Standing for the River: Community Performance along the Hogsmill River
The best moments as always are synchronous and this one was nothing short of the normal. A twisting and turning day. I was walking to meet James Goodchild in the studios to watch the students' work, and stumbled upon this. ‘Standing for the River’. I was lucky enough to be in all black so I blended right in. I could tell they were unsure who this random guy is. Juan was stepping into the black-swan regalia. I asked if I could snap a shot, and let him get into the spirit of the performance. Something was shaking through him and his arms began to rise with it. Click.
Juan started his movements as Charlie walked backwards with the camera. Slow angelic movements. Elemental movements present in all its dexterity.
A beautiful thing about the performance was that the majority of the dancers involved were members of the public. Only six were hired dancers. Waiting in the food room I asked a couple of them; why do you dance:
“No thoughts”
“I started when I was 3 years old, never stopped. Habit”
“Why do you not?”
More dancers turned up. In amongst the installation they all lined up and practiced the movements. Integration. Relation. Standing. They ceased and people filtered in and out getting drinks and munching quiche whilst chatting. Who knew that working together to make rivers swimmable could eradicate any sense of malice. Woman in charge. As should be when waters involved. The audience prepared themself across the riverbank.
I swung my legs sat on the ledge waiting, and watched the green dragon toy sitting comfortably amongst some reeds in the river.
“Listo”
“listo”
Ready. Drone on and up in the air. The soundscape starts. And we wait. As the music played I watched the greenery in the river currents dance along. It does something. People filtered back to the university side of the bank as the dancers came out. “As a child I…”. Fallen leaves pass under the bridge. Faces waiting. Anticipating. “In the hogsmill live species like eel, brown trout…”. A man with glasses and a light blue polo lays his arms flat on the small wooden bridge, leans on them and watches the water whilst listening to the words. “You are standing here today because we believe all species have the right to have the water to live, nest, and bathe. In our living memory people used to swim in the Hogsmill”. Collectively we have agency. More people filtered back in through the bridge to walk to the next location. The group emerged.
Lines of black clothing walked along the natural path side of the river. “Here we are”. The soundscape shifts. There was a symbiotic relationship forming. A synthesis. Unbeknownst to the audience they became one half of the performance. Viewer and viewed interacted across the river stream. Across the body of water a communication, silently passed back and forth.
As I walked along the ledge a caterpillar crossed my path. I pointed him out to some others and they stopped in amazement. I realised what this was all about then. Four yellow dots on its back with antenna and fur from another planet. We passed the family of ducks and went through the gate. Quakz. Pond skaters and circular ripples. More quaks. “Scott come come”.
“33 34 35…”
The final soundscape starts. The one that is still in your head. The sound of the riverbed. The movements begin. “They’re not clapping for you come on”. Arms out heads back. Everyone in unison. Juan steps out of the black shell. He walks. The dancers grab the arms of the person next to them and pull them over their shoulders. Lean forward and…hands out to the water.
Claps. Applause.
“I would like everyone to join us in doing this [signals the dance movement] and everyone look up to Debra the Drone whilst you do it”. A hundred people huddle closer together on the Blue Bridge of Kingston.
The audience. The dancers. The people. Now become part of the final act. The magick of community. The magick of togetherness. The magick of people working together to return water to its rightful memory.
“Thank you to the river” Everyone said in unison. Goosebumps ran up my spine. I went to film the last shot of the river and couldn’t help but let two rivers run down my cheeks. Why or what for? Something ancient seemed to pass through me.
“I’m on my daddies shoulders and I’m laughing ahhaha” a kid shouted as he sat on his dad’s shoulders laughing, whilst the dancers chatted to other dancers, and people stood behind the black dress sculpture taking pictures, and cyclists sped past.
Back in the gallery, the conversations and stories started about their wild water swims. And so it began. I can already feel the summers of memorys people have collected bathing and swimming in the Hogsmill River.
Love&Power
Five-Fold