Following my apparent 'writing from anywhere but Berlin' policy, I'm back in Estonia as a somewhat incognito visitor to the NU Performance Festival Tallinn - a (relatively) small biennial of performance happening in some of Tallinn's theatres over the week.
I am coming in at Day 5 of the festival, with many works and events already having taken place. The afternoon panel, loosely organised around the theme of 'Audiencology', featured a variety of interesting guests with fields spanning architecture, contemporary art, and practice and theory of performance. The discussion was a little unweildly, but propositions from Maarin Mürk regarding Markus Miessen's The Nightmare of Participation and Clare Bishop's elaboration on relational aesthetics, as well as Sille Pihlak's reflections on community participation in architecture, were particular highlights.
Digital Technology
I admit it: I thought I wouldn't like Digital Technology. Something about Swedish/German artist Mårten Spångberg's approach grated with my sense of responsibility as so much of contemporary art can do - making a provocation from a position of perceived neutrality. This position is best articulated in the afternoon panel discussion where Spångberg, who dominated the conversation at the expense of his female colleagues, went so far as to suggest that that we should be able to co-exist in performance in a relatively passive way: "As long as it doesn't ask for anything, I can be with it forever".
It's a kind of relaxed statement that's unlikely to get this punter too excited in an age of apathy in Europe - where a new generation is born into privileges it can never hope to understand, and doesn't bother to seek answers about. And indeed, looking around at the blank faces of the audience in Digital Technology, you might think the artist has achieved exactly what he set out to do, for better or worse.
The performance itself begins with an apology, as Spångberg, sitting in the middle of the stage floor in a kitsch Coca-Cola T-shirt (with the brand replaced with 'Cape Town'), explains to us that 'the duration of the piece is 75 minutes', that 'we can leave if we want but it would be great if we stayed for about 60 minutes at least', that 'the people in the front should sleep because it will give people behind them a chance to see'. There's further underwhelming exclamations as Spångberg explains that the piece is only called Digital Technology to try and get funding, which it failed to do, and that 'I'll put a costume and some music on an we can begin. That's how performance normally starts'. These aren't exactly ironic, but they're not totally cold either, creating an ambiguous energy and blurred lines of performance that sits under the rest of the performance.
All expectations successfully demolished, the artist strips naked and proceeds through a variety of choreographed gestures using the objects strewn about the stage. These drift from comical - such as putting on tennis shoes and t-shirt but no pants, picking up a tennis racket, and hitting his shoes professionally as though to test the racket - to the more mundane, arranging Snickers bars into a ritualistic circle. There's a fascination with chemistry, and Spångberg often drops substances into water to engage in a joint watching of their wondrous effects. A youthful playfulness is also present in some of the gestures, such as painting his arse and printing it onto a large sheet of paper (the presentation of this to the audience was akin to that of a naughty child - apparently it's a reference to Yves Klein and to Annie Springkle). The performance finishes with the handing out of ice cream cones to selected members of the audience.
There's a lot not to like about the performance, which treads a line close to arrogance in its approach, even as it performs humility. Dramaturgically, it felt at times like a bunch of stuff thrown together and bound by a repetitive musical soundtrack. Spångberg even returns periodically to the centre of the floor, presumably reading his score to see what should come next.
Nevertheless, I found myself taking up the invitation of the artist to engage in a kind with him in a kind of joint contemplation - and to my surprise, it wasn't a totally unpleasant head-space to be in. About 30 minutes in I started to find the gestures very funny, at another time I became quite upset for some reason. I might have been the only one in the audience - nevertheless, Digital Technology created quite a party in my head.
I just wish others were invited to the party. Looking around the room, you couldn't help but notice the absence of togetherness experienced by the audience - possibly a penalty for the artist's chosen mode of address. Spångberg himself has said he likes to divide audiences, and Digital Technology fulfills its post-dance promises of simplicity and compartmentalisation, creating an empty space for an audience to fill with their individual imaginations.
