Tanzquartier Wien

On the untrained eye, which I consider myself to be, the new performance by Liquid Loft, Models of Reality, leaves an impression of great complexity. In the one-hour performance, the fascinating group of eight dancers presents a mesmerising sequence of physical tableaux, creating a myriad of associations in a fluorescent space grid.

The human body is clearly the main actor in this work by choreographer Chris Haring, as is the case in contemporary dance in general. In architecture, on the other hand, the artistic field that is my home ground, the role of the body is a less clear-cut one. Beyond its function as a concrete unit of measure (foot, ell, pace) and the concept of human beings as an image of divine proportions (Leonardo da Vinci’s “Vitruvian man”), the body is considered in a conspicuously abstract manner in practice. Consequently, countless buildings and spaces are conceived with a body in mind that is sometimes abstract, sometimes more clearly specified, but always somehow ubiquitous and phantom-like. What remains are traces of use: What remains are traces of use: the eroding traces of the body on the surfaces of the built environment.

To bridge this gap, I attended two rehearsals at Liquid Loft’s rehearsal space, a small factory building in Favoriten, Vienna. Compared to the actual performance in TQW Hall G, this explicitly constituted a first shift in the spatial situation, which is one of piece’s basic themes. The choreography was developed in a condensed form in the much smaller rehearsal space, which primarily serves as a model or simulation of a real space. But as a result of developing the piece collectively in countless rehearsal sessions, a trace of the rehearsal space inevitably remains in the dancers’ body consciousness when they are on stage.

SPACE

The black stage space is divided into nine cubic fields. Thin, blue strips of light mark some of the side edges. This creates the impression that the basic geometric shape of the cube has either not yet been completed or is about to dissolve. The first association with this minimalistic yet striking stage set by Thomas Jelinek is a digital space. As if you were looking at a screen or the so-called “model space” of conventional CAD software. Especially from an elevated position, the stage seems like the isometric world of a computer game, the dancers being characters with individual attributes or “skins”. Various images from the world of film cross your mind, e. g. from the cult sci-fi movie “Tron” (1982), in which the protagonists get sucked into a computer game in whose digital labyrinths they face various threats. The frontal view of the stage, on the other hand, creates a completely different effect. Spaces that appear to be separate and blurred together at the same time reveal themselves, somehow reminiscent of Lars von Trier’s film “Dogville” (2003). But in terms of the interface between stage design and architecture, perhaps the most interesting reference is Frederick Kiesler’s “Raumstadt” concept (1925): a space frame for groundbreaking stage set models from the early 20th century and at the same time a built manifest in model form for a new city, heralding the dissolution of fixed spaces and the Total Theatre as a symbol of new places for the community.[1]

BODY

A male dancer in a plain, rusty red T-shirt appears in the dark. His gentle movements are accompanied by a squeak, as if a balloon was being twisted. A second dancer, also dressed plainly, joins in. This is followed by a rocking back and forth that oscillates between hugging and pushing away. The remaining dancers join in, one after the other. Accompanied by increasingly menacing sounds, a constantly changing entanglement of the eight bodies builds up on stage. Delicate embraces alternate with an intense and ever more vehement rubbing of bodies. The individual body parts and the delicate Vermeer colours of the clothes combine to create a dynamic body conglomeration by way of acrobatic movements. This mesmerising passage, which recurs later in the piece, dissolves, and the dancers spread themselves out on the nine cubes. Everyday sounds and incomprehensible chatter coming from loudspeakers they hold in their hands appear to animate them, like puppets. As if tuning an old radio, sound fragments (music, the sound of clinking coins or splashing water) fill the air and make the protagonists dance – alone, in pairs and in groups. These fragmented patterns of movement – apparently attempts at interactions – become more and more abstract. All of a sudden, it feels as if you’re watching a swarm of bizarre life forms through a microscope, and the unaltered stage set suddenly seems like an analytical space for forms of movement. With the intensity of the interactions ever increasing and, correspondingly, the soundtrack becoming ever more compact and reverberating in your body, the attempts made at communication fluctuate between sensitive and belligerent.

