Author: Hanna Johansson

Every month someone, often from the company, writes a letter to another person who then picks up the pen and writes to someone else. The letters are often personal and reflect on dance, the wonders and challenges of dance and what it’s like to perform it.

The letter below is written by dancer and former Cullberg apprentice Anton Skaaning Thomsen to Dages Juvelier Keates, dramaturg for flesh chariot, chariot of flesh.

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Dear Dages,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I am writing to you from a sunny balcony in Bergen, Norway, while drinking mint tea and listening to the sounds of children playing nearby. This is a rare moment, since most days unfortunately are rainy here. On this balcony, the busyness of Stockholm and the life I had there suddenly feels long gone. Have you also moved to another place and felt like everything changed in no time? It stuns me how quickly we adapt to other environments, landscapes, dynamics. How fast we let go and move on… Or, perhaps we never really let go – perhaps we are continuously carrying all of it with us, all the experiences we have had, all the people we have encountered, all that we have touched and felt.

To me, these are aspects of life that flesh chariot, chariot of flesh touches upon. Even though I have only followed the beginning of this creation by Faye Driscoll, I feel like I have my own intimate relationship with the piece and its materials. I see it questioning the ways we are being together in the world today and processing our collective crises and traumas in a deeply embodied way.

In my opinion, this is highly relevant to contemporary dance today, and I appreciate, both as a performer and audience member, when contemporary struggles are invited into the theatre and dealt with through the body. As Faye said in a recent interview about the piece, “The impact that movement work, live performance work that is dealing a lot with the body, can have on other bodies is something mysterious and something very powerful and primal.” And as strong as these impacts are, they are indeed also mysterious and therefore difficult to articulate in language, which brings me to the reflections Luca Seixas shared with me in his letter.

In his letter, Luca questioned whether we really need to be able to comprehend and rationalise everything. He emphasised how dance carries the ability to change how we might feel, experience, and sense beyond our rational understanding. While fully agreeing with Luca, I recognise the times we are asked to put things that seem to exist outside of words into words. To make the intangible tangible. Dages, I imagine that this is part of your work as a dramaturg, lingering between the tangibility and intangibility of a piece. How do you engage in this process, and what are your ways of using, or refusing, language in relation to the felt embodied experience?

I am wondering if the role of the dramaturg could be compared to that of a navigator at sea, although not the version with charts and courses toward “new” territories. I am thinking of something older – sailors here in Norway used to cross open water for centuries without a compass by reading the sun, the stars, the flight of birds. I think of a navigator like that, someone who feels their way, working in service of everyone aboard rather than commanding them. I believe that the choreographer often needs to dive deep into the complicated ocean of somatic experience along with the dancers in order to sense the currents of the process. However, it is easy to lose yourself in these waters, and this is where I imagine the dramaturg enters – someone with enough distance to see what is gathering on the horizon, close enough to sense it as well.

Dages, forgive me for projecting all this on you as a dramaturg, but I do like to imagine you as a navigator. One that I can ask for advice about the weather tomorrow, or simply ask, “where are we going?”

So… Where are we going?

To be honest, I think it is good to know where you think we are going, but even more vital to know where you feel that we should be going. What are you dreaming about? When I read the news these days, I feel overwhelmed and concerned. Concerned about today, tomorrow, and the day after that. I am wondering what kind of future we are passing on to the next generations. What kind of present are we accepting for our fellow human beings? Will we be able to live with the fact that we allowed wars, genocides, and injustice to happen before our eyes, livestreamed on the devices we held in our hands every day?

I do not want us to be going further down that road, I do not want the ship to sail in that direction. Luca asked me how I see dance holding space today. He asked if it needs to act. And sitting here, writing this letter while listening to the local children playing without concerns, I want to say yes. Yes, dance needs to act. Yes, dance needs to go further than entertaining its audiences. Dance needs to hold the space for us to deal with all the complicated crises and traumas that continue to shape our world today, because where else can we collectively relate to these matters through the body and its felt experiences, without needing to make explicit meaning of it?

Looking up from my laptop here on the balcony, I now see that clouds have begun to form in the distance. I have finished my tea, and I am slowly but surely getting colder. Luckily, I still hear the children playing, as if it is all going to be all right. And maybe, one day, it will indeed be all right.

Please send my wishes to everyone involved in flesh chariot, chariot of flesh and the rest of the lovely team at Cullberg. I hope that the audiences will feel all of the 15 powerful bodies on stage, and that the feeling in itself will be enough to change the world.

With love,
Anton Skaaning Thomsen

Read Luca’s letter to Anton.

