In a studio on the second floor of a fairytale building, we curl up on a stack of mats for the triple bill Foresigns; a mystical title on its own. The first performance, A Visit, sets the atmosphere with the orange colour of a comforting sunset. Violin sounds emerge from underneath a quilt-covered table. Two feet in golden heels stick out, then two legs, then the full body of choreographer Nitsan Margaliot. His eyes are closed; we, and the world, don’t seem to exist for him. His arms move slightly distortedly as he is joined by musician Mari Sawada, a surprisingly good mover. She gets up unsteadily on her heels, like Bambi trying to walk for the first time. The bodies coexist, expanded by the shadows on the wall. I sink in the gentle softness of the work.
En Moon is a solo made for Scott Jennings in 2013. He is a beautiful mover, throwing his arms around himself, cramping his body into agony, covering his face in despair, lying down in acceptance. As the imagery accumulates I understand the actions less. What motives are hidden behind the well executed movements, what foresigns did I miss? And why restage this work in 2022?
In the last performance, Returning, Nitsan brings a very realistic silicone torso to the stage, like a poncho with the sides open. Tenderly, he spreads it on the ground. The back first, then the shoulders with a hole for the neck, the upper front torso, and an intact penis. A lifeless replica of himself. As a silent witness, it lies there while Nitsan returns to his living body, grabbing his legs, exploring his face and arms as if to confirm his own existence. A self-investigation pushed by the intensified sounds of cellist Boram Lie that seem to spiral out of control.
The two duets reference one another and exist in their own world, where tenderness meets a touch of loneliness. The question of relevance, though, leaves a lingering trace.