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date: 01 December 2020

(p. 607) Afterword: Notes after the Fact

(p. 607) Afterword

Notes after the Fact

For the postface,” Gérard Genette writes in Paratexts, “it is always both too early and too late” (1997, 239). It is too late, Genette argues, because the postface cannot any more perform the functions of a preface, which holds the reader’s interest, sets out what is to come, and provides a guide through the text; and too early, because it cannot yet respond to critical reactions that are bound to occur after a book’s publication. The postface—or afterword—is an untimely genre. An afterword is imbued with the generic flaw of the supplement, of that which remains exterior to “real,” “original,” or “timely” contents. But its supplementary character also bears a promise, questioning notions of realness, originality, and timeliness. Reflecting upon contents that always will have happened already, the genre of the afterword corresponds to the out-of-time topic of this Handbook: reenactment. What follows, then, are a number of short supplementary notes on significant theoretical concepts that are part of the artistic and scholarly field of reenactment. These notes take up themes that run through the contributions to this volume, and their after-the-fact status is visible in their headings: “Postface,” “Restance,” “Temporality,” and “Archive.” They are succeeded by a longer note on the potential of danced reenactment to reshape the historiography of dance.

Postface

Post- and prefaces belong to what Jacques Derrida calls the hors livre or “outwork,” those texts or not-quite texts that dwell at the margins of what is usually considered the main body of a book. The preface or outwork of Derrida’s Dissemination includes the following passage:

The pre of the preface makes the future present, represents it, draws it closer, breathes it in, and in going ahead of it puts it ahead. The pre reduces the future to the form (p. 608) of manifest presence. This is an essential and ludicrous operation: not only because writing as such does not consist in any of these tenses (present, past, or future insofar as they are all modified presents); not only because such an operation would confine itself to the discursive effects of an intention-to-mean, but because, in pointing out a single thematic nucleus or a single guiding thesis, it would cancel out the textual displacement that is at place “here.” (Here? Where? The question of the here and now is explicitly enacted in dissemination). (1981, 7)

Conversely, the post of the postface might then ideally (or ludicrously) attempt to make the past present, representing that which has already been written, drawing it closer, breathing it in, but also, by returning to it, assigning it its place in a “there.” “Is not the question of the ‘there’ the ultimate question of reenactment?” Mark Franko asks in Chapter 24 of this volume. It is the fanning-out and complicating of this question that makes the theoretical and conceptual approaches that are assembled in this Handbook so rich and engaging. A firm assignment of place is of course impossible with regard to the many locations of this book’s contributions. There is more than a single thematic nucleus or a single guiding thesis in The Oxford Handbook of Dance and Reenactment, and its textual displacement affects and is affected by the range of conceptual coinages. Terms are not fully stabilized. The notion of reenactment itself is not concerned to convey a definitive viewpoint on what is still a very diverse phenomenon. Franko notes in Chapter 1 that the artistic field of reenactment engenders a multifold vocabulary, including “re-performance, remake, citation, the distributed body, alternative histories, acheiropoietics, restructuring touch, re-actualization, the derivative, cover”; in Chapter 14, VK Preston extends this field to a heuristic reenacting of archival material by the scholar, which she calls “research-spectatorship.” The heuristic and the performative are closely aligned in reenactment. It is therefore a privileged space for conversation between dancers (who are often also researchers) and researchers (who are often also dancers), which is evident in the selection of contributors to this volume who share an interest in questions of revitalization and return from various practical and discursive positions.

Restance

Speaking of the “resistance” of “reducing” a phenomenon or “a text as such to its effects of meaning, content, thesis, or theme,” Derrida proposes to call this resistance restance, and explains: “coined from the verb rester (to remain),” restance means “ ‘the fact or act of remaining or of being left over’ ” of a “sort of writing that can neither adapt nor adopt such a reduction” (1981, 7–8). In this light, the phenomenon of reenactment cannot be firmly pinned down by the semantics of its vocabulary. What is more, its own conceptual work of the “re-” also follows this logic.1 Reenactments remain marked by the resistant (p. 609) traces of what their synthesis must reduce or erase. Retrospective covers of that which went before are molded by omissions. Concurrently, an afterword’s analeptic reenactment of a collection of chapters, which brings back certain aspects of past writing while passing over others, does not assume the status of an exhaustive reconstruction. It still resounds, however, with the restance of that which it does not retrieve. Restance, then, is yet another term to be added to the list of reenactment nomenclature.

