The transnational team would often notate and consolidate thoughts using tools such as Google Jamboard.

Dance dramaturg and writer Nia Agustina glances around the room behind her, saying: “It’s hard to find something here because it’s not my home!” Nia is not in her usual spot at home in the cultural hub of Yogyakarta – she’s in Lampung, a province on the southernmost tip of Sumatra, on a performance tour with choreographer and long-time collaborator Ayu Permatasari. The remaining 11 of us, packed into our Zoom room in tiny adjacent squares, wait with bated breath. Nia finally offers up a small bowl, holding it close to the screen. It is filled to the brim with empek-empek, the classic fish and tapioca comfort food from the South Sumatra region. Everyone peers closely at it, oohing and ahhing. 

“I would like to share this with Fasyali,” Nia continues, “because of our shared culture with Malay culture. Because I think food is one of the ways in which we share culture. I remember when we were in Singapore [for the Asian Arts Media Roundtable], we went to a food court – I don’t remember the name, but I remember food being our way to connect.” Fasyali Fadzly, the recipient of this digital gift and a director and theatre critic based in Kuala Lumpur, beams with delight. 

This was a small object exercise from the first of many weekends the Critical Ecologies Working Group would spend together over the next six months. The 12 of us have embarked on a slow, nascent, and ongoing journey of collective discovery and engagement about what it means to be an arts critic in Southeast Asia. We have done this in the wake of a global pandemic, a crisis of cultural labour and precarity, the multiple failures of local governance and public health, and often the very overwhelming isolation of successive lockdowns in the dense urban spaces in which we live. Dispersed across the Southeast Asian archipelago in the cities of Kuala Lumpur, Manila, Singapore and Yogyakarta, we wanted to figure out the ways in which our practices come together, but how they also diverge from, question and influence each other. These 12 participants are: Max Yam and Sam Kee of Arts Republic (SG), Nabilah Said (SG), Corrie Tan (SG), Fasyali Fadzly (Kuala Lumpur), Pristine de Leon (Manila), Pauline Ysabel Miranda (Manila), Nia Agustina and Ahmad Jalidu of Gelaran.id (Yogyakarta), Michael H. B. Raditya (Yogyakarta), Theodora Agni (Yogyakarta) and Philippe Pang (SG). Click here to read more about them. 

The Critical Ecologies | Critical Anomalies team.
Left to right, first row: Corrie Tan, Theodora Agni, Philippe Pang, Sam Kee. Second row: Max Yam, Pristine de Leon, Nia Agustina, Michael H. B. Raditya. Third Row: Nabilah Said, Ahmad Jalidu, Fasyali Fadzly, Pauline Ysabel Miranda.

Many members of this working group are multi-hyphenates who work across various roles in the arts, including that of educator, researcher, facilitator, writer,  editor, dramaturg and administrator. They work fluidly across art forms and roles, reflecting the evolving role of the “critic” and their place in the arts ecology. There was also a collective desire to embark on work that expands what we understand as criticism, including collaborative writing processes, or facilitating discussions of performance that reorients arts criticism away from a purely textual medium. Central to the working group was also the desire to work and situate ourselves regionally, alongside peers from different communities across Southeast Asia, where we could look to each other as reference points, or for mutual affinities and solidarities. This transnational residency afforded us a digital mobility and communality that the pandemic had otherwise deprived us of.

During our six months together, from March to September 2021, we co-facilitated a series of focus group discussions and sharing sessions. Our first month was spent mapping out our relationship to the concept of “Southeast Asia”, and what we both embraced and resisted about this geopolitical and affective formation of nation-states. We took our time to get acquainted with each other, and how each of us had come to practice arts criticism, as well as the people and platforms who influenced and inspired us, which you can read about here. This spurred discussions about the modes of formal and informal training that arts critics receive, whether they’re independent critics or affiliated with mainstream newspapers. In the following months, we did deeper dives into the following topics: 

• the histories and lineages of criticism in Southeast Asia in the wake of decolonization movements of the 1950s-60s to the present day; 
• “conversational criticism”, a term we coined to think through alternative forms of criticism, particularly discursive practices; 
• reviewing digital and telematic performance and what it means to develop new vocabularies of responding to digital and hybrid performance during a pandemic; 
• the relationships that critics forge with each other, the state, artists and performance-makers, audience members and producers; 
• the performance critic as intermediary and activist, featuring invited guest Katrina Stuart Santiago; 
• care ethics and practices in criticism; 
• languages and translation in the region and how these politics of language and multilingualism inform our critical practices.

While the initial six-month period of our residency has concluded, the group has decided to continue meeting up once a month in the spirit of what one might call “arisan” in Indonesia, or “kutu” in Malaysia – where each of us will take turns to offer up a topic of discussion or reflection each month and lightly facilitate each session on a rotational basis. The group hopes to build on the conversations we’ve had, and experiment with ideas and concepts that each member has introduced. Our six months together has offered us a space to pause, to be quiet, to write alongside, to witness, and to work through the griefs but also the delights we’ve lived through over the past year. As the group continues to develop and grow, we hope to open up a few of our future sessions to invited guests and members of the public as we practice ways of being together, even apart.

For now, we’d like to offer you this playlist that formed the soundtrack to our residency as we worked on collaborative digital platforms together. We each contributed several songs to this list, and we hope you enjoy listening to it as much as we enjoyed compiling it.

