I am the guest. You are the host. Dance is the ghost.

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I am the guest. 

You are the host.

Dance is the ghost.

Created by Sanghoon Lee.

Dates   Wednesday 1 March 2023

            Thursday 2 March 2023

            Friday 3 March 2023

            Saturday 4 March 2023          

Place    Studio 4, KHiO, Oslo

Notes by Nina Kunzendorf

Image description: This pixellated image shows a dancer with long brown hair wearing a grey sweatshirt, dark jeans, and white sneakers. They are lying face-down on a cream-coloured linoleum floor, turned away from the camera. Their left cheek and chest are touching the floor, while the lower part of their body is raised. Their right leg is bent and extended in mid-air, with the right foot resting on the top of a small desk. Meanwhile, the dancer’s left leg, also bent, is firmly placed on the ground while their left foot is propped against the lower part of the table. 

1. It is determined by ‘in relation’

A dancer dressed in black track pants and a beige long-sleeved shirt lies on her back on a white linoleum floor. She moves in short, expressive bursts with her arms and legs extended mid-air. On the other end of the stage, a performer plays a bright blend of dissonant harmonies on a grand piano, while a third performer scribbles notes on sheets of paper spread out on two large tables upstage. As audience members slowly fill the performance space, someone whispers, ‘Look, it’s already begun!’ Meanwhile, coats and bags are being dropped on rows of chairs that have been neatly arranged on stage. The close spatial proximity of spectators and dancers creates the potential for an intimate encounter. Suddenly, the dancer sitting at the table stops writing, rearranges the scattered papers, and rushes towards the audience. She faces their expectant looks with defiance. There is something compelling in the way the performer’s gaze rubs up against the anticipation of her onlookers. Who is watching whom?

2. While they hesitate, time slips away

The people gathering in Stage 4 of Oslo’s Academy of the Arts have come to witness the final presentation of Sanghoon Lee’s master project in choreography, titled I am the guest. You are the host. Dance is the ghost (IYD). Born in Seoul, Lee is an Oslo-based performance artist and choreographer. His highly research-led practice explores various ways of penetrating the virtual boundaries between the choreographer, the world of the performance, and the audience. In line with Deleuze’s thoughts in Cinema II, Lee’s dance work is best described as ‘no longer simply movement of world, but passage from one world to another, entry into another world, breaking in and exploring’ (63). IYD was born out of Lee’s desire not just to present a polished end product but also the process of creating in community with others. As a result, Lee brought his ‘office’—the intimate space where ideas are born—into the performing area, complete with a desk, bookshelf, computer, printer, and houseplants. This set-up remained in its original state during the final presentation. Over the course of four weeks, Lee collaborated with a group of dancers and guest artists in Stage 4 to develop a unique choreographic framework that incorporated the various phases of dance-making, from gathering material in the ‘office’ to developing it into movement and creating a dance sequence on stage. This technique led to four entirely distinct performances. Lee (guest) would start each performance by providing the dancers (hosts) with different prompts, such as a feeling or a phrase. These prompts would then be transformed into improvised movements, resulting in the creation of the ghost—an unpredictable, ephemeral, and shape-shifting dance.

3. What holds us together here?

The dancers move at a fluctuating pace—sometimes faster, faster, and then slower, slower, slower—all while returning to the upstage table throughout the performance. This workstation seems to be the centre of the unfolding spectacle. Lee’s idea of revealing the process of creating dance to the audience becomes even more authentic by his decision to have a live ‘notator’ on stage. This is how I became involved with IYD. As each performer transforms Lee’s prompts into movement, I sit with my back to the audience at a small wooden desk downstage. My task is to capture the ghost using words, graphic symbols, and drawings. Dance notation is a system in dance that some choreographers and performers employ to depict movement through symbols. Unlike in music, dance has no standard notation method, resulting in numerous approaches such as pictorial representation, path mapping, numerical systems, and letter and word notations. By turning the dancing bodies into code, I am both an active participant in the performance and a passive observer in the audience. As such, the notator’s role embodies the sensual encounter between the spectators and the dancers: those who watch and those who are being watched.

The following are excerpts of my thoughts and reactions to each performance, presented in different notation styles. All notations were conceived as a continuous flow and kept in their original raw state with only minimal formatting.