Restance affects reenactments in various ways. It can be most powerful if construed as an advertent effect of latency, as in Stan Douglas’s fictional histories that are the object of his photographs for Disco Angola (2012).2 Catherine Soussloff writes in Chapter 29 that actual history, the fact that “Angola descended into a perpetual battlefield, while disco was impugned for its commercialization and ‘bad’ music,” is left out in Douglas’s utopian reenactments, thus making obvious the constructed nature of Disco Angola’s redemptive élan, and its politically motivated refusal to reactivate the historical past.3 In this case, such a refusal must be seen as an emancipatory act. In other words, Douglas ensures in this work that the actual past’s absence is a conspicuous one. By contrast, restance can have a more problematic value when operating inadvertently, as revealed by Susanne Franco’s discussion in Chapter 7 of Valerie Preston-Dunlop’s “recreations” of Rudolf Laban’s choreographies. Here the deliberate neglect of the fascist aspect and context of Laban’s work leads to restance of a more haunting nature. The absence of an obvious and well-researched political burden casts a shadow on Preston-Dunlop’s choreographies, adding unease to their allegedly neutral status. Making complex the question of “thereness” in reenactment, restance thus forces us to think about the politics of outspoken and unspoken retrieval.4

Temporality

If the vocabularies of reenactment are unstable, multiple, and open to new additions, so too are reenactment’s temporalities. “[D]anced reenactment places the dance work in a set of asymmetrical historical temporalities; it is hence likely to unsettle our assumed grounding in a linearly progressive past,” Franko states in Chapter 1. In Chapter 25, writing on fifteenth-century basse danse and bassadanza manuals, Seeta Chaganti speaks of a kind of time that is “recursive and multidirectional [ . . . ] .” As Christel Stalpaert’s discussion of William Kentridge’s video installations in Chapter 19 shows, such an approach to temporality might constitute a strategic statement, refusing clock time that (p. 610) is associated with capitalism and colonialism. Here Dada Masilo’s reenactment of Loïe Fuller’s Serpentine Dance, which is shown in reverse, literally re-embodies time, showing how to perform it otherwise.5

But the archival investments of current reenactment practices also include what Kate Elswit in Chapter 9 calls their “ ‘future’ potential.” The recovery of past dances has come to constitute a new contemporary choreographic and performative activity with a forward-looking dimension, associating reenactment with a future impregnated with recovery. Or, in the words of performance scholar João Florêncio, member of the new Future Advisory Board of Performance Studies International, “at a critical time when so much of what has heretofore been taken for granted is melting, burning or fading away, rethinking the future is of the utmost urgency [italics added].”6 Those who create, think, and comment about danced reenactments contest the presumed untouchable nature of the future, even when accepting the limits of their projections; and they doubt the presumed knowability of the past, even when piecing it together or reconstructing it. They accept that there is “an impossible element” within their efforts, Gerald Siegmund writes in Chapter 23, but they also take on the challenge and joy of hybrid temporality. Kate Elswit’s work with Rani Nair is called Future Memory (Chapter 9); Chaganti discusses an “anticipatory” agency in the historical manuals that she is investigating (Chapter 25); Frédéric Pouillaude observes that Isidore Isou’s 1960 lettrist ballet scores “document [ . . . ] in advance” the choreographic present (Chapter 8).7 In a reversal of Walter Benjamin’s thought image (or in fact, movement image) of the Angelus Novus, whose gaze is directed toward a (catastrophic) past while he is driven toward a future that lies behind his back, reenactments are facing the future in its double shape as both past and present futurity; yet at the same time, going backward, they also recede from it. Whereas we must advance through time—Benjamin’s angel is irresistibly propelled into the future—we do not have to, but we decide to go back to the past. There is no “archival impulse,” André Lepecki argues, but a “will to archive” (2010, 28).

