living Art and Man Is the Measure of All Things. Coral Gables, FL: University of Miami Press. Appia, A. (2000). La Música Y La Puesta En Escena; La Obra De Arte Viviente. Madrid: Asociación de Directores de Escena de España.

Body and scenic space  99 Aristotle. (1961 [IV b.C.]). Physics. Translated by R. Hope. Lincoln:  University of Nebraska Press. Aristotle. (2013 [IV b.C.]). Poetics. Translated by A. Kenny. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Beacham, R.C. (1987). Adolphe Appia:  Theatre Artist, 1st ed. Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, New York: Cambridge University Press. Beacham, R.C. (1993). Adolphe Appia:  Texts on Theatre. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Beacham, R.C. (2013 [1994]). Adolphe Appia:  Artist and Visionary of the Modern Theatre. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Bogart, A., & Landau, T. (2005). The Viewpoints Book: A Practical Guide to Viewpoints and Composition. New York: Theatre Communications Group. Brook, P. (2019 [1968]). The Empty Space. New York: Scribner. Copeau, J. (1990). Copeau:  Texts on Theatre. Edited by J. Rudlin and N.H. Paul. London: Routledge. Feuerstein, M., & Read, G. (2013). Architecture as a Performing Art. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Gropius, W., & Wensinger A.S. (1961). The Theater of the Bauhaus. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Hewitt, B. (1981). Adolphe Appia’s ‘Music and the Art of the Theatre’. Coral Gables, FL: University of Miami Press. Jammer, M. (1954). Concepts of Space: The History of Theories of Space in Physics. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Laban, R. (2003). Nouvelles De Danse, Numéro 51:  Espace Dynamique. Bruxelles: Contredanse. Loeffler, P. (1988). Adolphe Appia  –​Staging Wagnerian Drama, 2.  Aufl. ed. Basel: Birkhäuser. McAuley, G. (2000). Space in Performance: Making Meaning in the Theatre. Reprint Edición. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Pearson, P.M. (2010). Site-​Specific Performance. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sadler, M., & Jaques-​ Dalcroze, E. (1913). The Eurhythmics of Jaques-​ Dalcroze. Introduction by Professor M.E. Sadler. Boston: Small Maynard. Zumthor, P. (2006). Atmospheres: Architectural Environments –​Surrounding Objects. Basel, Boston: Birkhäuser GmbH.

4  Body and architecture Spatial dramaturgies

Introduction: the architectural script This chapter begins with the concept of an architectural script as the trigger of the design of spaces. The chapter deals with the creative process of a specific proposal in which both architecture and theatre are involved in a balanced way. The term architectural script refers to a text that has space as an outcome, rather than a performance. Also, in performance, the play presents a spatial narrative. As McAuley notes, ‘the action of the play thus emerges from the spatial organisation of the fictional place, and the sequence of events was determined by the “collisions” this spatial organisation permitted’ (McAuley, 2000: 81). In the context of the Fun Palace, the architectural script combines the actions and the spatial organisation that allowed the events that Littlewood defined. The concept of Spatial Dramaturgies emerges as a response to the use of space as the main generator of narratives. The book Dramaturgy and Architecture (Turner, 2015) puts these two fields together. The term Spatial Dramaturgies could be seen as a contradiction in itself, as both ‘organise structures in space and time; they suffer from diametrically opposing assumptions concerning the dominance of one or the other’ (Turner, 2015: 2). Dramaturgy has traditionally been applied to the written text, while architecture has been purely spatial with no narrative involved. As Lehmann states, a visual dramaturgy means a dramaturgy that ‘is not subordinated to the text and can, therefore, freely develop its own logic’ (Lehmann, 2006 [1999]: 93). This chapter will explore how architecture and other spatial practices –​such as live art or performance design –​can be interwoven with narrative, that is, a spatial dramaturgy. In architecture –​from prehistoric settlements to our contemporary cities –​ there has always been correspondence between social and cultural narratives and the spaces created in the city in these civic or domestic spaces. As Henri Lefebvre states, ‘the spatial practice of a society is revealed through the deciphering of its space’ (Lefebvre, 1974:  38), which means there is a correspondence between social narratives and the configuration of space in which everyday life takes place. Space becomes a reflection of the actions and

Body and architecture  101 events performed in it, as it can be seen in previous examples. Therefore, we could define spatial dramaturgy as a narrative developed through time that has associated social or spatial practices, reflected in the development of physical space. An example of this narrative is the drawing of a section of the Paris Opera (Charles Garnier, 1875). When looking at the drawing, we can see the audience’s journey from the street until they sit down for the performance. The section is itself a spatial narrative composed by an action that responds to the etiquette of the event. There is a transitional journey through different filters, where each corresponds to a specific social event. The audience enters through a hall that leads into the reception area with the main staircase –​a space to see and be seen. This space is the social area, where the audience interacts before the show. The next space in the sequence is the pit audience, where the arrangement of the social classes is reflected in the configuration of the space, with the higher social classes located in seats with better visibility. Finally, the stage is quite small, compared to the rest of the building. Another good example of the integration of a social narrative and space is the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Sâo Paulo1 (1948, Brazil) by the architect Lina Bo Bardi. In the museum’s project, Bo Bardi takes into consideration how communities live in the street and the importance of open public spaces. Her main objective is to make art accessible to all social backgrounds through architecture and design. Taking into account the everyday lives of her audience and her ideas about the development of accessible art, she designs a building that responds to the city and the needs of the community. Bo Bardi elevates the building, creating a public space underneath for events, markets, or concerts. The museum is accessed from below. A staircase takes the visitors to the first level, where there is a temporary exhibition space. On the second level, there is a permanent exhibition designed by Bo Bardi. The layout of the artworks is quite unusual because instead of hanging on the walls, the art is spread throughout the room and hung on concrete and glass supports that Bo Bardi designed. This configuration of the space provides the exhibition with dynamism, and the artworks create what could be defined as a maze that visitors need to explore actively. The objective was to make the paintings accessible to people and which Bo Bardi resolves by proposing this innovative gallery experience. This project is itself a crystallisation of different narratives –​spatial dramaturgies transformed into architecture. This chapter investigates as a case study of an unbuilt project, the Fun Palace (London, 1961), designed by the architect Cedric Price and the theatre director Joan Littlewood (Figure 4.1). In the context of this chapter, the Fun Palace has special relevance, mainly because the spaces of the building can change and be reconfigured depending on the actions that people would be developing, being in itself a spatial dramaturgy. This project has always been attributed to Price, from conceptualisation to realisation. However, the

102  Body and architecture

Figure 4.1 Perspective for the Fun Palace Lea River site on photomontage (1964). Cedric Price fonds. Canadian Centre for Architecture.

Fun Palace is rooted in Littlewood’s work, especially the Theatre Workshop, as Melville Mark indicated in his report of a project team meeting in 1965 during the development of the project: As I see it, the Fun Palace is the extension of the Theatre Workshop concept. About 20 years ago, a chap driving a lorry might for a time become an actor, writer, or make a design for Theatre of Action. It was a workshop. The Fun Palace is a workshop for as many people as want to use it. (Mark, 1965) The consideration of Littlewood’s input as the main element in the conceptualisation of the project makes the Fun Palace an interdisciplinary project, not just an architecture project with some consultancy in theatre, as it has always been presented. This way, theatre becomes the sprout of an architecture project, which is the materialisation of a spatial dramaturgy. The narrative that triggers the Fun Palace makes it a space that fulfils more complex requirements; unlike architecture, the Fun Palace follows the premise of how spaces are used. Theatre is conceived as the motor of social change; it transcends the limits of space through architecture, creating an urban, political, and sociological machine. The main goal of this project is the development of a public building with an urban scale, inspired by events from citizens’ lives and their spatial practices. The added value of this proposal is the approach from two different, and apparently distant, disciplines to a unique issue and how, in the process, they apply other knowledge, such as cybernetics or game theory to get a competitive response to a sociological problem.

Body and architecture  103 Another goal of this chapter is to analyse the impact that different disciplines had to extract the most important facts of the collaboration between Price and Littlewood. However, to experience space, a body is needed. Space cannot be understood from a rational point of view; instead, we must experience space to be able to understand it. That is the reason why Performance Art, developed in the late twentieth century, where artists returned to their bodies as the site and material for the practice,2 is taken as a starting point. Performance art is based on actions that belong to the arts in which a body deals with space through conceptual action. In the last part of the chapter, a reading of the programme of the Fun Palace from the point of view of Brechtian theatre is proposed. A comparison between Brecht’s epic theatre and the architectural process is also influenced by the Fun Palace’s programme. The experiment described in this chapter is Wooosh!, a site-​specific performance that took place in Winchester in 2016, supported by the University of Winchester and Winchester City Council. The starting point is the book Hopscotch (Cortázar, 1963), which presents a fragmented narrative that can be read in different orders:  from the beginning to the end, or following a proposed sequence of numbers provided by the author. Selected scenes from the book were devised and staged in different spaces of the city, creating a multimedia performance where the dramaturgy becomes primarily spatial. This project is practice-​based research that focuses on the creation of spatial dramaturgies superposing fiction to urban spaces.

Once upon a time, a laboratory of fun Joan Littlewood, a theatre director, born in England in 1914, was considered one of the most radical actresses, directors, and producers in the late 1940s. Her influences came from the German avant-​garde and the Russian theatres of the beginning of the twentieth century, such as Bertholt Brecht, Stanislavsky, Rudolf Laban, and Adolphe Appia. A clear reference for her practice was the working-​class movements of the Agit-​Prop. Together with Ewan MacColl, she founded a group called Theatre of Action,3 based on the spirit of Agit-​ Prop4 of the Red Megaphones.5 The aim of Theatre of Action was to shift political theatre to a professional level. The company researched the new European theatrical tendencies, and among others, they studied Adolphe Appia; from Appia’s works, they took the artistic and expressive unity of his stage designs, synthesising dance, lighting, music, and art into a new form of expression of scenic space through the incorporation of the performer’s body as an aesthetic element. They discovered something similar in Erwin Piscator’s works. In 1927, Piscator asked Walter Gropius to design the Total Theatre, a theatre that joined all the principles of his theatrical poetics based on a non-​hierarchical relationship between actors and spectators. Total Theatre would have three different stages with a different relation to the audience and projection screens

104  Body and architecture in walls and ceilings. Gropius presented the Total Theatre’s Teatro Dramatica at the Volta Congress in Rome in 1935: The contemporary theatre architect should set himself the aim to create a great keyboard for light and space, so objective and adaptable in character that it would respond to any imaginable vision of a stage director; a flexible building, capable of transforming and refreshing the mind by its spatial impact alone. (Gropius, 1961: 12) As Gropius explains, there are only three basic stage forms: the central one, where the crowd watches; the second is the Greek proscenium theatre, where the audience is seated in concentric half-​circles. Here, the play is set against a fixed background. This form finally became our present theatre, where the two different worlds are completely separated, a curtain divides the space, forming a deep stage. In my Total Theatre […] I have tried to create an instrument so flexible that a director can employ any one of the three stage forms by the use of simple, ingenious mechanisms. (Gropius, 1961: 12) Brecht wrote that Piscator was not only capable of taking the spectator into an active experience but also of overcoming traditional theatre that presented the dramatic act in front of the eyes of a passive spectator. That spatial configuration could lead the spectator to take part in the action. Appia had already proposed a union between the stage and the audience, but it was not until Brecht when the fourth wall was broken. By introducing the spectator into the action, Brecht is appealing for a critical response. Brecht’s ideas were the beginning of a journey for theatre’s democratisation, proposing a social and political theatre, which is the reason why Brecht was one of the most influential references in the theatrical production of Theatre of Action. In 1930, MacColl and Littlewood founded a company of their own, called Theatre Union,6 which was dissolved in 1940. In 1950, Littlewood founded Theatre Workshop in London’s East End, and she finally achieved some success with A Taste of Honey and Oh! What a Lovely War! at a West End theatre. She dreamt of a new theatre without stages, actors, or spectators, but instead a theatre of pure action and inter-​action, a synthesis between the public parks of London, its musical theatres, and the life of its neighbourhoods and streets. In 1956, Littlewood staged Mother Courage with Theatre Workshop. Brecht was very critical with the staging of his plays, but because he knew Littlewood’s professional career, he let her stage Mother Courage under the condition of having her play the protagonist, Mother Courage. Littlewood had an idealistic way of representing Brecht’s texts. For Littlewood, Brechtian

Body and architecture  105 theatre was a place where people could experiment with the transcendence and transformation that theatre is capable of providing. The audience was no longer passive but instead, they would become actors and active participants in the drama consisting of the discovery of their own personalities, internal conflicts, and low passions. It is through this experience that social transformation takes place. A theatre based on movement Littlewood made a three-​dimensional dynamic theatre based on movement training. She wanted a theatre based on human contact and exchange for which she investigated and applied Rudolf Laban’s methods. Her first contact with Laban’s work was when she was a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, where she was taught by Anny Fligg, a specialist in Laban’s movement analysis. Laban left Germany after Goebbels banned his choreography for the opening ceremony of the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin.7 He then went to England, first to Dartington Hall in Devonshire and then Manchester, where he developed his studies on the efficiency of workers’ movements. In 1946, some of the members of Theatre Workshop participated in an open session at Laban’s Manchester studio. He was impressed with the group, and Littlewood and MacColl were interested in Laban’s work, so they asked him for assistance. Laban sent his ‘dancing star’ Jean Newlove to join Theatre Workshop as a movement teacher, performer, and choreographer. The members of the company applied Laban’s ideas about the relations between time, space, and energy to identify and avoid movement patterns that appear naturally. In order to counteract and eliminate these patterns, the body must be used differently –​as it had been used before to increase the available range of efforts. The company encouraged actors to work on the different dimensions of movement: up and down, backwards and forwards, and side to side. The company built an icosahedron of wooden slats to help actors in dealing with these spatial explorations. Laban’s system had been used only in a dance context until this moment, but Newlove used Laban’s principles to create specific characters through movement in some of the plays. This interest in the usage of space by the actors, along with the fragmentation of the stage (Brecht) and the elimination of the fourth wall by having audience and performers in the same space (Appia), shows the awareness of Littlewood and MacColl in the presence of the body in space. Their way of dealing with the presence of the body in the space is more architectural than theatrical. Cormac Power, in his book The Presence in Play,8 proposes three modes of presence: the fictional, in which ‘fictional entities are made present on stage’; the auratic, where presence transcends the fictional and representational; and the literal mode, which refers to the body on stage. The auratic mode of presence was achieved by Appia, and Edward Gordon Craig –​among

106  Body and architecture others –​by finding a way to make theatre independent from literature by using other tools, such as space or light, to have presence on stage. It is in this area where the works of Littlewood and MacColl can be framed. This area is not just about representing a fiction (literature) but is also about using the literal presence of the bodies of the performers to transcend the fictional and representational, as Power states. In 1962, Littlewood met Price and shared an idea she had held for a long time: the idea of a space to learn and play, with all kinds of entertainment, art and science, painting and sculpting, conferences, demonstrations, and discussions. Her idea was to have a multifunctional space, generated by movement and action, which would be the sprout of the project of the Fun Palace. Littlewood’s intention of using drama and discussion to activate personal and political interests in society was later developed by Augusto Boal in his notion of spect-​actor and his works, using theatre as a liberation weapon in situations of oppression. Boal provided the individuals with an alternative response through the observation of reality. Littlewood wanted to use theatre as an element of change, not only as an aesthetical or entertainment element. This aim led her to develop new theatrical experiments, working with the audiences differently. Changes in society during the twentieth century led to technological advances; computers and robots would release workers from most manufacturing processes and time-​ consuming housework (Holdsworth, 2006: 33). Littlewood proposed the creation of a university of the streets, a place for leisure in which workers could enjoy their free time. Those who at present work in factories, mines and offices will quite soon be able to live as only a few people now can:  choosing their congenial work, doing as little of it as they like, and filling their leisure with whatever delights them. In London, we are going to create a university of the streets. It will be a laboratory of pleasure, providing room for many kinds of action. (Littlewood in Schechter, 2003: 212) In this text, Littlewood describes the activities as if she were looking at different scenes taking place in her Laboratory of Fun. Littlewood watched the stories and actions developed in that space. In that space, Littlewood was talking from the experience of the body, not from the mental process that architects usually go through to design spaces. An acting area will afford the therapy of theatre for everyone: men and women from factories, shops, and offices, bored with their daily routine, will be able to re-​enact incidents from their own experience in burlesque and mime and gossip, so that they no longer accept passively whatever

Body and architecture  107 happens to them but wake to a critical awareness of reality, act out their subconscious fears and taboos, and perhaps are stimulated to social research. (Littlewood in Schechter, 2003: 212) When Littlewood describes the actions, she also refers to how the project could affect the people experiencing it. The difference from an architect’s proposal is that, for the architects, the building is fixed and people live in it and may change it, as we will see later in L’architecture mobile by Yona Friedman, or in Archigram’s proposals. In the Fun Palace, the building can even disappear. The people who are influenced by the project have a past, a present, and a future, and we read people’s stories in it. We can recognise common elements in the proposal of New Babylon by Constant. The main difference here is that the Fun Palace is a realistic project, conceived to be inserted into an existing cultural, political, and social context and to transform it, not a utopia where new living models are proposed. It is a motor of social change in the pre-​existing society. Another interesting concept is that the durability of the Fun Palace is variable; it depends on the time when it will be useful, which can be appreciated in the building systems and materials proposed. As soon as it no longer serves people, the Fun Palace will disappear, as in other Price projects like the Inter-​ action Centre in Kentish Town (London). For this purpose, the structures and materials of the building are designed to be disassembled, as it had been in the Crystal Palace by Paxton, whereas New Babylon is conceived as a permanent structure. The use of disassembly systems has, as a result, a reversible intervention, where the catalyst of the change can disappear as soon as it has completed its mission. This list had a lot to do with the Situationists’ proposals, as it gave not just an action, but all the other constraints that were to happen along with that action: The inhabitants’ universe Why not try a trip around the moon in our realistic space-​capsule simulator? Captain Nemo’s cabin: An underwater restaurant The grotto of kaleidoscopes The Camera Lucida The maze of silence The cybernetic cinema The fantasy generator Climb the tree of evolution The calligraphic cavern List of 70 projects for a Fun Palace, John Clark (Ideas group chair) (Matthews, 2005: 88)

108  Body and architecture These descriptions of space can be performed from the experience of the body. In the Psychogeographic Guide of Paris (1957), Guy Debord creates unique a map of Paris. A  psychogeography is not an objective plan of the physical barriers that compose the city, but a map created taking as a starting point how the body perceives the city. As the architect Bernard Tschumi states, ‘The concept of space is not space’. Tschumi argues that architecture is located over the line that separates the ideal space –​as a result of a mental process –​and the ‘real space’ that is related to the individual’s experience. In Six Concepts, Tschumi states that ‘the future of architecture lies in the construction of events’ (Tschumi, 1996: 227). One of the fundamental works by this architect is the Manhattan Transcripts (1994 [1944]), based on the hypothesis that architecture itself consists of the superposition of space, movement, and events. Space is related to physical reality and topography, movement with our way of exploring space through the body and, finally, the events that take place in a determined time and place. With the appearance of these three layers, a tripartite notation system is needed. Movement is the most complex, as it implies introducing one order into another. Representing movement requires specific graphic conventions to represent the different choreographies to eliminate the preconceived meanings that we have for different actions. All this is needed because our focus should be the spatial effect: the body-​movement in space. In the Manhattan Transcripts, space is represented by a graphic language, which is familiar to architects’ perspective. Movements are represented by vectors that finally crystallise as some kind of corridor or space inside the material. Events are narrated through photography. In the Quadrennial of Scenography (2015) in Prague, I  had the opportunity to ask Mike Pearson some questions after his talk on the 20th of June at the Colloredo Mansfeld Palace. One of his main points was how site-​specific theatre was the perfect example of Bernard Tschumi’s architectural model. Tschumi explains the relationships between space and the events developed in them through three categories: reciprocity, conflict, and indifference. Reciprocity is when an action and an event more or less fit together; indifference is when both of them ignore each other, and there is no explicit relation between them. Finally, referring to conflict, Pearson suggests that site-​specific performances are the best example of this model. There will always be a conflict between the site and the dramaturgy of the piece. At this point, I asked him, ‘What if the dramaturgy emerges from the site, instead of superposing an external dramaturgy? Will there still be conflict?’ He answered, ‘Well, theatre is the best programme. Put twenty dancers in a corridor, and you’ll figure out the characteristics of the corridor’. That was not a direct answer to my question, but what he suggests is extremely interesting in terms of the possible applications that a site-​specific performance with a narrative emerging from the site may have. When developing a dramaturgy or narrative emerging from a site, we have another layer of that specific site that is not visible.