By Corrie Tan, Residency Coordinator
September 2021

Screenshot of “Mapping Sensing Reflecting” on Day 1 of Critical Ecologies’ Co-Lab Residency

As part of a mapping exercise in April 2021, the Critical Ecologies working group listed out the various critics, writers and/or practitioners who mentored them and influenced their growth, as well as those whose work they had read extensively and were inspired by. This piece is a condensed and edited version of the exercise, which sought to explore and reflect on the personal lineages and histories of the working group’s varied practices of criticism.

Click on the arrows to read more about each member’s inspirations

By Critical Ecologies | Critical Anomalies
September 2021

The transnational working team for Critical Ecologies | Critical Anomalies “connecting” through the screen.

In this Q&A segment, the team got to ask (and answer) a set of 2 questions from their fellow members. The first round of questions were more casual, with the follow up questions a bit more specific and conceptual.

Sam: How do you maintain a sense of lightness in your writing/review?

Nia: As long as I remember, I rarely wrote heavy writing or reviews. It’s just simply because I don’t have enough knowledge to do that… hahahaha. My discursive vocabulary is also really basic, still working on that! So, writing in the sense of lightness mostly because of my limits. So far, this is also great in the sense of bridging and dialogue with the public and artists. But of course, not enough for more discursive platforms and academics.

Sam: How do you balance the amount of academic “evidence” to substantiate what you’d like to argue for or against later in the review? 

Nia: The second question is the tough one. I don’t really think about the balance actually, but mostly just put the academic evidence whenever needed. But mostly when I write I always imagine myself talking to those artists. Sometimes it gets me surprised that one review has a lot of academic references because this artist sometimes talks to me in person with a strong academic base and the other one without any, because when we meet, we always talk in a reflective way. That’s why I prefer to write about artists that I know in person, it’s fun to imagine that while writing.

Nia: What’s your favorite side food/snack for coffee, and why?

Pau: Chocolate chip cookies or cake (any kind!) are the best, for me. When it’s available, I also like pairing my coffee with a Philippine delicacy called piaya (unleavened flatbread filled with muscovado).

Nia: What scares you the most when working in the art scene, and why? 

Pau: One thing I worry about a lot when it comes to working in/with the art scene is if my understanding of a work and its context is enough. I’m scared I might end up oversimplifying their intention or their work’s theme in an attempt to make the art more approachable for my readers.

Pau: How many times do you watch a show/performance before you critique it? Are you a “once is enough” type or do you watch multiple times?

Michael: I never believed in love at first sight, but performing arts proved me wrong. I can be in love because of watching a performance with or without reason. And I believe the magical things that make me think about the power of performance. So I do not need to watch a performance twice or more before I review it, or I can say that I am a type of “once is enough” for watching a performance. Oh, I know other reasons why I am the type of “once is enough” for watching a performance, hehe, because I always bring my journal. So I will write every interesting or important thing in the performance hehe. The journal helps me to remember, interpret, and analyse the performance.

Pau: Have you ever felt like you’ve overanalyzed a show/work? Or do you believe there’s such a thing as overanalysis of art? 

Michael: Yes, I have experience of overanalysing a show. It happened when I worked as a freelancer at a local newspaper 8 years ago. There was a local performance from East Java that performed the traditional form of their dances. So simple, and their intention not for contemporary dance or reveal the representation, but only presentation. And I did overanalyse that performance with the neglected discourse. After that, I realised not every performance we should review. Sometimes we just need to watch, relax, and enjoy it.

Michael: After watching the show, are you the type of critic/researcher/writer who goes home immediately or finds friends to talk about the show before you criticised the show?

Nabilah: I don’t have a preference for one or another, but I think it depends on my state of mind after watching the show. Sometimes it affects me quite profoundly, and I feel the need to go home immediately but maybe also take a walk to try to process how I feel. Sometimes I find that I want to preserve my thoughts about the play, without checking in with others and “tainting” my own perspective. I think this usually happens when I have to review more mainstream shows – I am quite impressionable, so I want to avoid changing my mind too easily. For other shows, especially those I don’t need to review, discussions with friends tend to be very crucial and is part of the entire watching experience.

Michael: Have you ever made a typo in your critique? What’s the unique experience? 

Nabilah: Haha, I think so but I usually catch myself before it goes out! I tend to obsess, overthink and re-read my reviews to prevent this from happening.

Nabilah: What’s the most difficult review you have had to write? 

Jali: Hi Nabilah. Hmmm difficult questions… I’ll answer in Bahasa Indonesia… Saya sebenarnya tidak banyak menulis, hanya pernah mencoba beberapa kali. Hal tersulit adalah mengulas karya saya sendiri… Jika mengenai karya orang lain, saya merasa “sense” terhadap seni visual saya buruk dan basis pengalaman karya saya adalah teater drama (teater dengan teks/dialog). Maka saya merasa sulit ketika mencoba mengulas sebuah pertunjukan tari atau teater tubuh yang tanpa dialog.

[Translation: Hi Nabilah. Hmmm, difficult questions… I’ll answer in Bahasa Indonesia… I actually don’t write very much, and I’ve only ever tried it a few times. I think the hardest thing is reviewing my own work… When it comes to other people’s work, I feel that my “sense” towards visual arts is pretty bad, and the basis of my work experience is the theater (particularly theatre with text/dialogue). So I find it really difficult when trying to review dance performances or physical theatre that doesn’t have dialogue.]

Nabilah: Do you think there’s such a thing as “bad” art? Why or why not? 

Jali: Bagi saya, seni adalah cabang aktivitas ekspresi manusia, sama seperti sastra, musik, teknologi dan lainnya. Jadi tentu ada seni yang “buruk” menurut saya. Tetapi seringkali saya tidak berani mengungkapkan itu di depan publik, sebab saya sadar bisa jadi itu hanya pengaruh subyektifitas saya saja.