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Image description: A young man wearing a khaki-coloured checked shirt and a white hair clip faces away from the camera. He is looking at a computer screen on a desk that is excessively covered with notes. To his right, there is a printer, and to his left, a small metal bookshelf with books. Behind the computer, there is a small potted palm tree.

PERFORMANCE I

Wednesday 1 March 2023

Dancers:

Marlene

Nicolaj

Jesper

Katja

Mila

Fie

Warm-up phase:

The harsh sound of a rattling printer,

spitting out

one sheet of paper

after the next.

A room of white. A non-room.

Bodies in space. Bodies taking up space. Bodies shaping space.

Xxxxssssss (takes a breath in) xxxxxxsssss (takes a breath in) xxxxs xxxxssssss xxxssssssssssssss (takes a breath in).

Full stop.

Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve,

feet up in the air.

5, ten, 15, twenty, 25, thirty, 35, forty, 45, fifty, 55, sixty

fingers.

Pre Sang-phase:

A cluster of people up-stage-left.

Observing. Waiting.

Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. Pppppow.

The air is both filled with calmness and nervousness.

‘Is there time to pee?’, someone says before rushing out.

‘How are you?’, I ask.

A Danish pop song comes on.

Trigger points.

A grand piano and a ukulele in waiting.

(The sound of rubber sneakers on linoleum floor.)

‘Bum alert’ (hahaha). ‘It’s the kids’ fault!’

Whose fault?

It’s 5:46 PM, the audience is about to enter, filling the space with their sounds, bodies, and words. Their eyes watching, gazing, looking, voyeur-ing.

‘Catch me!’

Breathing exercise.

Clap, clap, clap, clap.

Warm hands on cold limbs.

I hear laughter seeping in from outside.

What sound does a tiger make?—‘Grrrroowwwlllll!’

Sang-phase:

(The sound of a camera shutter opening and closing.) Quiet anticipation. It is about to begin. What is about to begin? Has it already begun? Watching and being watched. Predators and their prey. The piano has hiccups. Movement is growing out of dead bodies like leaves on a gnarly tree. She is making contact with the table and is wrapping her arms around its cold steel legs. An exhausted voice: ‘tigasixsixsixsixsi, tigasixsixsixsixsix, tigasixsixsixsixsix’. A transition takes place. Someone is sneezing, embarrassed, quietly. (The sound of a coat hanger on a clothing rack.) The table with the scattered notes and water bottles becomes the performance’s centrepiece, infusing it with life. A centre. A home. (The sound of bare feet on linoleum floor.) There is a sudden lightness. White on white. The gentle resonance of strings. Words become movement, interrupted by light laughter. There is a playfulness amongst the darkness of their souls. A chair is being moved. A person slumps onto it and tunes the ukulele. Another body reacts. Small, quick movements of feet along the back wall. The couch begins to spin like the hand of a clock racing ahead in time. A body melts into the black leather. Another one joins. Four bodies are now entangled, melting together. It stops. ‘La, la, la, daidadaiidaiidaii, mmmh, mmmh, dai dai dai’. Quietness again. Another transition. He takes a seat at the piano. Another hiccup, then a slower, sadder melody begins to fill the space. Another hiccup. (The sound of bells strapped to an ankle.) Movement is tied together with sound. The piano reacts. Bells and piano are competing for dominance in the soundscape. A conversation of noise erupts. The playfulness returns. Someone is starting to sing. A song is woven. In transition again. Who determines the dance? When does a movement begin, and when does it end? A sound in the audience. The dancers return ‘home’ and sit around the table, staring into space or at their white sheets of paper. What will happen next? Another cough in the audience. A loud ‘thud, thud, thuuuudd’ again and again. Heavy feet like rocks. Then, lightness again. A constant change of rhythm, energies, and expressions. A tongue is quickly licking the back of a hand. He must be thirsty. He stops mid-air and then licks again. He sits down and continues the licking. Desperately. Then, he takes a break before continuing to lick again. (The sound of a pen on paper, scribbling intensely.) He is raising his arms. His eyes are closed. Then, he continues to lick. Two bodies are wrestling, fighting, rolling, interlinked together. She frees herself, returning ‘home’. By now, the licking has stopped. I didn’t notice when or how. Her face is turning red. She continues to move and is becoming one with the floor. Suddenly, the timer is beeping: ‘beep, beep, beep’. This is the end. ‘There will be drinks and snacks. Thank you for coming.’ The audience is getting up. Coats are put on again, and bags are lifted. The stage stops being a stage. It is 6:49 PM—I close my laptop.