Every month someone, often from the company, writes a letter to another person who then picks up the pen and writes to someone else. The letters are often personal and reflect on dance, the wonders and challenges of dance and what it’s like to perform it.

The letter below is written by dancer Luca Seixas to apprentice dancer Anton Skaaning Thomsen.

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Dear Anton,

We are reaching the brightest days in Stockholm. It feels like an inspiring end to the season, with open skies and sunny hearts. Are you also picking flowers along the way home?

Our dear colleague, Eleanor, wrote me a beautiful letter, asking how I navigate through our new creative process with Faye Driscoll. I will try to answer her here, and give you something to reflect on too.

There is a lot to share about technicality, relationality, concept, physicality, attention skills…. and the many valuable discoveries that happen by chance. What to pick?

A key consideration for me is sensing when to commit to the choreographer’s directions, when to be stimulated by my colleagues, and when to suggest another track. To hold this, I try to cultivate a sense of inner quietness and slowness. Not assuming things too quickly, not rushing. This inward focus helps me better understand what my own contribution to the process can be, and recognize when to take space and when to give space. I value that we are a big-hearted group working so closely together, with generosity as an important ingredient.

This creation is also reshaping how I process movement material. I find myself needing to access detailed imagined scenarios: impacts, collisions, deep human experiences… Ultimately, conditions and forces that affect my body and generate a state or emotion. There are two parallel choreographies happening: one physical, visual, and tangible; the other imaginary and immaterial. I oscillate between them. Even the same point in the choreography can reveal itself differently from one day to another: I might have a clear image forming in mind — my body ready to pick up a cue from the imaginary — but then a colleague touches me differently that day, and suddenly, another sensory layer appears, guided by the physical plane instead.

Whatever happens, my goal is to stay present and honest to that very moment. A sensitive gaze is always crucial. You know, Anton, how this piece is so sculpturally choreographed. Finger details, eye direction. Anyway, I’m not trying to perform a fixed state, but rather access how to really live it, stay open to how it transforms, and invite the viewer to feel with and through me.

In her letter, Eleanor also made me think about dance as a rich aesthetic experience. Not only visually, but fully sensory. To be embraced, to be touched by the experience. In general, I find it fascinating how the arts reveal our desire to live in a world shaped by beauty, form, rhythm, and style. Not just utility and rationality. Don’t you think that this is a very powerful aspect of dance? Not necessarily that it can change how we think, but how we might feel, experience, and sense?

Once I found myself trapped when Faye asked me, “Luca, what are you thinking there?”. What I was doing at that point was just immediate, held in the body, and outside the space of thought. I had to quickly make something up so she could logically understand it (let’s keep this between us). But of course, I do understand her. We need to find shared language and common ground to arrive at a concrete work. Things must be imagined, processed, translated, transferred, understood, and eventually materialized. There is always this tension between the openness of the process and the need to shape the work, to give it form. Still, thinking more generally, I keep wondering how deep we can stay in the openness… if we can feel, be affected and transformed, without turning everything into rational thought.
I guess I’m arriving to my reflection for you, Anton.

I wonder how far dance can remain subjective and ambiguous, not necessarily tied to a purpose, though I understand how challenging that is. We are living in a noisy and unstable global context. Creating artworks that respond to current events is relevant and, in many ways, expected. We are, of course, also a sensitive community, longing for awareness and immediate change. It feels harder to explore subjectivity in this eroding landscape. 

At the same time, I find it unfortunate if our artistic value is measured through its usefulness. The ability to make people think, debate, and intellectualize embodied knowledge. I wonder if this might sometimes distance us from feeling with and through one another, and if feeling-through could be an even stronger tool for change.

So, Anton, I’m curious how you see dance holding space today. Does it need to act? Do movement and form need to be logically understood in order to serve a clear purpose? I’m not sure…There’s something about the flowers… how they transform the space and how I feel… so I just keep bringing them home.

Thanks for receiving all this. 
I wish you a blue summer, and all the best with your new start in Norway, dearest.

Warmly,
Luca

Read Eleanor’s letter to Luca

Read Anton’s reply to Luca

Every month someone, often from the company, writes a letter to another person who then picks up the pen and writes to someone else. The letters are often personal and reflect on dance, the wonders and challenges of dance and what it’s like to perform it.

The letter below is written by the dancer Eleanor Campbell to Luca Seixas, who is also a dancer.

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Dear Luca,

I received a letter from Mia that has inspired many nice thoughts. Thank you for being my captive listener – and bearing with me – as I unravel them. Mia invited me to reflect on my experience of being an audience member in dance performances and how this influences my own practices. She wondered, how do I absorb impressions? What do I take with me? Do I steal (movements, gestures, or something else entirely)? 
 
