"De la Composition en Temps Réel"
CENTRE NATIONAL DE LA DANSE, Paris - France, October 2004 interview with Annie Suquet transcription and translation: Paula Caspão

JOÃO FIADEIRO: This work made me understand two very important things. One is the fact that we have to accept emptiness… or the unknown; to accept it, not control and organise it.

ANNIE SUQUET: To accept it, but also to invite it…

JF: Of course, but that is the same (almost)... you can only accept it if you invite it and this is something which is very natural for me, but I understood that it is very difficult to pass it on to a performer, to another person. And this is why I developed a little bit the method, in order to give them the tools to accept this emptiness; to accept that not doing anything is doing: “doing nothing” is something huge. It’s almost like giving the interpreter the tools to accept the unknown, to suggest more and remain invisible, if you like (…); remain ambiguous, still ambiguous, for the longest time. This was something very important, and the second thing I understood is that (…) I am not the one who is responsible for meaning.
[…]
What I signify is the responsibility of the spectator. This is of course connected to the relation between suggestion and assertion, because if I assert something the spectator becomes only a spectator (a passive one); he accepts or not the assertion I make. If I suggest, if I am just there, if I am just capable of managing the tension between me, and the spectator (that is to say the tension and the attention at once); if I am really able to manage that (…), then there is nothing to be asserted; you just have to work on that tension. Then it’s up to the spectator to produce, project the images, as if I was a sort of medium, I am a pretext, for the spectator to do his own…

AS: His own associations…

JF: …his associations, his own work.
For if I ask the interpreter to accept emptiness, the interpreter also has to trust me (and trust the other interpreters as well – who are outside and come in) to continue on his own way, in his own axis, without knowing what he represents. This is the most hallucinating in the work.

AS: And extremely difficult…

JF: …extremely difficult, [for] it’s like asking an interpreter to stand right in the centre of the space; maybe alone, maybe with others, but doing something very very concrete, very very important for him, that he knows very well (…), [but] that the Spectator doesn’t necessarily understand very well (though he trusts the interpreter because there is that concentration coming out, emanating from that body…). And so I ask him to be there, even if he doesn’t understand exactly, doesn’t know the macrostructure very well; in other words, even if he doesn’t know the exact sense of his presence.

JF: The most dangerous thing in this work is that you become aware of what you represent…

AS: …no to overact…

JF: …not to overact and keep indifferent to what you represent, because it’s true that we can suggest a lot for quite a long time, but there is a moment when the thing becomes concrete and then the spectator says “Ah! Now I see” and generally the interpreter says “Ah!” as well, but he has to do “Ah!” only in his head. So that he doesn’t show it, and doesn’t become his own spectator.

Ok? It was much more interesting and simple and… as an object of suggestion, this work here, you see? This work here... this is… this is also possible; this is already possible, because here you accept… you accept this space, but after that [calling a dog] it really becomes an illustration, a comment. And the force of Cláudia’s work… POUF, it completely disappears, because the force of her work is the fact that she is not a dog. But if you tell her “you are a dog”, it becomes too illustrative, a representation. So you really have to… especially with an audience – today we don’t really have an audience but an audience amplifies a lot that desire of making (…), of expressing –, we can really measure the violence of the gaze, the violence of interpretation, the violence of the other’s expectations. (Right?) Because in the studio we can only project; we project (a little bit): “ah, maybe it’s this, maybe it’s that”, we apply the method, it works, the technique protects us. But not now, there was really someone else, an expectation around us, around the things that we do: what do we represent, what do we symbolise, what do we want to do, what do we want to assert, do we want to provoke a rupture or not, or is it dance or theatre, and so on and so forth.