[Translation: To me, art is a branch of the activity of human expression – just like literature, music, technology, etc. So there is definitely “bad” art, in my opinion. But often I don’t dare to reveal this in public, because I realise that it might just be the influence of my subjectivity.]

Jali: Do you still remember your very first review? When and what performance did you review?

Corrie: My very first review for The Straits Times in Singapore was back in 2006, so 15 years ago. Wow. The performance was a collaboration between Deaf performers Ramesh Meyyappan (Singapore) and Lars Otterstedt (Sweden) called The Art of War, where they took on stereotypes around masculinity and the performativity of social norms and rituals gendered as “male”. I only remember fragments of the show now, but what remains with me is the precision and dynamism of their mime and performance work.

Jali: Have you watched many Indonesian performances? What is your favorite Indonesian performance until today?

Corrie: Interestingly enough, my encounters with Indonesian performance have skewed more towards dance and film. Most recently, I watched The Planet – A Lament directed by Garin Nugroho, as well as Otniel Tasman’s lengger work Nyawiji, which was part of this year’s ARTJOG. I watched both these works online, but it would have been extraordinary to witness them in person (I was sweating, watching Otniel with the blade of a keris in his mouth…).

a Bucket of Beetles (2020). Photo by Papermoon Puppet Theatre.

The work that left one of the deepest impressions on me during these pandemic times was a children’s theatre production: A Bucket of Beetles by Papermoon Puppet Theater. This was a digital experience, but it felt so tactile and immediate, like we were all crawling through the dense leaf litter of a tropical forest, befriending the tiny, more-than-human creatures that surround us. There was also a strong undercurrent of ecocriticism in this nonverbal performance, particularly when it comes to our negligence of the ecosystem we share with others. Sadly, I haven’t encountered as much live performance in Indonesia due to the current restrictions on travel, so I’ve been making do by reading about Indonesian performance history, e.g. work by Arena Teater, Teater Koma, Teater Payung Hitam, etc. But of course it isn’t the same!

The last few times I was in Yogyakarta, in 2018/2019, I was lucky to witness some experimental works in progress by artists and practitioners from Bandung, Bali and Yogya as part of the Asian Dramaturgs’ Network’s Lab. We all gathered at Teater Garasi and had long conversations about the pieces after.

Corrie: What piece of art or work of performance has moved you the most during these coronavirus times, and why?

Pristine: Thanks Corrie! I watched a play called Titser Kit directed by Adrienne Vergara for Virgin Labfest 2020. The festival was full of experimentation and making do, and I was interested in how the works would respond to limitations (tight budgets, rehearsing remotely) and deal with a medium that was back then still very daunting. Titser Kit was about a teacher encouraging a young Lumad student to come out from hiding under a table. I was struck by its simplicity. In black and white, the characters’ crouched bodies and faces were shown through alternating screens (like the screens on Zoom) and I thought the setup conveyed the anxious confinement and uplifting intimacy that we often felt. The theme spoke to systemic injustice and the realities of othered bodies, and there was so much tenderness to it. What comes to mind now are the warm smiling eyes of the teacher character. It reminds me how loss is all the more poignant when we have a sense of what was full.

Corrie: What’s something new you’ve learnt or come to cherish from this residency period that you’re hoping to share with your students and community of practice in Manila? 

Pristine: Definitely conversational criticism! Before this residency, I’ve been thinking through the very limiting binary of ‘difficult writing’ versus ‘accessible writing’ (which in my head somehow corresponds to academia versus media). Throughout our sessions, I’ve come to realize that this debate may have had its roots in the West, but here in Southeast Asia, there are other nuances, wide gray areas, that need to be considered. For one, translation. It makes passing on knowledge more challenging—as Nia, Jali, and Michael have consistently pointed out. These might be the questions that Euro-American critics take for granted. Instead of choosing just one side, I think the idea of conversational criticism invites us to be more nimble with language. Conversations are always fluid and never finished; they embody that exciting, nervous negotiation. I imagine conversational criticism as an amazingly playful tug-of-war between distinct voices. Or a site where multiple positions, affects, registers, and languages come together. I’m excited to ask my students how conversational criticism can be expressed either through oral practice or performative writing. They can record their conversation, interview each other (like what we’re doing here!), write letters, or co-write essays.

Pristine: Fasyali, when you need to review a performance, how do you remember the  tiny details? Are you the type who writes notes during or right after a performance? Or do you allow yourself to enjoy watching without distraction and simply rely on memory when you write? 

Fasyali: I usually don’t take notes during performance. I will try to enjoy it like a normal audience but of course paying so much attention to every detail. I tried taking notes during the performance, but ended up not enjoying it much because I didn’t see the bigger picture and its context.

Pristine: Throughout the residency, we’ve talked about criticism as a long-term commitment or a durational practice. But if critics change over time, how do they express that they have changed their mind? To be more concrete: Have you ever written an opinion or evaluation that you no longer agree with now (or maybe a review that you think needs to be updated)? Do you feel a need to address these past opinions in future writing? Or do you just move on and let them be, seeing that they have value as they are? 

Fasyali: Principally, as a critic, we must acknowledge that we are also human beings that can change over time. I did write something that I don’t agree with anymore. Of course I will find a way to update that but not in that writing. I will find a way to update my view/opinion in different writing and acknowledge it to my reader. My view or stand might change because of my exposure to current situations, knowledge and other discoveries. My past writings are not just part of the history of that particular performance, but also become part of my history as well. So, I will try not to update that but embrace it. I will not be ashamed of who I was.