SOUND

There are two recurring elements. On the one hand, passages in which a dancer, facing the audience, “sings” (obviously playback) about being hurt in love. The other dominant sound is a noise called “stone floor”. The screeching rubbing against stone runs through the piece as a motif in varying degrees of intensity until the culmination at the end. Chris Haring describes this sound as suggestive of “being yanked out of the world”. Andreas Berger’s sound design is based on an extensive archive of field recordings made during many tours by the members of the company, the “Liquid People”. Using digital manipulation and distortion to build a complex mosaic from these fragments, they are distributed across the stage space through speakers, thereby becoming the ninth protagonist.

THEORY

In Models of Reality, Chris Haring refers to two different systems of concepts, which he puts to the test using his medium, dance, and which serve as a framework of reference. First, the double text by Michel Foucault “Heterotopias. The Utopian Body”, originally two radio lectures from 1966. In these early short texts, the French philosopher outlined the complex relation between built spaces and the human body. The interconnections between the “placeless place” and “placeless language”[2] find expression in Haring’s choreography.

The second system of concepts is linked to the dictum of modern architecture: “Form follows function”. Introduced by Louis H. Sullivan with reference to the high-rise architecture that began to flourish in the USA at the end of the 19th century, this maxim became the cornerstone of modern architecture and industrial design in the 1920s. Above all, the Bauhaus embodied the principle of a rational basis for designing the living environment of human beings. In architecture, two pioneering projects from this period are of particular interest: first, the “Frankfurter Küche” by Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky (1926) and, second, the study “Versuch eines graphischen Verfahrens zur Bewertung von Kleinwohnungsgrundrissen” by Alexander Klein (1927). In both cases, the Taylorist principle of optimising production processes in factories was essential. An attempt was made in architecture to create a spatial framework for all areas of life of the modern human being (especially the housewife), in which he or she would walk like a modern Ariadne along invisible (yet predetermined in precise diagrams) paths through the labyrinths of everyday life.

In contrast to this mechanical ballet, as envisaged by the architects of “heroic modernism”, Haring interprets “Form follows function” much more generally. He is concerned with how human bodies piece themselves together with other bodies and create transitory gaps, thereby literally building a community. In that sense, the performance is not only to be understood as a study of the interplay between heterotopias and utopian bodies, but also (referencing Ágnes Heller) as a call for “places where individuals can build a community – to achieve communal exaltation, contemplation in the realm of the ‘Absolute Spirit’ without sacrificing personal freedom. You can still enjoy moments of happiness. They have become embodied utopian realities.”[3] Anyway, that’s how I experienced the encounter with Chris Haring’s Liquid Loft.

Lorenzo De Chiffre (b. 1974) is a freelance architect and author as well as a senior lecturer at Vienna University of Technology. He studied at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts and at the University of East London. He was a member of staff/project manager at Caruso St John Architects in London and several architectural firms in Vienna, where he was mainly involved in major residential building projects. He wrote his doctoral thesis on the Viennese-style stepped-section building (“Wiener Terrassenhaus”) in 2016 and curated the exhibition “Das Terrassenhaus. Ein Wiener Fetisch?” at Architekturzentrum Wien in 2017. Lorenzo De Chiffre’s main interests in teaching and research are architectural design strategies. In 2018, he published and co-edited the book “Ikonen. Methodische Experimente im Umgang mit architektonischen Referenzen”. He was also presented with the “Best Teacher Award” at the Faculty of Architecture and Spatial Planning of Vienna University of Technology in 2018.

[1] Friedrich Kiesler, “Manifest. Vitalbau – Raumstadt – Funktionelle Architektur”, in De Stijl, Issue 10/11, Leiden 1925 (Reprint 1968); cf. Barbara Lesák, Die Kulisse explodiert. Friedrich Kieslers Theaterexperimente und Architekturprojekte 1923–1925, Vienna 1988, p. 168ff.
[2] Daniel Defert, “Raum zum Hören”, in Michel Foucault, Die Heterotopien. Der utopische Körper, Berlin 2013.
[3] Ágnes Heller, Von der Utopie zur Dystopie. Was können wir uns wünschen?, Vienna, Hamburg 2016.

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