dreams - yingmei duan + david hancock at chinese arts centre
I'm often out of touch with events and exhibitions in town. It's a particular shame when I miss things at the Chinese Arts Centre. My fault, until today I never got round to signing up to their newsletter. But on Friday last week before heading out to Lancaster I managed with friends to catch a performance there.
Yingmei Duan performed one of the more uncomfortable, simple and potentially vulnerable pieces at Marina Abramovic Presents in the Whitworth Gallery in the summer. Her piece Naked involved her moving slowly around a large space, naked and touching herself. Sometimes coming close to people passing through or (less often) pausing in the space sometimes remaining apart from them.
Not long after that she began a residency at the Chinese Arts Centre from 25 August to 25 November this year. Toward the end of that period she held Open Studio events from Wednesday 18 to Tuesday 24 November. On Friday it was a performance titled Dreams in collaboration with David Hancock. It began at 2pm and went on for around an hour, although we actually arrived a little late.
The piece again used simple ideas and methods to great effect. Yingmei walked slowly with eyes closed around the much more confined space describing dreams while certain images from those dreams were drawn on the walls in charcoal by David Hancock. As the account of each dream came to an end David attempted to erase the images - although they ended up more blurred and smeared than removed. Whether or not this was the intention it was effective. The images becoming distorted remnants of what they had been rather than being utterly effaced. There were four dreams and each dream had accompanying images on one of the four walls.
Any piece of art raises questions about itself - why certain materials and subjects were chosen, why it was tackled in a particular way, and so on. The questions here for me were whether the dreams were or were not actual dreams, whether that mattered, what the performance sought to achieve, how rehearsed the performance was, and how polished certain aspects of the performance should have been. All of these could of course be answered by asking the artists - assuming that they were willing to answer and were honest. But this is not a luxury that we have with most art, and in any case takes away part of the role, part of the enjoyment of being in an audience.
To wander off on a bit of a diversion here, it often seems like artists in any medium can take themselves really rather seriously. Audiences too can end up taking art very seriously, which I believe sometimes stems from a lack of confidence that their responses and insights are valid. For me this can be one of the reasons why it can be tempting to ask what the artist 'meant' or intended. Personally, embarrasing as it might be, I'm happy to get things wrong. The failure to understand, mishearings, mis-seeings, missing references lead to you experiencing an artwork with features unique to you as an individual. This unique work can be more mysterious and more satisfying than what is actually there. It's one of the reasons why I stopped reading the lyrics to records. Because it is only art. Only art, not in the sense that it doesn't matter, but in the sense that no one is going to get hurt or die from missing a reference or mishearing a word. None of which has anything much to do with the review in hand.
So to get back to those questions:
were they actual dreams and does it matter?
Clearly from being in the audience I have no way of knowing whether the dreams were actual dreams or not. They contained the disconnected images, the unexplained knowledge, the shifting from scene to scene and lack of narrative impetus familiar from dreams recalled. But beyond that it is hard to tell. I don't believe it matters. There was no claim that these were authentic dreams. The meaning of the piece did not appear to depend on us either accepting or rejecting their veracity.
Among the aspects they lacked that are familiar from my dreams were shifting perspectives - that is where I shift from 'being' one person within a dream to 'being' another person - very strong emotions - I have woken crying, and laughing, on different occasions - and pronounced physical sensations - such as feeling a mass of shield bugs in my mouth. But these kind of features may not be features common to everyone, and in any case would have greatly complicated and extended the retelling of the dreams.
what did the performance seek to achieve?
Again this is unanswerable. The piece was described to me beforehand as a sound piece which in some ways it was. There were three, no four, aspects to the sound. First there was Yingmei's performance, her speaking of the dreams. Second there were the silences, the gaps between her speaking. Third there was the sound of David's charcoal on the thin and resonant walls of the space providing a kind of percussion and more. Fourth - though perhaps possible to fold into the second - were the sounds made by the audience moving. I have separated this out from the silence because as individuals we always carry our own sound-worlds of breath, movement of clothes, pulse and so forth. These individual sound-worlds, and the sounds of other people moving, speaking and breathing continue whether there is sound or silence.