Fasyali: How many languages/dialects do you usually use in everyday life? How comfortable are you using the language(s)? 

Max: I use primarily English and Mandarin in life. I have some Malay colleagues at my workplace so sometimes I use a little bit of Malay in casual conversations. When I encounter people who could speak Cantonese (my mother tongue) and/or Hakka, I might start conversations with these languages, or switch to them during conversations. English is a language for work, I face a little bit of difficulty using it for casual chats – I would speak very slowly. For arts and theatre-related topics, I have the widest vocabulary in Mandarin.

Fasyali: In writing, how do you see the language that you use in your review can reach different audiences from different backgrounds? Have you ever had any doubt that the words, sentences and language that you use are too simplistic or complicated for you reader? 

Max: Yes I think one of the biggest problems (if not the biggest) of mine in review writing is my language. I find it hard to speak my mind freely. I used to keep a blog (before Facebook came out), and I could use my way of speaking in daily life (with wrong sentence structure etc) in my writing. I had much confidence in writing this way as my friends told me the blog really reflected my personality and they could understand my train of thought perfectly, and most importantly, they enjoyed reading it. However when I started writing theatre reviews, I felt I could not write like that anymore. I felt it’s a more ‘serious’ thing, and all the materials I read about theatre and criticism do not look or sound like that. I thought, in order to make my reviews more ‘legit’, I need to learn from or be inspired by them. But I get feedback like “I don’t really know what you’re saying.” I’m not sure if I’m following the good examples, or it’s because I have not improved enough.

I think the words I use are definitely simple (as I have no academic background), but it’s the organisation of words, sentences and arguments that is complicated for readers.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why I switch to asking questions and begin thinking about conversational criticism.

Max: Could you share with us three shows or experiences that shaped and/or reshaped your understanding of theatre or performing arts? They could just be three shows that are stuck in your brain now. 

Ibsen: Ghosts, by Markus & Markus (2016). Photo by: Ng Yi-Sheng

Sam: Afternoon of a Foehn Version 1 (Esplanade Annex, 2017) was curated for a younger audience but its light-heartedness and fun elements (think clowning, balloons, non-verbal language, and a little physics) made the theatrics accessible and thought-provoking at the same time. I love it. It’s staying at the top of my list, always.

1 Table 2 Chairs (The Theatre Practice’s Chinese Theatre Festival, 2013) was my first encounter with (what I thought to be an) alternative theatre form, the power of symbols and what a minimalistic stage could do.

Ibsen: Ghosts, by Markus & Markus (Singapore International Festival of Arts, 2016) showed me the power or impact of docu-verbatim theatre and made me rethink about their content topic “death” and the authority one has over oneself.

Max: If you could ignore everything you have learned about writing good reviews (e.g. context), how would you write a review? What would it look like? 

Sam: I wish I could just submit my handwritten sketches, mindmaps, journaling notes/word clouds and thoughts about the show that aren’t constructed in proper full sentences.

By Critical Ecologies | Critical Anomalies
September 2021

Try your hand at cracking some of the words and phrases that have been used frequently by the working team during their six-month residency period!

Puzzle not loading? Click here for an image version of the puzzle.

By Critical Ecologies | Critical Anomalies
September 2021

A Yellow Chair Productions team huddle during Lanterns Never Go Out (2012). This photo is just one of the memories unearthed during the Our Space in Time archival residency. Photo credit: Yellow Chair Productions.

At Centre 42, documenting and archiving Singapore theatre is an essential part of our ethos, and this includes making space for stories that may have been lost to time. To paint a more colourful picture of the local theatre landscape, one of our new programmes, The Archival Residency, invites artists to venture down memory lane and tell the less documented histories of our scene through the archival process.

Kicking off the residency is Our Space in Time, a digital exhibition capturing memories of Yellow Chair Productions (YCP), a now-defunct community and amateur theatre group.

Leading the project is none other than YCP co-founder and artistic director Mohamad Shaifulbahri (Shai), who is better known these days as an independent producer and co-artistic lead of outfits like Bhumi Collective and AdeebandShai.

A production photo from Tainted Flower (2006). Photo credit: Yellow Chair Productions.

YCP was based in Tampines Central Community Complex and was home to almost 300 youth from 2005 to 2016, many of whom are still practicing in the arts today. Together, they staged and produced numerous works in community spaces and organizations.

Many of these milestones and memories have been retrieved and archived in Our Space in Time, including scripts, old programmes and photographs. In fact, for this residency, two plays, Tainted Flower (2006) and You Think, I Thought, Who Confirm (2013) were recently revived as play-readings and recorded for the exhibition.

But for Shai, the Archival Residency is just the beginning. Our Space in Time will be further developed into an YCP Legacy Project over the next few years. We speak to Shai to find out more about the YCP journey and his experience in the residency.

Why did you decide to embark on this archival project?

Over the years, I’ve talked about wanting to do a ‘YCP book’ to the people around me, but never actually committed to it. This all changed when the pandemic hit and the circuit breaker happened. During this period, I created this metaphoric cave that I went into and shut down for a bit, and this forced rest gave me clarity and a new perspective about history and theatre-making.

It was then I knew this is exactly the time to be archiving and recording legacy. Instead of presenting archival footage like what the other theatre companies were doing [during the pandemic], I thought, “what does it mean to archive something that hasn’t been archived?”

How has your time in Yellow Chair Productions shaped you?

I was 19 when I started YCP. At that point in time, it was something that I did out of interest and wasn’t thinking of making into a career. None of us (in YCP) had any affiliations with big theatre companies, nor did we go through any training programmes, so a lot of what I learnt from the scene came through my time at YCP.

