Startup Wrapup: Guillaume Guilherme

Interview by Karina Buckley

Guillaume Guilherme’s curatorial journey for No Honeymoon began at Aerowaves’ Startup Forum in Elefsina, and took two years to reach its conclusion in the Swiss cities of Zurich, Lausanne and Lucerne in the spring of 2024.

Built around Sigrid Stigsdatter Mathiassen’s raw but wry cri-de-coeur Cold Hawaii, Guilherme’s touring programme riffed on the theme of heartbreak, tackling it with words in a specially commissioned text from poet, DJ and dance artist Malika Fankha, and a movement reflection, improvised by local dancers at each of the host venues.

The two years of planning and preparation had included a strong focus on sustainability. Guilherme had hoped to slow-travel everyone and everything to and from the host venues at Tanzhaus Zürich, Théâtre Sévelin 36 in Lausanne, and Südpol Luzern, where he works, but hit his first hurdle when it transpired that Mathiassen would be coming from Mexico, necessitating a flight that was not part of the plan. The show’s lighting also turned into a stumbling block.

“Cold Hawaii uses fluorescent tube lighting, which isn’t easily available any more, so finding that was a bit difficult. Sevelin had some but not Südpol, so we had to borrow theirs and ferry it by road from Lausanne to Lucerne. If it was up to me, I would have chosen lights that were more easily available and a bit more up to date, but this effect of flickering light (from fluorescent tubes) had been researched and used on purpose. When we consider slow touring, the travel is of course very important, but also reducing the impact of the material, like lights, and their transport would be useful.”

Guilherme had also chosen to slow things down for the artists, building residencies into the programme that both Mathiassen and Fankha relished. Mathiassen began the No Honeymoon tour at Tanzhaus Zürich during Swiss Dance Days, an international dance platform that features only Swiss dance. This meant that she couldn’t perform, but had the opportunity to spend time researching as an artist in residence.

“I think it was great that Guillaume insisted on giving time so I could have a residency,” says Mathiassen, “and that it wasn’t another one of those trips where you’re just rushing around from one place to another, which I am quite used to. So I really appreciated having this time to concentrate. I also had a moment to show and share the new material I was working on, and where my practice is right now. And I was there during Swiss Dance Days so I had the opportunity to see quite a lot of performances and meet people from the field, some for the first time.”

Guilherme knew why he had planned the residencies but he hadn’t reckoned on the burden of expectation he would feel as curator:

“For me, it was so special to see Sigrid’s sharing at Tanzhaus but it was a mix, because I was expecting something, letting my gaze discover something and at the same time, having this pressure of a return of investment. What is the output? Is it ok? Is it good enough? There were a range of judgments in my mind and they dissolved very quickly because I was impressed by the performance. I was impressed by the quality, the depth of Sigrid’s research.”

Workshops for local dancers in Mathiassen’s OMG Dramaturgy technique was another device that Guilherme had worked into the programme to maximise the cultural exchange between visiting artist and host venue. Low uptake meant that this part of the programme had to be cancelled in Lausanne, but the workshop in Lucerne was well attended.

“The residencies and workshops allowed Sigrid to work more, and so to earn more. They also encouraged members of the audience or professional scene to discover her techniques and the material of her research so – it’s like cooking a piece of meat for hours. It becomes really juicy.”

It was fitting that Mathiassen’s workshop at Südpol took place in the frame of International Women’s Day, given that she proposes OMG Dramaturgy as a feminist perspective on art-making:

“It’s an intuitive choreographic method that I use in order to be able to say yes and, yes and, yes and, and, and, instead of or, or, or. I think of it as a way to insist on intuition as a discipline. As something we can train. It’s a way to follow material into the unknown. It’s also a way to deviate from this concept of the ‘great idea’ that I find that we as artists are often trapped by.”

The workshops may have had mixed success but the performances were a success, with over 50% occupancy for each show – unusually high for a visiting artist (Südpol,  for example, would normally expect less than 20% occupancy for a guest artist).

“We had more audience than expected in Lucerne,” says Guilherme, “and it was a different audience. My colleagues (at Südpol) also said it was not what we call the Stamm Publikum – the audience who always comes to see the performance, or to see friends onstage. It was people who were interested in the content of the piece, apparently! I noticed people stayed in their seats for a long time (after the performance finished). I noticed that everywhere we performed it. The show produced a kind of smooth, romantic, melancholic atmosphere.” 

“And there was so much interaction afterwards,” adds Fankha. “So much feedback. People wanted to talk. Not just to Sigrid but also to me.”

The programme itself consisted of Mathiaseen’s Cold Hawaii, Fankha’s text Dry Ice delivered by a pre-recorded, disembodied voice to a moodily lit stage, and finally a rehearsed improvisation on the theme of heartbreak by a local dancer – and it was the third element in particular that gave each show a unique flavour.

“I was really curious about how the three elements together would work out dramaturgically,” says Fankha. “That was my main focus, especially on the first night when Clara (Delorme) did the performance, and it felt nice but also weird that there was absolutely no break between my text and her appearance so it was almost like they were evolving from each other. And then the second night with Irina (Lorez), I was in this really emotional state and I cried when she performed. The last one was also really special because I was talking to Sandy (Albrecht) beforehand about insecurities and about this extreme vulnerability you feel on stage, and how you can still be open to whatever happens and try not be seduced by your inner composition mind.”

“I would love to see this combination of works, like, one hundred times all over the world to see how people will react,” adds Guilherme. “To have, say, a superstar dancing heartbreak one night, or maybe a little child doing it the next.”

A global tour is unlikely but Guilherme is open to the possibility of taking the production beyond his native Switzerland, having approached a number of programmers at Spring Forward 2024. Mathiassen hasn’t ruled it out either – though she may have moved on creatively, she sees the merit in looking back. “Revisiting an old work, it’s wild sometimes, but every time I’m there, I find something new. With Cold Hawaii, there’s very much a state that I have to go into to do the material and that’s actually very good training for me – to meet this character again and again. Like a new body in old shoes but it’s also a very, very good friend in a way,” says Mathiassen.

Another slow tour could also be on the cards: “I do like to take time for travelling,” she says. “And I think that I would be able to slow travel much more in general if this was something that was prioritised in a budget so that you could also be paid for the time that you travel.”

Slowing things down may come at a cost, but for Guilherme it’s becoming a non-negotiable. “The big problem is about growing – we all want to grow, but actually the solution is degrowing. And that’s really difficult to accept. This project was a try – it was a try for everyone. And if you keep trying, you attempt, then maybe things can change.”