Body and architecture  109 For Tschumi, movement implies introducing a body out of control inside the controlled order of architecture. This action could unbalance a perfectly ordered geometry, but we should ask, ‘Which of them, space or movement, is the generator of the other?’ It seems clear that the experience of space is possible through movement, space can be perceived and measured through the body. Michel de Certeau defines place as ‘an instantaneous configuration of positions’ (De Certeau, 1988: 117). Place has nothing to do with the spatial experience. Place is where things are located; it belongs to each object or body, and there is no option for two things to be in the same place (Aristotle, 1961 [IV b.C.]: 58). The concept of place is relevant in performance arts, but not all performances are necessarily site specific. However, by putting a body in space, we are making a relation to space visible. In a site-​specific performance, we make spectators have an experience that is close to the architectural one. Even if the performance does not require participation, the performer’s body can make them participate in the action and, in some way, make them experience the space as well.

Event and situation There is a significant difference between the works of Littlewood with Theatre Workshop and her proposal for the Fun Palace. Littlewood’s political theatre, although she wanted to introduce the audience on stage, was an event, that is, something with a beginning and an end. The Fun Palace was not just one but an infinite number of situations that might even occur at the same time. This way of thinking, with all the different parameters involved, might also have changed her way of making theatre, turning the Eventness concept of her plays into situations. When talking about events, there is a need to clarify the fact that events are something that is arranged and happens as a disruption of everyday life. In Futurism, Dada, or Surrealism, artists were motivated by a rebellious attitude towards social conditions and they provided a re-​valuation of social and artistic values. In theatre, events are a public action that has a political manifestation, as Littlewood did at the beginning of her professional career. The American happening could be defined as an event. The first action was Untitled Event and took place at Black Mountain College in 1952. The event was organised by John Cage and the pianist David Tudor, but different disciplines were involved; Charles Olsar and M.C. Richards read poetry, and Robert Rauschenberg painted and was in charge of the sound. Merce Cunningham danced while Tudor was playing the piano, and Cage read a text about Zen Buddhism. For Cage, this action represented the possibility of performing several events at the same time without the existence of a causal relationship. However, there was very strict planning of space and time parameters. Cage had already worked with random composition methods, but it was not until this moment that he started to research a radical fragmentation

110  Body and architecture of the narrative. However, it was the translation that made M.C. Richards of The Theatre and Its Double by Antonin Artaud, bringing Artaud’s theatrical manifesto to the Anglo-​Saxon world which generated this performance. Artaud criticises his contemporaneous theatre practice and calls for a theatre not based on text, but a theatre for the senses, in which all the artistic expressions would cohabit without the existence of any supremacy. However, in contrast to an event, a situation in the context of existential philosophy ‘designates an unstable sphere of simultaneously possible and imposed choice, as well as the virtual transformability of the situation’ (Lehmann, 2006: 106). Therefore, the difference between them resides in simultaneity. In an event, things may happen, and there are many possibilities, but they take place one after the other. When we are creating situations, we are taking into account all these different possibilities, which can be easily seen in Abramovic’s performances. The unpredictability of the assistants’ responses to her provocations made a wide range of actions possible. With her performances, she created a framework for human behaviour.

The art of action This section presents examples that will help to define and identify the differences between an event and a situation. The approach to these two terms is made through performance and live art, since they share similarities on the language and outcomes involved in the project of the Fun Palace, focusing on its interdisciplinary nature. From the very beginning of the twentieth century, there was a development of new forms of contemporary theatre linked to action on stage and improvisation. The European theatrical landscape had been stuck in the text and the static. Performance art can be contextualised within the new working processes that find their starting point at this moment, when the boundaries of art were trespassed. Time and place play an essential role in these new forms as generators of contemporary dramatic narratives. A  play is not just text anymore; it is now the mise-​en-​scène, encompassing all the elements that take part in it, such as space, time, and bodies, as Hans Thies-​Lehmann states: The changed use of theatre signs leads to a blurred boundary between theatre and forms of practice, such as Performance Art, forms which strive for an experience of the real. Regarding the notion and practice of Concept Art (as it flourished, especially around 1970), post-​dramatic theatre can be seen as an attempt to contextualise art in the sense that it offers not a representation but an intentionally unmediated experience of the real (time, space, body). (Lehmann, 2006: 134) In 1958, Yves Klein started to develop his first Anthropomètries, transforming the bodies of his models into living brushes. The first experience took place

Body and architecture  111 on 5 June 1958. Klein worked with a naked woman whom he covered with blue paint, and he used a white sheet that on the floor as a canvas. The action finished when the complete sheet was covered in paint. On 9 March 1960, Anthropométries de l’Epoque bleue took place at the Galerie Internationale d’Art Contemporain in Paris. While nine musicians played the Monotone Symphony, three naked models covered in blue paint used their bodies to paint the surfaces of a room whose floor and walls were covered with white paper. Both Klein and the models express themselves through a complex body language that could create a series of weird movements that spectators would observe during the event. The audience was composed of numerous critics and artists of that moment, who were also invited to debate immediately after the action. Klein made a significant study in the relations between space and the body by introducing colour. In La Guerre, a choreographic project, 36 dancers were divided into groups of nine, and each was dressed in their cosmogony colour (white, blue, gold, and pink). In the Chelsea Hotel Manifesto (New  York, 1961), Klein distinguishes his work from Jackson Pollock’s Action Painting. What Klein proposes has much more to do with the work of John Cage and Merce Cunningham, especially after Untitled Event in 1952 at Black Mountain College. Many critics claimed that by this method of painting, I was doing nothing more than recreating the method that has been called ‘action painting’. But now, I would like to make it clear that this endeavour is distinct from ‘action painting’ insofar as I am completely detached from all physical work during the time of creation (Chelsea Hotel Manifesto). (www.yvesklein.de/​manifesto.html) Jackson Pollock’s paintings were photographed by the German photographer Hans Namuth. Due to the publicity that Namuth gave to his work, Pollock achieved the media support he needed and became a cult artist among his contemporaries. However, Namuth was mainly interested in the processes that Pollock followed, that is, the movements that created those traces on the canvas. Namuth produced his first film in black and white, which showed the action from different points of view. Sometime after that, he produced a colour film, in which he asked to paint on a piece of glass, and from its other side, he could record the paint traces that would configure the painting. The fact that Namuth was interested in his movements transformed Pollock’s paintings into actions or events; that is why Pollock became an Action Painter. It is this idea of an action that occurs during a time that configures an event. However, could an event turn into a situation? One of the best known live art artists is Marina Abramovic, and what makes her work extremely relevant in this context are the relations established between the body, space, and spectators that many times become spect-​actors.9

112  Body and architecture In Imponderabilia (1977), Abramovic and Ulay (Uwe Laysiepen) stood naked in front of each other at the entrance to a room. This entrance was so narrow that, in order to enter the room, it was necessary to turn towards one of them, making contact with both bodies. The influence that their bodies had on the space was so powerful that, just by that simple action of placing their bodies in one specific place, they created a change in the qualities of space. In this case, spectators became part of the action because their choices when entering or exiting the room were part of the artistic experience. Even in all the documentation made from this performance, the real protagonists are the assistants to Abramovic’s action. The only tools used in Imponderabilia to create action are space and the body. Although, in the end, the performance was stopped by the police, it was especially interesting because their bodies were the dynamic element that activated the space. In contrast to Untitled Event, we did not have any external issues taking part in the narrative, such as paint or music. In this sense, these dynamics would be the most purely architectural. Abramovic uses her body as both a subject and an object, pushing her physical and mental limits in performances where she works with the concept of duration, which can be seen clearly in her performance 512 Hours. In 512 Hours, which took place in August 2014 at the Serpentine Galleries in London, she made another piece in which the audience –​or their bodies –​was the basic matter of the performance. I had the opportunity to take part in this experience for a few hours, and I was able to get to a better understanding of her intentions with this piece. It was a durational experiment, so the action lasted 512 hours. Anything could happen, depending on the impulses of the people involved –​both audience and performers –​the actions could change. There were four different spaces. The first is a room where you get rid of all your belongings. You are given some headphones to disconnect you from external noises. At this point, you enter the next room, which has an entrance of light on the ceiling. Just under the illuminated area of the room, there are eight square pieces, forming a podium with people with their eyes closed standing on the top them. You wait until someone comes to take you by your hand. This person –​Abramovic was among them –​ leads you to form a part of this improvised altar. You close your eyes and feel the space, all the other bodies surrounding you until you feel the need to open your eyes, and your first experience is completed. Next, you move into room two, a rectangular room with a big window in the wall opposite the entrance. There are many chairs oriented towards the window, and people are sitting on them. The guides may place you in one of the chairs or next to the window, looking outside, although the only thing you can perceive is light, as it is covered with a white cloth. Finally, in room three, you encounter a more dynamic atmosphere, all the people walking from one side of the room to the other. You do

Body and architecture  113 not know exactly what was going on, but in the end, the rhythm of the room traps you, and you are involved in that movement craziness. Your movements start to interact with the others and, finally, you are part of the internal rhythm of this room. You could leave whenever you want, or change to another room and stay there for hours. For me, it was a rebellious experience, as it had a strong relation to all of the experiments I  had been carrying out, and it allowed me to establish some differences between the terms event and situation in the context of space generation. The unpredictable response of an audience towards some stimuli, the different possibilities, and the lack of a lineal set of actions may be the distinguishing features between the two of them.

Performative architecture Juliet Rufford refers to the Fun Palace as a performative architecture in her article, ‘What have we got to do with fun?: Littlewood, Price and the policy makers’ (Rufford, 2011). The project of the Fun Palace was a turning point for architects and how they approached the definition of an architectural programme, combining performativity and architectural practice. As Rufford reflects in her book Performing Architectures, ‘For architects, the concepts of performance and performativity have influenced theory and practice, prompting renewed attention to the body and lived experience, and to notions of event, agency, contingency and temporality’ (Filmer & Rufford, 2018: 6). Performativity can be appreciated in the way architecture programmes have evolved into more contemporary approaches: it was usually accompanied by a noun –​museum, house and school, among others –​that indicates the action usually taking place in those spaces. However, each time, more architects develop diagrammatic programmes: diagrams that are usually composed of actions. Every specific action that will take place in the space appears in the diagram, such as the diagrams developed by Price. However, in ‘traditional programme making’, a noun can encompass many actions without being specific; because we can sleep in both a bedroom and in a living room, a diagram is very specific for an action developed in one space. What differentiates Littlewood’s programme from a conventional one are the different possibilities which can be thought of as an open-​ended story, that is, an innovative dramaturgy of architecture or architectural script. From the very beginning, in her works at the Red Megaphones, Littlewood proposes the integration of the audience in the dramatic action, which can also be appreciated in the architecture proposed by the Fun Palace; the visitors are invited to modify the container of the actions, the architecture. This versatility is something specific to the Fun Palace; in analogue projects proposed by Friedman or Archigram, the possibility of changing is directly linked to the programme. The spatial configuration might change but not the programme.

114  Body and architecture In the diagrams of the Fun Palace, the actions and the physical space change at the same time; making visible the difference between programme and diagram (Figure 4.2). The philosophy of indeterminacy Before Littlewood and Price proposed the project for the Fun Palace, Yona Friedman was already working on a wide range of proposals where people, instead of being given a space with a specific configuration, were offered situations in which to create their live events. It is interesting to analyse the common points that emerge in the creative process of these architectures, such as communication and the structural materials that allow the construction of extremely open spaces. During the 1960s, Friedman proposed some spatial structures. He elaborated his manifesto, L’architecture mobile, and what he called La Ville Spatiale. Friedman proposed superstructures that would support both public and private uses of the city. The structures would be the support of the spaces of the city, where the configuration of each space could be changed. These structures were meant to be supported by columns to leave the least possible impact on the ground. His idea of mobile architecture was based on a system of construction that allows the occupants to determine the design of their own dwellings. Public spaces would be contained and ordered in the more fixed and supportive superstructure, and private (or domestic) spaces would be more flexible and changeable. Friedman transcends architecture, as he also develops his work based on his interest in communication and information. For him, the influence of the occupants of architecture on their surroundings is very important. The communication between cohabitants is one of the most important facts in these architectural proposals. Individuals should communicate with each other, have a good understanding of others and be able to express their own views. He discovers a sociological law, which he calls critical group size, as ‘the number of people with whom an individual can interact without the communication being distorted’. Friedman develops a series of prefabricated elements that can be moved or changed, such as panel chains or movable boxes, in order to make architecture completely adaptable to the necessities of the occupants. To understand Friedman’s projects, we have to take into account that they are not limited to the field of architecture. He transcends construction and design; he is a citizen above an architect. Archigram, another architectural reference, claimed that their purpose was to create ‘open ends’, an architecture that expresses its inhabitants’ desires for change. Price and Archigram had a close relationship. Archigram, which started as a magazine, was formed by the architects:  Warren Chalk, Peter Cook, Dennis Crompton, David Greene, Ron Herron, and Michael Webb. Their cartoon-​like projects were mostly published in papers, but they were not built. At the very beginning, they were not taken seriously by the Royal

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Figure 4.2 Typical plan of Fun Palace complex (1964). Cedric Price fonds. Canadian Centre for Architecture.

116  Body and architecture Institute of British Architects (RIBA). One of the keywords in Archigram’s architecture was indeterminacy. If we look at the definition in the Oxford Dictionary, we find ‘not of fixed extent or character, vague, left doubtful’. In addition to this, Archigram uses this definition of the term:  Of varying evaluation. Not one answer. Open-​endedness. With this term, Archigram takes us back to the existing difference between event and situation. Archigram, with their open endings and indeterminacy, proposed an architecture of the situation, giving multiple possibilities to the user of the building. The most important consequence of indeterminacy is non-​ interference in the way people use space. The architecture of the Fun Palace During the 1960s in London, some of the most unusual architectural projects ever seen emerged. At this time in what was called Swinging London,10 the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, among others, appeared. Archigram started publishing their utopic projects, such as Walking Cities by Ron Herron, one of their most popular images. One of the most innovative ideas had its origin in proposals by the architect Cedric Price. Price proposed radical concepts and redefined the way architects should approach their projects, that is, understanding human existence, its potential, and promoting social change. His architecture captured and reflected very well the changes in British society after the Second World War. In 1952, a group of young architects, artists, designers, and critics started to meet at the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) in London to discuss various topics, such as social communication, advertising, pop music, science fiction, violence in cinema, cybernetics, and American cars. Some of the people who belonged to this group were Cedric Price, Alison and Peter Smithson, James Stirling, and Richard Hamilton. In this context, Price and the critic Reyner Banham met, allowing them to share their enthusiasm for new technologies. Price always worked with a wide range of interdisciplinary concepts, using references like Karl Popper,11 with his concept of ‘society as fluid’, the physicist Werner Heisenberg,12 cybernetics theory, and Situationism. Price believed that architecture could be a powerful catalyst for social transformation. He had already worked in some projects with this idea of change concerning use. One of these examples is the Aviary of the London Zoo. In 1961, Price worked with the photographer Lord Snowdon on his best known built project, an enormous cage for birds. Snowdon and Price started with the idea of a curved cover, similar to a camping tent, with supports at each end; this morphology has to do with the flight patterns of birds. Once satisfied with the idea, Price talked to his friend, the engineer Frank Newby, to design a radical structural system. This system was developed by Newby and was based on tensegrity.

Body and architecture  117 Will Alsop, one of Price’s collaborators, explained that the aviary had been projected for a bird community. The original idea was that once the community was established, it would be possible to take the cover off. The metallic skin was a temporary element, it should be maintained long enough to make the birds feel comfortable as if they were at home, and after that, they would never want to leave it. The truth is that the cover is still there, maybe because it has not fulfilled its purpose. At this point, it will change or disappear, as it has happened with all Price’s projects, like the Inter-​action Centre in Kentish Town, built in 1977 and demolished in 2003. This project shared many functional and formal concepts with the Fun Palace. Another interesting project proposed by Price was Potteries Thinkbelt, a city that was developed along a train line. His idea was that this infrastructure could serve as a home for workers. The proposed houses also had this ephemeral character as they could both be assembled and disassembled in adaptation to their useful life. Their configuration could be changed as well. An interdisciplinary collaboration between Cedric Price and Joan Littlewood The Fun Palace, based on Littlewood’s idea, challenged architecture’s definition. The Fun Palace was not a building itself, but a matrix that contained an interactive machine. It was an infinitely, flexible, multiprogrammatic proposal that aimed to be a place where 24-​hour entertainment would be possible. At the same time, it should contain all the communication technologies and the components of industrial buildings in order to create that architectural machine. The space would be made up of service towers and trusses that would support the roof, the installation equipment, and the technology necessary for the communication support. It is a big empty multifunctional space with circulation elements, such as walkways, lifts, and mechanical stairs that would take users to form one part or level to another. That big space contains endless static spaces where different actions take place and dynamic spaces that make all the static micro-​spaces accessible. As Littlewood explains in A Laboratory of Fun (Littlewood, 1964), this structure should be there just as long as it is useful, and from that moment on –​as in all Price’s projects –​it should be transformed or disappear. It is an ephemeral project, as from its conception, it was thought to last ten years. However, the temporality of this project lays not only in its programmed obsolescence or in the spatial configuration but in the fact that time should play a dynamic role in human perception and understanding dynamics in the real-​time sense in terms of cybernetics, as we will see later. All the components of the Fun Palace were there to make it viable so that space is reconfigured in as many ways as possible to generate fun. This fun would be achieved through movement from one part to the other, where different actions were taking place.