I jokingly refer to those years as my “on-the-job training”. It was a space where I could make mistakes (and I did), because as the leader of the group, you just had to do it. And the spirit of “just doing” became part of the YCP identity as well. 

A Yellow Chair Productions recruitment poster. Image credit: Yellow Chair Productions.

What are some of your favourite artefacts that you’ve dug up thus far?

Photos of me with hair! [laughs]

The one artefact that I keep getting lured back to is a recruitment poster back from the early days that I discovered in my old emails. It says “Take Centre Stage” and “Come Join the Club” — I can’t recall when we even used it! But it was for an audition that we held back in 2005, and the image and the poster were quite definitive of what we were doing back in the day. Of all the artefacts, this was the one that got us started and it was a marker that we existed.

What’s your favourite thing about the process of archiving?

For me the process of discovering things that I thought we’ve lost to time is my favourite. Contacting people and seeing what they have is a joyful thing, people who respond might not think that their photos or artefacts could be useful, but to me, it can be unique.

Do you wish you could go back and archive everything that you’ve lost to time?

No, because then I wouldn’t have the richness of what I’m experiencing now. I believe that everything has its space and time, and there are reasons why this journey didn’t happen earlier. Part of the fun is knowing that some things are going to be lost to time and maybe it’s meant to be.

I think if we had been continuously talking about YCP for the past 15 years, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. My co-founders and I never looked at Yellow Chair in a critical way from when we first started and looking at it now has allowed me to create new archival material in the climate and the time that we’re currently in — and that keeps it exciting!

by Nadia Carr
Published 30 August 2021

Our Space in Time, a digital exhibition following the history of Yellow Chair Productions is now live! Visit bit.ly/ourspaceintime to view it now! Our Space in Time was developed under Centre 42’s Archival Residency. Click here to find out more.

[From top left, clockwise] Woo E-Hui, Cheryl Tan Yun xin, and Derrick Chew, participants of the “Performance Arts and Augmented Reality” online workshop.

What is your role in the theatre?

Cheryl: My background is in acting, but I also like to explore making works, especially works that will enrich people of different races, age, and abilities. My current interest is in creating participatory works, and I am a part of ATTEMPTS.

E-hui: I am primarily a lighting designer, but I occasionally take on roles in electrics, technical management, stage management, and whatever else comes along in my trajectory that excites me!

Derrick: I am the executive producer of Sightlines Entertainment, where we produce immersive theatrical experiences that excite, entertain and educates. But I have also done everything else from management to marketing and directing.

What is your level of comfort and relationship with working with technology in art-making?

Cheryl: I love using technology! I am someone who likes to explore the options I can add to a production to make it better or even cooler, so I love adding lots of sounds, lights and projection. We’re also surrounded by technology, so to avoid using it just seems quite unnatural.

The ironic thing is, even though I love technology, most days, technology doesn’t love me back. I am a 电脑白痴 [Chinese for “tech idiot”]. That’s why I wanted to take the course, to get myself more familiar with new technology.

E-hui: As a lighting designer and programmer, most of my art-making includes the use of technology in order to bring ideas to life, so I always appreciate new opportunities to try out new technological advancements. With everything becoming increasingly digital these days, I think the new age of “digital theatre” is almost necessary to incorporate in order to stay in touch with our up and coming generation of patrons.

Derrick: I am really not a “techie”, but I am very comfortable with technology and very open to using it in my work because I believe it is the future. I also turn to technology as a way to develop new audiences that are not usually the kind who go to the theatre.

Could you share a few key concepts and thinking points from the workshop that you resonated with? Why did it have an impact on you?

Cheryl: I think the biggest takeaway for me was realising how easy the technologies can be. It was as easy as using a mobile application and a print-out. I always thought it would involve high technology that I don’t have [access to]. But to know that I could do a simple [photogrammetry] capture so easily myself and play around with it, impressed and inspired me.

E-hui: My favourite sharing was about how digital realities could manipulate time and space, because these are two REALLY weird concepts right now [in the COVID-19 pandemic]. I think everyone feels stuck right now because of the pandemic, whether it’s at home or in their career or back in April (I’m not sure how we got to August already!). This was a “hot take” that made me think about how organisations can think outside the box when it comes to staying connected with their audiences. So, even though theatre is very much about living, breathing performances, we should always consider new ways of presentation and how we can deliver our work to the rest of the world.

Derrick: I really resonated with what Shou Chen said about having to ask the question, “How does the technology help in my work and my practice?” We shouldn’t jump on it just because it’s on trend. We need to ask how the technology can elevate, support and form a crucial part of the message of an experience.

Is there anything about these new technologies you still find challenging?

Cheryl: I feel as artists, we often lack [safe] spaces in which we can adopt, test and push these kinds of technologies — and fail. But now’s the best time to experiment, when the rules for performance are changing, and maybe digital theatre, or technological theatre can stay on long after the pandemic, instead of just being a replacement.

I also think the first step is not to fear new technologies. Before the workshop, I thought, “I’m going to learn about the technology, but can I really use it?” But I realised the difference is how you choose to approach the terminology, which you can use to bridge the gap. For example, instead of saying “Hey, let’s use AR [Augmented Reality]”, what if I said “Hey, let’s use Snapchat filters”? The start of the conversation already changes a great deal.

E-hui: The cost is definitely one hurdle. The other thing is the knowledge that the more technology you include into your work, the more factors you introduce into the production that do not have the ability to “improvise” or ensure that “the show must go on” in the event that a small cog in the system fails.