I will start by saying that watching dance (which uses more senses than just the visual) has been an essential part of my dance learning. As a young eager dancer, I would watch my teacher demonstrate a tondu and attempt to absorb all details. How her foot stroked the floor like a match. Where in her body moved a lot relative to what moved less. What was her inner musicality? At times, I would simplify, imagining her as a simple line drawing. Or invert, focusing only on the (moving) space around her. I watched. I tried. I watched and tried a split second later, as if to catch the movement. I looked sideways, bottom to top. I blurred my eyes. I closed my eyes. I felt. I layered my self-image on top of her image, so in my imagination, we did the movement in tandem. Feeling the feeling that I imagine I would feel, if I did the same movement. 
 
These kinds of experiments involving “seeing-feeling”, imagination and kinetic empathy, have continued alongside my dance practice and extended dance in so many directions. I’m wondering now if this sensitivity and interest gave me a huge advantage to become a dancer. Maybe all dancers are exceptional see-feelers.

Luca don’t you agree, that “seeing-feeling” our colleagues is so vital in our work at Cullberg? It shows up again and again, just how much we get by watching each other tackle movement material – especially in moments where we feel stuck in our own habits. We sense each other sensing, weight and gravity, time and space, form and pattern, shifts in mood and tone, and so much more. And you often don’t need to do much analysis for your dancing to be transformed the next time you dive in. Watching opens us new possibilities when words fall short. 
 
And finally, to get to the role of audience member for stage performances – the same holds true. There is of course so much more to take in, a whole artwork to consider, though I usually have bias towards focusing on the performers and how they are to see-feel. I often move a lot in my chair (and apparently make faces which I am not so aware of), finding it hard not to feel ‘moved’. I love it when I sense invisible forces moving through performers and the space. I love it when I’m drawn into a detail, or when time seems to spiral in on itself. It’s not so much the particular movements or gestures that I steal (at least not intentionally). Rather I take away all the imprints of the sensory data unique to each performance, and the admiration of performers in bringing to life far more than we can register in our daily lives. 
 
And now Luca, I’m curious about you. How do you deepen your skills as a performer? It could be interesting to focus on our current creation with Faye Driscoll, which I would say is particularly demanding! I wonder how you guide yourself through the movement material? What are you thinking about? Do you give yourself ‘attention cues’ or use imagery? What about sensations and feelings? I guess I’m curious if you could shed some light on your inner experience, the behind-the-scenes of your fabulous dancing.
 
Warmly,
Eleanor

Read Mia’s letter to Eleanor

Read Luca’s reply to Eleanor

This interview was recorded during Faye Driscoll’s work with flesh chariot, chariot of flesh.

Every month someone, often from the company, writes a letter to another person who then picks up the pen and writes to someone else. The letters are often personal and reflect on dance, the wonders and challenges of dance and what it’s like to perform it.

The letter below is written by Mia Larsson, Head of the Dance Department at Riksteatern to Dancer Eleanor Campbell.

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Dear Eleanor,

I am writing you a letter, and it feels both ceremonial and unfamiliar. It has been a long time since I last wrote a letter, and in my everyday professional work there is rarely space for this kind of reflection. What is my practice, and what is my approach to work? Harrison’s letter prompted me to think about flexibility, openness, and integrity. He describes flexibility in relation to the audience, the space, and the artistic process.

For me, art is life‑giving and an essential part of my life. It began with being an audience member, then amateur theatre, followed by a desire to become an actor, before eventually finding my place as a producer. It suited me perfectly! Being involved throughout the entire process, I learned as a producer to trust the process and not to cling too tightly to certain principles — to have faith in people and in the space we create together.

Openness and integrity may sound like opposites, yet integrity is essential — including the integrity of collective work. Artistic integrity, the vision of the artistic team, and what I believe you dancers refer to as stamina. But also the idea that we contribute to the process by sharing what matters to each of us, regardless of our role, in order to participate, contribute — simply to do our job.

“We meet here without diminishing ourselves, but open to being influenced and possibly changed” is a phrase from a project Riksteatern carried out, where ninth‑grade students, teacher trainees, and Riksteatern staff co‑created a production. It captures well how I see collective work. In my role as Head of Dance, I believe it is crucial that we share common goals, that everyone knows their assignment/role/tasks, and that all have the conditions needed to do their best. If this is in place, there is hopefully also room to acknowledge everyone’s needs and wishes — which of course does not mean they will always be met.