118  Body and architecture It is important to understand the Fun Palace as a machine activated by users who can produce and process information. This way, the Fun Palace could be considered performative architecture, as its meaning lies in the exchange between machine and user. This process is analogous to what happens in a live art performance, where the body gives meaning to space through action; it is in this process that architecture is configured. Social change occurs by introducing modifications in everyday life. Therefore, an intervention like the Fun Palace, addressed directly to citizens, can be an incredibly powerful weapon in a changing society. These changes address routines and everyday activities. These activities also occur inside architecture, as the human being has always looked for refuge (shelter), as the primitives did in caves. Littlewood provided a set of possible stories that could take place in a space. The Fun Palace was not just the architectural container, but also the content. Those stories are the diagrams’ generators, along with the dramaturgy of the building. As soon as Price and Littlewood started talking about the project, they realised they needed more professionals related to other fields of knowledge. They soon incorporated Gordon Pask in the project team, as they concluded that the solution to all the challenges of the project was in cybernetics, game theory, and computer technologies. Cybernetics and game theory Price and Littlewood incorporated more specialists into the project’s creative team. One of these people was Gordon Pask, a cybernetician who became one of the key characters of the project. Price, who had attended many lectures on cybernetics at ICA, realised the principles that would lead the Fun Palace were cybernetics and game theory. Pask started applying his cybernetics knowledge from a sociological point of view. Cybernetics, defined by Norman Weiner in The Human Use of Human Beings (1988), is the control and communication of an animal and a machine. This interaction could be understood as negotiation. Weiner develops a statistical theory of communication, stating that cybernetics is the exchange of messages between men and machines. Gordon Pask states that architecture is ‘only meaningful as a human environment. It perpetually interacts with its inhabitants, on the one hand serving them and on the other hand controlling their behaviour’. Pask assumes that through cybernetics, an architect could assume the role of a social engineer, which is related to the historical role of the architect in building and city planning. As the architect designs human environments through logic and rational thought based on a hypothesis of human behaviour instead of the experience of the body, it determines the way of living in these spaces. This happens because the building does not communicate to its occupants, which is what positions the architect in a power position. This issue can be related to social control and the ‘society of power’, as Michel Foucault suggests.

Body and architecture  119 The Fun Palace, defined as virtual architecture, does not have a singular program but can be reprogrammed to perform an endless variety of functions. To programme in computer science is basically to determine an algorithm: a sequence of instructions that must be followed to solve a problem that can contain a function, which is a conditional structure. This programming has to do with space and time, as the Fun Palace is a matrix that organises these two variables. Gordon Pask, as the director of the Cybernetics Subcommittee, took the conceptual idea of the project of the Fun Palace from the Brechtian theatre premises to cybernetics. In the context of this project, cybernetics would regulate the short-​term behaviour of the building, such as daily activities. The long-​term behaviour would be analysed within the basis of game theory, a mathematical model proposed by Von Neumann. Therefore, the situation proposed in this project would have, as a result, different possibilities in terms of human behaviour and the use of the building. These answers could be predicted through cybernetics and game theory or, in other words, through communication, which is the reason why performance arts become relevant in the concept of this architecture. The essence of cybernetics is communication, and it is through them that we can approach the exchanges between actions and space. As theatre and architecture are interrelated in this project, it is important to pay special attention to Pask’s proposal for a cybernetic theatre, based on the conversation between audience and actors. It is quite interesting to observe the articulation of the dialogue between situation and event that Pask proposes based on the cybernetic solution for the dramatic novel form proposed by Littlewood. Among others, Pask proposed that the scriptwriter should be more of a programmer than a writer. Programming in computer science is based on algorithms, which are a finite ordered, non-​ambiguous sequence of instructions that must be followed to solve a problem. The crux of Cybernetic Theatre is that its audience should genuinely participate in a play. This possibility of participation is a prerogative of the theatre since any realistic feedback from an audience is prohibited by inherent restrictions in the comparable entertainment media of the Cinema and of Dramatic Television. (Pask, 1964: 1) Pask’s essay, Theatre Workshop and Systems Research:  Proposals for a Cybernetic Theatre, is based on the idea that the essence of cybernetic theatre is that the audience participates in the actions, thus overcoming existing restrictions in cinema and television where spectators can observe. Pask states that theatre is based on proposed situations and choices made by characters.13 He defines these structural situations as those that depend on events uninfluenced by the characters. In theatre, as in architecture, the structural situations are often engendered by uncontrollable events. We can also find this structure

120  Body and architecture in the Fun Palace. The most important fact in the process of configuring the space –​as in any project with this indeterminacy –​is to find the structural situations that would shape the proposal of space.

Breaking the architectural fourth wall Littlewood’s Laboratory of Fun (Littlewood, 1964) used some of its directions based on what had been already done in the artistic panorama of Europe. Brecht also wrote about fun in one of his essays in 1926, defending sports events and, in many ways, anticipating Littlewood’s project. Joel Schechter, in Popular Theatre, presents Brecht’s relationship to different concepts that appear in the Fun Palace. Brecht states that ‘contact with the audience is a component of the fun for which Brecht called, and in this sense too, Joan Littlewood’s Fun Palace is a Brechtian structure’ (Schechter, 2003: 178). This is the reason why we can read some features of Brechtian theatrical theories that have transcended theatre and reached architecture in the formalisation of the project. Specifically, taking into account the previous considerations about the programme in architecture, we could establish an analogy for a comparison of the traditional programme and the diagrammatic one in architecture, as well as the dramatic theatre and Brecht’s definition of epic theatre. Brecht changes the conception of political theatre through different mechanisms that, when applied, led to the traditional theatre-​making and transform the theatre into a weapon for political purposes. The first of these mechanisms is to ease the borders between actors and spectators, which were in place in the theatrical forms mentioned above. His objective was to create active audiences who would question and give their opinions on stories staged in front of their eyes. Walter Benjamin explains epic theatre in Understanding Brecht (Benjamin, 1998 [1966]). He starts with the separation of the audience and the actors: The abyss which separates the actors from the audience like the dead from the living, the abyss whose silence heightens the sublime in drama, whose resonance heightens the intoxication of opera, this abyss which, of all the elements of the stage, most indelibly bears the traces of its sacral origins, has lost its function. (Benjamin, 1998 [1966]: 22) Benjamin explains that when someone reads a novel, the reader is relaxed, whereas, in theatre, it does not happen. The spectator is tense, empathising with the hero during the play, however ‘Brecht’s drama eliminated the Aristotelian catharsis, the purging of the emotions through empathy with the stirring fate of hero’ (Benjamin, 1998 [1966]: 22). The objective of epic theatre is to have the spectator astonished by the hero and the series of facts

Body and architecture  121 Table 4.1 Epic theatre. Published in The Modern Theatre Is the Epic Theatre Dramatic theatre –​Plot

Epic theatre –​Narrative

Implicates the spectator in a stage situation Wears down his capacity for action Provides him with sensation experience Spectator is involved in something Suggestion Instinctive feelings are preserved The spectator is the thick of it, shares the experience The human being is taken for granted He is unalterable Eyes on the finish One scene makes another Growth Linear development Evolutionary determinism Man as fixed point Thought determines being Feeling

Turns the spectator into an observer but arouses his capacity for action Forces him to take decisions Picture of the world He is made to face something Argument Brought to the point of recognition The spectator stands outside, studies The human being is the object of the inquiry He is alterable and able to alter Eyes on the course Each scene for itself Montage In curves Jumps Man as a process Social being determines thought Reason

Source: Brecht (1950).

that take place within the play instead of looking for spectators’ empathy. The term Verfremdung has different translations: alienation, de-​alienation, defamiliarisation, disillusion, dislocation, distancing or estrangement. Brecht develops his epic theatre in opposition to the Aristotelian dramatic theatre taking the Verfremdung as a base. He is against Aristotelian catharsis, as it does not let the spectator develop critical thoughts on what is being shown. Brecht’s epic theatre and its differences concerning dramatic Aristotelian theatre are explained in the Table 4.1. Some of the mechanisms that differentiate Brecht’s proposal from the Aristotelian form can be found in the architectural approach to the Fun Palace. As noted above, the main difference was that the architect was no longer the director of the people’s movements or actions. People who entered the space would decide how they wanted to use it, not the architect. The first difference between dramatic and epic theatre is that in dramatic theatre, there is an alienation of the spectator whereas, in epic theatre, the spectator is an observer who can decide. This active role of the spectator/​user can also be appreciated in the proposal for the Fun Palace. People are not introduced in space and guided through it with fixed actions to be developed

122  Body and architecture in specific spaces. They are the ones to decide how to use the space and its purpose, and this might influence the configuration of the space. As an open-​ended architecture, it is the user who is in charge of finding the different endings; just as in epic theatre, spectators are forced to make decisions. These architectures reinforce the objective experience of architecture and the critical experience of space, given that the possibility of change implies an analysis of the pre-​existent. This architectural experience can lead us to a fragmented perception of reality. There are multiple options, not only a linear argument to be followed. Here, we have connected again with the juxtaposition between the concepts of event and situation. A  dramatic theatre is an event; spectators go to the theatre to follow a linear story. In epic theatre, spectators are given a situation with multiple options. The spectators are referred to their own living experiences; it is a theatre that transcends the dramatic author as, in architectural space, the experiences they are offered may vary. Epic theatre claims to establish human as a process, not as a fixed point, which gives more complexity to the concept of the spectator. There is no longer one unique reception point; there are multiple points that may vary from time to time. A person is understood as a complex human being that can interpret information differently depending on the point of his own life we are connecting to –​both as theatre makers or architects. There is no one way of understanding –​there are multiple ways, and it does not depend on the receptor but a single perception of the receptor, so the creative process reaches unlimited complexity. Through this approach to the Fun Palace, we can confirm that elements of the performance theories can be found in the formalisation of the project, which enables us to affirm that it is possible to propose an architectural script that will lead to the configuration of spaces through structural situations. However, the spaces will finally be characterised by the choices of the inhabitants. This proposal opens up the possibility of applying theatrical and performative mechanisms or processes that may lead us to different and innovative configurations and understandings of space based on communication resources.

Experiment Wooosh! (Winchester, 2016) Wooosh!14 is an interdisciplinary, site-​specific performing arts project undertaken by scholars, professionals, and researchers, which had its main objective to bring the spatiality of the city into a performance event. Wooosh! was supported by the University of Winchester and Winchester City Council, which made it possible to set up different performative events in several public spaces in the city. For the development of the project, we invited several visual

Body and architecture  123 artists and scenographers to work on the spatial narratives of the project for a week. Once the interventions in the space were defined, in the second stage of the project, dancers, street performers, and circus artists were invited to devise short cyclical pieces based on fragments of the book Hopscotch (Cortázar, 1963). The spatial interventions were made of pneumatic structures, due to their portability and the visual presence that they have in the space. They also provided playfulness to the event, facilitating audience participation. Wooosh! brings together the idea of the architectural script –​using urban space as part of the dramaturgy of the play, not only as a setting –​and the playfulness and participatory elements of the Fun Palace where it is the audience who decide how to interact with the performance, deciding where to start/​finish or which elements to engage with. As part of the first stage where the spatiality was defined, there was a process of drifting through the city to map the passages of the book with some specific spaces in the city. The premise of the project was to mix the fictional narrative emerging from the book with everyday life in the city. Mumford approaches the city as a theatre; as he states, ‘it is in the city, the city as a theatre where man’s mere purposive activities are focused and work out, through conflicting and cooperating personalities, events, groups, into more significant culminations’ (Mumford, 1937). The city has its inherent narrative, and it is experienced through time, as it is what makes the body able to engage with space. In Wooosh!, there was a narrative superposed to the city based on Hopscotch (Cortázar, 1963) that was proposed to the audience, fragmented and entangled with the different situations provided by the urban reality. The trigger was the fragmented structure of the book and how it can be read; either starting from the beginning or in the middle, or following an order proposed by the author. In both cases, the reader would get a different narrative from the same book. The choice of several locations in the city took us through a drive in the streets of Winchester, trying to understand how the city was configured –​in spatial and political terms –​and which ones were the best locations for the different actions. This process led us to the creation of a map containing both a fictional and spatial narrative that could be experienced in any order, while the city and its narrative are based on how citizens explore urban spaces. We could find in Hopscotch, and on the map itself, the metaphor of Ariadne’s thread, which might suggest a different way of navigating the city. One of the premises of Wooosh! was to approach the city as a performative event to get to a better understanding of its inherent laws of movement and tensions, where the performers introduce a new spatial and ludic dimension (Figure  4.3). This attempt to approach the city through performance studies has already been proposed. Paul Makeham points out that ‘performance studies provide an interpretive frame for analysing the urban drama, encompassing not only formally designated artworks but an almost infinitive range of other phenomena as well’ (Makeham, 2005).

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Figure 4.3 Wooosh! (Winchester, UK, 2016).

However, the approach presented with Wooosh! is not only about creating cartographies but also about finding new methodologies to work on the cityscape. Sennet writes: Navigating the geography of modern society requires very little physical effort, hence engagement; indeed, as roads become straightened and regularised, the voyager needs to account less and less for the people and the buildings on the street in order to move, making minute motions in an ever less complex environment. (Sennet, 1994: 18) The question this raises is this: Is it a less complex environment, or does this have to do with velocity and the way citizens experience space? What artistic projects like Wooosh! proposes is to introduce a new controlled event in the city so that it is devised in urban space with all its stimuli and then given to the community, which would ideally be involved in the devising process. Sometimes, this can be challenging, because some people may feel that their everyday life environment is being invaded. Nevertheless, in Wooosh!, we were able to articulate simultaneously in some public spaces their previous use and the performative action. The whole dynamic of the space changed, making visible the structure of the pre-​existent space visible. Developing a site-​specific project in a specific environment underlines the characteristics of space. Pearson explains that ‘performance might then be in conflict with or indifferent to the site as well as reciprocal  –​ and vice versa –​only through studied indifference would demonstrate its

Body and architecture  125 specificity’ (Pearson, 2010: 40). Meaning that, depending on how the performative layer interacts with pre-​existent space looking for conflict and reciprocity and contrasting both fiction and reality makes it possible to find unexpected data. Objectives Wooosh! aimed to offer a better understanding of the different spaces in the city through the sensitiveness of performers and dancers. Architects and designers offered a logical and rational response to the environment, based on aesthetics and visual composition. However, performers and dancers were able to provide a more perceptive engagement to the city. This collaboration translated into an outcome that encompassed visual elements that were introduced in key locations of the city that established a dialogue with the urban locations and their everyday life. Another objective of this project was to understand and discover the hidden dynamics of the city through the superposition of drama and reality. As stated in one of my previous works, ‘one of our main hypotheses is that when considering cities as palimpsests, the overlapped layers of information that conform them can also be explored through sensitive bodies experiencing the urban form’ (Martínez & Ruiz, 2018: 263). The term sensitive bodies applies to the participants in the project that have had the opportunity to develop their kinesthetic response to a physical architectural environment further: in this case, the performers and dancers. Methodology and development On the one hand, the team was composed of architects, designers, and performers that looked into the spatiality of the event and analysed the urban features of the city of Winchester. On the other hand, street performers and dancers worked on the score of the event and devised fragments of Hopscotch. During the first week, the architects and designers worked with the text in the development of visual artefacts that would be inserted in different locations in the city. There was an exercise of drifting across the city, on which we selected the spaces where the micro-​performances would take place. Once the spaces were selected and the visual artefacts made, the performers worked on the devising of the short pieces. The designers worked both with the pneumatic structures they were given and the text, creating five short performances in the selected locations of the city. At the same time, we created a map of the performance (Figure  4.4), which presented the different layers of the project –​the fiction of Hopscotch, the real perception of each site, and the physical configuration of each of the locations. This map was not realistic. Its objective was to represent narratives and be a complementary element for the audience to explore the city and the

126

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Figure 4.4 Map of Wooosh! (Winchester, UK, 2016).

Body and architecture  127 events. It constituted in itself a psychogeography similar to the one developed by Guy Debord, called the Psychogeographic Guide of Paris (1957). This map also included some QR codes linked to different audio files. The maps were handed out at different points of the city, close to the performance locations. The audience was encouraged to follow the map while engaging with their phones. The event was documented through photography and video. Conclusions Wooosh! has been a pioneer project in the context of the interdisciplinary methodology proposed in this book. It constitutes an early stage of what an interdisciplinary research group composed of professionals of different disciplines can do within the cityscape. Nevertheless, it is a first step towards a methodology that implies a wide knowledge of several fields and the capacity for synthesis. Another goal of this proposal is to generate high-​quality artistic materials, even if they are in a phase of research and development. Although in Wooosh!, the process was developed in collaboration with performers, artists, and architects, the ideal working group would also involve people who develop their everyday lives in the spaces where they work: that is, residents and communities. Also, the concept of the sensitive body is presented as a basic element of this research. Contextualised within the phenomenological approach to urban space, performers, and dancers constitute the basic tool to unveil layers of reality that we cannot objectively perceive. The city and its performativity encompass more complexity that we are aware of, and traditional or more normalised methodologies are not offering us the information we need. This project relies on an interdisciplinary approach to architectural and urban space from the sensitiveness of the arts.

From programme to landscape Conclusions This chapter starts with the idea of an architectural script or a spatial dramaturgy as the trigger of architectural space design. This idea is explored through the conception and development of the Fun Palace project by Littlewood and Price. One of the bases of this book is the fact that ‘the concept of space is not space’, as Tschumi argues. In the case of the Fun Palace, the idea of the architectural script was quite literal in its beginnings, because it was Littlewood who came to Price with her dream: the concept of A Laboratory of Fun. The fact that Littlewood worked on Laban’s movement basis and Appia’s spatial principles of Appia is essential.

128  Body and architecture MacColl and Littlewood developed an awareness of the body on stage, more through architectural rather than a theatrical process which was based on the fragmentation of space and the use of the body as another moving element on stage. As seen in the chapter, the influence of theatre in the conception and formalisation of the project is determining. When analysing Brecht’s proposal for epic theatre, we can see clear parallelism in the way of approaching the proposal from an architectural point of view. We can even see elements of Brechtian theatre in its configuration of space, such as fragmentation. However, the analogies not only rely on the spatial fragmentation of the space but also on how the creative team of the project engages with the users. One of the great discoveries of this chapter is the existing difference between event and situation. This difference was highlighted after my experience in the performance ‘512 Hours’ by Marina Abramovic. A  situation designates an unstable sphere of simultaneously possible and imposed choices, as well as the virtual transformability of the situation. For Price, the influence that the project had given him was materialised in his Inter-​action Centre in Kentish Town, built in 1977 and demolished in 2003. This project had, as a starting point, a diagram based on actions that were afterwards built as a flexible space which, after losing its usefulness, was demolished. The project of the Fun Palace still has significant repercussions in the United Kingdom. Lately, the Arts Council has been running a project named The Fun Palace, which tries to evoke Littlewood’s project, but only from the point of view of the actions it involved. This project has been developed in different places all over the UK. In terms of the architectural project for the building, it could be defined through the concept of indeterminacy, a term that comes from Archigram’s proposals in the field of architecture. This idea of an open-​ended project and, above all, the concept of having a building as a machine activated by users lead us directly to the processes followed by the practitioner studied in Chapter  5, Hélio Oiticica. These last two chapters deal with the idea of having the users as a collective, shaping and activating the object that we give them. We set the rules  –​or the situation  –​in which they can develop their actions and how this modifies the environment and for instance, the landscape in which we are immersed. Through the analysis of the Fun Palace, we can affirm that we could approach an architectural project through performance mechanisms that would provide us with different spatial configurations based on communication resources. The next step forward will put the body of the individual in contact with its physical, cultural, and political environment: the landscape. How does our cultural landscape affect us? Is it possible to modify or influence it through actions based on our perception and performed with our body? Which actions can be done?