I think that in some ways, AR/VR/MR [Augmented Reality/Virtual Reality/Mixed Reality] allows us to reach out to a greater group of audience, but the human presence and being in the space where the magic comes to life are not things that can be replicated with technologies. It can be a useful exploration or placebo (in these weird times), but until these technologies becomes seamlessly integrated into society, I think the human-to-human connection in a live performance still has tremendous merit over just the visual of someone appearing in front of you.

Derrick: I think I still lack a sense of the possibilities of how AR can be used in theatre and performance. That said, I think we are all making up the rules as we go along; there is no structure, methodology or language for AR in performing arts as of yet, in my opinion. But that’s exciting. That’s fun, because we can be the pioneers at the frontier of seamlessly incorporating these technologies into our theatre-making.

I strongly believe that even as artists, we cannot use the methods of yesterday to compete in the economies of tomorrow. So even though I love the live audience element and the sharing energy in the theatre, in times like these, I’m keen to explore how we can evolve and create theatrical experiences in the language of the digital, so that new generations of audiences with new ways of consuming information and entertainment, can be nurtured.

By Lee Shu Yu
Published on 31 Aug 2020

Performance Arts and Augmented Reality was an online workshop facilitated by Tan Shou Chen and Timothi Lim (The Doodle People). Held on 28 Jul, 30 Jul and 4 Aug 2020, 17 performance-makers and production designers were exposed to the potentialities of photogrammetry and volumetric video capture technologies in performance. The workshop was developed by The Doodle People and commissioned by the National Arts Council Singapore. For more information, click here.

The participants and facilitators of “Performance Arts and Augmented Reality” online workshop.

Last month, Centre 42 presented our online workshop Performance Arts and Augmented Reality, facilitated by Tan Shou Chen, a freelance theatremaker, and Timothi Lim (“Tim”), Creative Director of Augmented Reality at The Doodle People. Here are four key takeaways from the three-part workshop:

1. Staying technology positive

Adopt an open mindset in discussions about technology – Shou Chen encouraged the class to be “technology positive”, acknowledging that technology has always been ubiquitous and empowering to humankind. Even in the arts, he said, the use of video, lighting and sound technology is not a foreign concept.

“We are already using technology to perform identity and even augment our own realities,” he said, referring to the wide-spread use of applications, such as Instagram, Snapchat, Tiktok, and their filter functions which employ the use of augmented reality.

The 17 performance-makers and production designers were introduced to photogrammetry, a technology which creates photorealistic three-dimensional assets from two-dimensional photos. The participants tried out photogrammetry with the mobile app Qlone.

Tim also demonstrated volumetric video capture, which can record and/or track the movement of 3D live objects. The technology can also be used to add virtual effects which distort or enhance the live physical body live.

2. Manipulating body, space and time

These technologies convert physical reality into digital data. Tim explained that this data can then be manipulated to shape our perception of body, space and time, creating dynamic and meaningful options for performance. Virtual bodies and spaces can transcend limitations of form and size, or even completely reimagines. Linear time, too, can be played with.

The manipulation of data can inspire possibilities of how augmented reality (AR), virtual reality (VR) and mixed reality (MR) can be used in performance. AR introduces the virtual world using screens and devices as a portal to enhance the real world. Since it essentially overlays a virtual design upon the real world, AR can manipulate perspectives while maintaining a keen sense of the physical reality for the user. VR, on the other end of the spectrum, immerses the user and their physical movements into a purely digital environment. Lastly, MR can create an experience that brings the virtual design into our physical world.

“If we think about how we are manipulating data, rather than trading away reality, technology becomes a tool to further the aura of the live performer,” regarded Shou Chen. “We can even think about how technology itself has aura.”

With all these potentialities these technologies can create, artists can reimagine what it means to engage with technology and technologists in creative projects.

3. Weighing the cost of adoption

Some participants shared concerns about the prohibitively high costs of these relatively new technologies. Tim explained that new technological products always start out expensive due to few users; the price tends to come down with more widespread adoption. Photogrammetry and volumetric video capture technologies are still expensive, but they have been growing much more accessible in recent years –  Qlone as one of several free photogrammetry mobile app, and Microsoft’s Kinect camera for volumetric video tracking, are examples.

4. The dramaturgy of technology

The facilitators emphasised that the decision to use these technologies in performance-making should be guided by a clear artistic vision. Technology ought not be a mere accessory to the performance, but should be purposefully incorporated into the design and dramaturgy of the experience.

One way to ensure this is to work with a creative technologist early and closely.

“Creative technologists are not working for artists,” Tim reminded the participants. “We’re working with you.”

By Lee Shu Yu
Published on 31 Aug 2020

Performance Arts and Augmented Reality was an online workshop facilitated by Tan Shou Chen and Timothi Lim (The Doodle People). Held on 28 Jul, 30 Jul and 4 Aug 2020, 17 performance-makers and production designers were exposed to the potentialities of photogrammetry and volumetric video capture technologies in performance. The workshop was developed by The Doodle People and commissioned by the National Arts Council Singapore. For more information, click here.

An abandoned Lego figurine sitting on a railing at 42 Waterloo Street.

It was with a heavy heart when we closed the gates of 42 Waterloo Street on 6 Apr 2020. And with the impending renovations delayed, the blue bungalow sat empty for several months.

When we re-entered the premises exactly four months later for a giveaway of the stuff we would no longer need, we were greeted by a house that was being reclaimed by Nature. This series of images capture a time when 42 Waterloo Street sat devoid of human activity. As the world around it ground to a halt, life continued to grow in the blue house.

By Daniel Teo
Published on 31 Aug 2020

To see signs of human life during our #c42loved giveaway, click here.

The participants and facilitators of “Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose”.

