Live durational performance by Ira Ferris and Ryuichi Fujimura, as part of Belinda Yee’s exhibition ‘Increments’.
Wentworth Galleries (Sydney), Sat 9 Nov 2024, 1-3pm.

‘Increments’ was an exhibition of large-scale drawings made from marble, sandstone, graphite. It explored the way different materials reflect time or temporality. The live performance ‘By Measure’ placed the human body in relation to the geological time of these stone media, approaching the body as a material that has its own temporality. Without wanting to perform or manipulate time in any way, we looked at creating a performance that would portray the way that the human body naturally measures and expresses time by its intricate rhythm of breathing, pulsating, moving. 

THE SCORE FOR ‘BY MEASURE’, a 2-hour continuous performance:

”Two dancers repeat the same sequence consisting of 13 movements. The sequence is repeated on a continuous loop. Each movement is made on the out-breath, according to the natural breathing rhythm of each dancer.”

See the full score

The score was a response to the Performance Brief supplied by Belinda Yee. The title ‘By Measure’ was selected by Belinda and it provided a framework within which to develop the work. In another correspondence, Belinda offered this:

“Movement over time, a process of drawing in itself, is the human body performing its innate temporality. I approach the body in the same way I approach other media, as having an inbuilt measure of time. For the body, there are several, the breath, the heartbeat, the various measures of human movement, …”

The guiding question, in developing the performance, was then: How does human body measure (or convey) time? How is time evident within and through the human body? How can the natural tempo of one’s body be seen from the outside? Breath and heartbeat were the obvious choices to follow, but we settled on the breath in specific. I was reminded of an exercise recently practised in Rosalind Crisp’s dance workshop where we moved only on the outbreath and held stillnesses on the inbreath. This became a framework for ‘By Measure’. Moving on the outbreath would show the rhythm of the breath, which is a measure of time. The next pillar was the repetition. I felt that the only way for time to be seen from the outside is through some form of regularity and duration. If we repeat a sequence of the same movements over a period of time, the audience will be able to notice our body-metronome, as well as the slight arrhythmics. Measure, after all, speaks of some kind of regularity, rhythm, order, organisation. And the loop that is created through repetition speaks to the circularity of time.

Additionally, I was interested in exploring what do duration and repetition do to our own sense of time, as we perform, and how might they affect our temporality. Will the breath be faster at the beginning (anxious start), then settle into a gentler/slower rhythm with time? Will the breath be shallow and exhausted somewhere in between? Will we lose a sense of time the longer we perform and repeat? Will time wear out the quality of our movements, or soften their precision, or make them less effortful and more integrated within our bodies? The enquiry, in short, was: what does a length of time and sustained action within it, do to the body’s temporality? One of the ongoing contemplations was that while humans have capacity to measure time, time also measures us in turn (our durability over time).

As both Ryuichi and I moved with the pace of our own individual breaths, we also conveyed that each body-material measures time in its idiosyncratic way. Repetition of the same set of movements but in our own natural breathing tempo, would demonstrate how (or if) time/duration affects two bodies differently. While we mostly moved out of synchrony, there were several moments when our movements synchronised. Witnessing them from the inside of the performance (while performing) was gasping. We could not predict when and if this would happen (as we never rehearsed this for two hours - we tried it only for 30 min prior to the performance), so when it happened it took us by a gentle surprise. I remember one specific moment when our arms crossed mid air with perfect symmetry - this instance slowed my breath in fact, as I wished to savour the moment, pause the time so I could imprint this into my memory. Moments of synchronisation would not last very long - maximum 3 consecutive movements, before we fell out of sync again.

It was interesting to notice that we were both the performers and the observers of the work. While there was a set choreography that orchestrated the performance, the way our movements would fold or separate was unpredictable, so we maintained the sensation of heightened attention and discovery while performing. One movement within the sequence (movement #8) was locomotive allowing us to slightly traverse the space or change the distance between our bodies. We left it open to choose its length or range, as well as its direction - both of which could change from sequence to sequence. We did aim to stay close but also to establish the quality of soft pulsation between our bodies, so we expand and contract from one another as if two rib cages of one breathing organising. We did not choreograph how exactly this would be achieved, which allowed us to improvise and navigate those choices in situ. It, in turn, made it more interesting for us as we were researching the possibilities and experiencing the consequences of the choices as we performed. I think this would have made the time flow a bit faster.

The observational quality present within the performance, also related to the gentle awareness of the subtle movements and commotions of the audience in the gallery. There were some pillars in the space, people who stayed in the same spot throughout, witnessing over a long period of time. There were those changing their positions in the space (and so their perspectives of the work), but also staying for a while. And, of course, those who would come and go - but this I can only assume, as my ability to perceive them was limited. The perception I am speaking about here is of a soft kind, little blurry, as I couldn’t ever fixate my gaze. One movement in the sequence (movement #4) allowed us to briefly scan the space. Here, the head lowers from looking high up towards the ceiling until the chin is tucked to the chest. The eyes follow the movement and scan the space (its architecture as well as those in it). As I performed, I savoured this moment, my breath possibly particularly slow here, to give myself that extra time to notice and connect. However, I did not manipulate the breath either - the very nature of this movement, where the torso concaves as if pulled by a string from the middle of the spine, encouraged the extra slow out-breath as if expelling all the breath from the body (it felt a bit balloon-like).