Archive

This will to archive has much in common with what Sigmund Freud, who devoted himself to the ways in which individual, unconscious pasts can be made available for analysis, calls “working-through,” a mode of conscious remembering and appropriation of former experience that he contrasts to an unconscious mode of compulsive repetition. In Freud, however, conscious remembering cannot happen in the “motor sphere,” which is the site where unconscious impulses are repetitively acted out or “discharge[d] in action.” In the Freudian setting, remembering must take place in the “psychical field” (p. 611) in order to become a precondition of working-through (2001, 153). Danced reenactment takes to task Freud’s theory. Transposing this theory onto the territory of performance, it demonstrates how the bodily labor of choreography is actually able to work through collective, and sometimes also personal, pasts. Martin Nachbar points out in Chapter 2 that the “therapeutic aspect” of his Repeater—Dance Piece with Father (2007) consisted in recognizing that he and his father both display the same “line of tension” along shoulder and arm, and that the work on Repeater enabled him to accept this line as a gift from his father, as a mutual bond, as opposed to an unwanted restriction of his physical flexibility.

If the psychoanalytic notion of working-through becomes a physical one in reenactment, so too does the notion of archive or of archival practice. Taking into account current archival theories, this notion has a literal and a metaphorical dimension; it implies both “a body of documents and the institutions that house them” and “a metaphoric invocation for any corpus of selective collections and the longings that the acquisitive quests for the primary, originary, and untouched entail” (Stoler 2009, 45). Archival dance, by contrast, goes beyond textual sources and material objects. As an embodied practice, it is also always more than metaphorical. Dance bestows an archival function to the body and its movement. Dancers “re-member knowledge through their movements as the body acts” (Foster 2009, 8). They thus enter the archive in more than one way: like scholars, they engage in archival inquiry; but they also perform what they have found, and they perform how they relate to their archive, questioning their desire for authenticity.

Following Rebecca Schneider, to refer to the live acts of bodily movement as archival findings or documents unsettles the distinction between documents on the one side and performance acts on the other. As Schneider argues, “crossing the wires of this long-sedimented binary” effectuates an important theoretical shift, providing “a fertile way to interrogate the very privilege that document, inscription, and textuality have held over incorporation” (2011, 197). This theoretical shift not only affects ontological categorization, such as the insistence on performance’s transience; it also pertains to the ethical and political relevance of performance. If the body itself becomes document, record, or evidence, and the dancer the archival agent or subject rather than object, hierarchical allocations that are entwined with the dichotomy of textual documents (as standing for the same) and embodied acts (as standing for the other) are no longer tenable. Often, dance deconstructs this dichotomy between embodiment and recording even further. Archival performances of the body-as-document are visually or textually recorded in turn, making documentation a genuine part of the performative event.8

(p. 612) Historiography

Reenactments are anti-positivistic and skeptical about accurate reconstructions of the past, but they also work toward new forms of approaching historical knowledge. They have an “investigative dimension [ . . . ] contributing to our understanding of the works, practice, or historical moment concerned” (Pakes, Chapter 5 in this volume); they uncover and in this sense also “produce” tradition or genealogy (Siegmund, Chapter 23 in this volume).9 If one is able through reenactment to “grasp[] the logic of thought” embodied in the dance (Bleeker, Chapter 10 in this volume), this may also imply that one salvages aspects that have fallen to the wayside in previous processes of historiographical preservation. Carrie Noland in Chapter 6 considers Jennifer Goggans’s 2014 reconstruction of Merce Cunningham’s Crises (1960) part of the larger aesthetic realm of reenactment, and she explores how this reconstruction by a dancer with intimate knowledge of the original directs attention to affective and dramatic potentials that are usually denied in approaches to Cunningham’s choreography.10 Noland also argues that a reconstruction like Goggans’s brings to the fore choreographic processes that show how ostensibly originary or even totalitarian agencies—a choreography that is imposed onto dancers’ bodies, a source piece that determines its reconstruction—are shaped by that which they might seem to govern. Crises emerged from a process in which the choreographer’s body gave in to being transformed by the movement qualities of one of his dancers, in this case Viola Farber. Likewise, a historical choreography will not remain unaffected by its reconstruction or reenactment. “It is as though a work,” Noland writes,

