Critics in Residence @Kyoto Experiment 2024 / Santa Remere

The Delegation of the European Union to Japan has held “Critics in Residence @Kyoto Experiment 2024” to explore the possibilities of criticism in culture and the arts during the international performing arts festival Kyoto Experiment 2024 (held 5-27 October). This initiative is organised by the Delegation of the European Union to Japan, operated by the Goethe-Institut Tokyo, and supported by Kyoto Experiment and the Saison Foundation.

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A Love Letter from the Other Side of the Continent

There is a chapter in the Gothic novel The Dead by Christian Kracht, where, on the eve of World War II, the fictional film director Emil Nägeli travels to Japan to make a modernist movie. After a long journey from Europe, when Nägeli finally boards the train in Japan, he senses that his Japanese companion is anxiously awaiting the thread of the conversation. However, the only sound in the character’s head is the filler sound “tō”—like a sound from a tuning fork that should prelude the conversation. Yet nothing follows. Reflecting inward, Nägeli perceives only the lingering aftertaste of fish, soy, and wasabi from his previous meal. While the interpretation of the empty sound of “tō” speaks volumes against the backdrop of significant historical events, it also highlights the differing attitudes of Western and Eastern cultures toward empty space, which tends to play a more active role in the East than in the West.

The keyword of the international performing arts festival Kyoto Experiment 2024 is “ētto ētto”, meaning “um” or “er” in English, “öh” in Swedish, or “ēēē” in Latvian. The sound that the body makes when it doesn’t know, but it is processing. “ētto” is a sound of not jumping forward with the right answer, it is a sound “for the language to come”*, a sound of something shifting in your mind and finding its place. It is a sound of discomfort, of doubt, of questioning, or even of skepticism. A sound that can send out a signal—I feel we have something in common; I just don’t yet know what it is. A sound of certain openness to other and to the unknown. A sound that proves bodies function as sensitive matrices, understanding before the brain can articulate, as bodies are always the first to be exposed to new conditions, the first to be affected, and the first to react. And I cannot think of a better keyword for an international performing arts festival.

Arriving in Kyoto, I immediately begin to notice the festival’s posters and banners throughout the city. The image of a quirky scribble or a dismantled yarn ball adorns popular venues, metro stations, and even the majestic façade of Kyoto Art Center. At some point, it seems as prominent in the city as the ads for the Gucci Cosmos handbag exhibition, another popular event taking place at the time in Kyoto. However, the scribble changes from place to place and from programme to programme, tactfully indicating that no two experiences in the theatre are ever alike. What I admire most about Kyoto Experiment is its trust in the viewer’s ability to find their own answers. I see this intentional lack of explanation as a gesture of remarkable artistic courage in a world where everything must be converted into measurable benefits, ticket sales, or lessons learned.

It was a great privilege, provided by the Critics-in-Residence Programme, to spend nearly an entire month closely following the thought process of the festival’s curatorial team. And only now, a month later, as I sit comfortably in my apartment on the other side of the continent, do some realizations begin to surface. It is impossible to encapsulate my impressions of dozens of festival events in a single article. Instead, I will share some of my personal “ētto” moments—those that preceded my thoughts and created space within me for the words to emerge:

– That moment when we, the audience of Stand by Me by Shinichi Anasako and Pijin Neji, are separated from the stage by a silver ribbon, yet the door at the back of the stage remains wide open. Through the open door, we see the lobby beyond: a stand of brochures, the venue box office, and the glass door that occasionally opens for latecomers joining us. Through the glass, we glimpse the street, where traffic flows steadily—it’s early afternoon, and people go about their usual routines. Meanwhile, we sit here, watching life from the sidelines, as the waki moves around like a Roomba;

– That moment when, through the language of dance, the feeling of a destroyed world is evoked, intensified, and endlessly amplified in Lynch (a play) by Yasuko Yokoshi; it feels like a prolonged fall into a chasm with jagged edges, where you are constantly wounded by your own relentless desire to impose meaning and order where none exists;

– That moment when, after watching Lynch (a play), you feel as though you’ll never be able to watch theater again—yet you find yourself attending Haribo Kimchi by Jaha Koo;

– That moment when the cashier at Brussels Midi station orders Jaha to shut his “garlicky mouth,” and he complies—it reminds me of my own experience studying abroad, during a time when it was commonplace to call an Eastern European a “bitch”;

– That moment when a loudly singing Siko Setyanto rides his scooter into the audience during Ocean Cage by Tianzhuo Chen, forcing us to scatter in all directions as he chases us like waves. We no longer know where the stage begins or ends, where the center lies, or where the edges are—nor can we predict where the endgame will lead us;

– That moment when Nanako Matsumoto and Anchi Lin, in Sticky Hands, Stitched Mountains, molding mountains out of papier-mâché made from unwritten stories In their voices, I hear: My movement, my experience, my existence as a woman matters in this world of words written by men.

– That moment when I encounter new words related to the performing arts in Future Dictionary by Ophelia Jiadai Huang, and Nanako Matsumoto’s unique method “yokai body” becomes the key to interpreting several performances at the festival. One of the meanings I draw from it is how a dancing body transcends the limits of the everyday body, reaching into a realm that remains inaccessible in our daily life;

– The moment when what I see as 28 yokai bodies with covered faces arrive on the Rooftop Garden of Kyoto City Hall carrying tin tubs of blue water in Melati Suryodarmo’s Sweet Dreams Sweet to demonstrate the systematic destruction of memories and experiences of women’s bodies in certain or many cultures;

– Every time Melati stands up on the slippery ground in her Exergie – Butter Dance, she proves that “there is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself” (as Hannah Gadsby once said);

– The wave of tenderness when Italian dancers bring to life the almost extinct polka chinata in front of our eyes in Alessandro Sciarroni’s Save the Last Dance for Me. Seeing their effort, dedication, devotion to the art, and reverence for the dance and its intangible yet inexhaustible unifying essence, for a moment, I think that I might even reconcile myself with the 20th century—it has not succeeded in destroying humanity;

– The moment when, during the hours-long Sweet Dreams Sweet, a fine, programmed mist sprays the heated rooftop garden;

– The moment on the terrace when a large, black butterfly lands on my shoulder, having deemed this art event sufficiently engaging to make a brief stop during its flight;

– The moment before Bombyx Mori (Latin for the silkworm) by Ola Maciejewska expands its wings, and the dancer takes the time to smooth and tidy his silk skirt, which will eventually bring to life the Serpentine Dance.

*NAKAHIRA, Takuma “For the language to come” (1970)

Santa Remere
Santa Remere is the new Artistic Director of the New Theatre Institute of Latvia (NTIL) and curator of the International Contemporary Theatre Festival Homo Novus. She has a background in visual communication (Waseda University, Tama Art University in Tokyo). Since 2011, Santa has regularly published art reviews and for various Latvian and Baltic magazines, mostly with a focus on cultures of young audiences, contemporary theatre, and feminist topics. She is also one of the editors of the online culture magazine Satori in Latvia.