Project Description

The inaugural Here and Now Performance Art Festival took place on Friday 16th August at The Courthouse Gallery, Ennistymon, Co Clare. It started at 2pm with a workshop on performance, facilitated by myself. Then we had 6 performances by regionals based artists, and finished the day with p(art)y Here and Now, the live participatory performance art event that we run monthly in County Clare.

We had a wonderful audience who showed up on the day and who were receptive, positive and interested. This made a huge difference to the day. A lot of the audience, who had come from as far as Cork and Dublin, stayed and watched and participated in p(art)y, our closing event also. The Courthouse Gallery in Ennistymon proved to be a great location due to its accessibility, friendly atmosphere and positive supportive team of staff.

It was a wonderful day and as Festival Director, I took way a lot of learning experiences. One thing I am very glad I thought of was to ask photographer Aleksandra Skibniewska to document the day and writer/poet/playwright Caro Ruoff to respond to the events of the day in text. Caro’s texts take the form of poetic performance impressions. It was important to gather this documentation because performance is an ephemeral art form. It exists only in memory and through any documentation of the event, be it verbal, visual or written.

I have laid out some photos of each event with their corresponding text below. All photos that follow are by Aleksandra Skibniewska and texts by Caro Ruoff.

Gill Moses- Umbilicals. 

Jill MOSES Umbilicals

 

Someone 

breathing underneath a translucent white fabric 

she is on her knees, unwrapping

a cord around her waist 

and slowly

stands up

 

there is a washing line with clothespins 

she sings 

where has your mother gone?

while hanging the dirty laundry on the line 

the shame – she says – age three 

unrequited love 

more dirty sheets 

you have wet the bed 

the stains of shame 

years fly by

clothespins move 

growing up fast 

eleven

a loud banging noise and a suitcase 

the cord around her waist detaches 

 

is hung on the washing line 

washing the smalls at boarding school 

she’s dressed in black like the black socks 

and the white knickers are stained with red

she sighs

is it shame?

it’s growing – she says – the body

in places it shouldn’t

but maybe it should

 

a sigh of relief 

bright coloured laundry 

a smile 

tiny socks 

oeh-ing and ah-ing

life flying by 

more socks 

all tiny and white

pink

blue

Rocky Meany- Embodyments

Rocky Meany

Embodyments

 

A big white sheet of paper 

is stuck to the floor

 

enter a figure 

head bent 

dragging a curtain

a robe

 

he is carrying two pots 

sets them down on the floor

the smell of sweat 

as the curtain drops

he is naked but for his beard 

and his boxers

 

as he walks he gets stuck in the cords of the curtain

no wait 

they are tied in knots around his ankles

and now

by him 

to a pillar

 

the curtain 

becomes another sheet 

on the floor

 

a smear of mud 

on his back

every movement 

a whiff of sweat

as he empties 

a pot on his head

and covers himself 

with mud 

and charcoal

 

it’s dripping

down his back

like black blood

in his eyes

 

he rolls himself 

in the curtain

movement obstructed

something metal in his mouth

a pot on his head

smashed 

to the ground

and wire 

twisting around

 

chest muddy 

exposed

the string is spun 

around his head

round his eyes 

round his mouth

round his neck 

 

labored breathing

labored moving

 

he clings to his curtain and rope

holding them like a heavy skirt

 

kneels 

head to the floor 

more charcoal with water 

more dirt 

 

his eyes are lost to the mud now 

his hair black as pitch

how does he still see?

 

he lies down

throwing sand on himself 

like burying a body

 

and again he is up 

cuts himself free

there is no skin not wet and muddy

drops the knife in the sand

a metallic clang 

and walks out.

 

Finbarr Dillon- ThatWhichCanNotBeCuredMustBeEndured

Finbarr Dillon

ThatWhichCanNotBeCuredMustBeEndured

 

A person sits in front of a laptop. Mouse moving. It starts.

