An interesting turn happened today. I went to meet my supervisor, Dr Tetriana, expecting to show her my costume and perhaps also do an experimental performance. But the meeting developed in a completely different direction, and I think this was much more important.
I was able to explain the structure of my thesis much more clearly and work through several things that had remained uncertain for me, especially the ideas of the living archive and Bodies in Deep Time. But the most important realisation was about my own practice and the way I enter sacred spaces.
I realised that, at this stage of my research, I should not simply organise performances with masks and art objects in temples or other sacred places. I have been thinking of these works as poetic rituals, but today I understood that bringing such objects and performances into a sacred environment requires much more preparation, listening and dialogue.
There needs to be a relationship between me as an artist and the people who are responsible for the place and its sacredness. I cannot simply arrive with my objects and intervene in the pulse of a sacred space. Even if my intention is poetic and respectful, the act itself can become an intrusion.
This made me think differently about the veil dance. The veil is much more flexible. It does not carry the same objecthood or symbolic weight as a mask or a constructed ritual object. The movement can be much quieter — almost like breath, air or a small movement of wind. It can touch the atmosphere of the temple without trying to occupy it.
What does it mean for an artist to enter a religious space? When does an artistic action become an intrusion? What kinds of movement or presence can be accepted, and what kinds require permission, preparation or dialogue?
This has also clarified another part of my methodology. At this stage of my PhD, I do not think I will interview other artists or make interviews with other creative practitioners a central part of the dissertation. Initially, I imagined that collaboration and becoming part of an artistic community would be an important way of developing my research. I now understand that this is not necessary for the direction my practice is taking.
Another important realisation concerns the cyclical nature of my method. I am beginning to understand that the repetition and rhythm within my practice come from seasonality and from the pulse of nature. My method is not linear. It moves through cycles, repetitions, returns and changes. The seasons, the body, movement, materials and places all have their own rhythms.
Perhaps this is one of the roots of my methodology: pulse, seasonality and repetition.
And this brings me back to the larger philosophical question: What is my philosophy? Who am I as an artist-researcher when I enter a sacred place?
I think I am beginning to understand that I do not enter sacred spaces in order to reproduce a ritual or to claim knowledge of someone else’s religious practice.
Sacred places interest me because they are living sites where cultural memory is already being performed. They contain embodied knowledge through movement, objects, architecture, sound, gesture, repetition and collective practice.
My performance therefore needs to become an encounter with an existing cultural environment, rather than an attempt to reproduce or appropriate a ritual.
I am not attempting to reproduce, imitate or appropriate the religious ritual of the temple. I am developing an artistic response to the embodied, material and spatial qualities of the site.
I also do not need to make a metaphysical claim about whether a place is objectively sacred. What interests me is how people experience, maintain and transmit the sacredness of a place through embodied practices.
This gives me a clearer philosophical position:
I approach place as relational rather than neutral.
I approach the body as a site of knowledge rather than simply as a performing body.
I approach folklore as lived and transmitted rather than simply collected or represented.
I approach performance as a mode of inquiry rather than representation.
I approach sacred spaces through listening, permission and situated encounter rather than appropriation.
Perhaps the most important principle emerging from today’s conversation is:
Listening before performing.
This changes the way I understand my practice. The question is no longer simply “What can I perform in this place?” It becomes:
“How can I listen to this place before deciding whether I should perform at all?”
And this connects directly to my larger research on embodied folklore. I am not simply representing cultural memory through performance. I am investigating how cultural memory is encountered, negotiated and transmitted through bodies, materials, rhythms and places.
The sacred place is therefore not my stage.
It is a living environment that I first need to listen to.