The aspects of sound within the control of the performers were the speaking, the silence and the drawing, which were well-balanced - even if accidentally. Yingmei's performance was interesting. In such a small space she was able to speak relatively quietly, and did so in short sections, not quickly. She punctuated her telling of the dreams with pauses where she would stop, say 'Oh', as though something new was being revealed, and then move on to the next aspect of the dream as it presented itself. This appeared to be a deliberate rather than an unconscious action.
how rehearsed was the performance?
There was clearly an element of preparation and coordination. David had a selection of images for each dream which were drawn from a notebook of sketches and photographs that he had with him. I rather liked this. The drawings were necessarily (given the time constraints) simple and cartoonish - in one case making a comical feature of it in drawings of flying birds similar to this:
He was also aware of either how long it took him to execute each image or when the dream was reaching its end in order to begin to erase the drawing. This points to Yingmei certainly having a clear idea of what she was going to do and in what order even if the precise words were not memorised. I would imagine the performance was the culmination of a collaboration over a reasonably extended period of time.
how polished should the performance have been?
What I had in mind with this question which I initially wrote as 'how finished certain aspects of the performance should have been' has been touched on to an extent. It includes whether the drawings should have been more complex, whether there could have been more complicated interactions between the description of the dream, the drawings and the movement, and how similar or dissimilar the performance styles of the two artists could or should have been. Which also raises the question of how far these things might have been considered.
The first of these is straightforward to answer. So far as I could tell the drawing were not intended as comprehensive or detailed records of every aspect of each dream. Rather they emerged more or less as each dream emerged and in around the time each took to tell, which meant they could only be relatively simple and cartoonish. Much the same goes for the idea of a more complicated interrelationship between the different elements. For a single piece (rather than one of a number of pieces) presented more as a theatrical or multimedia experience (perhaps of longer duration) then a more complex choreography, and drawings illustrating aspects of the dreams that barely featured in the telling might have been appropriate. But the slightly tentative, abstracted yet focussed performances worked to support the work.
That description of 'abstracted yet focussed performances' probably merits further explanation. Abstracted in the specific sense of being distracted from their surroundings. Almost as if still dreaming. Focussed in the sense of clearly concentrating on the specific actions of the performance - not such that it appeared to require effort but that what was happening now was the focus of attention. But at the same time each acknowledged the audience in different ways. David was more able to interact with the audience as the main foci for us were his emerging drawings and the sound of his charcoal. Yingmei moved around the space with her eyes closed sometimes coming near to people and remaining there for a while.
From this description it's fairly clear that the two artists used different performance styles. I think they were also appropriate to the particular role that each performed. Curiously although David was the more obviously and openly directly engaged with the audience it was the sounds and the drawings that he produced which were the features we took in. At the same time while Yingmei was the most physically intrusive presence, and while it was her 'narrative' that we followed, she almost vanished. In a sense we took her place - or were placed somewhere that she wanted us to be, where her voice was the dominant presence.
The question of how far the respective performance styles might have been considered is not something I can definitively answer. I suspect for Yingmei with her experience it's a constant consideration, and something that has developed over time. I know less about David but I imagine in such a small space, where he and his work would be so exposed it would have to be on his mind.
Toward the end of the piece Yingmei climbed a ladder in the space and completed the performance from there, for some of the time not visible from many places in the room. Finally she sang a song and scattered dried leaves on the audience from her position.
The effect of the performance was curiously moving, and very memorable. And although superficially there may be similarities it was very different from what I saw at the Whitworth. There was obviously a vulnerability, as well as an unsettling quality to it. This came through both in terms of the performance and how one reacted to it in the moment, and in terms of how you should react at the end. Was it the kind of performance where you should applaud? It seemed polite to do so, and in the end we did, but at the same time it felt that a reaction of that kind was somehow disruptive of the atmosphere and relations that were created by the piece.