conceived originally for a different audience, discursively framed in a different way, bore in its very DNA the possibility of evolving along other lines. The aesthetic of the reconstructor, the kinetic particularities of the dancers, and the attitude of the contemporary audience all pull the choreography further in a direction latent in the choreography. (Chapter 6)

What, then would be the direction latent in the artistic field of reenactment, and how can we pull it further? This Handbook suggests an intrinsic or latent relationship between reenactment and historiography, whereby the performed histories of reenactments do not necessarily replace traditional historiography, but rethink its terms.11 Referring to Vanessa Agnew’s theorization of popular reenactments in Chapter 3, Timmy De Laet reminds us that this scholar detects a general emphasis in the field on affective historiography, and therefore ultimately doubts “whether reenactment has the ‘capacity to (p. 613) further historical understanding’, precisely because of its ‘emphasis on affect’ ” (Agnew, cited in Chapter 3).” But De Laet also asserts that the focus on affect alone does not capture the self-reflective dimension of new archival performance:12 “The common equation of reenactment in dance with a search for affect has fostered a rather one-sided perspective that disregards how it also stimulates epistemic faculties and provokes critical reflection on how it is we come to know the past.”

Franko is also wary to leave unchallenged claims that too readily conflate reenactment with historiography. If the discipline of history, as Michel Foucault has it, was for a long time deemed to be “a practice disengaged from the present,” reenactment’s allegiances to the body’s here and now would preclude that it can act on this discipline’s behalf. What if, however, reenactment were not primarily considered to perform a physical kind of historiography, but to stage the tension or the conflict between history and memory? In Chapter 30, Sabine Huschka speaks of a “staged act of activated memory,” emphasizing that we do not aim to approach the truth of the past, but rather appropriate a mediated—and therefore precisely not immediate—version of it;13 and we do so to create specific effects, restoring a certain operative dimension to that which is (no longer) gone. These views suggest that reenactment is not just bodily or mental recollection but a recalling to action of the past as event. Reenactment testifies to a new sense of agency in relationships with the past. This sense of agency is representative of a larger shift in theoretical concerns. There is an intimate link between the focus during the 1990s on ephemerality in performance studies and the insistence in trauma studies on the erasure of the event which is at the heart of painful experience.14 That which Franko calls, significantly, the “post-ephemeral era” (Chapter 1) of reenactment shifts theoretical attention from a kind of eventness that exists through compulsive erasure and return, to one that exists through deliberate—if not uncomplicated—forms of reclaim.

The performative recalling to action of the past as event can also have a refreshing effect on the habits and conventions of traditional historiography. This is what Christina Thurner proposes in Chapter 26. Thurner considers danced reenactment a “form of historiography” which offers “a response” to “the postmodern crisis” of the writing of history, one that provides an “alternative paradigm,” which she associates with the “enmeshed model of a network, or a choreographic contemporaneity of the noncontemporaneous, rather than a straight line emerging from one starting point” (Chapter 26 in this volume).15 Or, as Franko puts it, reenactments and their multiple temporalities adopt (p. 614) “the project of historiography by acting on that which seemed to belong forever more to the register of language (the writing of history)” (Chapter 1 in this volume). Reenactment not only takes something away from the field of writing, the present afterword would like to add, but is also able to give back to this field. It recalls to action, acts on, and thus reintroduces impact in the present to that which has been said and done. Kentridge’s The Refusal of Time “questions time regimes that support a chronological, modernist conception of time and (dance) history,” writes Stalpaert, making us aware of this performance’s repercussions on our understanding of historiography (Chapter 19 in this volume). By casting a black performer and filmically intervening into a canonical dance piece, Kentridge may not rewrite, but does revisualize a prominent example of Western dance heritage, repossessing it to powerful effect for those whom this heritage excluded.

