Superfluities Redux

by George Hunka
Artistic director, theatre minima

A Theatre Surrounds a City:
Vienna's Burgtheater


Tuesday, 02 March 2010

From the archives

From Organum II, originally posted on 22 April 2009. Lightly edited.


The theatre is my representation. There is no more certain knowledge, once achieved, than this: that the theatre, like the world, is a re-presentation of objects and events that I assemble in my consciousness, and mine alone, for each individual's consciousness is his or her autonomous possession. I witness a theatrical event from my own personal physical perspective, seeing the stage and its arrangements of bodies, objects and events from a unique physical and perceptual vantage point. It is true that I am a body among bodies, placed within a collective audience, but this does not mitigate my essential isolation, for my response is preconditioned by this status as individual object, as a unique vision of a perceiving subject. Our language here gives us away, as always. "I feel pity for him"; "I think this play is good (or bad)"; "I desire that actress's body; see how she displays it to me"; "I am bored (or excited, or exhausted)"; "I don't think that actor's performance is very good" — all of these, in their linguistic construct, reveal the essential uniqueness of our perspective, the subject "I" of the grammatical structure, my own construction of the theatrical elements presented for me, and once the performers, designers and dramatists have let the play loose, it is mine. The theatre is my representation.

Once this realization, with all its horrifying, isolating, exhilarating and ecstatic possibilities, has been experienced, it cannot be unexperienced, unlearned, unrealized, and it will color all my theatre and theatrical experience from then on. Only the hard press of voluntary, willful ignorance — and this is not uncommon, for some of us fear our own bodies and desires more than anything else in this world — will be able to eradicate this realization from my consciousness. I remain a member of what is called the collective of the audience, or the collective of the experience, but I now define myself as simultaneously a constituent and opponent of it. I gauge my reaction, consciously and unconsciously, from within that collective, from my privileged unique perspective. I am also aware that my own perspective is colored by the culture of that collective: not merely the aesthetic and cultural perceptions with which I enter the theatre, but as an individual body amongst other individual bodies, sharing perceptual tools such as the eyes and the ears. Though ultimately it is not through their eyes and ears with which I witness the play, but through my own. Like Creon, Antigone and the chorus of Sophocles' tragedy, I am empathetic and antipathetic to the collective simultaneously (any chance of ultimate reconciliation between these is illusory; violence unutterably and always follows upon violence, whether Creon or Antigone's perspective is privileged, the play would end in slaughter in either case, witnessed by the silent and in any event illusory gods). I am always a unique and individual object, when alone or with others, but the collective is a mere abstraction and does not exist without the voluntary or involuntary gathering of several individual bodies within one space at one time. For this reason my individual perspective becomes primary, the primus inter pares in the individual/collective dichotomy.

If I were a performer rather than an audience member, I would still experience the theatre as my representation, and whether I am an individual member of a theatrical company or a member of the audience, this experience is identical. On stage I move my body through space among objects and other bodies, and my movement and perspective remain unique. His lehrstücke, Brecht insisted, were learning plays not for the audience (at least not primarily for the audience), but for those who performed in them. As cast member too I remain individual. If the theatre remains my representation, we have an understanding of the perspective of cast members of Richard Foreman's plays, for example, many of whom have told me they feel no more utterly and fully themselves as individuals than when they appear in one of his plays. Finally there is the evidence of performers of other contemporary work, which demonstrates the untapped resources that can be called into practice once (but not before) the realization of the theatre as my representation occurs.

My theatre is then charged with desire, disgust, fear, ecstasy, possibility from each moment to each moment. It is a charge which both unites and separates auditor and audience, spectator and performer, performer and performer, in a process of seduction. Theatre is there and not there, always passing, explicit and present only in my representation and my body's status as privileged object. What differentiates the theatre from the world is its disciplined self-consciousness as the object of my representation. It knows itself to be an art, a lie that tells my singular truth. Stephen Greenblatt aimed at this in his book Shakespearean Negotiations:

[The theatre is] a fraudulent institution that never pretends to be anything but fraudulent, an institution which calls forth what is not, that signifies absence, that transforms the literal into the metaphorical, that evacuates everything it represents.

Once the representation is evacuated, my imagination rushes into it. Possibilities form, and all else necessary is the courage to explore them.

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