*Chris Harry
On an evening when the Belgian government announced new COVID security measures, I went to a performance at Rataplan in Antwerp. A friend and I travelled from Brussels by train, both wearing masks. At Rataplan, the audience was small. Because of restrictions, there were around 15 to 20 people in a space normally used for 50 to 60, with empty seats between everyone. When we sat down, the lights went down and bells started to sound. They were sometimes loud, sometimes fading.
As the space slowly lit up, a black and white forest appeared on stage. A large sheet of paper was already being unrolled by the artist Çiğdem Mirol. I knew she would perform, and I knew from social media that audience participation was part of her work. I had not fully understood Bookperformance, but I was familiar with her practice. As she continued unrolling the paper, it felt like something was about to be revealed. The paper was empty. Nothing was written. Instead, her voice filled the space with spoken text, while the paper made soft crackling sounds.
The combination of sound, movement, and image created a dense atmosphere that stayed with me. She moved across the paper while drawing or writing with chalk, but much of it was not clearly visible from the audience. On the screen behind her, however, her movements appeared amplified, like waves forming across a surface. At times, it felt reversed: as if the screen was guiding what happened on stage. As a dancer trained in improvisation, I responded easily to the invitation coming in whispers and stepped onto the “page-stage” when she invited participation. I took off my shoes and entered the space while she moved to another section. She then left the stage area, leaving me alone in front of the audience. I had expected to move alongside her. Instead, I was left to respond alone. I understood then that the structure was intentional. I connected to the live image on the screen, which she calls “daydreams.”
The relationship between body, screen, and sound shifted continuously. At moments, I felt as if I had taken on the role of performer within her structure. Later I understood this as what she calls “sharing the authority” between artist and audience. As time passed, I became aware of other bodies entering the space. More feet moved across the paper. More hands drew. The paper began to function as a shared surface. At that point, the spoken words included: “Sounds rely on pages, letters run on pages, waves flow on pages.” (Mirol) Marks accumulated on the paper. The screen turned black. The voice faded. A small spotlight remained on us as we stood on the large sheet. Together with Çiğdem Mirol, I rolled up the paper. The performance ended with applause. I felt enchanted.
*Co-author of Bookperformance: Body & Sound & Light & Eye, Mestizo Arts Festival, Antwerpen, 2021.