Latest news with #performanceart
ABC News
a day ago
- Entertainment
- ABC News
A Plastic Ocean Oratorio from Omar Musa and Mariel Roberts Musa, and a new Chapter for Guy Blackman
Omar Musa and Mariel Roberts Musa's collaborative performance work The Offering is subtitled 'A Plastic Ocean Oratorio'. For Musa, it is 'an offering of borderlessness in an archipelago of humanity'. It confronts the present – climate change, colonisation, personal histories – with an imagined future narrative through Omar's inimitable spoken word and Mariel's fearless cello, which we'll get a sneak preview of from the Riverside Theatres rehearsal room. Guy Blackman was a Pink Floyd-obsessed teenager living in Perth when he started a Syd Barrett fanzine which eventually morphed into the beloved indie record label Chapter Music. For 33 years the label has released albums by Australian bands and artists like NO ZU, Twerps, June Jones, Laura Jean, alongside reissues and compilations from international artists like Kath Bloom and Smokey. This year Guy is winding the label back, choosing to focus solely on reissues. He chats to Andrew about three decades of change in the music landscape, and about his new solo album Out Of Sight , which belatedly follows up his 2008 debut Adult Baby. And Andy remembers Alfred Brendel, the pianist who has died at the age of 94. The Offering is at Riverside's National Theatre of Parramatta 25 - 28 June. Out of Sight is out now via Chapter Music. Music heard in the show: Title: Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat Major, Op. 73 'Emperor', i. Allegro Moderato; ii. Adagio Un Poco Mosso Artist: Alfred Brendel, Vienna Symphony Orchestra/Zubin Mehta Composer: Ludwig van Beethoven Album: The Legendary Mozart & Beethoven Recordings Label: Brilliant Recordings Extracts from The Offering written and performed by Omar Musa and Mariel Roberts Musa Title: Let Me Let You Let Me Down Artist: Guy Blackman (feat. Julien Gasc) Composer: Guy Blackman Album: Out Of Sight Label: Chapter Music Title: I Love Myself For You Artist: Guy Blackman Composer: Guy Blackman Album: Out Of Sight Label: Chapter Music Title: Leather Artist: Smokey Composer: John Condon Album: How Far Will You Go? Label: Chapter Music Title: Downhearted Blues Artist: Margret RoadKnight Composer: Alberta Hunter, Lovie Austin Album: LONG TIME… Label: Chapter Music The Music Show is made on Gadigal, Dharug and Gundungurra Country
The Guardian
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
A Berlin audience has fake faeces thrown at them – and is moved to tears. So am I
What would you do if the world was to end tomorrow? The premise itself may be both timeless and timely at this moment when authoritarianism is on the rise globally. But that's not really what causes the nail-biting excitement at the doorstep of Volksbühne theatre in Berlin. On a chilly June evening, a predominantly female and queer crowd of all ages gathers here to see, or rather experience, A Year Without Summer, the newest play by the infamous Austrian choreographer Florentina Holzinger. It's the anticipation of Holzinger's trademark body horror that unsettles and attracts us, the crowd. And the question: how much can we take? 'Europe's hottest director', as the Guardian described 39-year-old Holzinger last year, is not only known for her work at the Volksbühne but mesmerises and shocks audiences all over the world. Her all female-assigned cast of different ages, origins and abilities dances, bleeds, defecates and swallows swords on stage, naked. Nudity has a solid tradition in the performance arts context, and is anything but radical. But informed by social media, our contemporary visual habits confine the naked body to porn. If the body doesn't belong to a cisgender man, it is an object to be censored and regulated. Seeing Holzinger on stage, however, we look at it as a weapon, a tool and sometimes a joke. A scandal arose last year, when Holzinger staged her opera Sancta in Stuttgart, with rollerskating naked nuns having lesbian sex on stage. Eighteen audience members had to be treated for severe nausea. The subsequent headlines in the international press were a badge of honour to Holzinger; she wears them printed in black letters on her white T-shirt when talking to the press: 'Went to the opera, vomited.' Protests by Christian fundamentalists against Holzinger's works have only added to the hype. All Berlin performances of A Year without Summer were sold out within minutes of its announcement. Holzinger's shows have enormous budgets and are always co-productions involving several institutions around the globe. Her latest co-producers include Factory International, in Manchester, and Rising Melbourne, where the piece will be shown at a later time. But what is this fascination all about? How can we obsess over bleeding dancers when we seem collectively desensitised by news images of war and death? Why do we pay to see naked people taking a shit on a theatre stage? And will they do it again? What I instantly notice about the sets of A Year Without Summer is the absence of the wasteful extravagance usually associated with Holzinger. On-stage swimming pools, helicopters flying in the auditorium – the decadence of Holzinger's previous productions is no doubt silently frowned upon by many of her colleagues. Especially in times of drastic austerity that are driving so many artists into poverty, or out of Berlin to more affordable European cities. But also, in terms of sustainability, I wonder if thousands of gallons of water in two giant tanks were really necessary to honour the mother of all water corpses, as the choreographer did in her 2022 play Ophelia's Got Talent. Necessary, maybe not. But possible, if Holzinger's profitable name is involved. The scenery of A Year Without Summer consists, in strong contrast, of only a glass box, two trampolines, an inflatable torso and a lot of thick haze. Holzinger's new minimalism sharpens the focus on her narrative. The story unfolds in 1816, the year after a volcano erupted in today's Indonesia and changed the global climate for years to come. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, so we are told, under the ashy sky of that very first year without summer. The blend of an apocalyptic atmosphere and the creation of artificial humans is a perfect backdrop to what Holzinger and her team seem most interested in: grotesque interventions in the body. We witness butchering doctors, a fake birth out of Holzinger's own cut-open thigh ('It's a musical!') and an ultimate facelift performed on a dancer hung by meat hooks piercing through their cheeks and temples. All of this is undeniably hard to watch, but also beautifully staged, like a Renaissance painting. Personal hospital stories told by cast members are merged with musical performances about racist medical science and eugenics. Immortality as the main goal of future medicine is discussed as both a conviction and salvation. Even Freud comes on stage to perform his trashy horror of the vagina, examining and declaring it as a wound caused by castration. There is really nothing subtle about that. The omnipresent question still remains compelling enough: aren't we all monsters anyway? But then there is also tenderness, which is new to Holzinger's work and makes this play especially intriguing. This time, the undressing of the cast is part of the performance. The imminent apocalypse at the beginning of the story gives way to a very long romantic intro, with couples dancing slowly, cuddling, making out, until they finally lie on top of each other naked and simulate an orgy. If the world was to end tomorrow, the play suggests, we should come close and warm each other. Sign up to This is Europe The most pressing stories and debates for Europeans – from identity to economics to the environment after newsletter promotion Particularly when the caresses are not of an erotic nature, they deliver much-needed utopian moments, between all the splatter and jokey scenes. Several cast members are elderly people in wheelchairs, who towards the end of the show are being cared for affectionately by other dancers, whose props indicate they are nurses and doctors. This quite extensive scene of generosity and gratitude gets suspiciously heartwarming, until the patients start defecating in streams and turn this idyllic moment of compassion into a horror depiction of plain humanness. The mere presence of brown fluids instantly makes us uncomfortable. The nurses start vomiting the same liquid (out of oxygen tubes filled with paint) and get all tangled up while trying to clean up the mess. Tissues of fake faeces are thrown at the audience. Few spectators leave the room. Most are in awe of this incarnation of the contradictory nature of vulnerability: it's lovable and disgusting and horrifying and banal at the same time. What follows this mess is a very touching climax, the end that says 'No End' on two big screens. All lights stay on. The ambivalent immortality theme is embodied by the 82-year-old former ballerina Beatrice Cordua, who sits in a wheelchair now and has told the audience earlier in the show that she will soon die from lung cancer and how sad she is about it. For the applause, Holzinger pushes Cordua's wheelchair to the front. A teary-eyed audience gives the terminally ill ballerina a last standing ovation. She blows a kiss at us and leaves, while an ice skater turns endless pirouettes on a small square of ice. We're not monsters, I think to myself. We are just mortal and fascinated by how ambiguous that feels. Fatma Aydemir is a Berlin-based author, novelist, playwright and a Guardian Europe columnist
RNZ News
15-06-2025
- Entertainment
- RNZ News
How painting pet portraits restored artist Julia Holden
culture arts 2:05 pm today Multi-disciplinary artist Julia Holden is better known for her live performance art, clay work and animated paintings so when she started painting pets and animals - it wasn't a turn she saw coming. But after a year of personal grief, it was the one practice that restored her. She's now exhibiting her third iteration of Best in Show; pet oil painting portraits at the Arthaus Contemporary Gallery in Tamaki Makaurau and calling for commissions for the next round. 15 percent of the sales will go towards the Pet Refuge, which provides temporary shelter for pets keeping them safe while families escape domestic violence. Julia spoke to Culture 101 about why, despite not being a pet owner herself, has found painting the animals utterly delightful and loves discovering their "selfhood". Best in Show is at Arthaus Gallery in Auckland on Wednesday to Sundays until 29 June.
