The Seeds, Pollen, Future
A review of a performance by Linda Boļšakova, Mirimari Väyrynen, Ruth Süpple, Katie Lenanton, Charlotte Qin and Susanna Mildeberg on Saturday 18 Jun afternoon at Narva Art Residency on the border of Estonia and Russia
The Reconfiguring Territories clan are buzzing around the building setting up to present their collaborative work from the intensive research week. As everyone heads into the theatre on the upper floor to watch the film reel, one group split off. At the end of the screening, the grey double doors open, and the audiences files out into the grand central atrium, where they are met with silent bodies occupying the staircase at various levels. A trail of bright yellow dust runs down from the top and the bodies themselves are covered in it too –smeared on their cheeks, buried in their hair partings, scuffed into their cottons, bare feet under tiny mounds. The air is sweet and still and heavy with intrigue. There is a small speaker on one of the steps playing a recording of a more-than-human chorus of chitters, breezes and buzzes made by the artists.
When a comrade tentatively approaches from the top of the stairs, one beige and yellow body is contorting slowly with a soft smile and reaches out their arm. Hands almost touch then stop just before, hovering in a glitch or buffer that is more breathtaking than contact.
Crumbs of golden pollen –collected by Boļšakova from wild plants in here home region of Gulbene, Latvia– falls from the open hand of the pollinator onto the dark coat of the pedestrian, their arms now entwined from elbow, heads rolling back into the crooks of their mate’s shoulder. One body grabs the bannister for support and perhaps drama. Others watch on from the top and the coach starts descending. Further round, more performers are waiting, collecting the bodies from their predecessor, matching their floral curvature with serious slowness. They each roll their visitors through an improvised dance, hyperfocussing on the proximity of limbs and extremities so much that some find it too intense and rush through, turning around at the end to see others luxuriously elongate interactions and embody the euphoria of finding meaningful corporeal connection.
I love being sucked into the tiny huge world and realising that actually i am the pollinator –a bee lustful for touch, drunk on nectar, passed gently between stamen and almost falling from a petal. I greedily rub the fertiliser into my hands and over my tshirt, licking a bit from my arm as I reach the end. The performers are rooted until all willing parties had passed through, then begin coagulating on their way down. On the final step one distributes the remains of the pollen to the rest, each putting a little in pockets then pushing their abundances into the central zone, where ten hands hold stroke admire the fragrant orb of their doing. It ends so carefully no-one notices.
internal/external/all
push/pull/pertained
macro/micro/zero
we swap roles forget ourselves become genderless become all genders engender the task read between the lines feel anew feel useful feel beyond human realise the point of everything look inside for something fly away come back let something go pull ourselves closer than ever
photographs by Laura Kuusk