JF: What is an axis? Un axis is this conversation we are having. For me, if right now I am doing… if there is an audience there [laughs] or there (in fact, the audience is there), but if we imagine that there is an exterior observer and if we imagine that I start applying the method at this moment, the axis is the moment in which I become aware that I’m giving this interview; until the alpha moment (we call it the alpha moment: it’s the moment just before the moment that marks the difference between before and after), before I’m with you in this interview and I’m not aware of it; I’m in a stream of life, of reality. From the moment in which I become aware that I am with you, I enter in an axis, I formulate a statement and I say, “I am here with you, giving an interview” – this is a statement. From the moment I formulate that statement, the method obliges me (it’s a demand of the method), it obliges me to stick to that axis. So, for the time you are there, while we are here, that axis is not at risk; it’s a natural axis. So the only thing we need, for me, is to be aware of that axis and stick to it, accepting that inertia. And it’s during that inertia that I can, if I want, get out of myself, and that’s what I do, sometimes even while I am with you, it’s what you do as well, unconsciously we all do it; we can go out a little bit, look at this image from the outside and confirm that “yes, we are still in the good axis”. And that axis will only be at risk when we approach 1:00 p.m. (because I give a workshop); when the cassette is over; when… (I don’t know), when I get hungry…

AS: The critical zones, do they correspond to a sort of zone of emotional turbulence or not necessarily?

JF: They generally do (…), because it is the moment when… the beginning of the critical zone is the moment we become aware that the axis is about to finish. And if the axis is going to finish the possibility of emptiness is huge. Even if in the method you have to accept emptiness, the possibility of emptiness, the aim is not necessarily to arrive to that space, to that emptiness; it’s rather (…) to feed the axis in order to extend it the more you can.

Ok. Do we all agree that the image can go on or not? The image is already over; you have to go in, right? Anyway, I think that you, David, you missed (I think) this work of counterpoint about which we have talked a lot; you missed a moment that was very good, a natural one; it’s the moment when it’s over, it’s almost finished, it’s the moment of letting it go (…) and see “what will he do?”

DAVID: But let it go or go out?

JF: No, it’s… these situations are very… So he… you were there (…), immobilised in a certain… you are immobilised anyway, then it’s over, it was clear it was over. And then you missed the occasion to do this…

FLORENT: But I was holding him, maybe he couldn’t have…

JF: Yes yes, but it’s his attitude towards you. And maybe [he could] propose that you shift roles, or maybe propose that he leaves alone, or you make a let go, you see? So, for me it was a little bit a pity that you continued in this axis, because it is already over, it’s already done, it’s already...

Then when it’s almost… when the axis is in danger [and I don’t see it or I don’t accept it], I have to feed it beyond its natural death (…). And when I do that, I endanger the whole system around me. So it’s not only me, but also the whole system: it becomes fragile around that persistence, if you like, that dedication to the axis. And the whole system starts to be under pressure, if you like, it’s under pressure and then… it’s obvious that there will be a moment when it is impossible to preserve it. And then you either have to accept emptiness or make a transfer towards another axis, or make what we call a let go, which consists in abandoning the axis completely.

JF: The problem is that the foot didn’t enter. So, that is an accident, it’s clearly an accident. That’s why you have to accept it (…). For me it’s obvious that the force of your axis, the force of David’s axis at that moment was not – especially when the scotch broke (…) – especially at that moment, David, you should have done a… you should have entered a critical zone and immediately tell yourself that it is impossible to go on with the original axis, because it is not there anymore; it broke because of the scotch, so the only thing to do is… either you make a let go when the scotch breaks (but if you stay for too long then it’s too late to do it), so all you can do is to accept the new axis. In fact, [you could] even make a transfer, in the sense that even before the scotch breaks there is already something new there, which is that desire and that try to introduce the foot in the shoe. Well, but from the moment you manage to introduce the foot in the shoe (and so your axis, even if you make a transfer, is over), then you have to accept that you cannot recover that relationship. So, when the scotch breaks, then you really have to say right away “Cláudia, bye-bye, it’s over”, and now it’s me, and the shoe; now it’s me, and this situation. So, either you are really fast and you make a let go, and in that case I think it’s a pity because you have just arrived; and if you make a let go you also inform the audience that “I’ve missed something”, so it’s not the thing to do in this case, I guess; you have to accept the result of the accident. And I think that there is something very strong which is… that thing of trying to go in the shoe. And then you could even take the shoe off and grab another one from somebody else and try it, well, and you could… take it as an axis. That’s where we lost a bit the group indeed, the collective.