Pulling further the relationship between reenactment and historiography means, then, not to do away with or replace written historiographies by performed ones; but to complete the transfer of knowledge between the written and the performed by allowing the insights of performance to feed back into the sites of writing. Situated at the theoretically self-reflexive end of a continuum of archival practice in dance, the rethinking of methods for approaching the past is part of the performance of reenactments. Resounding with Judith Butler’s model of performativity, reenactments reiterate rather than repeat, thinking with, but not within, the prescriptions of the past. In doing so, they indeed reflect upon historiography; they engage in theoretical as much as practical concerns. Reenactments can thus provide impulses for an academic practice of dance historiography that is at the height of current (performed) theorizing.

These impulses pertain, above all, to the meshwork of what I would like to call the inter-temporal and globally interconnected aspects of the project of reenactment.16Inter-temporality is used as an umbrella term here, encompassing not only the unsettlement of linear time in archival performance, but also the hybrid or aesthetic temporalities that currently receive much critical attention both within and beyond the field of dance.17 Reenactment’s temporal theorizing is in touch with cross-disciplinary debates, such as the discussion on the multiple temporalities of contemporaneity in art theory.18 It also speaks to what Georgina Born, with reference to music, calls “the multiplicity of time in cultural production” (2015, 362), and to the new interest in literary history in the “transtemporal movement” of “[p]olychronic parallax in multiple historical dimensions,” which breaks open firm allocations of literary context (Tucker 2011, x).

In addition, arguing for a globally interconnected dance history means acknowledging that dance brings together not only multiple times, but also multiple places; one might think of spatialized histories, and also of a “poetics of space and time” (Chapter 24). Styles of movement, dance pieces, and dancers migrate; forms of dance (p. 615) adapt elements from each other; they fuse and branch out.19 Erika Fischer-Lichte calls this interconnectedness “interweaving,” and she points out that it “does not result in homogenization but generates diversity.” She holds that

moving within and between cultures is celebrated as a state of in-betweeness that will change spaces, disciplines and the subject as well as her/his body in a way that exceeds what is currently imaginable. By interweaving performance cultures without negating or homogenizing differences but permanently de/stabilizing and thus invalidating their authoritative claims to authenticity, performances, as sites of in-betweeness, are able to constitute fundamentally other, unprecedented realities. (2014, 12–15)

Such other, unprecedented realities emerge in Elswit’s and Nair’s reenactment of Kurt Jooss’s gift to Swedish-based Indian dancer Lilavati Häger, and in Beyoncé’s “borrowing” of movement material by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker, as discussed in Chapter 18 by Anthea Kraut;20 they arise in Randy Martin’s “logics of derivation” which he detects in Trisha Brown’s postmodern dance, in breakdancing, and in skateboarding (Chapter 28), and in Janez Janša’s subversive reappropriation during the 2007 Exodos Festival in Ljubljana of canonical contemporary dance works from the United States, Germany, and Japan.21 They can be witnessed in Ecuadorian Fabián Barba’s “illusions of authenticity” when performing Mary Wigman’s dances (Chapter 20), and in Richard Move’s “sonic incarnations” of Martha Graham (Chapter 4). However, the lens of reenactment also casts new light on dance forms that are not necessarily associated with the theoretical outlook of this term, such as the thirteenth-century ritual dance theater Kaisika Natakam, whose restagings are explored by Ketu H. Katrak and Anita Ratnam in Chapter 15.22 Anurima Banerji in Chapter 21 introduces the philosophical, performative, and spatial distribution of the dancer’s body in the Indian mahari naach, which cannot be reproduced in this dance’s reenactment in the shape of Odissi.23 Here, the acknowledgement of reenactment theory draws out impossibilities, rather than possibilities, of reproduction across historical gaps.

