Out of two dozen possible meanings for the word ‘cell’, the first that came to my mind while attending Cellule was the biological one. Just like a stem cell turns into a more specialised one through cellular differentiation, dancer-choreographer Anne-Marie Van (aka Nach) unfolds the pathway to finding her own artistic identity in a solo that becomes a rite of passage and a manifesto.
When she created this first solo piece in 2017, Nach was at a crossroads between the krump community that had shaped her as a dancer and the desire to do things her way. Here on the pitch-black stage, she brightly deploys witty sharp shades of a performing style she made her own.
If krumping is at the core of her every move, Nach excels at breaking its codes with paradoxes. First she sets a textbook street-dance opening scene, with blurry black and white photographs of crowds flashing up on staggered panels, and sounds of busy city streets, rap music and loud cheering. But it’s not until after it’s all blacked out that she appears onstage, alone and dancing to the sound of her breath. From her feet hammering on the ground to her fast-paced arm slams ending with abrupt stops, her whole body is moved by shushes, hums, exhalations and gasps.
When silence is broken by electro music, she crosses the stage with the flashlight of her (cell)phone, making faces and playing with her shadow. But as she dives into the iconic krump style she also cuts it loose to find her own self in it. Whether Nach lays herself bareskin on the floor, smoothly arching her back and smiling faintly, or stands in a rectangle of crimson red neon light while her voice over whispers burning words on life, her Cellule resounds like a cry of empowerment. Deep-rooted and intense, her embodied quest is captivating. Eventually standing in the neon light, on her own two feet, she’s slightly breathless and so are we.
