WHAT I SAW AND WHAT I THOUGHT
Gli Anni from Marco D’Agostin
15-10-22In the stairway of Arena del Sole, Bologna, I am shoulder to shoulder with people shining with anticipation; many know each other, and if they don’t, they talk anyway. In my time in this city I have learned about the more overt qualities that unite the folk living here. But I have also come to appreciate the more subtle shared histories; the small-city knowledge that you’re never too far from someone you know; that drinks, dinner, theatre can happen at any hour, whether that be 18:00 or 23:00; that you can arrive 15 minutes late safe in the knowledge every show begins 30 minutes late. Each layer contributing to a new level of intimacy within the cultural scene. We are all here to watch Gli Anni, a new dance work that asks to be digested like a novel, written (choreographed) by Marco D’Agostin in close collaboration with Marta Ciappina, our solo performer. It is sold out, and lucky punters without tickets are huddled on the floor on cushions- a welcome addition to a space that will soon be filled with several more acts of intimacy and warmth.
When I enter the black box studio theatre, Marta is already on stage- no attention paid to the audience (yet), no forced suggestion that we should already be watching. She is deep in thought, performing a puzzle through her technically rich body. The curious repetition of loosely tossed limbs and dives to the floor creates a scenario familiar to me as a dance artist - she is constructing a phrase of movement before our eyes. I am already captivated by the idea that we have been invited to bear witness to a process that can be so personal and frustrating. Occasionally she approaches, reads, and briefly scribbles in a book. Later I read that this was a vulnerable and genuine attempt to ‘translate a page of a private diary into a dance sequence’.
The rest of the crowd are advised to quiet down and take notice upon the arrival of an old Italian pop song. The room fills with chuckles, nudges, smiles, and whispers (I imagine) about the memories that this tune evokes. Partially due to Marta’s inviting presence as she stands at the front of the stage, and partially a shared adoration for Italo-Pop, the audience are already on the edge of their seats, readily available to ‘breathe together, in a collective journey back to that point of life that has marked a before and after in all of us’. Marta marches off stage and D’Agostin’s intended pilgrimage through nostalgia begins. I strap in.
She returns to the stage with a childish trot, backpack on and straps tightly gripped. “Sono andato al mercato e ho comprato 1 limone, 2 limoni, 3 limoni…”. Despite my non-Italian heritage, I recognise the formula of the speech to be one of childhood games; tongue twisters and accumulative memory tests. Marta’s delivery of speech throughout the performance is understated, she has no need for theatrics when she speaks volumes through her body.
The counting continues.
46 limoni, 47 limoni, 48 limoni…
The symbiotic relationship between the by and for (Marco and Marta) is quickly established within the first 10 minutes of the performance. When Marta moves, she commands the narrative- it is hers- and you feel that D’Agostin is honest when he says he ‘would never dare to venture into such territory if [he] did not know that this work can be done with and for Marta’. Sporadically emerging from speech into dance, her serene face accompanies gestures, unusual broken lines, and jovial skips. The transitions between meditative pauses and frantic swipes through the air are seamless. At times, I could feel like these moments have been randomly integrated without thought, but I am always left with a sense of compositional relief and gratitude which assures me of D’Agostin’s choreographic capabilities.
160 limoni, 161 limoni, 162 limoni…
A vintage phone, a kitschy dog statue, small pebbles or sweets, are meticulously distributed across the stage, a breadcrumb trail to a house made of mismatched memories that we, audience and Marta, construct together. These items are purposeful for their indistinct universality- they unite us all in evoking biographical experiences. We become the ‘we’ that is implicated as the main narrator in Annie Ernaux’s novel of the same name - Les Années. Fixated on the simple, pedestrian motions performed, we tumble through D'Agostin's exploration of Marta’s history, as well as our own, latching onto these items labelled by evidence markers for clues of where in time we might be.
288 limoni, 289 limoni, 290 limoni…
At some points, I get lost in the journey; this is a work that provides moments of respite for self-reflection, and lulls you back in with the addition of a song or a controlled slip into dancing. Marta breezes in and out of a character that transcends age; sometimes childlike in fragility, backpacked and ear muffed; in other moments a passive wanderer in their older years; sometimes just Marta. Our jumbled sense of time is taken on one last trip as she begins to count backwards and packs up the relics on display - the performance is now a film on rewind, we remembering remembering.
116 limoni, 115 limoni, 114 limoni…
To the joy of the audience, Marta pulls a love letter from seemingly nowhere and begins to read in her soothing monotonous tone. A tale of unrequited love, or maybe true love, love lost, love that got away. It is humorous and heart wrenching. It stirs a plethora of reactions from the crowd.
…3 limoni, 2 limoni, 1 limone.
Asking “Dedicate a song to me”, Marta opens up a dialogue with D’Agostin, who I am unable to see but feel is perhaps at the back of the auditorium. Thus begins the epilogue of this novel; a triumphant celebration of Marta’s intense ability to use her improvisational range to weave narratives out of whichever song is played next, and next, and next (she shouts over to D’Agostin when wants the song skipped). It is a humorous finale, we laugh along with Marta when the cheesy Italo-pop returns time after time. She turns, skips, struts and pauses. Finally she rests in front of a projection of a home video- a younger Marta fumbling her way through the tongue twister, 1 limoni, 2 limone, 3 limone at a time…
With my sense of time handed back to me, I leave the theatre. I wonder where everyone else was taken, how everyone else now feels, and when I’ll see them all again.
___________________
by Marco D’Agostin
with Marta Ciappina
sound LSKA
lights Paolo Tizianel
conversations Lisa Ferlazzo Natoli, Paolo Ruffini, Claudio Cirri
costume Lucia Gallone
set elements construction Piccolo Teatro di Milano- Teatro d’Europa
promotion, care Damien Modolo
organization Eleonora Cavallo
administration Federica Giuliano
production VAN
coproduction Centro Nazionale di Produzione della Danza Virgilio Sieni e Fondazione CR Firenze, Piccolo Teatro di Milano – Teatro d’Europa, Emilia Romagna Teatro ERT / Teatro Nazionale, Festival Aperto – Fondazione I Teatri, Tanzhaus nrw Düsseldorf, Snaporazverein
supported by L’arboreto – Teatro Dimora, La Corte Ospitale Centro di Residenza Emilia-Romagna, CSC/OperaEstate Festival Veneto
with the support ofIstituto Italiano di Cultura di Colonia/MiC-Direzione Generale Spettacolo e Tanzhaus nrw Düsseldorf, nell’ambito di NID international residencies programme.
Gli Anni was presented as part of Vie Festival in Bologna at Teatro Arena del Sole on th 14th and 15th October 2022
It continues it tour to the following locations:
November 5th / 6th, Open Festival, Reggio Emilia (IT)
2023
February 14th, LAC, Lugano (CH)
March 14th / 15th / 16th, Pole-Sud, Strasbourg (FR)
Read more about Marco D’Agostin’s work here ︎︎︎