But really there's a kind of futility about describing a piece of live art - especially one like this which is dependent to a great extent on watching aspects of the work emerge over, which is very much time-based. If you have a chance of seeing Yingmei perform anywhere in future then I'd advise you to it. It really is much more satisfactory than film, photos or my interminable descriptions.
Yingmei Duan performed one of the more uncomfortable, simple and potentially vulnerable pieces at Marina Abramovic Presents in the Whitworth Gallery in the summer. Her piece Naked involved her moving slowly around a large space, naked and touching herself. Sometimes coming close to people passing through or (less often) pausing in the space sometimes remaining apart from them.
Not long after that she began a residency at the Chinese Arts Centre from 25 August to 25 November this year. Toward the end of that period she held Open Studio events from Wednesday 18 to Tuesday 24 November. On Friday it was a performance titled Dreams in collaboration with David Hancock. It began at 2pm and went on for around an hour, although we actually arrived a little late.
The piece again used simple ideas and methods to great effect. Yingmei walked slowly with eyes closed around the much more confined space describing dreams while certain images from those dreams were drawn on the walls in charcoal by David Hancock. As the account of each dream came to an end David attempted to erase the images - although they ended up more blurred and smeared than removed. Whether or not this was the intention it was effective. The images becoming distorted remnants of what they had been rather than being utterly effaced. There were four dreams and each dream had accompanying images on one of the four walls.
Any piece of art raises questions about itself - why certain materials and subjects were chosen, why it was tackled in a particular way, and so on. The questions here for me were whether the dreams were or were not actual dreams, whether that mattered, what the performance sought to achieve, how rehearsed the performance was, and how polished certain aspects of the performance should have been. All of these could of course be answered by asking the artists - assuming that they were willing to answer and were honest. But this is not a luxury that we have with most art, and in any case takes away part of the role, part of the enjoyment of being in an audience.
To wander off on a bit of a diversion here, it often seems like artists in any medium can take themselves really rather seriously. Audiences too can end up taking art very seriously, which I believe sometimes stems from a lack of confidence that their responses and insights are valid. For me this can be one of the reasons why it can be tempting to ask what the artist 'meant' or intended. Personally, embarrasing as it might be, I'm happy to get things wrong. The failure to understand, mishearings, mis-seeings, missing references lead to you experiencing an artwork with features unique to you as an individual. This unique work can be more mysterious and more satisfying than what is actually there. It's one of the reasons why I stopped reading the lyrics to records. Because it is only art. Only art, not in the sense that it doesn't matter, but in the sense that no one is going to get hurt or die from missing a reference or mishearing a word. None of which has anything much to do with the review in hand.
So to get back to those questions:
were they actual dreams and does it matter?
Clearly from being in the audience I have no way of knowing whether the dreams were actual dreams or not. They contained the disconnected images, the unexplained knowledge, the shifting from scene to scene and lack of narrative impetus familiar from dreams recalled. But beyond that it is hard to tell. I don't believe it matters. There was no claim that these were authentic dreams. The meaning of the piece did not appear to depend on us either accepting or rejecting their veracity.
Among the aspects they lacked that are familiar from my dreams were shifting perspectives - that is where I shift from 'being' one person within a dream to 'being' another person - very strong emotions - I have woken crying, and laughing, on different occasions - and pronounced physical sensations - such as feeling a mass of shield bugs in my mouth. But these kind of features may not be features common to everyone, and in any case would have greatly complicated and extended the retelling of the dreams.
what did the performance seek to achieve?
Again this is unanswerable. The piece was described to me beforehand as a sound piece which in some ways it was. There were three, no four, aspects to the sound. First there was Yingmei's performance, her speaking of the dreams. Second there were the silences, the gaps between her speaking. Third there was the sound of David's charcoal on the thin and resonant walls of the space providing a kind of percussion and more. Fourth - though perhaps possible to fold into the second - were the sounds made by the audience moving. I have separated this out from the silence because as individuals we always carry our own sound-worlds of breath, movement of clothes, pulse and so forth. These individual sound-worlds, and the sounds of other people moving, speaking and breathing continue whether there is sound or silence.
