It’s not often nowadays that I see a work from which I am so
inspired, so intellectually stimulated, that I feel the need to scuttle out of
my hiding place and commit some words to paper. But Tara D’Arquian’s In Situ, a Compass Commission by the
Trinity Laban and Greenwich Dance partnership, has done just that.
Arriving at the majestic up-lit chapel, I already get a
sense that something special is about to happen. Nestled deep in the
backstreets of Peckham is Caroline Gardens; a gated residential area that looks
like some kind of re-developed Victorian institution, with a small chapel
housed within. We are welcomed inside,
and guided through a small dark corridor which is littered with scraps of
tea-stained paper - what one can only assume are old letters.
The dancing has already begun inside, and even though we had
been invited to walk around the space, as audiences often do we first hung sheepishly
against the surrounding walls, not wanting to disturb the action. What struck
me first was the magnificence of the building within which we were standing.
Expertly lit, shadows rippled and bounced against the powdering-blue façade, as
it seemed to crumble under my very gaze. The building seemed neglected, yet
somehow kept its once stately elegance intact, seemingly growing old with
style. I think it’s what the cool kids call shabby-chic.
Dancers in burgundy dresses and faded white shirts twirled
and suspended around us, floating this way and that, their eyes misted and
melancholy. A compelling soundtrack flicked between heavy bass rhythms, hi-fi
clicks and ticks, and a more dream-like soundscape which seemed to give shape
to the piece, as the dancers became more frantically involved in their own
secret narrative.
A man leaves, a woman writes, a couple wed, a man whistles,
a woman sweeps, tea is served, several half-embraces linger in the air, over
and over again as the jigsaw is fitted together, piece by piece by piece by
piece…
They are ghosts, trapped, constantly building and fragmenting
the very fabric of time and space within which they exist. An eerie breeze
flows through an open door at the far side of the chapel, and unsuspecting
passers-by also weave their own way through this matrix of warped time.
Occasionally, the film crew cut abruptly through these
layers as they discuss shots and edits. They are a constant presence in the
space, as are the lighting and technical professionals, and are more often than
not indulging in some technical consultation with each other. At first I am a
bit frustrated that they speak so loudly, and I find it increasingly difficult
to keep out of the way of the dancer’s slicing kicks and the film crew’s
enthusiastic manual panning both at the same time. However as the piece
gradually fits together, it becomes obvious that this is just yet another layer
to add to the already multiple faceted space-time continuum that was happening
in that building. As was the audience, as a matter of fact; we were slowly then
escorted out and the dancers just kept on going through the motions with that
glazed-eyed look.
Clearly something happened here. The resulting emotional
vibrations which pulsed through time are so tangible yet impossible to fit
together, echoing a building which has been left to its past. I wonder when all
the lights are taken down, the dancers pack up their belongings and all
evidence of modern life is removed, are there still creaks in the floorboards?
Do hands still brush longingly against the walls? Is the whistling of some
forgotten soul still carried on the breeze?
