From August 2022 to May 2023, I was a resident author at tanzschreiber.de, a Berlin dance criticism portal run by tanzbüro, a dance agency, also based in Berlin. With two German-writing colleagues, Maria Ladopoulos and Micha Tsouloukidse, we covered most of the major independent and institutional dance works in Berlin over that period, 2 times a month gallavanting across official and unofficial halls, houses, theatres, workshops, and - for me - even a boat.
Having never written extended dance criticism before exactly, this kind of close contact with Berlin's dance scene - especially as an outsider - was eye-opening. First, the sheer number of dance venues that are around - is there really an audience for it? Aren't I seeing the same people at every show, or just a posse that the artist has managed to cultivate through their strategic use of social media? Is there space for the "public" anymore - one that is somewhat randomly selected, curious, independent spectators? Second, with offerings continually championing a sort of brittle affirmation, what was the function of criticism here exactly? What could it do? (Nothing?)
The lack of "outsider" in the audience bothers me, because that person is also the audience for critical writing - at least traditionally. Dance seems particularly vulnerable to algorithmic interference, more so than other performing arts, as it is so heavy on visual spectatorship, so reliant on the body to communicate, and contains such heavy doses of exploitation and precarity for artists. "Robustness" seems to be the perpetual goal, and yet the way it's pursued - through excessive production, identity politics, and over-reliance on concepts such as 'radical care' which place burdens on the already-burdened - seem often counter-productive. Surely the mission is not to create closed bubbles of protection, but rather to bring dance itself to the world? To find new audiences, and to address them with new ways of seeing and being - not ones with which they are already acclimatised? Is it any co-incidence that the number of dance critics is so close to zero?
It's a trending conversation in an age of 'cancel culture', and one which I personally don't have much time for. Both extremes seem equally damaging: create a small community bubble of like-minded individuals, and you will inevitably survive but achieve no broadening of anyone's perspective. Ignore the necessity of 'safe spaces' for nurturing art and ensuring that people have a place to cultivate and thrive away from the violence of public expectation, and you will trade mass engagement for oppression. But finding that sweet spot seems harder and harder: that beautiful moment where exchange between indivudals occurs through culture, where realisations and revelations happen, which are the aspirations of collective spectatorship.
It's something specific to performing arts - a mix of the liveness of the moment, the physical, convivial presence, the gathering of strangers to watch an offer from nominated agent. You will never find that on social media. But such is the dominance of the logic of commodificatoion - is it possible to build a career outside of this today? Can you build an audience without fans?
As I move onto other challenges, I am left with these questions more than ever, together with the knowledge that they are likely to get more - and not less - urgent.
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My critical writings for Tanzschreiber are available in English and German.
Interested in writing dance criticism? Why not apply for my job at Tanzschreiber here (Until October 22).
I am grateful to those who came to performances with me and built dialogue with me, especially Angela Fegers, Inna Gosha, and Anita Kopylenko, and to my editors Anja Goette and Aslan Aslan.
Note: Current publication is done with the understanding that colleagues and communities from Kharkiv, Mariupol, Kyiv, Lutsk, and Lviv among others in Ukraine are currently under attack in an attempt to erase Ukrainian culture and identity. No artist should be forced to rehearse how to pick up the gun.