AS: And the transfer, is it of the order of a decision, or else…

JF: Yes, exactly. The transfer is of the order of a decision but there are very precise rules. You have to… during the critical zone, there are two possibilities: whether you manage to feed the axis with something strong enough, and then you don’t need a transfer; I stay (or maybe I make a micro-transfer, which is something else: it’s leaving and coming back, so I make a transfer in order to come back to the same axis; for instance if there are no more cassettes, I propose that I go and buy them: I go out, I make a transfer, I buy the cassettes and I come back to continue the axis – this is a micro-transfer). But so, either there is the possibility of feeding that axis or it is impossible, because it’s really impossible, and there you have two possibilities: either there is an accident, an event (you say to yourself “that’s enough [laughs], I cannot stand…”, or him, or somebody else cries out for rupture in the system) and there is where you have to accept this new space. That is an axis; it’s not… we do not make a choice; we accept the thing which is there. Or else there is the possibility to choose, and in that case it’s a transfer. But then that transfer has to be made within the original axis. That is to say that now the “original” axis between me, and you, is this conversation, the interview. But for example, while I give this interview, I also drink water (for example). We can say that this axis – “drinking water” – is a completely secondary axis (though a necessary one, it’s what gives credibility, if you like, to the main axis; it’s all the things around us that keep the main axis alive) and so if I want to make a transfer, I cannot construct another axis; I have to make a choice between the axis which are already there, though they are not main axis. And so, for instance, if I feel that this axis we have is going to finish and that it is impossible to feed it – we are thus very sure about its limit – and that I don’t want to risk a rupture [and have to] accept the result of that rupture (for I want to make a transfer), I can say, for example, that now “I drink water”.

AS: But then, with that kind of activity, you are going to enter a process of repetition? If you stay in the axis of drinking water, I mean, yes… it depends; it can go on for a long or a short time. How do you determine the duration of that activity, for example…?

…all right, when the cup is empty, for example.

JF: You see? That’s it. And once this bottle is empty, I go and look for another one, I ask for another bottle and I am already – during all this process – I’m no longer with you (I’m already in another…); I preserve something from before, of course, during the time you are there, of course; I look, I look at you, but… cause then the big problem or the big challenge for me is how to preserve the quality of my gestures while I pour the water… You see? There is a whole work to master this… (work?); to not act, not make a gag, you see? In order not to go the easy way. No, I drink water. And then for example, the end of the… when does the critical zone start? It starts when there is almost no water, right? There I have two possibilities: either I say that I drink all the water and then I’m going to get… I will fill the bottle up, for instance. So, this is a micro-transfer: I fill up the bottle so that I can continue drinking water. Or I say “no” (and it’s up to each of us to grasp), I say “no, it’s too risky”, for maybe when I come back you’re not here anymore and I loose the credibility that your presence gives me. So this is a personal judgement, a personal analysis, and I therefore say, for instance, before the bottle is completely… before there is no more water, I say to myself that now I’m not [my axis is not] “drinking water”, but “emptying the bottle”. And you can imagine what happens if I decide to empty the bottle…
Right? Well, this is the moment of rupture. It’s where we go towards – little by little, with this small example – a territory of visibility, a completely fictional one. I am convinced that if the spectator shares with me all the steps of transfer, all the steps of change, he comes along with me in this territory; he accepts this territory. He says what I consider very important in a work of fiction, which is: I know that you know that I know that you know… I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that this is fiction, but I accept because I am your accomplice; I follow you. So in all the moments of transfer, in fact… the big question I ask the spectator is: do you come with me?

AS: In what I have seen on Friday, there are in fact three levels of dramaturgy: there is the dramaturgic framework which is created, in fact, as the axis develop, I mean, with the changes of axis of the interpreters, and so on. And then there is a second layer, so to say, that superimposes on the first and which is the dramaturgy that you write as well, by means of your interventions, emphasising this or that group or activity… So there is a sort of overlapping like that…

JF: Right, that’s it, there is a work of micro writing, if you like, that starts in the interpreter, and then there is a macro writing of which I am in charge, but the work that I do is always to clarify something that already exists. It is never to write something that was not there. Of course I make selections when I take people out, for example, and I leave one person, or when I put a scotch or when I put a mike, I oblige the macrostructure to develop in a certain direction. It’s a way of writing, but I do the writing by exclusion and not by construction. So I don’t construct anything new, I show something that is already there. So in fact I apply the method myself as well.