What, then, might a type of historiography that is mindful of performative practice look like? It might still follow a traditionally discursive model, but tell (hi)stories that reflect inter-temporality and global interconnectedness in their thematic reaches and approaches. But it might also reflect, in its methodology and form, reenactment’s poetics of space and time. As we have seen, reenactment redefines the notion of the archive, or, (p. 616) as some contributors to this volume argue, sets an anarchival practice against an archival one. Jens Giersdorf holds that reenactment produces “new theatrical and historical structures, instead of functioning as archival practice” (Chapter 27); VK Preston considers anarchival critical research one in which, as Schneider has it, the archive becomes “another kind of performance” (Schneider, cited in Chapter 14). In staged reenactments, in turn, the performance often becomes another kind of archive. It is an example of such a kind of archive that I would like to introduce in conclusion, based on a reenactment project that may serve as an inspiring model for a type of academic historiography that is attentive to the rethinking of historiography in dance.

AfterwordNotes after the Fact

Figure A.1.The Source Code—A Moving Archive.

© 2014 Jochen Roller.

German dancer, dance researcher, and choreographer Jochen Roller’s project The Source Code—A Moving Archive stores material from Roller’s 2014 re-creation of Gertrud Bodenwieser’s 1954 dance drama Errand into the Maze.24 Roller undertook the re-creation together with Australian-based dancers Latai Taumoepeau, Matthew Day, Lizzie Thomson, and Nadia Cusimano, German dance researcher Elisabeth Nehring, and video artist Andrea Keiz. Results from this project are accessible on a website that puts at our disposal a set of historiographical tools.25 These tools consist not only in the making available of archival material, but also in recordings of the physical production of such material. The project was never meant to lead to a full reconstruction or reenactment on stage, but to document reenactment as a research process; at the same time, it also reenacts documents, remixing corporeal, visual, and discursive traces of a past performance.

Bodenwieser is a major proponent of early twentieth-century Ausdruckstanz. As an Austrian Jew, she had to emigrate to Australia, where she introduced Germanic (p. 617) expressionism to new audiences. Part of the global circulation of Ausdruckstanz that led to hybrid cultural geographies,26 Bodenwieser’s work now also belongs to Australia’s dance heritage. Roller’s digital archive opens up this heritage again, allowing it to travel back to Austria, Germany, and beyond. His project website is organized along ten levels, including different themes such as genealogies of Bodenwieser technique, the aesthetic of danced expressionism, Bodenwieser’s status as refugee, her movement material, and also one level crucially entitled “The Non-Reconstruction.” All themed levels contain twelve documents: photographs, interviews with witnesses, discussions among Roller’s recreation team, historical letters and descriptions of performances, program leaflets, and video clips of rehearsals and classes in Bodenwieser technique. The documents are placed in slight disarray in front of background images of old archival boxes or suitcases, creating the appearance of mock-materiality superseded by digital click-culture, but also reminding the visitor that the digital interface relies upon a project stage at which the team engaged with people, handled physical materials, and familiarized themselves as dancers with an unfamiliar school of movement.

When visiting the website as a researcher and clicking on the various documents, one reenacts, as it were, the reenactment process: one thematic level is called “Constantly Moving,” and this is what the digital interface encourages, interspersed with moments of halt and attentiveness, zooming in on a historical photograph, an audio recording of a former Bodenwieser dancer, or a studio clip. There is also a commentary function that highlights cross-references between the documents. At the end of one’s pathway through the material, one can generate a map that traces the research trajectory. The performativity of the site depends on how it is performed upon by the scholar. The 120 documents are enough to satisfy our desire for knowledge, and yet they are also based on obvious selection. Their “attitude” is cautious so as not to lure us into a delusion of total proximity. The discussions among the team rest on a shared commitment to learning about something that remains far away and impossible to assimilate, but that is still traceable as a historical form of movement with its own psycho-choreographical qualities.27

