Onwards she hastens on the axis. And with this adherence, the sense that she is not in control, that the path is in fact predetermined, dawns. This world, it is one that favours straight lines and known outcomes. The earlier freedom, a blip. Perhaps. In costuming by Paula Levis, with sleeves for protection, crossover neckline for flexibility and glove-like coverage[2], Meadows maps the illuminated screen of the stage floor, and the machine above scans her every move. There is no visual escape for the hybrid snail meets hermit crab. Flanked by raked seating on all four sides of the stage, the scrutiny is as intense at the sound and lighting (by Luke Smiles/Motion Laboratories).  

Berlin-based interactive software developer and media artist Frieder Weiss[3] is in Melbourne to help with the remounting, and though the technology has changed, it has lost none of its power. Meeting points between the body and machine, softer casings and harder ones, and the provocation of just who is responding to who, the conversation is as relevant now as it was then. As spirograph-like forms emanate, in response to Meadows’s extending a limb into the white plain before my eyes, though the balance of power swings, the use of technology throughout “Glow” never overwhelms the dancer. In geometric-patterned, optical-illusionists’ awe, the human, once more, is directing the scene. A moving arm is followed by a string of playful lines. The machine is responding to human actions. Round she goes, a web drawn, and depth of field suggested. These radiant linear projections are reminiscent of tree rings growing around Meadows. Upon a stage floor painfully bright, the lines close in and make a coffin shape. It is tenuous, it is changeable, this encounter. 

Primarily floor-based, Meadows’s moves through sequences that appear to reference an exorcism and elsewhere impart a soft glow to the edges of her form, making her aura visible. In a universe where change is swift and contrast high, she makes vocal utterances, and allows us to hear the labour of her breathing, which heightens the voyeuristic nature of watching human vs machine: when did the conversation slip into a competition? At one point, standing upright in the arena, Meadows’s leaves a series of inkblots on the stage. The inkblots initially move as if shadows previously cast are now independently animated. They quickly mutate into an oily and conscious globular form. They have a sentience to them, but above all, they carry a sense of menace. They stalk her on the stage in active pursuit. No matter where she goes, within the confines of the grid, she is found, and once found, she is a host to be consumed by darkness. Though Meadows becomes a vessel for the angry, sorrowful matter, this is not where things end. As a white light bathes the stage before shrinking to a pinprick, the last note is more hopeful. If humanity can ‘call the shots’ on technology and how it is used, perhaps a different outcome, a different future, is possible. Quick. Let’s pause it here.