We got the participants of Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose to ask each other questions about their experiences on the nine-week online course. (Or about anything under the sun, really.)

Because of Pandemic Purpose‘s focus on questioning and reflection, as well as the turn-taking format of most of the course’s activities, we had each participant answer a question, then leave a question for the next participant to answer.

What was your most memorable moment in the nine sessions of Pandemic Purpose?

Being asked by Charlene to take a 45-minute walk in an unfamiliar place of our choosing, and writing a letter to a fellow participant about it for one of our assignments. I ended up trekking for two hours along the North Eastern Riverine Loop in Punggol. It reminded me that growth does not always involve tackling everything we encounter in life head-on, and that we can also learn new things about ourselves even when we slow down or take a pause.

 How do you feel about going through these nine weeks together without ever meeting in person? 

– Ke Weiliang

My heart finds it nice that a sense of community could nevertheless be forged. My head finds it strange that said community was encoded in the same bits and bytes that can also engender division. I am currently wondering what an online equivalent of a group hug, a collective embrace, can be.

 One data point I find most hidden on Zoom is the other person’s height. I am 167cm. How tall are you? 

– Jevon Chandra

Ya really! It’s quite funny how we only see each others’ upper torso? And an occasional limb here and there. I’m 155cm, 156cm on some days. Still trying to figure out my true height though maybe I’m 155.5cm? Who knows. On Zoom we are all the same height… is it…

 What kind of foods have you eaten during session, on/off screen over the course of nine weeks? 

–  Teo Xiao Ting

Tea, coffee, noodles, chips, and a chewy sesame bun from Four Leaves. Once, a brownie. I’m a salt and vinegar fan but unfortunately no salt and vinegar chips were consumed during Pandemic Purpose. 

 What was your favourite non-human companion over the 9 weeks?  

– ants chua

this 9 weeks i find hard to just isolate “9 weeks in Pandemic Purpose” coz so much shifting and work was happening around me beyond?? i wanna say my friend who drove me around the car that helped me find a spot to sit and meet when wed afternoon comes. but also gud tea? bought? cheap? readily? anywhere in taiwan? then what everyone was wearing each time coz it reminded me that people change CLothes is real peoples that theyre not just pixels on a screen constant and the zoom chat function i used a lot gg 100 wordS alrd 

 How do you prepare for/decompress after class? 

– art naming

In terms of preparation, I’m a sucker for digital note-taking so I’ll download the articles into GoodNotes on my iPad. I mainly highlight key points or points that stood out to me and make some personal notes beside it. Before class, I’ll look through my notes again so I can consolidate my thoughts (although they still go off-tangent). Either I just sit in front of my fish tank for a good 30 mins and watch my fishes swim or I just go on YouTube and mindlessly browse random videos.

 What is the most random thought you’ve had over the course of nine weeks? 

– Su Paing Tun

It’s a challenge to recollect my thoughts over the course of nine weeks. That’s a while, and thoughts are constantly meandering. How to remember? Most random, ah? I would say I would often think about ways to gather and communicate, but without technology. Would there be a way we can organise and gather, then do something together, telepathically? Haha, it’s not that random, but it comes to mind often. 

 What have you newly discovered about yourself after these nine weeks?  

– Chloe Chotrani

I learnt how jumpy my thought processing is! My brain has great disrespect for timelines and details, preferring to linger on phrases and key moments. It makes storytelling hilariously confusing, but it is also why I obsessively note-take so as to combat my wilful brain. 

The nine weeks felt like getting off from a long bus ride at an idyllic rest stop. I would be unexpectedly attacked by wild Pokémon while wandering through the tall grass. I found myself overwhelmed at times and escaping to Nurse Joy for some TLC, but also discovered new Pokémon to add to my Pokédex!

 Was there a conversation/idea/thought/question from these nine weeks that stayed with you? 

– Edlyn Ng

The conversation that stuck with me the most was the one I has with Shu Yu when we had a nice casual chat/interview for the #humansofC42 instagram feature. I found myself talking about things that I really only realised during the conversation which ranged from how great things can be sprung out from silly ideas, the inclusivity and diversity that art and artists can potentiate, eating habits and privilege. I felt a sense of new excitement for future possibilities after our conversation which I am very grateful for.

  What do you want to say to the other participants in Pandemic Purpose? 

– Aishah Alattas

Thank you for the time and space together.

 What is one movie you must recommend to everyone here?   

– Liew Jiayi

I will absolutely recommend Avatar: The Last Airbender TV series! Not a movie but you can’t go wrong with this one. If it’s a movie.. Maybe HER. 

 What would you have been doing on those Wednesdays between 3-5pm, if you weren’t on Zoom with us? 

– Shaw En Chew

Probably writing, but also procrastinating on writing; taking naps and binging serials on YouTube. But now have to start looking for work

– Rajkumar Thiagaras

Published on 31 Aug 2020

Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose was an online course that took place from 17 Jun to 12 Aug 2020. Over nine weekly sessions, 14 young performing arts practitioners worked with facilitators Charlene Rajendran, Corrie Tan and Gua Khee Chong to hone critical skills as well as reflect on their practices in a post-COVID-19 world. The course was developed with support from the Asian Dramaturgs’ Network, and commissioned by National Arts Council Singapore. For more information, click here.

Charlene Rajendran facilitating a session of “Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose” on Zoom.

Charlene Rajendran has been teaching at the National Institute of Education (NIE) for the better part of two decades. As the most experienced facilitator of our nine-week online course titled Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose, I truly wasn’t prepared for her to make the following statement:

“I’ve now completed my first Zoom course!”