ORIGINAL CONCEPT & EVOLUTION

Originally we were planning to move in such a way that we start close to each other, then gradually separate more and more into the space. In developing this idea, I contemplated how time could also be measured by the distance we traverse over 2 hours. In this case, the movements/sequence would need to have a trajectory but this pathway needs to be the same so we can also notice differences between our individual times (how much space each of us cross would reveal our individual time). I wrote this to Rhyuchi after we originally met to talk through some ideas, and before we went to the studio: ”I am thinking of that image of a rising sourdough, how it gradually expands into space over time, but this change (this movement into space) is so gradual that it is almost invisible to the outside eye, so for a while we may not even notice that it is growing. However, its eventual size (how much more space it takes in the end) shows that time has passed. In a similar way, the space that will eventually be created between our two bodies (as we incrementally move away from each other), will be an image of the length of time that has passed.”

Eventually, we abandoned this idea and decided to stay en masse, more tightly connected throughout. We felt that staying close together would provide a better sense of breathing. Instead of the image of a sourdough, we now saw a single organism, gently breathing in the space. The two of us two rib cages, gently expanding and contracting from each - pulsating in and out. The locomotive movement in the choreographed sequence allowed us to establish this sense of drawing away and towards each other. Energetically, we kept holding the sense of inter-connectedness – a sense of being one breathing body; an invisible fibre stretching and concaving in between us.

While we worked with some of these images, we also avoided any narrative or display. It was important to us that we don’t ‘perform time’ by any way of emphasising it, but to ‘be time’ by honouring the natural rhythm of our bodies. If there was an image we held, it was that of a softly breathing creature that exists in the space, not demanding attention but nevertheless adding to the atmosphere of the space. The concept was that this creature simply exists, breathing, “being time” - without a particular desire to draw attention to itself, yet inevitably affecting the space by its gentle temporality. We were aware that in the context of a gallery, the audience would not always pay attention to us performing, as they would also give time to Belinda’s drawings as well as their social interactions. Two hours is a duration to watch. So we accepted and eventually savoured the idea of our performance being peripheral, something that exists in the space quietly, without demanding full or continuous attention. I imagined it as a gentle beat in the space over two hours. A time inhabiting organism that is to be felt as much as seen. This ‘creature’ would be sensed as a presence in the space, rather than simply gazed at. It would add a certain rhythm to the space, perhaps affect the rhythm of those around it. Another image that came to mind was the ocean - how we can sit next to it and be affected by its ebbs and flows (the ocean’s breathing) without necessarily staring at it.

“MODES OF ATTENTION”

The peripheral attention that we anticipated and created the conditions for, was indeed felt and performed by the audience. People told me that they felt very much ‘allowed’ to talk, have their conversations, next to us, and that they appreciated this. This conversations were done softly, though, as we have created this sense of slower/gentler pace in the space. A number of people were compeled to stay for a long time, even the full duration of the performance.

While the ocean and the softly breathing organism guided our energy as we performed, the shapes of our bodies were not fluid but geometrical. Of course, the rhythm of our breath was gentle and possibly made the shapes a bit softer. Our movements were not stylised or expressive, but made of clear forms and straight lines. One of the guiding principles was to empty the movement of meaning and style, and focus on the form and materilaity of the body. One of the audience members (Elia) said we seemed as small rock/stone-formations. I don’t think she meant we were hard, but that our bodies made shapes that looked like two stones. I appreciated this comment as it brought it closer to the idea of geological time, that was investigated in Belinda’s drawings. Elia also said that our movements reminded her of a folding paper, that there was a sense of our bodies folding (which I can now recognise in the photos). This was also nice to hear as some of Belinda’s drawings had folds in them. Elia also observed that Ryuichi’s trajectory of movement created a shape of a crescent moon around me, while I was mostly static. Perhaps this added the planetary sensation to the work?

I am not certain if it was cognitively obvious that our work was a performance of time, but I believe it did create a certain temporal experience in the space. Another audience member (Eliza) said she felt calmer being there. Amy said that there was a sense of softness in the space.  She also noted that she made the choice to change her positions in the space throughout the two hours and that this always felt like she entered the work again, because every new perspective offered a very different experience.

Notes about the work written a day after the performance.

FROM THE EMAIL EXCHANGE WITH BELINDA AFTER THE PERFORMANCE

”Dear Belinda, hope you feel elated by all the wonderful feedback to the exhibition and proud of yourself for making it happen. It must feel tender to have it close so soon too, but there is something very special in things lasting for a brief amount of time. They are like soft feathers that land, then fly away leaving a ripple of vibration on the skin. Memories stay, and not just those fixated in the brain, but those left on the deeper sensorial level, as marks. They can't be grasped and yet they persist, without our full awareness. Perhaps we call it forgetting.”