 

Hars ringing sounds sending chills down my ears 

unpleasant but beautiful too 

it sounds cave like 

fairytale bells 

twinkling 

it’s a lot 

 

there is depth

there are sparkles

and echo’s

that sound 

almost like singing

 

the twinkling 

like knives in my brain

it moves in circles 

does sound move in circles?

sounds like it 

I don’t know

 

my ears hurt 

but I don’t want to move

my stomach 

unsure by the sound

louder now 

intriguing

coercive 

you can’t turn it of

 

spooky notes in the background

 

I try to envision a brain cave

a cave like a brain

where I am walking

all wires and signals 

that speed through it’s walls 

 

the bells 

louder now 

high pitched 

shrill tones 

fading 

 

the sound turns darker 

moves to my throat 

there is sadness 

it’s so loud 

 

kids walk out 

does it hurt their ears too? 

 

The man focused. Feeding us more. 

 

are we being brainwashed?

 

there are sounds that I like

and sounds that I hate

and the mix keeps moving

as a constant

movement of air

through the brain

then it suddenly stops.

Volodymyr Topiy- Performance Poetry

Volodymyr Topiy

Performance Poetry / Blood Poetry

 

A man. A bench. A roll of fabric. 

 

Tiny green soldiers 

like the once my dad used to play with 

when he was still a kid

are put in a line

 

then yellow soldiers

in a pile on the floor

 

a boot stomps on the green guys

 

King’s Onion Crisps – pointing at King

the bench is turned on it’s side

he writes on the bench with green marker

 

E M P I R E

 

with King Onion on top

 

the role of fabric is unrolled

paintings

a skull

a torso in a suit

a torso in swim trunks

and darker stuff I can’t see

 

he tries wearing the EMPIRE bench

like a heavy weight on his leg

set’s it down somewhere else in the space

 

King Onion is emptied on the floor

smaller bags spill out

with his teeth the small once are torn

crisps in piles on the floor

are organized in neat lines

every one just as big as the other

 

people help

more piles appear

some crisps get eaten 

slightly messy lines now

 

he reads invisible markings on his hands

lines the crisps up

a formation appears

tree straight lines and a bend one

one wiggles

 

adding some soldiers

a landscape appears

 

but the soldiers are lined up like the crisps

fallen over

on top of each other

 

markings in blue on the floor

while the smell of cheese and onion fills the air

 

H I P O C R I S Y

 

he wipes his sweat of his face with his arm

 

rope

thick rope

wrapped around the EMPIRE bench 

with his leg stuck 

in between Rope and Empire

he wears it like a plaster cast

 

he limbs

hops

sits down

tries to slide

stops

 

turns on fast classical music

 

moves on

with the bench

crushing the crisps 

and the soldiers

 

removes his shirt

a black and white fist on his belly

a dragon or bird with a crown on his back.

 

Maria Hoyin- Licking the wounds

Maria Hoyin

Licking the wounds

 

She enters, mouthful

waves her face cool with a polystyrene sheet

 

goes out gets a trash can

moves to the back gets a table

caries it on her back eyes wide, mouthful

straightens her back sends the table banging to the floor

then empties the trash can

puts it on her head talking

yelling

blindly searching her way to the table

she is writing words now with her mouth full 

words on the polystyrene sheet

tapping a pink marker on the table for it will not write

her cheeks swollen she looks at us

 

spelled out in pink on the styrofoam it says 

 

suffering

 

she draws on her swollen cheeks

she draws on her forehead

tapping the table

while her face slowly turns pink

 

she turns the table on it’s side

like a thing to hide behind

the sound of a marker, writing

and the top of her head, moving

 

as she stands up she draws on her face

bright red lines

opens her mouth

takes something white out

 

a piece of paper

a shape

then another

carefully now

 

the next one 

plucked out of her mouth

is shaped like an ‘M’

then an ‘F’

 

letters appear

 

R F U E

 

not an M but an E

fill in the gaps

 

will it spell refuge?