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Notes 1 Museum of Contemporary Art in Sâo Paulo (Brazil). 2 Extract from the website of the Live Art Development Agency: ‘Performance Art methodologies (where fine artists, in a rejection of objects and markets, turned to their body as the site and material of their practice)’. www.thisisliveart.co.uk/​ about/​what-​is-​live-​art/​ (accessed 24 April 2020). 3 The commercial theatre is limited by its dependence upon a small section of society which neither desires, nor dares to face the urgent and vital problems of today. The theatre, if it is to live, must of necessity reflect the spirit of the age. This spirit is found in the social conflicts which dominate world history today –​in the ranks of 30,000 unemployed, starving for bread, while wheat is burned for fuel. The Theatre of Action realises that the class which plays the chief part in contemporary history –​the class upon which the prevention of war and the defeat of reaction solely depends –​is debarred from expression in the present day theatre. This theatre will perform, mainly in working class districts, plays which express the life and struggles of the workers. Politics, in its fullest sense, means the affairs of the people. In this sense, the plays done will be political. (Manifesto of Theatre of the Action, 1934) 4 Agit Prop is a Russian term derived from agitation and propaganda. 5 Theatre group MacColl belonged to what was based in the Berliner Agit-​Prop group ‘Die Rote Sprachrohr’. 6 The theatre must face up to the problems of its time; it cannot ignore the poverty and human suffering which increases every day. It cannot, with sincerity, close its eyes to the disasters of its time. Means Test suicides, wars, fascism and the million sordid accidents reported in the daily press. If the theatre of today would reach the heights achieved four thousand years ago in Greece and four hundred years ago in Elizabethan England must face up to such problems. To those who say that such affairs are not the concern of the theatre or that the theatre should confine itself to threading the path of ‘beauty’ and ‘dignity’ we would say ‘Read Shakespeare, Marlowe, Webster, Sophocles, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Calderon, Molière, Lope-​ de-​Vega, Schiller and the rest’. (Manifesto of the Theatre Union, 1936) 7 See Chapter 1. 8 See Power (2008). 9 Term taken from Augusto Boal in Theatre of the Oppressed (2000 [1979]). 10 Term applied to the fashion and cultural landscape that emerged in London in the 1960s. It was oriented towards the new tendencies and modernity. Its trigger was the recovery of the British economy after the Second World War. 11 Karl Popper (Vienna 1902–​London 1994)  was a philosopher who wrote about society and politics. His most well-​known work is The Open Society and His Enemies (Popper, 2011 [1962]), in which he compares society with fluids. 12 Werner Heisenberg (Germany 1901–​1976) was a physician and mathematician who developed the principle of uncertainty, essential to quantic theory. 13 These are the basis of Forum Theatre, which belongs to the Theatre of the Oppressed by Augusto Boal. A situation is placed in front of the audience, and the audience can interfere on the action changing the choices, to see what may happen in the case that were the choices of the characters.

130  Body and architecture 14 Creative team:  Co-​ directors:  Sam Howard, María José Martínez Sánchez; Movement Consultancy:  Gisele Edwards; Dramaturgy:  Mariana Sastre; Spatial Dramaturgy:  Aaron Casley; Design Leaders:  Rosa Herrero de Andrés, María José Martínez Sánchez; Producer: Mariana Sastre; Music Selection: Alessandro Pollini; Voice: Laurence Ashcroft; Design team: Clare Jefferson Jones, Paul Jones, Bea Cathro-​Wears, Ellen Weekes, Alessandro Pollini; Performers: Daniela Sánchez Ríos, Steven Millar, Thomas Jancis, Ellen Weekes, Bea Cathro-​Wears, Claudia May Worledge, Jean Marsollier; Collaborators: Dr. Olu Taiwo, Prof. Javier Ruiz Sánchez, Dr. Richard Cumming, Dara Hickey.

References Aristotle. (1961 [IV b.C.]). Physics. Translated by R. Hope. Lincoln:  University of Nebraska Press. Brecht, B. (1964). The modern theatre is the epic theatre: Notes to the opera Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny. In: J. Willet (ed. & trans.), Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an Aesthetic. London: Methuen, pp. 33–​42. Benjamin, W. (1998 [1966]). Understanding Brecht. Translated by A. Bostock. London: Verso. Boal, A. (2000 [1979]). Theatre of the Oppressed. Chippenham and Eastbourne (UK): Pluto. Cortázar, J. (1963). Hopscotch. Translated by G. Rabbasa. New York: Pantheon Books. (Edition consulted: 1987.) De Certeau, M. (1988). The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Filmer, A., & Rufford, J. (2018). Performing Architectures. London: Bloomsbury. Gropius, W., & Wensinger A.S. (1961). The Theater of the Bauhaus. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Hewitt, B. (1981). Adolphe Appia’s ‘Music and the Art of the Theatre’. Coral Gables: University of Miami Press. Holdsworth, N. (2006). Joan Littlewood. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Lefebvre, H. (1974). The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell. Lehmann, H.-​T. (2006). Postdramatic Theatre. Translated by K. Jurs-​Munby. Edición, new ed. Abingdon, England, New York: Routledge. Littlewood, J.A. (1964). Laboratory of fun. New Scientist, 14 May 1964, pp. 432–​33. Makeham, P. (2005). Theatre Research International, Vol. 30, No. 2, pp. 150–​60. Mark, M. (1965). Report of the meeting on April 29th at 3 Seymour Walk. This meeting was attended by Melville Mark, Joan Littlewood, Dick Bowdler, David Brown, Cedric Price and Pat Savage. Property of the Canadian Centre for Architecture (Montreal). Cedric Price Archive; DR1995:0188:525 5/​5. Martínez Sánchez, M.J., & Ruiz Sánchez, J. (2018). Sensitive bodies in the cityscape. In: F. Aletta and J. Xiao (eds.), Handbook of Research on Perception-​Driven Approaches to Urban Assessment and Design. Hershey, PA: IGI Global. Matthews, S. (2005). The Fun Palace: Cedric Price’s experiment in architecture and technology. Technoetic Arts, Vol. 3, No. 2, pp. 73–​91. doi:10.1386/​tear.3.2.73/​1. Matthews, S. (2007). From Agit Prop to Free Space: The Architecture of Cedric Price. London: Black Dog Publishing. McAuley, G. (2000). Space in Performance: Making Meaning in the Theatre. Reprint ed. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Body and architecture  131 Mumford, L. (2011). What is a city? In: R.T. LeGates and F. Stout (eds.), The City Reader. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 91–​95. (First published in 1937 in Architectural Record.) Pask, G. (1964). Proposals for a Cybernetic Theatre. Theatre Workshop and System Research. DR1995:0188:525:001:009. Cedric Price fonds. Collection Centre Canadien d'Architecture/​Canadian Centre for Architecture, Montréal. Pearson, P.M. (2010). Site-​Specific Performance. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Popper, K. (2011 [1962]). The Open Society and Its Enemies. London: Routledge. Power, C. (2008). Presence in Play: A Critique of Theories of Presence in the Theatre. Amsterdam, New York: Rodopi. Rufford, J. (2011). What have we got to do with fun?:  Littlewood, Price, and the policy makers. New Theatre Quarterly, Vol. 27, pp. 313–​ 28. doi:10.1017/​ S0266464X11000649. Schechter, J. (ed.). (2003). Popular Theatre: A Sourcebook. 1st ed. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Sennet, R. (1994). Flesh and Stone:  The Body and the City in Western Civilisation. New York, London: W. W. Norton. Tschumi, B. (1996). Architecture and Disjunction. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Tschumi, B. (1994[1944]). The Manhattan Transcripts. London: Academy Editions Turner, C. (2015). Dramaturgy and Architecture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Weiner, N. (1988). The Human Use of Human Beings:  Cybernetics and Society. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press.

Online resources Chelsea Hotel Manifesto. Yves Klein: www.yvesklein.de/​manifesto.html (accessed 30 September 2019). Live Art Development Agency: www.thisisliveart.co.uk/​about/​what-​is-​live-​art/​ (accessed 30 September 2019).

5  Body and landscape Performativity and social space

Introduction: urban anthropophagy This chapter reflects on the relationships between the body and the landscape, whether natural or urban, by exploring performativity in social spaces. These relationships may have a bidirectional sense  –​the body absorbs the stimuli it receives from the environment –​but the presence of the body and its actions also influence the space around it. The actions that a body is capable of generating are not only given from the point of view of plastic expressiveness, but the body can also be used as an instrument of political and social changes, as Augusto Boal proposes in Theatre of the Oppressed (Boal, 1979). Another key element of this chapter is space, where actions take place and are contextualised. Space is social, not just physical. Lefebvre affirms that each society generates its own space: ‘The spatial practice of a society secretes that society’s space’ (Lefebvre, 1974: 38), which has special relevance in spaces that have a strong social identity, such as the identities that this chapter looks into, such as favelas (slums) in Brazil or the council estates in UK. The practitioner presented in this chapter is Hélio Oiticica (Rio de Janeiro, 1937–​1980), one of the most influential Brazilian artists since the 1960s. Oiticica poses a special interest when analysing the body in relation to the city from an expressive point of view, not only from the artistic expressiveness but also from the relationships between the physical and subjective parameters that accompany the expression of movement. Oiticica’s work1 is contextualised within Tropicalism, one of the two artistic movements of the Twentieth century that highlight the national identity of Brazil. Tropicalism occurs in all artistic disciplines. However, Oiticica separates himself from Tropicalism: ‘so I  invented Tropicália, and they invented Tropicalism, which is something different’ (Oiticica, 2013: 97). Tropicalism has, as its precedent, Anthropophagy (1928). Oswalde Andrade writes the Anthropophagic Manifesto, published in the first issue of the Revista de Antropofagia (Anthropophagy Magazine). Anthropophagy contrasts the primitive Brazilian culture with the European models imposed on this culture, which, together with the native and national material, were essential in the cultural construction of Brazil. This movement

Body and landscape  133 takes as its inspiration the cannibalistic rituals of some indigenous cultures, such as the Tupi Indians with their motto ‘Tupi or not Tupi’, referring to Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Anthropophagy means eating the human, including tissues and bones; as an artistic manifesto, the Anthropophagists proposed to transform and digest everything considered as a model copied from Europe. Anthropophagy could be found in all different artistic fields, and also in theatre and performance. As Dundjerovic states, out of this encounter came the idea of mixing influences and ‘devouring’: taking over the properties of a source’s art or culture and making them your own. The theatre of anthropophagy is simultaneously both the processes of an intercultural appropriation and collaborative creative creation. (Dundjerovic, Ramos, 2019: 81–​82) Collaboration is key in Brazilian performing arts, especially in Oiticica’s artistic production, which trespasses the boundaries between disciplines. The interdisciplinary character of Oiticica’s work, in addition to the incorporation of the human body –​the audience –​as part of it, shifted Oiticica’s artistic practice from visual arts to the context of collaborative and participatory performing arts’ (Martínez Sánchez, 2019: 143). Tropicália2 (Oiticica, 1967)  was the most representative work of the Tropicalism movement (Figure  5.1). Tropicália is an installation art piece and was constituted by a geometric maze, built with all kinds of materials that could be seen by visitors. Tropicália contained sand, plants, gravel, and a parrot; at the end of the tour, there was a TV (Oiticica, 2013: 97). Visually reminded, on the one hand, the international avant-​garde for pure colours and geometric shapes and, on the other hand, it also evoked the deprived architecture of the favelas. This chapter presents Oiticica’s artistic methods and artistic principles, such as Arte Ambiental (Environmental Art), Delirium Ambulatorium, or the Supra-​Sensorial. Oiticica was able to synthesise politics, art, and popular culture with the proposal that art must be incorporated into the body: an experiential art in which the viewer is not only limited to watching and contemplating but also becoming part of the piece. The idea of incorporation is a constant in Oiticica’s work and is also connected to anthropophagy, which involves swallowing, digestion, and incorporation of all that reality can provide for artistic and cultural practices. This chapter also explores the concept of Thirdspace, a term defined by the human geographer Edward Soja (1996) in the search for the rupture of the traditional duality in the definition of space, including geographical space and imagined or represented space. A reading of Thirdspace is sought –​the space lived in Lefebvre and the heterotopies in Foucault  –​in the work of Oiticica, specifically in the Parangolés.

134  Body and landscape

Figure 5.1 Hélio Oiticica, Tropicália, Penetrables PN 2 ‘Purity is a myth’ and PN 3 ‘Imagetical’, 1966–​1967. Blatvatnik Building Level 3. Tate Modern, London.

The experiment of this chapter is a project developed between 2016 and 2018, called Trellick Tales. Trellick Tales was a site-​specific community project run by the applied theatre company SPID (Social Political Innovative Direct) at Trellick Tower (Goldfinger, 1966–​1972) in London at Kensington and Chelsea Borough. This project was funded by institutions, like the Twentieth Century Society, the BBC, the City Council, and the Victoria and Albert Museum. I was hired as a designer for the project to create an exhibition that presented the experiences of the residents in the building and the design of performance. After a few months of working on the site, the original idea presented by the company shifted into a site-​specific performance and exhibition that had the building itself as a set. Projection, objects, photography, audio recordings based on interviews with residents, and a map constituted

Body and landscape  135 the main elements in the development of the project. This project is a very good example of the application of Oiticica’s drifting methods  –​Delirium Ambulatorium –​and the materialisation of a Thirdspace.

The representation of landscape This section explores the forms of representation of the different layers and elements of which the cultural landscape is constituted from the point of view of the body’s perception. The cinema, the image, the narrative, or abstract systems constitute different languages, from which we can approach the subjective representation of the landscape. The language of filmmaking was also explored by Oiticica as part of his collaborative practices in the Block-​ Experiments in Cosmococas, a series of immersive installations that combined visual arts and filmmaking. These installations  –​created by Oiticica and the filmmaker Neville D’Almeida  –​were based on the sensorial experience and the participation of the audience, who became part of the installation (Buchmann & Hinderer, 2013; Martínez Sánchez, 2019). Films were presented differently, creating what D’Almeida defined as quasi-​cinema where the films were split in slides and projected in the space. These installations differ from the Penetravel  –​ such as Tropicália  –​ that Oiticica created previously in the integration of audio visual materials as a technique of facilitating audiences’ participation. Even if D’Almeida and Oiticica used cinema in a non-​orthodox way –​‘the aim was partly to undermine the authoritative order of cinema (the 90 minute norm) by introducing divergent forms of temporality’ (Buchmann & Hinderer, 2013: 14); the Cosmococas highlight the power of representation and communication of this medium. Perhaps it is the film by the filmmaker Marcel Camus, Orfeu Negro (1959), that best represents the concepts of movement and rhythm regarding the urban landscape in Brazil. The film presents the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in the context of the Carioca carnival, which is especially relevant when compared to the Dithyrambic dances. From the first minutes of the film, rhythm and movement are shown contextualised in the city and favelas of Rio de Janeiro. However, movement is not everywhere; there is an explicit relationship between rhythm, movement, and place. An example is the scene in which Eurydice walks by the Ministry of Education and Health,3 an icon of Brazilian modernity. It is one of the only moments of the film in which the movement ceases, creating a sober atmosphere. It seems as if the favela and the samba had created each other, as if the way of moving through the steepest areas of the city had enabled this type of urban growth. The favelas, almost as if claiming their raison d’être, teach their inhabitants how to sambar –​ dance samba –​when they walk through the different spaces. Also, in this case, the movement constitutes another layer in the representation of the city that is essential in showing the characteristics of urban space. The short film Le Ballet Mechanique by Fernand Leger (1924) is a visual reference to the idea of understanding the city as a living organism with an

136  Body and landscape internal rhythm, in which all its inhabitants become part of a mechanism that works because all its parts conform the rhythmic patterns. Paris qui dort, by René Clair (1925), shows the importance of the movement of people in the configuration of cities. The protagonist is the concierge of the Eiffel Tower, who gets up one morning and discovers that Paris has fallen asleep. There are scenes in which one can see how the concierge, the only person still moving, goes through the city and finds that the whole city has been paralysed. Paris has lost its status as a city with the loss of movement and is thus reduced to urban scenery. Wim Wenders, the German filmmaker, can offer an image of objects, scenarios, or spaces different from the way we have seen them until then (Pardo, 2000: 3). That different point of view prevents us from recognising them. Because of this lack of reference to the known object –​and its non-​ existence in our memory or visual repertoire –​the image loses its meaning, and therefore its understanding or recognition is not possible. Spaces and images related to streets, buildings, and landscapes are something static; however, when we walk through them –​a subject with its own experience –​the narrative makes sense. The body is the agent that establishes the discourse. Georges Perec reflects on the characteristics of the spaces, and more importantly, our attitude towards them. As Perec affirms, the space in which we develop our daily lives is a fragmented space with different characteristics, and our awareness around these characteristics  –​which can be determined by the use of the space or the actions that take place in it –​is fundamental (Perec, 1997: 24). In the film The Matrix (Wachowski, 1999), all reality is virtual and is encoded with an abstract language. In this film, space is represented as a language based on the binary system which, when decoded, configures a virtual space that pretends to be what we understand as real. This language not only determines the physical configuration of space and objects but also the empty spaces and the movement; it is what could be defined as the Dynamic Space where the different elements move because the language is changing. In this film, language is capable of representing absolutely all reality; each sign or combination of signs –​even if they make no sense to us because they do not belong to our visual repertoire –​have a correspondence with a reality that we can identify. When The Matrix is presented to us in its decoded interface, it is not more real than the binary code, but it makes sense to us because those images are recorded in our memory –​a street, a telephone box, or a lift. As we saw with Wenders, the fact that our mind is not able to associate the representation of space by written, graphic, or visual means does not mean that such correspondence between the language used to represent it and reality does not exist. This phenomena happen with all abstract representation systems. A clear example is the music scoring system. If we have been trained in music theory, when we see a musical score in our mind, those signs will find a correspondence. We will not see the black keys and eighth notes placed randomly in the score, but those signs will be associated with different

Body and landscape  137 sounds that make sense in our mind. In the history of music, before reaching dodecaphonism with Schönberg, music was composed by starting from the major, minor, augmented, and diminished scales as well as fixed tonal separations between the notes, which formed the scale. With the development of harmonic analysis, we no longer talk only about scales, dominant chords, tonic, or cadence. Music is then played with fixed compositional elements, and through this combination, musical pieces are composed. We can find all these elements in the collective memory of a society; when we listen to a classical musical piece, our ear recognises it, and the notes begin to make sense within the entire piece. With the appearance of dodecaphonism, all these rules disappear. The chromatic scale begins to be used, that is, the fixed tonal separations between the notes of the different scales as well as all other existing elements are broken; the basic rules of the musical language have been changed. Thus, for many people, these pieces are meaningless because listeners cannot recognise the rationale behind them. The correspondences between an abstract language and its real equivalence transcend linguistics and music when we try to represent spatial parameters. We talk instead about painting, sculpture, or architectural graphic representation. It must also be taken into account that all language is determined by the external conditions in which it has been developed. From the anthropological point of view, language determines our way of thinking; therefore, the abstract equivalence itself will be determined by the context in which it has emerged. Our eyes are only able to capture the visible spectrum; therefore, we do not see everything that really exists. Instead, we see an equivalence of what really exists and therefore, what we see is in itself a representation. There are many ways of representing the visible, but everything becomes complex when representing the invisible, for example, when we try to represent an atmosphere or movement. However, as we have been proposing since the first chapter, in the case of movement, it is possible to consider transferring the notation systems used in dance to represent movement in the spaces we design. In this case, the representation of the invisible is based on the constant mapping of the positions of body parts in space. Therefore, it may be possible to find visible and quantifiable parameters on which to build a representation of the invisible parameters of the cultural landscape. Filmmaking and photography, as seen in the Block-​Experiments in Cosmococas or the film Orfeu Negro, emerge as appropriate techniques to approach the representation of atmospheres, as they can capture colour, light, or materiality.