AS: But I think that is an extremely delicate position, the one you put yourself in as a dramaturge of the real. Because what is very striking anyway, is the political dimension of the space that you… I mean, the community that you create, somehow, through real time composition, in which each interpreter is free to choose, carries an overwhelming responsibility, and it’s really political in the elementary sense of the term: it’s the sharing of a territory; the sharing of an experience. And I think that you put yourself in a situation that requires an extreme moral and ethical demand, for how to not recover the power, or not take the power…

JF: Exactly.

AS: …when you put yourself in such a situation, of possible intervention and with the possibility of projecting a macro-gaze and thus imprint a structure that re-becomes, all of a sudden… personal, I mean, it’s…

JF: Right, it is…

AS: …it’s terrible…

JF: Freedom… I can only be free if I know my limits. It’s a basic rule of democracy. So there is a huge difference between freedom and free will, but freedom within limits. So, the limits we provoke… there is a direct proportion between the difficulty posed by the limits and the capacity to be free, to find one’s own freedom within those limits.

JF: And then it’s clear that there is always room for a revolution; for a rupture of those limits. But I’m very interested in revolution and not so much in anarchy. That’s why I create very very precise, very strong limits. I create limits that are almost impossible to transgress, and then there are extraordinary revelations when the interpreter is able to find within these absolutely closed limits (almost impossible to transgress) (…), a small crack; in that limit, he finds either his own space of freedom, or he can find a small door, a door that only he – with his intelligence, his sensibility, his intuition – is able to see. And when he does that, it’s for me the only creative gesture in this work. All the rest is not creation. All the rest is ant’s work, if you like; it’s the construction of pathways, it’s…

AS: So the only interesting things are the ones that escape, after all. Those that hide in the interstices…

JF: Exactly, I am very interested in rupture, of course, I’m very interested in the modification of rules, and I’m very interested in the crack that a very very solid structure can generate.

In any case, there is… the aim of this method, of this work, is precisely to give the interpreters the tools to wait… to wait. For if my aim is to find something that I don’t know, I have to wait, because that thing that I don’t know… it is not on the surface of me. It is somewhere else; it’s not in the evidence, it’s not in the light; it’s in the obscurity. So what I understood with the interpreters (the work with the interpreters) is that because of that door, and because of that will to represent something, they change their axis too fast, they change too fast because of a reflex, because of a desire to project an image, because of an idea. That’s it, because of a creative idea. That’s incredible, that the people make confusions between… yes, creativity happens, for me, in that moment of intelligence and subtlety, and of almost invisibility… and it’s farther away, it doesn’t happen in the first minute of work. That’s why we have to wait – but you have to be there, of course, taking the audience with you, little by little, step by step. But all this work is nothing, it’s only a matter of preserving complicity and feeding trust, giving the spectator the possibility to trust your presence and the things you do, and so the method obliges and allows you to go towards this point, farther away, farther, farther… and then it’s there, at that moment, generally by chance (it’s how all interesting things generally happen – by chance): that is the moment of revelation, if you like. And because people change too fast, generally because there is that fear of emptiness and also that will to make, they never get to that state of abdication, almost; of abdication, of generosity towards the spectator. So I don’t know… there is a state that you can only reach if you are able to struggle against your own body and preserve an axis until the moment when there is something that is really “the thing”. What is “the thing”? You will see it when it’s there. You cannot see it before. But when it arrives, you understand “that’s it”. The evidence for this is all the work we do in the workshop, it’s the fact that there are many things which are not “the thing” (it’s the ant’s work I talk about) and then there is a moment when we say “that’s it”. How do we know it? We know it because we know it, that’s the way it happens. It’s a merging of energies, of elements… POUF – at that very moment. A second later is too late; a second before is too soon. Well…