Having read about Tino Sehgal’s upcoming project at Blenheim Palace in the Financial Times “Life and Arts”, I was filled with anticipation as to what I was going to encounter, without many preconceived ideas. When I asked the first guide I saw, where we could see the Tino Sehgal performances, she looked at me blankly, and answered she didn’t know who I was talking about. Initially, I thought it was a case of poor communication between the Palace and Art Foundation, but in retrospect perhaps it can be seen as part and parcel of the total performance experience.
We encountered Sehgal’s first intervention by the café and gift shop, a military-like assembly singing in a cappella. I, unfortunately, missed most of the performance, with the singers disappearing just as they had appeared, as if out of thin air, when I came out of the toilet. The intervention continued in the main grand courtyard, where 8-10 performers were lined up on each side of the entrance chanting in some melodious, some jarring tones. Their formation on either side of the cobbled pavings was in harmony with the columns of the colonnade behind them, and two female sopranos appeared in the centre singing at a very high pitch while walking towards each other. As we entered the palace, their voices carried through and found a continuum with the solitary seated figure on the checkered floor of the great hall. She sang facing away from our attention, as we walked around the hall we could see her from many angles. Her voice further carried through to the ceramics room, and then as we walked through the apartments, I almost forgot Sehgal’s presence. Although, I found myself anticipating his next move and I was not to be disappointed, the singer from the great hall moved to the library, where she sat at the organ, twiddling with the knobs of the organ and opened the windows facing the formal garden, looking out for a sign. My mum asked her what she’s waiting for, she answered she’s waiting to coordinate with the dancers who should arrive in the fountain in 5 minutes. I remember feeling my mum shouldn’t have interacted with the performer, feeling an aura around her as an ‘artwork’, but I now realise Sehgal’s performances invite such interaction and I need to unlearn my own formality. Feeling continued anticipation, we awaited the dancers to arrive in the fountain from the window. Four figures emerged and walked around the maze like ‘knotted’ garden to stand on one of the edges of the four external fountain pools, waiting for a certain point in the organ music that streamed loudly through the library. The four dancers then waded into the foundation and moved slowly, coordinating with the repetitive organ music. I was mesmerised watching the dancers replace the movement of the water, which had been turned off to accommodate them.
Thinking I had completed the performance journey, I went to see the Ai Wei Wei sculpture in the grounds, and then I heard the sound of more singing. Following the voice, I ventured into the Secret Garden, where as I tried to move closer to the melodious sounds. I found a solitary figure in the centre of the garden, walking around performing chords and popular songs a cappella. According to a review in the Guardian, she would have ended her performance by vocalising the title of the work.
I still don’t know how to articulate how Tino Sehgal’s performance made me feel. I know that I enjoyed it and that it was a good performance. The interventions and encounters subverted expectations, with no signs or verbal/written introductions, you happened upon each performance without warning. Visitors who had wanted to have a nice day-out at an English Palace, had their aural and visual experience interrupted, and I saw some people even holding their fingers in their ears so as not to be disturbed. Nonetheless, we could choose to stop, listen and watch, there was no obligation to interact; still the sounds carried through the palace and grounds, and, whether people liked it or not, Sehgal made his presence felt. Working with regular performers as well as local volunteers, all were dressed in plain clothes which meant that I never knew who was a participant and that only added to my enjoyment. The only clarity we were given was by the tour guide at the entrance, who asked if we had noticed the performance art by Tino Sehgal, “a German, British born artist, of Indian descent.” The way she introduced him with those labels may bear unpacking further, but it was really another aspect of possibly intentional, possibly unintentional ‘disconnected’ communication that added to the elusive character of the piece.
Mala Yamey 