Corpografias (corpographies) and corpocidade (corpocity) Space, whether performative, architectural, or urban, depending on its complexity, has some features that are assimilated by the body. These features are imprinted on the body, as it happens when a photographic film is exposed to light, and the body in return externalises them, thus expressing the interaction

138  Body and landscape with the environment it inhabits. Therefore, we could define a corpography –​ corpografía4 –​as the imprinting of the conditions of the environment in the body that, when externalised and placed in the space that generated it, could be expressed through cartography.5 The existing relationships between the body and space have been little studied in architecture and dance, and even in some cases, are ignored or despised. In architecture, space is narrated through technical drawings  –​ floorplans, sections, elevations, or perspectives  –​and cartographies, which, in many cases, are limited to representing reality from a physical and tangible point of view. A choreography constitutes a project of body movement that has previously been designed and could be registered using a graphic system. As in architecture, choreography is a compositional work in this case having the body and the space as the essential components. A  corpocidade6 could be the combination of both the representation of a non-​tangible reality and the movement that expresses the body when exposed to the influences of its surroundings –​a choreography. Nevertheless, can a corpocidade be interpreted as a dance? Jane Jacobs,7 in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, identifies the movements of people in the urban environment as the ballet of the sidewalks: This order is all composed of movement and change, and although it is life, not art, we may fancifully call it the art form of the city and liken it to the dance –​not to a simple-​minded precision dance with everyone kicking up at the same time, twirling in unison and bowing off in masse, but to an intricate ballet in which miraculously reinforce each other and compose an orderly whole. The ballet of the good city sidewalk never repeats itself from place to place, and in any one place is always replete with new improvisations. (Jacobs, 1992 [1961]: 50) This ballet is affected by the stimuli offered by the city to its inhabitants; each part of the city will have its own choreography. It is a choreography dominated by improvisation but closely linked to spatial configuration. In the 1960s, almost at the same time that Jane Jacobs published her book, a collective of artists from different disciplines joined the Judson Dance Theater, which we have already seen in the second chapter. The group began to investigate spatial compositions on the stage. The main objective was to free the staging choreographies of psychology and drama, thus stating what the minimum expression of dance would be:  Can it simply be walking in a space? This idea of bringing dance to everyday movements reinforces Jacobs’ idea of interpreting the movements of passers-​by as the ballet of the city, which is determined by its morphology because the city or urban landscape is nothing more than a mechanism, a set of movements that take place simultaneously and synchronised with each others’ movements. Nevertheless, the movement itself can also generate complex spaces. The first reference we can find is in

Body and landscape  139 The Iliad. Homer refers to the choros (choreography) that Dédalo performs for Ariadne. This dance floor has been interpreted as the labyrinth itself, but the labyrinth has become understood as a complex dance step: Such as Daedalus framed of old, in the wide fields of the Cretan Cnossus, for Ariadne with long heavy locks. There, active youths and bright blooming maids tript, hand in hand, with measured steps. The light robes of linen were framed: The tight vests of those shone, glossy, well fitting their shapes. These wore, on their flowing locks, bright coronets of flaming gold. On the sides of those hung golden swords from belts, distinguished with silver studs. In a circle, they moved again: Light-​tript their well-​taught feet in the ring: As when the potter, having formed his broad wheel,-​tries whether it rolls with ease: Scarce seen are the spokes as they fly. Sometimes they break from the ring, and wind, alternate, as they trip through their lines. The people crowd around the beauteous dance:  And enjoy the graceful steps as they rife. Two tumblers throw themselves in the midst: Beginning their feats with song. (Homer, 1773: 238–​39) Jean-​Pierre Le Dantec writes, in his book Dédale le héros,8 that to build his labyrinth, he summoned a ritual dance in an esplanade. Seven women danced, and the traces of their movements on the sand defined the voids that Daedalus the architect surrounded with stone walls. If we knew the choreography that originated the labyrinth, we would understand its spatial configuration (Le Dantec, 1992: 82). Another literary reference to this form of space generation is the story ‘The City of Zobeide’, one of the tales of The Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino. This tale narrates the story of the foundation of a city through the dreams of men who persecute a woman. Each of the men builds the route he has dreamed of, thus generating the labyrinthine city of Zobeide: After the dream, they set out in search of that city; they never found it, but they found one another; they decided to build a city like the one in the dream. In laying out the streets, each followed the course of his pursuit; at the spot where they had lost the fugitive’s trail, they arranged spaces and walls differently from the dream, so she would be unable to escape again. (Calvino, 1972: 45) Paola Berenstein Jacques’s article, The Aesthetics of the Favela,9 makes a precise comparison between the Brazilian favelas and the labyrinth of Daedalus. When we move from the shelter scale to that of the shelter cluster of the free space between shanties that form the favela’s narrow streets and alleys, the image of a maze comes almost naturally to the ‘foreigner’ who penetrates the meanders of the favela for the first time. In addition to actually being shaped like a formal maze, the favela’s inner pathways

140  Body and landscape produce a maze-​like sensation in the visitor, particularly due to the lack of the usual urban spatial references as well as to the ever fragmentary perspectives that produce an odd feeling. Getting lost is part of the spatial experience of the maze-​favela, and in order to avoid that, one must have a guide (a local), like Ariadne’s thread. (Jacques, 2011) In the same way as in Daedalus Labyrinth, the dancers drew their trajectories on the ground with their feet, generating the walls of the labyrinth; the use of space determines the urban configuration of the favelas. There is no previous architectural or urban project to order these spaces. The movement generates urban traces. The samba and the carnival were born in the favelas, and one could say that the movements of the samba were also defined by the topography and configuration of the favelas. The body is forced to move with a characteristic rhythm defined by this urban reality, something that is also captured in the film Black Orpheus.

The body as a means of artistic expression Oiticica experimented with the presence of the body in the urban landscape in the favela Morro da Mangueira (Rio de Janeiro). He always worked from his experience with samba in opposition to classical dance or ballet, which come from the intellectualisation of the movement, performed through the repetition of a series of choreographies (Oiticica, 2013: 130). Oiticica uses dance as a search for the direct, expressive act of art and which, when put in an urban context, collects all the stimuli, both objective (topography or spatial configuration) and subjective (culture, politics, society, etc.,) that the environment generates on the individual.10 Although a work of art does not require the spectator’s participation, it not only offers a transcendental contemplation to its audience but also the opportunity of ‘being in the world’. In this sense, what interests Oiticica from dance –​and incorporates his Parangolés –​is the creation through the actions of the body itself. From the point of view of the presence of the body in the landscape, his fundamental work is the Parangolés. Oiticica creates what he called the anti-​art par excellence, Parangolé,11 which is a colourful cloak that the body must wear to create the artwork. Oiticica defines as anti-​arte a rupture with the traditional concepts of canvas, painting, and sculpture (Oiticica, 2013:  35). In the Parangolé, the concepts of actor and spectator are differentiated through the definition of watching and dressing  –​or wearing the cloak –​the work itself lies in the act of dressing. Parangolé is the participant’s dress; it is operated with the whole body and gives dimension and space to the work, which are necessary parameters for the transcendence of the work in an environmental object.12 In 1965, the Opinião 65 exhibition took place at the Museum of Modern Art in Rio de Janeiro; Oiticica was forbidden to present his Parangolés, worn by the Mangueira passistas.13 This

Body and landscape  141 episode enhanced his interest in developing an art linked directly to social issues and communities. Parangolés emerge from the observation of a concrete urban reality configured as a social space, the Carioca favelas –​in Rio de Janeiro –​although Oiticica was also influenced by the palafitos of the Amazon river –​housing constructions elevated from the water. In both, there are cases of spontaneous constructions that address the experience of the city and improvisation and therefore, with the experience of space through the body, as opposed to the processes of urban spectacularising. An interesting reference describes the processes of spectacularising the city  –​something that Debord already talks about in The Society of the Spectacle (Debord, 1967), which presents the impoverishment of the perceptual bodily urban experience in contemporary times, proposing as an alternative the experimentation and artistic perception of space through the body. With the approach to the city from the body’s point of view, Oiticica searches for the real; as Debord states, ‘the spectacle that falsifies reality is nevertheless a real product of that reality’ (Debord, 2014 [1967]:  8). However, there is always contamination of reality by the spectacle, as ‘lived reality is materially invaded by the contemplation of the spectacle and ends up absorbing it and aligning itself with it’ (Debord, 2014 [1967]: 8–​9). However, Oiticica provides an alternative to this work, showing images that have emerged from a real, bodily experience of the environment as, for example, in the Parangolé. Oiticica affirms that some of the features of Parangolé are implicit in the architecture of the favela, where there is a structural organicity between the elements that constitute it and the internal circulation and external dismemberment of these constructions14 (Oiticica, 2013: 146). Oiticica’s practice refers to the expressive movement, the Dionysian dance, thus imposing improvisation against an organised choreography. The Dionysian dance is the transcendent dance, born from the collective inner rhythm and outsourced becoming characteristic of groups and nations, thus including a cultural, political, and social dimension. This statement refers us back to the Dionysian dances and all the mythology about the origins of dance since they have always been related to a connection with an external element, not belonging to the earthly, as Mircea Eliade explains in The Myth of Eternal Return: All dances were originally sacred; in other words, they had an extrahuman model. The model may in some cases have been a totemic or emblematic animal, whose motions were reproduced to conjure up its concrete presence through magic, to increase its numbers, to obtain incorporation into the animal on the part of man. In other cases, the model may have been revealed by a divinity (for example the pyrrhic, the martial dance created by Athena) or by a hero (cf. Theseus’s dance in the Labyrinth). The dance may be executed to acquire food, to honour the dead, or to assure good order in the cosmos. It may take place upon the occasion

142  Body and landscape of initiations, of magico-​religious ceremonies, of marriages, and so on. But all these details need not be discussed here. What is of interest to us is its presumed extrahuman origin (for every dance was created in illo tempere, in the mythical period, by an ancestor, a totemic animal, a god, or a hero). Choreographic rhythms have their model outside of the profane life of man; whether they reproduce the movements of the totemic or emblematic animal or the motions of the stars; whether they constitute rituals (labyrinthine steps, leaps, gestures performed with ceremonial instruments) a dance always imitates an archetypal gesture or commemorates a mythical moment. (Eliade, 1954: 28–​29) Oiticica’s work differs from action painting, initiated by Jackson Pollock. Pollock’s work consists on the visual expression of the action of painting, while the Parangolé is the action itself, transformed into artwork. Oiticica bases the aesthetic quality of the Parangolés on fast and moving images. Dance and rhythm are the artistic act itself in its essential crudeness. Here too, there is a connection between collective expression and individuality.

Environmental art and Thirdspace In his artistic work, Oiticica establishes a hierarchy based on the characteristics of his art pieces. First, there are the Núcleos, Bólides, and Penetráveis. All of these pieces aimed at creating an environmental world. From the beginning, a relationship is established between dance and Parangolés, due to its participatory nature. The work is placed on the body; the body is asked to move, and, if possible, to dance. The Parangolé would constitute a Penetrável, a representative of the Environmental Art that Oiticica had begun developing (Oiticica, 2013: 35). So far, we have discussed the Parangolé as an act of expression of the body itself, but it acquires greater importance when we understand it as an urban action inseparable from the physical, social, and cultural environments that generated it. In this case, as we anticipated, Parangolé constituted a direct reference to the carnival parade from a ritual and mythological point of view, that is, a Dionysian experience. The movement is sought as an unconscious connection with reality, using the body as an expressive vehicle that blocks reason and logic. The body absorbs the stimulus of its environment and expresses what it has perceived, but in this case, the cloak –​the essential component of the Parangolé –​enhances this relationship from the point of view of the actor-​spectator and the observer-​spectator. With the Parangolés, Oiticica seeks the creation of an inter-​body artistic space, thus generating Environmental Art. Although they have sometimes been decontextualised, the Parangolés acquire greater expressiveness when they are framed in the physical context that originated them. In this way, there is a double overlapping action: the cloak collects the essence of the environment and the body, which gives life to the fabric through its movement. In

Body and landscape  143 the process of the creation of the Parangolés, rhizomes15 –​ or corpographies –​ are printed on the body by the complex and labyrinthine urban landscape of the favela, which are materialised by the artist in the cloak. The body thus becomes an expressive vehicle, giving rise to Environmental Art when the cloaks are activated by body movement in the favela, with political and poetic consistency. Oiticica invites creative participation with his architectural spaces, such as Tropicalia. These spaces correspond to dynamic spaces designed to be travelled through, and their transformability lies in the inventive participation of any spectator. Motivation or stimulation stems from the fact of being there. Although Oiticica specifically refers to projects in museum spaces, this approach can be extrapolated to different types of transit spaces in which participatory action can lead to environmental changes; in fact, this is the essence of the Parangolés. There are two ways of relating to the Parangolés: on the one hand, subjectively –​wearing the cloak and taking the role of the participant –​and on the other hand, objectively, when the audience engages only through observation. We could affirm that Parangolés constitute a double Penetravel: the first one, the participant who enters the layer and creates the environmental situation by activating it, and the second one, the observer who enters the environment transformed by the Parangolés. The Parangolés were especially interesting from the point of view of the action because requiring active participation by the spectator erases the existing division between artist and spectator. This idea will later be taken up by Boal, in his Theatre of the Oppressed (1980). The expressive function of the body is a fundamental element; the second grade of the theatre forum is the image theatre, in which the body is used as the only expressive means of different themes of social oppression. Boal proposes to break the separation that exists between the actor and the spectator  –​making the audience intervene in the dramatic action becoming spect-​actors –​leaving the condition of subject and becoming an object. This rupture between actor and spectator begins with the theatrical proposals of Bertolt Brecht, who proposes the rupture of the fourth wall and thus begins the concept of the active spectator, which Boal reformulates in Theatre of the Oppressed (1980). Brecht pretends that the viewer is no longer simply an observer, but that a series of facts are presented that should make him reflect upon different political and social issues. Joan Littlewood, as we saw in Chapter  4, also raised this rupture of the fourth wall, but took it a little further, introducing the possibility of spectators intervening during the dramatic action, and developed in parallel some ideas of how the theatre space should be ‘the idea of a space where everyone could learn and play, where there could be any kind of entertainment’16 (Matthews, 2007: 63). This trend to transform the spectator into a participant in the artistic act has to do with the demand of artists to involve society in an appeal to political and social denunciation. Boal develops, as part of Theatre of the Oppressed, the Theatre Forum, in which spectators are called to intervene and to go on stage

144  Body and landscape to change the dramatic action, exposing their opinions and seeing how they influence the development of events. As shown in the previous chapter, the Fun Palace constitutes a performative architecture, an architecture whose form stems from the action and experience of space and can be reconfigured as the actions change. In this sense, the Fun Palace is an extremely suggestive project since, to some extent, it proposes incorporating the architecture into the body, almost as if it were one of Oiticica’s Parangolés. They also have in common the political and social intentionality. Both have emerged in a context of social change and in their conceptual basis, we can find social problems. Price, Littlewood, and Oiticica present the body  –​the users of the Fun Palace or the spectators of the Parangolés –​as the main catalytic element of change. In the same way that in Chapter 2, the technique of Viewpoints was used to demonstrate different properties of space concerning its geometry; both Oiticica’s interventions and Boal’s theatrical proposals could lead us to certain readings of space that are not shown to us explicitly. In this line, Edward Soja17 defines Thirdspace as follows: ‘It is a way of thinking that sees the spatiality of our lives, the human geographies in which we live, as having the same scope and critical significance as the historical and social dimensions of our lives’ (Borch, 2002:  113–​20). In his book Thirdspace, Soja explains how the interpretation of space continues to be subordinated to the historical and sociological imaginary and, therefore, it is reduced to two forms of space analysis: the first from geography, in reference to the configuration of physical reality, and the second, which is more subjective, focused on thinking about space, mental representations, or ideals of that space. Lefebvre calls these concepts ‘space practices’ and ‘representations of space’. For Soja, the first space is the physical reality, and the second space consists of imagined representations of reality. Both Lefebvre and Foucault work with living spaces of representation, which would be analogous to heterotopies18 –​ or the other spaces  –​of Foucault and what Soja describes as ‘the space in which we live, which draws us out of ourselves, in which the erosion of our lives, our time and our history occurs’ (Soja, 1996:  15). Soja proposes the Thirdspace, which he describes as space characterised by overlaps, in which everything comes together […] subjectivity and objectivity, the abstract and the concrete, the real and the imagined, the knowable and the unimaginable, the repetitive and the differential, structure and agency, mind and body, consciousness and the unconscious, the disciplined and the transdisciplinary, everyday life and unending history. (Soja, 1996: 57) The favelas in which Oiticica works are undoubtedly a heterotopia. The constitutive character of the Parangolé  –​that arises from the search for popular constructive primitivism that only occurs in urban, suburban, or rural landscapes, in works that reveal a primary constitutive core, but with a defined

Body and landscape  145 spatial sense, a totality19 (Oiticica, 2013: 145) –​reveals certain characteristics of the space that would be framed within the Thirdspace. Because performativity itself forms its own type of Thirdspace:  a performance, based on actions (real or fictional) and enacted in a particular space in a specific timeframe, engages an audience, and this audience –​contextualised within a social space in a public sphere  –​allows the performativity to emerge as another form of Thirdspace. (Dundjerovic and Martínez, 2018: 461) Therefore, we could affirm that the Parangolés constitute a tangible example of that Thirdspace of overlaps, as proposed by Soja. The Parangolés take the pre-​ existing elements; the real space –​in this case, the urban reality of the favela –​ and the second space, constituted by imagined representations of reality. This second space, in the case of Oiticica, is defined by the corpographies imprinted on the artist through the experience of the favela. From these two realities, Oiticica creates the Parangolés and places them in the spaces that generated the corpographies, the favela. It is in this overlapping exercise where the Thirdspace emerges, where, as Soja states, subjectivity and objectivity unite the known and the unknown, everyday life and eternity (Soja, 1996: 57). Delirium Ambulatorium Oiticica proposes the Delirium Ambulatorium as the most radical expression of the Parangolé20 in a piece he wrote in 1978, which provides the first formal reference to the term Delirium Ambulatorium. It is as if the practice of wandering or walking through the different areas of the city had been present from the beginning in his work. Oiticica stated, in an interview in 1978, that even as a teenager in the 1950s, he began exploring and walking through different areas of the city. Specifically, Oiticica chose areas where the body had a special role, such as the bohemian zone of Lapa and Mangué, which has the highest concentration of prostitutes in Rio de Janeiro (Oiticica, 2013:  76). Through this process, Oiticica became friends with the sculptor, Jackson Ribero, from Morro da Mangueira. Oiticica ended up joining the samba school of this place and parading as a passista in the carnival of Rio de Janeiro between 1965 and 1968. The fact that the samba is considered an art owes much to the Parangolés since it was thanks to the popularity of the colourful fabrics that people were wearing when they danced the samba. Delirium Ambulatorium consists on the act of identifying the elements that compose the city and the subsequent generation of creative situations around these elements. This process implies the generation of an artist’s subjective and personal cartography, which allows him to understand the territory, an exercise similar to the cartographic proposals made by Guy Debord and the situationists, the psychogeographies. In fact, we could associate this concept with the idea of a rhetoric of the body, thus forming the image of

146  Body and landscape the ambulatory figures or walkers that Michel de Certeau describes in The Invention of Everyday Life (De Certeau, 1988). Delirium Ambulatorium can also be considered as a rupture of the existing separation between the artist’s workshop and the public space, and therefore, between the artist and the viewer. Two fundamental concepts acquire special relevance in Oiticica’s work after the Parangolés: the notion of environment and the Supra-​Sensorial. The Parangolé, as a concept, broke the limits of the conventional understanding of art until that moment, since it was only understood from the point of view of contemplation. However, after this rupture, Oiticica’s work could no longer be decontextualised from the place where it had been created, defining the notion of environment in his work. The environments are structured spaces for participation where Oiticica puts into play strategies and possibilities for the viewer to appropriate and freely generate artistic actions. The second concept on Oiticica’s work emerges here: the Supra-​Sensorial. The proposals launched by the artist are aimed at the senses and must be detected through total perception. It is the duty of the artist, through his stimuli, to lead the individual to a dilatation of the usual sensory abilities so that in this way, he can discover his inner creativity, a spontaneity that may have remained dormant until that moment, accustomed to everyday life. A significant fact of how important these concepts belonging to the artistic field is how, during his stay in New York, Oiticica began to generate a series of artefacts for urban settings. These artefacts took the form of models and projects for construction destined to be placed in public spaces with the intention to modify everyday ways of life. These projects could change aspects of everyday life, such as temporality or the activation of behaviours that were different from those already normalised. This series of projects –​the Magic Squares –​were not built in urban areas, but some were set up after Oiticica’s death in museums or more controlled environments. In closing this last chapter, it is worth highlighting the importance of the tools and processes proposed by Oiticica. The Delirium Ambulatorium is a process that has an objective to expand the knowledge of the environment through the experience of the body, reinforced with the concepts of Supra-​ Sensorial and Environmental Art. This makes of Delirium Ambulatorium a very useful tool in the processes of intervention in the landscape, as it doesn’t take for granted what we already know, it provides the artist with new ways of engaging with the environment or the site. The Parangolés are an example of these interventions. The analysis of Oiticica’s methodological processes has allowed us to identify fundamental intersection points between the actions in the space and the communities or participants that are involved in them, defining what can be called social performativity. This is a performativity that belongs to a group of people or that is attached to a specific site with social, cultural, or political connotations. Social performativity shows correspondence with the Thirdspace of that specific reality –​the one emerging from the site and the communities attached to it. Oiticica was able to articulate within his work these parameters producing interdisciplinary work that

Body and landscape  147 represented and involved the people and the places who inspired it, a truly social performative art.