PERFORMANCE II

Thursday 2 March 2023

Dancers:

Marlene

Nicolaj

Jesper

Katja

Mila

Fie

 Image description: These drawings have been made with a thick black felt pen, featuring dotted patterns that form a path across the page with varying density.

Image description: A dancer wearing a bright pink hooded jumper and an orange scarf is seated at a grand piano in a black box theatre, with a row of empty chairs visible in the background.

PERFORMANCE III

Friday 3 March 2023 [morning]

Dancers:

Marlene

Nicolaj

Jesper

Mila

Fie

TIME:

Fractured

Slow

Timed by music

Sharp

Overlapping

Smooth

On/off

Defined by sounds

Changing

Limited

‘We have a lot of time together’

Tangible

Passing

Running out

Resting

Moving/not moving

Limited

Empty

Liquid

Finished

PRESENCE:

Present yet separate, they are walking together, touching briefly, then departing. Three bodies. Five bodies in different (head)spaces. Two bodies are watching each other across the space. They are competing. They form a duet. Responding. Hugging. As they come together, they melt into a single organism, forming a creature. A touch of the foot. The touch of hands.

REPETITION:

Clapping

Swinging

Voice

Hands stroking neck

Clap, clap, clap,

clap, clap, clap, clap,

clap

Walking in unison

Clap

Table

Circles

‘Would you know

my name if I saw

you in heaven? I

must be strong and carry on, cause I know I don’t belong

in heaven.’

Screaming baby

The return of music

The sound of bells

Rolling

Making contact

A change of music

Screaming baby

MOVEMENT (a diagram):

Dash dash dash dash dash dash dash dash

Line line line

Dot dot

X

And… stop.

Circling

Down! Bells (ring)

Square, square

Circling

Right (and curve)

Left (and curve)

TOGETHERNESS:

1

000

1

1

00

00

00

1

00

1

00

1

1

000

0000

00

Breaking up

00

1

00

00

00

1

Alone

1

1

1

1

1

00

PERFORMANCE IV

Friday 3 March 2023 [evening]

Dancers:

Marlene

Nicolaj

Jesper

Mila

Fie

EYE:

My eyes run over the score hastily.

I glance at the audience and observe their quiet faces. No one is laughing today.

I see the white lino floor below my feet; I notice its tiny cuts and black stains.

I close my eyes. The stage light seeps through my eyelids, creating an orange blur. The audience is a mere shadow.

I’m looking at them across the table.

His fingers move quickly across the keyboard.

We are briefly making contact. She places her hand on my shoulder blade.

I am staring into the fly tower with its bright lights shining down on me.

I focus on something offstage and walk towards it.

PHYSICAL BODY:

I pick up the pen and slowly draw a series of lines from top to bottom. I rise from the chair and step away.

My right-hand touches the cold surface of the piano. My body is tense. I can feel my muscles moving and trembling. Soon, a comforting warmth is slowly starting to spread through my body.

I am running up and down the stage, endlessly, tirelessly, restlessly.

Our hands touch. His hand is warmer than mine, sweaty and slippery.

Breathless.

My spine touches the hard back wall.

My hand is separate from the rest of my body. It takes the lead, determined. I run after it, trying to catch up with its pace.

Breathing in. Breathing out. Breathing in. Breathing out.

INTELLECTUAL BODY:

This is the sound of my pen touching the paper.

My mind is empty. There is only movement and breathing—breathing and movement.

Where in the space am I? I cannot see. There is only touch. I can feel the air sifting through my fingers. There is a sound. I open my eyes. Brightness.

This surface is softer than I thought.

Ouch.

I let the music guide my movements.

How long have I done this sequence? Time is liquid.

I still don’t notice the light changes.

Its ruffled fabric is scratching my skin.

PERFORMANCE V

Saturday 4 March 2023

Dancers:

Marlene

Nicolaj

Jesper

Mila

Fie                                                                                    

2:00 PM

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten-seat-belt sign. We remind you that this is a non-smoking flight. Smoking is prohibited on the entire aircraft, including the lavatories.’

What holds us together here?

                                    ...or

there?

Take off.

Image description: An aerial photograph taken from a plane showing a snowy, ice-blue landscape broken up by meandering rivers that flow into the open sea.

Works Cited

Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema II: The Time–Image. The Athlone Press, 1989.