Brilliant Being at the Prague Quadrennial 2019

Alice Shea, Student Production Manager, Stage Manager, Primary Media Controller

Sydney Moquin as The Brilliant Being, Student Performer and Devised Work Contributor

Brilliant Being, an original multimedia performance production,created collaboratively at Plymouth State University. Elizabeth Daily (Director). Paul Mroczka (original concept writer), Alice Shea (Production Manager and Primary Media Controller), Amanda Whitworth (original choreographer), Jonathan Santore (composer), Matt Kizer (visual designer). Performed by Sydney Moquin (The Brilliant Being), Emily Jaworski (The Voice Being), and Lisa Travis (The Other). Presented June 13, 2019 in Prague at the X-10 Theatre.

All Photographs in this post are ©2019 by Richard Finkelstein.

We began our load-in at 3:30 pm for an 8:30 pm show. We had brought three projectors from the states, a CPU for the Watchout system, two laptops, an infrared camera, a microphone, a router to create our local computer network, and lots of cables and power adapters. We spent about two hours installing the equipment. This included laying the dance floor, mounting projectors, setting up the computer systems, focusing the lights, mapping the projectors, and more. We did a complete run-through of the show. The performers made some adjustments for the venue. Alice and I adapted the media to accommodate some specifics of the space.

The original production back in 2016 included a very isometric looking set with walls, a ceiling, and geometrically distorted cubes. The media was mapped onto all of this. For this production, we abandoned all physical scenery and capitalized on the cement ceiling and back wall of the venue itself. The cement was not pure white like a screen. Stains and cracks and vents were present. This provided a tactile grunge to the performance that we all agreed was fitting and supportive.

It is important in this show that the performance space be very clearly defined. Without the original set, we created a sharply masked area with a shape that mimics the venue. A hot, glowing edge defined the shape of the space precisely.

The first five minutes or so of the show happen in complete darkness. The technology of the show seems to fail, and the venue is thrown into darkness. Water begins to drip. This turns into rain and flowing water. Among steam and smoke, Sydney Moquin’s character slowly and awkwardly becomes animated.

This is a show about a world that is constantly changing. Out of the smoke and steam, a flowing stream appears. At first, it is painfully hot. As it cools down, it becomes a focus of amusement and wonder.

The sound of the voice fades, and the Brilliant Being goes on to encounter frightening and abstract environments. A glowing white ring that causes pain surrounds her until she learns to push it back and dispel it. A nebula of hot electric lines that respond to ambient noise swarm over her. Twinkling sparks that pulse with the music swarm around her as she dances to avoid them.

Fear and exhaustion build. Relief comes as the music and the light of the Voice Being returns. This time, she enters the space, as a dense forest manifests. The light of the Voice Being’s singing continues all around behind the trees.

The Voice Being is a gentle, caring, and maternal element. The scene builds to a moment of bonding and family and love; a much-needed break, after a long sequence of fear and danger. Like everything in our world, though, this moment cannot last.

The music signals the peril first. A swirling vortex appears under the ground beneath them. They are pulled by it, struggling and crying, as they are swept away. This sequence is controlled by Alice Shea.

The media does a stately crossfade into an entirely alien realm. Slowly moving blue fog is overlaid with a rigid white grid pattern. Staccato notes of a plucked string instrument accompany Lisa Travis’ entrance as The Other. She moves like a spider, with precision, with a plan. She seems to be alone in her own world, with orderly lines. She moves with the music, alone, for several minutes. Abruptly, two musical intrusions violate the scene, one after the other. The perfect grid distorts and rips, as first the Voice Being (Emily), and then the Brilliant Being (Sydney), are expelled into this realm.

Defensive and hostile, the Other reacts to these foreigners with aggression, especially Sydney as the Brilliant Being. The Voice Being reaches a limit, and shouts out a single, long, musical note that rips the grid wide open. She confronts The Other, standing in open void-space among torn grid lines, eye-to-eye across the rolled edge of this reality,

She keeps the Other at a distance as she cares for the Brilliant Being. The Other watches, maneuvering to get closer without leaving her own space.

This is interactive media. Like the swarming atoms earlier, I am controlling this as a fourth member of the dance composition. This is original code that I wrote that is creating the grid. I can expand, contract, and move the gaps in the grid to react to anything that the performers do, or in return, to prompt them in some way.

One of the most memorable music passages composed by Jonathan Santore marks this turning point. The characters make clear, deliberate choices to reach across the boundaries to each other. Like the rest of the show, the moment is abstract, but the courage demonstrated is unambiguous. They explore each other’s realities and find peace together.

This is, again, interactive media. We are performing a duet. There is a tiny blue dot that I place within reach of her. She touches it, or jumps on it, in time with the musical notes. As she makes contact, I activate the ripples. Together, the effect is compelling and beautiful. Two media operators maintain this sequence.