Experiment Trellick Tales: the Thirdspace of Trellick Tower After 1 a.m. on Wednesday, 14 June 2017, Grenfell Tower was consumed by a fire that killed 71 people (official data, unofficially around 500) and left all its residents without a home. Grenfell Tower was built in 1974 as a result of UK social housing policies that imposed the development of housing estates all around the country. Grenfell Tower is in Kensington and, similarly to Trellick Tower, it is mixed with some of the wealthiest properties in London. This experiment presents a site-​specific performance project, Trellick Tales (March 2006), in which the derivation and spatial experience of a London council estate led to a deeper understanding of the relationships between space and social realities through performativity. This experiment enhances the existence of a layer of reality, understanding our everyday life spaces as a palimpsest that can be made visible when applying site-​specific performance methodologies. As an architect, space designer, and performance maker, I collaborated with SPID Theatre, a community-​based theatre company, in the development of a site-​specific performance project in which Trellick Tower and their residents were involved in order to create an artistic product for open audiences. SPID gets local young people involved in the devising of theatre pieces. Generally, the process is through workshops that are run by professional practitioners. Trellick Tales can be defined as site-​specific devised theatre, and as such, it ‘can include local involvement from a range of participants, and be classed as community theatre in one sense, or, in contrast, may consist of company members only working towards an installation or piece of performance art’ (Oddey, 1994: 125). Trellick Tales21 took place around the spaces of Trellick Tower. This project was funded, among others, by the Twentieth Century Society, the British Council of Arts and the BBC. The initial idea of the artistic directors22 was to have an exhibition about the tower in one of the community spaces. However, drifting around the spaces of the building emerged in my mind as a different concept for the piece: the idea of using Trellick as the exhibited piece, instead of showing representations of it. During the creative process, the interdisciplinary artistic team –​an architect, a performer, and a soundscape designer23 –​ went through different derivations around Trellick to develop a site-​specific performative exhibition. These derivations were not only based on the spatial experience but also different conversations with the residents, which emerged as a Thirdspace.24 Spatiality became the most important part of the piece, as the main objective was that the audience experienced the different spaces. Spatiality is part of

148  Body and landscape our lives, and we relate to it through our bodies. Space is not just physical; it is also defined by social structures (Lefebvre, 1974). According to Soja, In the broadest sense, spatial (in)justice refers to an intentional and focused emphasis on the spatial or geographical aspects of justice and injustice. As a starting point, this involves the fair and equitable distribution in the space of socially valued resources and the opportunities to use them. (2010) The residents are typically immigrants with low incomes that bring their life stories and backgrounds to populate these massive concrete buildings by configuring a reality of inequality in the cultural and social landscapes of the borough. This is the tragedy of Grenfell Tower, where the residents cannot afford a new home, and their situation is being forgotten as a reflect of what Soja defines as spatial justice. Trellick Tower is one of the Brutalist buildings built in the 1960s and 1970s as a response to housing policies in the UK and the need for regeneration after the destruction caused by the Second World War. Renowned architects, such as Alison and Peter Smithson, designed some of these estates, for example, the Robin Hood Gardens (1972), which were demolished in 2009. Another one of these projects was the Barbican Estate in London, also completed in the 1970s by the architects Chamberlin, Powell and Bon, or Park Hill in Sheffield (Ivor Smith and Jack Lynn, 1960). All of these architects belong to the Brutalist architecture movement. These buildings could be considered as vertical slums, where the majority of residents were people with low incomes. All of them had in common that they were not just housing projects; they also had community spaces, a nursery, or a gym, following the theories established by Le Corbusier in the 1940s and 1950s. A clear precedent was his project in Marseille, L’Unité d’Habitation, which already had these communal areas and had as an objective to provide its residents with a lifestyle that followed the principles of well-​being. In the case of the UK, the estates also became an urban machine, a continuation of the city. For example, in the case of Trellick Tower, according to interviews with the residents, there were issues with crime inside the tower, which resulted in hiring a concierge in the foyer. People on the streets were using the tower’s spaces, and the only private areas were the apartments. Before Trellick Tower, Goldfinger designed Balfron Tower in Poplar, East London (1963), also a Grade II–​listed building. The structure of the two buildings was very similar; both had a service tower with staircases, lifts, and laundry rooms, and rubbish chutes connected every three floors to the main block of flats. One characteristic element of these projects that has been revisited recently in an exhibition presented at the Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA, 2015), commissioned by Simon Terrill, is the Brutalist playgrounds. Most of these playgrounds have now disappeared, but their

Body and landscape  149 remains are still very present in these estates as in Trellick Tower, which has created a void nowadays used by graffiti artists. These Brutalist housing buildings were quite controversial at the time because they tried to impose a lifestyle on their residents. In the case of Goldfinger, he even inspired Ian Fleming –​the creator of James Bond –​to name his villain. Even today, they create some polemic, which has had as an outcome the demolition of some of them, or big regeneration works, for example, the one undertook on Park Hill in Sheffield by the architects Urban Splash. However, most of them have been protected through Grade II listing. There have been some associations such as the Twentieth Century Society, or the Modernist Society that work for the protection of these buildings. Objectives In Trellick Tales, performativity emerged from reality when we started the process of drifting through the council estate. This experiment reflects on the following questions: How can this process provide different readings of the  links between spatiality and social structures? How does performance, in this context, allow enhancing the knowledge we have about the spaces we live in? And finally, can Thirdspace be defined through performativity? This project, developed by SPID Theatre, presents a new layer of information located in between the architectural space and the everyday life of their inhabitants through a series of performative elements in a specific architectural space. Performance is presented as a tool to make visible the existing relations between the space and the body, a series of processes that uncover a similar dimension as that presented by Michel de Certeau in The practice of everyday life. Trellick Tales unveiled the Thirdspace  –​in Soja’s words  –​ resulting in mapping the lives of the residents through more than 40 years of London’s iconic building, Trellick Tower, by Erno Goldfinger. This project allowed us to create an inherent layer of the building and its residents through interviews and memories. Methodology The creative process was based in a phenomenological approach to the building in which the creative team –​an architect, a performer and a soundscape designer  –​went through different walks around the building. These driftings were not only based on the spatial experience but also on different conversations with the inhabitants of the building that emerged as a Thirdspace. A curatorial process resulted in a selection and put together the materials created by the inhabitants and people who were in contact with the building during the year that the project lasted. Interviews were undertaken and recorded by the young people of the SPID Theatre Company, with the support of the Oral History Society.25 The drifting gave us the locations, and

150  Body and landscape

Figure 5.2 Trellick Tales (London, 2016). Map.

their recorded voices were carefully edited and mixed with other soundscapes. All these materials were located in different areas and moments of the experience proposed for the audience, creating an original psychogeography of this housing estate. The audience members were given a map (Figure  5.2) that guided them through the different spaces of the building, providing them with their geographical location at every moment. The phenomenological experience of the different physical spaces is now complemented by this layer that will provide us with a further comprehension of the building, how it influences and shapes people’s lives, and how they are related to the container of their everyday lives. This approach to the architectural and urban spaces through performative processes could be developed as a methodology for architectural analysis. Each space had a different intervention. The main elements I  used were objects, sound, and projection. I  was looking for different ways of making the stories visible and how those spaces had been lived. The first space the audience would encounter is the foyer of the building. It was important to me that the audience started understanding that this was a place where people live –​with their dreams, experiences and personalities –​not only a cold concrete block. Based on the interviews with the residents, I selected some of the sentences that reflected their lives better there and created an image. Each of the sentences was put in a photo frame and on a chair. Each chair was different, reflecting the different personalities of the people (Figure 5.3).

Body and landscape  151

Figure 5.3 Trellick Tales (London, 2016).

The second space was one of the halls in the service tower. In order to show one of the videos created with the residents, I used the building as support. I installed some chairs and projected the video over the lifts. The use of the lifts was not interrupted, so residents will still come up and down through them, creating a superposition of actions. The following space did not have any visual intervention; it was just one of the homes that one resident kindly offered to show as part of the performance. This is something that I cannot emphasise enough when it comes to site-​specific work; sometimes, there is no need to do anything, just working around the elements that are already there because they contain the meaning of the place. Finally, the most challenging space was an outdoor space. For me, it was as important to visit the building’s interior as it was to understand it as an urban icon in its location. My objective was to show how the tower was captured by all the people that came to visit it with their phones and cameras. I  framed and hanged some pictures of the building uploaded to Instagram by the young people (Figure  5.3). I  located it from the place where most of them had been taken, offering the audience a dialogue between the subjective images presented in the photographs and the building itself. These spaces were presented in a map that was given to the audience when they arrived. Of course, the intention was that they experienced the different spaces of the building, so the design was also the definition of that route and how they would encounter the different spaces, even if there was no design intervention.

152  Body and landscape Conclusions What was unique about Trellick Tales was the approach to site-​specific performance without a script or dramatic text. Generally, when we talk about site-​specific performance, there is a text that we stage in a non-​theatrical location. A good example is the work of Peter Brook that is presented in The Open Circle (Todd & Lecat, 2003). The Open Circle presents the transformation of different spaces in order to host the plays directed by Brook. Space is occupied by dramatic action, having an impact on the original play and becoming an active agent in the dramaturgy of the piece (Lehmann, 2006). In this case, the narrative emerged only from space. Even the interviews and the stories that the residents narrated had to do with the tower and how they related to their houses over time. The dramaturgy was generated by the space itself. In addition to this, Trellick Tales presented a practice-​based approach of an exploration of Thirdspace through a performative process. This experiment probes that through a series of performative actions, it is possible to make Thirdspace more tangible, and that a site-​specific performance can be to some extent a materialisation of it. Interviews, objects and soundscape, helped in the creation of a narrative around the lives of the inhabitants of Trellick Tower. That narrative is based on collective memories that are contained in the different spaces of the estate, and that constitutes its Thirdspace. Trellick Tales has also provided a methodology to follow in the development of performance pieces in non-​theatrical spaces where architecture or the pre-​existent space is the key element in the performance:

• • • • •

It is essential to understand and experience different spaces as they are, using drifting or dérives. The engagement with people that belong to that space is the next step. We cannot understand space without understanding how people develop their everyday lives. We need to talk to them and observe the living dynamics. Following the conversations and observations, there is a need to start mapping the data and the memories that we have been collecting. An evaluation of the elements will also determine the outcome of the devising process. Finally, a presentation is given in front of an audience, followed by a feedback session. This final step is needed to understand how the narrative is perceived and experienced by the audience.

This methodology can suffer various iterations, depending on the intention of the event. It can also be simplified or completed in other stages of the process. However, it presents a basic approach to the development of these projects that can be applied to different circumstances. In addition to this, this methodology generates data that designers and architects can use when approaching interventions in those spaces.

Body and landscape  153

From landscape to the surrounding space Conclusions In this chapter, the main objective has been the exploration of the processes through which the moving body can establish relations with a wider environment, such as the city or landscape. The work of the visual artist Hélio Oiticica is used as it proposes concrete actions to establish this dialogue. Although Oiticica does not work explicitly on site-​specificity or immersion in his work, there is a strong sense of both. His works would not exist without the spatial context of the favelas or the consideration of providing the audience with an immersive experience, something that is part of the Supra-​Sensorial. Delirium Ambulatorium has proven to be an interesting process in the generation of corpographies in our body. The intervention proposed by Oiticica after this phenomenological process, the Parangolés, is an example of intervention in the urban environment that transcends space and influences the ways of inhabiting space. Proposing an intervention in which active participation is necessary also generates a series of transformations in the viewer, thus acquiring a social dimension. A plastic and visual element ends up, becoming a dynamic action that modifies the landscape or the urban context. The superposition of the corpographies generated in the Delirium Ambulatorium to the corpographies generated once the intervention is made will modify the perception and memory of the space in the spectator: in this case, the people who develop their daily life in these spaces. Oiticica defines what he calls Environmental Art, which can influence the atmosphere of a space through collaborative actions. For example, the Parangolés, which enhance the social features of the urban environment that has generated them. The Delirium Ambulatorium is presented to us as one of the basic processes of creation of Oiticica that, in conjunction with the concepts of Environmental Art and the Supra-​Sensorial, understood as tools of artistic creation, allows us to begin to establish our own methodology in the analysis and intervention of urban spaces. The experience of the body is thus raised as the main link between the real and the Thirdspace. The experiment of this ­chapter  –​Trellick Tales  –​presents a site-​specific performance in a council estate in London. The performative event can be considered a materialisation of Thirdspace, presenting simultaneously memories from the 1970s  –​when Trellick Tower was built  –​until the current moment, ‘everyday life and unending story’ (Soja, 1996:  57). The council estate constitutes a social space itself, in the same way as the favelas. Trellick Tales also proposes that through the conjunction of the Thirdspace and the real, it is possible to begin to propose interventions that will modify the landscape, since it is experienced by the body.

154  Body and landscape

Notes 1 Much of Oiticica’s written work is still unpublished. However, the Hélio Oiticica program, developed by Itaú Cultural, allows access to documents written by the artist that have been digitalised. See www.itaucultural.org.br/​programaho/​ (accessed 17 July 2019). 2 The work of Oiticica can be classified into Nucleos, Bolidos, and Penetraveis. Tropicália is within the Penetraveis that are labyrinthine structures in space, built in such a way that the viewer, upon entering them, is deciphering their structure (Oiticica, 2013: 39). 3 Oscar Niemeyer, Lucio Costa, Alfonso Reidy, Roberto Burle Marx, the latter as landscape architect, collaborating with Le Corbusier as an advisor. 4 The term corpografia (corpography) was published in BIASE:  Alessia e Bonnin Philippe, ‘L’habiter dans sa poétique premiére –​actes du colloque de Cerisy-​la-​ salle. Éditions proposed by the town planner Alain Guez after reading ‘Éloge dês errants l ‘art d’habiter la ville’, presented by Paola Berenstein Jacques in the Colóquio Cerisy-​la-​Salle in September 2006, Donner Lieu, Paris 2008. 5 The city is read by the body as a set of interactive conditions, and the body expresses the synthesis of this interaction by describing in its corporeality what we call urban corpography. Corpography is a body cartography (or body-​cartography, hence corpography), that is, part of the hypothesis that the urban experience is inscribed in various temporal scales, in the very body of the person who experiences it, and thus also defines it, even if involuntarily (Jacques, 2008). 6 Corpocidade (corpocity) is a Portuguese term formed by corpo (body) and cidade (city). This term is used as a name by the Research platform of a group of the Federal University of Bahia (Salvador de Bahia, Brazil). His investigations are based on relations between the body and the city from an artistic point of view. www.corpocidade.dan.ufba.br (accessed 27 November 2019). 7 See Jacobs (1992). 8 See Le Dantec (1992). 9 See www.buala.org/​en/​city/​the-​aesthetics-​of-​the-​favela (accessed 24 April 2020). 10 With these reflections, we approach the environmental policies of which Peter Sloterdijk spoke in his Trilogy Spheres. 11 Why the name of Parangolé? I discovered that magic word on the street. I worked with my father at the National Museum of Quinta, doing bibliography. One day, when I  was waiting for the bus, I  saw a beggar in Praça da Bandeira who had become a kind of ‘most beautiful thing in the world’, a kind of construction. The next day, he had already disappeared. There were four posts like wooden stakes about two meters high that the beggar had stuck in the ground to mark the vertices of a rectangle. It was a vacant lot with some bushes, and in the small clearing, the man had placed the posts and built walls with threads and ropes. It was something very well done. From the threads hung a piece of arpillería that said: ‘this is …’ and the only thing I understood from what was written was the word ‘Parangolé’. And there I said to myself: ‘this is the word’ (Oiticica, 2013: 96). 12 Oiticica intends to carry out environmental art, art that transcends the object and is located in a space and time. 13 The Mangueira Passistas were the samba dancers of the Favela Morro da Mangueira, considered a marginal area of Rio de Janeiro.

Body and landscape  155 14 In the architecture of the ‘favela’, for example, a feature of the Parangolé is implied: ‘there is a structural organicity between the elements that constitute it and the internal circulation and the external dismemberment of these constructions […]’ (Oiticica, 2013: 146). 15 Rhizome concept of Deleuze and Guattari, applied in this case to the movement (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987: 7) 16 [M]‌y idea of space where everybody might learn and play, where there could be every kind of entertainment, classical and ad lib, arty and scientific, where you could dabble in paint or clay; attend scientific lectures and demonstrations; argue, show off; or watch the world go by. (Mathews, 2007: 63) 17 See Borch (2002). 18 Foucault (1984) described heterotopia as ‘the space in which we live, which draws us out of ourselves, in which the erosion of our lives, our time and our history occurs’. 19 ‘primitivismo constructivo popular que sólo se da en los paisajes urbanos, suburbanos, rurales, etc., en obras que revelan un núcleo constitutivo primario, pero con un sentido espacial definido, una totalidad’ (Oiticica, 2013: 145). 20 See article Moacir dos anjos. As ruas e as bobagens: anotações sobre o delirium ambulatorium de Hélio Oiticica. ARS Sao Paulo, Vol. 10, No. 20 (2012). 21 This project was presented as a paper in IFTR (International Federation for Theatre Research) Conference in Sao Paulo, Brazil in 2017. 22 Mariana Sastre and Nnenna Samson. 23 Chris Williams (Creative Producer), Max Power (Soundscape designer). 24 As Edward Soja suggests, Thirdspace is where everything comes together […] subjectivity and objectivity, the abstract and the concrete, the real and the imagined, the knowable and the unimaginable, the repetitive and the differential, structure and agency, mind and body, consciousness and the unconscious, the disciplined and the transdisciplinary, everyday life and unending story. (Soja, 1996: 57) 25 See www.ohs.org.uk (accessed 22 February 2019).

References Boal, A. (1979). Theatre of the Oppressed. New  York:  Theatre Communications Group. Borch, C. (2002). Interview with Edward W.  Soja:  Thirdspace, Postmetropolis, and Social Theory. Distinktion: Scandinavian Journal of Social Theory, Vol. 3, No. 1. pp. 113–​20. Buchmann, S., & Hinderer, M.J. (2013). Helio Oiticica and Neville D’Almeida. Block-​ Experiments in Cosmococa –​program in progress. London: Aferral Books, Central Saint Martins, College of Art and Design, University of the Arts London. Calvino, I. (1972). Invisible Cities. London: Martin Secker & Warburg. Debord, G. (2014 [1967]). The Society of Spectacle. Canada:  Bureau of Public Secrets. De Certeau, M. (1988). The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press.

