Salong 3, Grusomhetens Teater, 28.08.2026

A Space For The Brave
- by Ilse Ghekiere

Duo One
Who wants to start?
Two people go on stage. They stand close to one another, but not too close. One with instrument. One with none. A pair of hands reaching out, touching. Touching what? Fabric. Other pair of hands, now in close proximity to instrument. Fabric versus wood: a relationship, a dialogue, an interaction.
Creating relationships. Of any kind. To be and become relationship. Of any kind.
Listening. I am trying to listen. I am trying to be just like them whom I now watch. I want their doing to dictate my attending. I know this is improvisation. I have seen a lot of improvisation in my life and I have done a lot of improvisation in my life. But what improvisation is, I still cannot explain, at least not easily, at least not confidently.
What is improvisation.
Sensing. Sensing oneself. Sensing each other. Sensing time. Sensing space. Sensing the moment.
Is this the intro. Is this the prelude. Is this a beginning.
Yes it is! I see them moving to Part Two. I see them deciding it is time to move on. To move to the next chapter of this little dance.
To create something out of nothing is a practice of bravery.
We are now following their lead. Hands are making gestures in the air, tracing the music, then letting it drop. They are tuning in, we are being tuned, everyone being a-tuned.
How can I improvise spectatorship? Can I “audience” an improvisation? How can I improvise this writing?
How to join this practice of bravery.
Silence. End of Duo One

Solo, then Duet Two
How to create something out of nothing?
The thing is: it’s never nothing.
Walk walk walk walk walk. Stop.
Space. Spacing. How to be in space.
Walk walk walk walk walk - walk. Stop.
Now sitting between three chairs made out of wicker. Wicker chairs being pushed, softly, apart. Now I am listening to the sound of pushed wicker chairs. Now I am looking at the three wicker chairs. The three wicker chairs that have just been pushed apart. I think to myself: all three look funny and also different, like a little dysfunctional family of three wicker chairs, with one human body squeezed between them.
Slick, swipe, turn.
Slick, swipe, turn.
Back, front, back.
Back, front, back.
Now they are two. Now it is a duet. The solo has become a duet.
Two backs move; being moved around.
Through space, I see these two backs spacing. How to be in space.
First they share a front, now their front has split. A split front, a broken front. A front torn apart. Like an A4 of white paper. Now two imperfect halves.
Odd family of chairs is now back in use, but with sound.
A variation, a repetition, of the family of chairs.
Yellow socks, golden shoes. Well, golden tap shoes, to be precise. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Shoes leaving white traces on the floor. I am thinking: are these marks permanent? Will they stay on this floor, these traces, these marks. Left behind for the next people to come, the new people who will try to create something out of nothing.
We have entered a game now. Playing. They are playing and there is a space. I can see it, a clear space, like a playground. As in: you know when you are on it and you also know when you are not on it. Is improvisation make-believe?
I hear the sound of my pen. Slip, slap, slop. My pen on paper. Trying to keep track. I try to be like them, but with a pen.
Tuba turns into something else. The image just passed through my head. I think I know the word, but the word has escaped. Too late. Gone. Tip tap tipidi tap. A horse sounds. I surely heard a horse sound. Then 4 notes: Da-Da-Da-Daa. I never learned the names of notes. I cannot write them. I can only sing them.
Together. Together lifting up the hands. Hands rising. Again.
Then metal objects being shuffled around. All same size, same shape. Sliding here, sliding there. Cling clang clung. Cling clang clung. Cling Cling. Clang Clung. Clung clung clang.
Golden shoes. Yellow socks. Little metal object hits a sock —“Ah!”
Now socks and shoes leave feet. Goodbye socks, goodbye shoes.
Taken off. Taken out. Sending shakes through body.
Body shivers, body quivers, body thunders.
Then together sitting. One next to another one.
Calming down. Silence. End.

Duet Three. No Trio Three. O! It’s a quartet
Metal things are still around. Like contaminations of the past.
Hearing a heavy sound. Like sitting in your home while the neighbor above drags their heavy table over their floor, which happened to be also your ceiling.
Their floor, my ceiling.
Two instruments colliding. Like a soft car crash, but with instruments. Or like making love? Two instruments making love, in a monumental way. This could be a monument. But for what? For nothing? This could be a monument for nothing.
How to obstruct the other’s sound, so that you can make a new sound together. Obstructing as a way of helping. In improvisation they often talk about “yes!”. That it is important to be “yes!” in the mind so that things can happen. The real thing is that there are many yesses and there are many minds having their own understanding of what a yes actually means.
Lying now with double bass on the ground. Like resting with or being rested by one’s instrument. A blanket made of wood, a volume of wood. A body for resting.
Rotating around. Rotating around with two. Geometry can also be a motif, ein Leitmotiv, something to transport us from one moment to another.
Number four is walking over the stage. I think of how all dancing is a form of choreography. This, I have, in fact, just read in a paper. Something about the brain, brain science showing there is no difference between dancing and choreography or that all dancing is also choreography in real time.
Feet touching. Feet saying hi.
More turning. Circle. Geometry. Space.
I think about the very precise space in between being creative and being not too creative. It is a space hard to find. It’s a space for the brave.
Trio, duo solo, duo duo, now quartet.
How to know if it was good.
How to know if it was bad.
Is this interesting for you?
Is this interesting for them?
Someone very wise, someone from another time, someone from an entirely other context, once said: Until you know, you might as well try.
You can carry bodies. You can carry instruments.
Bodies and instruments, so alike.
We are not here to explain anything to you. We are here to try out. We are here to be here.
Holding, carrying, supporting.
Instruments and bodies, so alike.
A little music box on the wall. Another atmosphere crashing in. Light, playful, joyful, happy.
Once Julian Hamilton told me: Be careful, some people practice their whole life.
A message. A piece of advice. A warning. Anyway, I took it very seriously.
At some point, I stopped with this kind of work. No one wanted to program this. People came and said: But why?
Today I miss that “why?”. Maybe we need more of these whys.
Also, not everything needs to be programmed.
Then humming, then sound of coins, then I think of what it means to create a situation. And if a situation is to create something beautiful together. There is beauty, simple beauty, in trying to create something with others.
And then: Det var det.

After Murmur
I hear, I listen.
Hvor går dette hen?
It is always something different. What is the point of always doing something different, if you could be doing just the same.
It is not about technique, but about using technique differently.
It is a proposal. A proposal. To develop something without a plan.
It’s never boring. It’s always boring. It is always many things.