Digital Technology
by Mårten Spångberg
Kanuti Gildi SAAL
I am coming in at Day 5 of the festival, with many works and events already having taken place. The afternoon panel, loosely organised around the theme of 'Audiencology', featured a variety of interesting guests with fields spanning architecture, contemporary art, and practice and theory of performance. The discussion was a little unweildly, but propositions from Maarin Mürk regarding Markus Miessen's The Nightmare of Participation and Clare Bishop's elaboration on relational aesthetics, as well as Sille Pihlak's reflections on community participation in architecture, were particular highlights.
Digital Technology
I admit it: I thought I wouldn't like Digital Technology. Something about Swedish/German artist Mårten Spångberg's approach grated with my sense of responsibility as so much of contemporary art can do - making a provocation from a position of perceived neutrality. This position is best articulated in the afternoon panel discussion where Spångberg, who dominated the conversation at the expense of his female colleagues, went so far as to suggest that that we should be able to co-exist in performance in a relatively passive way: "As long as it doesn't ask for anything, I can be with it forever".
Photo: Kristo Sild
It's a kind of relaxed statement that's unlikely to get this punter too excited in an age of apathy in Europe - where a new generation is born into privileges it can never hope to understand, and doesn't bother to seek answers about. And indeed, looking around at the blank faces of the audience in Digital Technology, you might think the artist has achieved exactly what he set out to do, for better or worse.
The performance itself begins with an apology, as Spångberg, sitting in the middle of the stage floor in a kitsch Coca-Cola T-shirt (with the brand replaced with 'Cape Town'), explains to us that 'the duration of the piece is 75 minutes', that 'we can leave if we want but it would be great if we stayed for about 60 minutes at least', that 'the people in the front should sleep because it will give people behind them a chance to see'. There's further underwhelming exclamations as Spångberg explains that the piece is only called Digital Technology to try and get funding, which it failed to do, and that 'I'll put a costume and some music on an we can begin. That's how performance normally starts'. These aren't exactly ironic, but they're not totally cold either, creating an ambiguous energy and blurred lines of performance that sits under the rest of the performance.
All expectations successfully demolished, the artist strips naked and proceeds through a variety of choreographed gestures using the objects strewn about the stage. These drift from comical - such as putting on tennis shoes and t-shirt but no pants, picking up a tennis racket, and hitting his shoes professionally as though to test the racket - to the more mundane, arranging Snickers bars into a ritualistic circle. There's a fascination with chemistry, and Spångberg often drops substances into water to engage in a joint watching of their wondrous effects. A youthful playfulness is also present in some of the gestures, such as painting his arse and printing it onto a large sheet of paper (the presentation of this to the audience was akin to that of a naughty child - apparently it's a reference to Yves Klein and to Annie Springkle). The performance finishes with the handing out of ice cream cones to selected members of the audience.
There's a lot not to like about the performance, which treads a line close to arrogance in its approach, even as it performs humility. Dramaturgically, it felt at times like a bunch of stuff thrown together and bound by a repetitive musical soundtrack. Spångberg even returns periodically to the centre of the floor, presumably reading his score to see what should come next.
Nevertheless, I found myself taking up the invitation of the artist to engage in a kind with him in a kind of joint contemplation - and to my surprise, it wasn't a totally unpleasant head-space to be in. About 30 minutes in I started to find the gestures very funny, at another time I became quite upset for some reason. I might have been the only one in the audience - nevertheless, Digital Technology created quite a party in my head.
I just wish others were invited to the party. Looking around the room, you couldn't help but notice the absence of togetherness experienced by the audience - possibly a penalty for the artist's chosen mode of address. Spångberg himself has said he likes to divide audiences, and Digital Technology fulfills its post-dance promises of simplicity and compartmentalisation, creating an empty space for an audience to fill with their individual imaginations.
Digital Technology
by Mårten Spångberg
Kanuti Gildi SAAL
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