156  Body and landscape Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1987). A Thousand Plateaus. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Dundjerovic, A., & Martinez Sanchez, M.J. (2018). Festival and the city: Performativity of sexual acts in public spheres. Architecture and Culture, Vol. 3, No. 6, pp. 457–​71. Dundjerovic, A., & Ramos, L.F. (2017). Brazilian Collaborative Theatre. Jefferson, NC: MacFarland. Dundjerovic, A., & Ramos, L.F. (2019). Brazilian Performing Arts. Madrid:  Abada Editores. Eliade, M. (1954). Myth of the Eternal Return. New York: Harper Torchbooks. Foucault, M. (1984). Des Spaces Autres [Of other spaces]. Architecture, Mouvement, Continuité, Vol. 5 (October): 46–​49. Hélio Oiticica. (1986). O Aparecimento do Suprassensorial in Aspiro ao Grande Labirinto. Luciano Figueiredo, Lygia Pape, & Waly Salomão (orgs.). Rio de Janeiro: Rocco, p. 101. Homer. (1773). The Iliad: Vol I. Translated by James Macpherson. London: Becket, De Hondt in the Strand. Jacobs, J. (1992 [1961]). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New  York: Vintage Books. Jacques , P.  B. (2008). Cenografias e corpografías urbanas, Vol. 7, edição especial  –​ Paisagens do Corpo. Salvador de Bahía: F. Cadernos PPG-​AU/​UFBA. Jacques, P. B. (2010). Corporicidade. Debates, ações e articulaçoes. Salvador de Bahía: Editora da UFBA. Jacques, P. B. (2011). The Aesthetics of the Favela. www.buala.org/​en/​city/​the-​ aesthetics-​of-​the-​favela (accessed 24 April 2020). Le Dantec, J.P. (1992). Dédale Le Héros. Paris: Balland. Lefebvre, H. (1974). The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell. Lehmann, H-​T. (2006). Postdramatic Theatre. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Martinez Sanchez, M.J. (2019). Hélio Oiticica: Visual Arts and Performativity. In: A. Dundjerovic & L.F. Ramos (eds.), Brazilian Performing Arts. Madrid:  Abada Editores, pp. 143–​60. Matthews, S. (2007). From Agit Prop to Free Space: The Architecture of Cedric Price. Black Dog Publishing. Oddey, A. (1994). Devising Theatre: A Practical and Theoretical Handbook. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Oiticica, H. (2013). Materialismos. Buenos Aires. Argentina: Ediciones Manantial,  SRL. Perec, G. (1997). Species of Spaces and Other Pieces. London: Penguin Books. Pardo, J.L. (2000). Sobre Los Espacios –​Pintar, Escribir, Pensar. Barcelona: Ediciones del Serbal. Site Oficial Projeto Hélio Oiticica: www.heliooiticica.org.br/​, accessed July 29, 2014. Soja, E. (1996). Thirdspace:  Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-​and-​Imagined Places. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Soja, E. (2010). Seeking Spatial Justice. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Todd, A., & Lecat, J. (2003). The Open Circle:  Peter Brook’s Theatre Environments. Basingstoke, UK and New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

 157

Conclusions Towards the creation of a dynamic cartography –​an interdisciplinary methodology

The title of this book Dynamic Cartography reflects the need identified at the beginning of my exploration of representing dynamics that are present in different spaces. These dynamics are ephemeral and invisible; they change and fluctuate depending on parameters such as perceptions, memory, or social interactions, to name a few. Throughout the chapters, this book has attempted to find an answer to the problematic of the visualisation and representation of human dynamics looking into different disciplines  –​theatre, visual arts, or architecture –​through the application of interdisciplinary processes. Italo Calvino writes the story of the city of Zobeida, which represents very well the  starting point of this book (Calvino, 1972:  45); what if the spaces were the result of the actions dynamics of the body? If –​as in Cnossos labyrinth –​the architecture was just a case for the choreographies that take place within the walls, in this case, the everyday life (Le Dantec, 1992: 82). These two examples reflect the essence of this book; the underlying features that make the space we live in, be the way it is. In order to pursue its main objective of representing ‘hidden’ spatial dynamics, the book has presented a theoretical, practical, and personal exploration on how methodologies that belong to performance and visual arts can be applied to study the architectural and performative space. Although approaching space from the point of view of the body was an intuitive decision at first, this exploration has just been possible presenting the body as the centre of the space, the body that experiences, perceives, and creates space through its actions and dynamics. Throughout the precedent chapters a wide range of topics around the body and how it relates to space have been covered. This journey has shown how it would be possible to address issues such as the design of the contemporary city, living spaces, or any spatial design from the experience of the body.1 Thus, the relationship between the body and the city could also be articulated through artistic experimentation. As argued by the architect Bernard Tschumi, architecture lays in the line between the ‘ideal space’ –​the product of a mental process  –​and real space, that has to do with the individual’s experience (Tschumi, 1996). In this sense, a phenomenological approach to space has been proposed, which is especially visible in the experiments of each chapter, presenting the perception of space as a departure point.

158 Conclusions The structure proposed on each c­ hapter –​theory, practitioner’s case study, and practical experiments –​has provided an analysis of the body in relation to space, progressively in five scales taking into account the cultural context where the human actions take place. Thus, it has been possible to detect five working environments from which to approach the study of movement: the surrounding space of the body, geometry, performative or scenic space, architectural programme and landscape. The tools and working processes proposed through the study of selected authors, which have been applied in the experiments, have confirmed that the interdisciplinary study of space can be applied to innovatively investigate and produce results that just with architectural2 mechanisms wouldn’t be achieved. Some of them, such as the Viewpoints (Bogart) or Motation (Halprin), were defined by their authors as a method, others have been deducted through the analysis of the practitioners’ work, for example, in the cases of Appia and Price. Spatial dramaturgy has emerged as a key term in this book, especially when addressing the design of spaces through the creation of a narrative. The Fun Palace has been identified as the main precedent in the definition of this term. The collaboration between an architect and a theatre director –​Price and Littlewood –​triggered the creation of a new spatial design methodology in architecture, based on actions, on the creation of an architectural script. This way of approaching architectural design in contrast to the traditional design methods is similar to the impact that had the definition of epic theatre by Brecht and its application to the theatre scene of the moment. Public/​social space and the artistic experience are aspects of human life in which comes in how the body is articulated with the environment in which it is inserted, being the environment a set of external conditions to which the body is exposed. Thus we could address the problems between the body and the city from the artistic experimentation. The landscape is something that is given to us, and we are connected to it through our body, which generates a series of movements when developing our everyday lives. Oiticica interprets the urban environment and tries to synthesise it through expressive actions that are also performed by the human body; therefore, the landscape is able to generate physical actions, but in return, these expressive actions can generate changes in the landscape. This idea is contained in the Parangolés, which on the one hand set the subjective–​experiential aspect to the participants, and on the other hand for the spectators have an objective-​attending experience. The second ones are able to maintain some distance from the object –​in this case the worn cloth –​they are able to observe and ‘penetrate’ the new environment activated by the Parangolés. Although it is not always necessary to be dressed in the cloth layers of Parangolés to relate to the landscape, we can begin to incorporate our bodies in motion as part of it, even in the design process, superposing them as a new layer, a layer of actions, and expressive movements. It is through the analysis of Parangolés that a connection between them and the Thirdspace of the favela emerged; they could constitute the Thirdspace of Morro da Mangueira.

Conclusions  159 Due to the interdisciplinary character of the work presented in this book, there have emerged open lines of investigation in tangential areas but that are also relevant to the main theme of the book: 1 Around the indeterminacy of movement in architectural space. Following the study of the history of the Viewpoints and its relationship with the happening, we question ‘what is the difference between the concept of improvisation and indeterminacy?’, which is related to the philosophy of indeterminacy, proposed by Archigram. In the context of the live arts in the 1960s and 1970s, the main difference between improvisation and indeterminacy is the degree of freedom that is given to the dancer to use their creativity on stage. In this sense, the indeterminacy –​ that comes with the happening –​ means that the limits to the creativity of the dancers are set by the creator of the piece. It is with the indeterminacy that the task-​lists in the creative process arise, which we also see in the configuration of the Fun Palace’s program, by Littlewood and Price. The Judson Dance Theater explored the boundaries between dance and the everyday life, throwing the question: walking on a stage can be dance? Pina Bausch suggests that it is possible, that the only difference resides in our consciousness when performing the movements. But in the architectural space exists –​or should exist –​an external consciousness, the consciousness of the architect or the conditions of our environment; therefore, could we talk about indeterminacy in this context? 2 Around the significance of architectural space. The body is able not only to generate space, but also to make sense and meaning. In the case of Oskar Schlemmer, we saw that the human figure, superposed on the stage area, had just an aesthetic function. One of the concepts discussed at the end of Chapter  2 is how working in a theatre space loaded with significance, as seen in Postdramatic Theatre by Hans Thies Lehmann; space can be an active agent and even the generator of the dramatic action (Lehmann, 2006). We have seen this in the experiment Micro-​actions in Greece, where the spaces analysed –​Epidaurus and the Treasury of Atreus –​were generated by actions that were part of religious rituals, and in the occupation and space exploration, we are taken back to those actions, as they are still contained in the morphology of the space. With Adolphe Appia, the superposition between body and space acquires a practical function. Space is a support for the body, it serves the movement, and movement is what gives meaning, but at the same time, the space is the generator of movement. Appia has a great influence by the Greek culture in all his work, which is evident in his aesthetic choices, in which the body is presented in dialogue with a solid architectural structure that supports and presents opposition to the movements of the actors. This reference also to the Greek theatre can

160 Conclusions become visible in the project carried out by the architect Heinrich Tessenow for the dancing hall of the Dalcroze Institute in Hellerau. The main feature we find is the unification of the stage and the space for the audience, something that today we may seem ordinary, but at that time was a real novelty. 3 Around the concept of atmosphere. It is indisputable that Appia has the ability to create atmospheres with his space designs, so his work is analysed in relation to the constituents of the atmosphere that lists Peter Zumthor in his lecture entitled Atmospheres. It is not hard to find items of this lecture in the staging of Appia. The reason why Appia is such an important designer for architects is because of the fact that he uses architectural mechanisms in his scenic settings. In analysing parallely the concept of atmosphere in Appia and in Zumthor, we could conclude that the atmosphere influences the motion of bodies moving through space. 4 Around the body as a generator of space. The entire professional career in theatre of Joan Littlewood was strongly influenced by Bertolt Brecht, and Cedric Price formalises these ideas into a project that ends up being an architectural script. We can see in this formalisation of the Laboratory of Fun (Littlewood in Schechter, 2003:  212), that Littlewood proposed elements of epic theatre by Bertolt Brecht as space fragmentation or the possibility that the creative team of the project gives users to change the configurations of the space depending on its use. Bernard Tschumi says the future of architecture is on the building of events. Space has to do with physicality and topography; movement with how to explore space through the body, and finally, the events that take place in a certain time and place. A situation provides us with series of choices that can be taken simultaneously, whereas in an event, the actions take place in a linear structure. The Fun Palace is a performative architecture in which form is generated by the action and the experience of space, and can change as the actions developed in it do. In this sense, it is an extremely suggestive project and we could understand it as an embodiment of the architecture as if it was the cloaks of the Parangolés by Oiticica. But this is not the only feature they have in common, as both have implied on them the social and political dimensions. None of them can be separated from the human body which in both ends up being the agent of change. We can also find in the Fun Palace the concept of indeterminacy that we’ve seen in the happening, and that in architecture is introduced by Archigram. This idea of a project with an open end –​or unknown –​and especially the idea of the ‘building machine’ that is activated by users leads us directly to the Parangolés we have seen with Oiticica. 5 Around the body in the landscape. Body and landscape are presented as the two most distant scales in this research; one appears in the beginning

Conclusions  161 and the other in the end, but this structure could be presented cyclically. How are we affected by the landscape? Is it possible to change or influence it through actions triggered by our perception and done with our bodies? And finally, what kind of actions can be proposed? The definitions of the terms corpocidade and corpografía –​ corpocity and corpography  –​are extremely helpful when analysing the work of Hélio Oiticica and to contextualise it in the rest of the book. The corpografías help us in the understanding of the existing relations between the experience of space and its mapping, opening new vias of research in this area. Oiticica posed the return of dance and body expression to Dionysian rite, and how the environment is able to generate such a reaction in our bodies, through corpografías, brings us back to the beginning of the investigation, to the first chapters. In Chapter 1, we explored the moving body, the kinespheres and being-​in-​spheres. In Chapter 2, it was the geometry of space which influenced our movements, something that also happens in the case of the favelas, where topography also plays a key role. Delirium Ambulatorium becomes almost like the process of creating corpografías in ourselves, which leads Oiticica to the generation of his Parangolés. Environmental art has posed strong relationship with the creation of atmospheres as we saw in the works of Appia (Chapter 2) where, as Oiticica explains, comes in the concept of the supra-​sensorial. With this concept, we retrieve a term that we saw in Chapter 2, haptic, or sense of touch extended to the whole body. Unconsciously we perceive the environments in which we move, which in turn, leave a trace in us, a footprint. This book revisits their artistic methods and applies them to the development of new experimental work that tries to find connections to contemporary issues. In addition to this, the transference of processes from one discipline to another –​in this case from performing arts to architecture  –​and vice versa has offered a wide range of results, some of them unexpected, and a contribution to both fields. Finally, perhaps one of the main values of this book is that in this search for new methods, it reviews the work of practitioners whose work may not have applications within contemporary issues and that are studied from a historical point of view, such as Laban, Appia, or Price.

Notes 1 See article Corpocidade:  arte enquanto micro-​ resistência urbana by Britto and Jacques (2009). 2 I refer to architecture as the discipline that has traditionally dealt with space establishing all the conventions in terms of representation of space and its dynamics.

162 Conclusions

References Britto, G.D. & Jacques, P.B. (2009). Corpocidade:  arte enquanto micro-​resistência urbana. Maio/​Ago. 2009. Revista de Psicologia, Vol. 21, No. 2, pp. 337–​350. Calvino, I. (1972). Invisible Cities. London: Martin Secker & Warburg. Le Dantec, J.P. (1992). Dédale Le Héros. Paris: Balland. Lehmann, H-​T. (2006). Postdramatic Theatre. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Schechter, J. (ed.). (2003). Popular Theatre: A Sourcebook. 1st ed. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Tschumi, B. (1996). Architecture and Disjunction. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italics and bold denote figures and tables, respectively. 512 Hours 112–​13, 128 Abramovic, Marina 46–​47, 110, 111–​13, 128 abstracts/​abstraction 14, 15, 17, 29, 48–​49, 52, 68–​69, 74, 87–​88, 135, 136–​37 action painting 11, 111, 142 The Afternoon of a Faun 15–​16 Agamben, Giorgio 12, 97n8, 98n9 Agit-​Prop 103, 129 Alsop, Will 117 Ancient Greek: representations of movements 14; spaces 5; theatres 24, 45 Andrade, Oswalde 132 anthropometries 110–​11 anthropophagy 132–​33; urban anthropophagy 132–​35 anti-​arte 140 Appia, Adolphe 1, 5, 103, 105, 127, 158, 159; on atmospheres 84–​86, 160, 161; on lighting 76; on music 76; performance space 73, 96–​97; radical staging for Wagnerian drama 75–​80; rhythmic spaces 79–​80; staged works 81–​82; theatrical space 80–​84, 104; time parameter in his designs 77–​79; The Work of Living Art 75–​80; see also scenic space Archigram 107, 113, 114, 116, 128, 159, 160 architectural script 5, 69, 100–​3, 113, 122, 123, 127, 158, 160 architectural space 1, 3, 97, 122, 127, 149, 159–​60; Kinetography 29–​36,

30–​31, 33, 40–​41, 42; Viewpoints 55, 59–​60, 69 architecture 2, 58, 62, 108, 152, 157, 160; audience and stage 120–​22; senses engaging with 2; synaesthesia 2; Wooosh! 122–​27, 124, 126 L’architecture mobile 107 Aristotle 74, 81 Artaud, Antonin 110 Arte Ambiental 133; see also environmental art artistic experience 112, 158 artistic expression, body as a means of 140–​42 The Artist is Present 46–​47 atmospheres 75, 84–​86, 95, 96–​97, 160; body of architecture 84–​85; between composure and seduction 85; light on things 86; sound of the space 84–​85, 91; surrounding objects 85; temperature of space 85; tension between interior and exterior 85–​86 attitudes 78–​79 audience, participation in performance 104, 105, 111–​12, 120–​22, 143–​44, 160 auratic mode of presence 105–​6 Aviary of the London Zoo 116–​17 Balfron Tower 148 ballet 15, 22, 47; ballet of sidewalks 138 Le Ballet Mechanique 135–​36 balloons 20 Banham, Reyner 116 Barbican Estate 148 Bauhaus 20, 45, 47; and Euclidean geometry 48–​49, 50 Bausch, Pina 47, 54, 159

164 Index Bayreuth Festspielhaus 97n6 Beacham, R.C. 76, 83, 85 Beckett, Samuel 4 behavioural gestures 58 being-​in-​spheres 21, 161 Belekian, Krikor 51 Benjamin, Walter 120–​21 Berlin wall 1 bio-​mapping  28 Black Orpheus 140 Bloomer, Kent 48 Boal, Augusto 106, 132, 143–​44 Bo Bardi, Lina 101 Body Configurations 87–​88 Bogart, Anne 1, 4, 47, 53, 55–​56, 95; Viewpoints see Viewpoints technique Borough, Chelsea 134 Bosch, Hieronymous 21 Brecht, Bertolt 104, 143, 160; conceptual change of political theatre 120; epic theatre 103, 120, 121, 128, 158, 160; BBB 121; on fun 120; and Littlewood 104; Theatre of Action 104 Brechtian theatre 103, 104–​5, 119, 120, 128, 143 Brook, Peter 20, 74, 152 Brown, Trisha 16, 47, 53 Brutalist architecture movement 148–​49 bubbles 20–​21 Cage, John 17, 37, 47, 52, 109–​10 Calvino, Italo 139, 157 Campbell, Joseph 98n19 Camus, Marcel 135 cartographies 145; versus scoring 28–​29 central stage 104 Chaplin, Charlie 18 Charcot, Jean-​Martin  13–​14 Childs, Lucinda 47, 53 choreography 11, 29, 47, 48, 51–​52, 53, 138–​42; group choreographies 19–​20; group choreography 19–​20; motation 9–​10, 26–​27, 36, 41, 158; movement choir 19–​20; notation systems 14–​17 choreutics 17, 20, 22–​23 chronophotography 12–​13, 14, 41 city 1–​2, 6, 9, 24, 100, 132, 136, 138–​39, 141, 154n5, 157–​58; as an urban drama 2; ballet of sidewalks 138; garden city 73, 82; and movement 24; psychogeography 108; spectacularising 141; superstructures 114; urban narratives 3; Wooosh! 122–​27; see also landscape