Flexibility and openness are prerequisites for creating the unexpected, though at times this is frightening, as uncertainty is precisely what it is — uncertain. This is where we have an important role to play: as an institution, to take risks and not underestimate the audience. We must be flexible and adaptable so we do not get stuck in clichés or in “this is how we’ve always done it.” At the same time, we have a crucial responsibility to make visible that art is work — work created by artists who need time, space, and funding. This can never be negotiated away. No art without artists!

My interest began as an audience member — the fascination and the feeling in the theatre. It was the seriousness that captivated me when I was young. Today, I see a great deal of performing arts, especially dance, and I continue to be fascinated, though of course I sometimes find it dull or even bad. But rarely uninteresting. How is it for you? How do you absorb impressions from other artists in your work as a dancer? Has your view of dance changed over the years? Can you take something with you into your own work? Might it be a movement, a gesture, or something entirely different? Can a dancer sample? That was many questions in a row, but my main question is this: watching performing arts inspires me in my work and is also a necessity for understanding our field and making informed decisions. What does it mean to you?

Warm regards,
Mia

Read Harrison’s letter to Mia.

Read Eleanor’s reply to Mia.

Lilian Steiner talks about Exposure and what it’s like to perform.

Choreographer Renan Martins talks about his work with Guerrilla for Cullberg.

This interview was recorded during Ligia Lewis’ work with Some Thing Folk for Cullberg. The video is in english.

Every month someone, often from the company, writes a letter to another person who then picks up the pen and writes to someone else. The letters are often personal and reflect on dance, the wonders and challenges of dance and what it’s like to perform it.

The letter below is written by dancer Harrison Elliot to Mia Larsson, Head of the Dance Department at Riksteatern.

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Dear Mia,

I’m writing this letter to you from Malmö where we are about to perform at Inkonst with Halla Ólafsdóttir’s work – Sylph. Touring this work to Geneva, and now Malmö, has made me remember an enjoyable aspect of touring – flexibility. But rather than this being a measurement of how far your leg might go somewhere, it has more to do with the adaptability needed to take a work into different venues. To give you an example, the audience’s seats fold forward. So what? To most other works this would be inconsequential, but when you’ve previously used solid (i.e. not folding) seats to gracefully clamber over an audience while rippling and heavy-breathing the rhythm of a Celine Dion song, it means you have to reconsider your techniques for climbing through that crowd without breaking a chair, an audience member or yourself…

Now this is a very particular example, but it none-the-less requires time and consideration. Just as plotting the serpentine track to return side-stage after passing through the audience, foyer and backstage tunnels. Just as recalibrating the performative intensity for an audience a few feet away or a few meters away. It requires flexibility.

To borrow a word from the context of Sylph, you could say it’s a form of shapeshifting – an act that permits many forms without sacrificing the integrity of the core. Perhaps that’s a nice segue to address one of Joel’s questions regarding my thought on the relationship between ‘dancer’ and ‘choreographer’.

Just like taking established works on tour to different venues, flexibility is needed as a base for the relationship between someone taking artistic lead of a process and those who contribute to the creation. Flexibility can take many forms, too many to name here, but I can say for certain that flexibility doesn’t come from holding on to something too tightly, but rather from a respect for and trust in the people and the space to achieve something. I think the body’s fascial system is a good analogy for this; if the fascia is too tight it mars the movement and function of the body (the work / the performance / the process) – stunting the possibilities of ‘shapeshifting’. But when the body is available to support the structure then obstacles become moments that can enhance or illuminate aspects of an event’s function. Maybe I’m getting lost in my analogy here, but what I’m getting at is that trust and collaboration between parties – be that the space & the performance or the choreographer & the dancers – can allow an openness where a creative vision is able to flourish, even in unexpected ways.

This also makes me reflect on how openness and flexibility are values that I try to bring with me for each new creation period. The start of a new process is a beautifully energetic period. It’s the moment where the choreographer and artistic team begin forging a creative alchemy with the materials they possess. In a way, it’s like making a clay sculpture in the dark. The more you work the clearer the form and details become, and often, when the light is turned on, the result is something different to how you initially predicted. Personally, I trust that when all parties can give space for trying and not knowing, can run with unexpected results, and can soften hard expectations, the process will yield what is needed for the vision and there can be greater depth for what is present and willing.

Maybe this all sounds a little too esoteric. Perhaps this appears blatantly obvious. But Mia, I work so much with analogies and in writing this to you I can’t help myself. How do you encorporate flexibility in your role as Head of the Dance Department at Riksteatern? How do you negotiate the needs and desires of many different people and artists to create a vision?

I wish you the best and look forward to reading your reply.

/Harrison

Read Mia’s reply