Dancing the invisible – Interview with Nacera Belaza

 

Shrouded in darkness, barely distinguishable bodies swirl across the space, set to an obsessive musical beat, and infinitesimal lighting changes. The repetitiveness of their movements is one in which abandonment gives rise to virtuosity. Indeed, the choreographic universe of the Franco-Algerian artist Nacera Belaza, born in 1969 in Médéa (Algeria) makes audiences feel as if they are entering into a new dimension. Based on a unique journey of her own, her deeply personal work uses pared-down gestures taken from the world of ritual in order to probe into the essence of dance and movement. She experiments with both small and large-scale formats, and draws upon the dance heritage of different peoples in order to make sense of them in the contemporary realm. This Focus sets up a unique dialogue with the audience, and invites it on a journey from the "stage" to the living.

 

 

The Focus dedicated to you offers us a new reading of your work, what is your view of it? 

Nacera Belaza: I see it as an important mark of trust, especially after being programmed by the Festival d'Automne three years in a row. Today, this form of accompaniment has brought with it the opportunity to present three pieces, enabling me to show the different facets of what I do. Being able to present your work in this way within the framework of a festival is a rare occurrence, and this triptych allows me to give an idea of its scope, by bringing out the different issues I look into, namely those of language and the body, ballet-related artistic creation, and in-situ work to be performed in non-theatre spaces. When you give an artist an opportunity like this, it enables audiences to have a deeper understanding of their universe and to probe deep into the research they have been doing.

 

The three pieces you will be presenting have very different approaches.

They're very different but actually they complement each other. I have been developing these three approaches for a long time in my work. For the Louvre, Les Ombres corresponds to a period of research I started in 20215 at the Muceum, in Marseille, the title of which was La Procession. It took on different forms and I tried it out in several museums and outdoor spaces. The starting point was the question: how would my work react to being performed outside, away from the stage? What happens if we prompt, physically, the audience to leave behind them their passive status as mere spectator when they sit down to watch a show? What changes does this bring about when the audience is invited to move around? Does this alter their vision of the piece, the way they hear it, without their minds interfering in the process? These types of questions often open new areas of research.

 

The Louvre museum carries with it a significant historical, cultural and artistic heritage.

 

First, and foremost, it is important to note that this proposition on behalf of the Festival d'Automne has a very particular meaning. At the Louvre, I'll be presenting my work in the new Galerie des Cinq Continents. The latter will be opening itself up to a unique form of dialogue between non-Western exhibits from the former Pavillon des Sessions and other objects from all over the world. All of this is presented in a non-hierarchical way which puts the artistic creations from all the different continents on the same level. It is very touching for me to have been called upon to insert an artistic gesture within this aesthetic and political undertaking, and which resonates with the Galleries’ desire to incorporate a universal dimension into it.    
         Moreover, I have already worked in places where the weight of history is particularly important. In reality, working with constraints is something I really enjoy, and I'm convinced that they are the gateway to true freedom. I'll be working in two spaces within the museum. The first one is thus the Galerie des Cinq Continents, where the glass cases placed on top of the works make them seem as if they are somehow suspended in mid-air, setting up a labyrinth of different reflections. The second space is the Murillo room, lined with works by Spanish painters. How can we set up a dialogue on this basis between the works themselves and moving bodies? Indeed, I've always avoided a dialogue effect between the materiality of the work and its history. By contrast, the dancer can enter into a dialogue with what emanates from the object. Put differently, a sculpture's immobility becomes a point of reference for the movement, putting the body of the performer in constant tension with the work itself. It enables the spoken word which traverses the object to resonate, thereby becoming a receptacle for everything around it, in this search for the invisible link which stirs up the whole body. So, what interests me most is a sensitivity-based relationship.

 

Although very different from your smaller-scale pieces, the new work developed in collaboration with the Ballet de l'Opéra de Lyon coincides with the performative dimension which has frequently fed into your research. How did you tackle this subject?

 

What I find so fascinating about traditional dances is the possibility of reaching a form of unison between the different bodies. This unison is one that I've always been searching for, alone or as a group, and which becomes even more exhilarating within a larger community, on condition that the sometimes superficial effect of working as a group, which means that the bodies are only linked together physically, is avoided. It's about unveiling a different, deeper type of relationship in order to bring forth a more extensive form of communion. It involves a huge effort in terms of de-programming our ways of operating and reconnecting those present by means of a collective conscience. In response to the needs of classical aesthetics, the body becomes something which is restrained, brought under control, a finely-tuned instrument, but which has undergone a form of hypertrophy, resulting in the human dimension being relegated to a place of lesser importance. In my work, the human being is the reference point, and the way it resonates enables us to hear and receive. But in order to take on this function, the dancer must, paradoxically, give up on all forms of control, and break free from their minds in order to find the intense freedom that is present within them. The rehearsal period for this new piece is going to be very short. So the task in hand will be to resolve in a very short space of time a complex equation, one which will enable me to avoid betraying myself whilst giving the dancers the tools to live this experience to the full.

 

Your duo with Valérie Dréville represents a unique challenge. How has this encounter nourished you exploratory work?

I've always maintained that, for me, dance comes from an urge to speak. When the body is fully inhabited, it becomes a means of expression. In a certain way, what was important to me was to render this movement audible. This is what prompted me to explore to explore this blurred frontier between voice and body. Hortense Archambault (the director of the MC93) felt that this encounter with Valérie could be a fruitful one, and gently brought us together. As I watched Valérie perform on stage, I noticed how much she used her body to bring out the words she was saying. Her body lived her imagination and amplified its reception. She dances without even realising it! Right from the first workshop, she was able to take on board the different indications I gave her. However, this didn't mean that the work was never uncomfortable, we both felt destabilised, uprooted on a regular basis, and this is a good sign for me as it means we're following new paths. Valérie has no experience in dance and thus she has no confidence in what her body might or might not be able to accomplish. This absence of certainty is a precious one. It puts emptiness and fragility in the place of the walls erected by physical accomplishment. We both have an undying faith in the power of the imagination, and the invisible.

 

You’re artistic research is often viewed as being that of a pared-down, minimalist form of dance, in which repetition takes on a ritual-like effect. How would you define you approach?

If I continue to dance it's because these notions are constantly renewed, within an increasingly complex dimension. So, yes, words can sometimes be an obstacle to me. I'm able to overcome this contradiction when I confront them with other words, other realities. You could say it's about a modified state, one of interiority and transcendence, but also of abstraction and a host of other things… that I'm incapable of defining. My work is made up of different layers that overlap each other, giving rise to an artistic universe. Over time, and without realising it, the creator builds up a gigantic, complex mechanism which eventually overtakes them. If they know how to set it in motion, and propel it, it always ends up by escaping their grasp. What is left over at the end is the work itself, an enigma made up of empty spaces, and filled-up ones, which dialogue with us.   

 

It seems that your relationship with the audience is vital to you. It occupies a central place in your different pieces, regardless of the demands they make.

I constantly observe the audience and the way its members behave in order to better understand what is happening between them and the work itself. What enables listening? Understanding the innermost workings of the audience means crafting the ever more subtle and powerful tools which are necessary if we want to take it further, into unknown territories, accompanying it all the while in this experience. What discourages the audience is not the demands being made on it, but the feeling of not being heard, taken in. It is this which, ultimately, resembles a disturbing and strange form of love

 

Interview conducted by Thierry Peret, March 2025