Ioana Nițulescu TIC-TAC
Imagine I’m in front of you, talking; there are maximum 30 centimetres between us. You don’t know me, but you’ve
Imagine I’m in front of you, talking; there are maximum 30 centimetres between us. You don’t know me, but you’ve paid to see me. This is how I start the show: before you. I look at you and I smile. Tac. I look at you and I smile. Tic. Is it a tic? Every gesture an actor does uncontrollably is a parasite. I look at you and I smile shamelessly. Tac. I smile. Tic? I look at you, tac. Can you feel this dilated time? You can feel the time we perceive on the stage. You are there with me. Either you like it, or hate it. Everything is very intimate. Do you think you are the only one feeling vulnerable in such moments? I do to, and I feel that way from the beginning until… until the applauses start. I open myself before you. And in this very moment, I try to somehow detach.
Acting is in a relentless search for connections to other spheres. The others are more and more defined, divided by categories while theatre tries naively to gather them all together. I think that people directly involved in the theatrical or cinematographical field are the ones feeling the most need of a syncretism between arts, that they could develop in a story, a conversation, a show. If we refer only to the theatrical field, even those shows that work based on constraints by limiting any support from other fields, like those built one Peter Brook’s Empty Space principle, still contain an obvious implication of different architectures. Through this I try to explore the actor-spectator relationship, by being aware of the absence of the scenic space during this reading, which can only offer us an even greater freedom in the imaginary space.
I’m ill. I move slowly. I go backwards. I go with my thoughts. I melt. I want water. I WANT WATER. Somebody’s coming. He gives me. My hands are shaking. I am struggling to control something that apparently needs to remain uncontrolled. I want to manage and drink already but vibration settle harmonically in my left hand and I like it. I taste them, bit by bit. Of course I spill some water. I wasn’t paying attention, what can I do? I think I was. I look at you. I try. I can’t find you. I know very well where you were. I don’t have time to look for you now. I think of you. But I also think about the glass, about the spilled water, about the nausea, where am I on stage? Is there enough light? Can I fool you today, making you think I wanted to drink the water? Can I? I throw it on myself. I can’t tell if you’re surprised. Am I boring you? Can you follow me? Are you looking at all the details in the decor? Have I stalled too long? Am I embarrassing? Am I boring you? Now, why are you coughing? Am I doing this poorly? Am I not credible? Come on! Am I boring you?