But I shouldn’t have been terribly surprised. The COVID-19 pandemic has upended most of our lives and sent us scuttling for cyberspace. Zoom, in particular, fast became ubiquitous, surging from 10 million daily users in 2019 to over 300 million in April this year. Out of necessity, we began spending large chunks of our day working, studying, socialising and living on the web conferencing platform.

Pandemic Purpose also ran during summer break, so Charlene had yet to conduct her NIE classes online.

When a beaming Charlene made her declaration, the window pane of faces erupted in applause. I, however, was left wondering what insights the seasoned educator might have gleaned from developing and conducting a course via web conferencing for the first time. We chatted a few weeks later – on Zoom, of course.

“On Zoom, everything is a lot less fluid,” Charlene tells me after a pause. She’s visible on my screen from the waist up, with a neatly-made bed behind her. I’d just asked her how teaching online differed from in the classroom, and I sensed that Charlene was still digesting the experience.

“People coming into Zoom – they’re a bit more silent. It’s a different dynamic that’s not as fluid,” she continues.

There is indeed a developing etiquette for Zoom users. People enter the room with their microphones muted. Some don’t even have their video cameras turned on. In large groups, everyone tends to keep themselves on mute when they’re not speaking.

Charlene also notes that time, too, is not as fluid in an online workshop: “We’re doing this activity for this amount time. There’s a lot less capacity to bleed into things, to let things emerge and come up.”

Breakout discussions, for instance, can be strictly timed – should the host wish, you could be booted out of a discussion room automatically when the timer runs out.

For someone who is more used to dealing with students in-person in a classroom setting, Charlene is very conscious about managing energy levels. And on Zoom, she noticed energy levels waning faster: “The demand for concentration and focus I think is much more than it would be if we were sitting in a room. The same people sitting in a room could probably keep going for three hours, maybe even four hours, but two hours is already pushing it on Zoom.”

“Zoom fatigue” is a reported phenomenon, describing a feeling of exhaustion after web conferencing. The most accepted explanation for Zoom fatigue is that that our brains have to work much harder to decipher verbal and non-verbal cues onscreen as compared to during face-to-face encounters.

All these issues could have posed huge problems for a course created to engage young performing arts practitioners in lengthy, intense discussions with each other. On her aims in Pandemic Purpose, Charlene says, “I wanted the participants to talk about, think about and reflect on their practice. And hear each other, listen to each other. And as a result, try and listen to themselves. I wanted to try as much as possible to make this encounter lead in that direction of becoming more reflective, becoming more aware of what you’re thinking and how you’re thinking, and becoming more willing to question and respond and interact at deeper and deeper levels.”

Charlene introducing the book “The Hidden Half” to the “Pandemic Purpose” participants.

So what to do?

One of Charlene’s solutions for conducting her course on Zoom was relatively straightforward.

“It was really useful to have everyone’s camera on all the time,” she shares. “Except during breaks, because otherwise that really changes the dynamic. And mute mics only if there’s something noisy outside, but otherwise leave it on.”

To combat dipping energy levels, Charlene would change things up for the Pandemic Purpose participants every now and then. She’d throw in riddles and word games to break up a series of discussions. She calls these activities “energy pops”.

“People need variety!” Charlene explains. “It’s because the brain suddenly works differently and suddenly you free yourself of awkwardness and clumsiness. That kind of injection helps things to happen.”

Charlene also gave ‘off-line’ assignments to be completed in between the weekly course sessions. In one assignment, she had each participant take a walk outside and then write a letter about the experience to a fellow course mate.

“I think the letter was really about doing something we don’t usually do,” Charlene says. “You become more conscious of why you’re doing it and the strangeness of it, the unfamiliarity of it, as a mode to reflect.”

But the letter was more than just reflection – it was about creating a connection.

“You will be thinking about the person you’re writing to with slightly more consideration. So you’ve got a connection with somebody,” she elaborates. “Hopefully, when you come to Zoom, it creates a layer of connection, a sensing – you’ve had to sense this person in order to write this letter. And when you receive the letter, hopefully you feel seen, you feel sensed. It’s about their connection with you.”

All these and more were tactics Charlene employed to ensure rich conversations and interactions, even when the Pandemic Purpose participants couldn’t be in the same physical space.

But the thing is – are these tactics even all that different from the ones used in a classroom environment? Recall Charlene’s hesitation at the start of our chat – she is aware of making teaching online sound like a completely different kettle of fish.

“It’s the same even when you have people in the same room,” she admits.

Conducting a course entirely on Zoom, then, was more an opportunity for Charlene to take a good hard look at her own pedagogy: “In the classroom, I have these instincts from having done this for a long time. There are these instincts that are felt and one is not conscious of. In a way, doing this experience allowed those instincts to develop.”

Our conversation could have ended on that self-reflexive note, but sharp-witted Charlene wasn’t going to leave the virtual room without one last observation from her time facilitating Pandemic Purpose.

“I’ve never seen my face so much!” Charlene chuckles. “It’s really weird. But it made me recognise the performativity of teaching online.”

“So for the last session, I made sure to wear dangly earrings!”

By Daniel Teo
Published on 31 August 2020

Rethinking Practice and the Practitioner: Pandemic Purpose was an online course that took place from 17 Jun to 12 Aug 2020. Over nine weekly sessions, 14 young performing arts practitioners worked with facilitators Charlene Rajendran, Corrie Tan and Chong Gua Khee to hone critical skills as well as reflect on their practices in a post-COVID-19 world. The course was developed with support from the Asian Dramaturgs’ Network, and commissioned by National Arts Council Singapore. For more information, click here.