The other characters wake up, and join her in the water play. The musical grows, become more grand and orchestral. The space becomes waterfalls pouring into a pool or lagoon with massive waves. They all play and dance in the water for a lengthy scene. As they wind down and fall back asleep, they do not acknowledge that the water is drying up and disappearing.

The music becomes threatening. Lightning fills a red cloudy sky as everyone wakes up in a panic. A lengthy sequence begins: the three characters verses the sky. They bring tree branches together and weave them, step-by-step, into a shelter.

They fight to repair it as it is blown apart by lightning. Finally, the floor of the shelter is destroyed, and the vortex returns. The Voice Being is dragged away, screaming.

Matt Kizer during the preshow setup adjusting the projection mapping for the walls of the performance space. Photo ©2019 by Richard Finkelstein.

All Photographs in this post are ©2019 by Richard Finkelstein.

We began our load-in at 3:30 pm for an 8:30 pm show. We had brought three projectors from the states, a CPU for the Watchout system, two laptops, an infrared camera, a microphone, a router to create our local computer network, and lots of cables and power adapters. We spent about two hours installing the equipment. This included laying the dance floor, mounting projectors, setting up the computer systems, focusing the lights, mapping the projectors, and more. We did a complete run-through of the show. The performers made some adjustments for the venue, and I adapted the media to accommodate some specifics of the space.

It is important in this show that the performance space be very clearly defined. Without the original set, I created a sharply masked area with a shape the mimics the venue. A hot, glowing edge defined the shape of the space precisely.

The first five minutes or so of the show happen in complete darkness. The technology of the show seems to fail, and the venue is thrown into darkness. Water begins to drip. This turns into rain and flowing water. Among steam and smoke, Sydney Moquin’s character slowly and awkwardly becomes animated.

The sound of the voice fades, and the Brilliant Being goes on to encounter frightening and abstract environments. A glowing white ring that causes pain surrounds her until she learns to push it back and dispel it. A nebula of hot electric lines that respond to ambient noise swarm over her. Twinkling sparks that pulse with the music swarm around her as she dances to avoid them.

Fear and exhaustion build. Relief comes as the music and the light of the Voice Being returns. This time, she enters the space, as a dense forest manifests. The light of the Voice Being’s singing continues all around behind the trees.

The Voice Being is a gentle, caring, and maternal element. The scene builds to a moment of bonding and family and love; a much-needed break, after a long sequence of fear and danger. Like everything in our world, though, this moment cannot last.

The music signals the peril first. A swirling vortex appears under the ground beneath them. They are pulled by it, struggling and crying, as they are swept away.

The media does a stately crossfade into an entirely alien realm. Slowly moving blue fog is overlaid with a rigid white grid pattern. Staccato notes of a plucked string instrument accompany Lisa Travis’ entrance as The Other. She moves like a spider, with precision, with a plan. She seems to be alone in her own world, with orderly lines. She moves with the music, alone, for several minutes. Abruptly, two musical intrusions violate the scene, one after the other. The perfect grid distorts and rips, as first the Voice Being (Emily), and then the Brilliant Being (Sydney), are expelled into this realm.

Defensive and hostile, the Other reacts to these foreigners with aggression, especially Sydney as the Brilliant Being. The Voice Being reaches a limit, and shouts out a single, long, musical note that rips the grid wide open. She confronts The Other, standing in open void-space among torn grid lines, eye-to-eye across the rolled edge of this reality,

She keeps the Other at a distance as she cares for the Brilliant Being. The Other watches, maneuvering to get closer without leaving her own space.

This is interactive media. Like the swarming atoms earlier, I am controlling this as a fourth member of the dance composition. This is original code that I wrote that is creating the grid. I can expand, contract, and move the gaps in the grid to react to anything that the performers do, or in return, to prompt them in some way.

One of the most memorable music passages composed by Jonathan Santore marks this turning point. The characters make clear, deliberate choices to reach across the boundaries to each other. Like the rest of the show, the moment is abstract, but the courage demonstrated is unambiguous. They explore each other’s realities and find peace together.

This is, again, interactive media. She and I are performing a duet. There is a tiny blue dot that I place within reach of her. She touches it, or jumps on it, in time with the musical notes. As she makes contact, I activate the ripples. Together, the effect is compelling and beautiful.

The other characters wake up, and join her in the water play. The musical grows, become more grand and orchestral. The space becomes waterfalls pouring into a pool or lagoon with massive waves. They all play and dance in the water for a lengthy scene. As they wind down and fall back asleep, they do not acknowledge that the water is drying up and disappearing.

The music becomes threatening. Lightning fills a red cloudy sky as everyone wakes up in a panic. A lengthy sequence begins: the three characters verses the sky. They bring tree branches together and weave them, step-by-step, into a shelter.

They fight to repair it as it is blown apart by lightning. Finally, the floor of the shelter is destroyed, and the vortex returns. The Voice Being is dragged away, screaming.