The act of motion - of the body through space, of cells through that body, of objects the body propels - is a subject that can run the gamut between liberation and limitation. The word ‘movement’ can conjure up images of astonishing physical feats, but can be just as easily loaded for those whose ability to move is restricted, whether physically or societally. When first invited to explore Modern Art Oxford’s newest exhibition, Movements for Staying Alive, I was intrigued to see how the gallery would navigate this tension in a way that would allow for the experiences of all its patrons; having now visited, I’m pleased to say the team has taken advantage of its space to invite an egalitarian understanding of how movement informs our lives, from the athletic to the everyday.
Opening onto a large-scale commissioned installation by Jane Castree, you are greeted by a horizontal barre set into the gallery wall; those who have ever taken a dance class will start having instant flashbacks. However, glance to the corners and you will see another barre wrapped in a long bolt of purple fabric; still further, two more crossed in an V formation. Castree, it seems, is invoking one particular association, that of the ballet barre, and then inviting us to expand upon it in our interactions as she has with their placement. In our walkthrough, she demonstrated how the purple fabric can envelop a moving body in suspension with the barre, a mesmerising demonstration that, in its encouragement to bring the art to life through participation, carries hints of Yoko Ono’s 1964 Bag Piece. Over the course of the exhibit, ‘dance activators’ will also be present in the space on certain days to demonstrate how the pieces can be interacted with for the benefit of visitors - I saw a similar approach when Marina Abramovic exhibited Gates and Portals in this space, but here it feels much less prescriptive, which I think is to its benefit.
The feeling of expansion and play with expectation extends to the two velvet curtains hanging in the space’s centre; my immediate association was with aerial silks, but the luxurious velvet is too thick, the distance too wide and the scale too grand for any such conventional performance. Castree plays with scale and texture to encourage us to think beyond such preconceptions; wrap yourself in it, drape and reshape the fabric as it pools on the floor, leave your mark for someone else to act upon.
That last idea is embodied most prominently in the trio of sculptural installations that lead you through the gallery centre; a drum-like stool with a swooping metallic train, a gently curving arch on which patrons can sit, lie or traverse, and a glossy, parabolic slide. All these pieces are constructed with a mesh that adheres to the pressure placed upon it - lean on the slide’s curvature or press a palm to the drum, and you will change, however slightly, the structure of the piece, the way the light hits its iridescent surface.
It’s especially interesting to view these pieces in the context of the installations placed alongside it; where Castree invites us to transform the structures we encounter, Valie Export’s photography series explores the way structures transform us. She contorts around roadside curbs, compresses herself into street corners, to demonstrate the grip urban infrastructure has over the way our bodies are permitted to take up space. Her photographs were taken in the mid-1970s, but in an era of ever decreasing facilities for disabled people and the proliferation of ‘hostile architecture’, its message rings bleakly true.
Similarly, Panteha Abareshi’s video installation UNLEARN THE BODY (2021) sees the artist reiterating and experimenting with the position of their body in relation to their mobility aid. Capturing not only their movement but also the sense of physical exertion and, at times, frustration in its execution, it’s an arresting piece that interrogates and problematises conventional representations of the body’s capabilities and limitations.
Ana Mendeita’s video installations, conversely, bring the movement of the body into conversation with the natural world. Her installation Creek (1974) brought Millais’ Ophelia to my mind, but with an agency not afforded to the tragic muse; here the subject’s face is obscured, not displayed for our edification, and the medium of video captured her resistance against the current.
Moving into the second chamber, a familiar name on the MAO roster: Harold Offeh returns after his 2023 Boundary Encounters installation for Joy Inside Our Tears (2021), a pandemic-produced collaborative dance piece focusing on dance as a vehicle for collective communication. Taking inspiration from the medieval ‘dancing madness’ all the way to 1990s HIV/AIDS benefit danceathons, Offeh uses the restriction of the pandemic to the work’s advantage - separated physically, the dancers respond individually to a prompt, before teaching their response to the other participants. The results, played across the orange suffused gallery walls, carry a feeling of communion and, with the rising soundtrack, catharsis.
The third room of the upper gallery, coordinated by Leap Then Look, is perhaps the most interactive of the whole exhibition, and certainly the most friendly to younger visitors. Created in collaboration with 16 - 19 year olds, the space is like a modernist playground. Patterns on the floors bring to mind hopscotch and other childhood games that can be conjured with just a piece of chalk to hand; moveable trollies carry snaking structures that recall the wireframe bead puzzles in every dentist’s waiting room. A dress-up box of abstract fabric structures gives you the chance to abstract the body and connect it with others, some allowing for multiple people to occupy them at once (though maybe not advisable in the current heat!). The soundtrack of improvised noises from the project’s young collaborators is a lively touch, if a bit sensorily overwhelming in combination with the soundscape from Offeh’s display next door.
On the wall is printed the philosophy that I think comes closest to defining the exhibition as a whole; “no one movement is more important than any other”. This is emphasised in the works of choreographer Yvonne Rainer, contrasting a video of her performing solo dance piece Trio A with Hand Movie, made while Rainer was recovering from surgery. Trio A already toys with our expectations for a dance piece in that there is no explosive finale, prompting us to prioritise all movements as of equal value. With that in mind, we are then invited to ask, “what about this dance sequence is inherently more worthy/expressive than the minute movements of the human hand?”
Movement doesn’t have to be spectacular to be important; the downstairs gallery places this in the context of MAO itself, with the collaboration of Barcelona-based programming collective Estampa. Using AI tracking technology, Estampa produces footage of the museum’s archive space featuring the captured motion of its workers; the literal physical movement that goes into the process of archiving, accompanied by a wall length display showing the various ways AI has grouped specific images from the archive. I’ve made my stance on AI quite clear in the past, but I think if one is going to incorporate it, this is the best way to do so; cataloguing rather than cannibalising, and enhancing rather than erasing, the human element of its design. The focus is always on people, and the myriad little movements that keep things running.
And we close with something more serene from Baum and Leahy in the museum’s creative studio; Sensory Cellumonials (2021) takes things down to a cellular level with guided audiovisual meditations centred on the body’s processing of senses (and if you want to recreate it at home, all the meditations can be accessed online). Plush pouffe seats and lavender scented soft toys make this a great space to decompress after the more cerebral or high-energy sections of the exhibition - or to ease yourself in beforehand.
What stands out most across Movements for Staying Alive is the philosophy of collaboration. One has to agree to the vulnerability of moving unconventionally through the gallery space, and aiding that physical dialogue has clearly informed, not just the exhibition’s curation, but its external projects, including workshops and evening classes for adults and young creatives centred on its themes. The non-hierarchical celebration of movement in all its forms makes this a welcoming space for anyone, no matter how they navigate the world; just move at your own pace.