 

more white shapes

like a clown spitting balloons

it’s dead silent here

 

there is an ‘S’ and a ‘G

and letters are laid out on the floor

 

S U F F E R I N G

 

I was wrong

filled in the gaps 

with the things I thought I knew

the table turns

 

905

 

905 what?

is it people

mabe days

days of suffering

red chili flakes

or is it glitter

 

she is decorating the word

using glitter like spray paint 

spilling bright red dots all over the floor

as she removes the paper

the word remains imprinted on the floor

 

she lays down next to it 

fans herself like before

but the bloody dots are not moving

 

fanning forcefully 

glitters fly with the wind

but still traces remain.

Deej Fabyc- Revisions to Spite

Deej Fabyc

Revisions to Spite

 

A person in a red dress

lies on a red couch

with a pink facemask

big breasts

glittering silver high heels

holding two big 

kitchen knives

 

as we walk in

them 

looking at us

breathing

the knives moving

tilts their head

swings their legs

elegant

moves the knifes

poses like a skilled fighter

 

labored breathing

with the big kitchen knives 

they start cutting the dress 

inches 

from their skin

open

 

chest exposed

a bra stuffed with ribs

raw meat

“dirty” they call

as they throws the silver heels to the floor

replacing them for red ones

opens a bottle of wine

empties it

on their head

dirty

 

removing the facemask exposes 

big plastic lips and a hole for a mouth

they sticks a cucumber in

slicing it 

in pieces

with the knife

swooshing

inches

in front of their face

 

they take the ribs out 

places them on their head

changing clothes

dressing in a pink scarf around the waist

spits the lips out

strengthens mussels with fitness elastics

 

dresses further

a white blouse on a skin 

sticky with red wine

a white straw hat

black blazer

neat trousers

manning-up now

buckling up

suit and tie

 

a frown on their face

breathing strongly

gives a dress to a man in the crowd

 

“Put it on.”

 

he obeys

on his knees

puts it on

 

they, with the suit, put their working boots on

the one in the dress gets the scarf.

 

P(art)y Here and Now 

a participatory event 

A distorted pop song is the cue of beginning and end 

we are together, jamming, feast your eyes 

so much to see, so much to hear and so much to move to 

there is the flashing of a camera 

there are paper cups approaching 

there are words written on top 

drink these words, read what they see 

giving words, actions, suggestions 

till this pen runs out of ink 

it’s really just a bunch of people strangely (mis)behaving 

watching, collecting, bending, touching 

and words extending onto a piece of paper moving in space 

watch someone dance 

with wet hair 

and a paper cup 

and a tie 

with a hat on 

dancing with another 

brightly smiling body 

wait 

where are they going? 

with their suit and tie 

with their blue dress and their 

red paper cup tits 

there are three sisters and an epic soundtrack 

singing “aaah” – like in song 

there is hair covering ears 

and a mouth 

singing voices 

and some words get folded out of place 

there is a body writing, 

playing 

moving 

watching 

stepping on toes 

with bright red sparkles 

and two blue butts looking 

through a looking glass of paper cups 

Hereand Now, Performance ArtFestival.Ennistymon 

Poetic PerformanceImpressionby Caro Ruoff

what do they see? 

there is waving hair 

and a guitar jamming 

Someone yelling “BE QUIET!” 

Someone quietly responding 

“no.” 

there is a new start 

tap dancing with the sole of its foot 

a hat 

breaking someones heart 

and dancing curls 

there is a musical astronaut 

who is dreaming this madness 

into existence 

there is a blue alien dancing 

there is more paper here and someone stealing it 

are they faster than the pen? 

are they stealing its words? 

what is the point? 

there is loud 

louder 

banging 

someone waving a white flag 

will they surrender? 

or should we? 

don’t stop moving – or do 

because our space will run out 

just like our resources 

watch 

that someone just standing there in the spotlight 

and the three sisters resting 

we are not done yet 

some words get lost in chaos 

a body, relaxing 

unfolding the quiet 

come back when you are ready. 

Hereand Now, Performance ArtFestival.Ennistymon 

Poetic PerformanceImpressionby Caro Ruoff