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Fury and Solitude

This provocative double bill showcases contrasting approaches to the body, and perceptions of how and why they take up and transform the space. It's also a meditation on art as an act of resistance, a form of political liberation. It could also be a study in the isolation of the individual in a cosmopolitan city. The two pieces couldn't be more timely, given the recent acts of global insurrection. They are also completely different, in terms of both pace and energy levels.

Performance

“It's Not My Body Chapter 3.5” / “This Is” by Wong Tan-ki and Dick Wong

Place

DanceBase, Edinburgh, Scotland, August 2, 2024

Words

Lorna Irvine

“It's Not My Body Chapter 3.5” performed by Wong Tan-ki. Photograph by Cheung Chi Wai

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Opener, “It's Not My Body Chapter 3.5,” performed by Wong Tan-ki, is an absolute masterclass in power, restraint and control. He is incredible. On a rectangular mat, with no scenography to distract the viewer, the dancer emerges in shadow. First, he flexes his impressive torso. Then, he ferociously runs on the spot, feet almost flying, rearing up like a pugilist ready to take on an opponent. This is no doubt informed by the fact that Tan-ki recently took up boxing as a different way to use his body, after twenty years of training as a dancer.  He seems primed for battle, ready to take on anything. He balances on his head, and his side, spins on his back and leaps in frenzied bursts. His muscular dance, informed as much by hip hop culture as contemporary and traditional dance, is wild, expressive and unstoppable.It's all about fury, dynamism and wild, recently acquired new skills.

“It's Not My Body Chapter 3.5” performed by Wong Tan-ki. Photograph by Cheung Chi Wai

The second half, “This Is” performed by Dick Wong, is less conventional dance than performance art with a strong visual art influence. If the first piece is visceral, the second is all about the cerebral. It's clearly a homage of sorts to Marcel Duchamp, whose repurposing of objects provided the backbone of conceptual art. Wong appears in darkness, then in light, with an insistent voiceover, stating, “This is darkness . . . This is light . . . This is a body. This is the body of a performer.” As Wong uses the lone prop though, a table placed dead centre, which he first walks upon, then hides under, the voiceover takes a darker turn, as it alludes to the depression of a body existing in unhappy solitude, culminating in his unnamed character's suicidal ideation.

This whole piece forces the audience to question the role of both performer and audience member. Is there a clearly delineated role there, even at the biggest arts festival in the world? Would the audience watch a performer put himself in any kind of harm? Undoubtedly, there would be an intervention. Of course, this could never happen because of ethical standards, but by presenting these questions to the audience, we're forced to ask bigger questions about our own role as spectators to art. It's deeply unsettling, stretching even the intro to the point of almost discomfort. Better to be challenged than sit in complacency, or utter indifference.

Lorna Irvine


Based in Glasgow, Lorna was delightfully corrupted by the work of Michael Clark in her early teens, and has never looked back. Passionate about dance, music, and theatre she writes regularly for the List, Across the Arts and Exeunt. She also wrote on dance, drama and whatever particular obsession she had that week for the Shimmy, the Skinny and TLG and has contributed to Mslexia, TYCI and the Vile Blog.

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