BBC News
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- BBC News
Sheffield artist Pete McKee to make 400 crisp butties at museum
An artist has pledged to make and serve 400 crisp butties in one afternoon as part of his latest exhibition in his home Mckee said he would serve up his childhood favourite for free at Weston Park Museum in Sheffield from midday on Saturday on a first-come, first-served performance art event follows the launch of his year-long exhibition The Boy with the Leg Named Brian, which pays tribute to his 1970s McKee said: "This event is my playful take on the world of performance art that can sometimes leave unfamiliar audiences feeling baffled and undernourished." Mr McKee, who is known for his colourful depictions of everyday life in South Yorkshire, said he would offer up 10 different flavours of crisp butty, including his own favourite of salt and his website, the event has been described as a "celebration of a humble northern dish, well-deserving of icon status, performed by an equally northern artist". He added: "For this one-off event, 400 visitors will be given one of my handmade butties to eat. "I hope you will join me in celebrating one of my favourite dishes as a child, and share in the positive experience of communal eating." Listen to highlights from South Yorkshire on BBC Sounds, catch up with the latest episode of Look North
The Guardian
09-06-2025
- Automotive
- The Guardian
At Dark Mofo, I joined thousands to watch an artist stage a car crash – months after I was in one
My windscreen exploded when I hit a 16-year-old cyclist with my Toyota Corolla in March, on what was meant to be just a quick trip the bakery. Glass covered the bag of pastries on my passenger seat as I came to a stop at the end of my street, just 200 metres from my front door. Having flown over my bonnet, the kid was lying on the dewy Brunswick asphalt in a crumple of shock and school uniform, the balance of our lives suspended in his cries: 'My back! My back! My back!' This past Saturday, three months to the day since that accident, I went to watch someone deliberately crash a car at Hobart's Dark Mofo festival. The Brazilian performance artist Paula Garcia was about to willingly pilot an Audi TT into a head-on collision with another Audi TT at the Royal Hobart Regatta Grounds. The work, Crash Body, was the first time Garcia had performed it before an in-person audience. Its first staging in 2020, then titled RAW, was live streamed from a São Paulo gallery when Brazil's pandemic lockdown came into effect on the day of the performance. A disciple of the famed Serbian performance artist Marina Abramović, Garcia spent eight years training her body and undertaking stunt driving lessons in preparation for RAW – the culmination of years of physically demanding works testing Garcia's bodily fragility, strength and resilience. She emerged from the car unscathed in 2020 – but one can't count on the same outcome twice. On Saturday, the cold winter night was thick with anticipation when, after a lengthy wait, Garcia and the stunt driver manning the other car strode into the clinical light bleaching Hobart's docks. They donned helmets, then strapped into roll cages replacing the cars' stripped interiors. Children in the crowd of approximately 4,000 emitted howls of bloodlust. For one man, the mechanophilia of the paint, chrome and rubber proved irresistible as he collected shots of the red car's sleek rear with a telephoto lens. Each car was a gleaming inversion of the other, Garcia's red and the stunt driver's black, with a racing stripe running from grill to windshield. The vehicles anthropomorphised as their engines roared to life. The black car circled the red before pursuing it out of sight into the black night, then chased it back again, faster and faster each time. Although it was initially described as taking two hours, this cat-and-mouse ballet lasted just 20-odd minutes. With tyres squealing, the drivers whipped through pools of standing water, waves catching the glare. A soundtrack of portentous synthesisers escalated, augmented by sounds transmitted from the microphones strapped to the cars' engines. The cars sped at each other, only to pull up alongside one another in a series of near misses. Ordinarily, one is unaware of life's sudden calamities until it's too late; afterwards, you are left decoding the events leading up as a postscript. Crash Body happens the other way around: the calamity is inevitable – but when it arrives, the impact is no less shocking. Finally, the cars flashed their lights from either end of the asphalt in silent challenge, then accelerated. As with my own crash, time froze with the first crunch of metal; a cloud of glass hung sparkling in the air, like a chandelier held aloft by invisible forces. A jolt of electricity shot up my spine and out of my mouth in a gasp; I then felt a wave of embarrassment, for having succumbed to the moment's titillation. After an anxious wait, Garcia was prised from the wreckage. She emerged gingerly at first, then pumped her fists in the air to cheers. Surprised by the lack of a Hollywood fireball, the bloodthirsty 10-year-olds behind me debated whether the performance had followed the 'laws of regular physics.' Garcia survived her collision but sustained significant bruising to her shoulders from the harness she wore. The young cyclist I hit, who showed remarkable bravery on the day, fractured two vertebrae and displaced another. To speak of luck is insensitive, but the truth is it could have been far worse if I had been travelling at speed or any number of other terrible variables. Two weeks ago, his mum texted to tell me that his new bike had arrived, and that the physio thinks he'll be able to play tennis again soon. When Garcia's twisted metal spectacle concluded, we were left to ponder life's precarity, to be thankful for the most important things – like when an accident could have been so much worse, or how precious our bodies are – and the miracle of getting to experience any of it at all, when everything could change irrevocably in an instant. The wreckage of Crash Body is available to see in Dark Park, Hobart, on 12-15 June, as part of Dark Mofo festival. The writer travelled as a guest of the festival.
