Everything I Saw at BODIE8
The man at the door shouted, “stay safe. Drink water. Have a nice night!” as we entered the warehouse. I was here to see a curation of performances based on the theme of the body, from which the event got its name Bodie8. I did not feel particularly equipped to step into a space which would explore connections to the body, as I hold no particular interest or value in my arms, legs, fingers, toes, torso, neck and head. But as I walked through the redlit corridor at the “trusted Marrickville venue,” I found that my own experience of my body was perfectly suited to the evening’s theme.
I entered through the squeaking door, from which hung lace trim and fairy lights. I was let in and given a stamp; it was of a girl who gave me a side long glance, and underneath her portrait was printed the words IRTY DIIN. I don’t think I got all the letters.
The performer in the space was Zeal H, accompanied by a double bassist, Tim. They stood opposite each other at a table, upon which sat DJ equipment, a lamp, two laptops and a toy lamb. This was an experimental music performance and I was particularly captivated by the first piece. Zeal held two phones, one in each hand, facing each other. At first I figured them to be props in the movements she made, but as she turned and lunged and swept, I glanced the phone’s screen. They were on a phone call. As she moved her hands further away then closer together again, I began to recognise the undulating changes in the sounds that matched her choreography. In an evocative display, the double bass was passed through the phone call as the two phones spoke to each other, mirroring, reflecting, absorbing and detecting the sounds. Facilitated by Zeal’s fluid movements, the sound was distinctly tied to the body.
A person next to me had lit a cigarette and the smoke filled me with a pleasing earthy sensation. The large industrial fan on a small table behind me moved the warm, sweet, sweat, smoke scented air around the space.
Zeal’s work “gives a sonic body to liminal, nuanced emotions, while remaining deeply connected to the concept of place.” For me, the two phones spoke to the closeness this technology affords people. Given the phone's ability to transport voice, rather than the physical body, Zeal’s movements created a composition of distanced communication, emotionally or physically.
Zeal and Tim’s two other pieces further experimented with sound as she replayed the words she spoke and encouraged audience participation. Zeal also included some percussive elements with shakers and Tim’s double bass. I enjoyed this performance as it challenged my lay understanding of what music can be, and was a lovely introduction to their work. As I was researching the pair, I also discovered their erotic music experimentation in which they use sex toys to create music. This sounds incredibly experimental. And possibly more on theme.
I had worn a pair of old sneakers out and the balls of my feet had started to ache on the polished concrete floor. My party and I had not arrived early enough to get a spot on one of the old couches.
The second and last performance was artist Tamara Elkins’ piece, Other, a work in progress that is an extension of her exploration of myth making and the role of narrative.
Elkins entered the space slowly and the first thing I saw were her eyes, heavy black eye shadow framed them, with wings drawn out to her temples. She wore a woven black panel across her chest and sheer black pants. I felt a shared vulnerability with the performer as the soundscape began.
Above: Tamara Elkins, Other, Photographed by Valerie Joy
The percussive, almost haunting, rhythm dictated much of her movement; her arms popped and jumped in front and to the sides of her, and they also traced her physical body at points, caressing a large invisible rounded sphere. The percussive sound I later learned was a result of Elkins recording of a beat on the back of an old and broken zither (a flat string instrument), resulting in a hollow and clangy noise.
The sound component was overlaid with a spoken element, a kind of poem, and projected to the audience like an inner voice. This performance experimented with AUSLAN and was a first for Elkins. She interpreted some of the spoken word with her hands, as the voice said “I … am a stranger in my own body, ” Elkins signed the word “stranger” by placing her curled index finger flat against her chin and then her flat palm across her chest. The voice spoke “holding itself in the tension around my mouth” and Elkins held her hand to her mouth, dragging it across her face.
Elkins is interested in the way that “rituals within the matrilineal line reinforce narratives and myths of identity and placement within the family unit.” As this performance explored the common myth of the changeling baby, it interrogated the way that myths justify the Othering of individuals who live outside of social norms, especially those with physical disabilities or neurodiverse children. Elkins’s use of AUSLAN recalls this experience of othering, as the myth of the changeling is used to justify the exclusion of people with disabilities from society.
As the performance came to a close Elkins’s voice reverberated around the small Marrickville warehouse: “if I was not as they were; brought from another realm; From some other place I can never return to; Or a place I have never been;” the wind in the soundscape became more apparent, and Elkins’s movements responded by becoming more fluid. The wind, Elkins told me after the show, was a sample from the film God’s Own Country (2017), a film which depicts a queer love story between a Yorkshire sheep farmer and a Romanian migrant worker. Queerness, another manifestation of otherness, sees people live outside of conservative behaviour, and is brilliantly and subtly recalled in Elkins’ work in a touching display.
I wrote earlier that I feel no particular attachment to my flesh and bones, and was worried I would be ill-equipped to draw understanding from the themes explored throughout the night. Leaving the venue, a slight drizzle punctuated the evening after a sweltering week of hot humid and lazy days. The cold pinpricks against my forearms and legs brought me back to myself and I felt fine. I enjoyed my brief stint into the experimental performance space and I think I will be back again.