The aspects of sound within the control of the performers were the speaking, the silence and the drawing, which were well-balanced - even if accidentally. Yingmei's performance was interesting. In such a small space she was able to speak relatively quietly, and did so in short sections, not quickly. She punctuated her telling of the dreams with pauses where she would stop, say 'Oh', as though something new was being revealed, and then move on to the next aspect of the dream as it presented itself. This appeared to be a deliberate rather than an unconscious action.
how rehearsed was the performance?
There was clearly an element of preparation and coordination. David had a selection of images for each dream which were drawn from a notebook of sketches and photographs that he had with him. I rather liked this. The drawings were necessarily (given the time constraints) simple and cartoonish - in one case making a comical feature of it in drawings of flying birds similar to this:
He was also aware of either how long it took him to execute each image or when the dream was reaching its end in order to begin to erase the drawing. This points to Yingmei certainly having a clear idea of what she was going to do and in what order even if the precise words were not memorised. I would imagine the performance was the culmination of a collaboration over a reasonably extended period of time.
how polished should the performance have been?
What I had in mind with this question which I initially wrote as 'how finished certain aspects of the performance should have been' has been touched on to an extent. It includes whether the drawings should have been more complex, whether there could have been more complicated interactions between the description of the dream, the drawings and the movement, and how similar or dissimilar the performance styles of the two artists could or should have been. Which also raises the question of how far these things might have been considered.
The first of these is straightforward to answer. So far as I could tell the drawing were not intended as comprehensive or detailed records of every aspect of each dream. Rather they emerged more or less as each dream emerged and in around the time each took to tell, which meant they could only be relatively simple and cartoonish. Much the same goes for the idea of a more complicated interrelationship between the different elements. For a single piece (rather than one of a number of pieces) presented more as a theatrical or multimedia experience (perhaps of longer duration) then a more complex choreography, and drawings illustrating aspects of the dreams that barely featured in the telling might have been appropriate. But the slightly tentative, abstracted yet focussed performances worked to support the work.
That description of 'abstracted yet focussed performances' probably merits further explanation. Abstracted in the specific sense of being distracted from their surroundings. Almost as if still dreaming. Focussed in the sense of clearly concentrating on the specific actions of the performance - not such that it appeared to require effort but that what was happening now was the focus of attention. But at the same time each acknowledged the audience in different ways. David was more able to interact with the audience as the main foci for us were his emerging drawings and the sound of his charcoal. Yingmei moved around the space with her eyes closed sometimes coming near to people and remaining there for a while.
From this description it's fairly clear that the two artists used different performance styles. I think they were also appropriate to the particular role that each performed. Curiously although David was the more obviously and openly directly engaged with the audience it was the sounds and the drawings that he produced which were the features we took in. At the same time while Yingmei was the most physically intrusive presence, and while it was her 'narrative' that we followed, she almost vanished. In a sense we took her place - or were placed somewhere that she wanted us to be, where her voice was the dominant presence.
The question of how far the respective performance styles might have been considered is not something I can definitively answer. I suspect for Yingmei with her experience it's a constant consideration, and something that has developed over time. I know less about David but I imagine in such a small space, where he and his work would be so exposed it would have to be on his mind.
Toward the end of the piece Yingmei climbed a ladder in the space and completed the performance from there, for some of the time not visible from many places in the room. Finally she sang a song and scattered dried leaves on the audience from her position.
The effect of the performance was curiously moving, and very memorable. And although superficially there may be similarities it was very different from what I saw at the Whitworth. There was obviously a vulnerability, as well as an unsettling quality to it. This came through both in terms of the performance and how one reacted to it in the moment, and in terms of how you should react at the end. Was it the kind of performance where you should applaud? It seemed polite to do so, and in the end we did, but at the same time it felt that a reaction of that kind was somehow disruptive of the atmosphere and relations that were created by the piece.
But really there's a kind of futility about describing a piece of live art - especially one like this which is dependent to a great extent on watching aspects of the work emerge over, which is very much time-based. If you have a chance of seeing Yingmei perform anywhere in future then I'd advise you to it. It really is much more satisfactory than film, photos or my interminable descriptions.
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