‘The City of Zobeide’ 139 Clair, René 136 collaboration 55, 133 collective dances 19–​20 collective experience 88 collective memories 2, 45–​46, 137; and scores 25–​26 commercial theatre 129n3 composition, and space 58–​60 contemporary rituals 4, 45–​46, 68; see also geometry Copeau, Jacques 72 Corner, Philip 52 corpocidade (corpocity) 137–​40, 154n6, 161 corpografia (corpography) 6, 137–​40, 143, 153, 154n4, 154n5, 161 Cosmococas 135 Counsell, Colin 19 Craig, E.E. 105 cubic space 49, 68 Cunningham, Merce 16–​17, 37 cybernetics 102, 116, 117, 118–​19 Daedalus Labyrinth 140 D’Almeida, Neville 135 dance 47, 92–​93, 161; choreutics 17; corpocidade 138; Dionysian dance 141–​42; and geometry 17–​18 (see also Kinetography); improvisation and indeterminacy in 54–​55, 69, 159; Kinetography 21–​23; labyrinth 139–​40; movement scores in 14–​17; notation 10, 16, 30 (see also Kinetography) da Piacenza, Domenico 12 Dean, Laura 53 Debord, Guy 108, 127, 141, 145 de Certeau, Michel 3, 27, 37, 109, 146, 149 Deleuze, Gilles 11–​12, 14, 41 Delirium Ambulatorium 7, 133, 145–​47, 153, 161 Demeny, Georges 13 Deutsche Werkbund 82, 98n16 diagrammatic programmes 113 Didi-​Hubermann, Georges  13–​14 Dionysian dance 73, 141–​42, 161 dodecaphonism 137 Dohrn, Wolf 82–​83 Domenichino: phantasms of 14 dramatic action 3–​5, 53, 56, 72–​74, 78, 85, 113, 143–​44, 152, 159 dramatic space 56, 72, 74, 78 dramatic text 55, 72, 74, 81, 84, 96, 152

Index  165 dramatic theatre 55, 120, 121, 121, 122 dramaturgy 3, 5, 73, 82; Greek tragedies 81; of space 92–​96, 152; spatial dramaturgies 3, 5–​6, 100–​3, 127, 158 (see also architectural script; architecture) Dundjerovic, A. 133 Dunn, Judith 53, 54 Dunn, Robert 53, 54 duration 112–​13; of movement/​ sequence 57, 61 Edwards, Gisele 51, 70n8 Einstein, Albert 73, 74, 97n1 Eliade, Mircea 141–​42 empty space 51, 74, 75, 136 environmental art 6, 7, 153, 161; and Thirdspace 142–​45 epic theatre 103, 120–​22, 121, 128, 158, 160 Epidaurus Theatre 5, 24–​25, 73, 82, 88–​90, 89, 91, 159 Euclidean geometry, and Bauhaus 48–​49, 50 eukinetics 17, 18, 19–​20 eurhythmics 73, 79–​80, 82, 83, 84 events 108, 109–​10, 114, 122, 160; and situation, differences between 110–​13 experience of the body 17, 41, 73, 106, 108, 118, 146, 153, 157 Export, Valie 87–​88 expressive gestures 58 fabrics, and movement 11 favelas 132–​33, 135, 139–​41, 143–​45, 153, 155n14, 161; and labyrinth, comparison between 139–​40 Feuerstein, M. 72 fictional presence 105 filmmaking 137 finger movements 18–​19 Fleming, Ian 149 Fligg, Anny 105 fluid spaces 98n15 foams 20, 21 Ford, Henry 18 Forti, Simone 53 Forum Theatre 130n13 Foucault, Michel 118, 144, 155n17 Friedman, Gene 52 Friedman, Yona 107, 114 Fuller, Loie 11 Fun Palace 5–​6, 100, 101–​2, 102, 106–​7, 113–​14, 115, 144, 158, 160;

architecture of 116–​17; audience and stage 120–​22; cybernetics and game theory 118–​20; Price and Littlewood, collaboration between 117–​18; see also performative architecture The Fun Palace project, UK Arts Council 128 game theory 102, 119 genius loci 5, 76, 86–​87 geography 28, 29, 84, 96, 144 geometry 17, 47, 68–​69, 73, 81, 82, 87, 92, 109, 144, 158, 161; and choreography 36; Dynamic Cartography experiments 60–​68; Euclidean geometry and Bauhaus 48–​50; kinespheres see kinespheres; L.E.M. (Le Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement) 50–​55; Viewpoints 55–​60 Gestalt 48, 68, 69n3 gestures 16, 58 Gibson, James 48 Goebbles, Joseph 19, 20 Goldfinger, Erno 148, 149 Gordon, David 53 Greece: civic space 2; proscenium theatres 98n12, 104; theatres 80–​84, 85 Grenfell Tower 147, 148 Gropius, Walter 81, 83, 103–​4 group choreography 19–​20 Guattari, Felix 12 La Guerre 111 Halprin, Anna 9, 20, 23, 24, 41 Halprin, Lawrence 1, 4, 9–​10, 14, 17, 23, 24, 26, 27, 29–​30, 41, 158 haptic experience 48, 54 Heisenberg, Werner 116, 129n12 Hellerau 82–​83, 86, 98n17, 98n18 heterotopia 144, 155n17 Homer 139 Hopscotch 6, 103, 123 human geography 29, 133, 144 icosahedron figure 18, 23, 105 The Iliad 139 image theatre 143 Imponderabilia 112 improvisation 53, 54–​55, 69, 159 indeterminacy 54–​55, 69, 128, 159 Inter-​action Centre 107, 117, 128 invisible, representation of 137 Itaú Cultural 154n1

166 Index Jacobs, Jane 24, 138 Jacques-​Dalcroze, Emile 5, 73, 78–​79 Jacques, Paola Berenstein 139–​40 Jammer, Max 73, 74 Johns, Jasper 52 Judson Church Theater group 47, 52–​53, 69, 159; improvisation and indeterminacy concepts 54–​55, 69 Judson Dance Theater group 138 Kandinsky, Wassily 51 kinaesthetics 57, 79 kinespheres 4, 10, 17–​18, 23, 29, 40, 161; and bubbles 20–​21 Kinetography 4, 10, 17–​23, 30, 42, 68, 69, 70n15; adaptation of 30, 42; and diagrams 21–​23; and floorplans 36; Kinetography I 4, 29, 30–​31, 32, 42; Kinetography II 4, 29, 33–​36, 34, 42; Kinetography III 4, 29, 37–​41, 38, 39, 42; problems 30; and time 35, 37–​38 Kircher, Athanaisus 13 Klein, Yves 110–​11 Labanotation see Kinetography Laban, Rudolf 1, 4, 9–​10, 15, 16, 17–​23, 42, 69, 74, 95, 105; cartographic annotation 15; choreutics 17, 20, 22–​23; dance notation system (see also Kinetography); eukinetics 19–​20; study of movement at work 18–​19; on time and movement 18; see also kinespheres Laboratory of Fun 160 Laboratory of Movement Study 50–​55 labyrinth 139–​40 Landau, Tina 4, 47, 55, 56 landscape 6, 132, 153, 158, 161; body as a means of artistic expression 140–​42; environmental art and Thirdspace 142–​45; representation of 135–​37; Trellick Tales 134, 147–​53, 150, 151 Lawrence, F.C. 18 Lecoq, Jacques 50–​51, 68 Lecoq, Pascale 51 Le Corbusier 148 Le Dantec, Jean-​Pierre 139 Lefebvre, Henri 3, 100, 132, 144 Leger, Fernand 135–​36 Lehmann, Hans-​Thies 2, 55, 69, 100, 110, 159 L.E.M. (Le Laboratoire d’Estude du Mouvement) 50–​55, 68 Lepage, Robert 3, 23

lighting 76, 83–​84; and atmosphere 86 light painting 11, 13 literal mode of presence 105 Littlewood, Joan 1, 5–​6, 100, 101–​2, 106–​7, 113–​14, 127–​28, 143, 160; on Brechtian theatre 104–​5; event and situation 109; Fun Palace see Fun Palace; Laboratory of Fun 120; and Price 101, 103, 106, 117–​18; theatre based on movement 105–​9; Theatre Workshop 104 live arts 68, 100, 110–​13, 118, 159 Lumière Brothers 11 MacColl, Ewan 103, 104, 105–​6, 129n5 Makeham, Paul 123 Manifesto of Theatre of the Action 129n3 Manifesto of the Theatre Union 129n6 Manuscript of Cervera 15 Marey, Étienne-​Jules  13, 41 Mark, Melville 102 masks 50, 51, 68 The Matrix 136 matter 84 Matthews, S. 107, 155n16 McAuley, Gay 74–​75, 94, 100 McCormack, Derek 24, 29 memories: collective memories 2, 25–​26, 45–​46, 137; and spaces 2 mental representations, of spaces 144 Merleau-​Ponty, M. 2, 48–​49, 57, 69n3, 95 mesuRAGE 87 Micro-​actions in Greece 87–​92, 159; Epidaurus Theatre 89, 89–​90, 91; Strings, Old Vinegar Factory 92–​96, 93; Treasury of Atreus 90, 90–​91 Milano, Scala di 77 Mirto, Anton 52 Mobile 51, 51 Moore, Charles 48 Morro da Mangueira (Rio de Janeiro) 140 motation 9–​10, 26–​27, 36, 41, 158 Mother Courage 104–​5 movement 28–​29, 73; art of 77–​78; awareness of 54–​55; capturing of 10–​11; choir 19–​20; and city 24; of dancers on stage, notation 49; and geometry see geometry; invisible traces 10–​11; obstacles 78; planes of action 22; pure movement 16, 78; rhythmic movement 18–​19; and space

Index  167 17, 97, 108; theatre based on 105–​9; traces of 27 movement scoring system 9; in dance 14–​17; see also scoring movement writing 14 Mumford, L. 123 Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Sâo Paulo 101 musical spatiality 76 music scoring system 136–​37 Muybridge, Eadweard J. 12–​13 Namuth, Hans 111 neutral masks 50, 68 New Babylon 107 Newby, Frank 116 Newlove, Jean 105 Nieuwenhuys, Constant 107 Nijinsky, Vaslav 15–​16 Nold, Christian 28 Oddey, Alison 59 Oh! What a Lovely War! 104 Oiticica, Hélio 1, 6, 133–​35, 140, 142, 153, 154n1, 154n2, 158, 160, 161; body as a means of artistic expression 140–​42; collaborative practice 133, 135; Delirium Ambulatorium 145–​47; environmental art 142–​45; Parangolés see Parangolés; Tropicália 133; Tropicalism 132; see also landscape Orfeu Negro 135 Orlan 87 Overlie, Mary 55, 56 palimpsest 1–​2, 125, 147 Pallasmaa, Juhani 2 Parangolés 6–​7, 133, 140–​42, 153, 154n11, 155n14, 158, 160; Delirium Ambulatorium 145–​47; double Penetravel 143; and environmental art 142–​43, 153; environmental notion 146; supra-​sensorial notion 133, 146, 153, 161; Thirdspace 145 Paris Opera, drawing of 101 Paris qui dort 136 Park Hill 148 participant, spectator as see audience, participation in performance Pask, Gordon 118–​19 Passloff, Aileen 55–​56 ‘Pathological Walk from in Front’ 13 Paxton, Steve 53 Pearson, Mike 3, 54, 94, 96, 108, 124–​25

Perec, Georges 136 performance 2; and spaces 3; synaesthesia 2; Viewpoints see Viewpoints techniques performance arts 46–​47, 52, 68, 103, 109, 110–​13, 119 performance devising 6, 7, 9, 41, 52, 59–​60, 92, 124 performance space 1, 9, 47, 72–​73, 93–​95 performative actions 1, 5, 6, 87–​92, 124, 152 performative architecture 113–​14; cybernetics and game theory 118–​20; and Fun Place architecture 116–​17; and indeterminacy 114–​16; Price and Littlewood, collaboration between 117–​18 performativity 3, 6, 113, 127; and rituals 45–​48; and social space 132, 145, 146–​47, 149 (see also landscape); Thirdspace 145 performing arts 1, 7, 9, 45, 46, 68–​69, 70n12, 73, 82, 87, 133 phantasms 12, 14, 41, 78, 79, 97n8; of Domenichino 14 photography 10, 11, 16, 108, 127, 137 physicality 160 physical viewpoints 56, 57, 95 Picasso, Pablo 11 Piscator, Erwin 81, 103, 104 place 73, 109; and dramatic narratives 110 Pollock, Jackson 11, 42n1, 111, 142 Popper, Karl 116, 129n11 postdramatic theatre 55, 59, 159 Postdramatic Theatre 3, 69, 159 Potteries Thinkbelt 117 Power, Cormac 105, 106 practicability 77 pre-​existent space 122, 124–​25, 152 presence of the body in space 105–​6 Price, Cedric 5–​6, 101–​2, 116, 158, 160 Psychogeographic Guide of Paris 127 psychogeographies 108, 127, 145 public spaces 6, 18, 19, 26, 33–​34, 114, 122, 146, 158 ‘QUAD’ 33–​36 quasi-​cinema  135 Rainer, Yvonne 53 Rauschenberg, Robert 52 Read, G. 72

168 Index reality 84, 144, 145; imagined representations of 144, 145 repetition 20, 21, 26, 41, 46, 56, 57, 64, 66, 68–​69, 140 representation of movement 10–​11, 41, 108; body in motion 11–​12; movement scores in dance 14–​17; systems 12–​14 Rhythm 0 46–​47 rhythmic spaces 73, 79–​80, 80 Ribero, Jackson 145 Richards, M.C. 110 rituals/​ritual spaces 2, 5, 26, 45–​48, 64, 72; cannibalistic rituals 133; and collective memories 45–​46; contemporary ritual 4, 45, 68; spatial body rituals 9–​10 Robin Hood Gardens 148 Rome 1–​2 Royal Institute of British Architects 148 RSVP cycles 9–​10, 23–​24, 25, 41; performance stage 24; resources stage 24; scoring stage 24; valuation stage 24 Rue Saint Denis, Paris 37–​40 Rufford, Juliet 113 Salzmann, Alexander von 83, 84 samba 140, 145 Sandford, M. 54 scenario 72, 136 scenic space 73, 82, 96–​97, 160; and body 78; and communicative action 74–​75; Epidaurus Theatre 89, 89–​90, 91; genius loci 86–​87; Micro-​actions in Greece 87–​92, 159; as real space 84; rhythm of 79–​80, 80; space and time 77–​79 scenographies 72, 73, 76, 77, 84, 86 Schechner, Richard 2, 20, 25–​26, 45–​46 Schechter, Joel 120 Schlemmer, Oskar 68, 74, 159; investigation in Bauhaus through Triadic Ballet 48–​49, 50 Schmidt, Karl 82–​83 scores: and collective memories 25–​26; representation of process 23–​27; and staging 76 scoring 4, 9; versus cartography 28–​29; and dance notation 14–​17; Kinetography see Kinetography; mapping spatial process 27–​29; motation 9–​10, 26–​27; movement scores in dance 14–​17; and RSVP

cycles 23–​24, 25, 41; system, qualities of 40; and time 27–​28 Sennet, R. 124 sensitive bodies 17, 125, 127 Serpentine Dance 11 shadow movements 18 shape, and movement 57–​58 Shunt and Punchdrunk 3 site-​specific performance 108, 109; Trellick Tales 7, 134, 147–​53, 150, 151; Wooosh! 122–​27, 124, 126 Situationists 107 situations 109–​10, 114, 122; and events, differences between 110–​13 Sloterdijk, Peter 20–​21 Smithson, Alison and Peter 148 Snowdon, Lord 116 social change 102, 107, 116, 118, 132, 144 social performativity 146–​47 social spaces 6, 132, 158 Soja, Edward 3, 133, 144, 148, 155n24, 158 sound of space 84–​85, 91 space(s) 73, 108, 132, 157–​58; atmospheric qualities in 75; and body 57, 159–​60; composing with 58–​60; definitions of 73; dramaturgy 152; Dynamic Cartography experiments 60–​68; and events 108; in general versus belonging to the body 22–​23; and memories 2; mental representations 144; and movement 97; origins of 72–​73; and performances 3; phenomenological approach 2, 17, 41, 67, 69, 127, 150, 157; presence of the body in 105–​6; reflections on 73–​75; response to narratives in everyday life 3; rhythmic spaces 79–​80, 80; scales 3; and seduction 85; as social 132, 148; and social narrative 100–​2; sound of 84–​85, 91; temperature of 85; and time 16–​17, 77–​79; Viewpoints 57–​58 Space Syntax 4 Space Synthax 28 spatial body rituals 9–​10 spatial dramaturgies 3, 5–​6, 100–​3, 127, 158; see also architectural script; architecture spatiality 3, 7, 20, 45, 76, 122–​23, 125, 144, 147–​48 spatial justice 148

Index  169 spatial relationship 45, 56, 58 spatial rituals 69 spect-​actors 104, 105, 111–​12, 120–​22, 143–​44, 160 spheres trilogy 20–​21 SPID (Social Political Innovative Direct) Theatre Company 7, 134, 147, 149 Stanislavsky, Constantin 54–​55 Strings, Old Vinegar Factory 5, 73, 92–​96, 93 ‘Suite by Chance’ 16–​17 superstructures 114 supra-​sensorial 133, 146, 153, 161 surrounding objects 75, 85 synaesthesia 2 Tanztheater 47 A Taste of Honey 104 Teatro Marcello 2 temperature of space 85 tempo 57 Terrill, Simon 148 Tessenow, Heinreich 73, 160 theatrical spaces 80–​84; body in 80–​84 Theatre of Action group 103 Theatre Union 104 Theatre Workshop 104 Thirdspace 133, 142–​45, 147, 153, 155n24, 158; definition of 144; Trellick Tales 134, 147–​53, 150, 151 Tights 52 time 73, 117; and dramatic narratives 110; and Kinetography 35, 37–​38; and movement 18, 35; and scoring 27–​28; and space 16–​17, 77–​79; Viewpoints 57–​58, 61 Tomb of Agamemnon see Treasury of Atreus topography 58, 160, 161 Toscanini, Arturo 77 Total Theatre 103–​4 traces 1, 10–​11, 27, 37, 77, 111, 139–​40, 161 tragedies, dramaturgy of 81–​82 Treasury of Atreus 73, 88, 90, 90–​91, 159 Trellick Tales 7, 134, 147–​53, 150, 151, 153 Triadic Ballet 47, 48–​49, 48–​50, 50 Tropicália 132, 133, 134, 143 tropicalism 132

Tschumi, Bernard 28, 108, 109, 157, 160 Turner, Victor 46 Ubersfield, Anne 74–​75 Ulay (Uwe Laysiepen) 112 L’Unité d’Habitation 148 urban anthropophagy 132–​35 urban corpography 154n5 urban spaces: movement of people in 27, 40; see also city Urban Splash 149 Vals, thermal baths of 75 velocity: impacts on perception 11 Verfremdung 121 video recording 16 Viewpoints technique 4–​5, 47, 52, 66–​68, 69, 70n12, 95, 98n11, 144, 158; architecture 58, 62; composing with space 58–​60; and devising 59; duration, of movement/​sequence 57, 61; Dynamic Cartography I 60, 63, 63, 68; Dynamic Cartography II 60, 63–​65, 64, 67–​68; Dynamic Cartography III 60, 65, 65–​66, 66, 67, 68; and shape 57–​58, 61–​62; spatial composition tool 55–​57; spatial relationship 58, 62; time and space Viewpoints 57–​58, 61 La Ville Spatiale 114 Viola, Bill 12 Virilio, Paul 11, 13 visual arts 45, 46 voice viewpoints 56 void 74 von Ehrenfels, Christian 69 Von Hausswolff, Annika 21 Wagnerian drama 73, 96; radical proposals for the mise-​en-​scène of 75–​80 Wälterlin, Oskar 77 Weiner, Norman 118 Wenders, Wim 136 Wolff, Christian 16 Wooosh! 122–​27, 124, 126 The Work of Living Art 75–​80 zoopraxiscope 13 Zumthor, Peter 75, 84–​85, 95, 160