Zero Zero is a new work by two of Australia’s foremost physical performers, Tony Yap and Yumi Umiumare, and media and sound artist Matthew Gingold.
Zero Zero explores the liminal spaces between the visible and the invisible. The work charts the choreographic landscape formed at the intersection of physical, cultural, spiritual and technological boundaries.From the immediacy and simplicity of the human body lit by candles and incense, to the use of the latest technology, Zero Zero transports the viewer with its immersive environment and evocative, trance-like physical explorations.
Yap and Umiumare are reconnecting their duo practice after making major solo works apart. Their fifteen-year series ‘How could you even begin to understand?’, was acclaimed in Australia and internationally.
“…butoh and its multifarious manifestations of a body … draws on traditions of the ecstatic body – the closest to a shamanistic trance most of us are likely to see … another masterful work.” – Jonathan Marshall, writing on Yap and Umiumare’s How could you even begin to understand?
Matthew Gingold is a media and sound artist and programmer at the cutting edge of new technologies in performance, recently recognised by a prestigious Prix Ars Electronica Award of Distinction for Interactive Art. In Zero Zero he pushes the bounds of installation combining video, sound and lighting elements.
Tony Yap, Yumi Umiumare
light performer, dramaturge
Additional design and production realisation
Paula van Beek
Kath Papas Productions
Generations: ZeroZero and The Recording
Thanks to ZeroZero, the most recent and arguably the finest collaboration between Tony Yap and Yumi Umiumare to date, generations have been on my mind. Umiumare first came to Melbourne with Butoh company Dai Rakuda Kan in 1991 -- I still can’t get the dead goldfish in the clear heels of their shoes out of my head -- and moved here not long after. So we’ve been watching her for more than 20 years. Ditto Tony Yap, though he first came to prominence in Renato Cuocolo’s theatre company IRAA. I vividly remember his androgynous long-haired Medea in Cuocolo’s ‘Vision of the Void’ adaptation. I reckon that was also 1991. (Yap had been in some short dance works by Lynne Santos in 1989 and 1990 as well.)
Ignoring this history -- this physical ballast -- is difficult. And, perhaps, pointless. These collaborations between Yap and Umiumare utilise time. The history of the bodies involved in the performance is integral to the performance. I’m not sure if that’s a cultural thing, if it’s just specific to these particular bodies, or if it’s just these individual projects.
The paradox is that these bodies -- bodies that I’ve been watching for literally decades -- seem to have defied time. They haven’t thickened or visibly aged whatsoever. They’re amazingly lithe, more muscular and toned than ever. In the unairconditioned lower space at fortyfivedownstairs on a hot February Sunday afternoon, sweat ran down Tony Yap’s back in silvery rivulets. The trails caught the light like glycerine tears on an actor’s face. – Chris Boyd, The Mornng After – REVIEWS
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