A project like The Source Code activates the past not as event, then, but as process, showing us how the performance of a reenactment—which was not intended in this case—might come about, without displaying a result. The studio clips that are included on the website only ever present us with snippets of movement sequences, often framed with discursive passages. Here, dance is conducted in ways that are almost undistinguishable from scholarship: the performers consult archival (p. 618) material, conduct interviews with witnesses, sit down and discuss. But they also add an embodied dimension to their research, engaging physically with a movement language that belongs to the past. The new archive that grew out of this range of activities retains their processual character. However, the creation of an archive does not seem to have been the single or most important aim of The Source Code. Rather, the archival structure facilitated—and still facilitates for us—that which appears to have been the project’s initial driving momentum. At some point in one of the recorded conversations among the Errand into the Maze re-creation team, Roller talks about his motivations for embarking on The Source Code. He asks, “How much can you [ . . . ] delve into another person’s movement language, trying to understand what this person was concerned with?”28 This, then, is yet another intriguing and perhaps the most fundamental question posed not only by Roller’s project, but also by the extensive and multiple field of danced reenactment as a form of performative and scholarly inquiry.

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Florêncio, Joao. 2016. http://www.psi-web.org/about/future-advisory-board/.

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Notes:

(1) See Franko, Chapter 24, in this volume.

(2) On fictional reenactment, see also the chapters by Anna Pakes, Branislav Jakovljević, and Susan Jones in this volume (Chapters 5, 11, 22).

(3) Compare Ramsay Burt’s discussion in Chapter 17 in this volume of the “utopian ideas that reconstructions, reenactments, reperformances, and related projects can offer by blasting performances out of the pigeonholes into which normative historical processes have consigned them.”.

(4) See Part IX in this volume.

(5) Stalpaert (Chapter 19).

(7) On “Past Futures,” see also Richard Move (Chapter 4) and Randy Martin (Chapter 28) in this volume.

(8) See Philip Auslander, “The Performativity of Performance Documentation,” Performance Art Journal 84 (2006): 1–10; Amelia Jones: “‘Presence’ in Absentia: Experiencing Performance as Documentation,” Art Journal 56 (Winter 1997): 11–18; see also my discussion of Jochen Roller’s The Source Code later in this afterword.

(9) Pakes; see also Huschka’s chapter in this volume.

(10) For a detailed discussion of the problematic status of the witness of an original choreography, see Susanne Foellmer (Chapter 13) in this volume.

(11) See also Ramsay Burt (Chapter 17) in this volume.

(12) On affect, see also Anna Pakes (Chapter 5) and Gerald Siegmund (Chapter 23) in this volume.

(13) On memory, see also Yvonne Hardt (Chapter 12) and P. A. Skantze (Chapter 16) in this volume.

(14) See Cathy Caruth, Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996); Peggy Phelan, Unmarked: The Politics of Performance (London: Routledge, 1993), and Mourning Sex: Performing Public Memories (London: Routledge, 1997).

(15) Julia Wehren echoes Thurner’s position. Wehren explores the historiographical aspects of current performance practice by Olga de Soto, Foofwa d’Imobilité, Thomas Lebrun, and Boris Charmatz and argues that “their choreographic rethinking of history […] represents dance history in meaningful and adequate ways,” in Körper als Archiv in Bewegung. Choreographie als historiografische Praxis (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2016), 220 (my translation).

(16) See Part VIII in this volume.

(17) See Michael Gamper and Helmut Hühn, Was sind ästhetische Eigenzeiten? (Hannover: Wehrhahn, 2014).

(18) See Terry Smith, “Contemporary Art and Contemporaneity,” Critical Inquiry 32(4) (2006): 681–707.

(19) See Ann Cooper Albright and Ann Dils, Moving History/Dancing Cultures: A Dance History Reader (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2001); Susan Leigh Foster, ed., Worlding Dance (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011); Gabriele Klein, “Inventur der Tanzmoderne. Geschichtstheoretische Überlegungen zur tanzwissenschaftlichen Forschung,” Forum Modernes Theater 23/1 (2008), 5–12.

(20) See Kate Elswit (Chapter 9) and Anthea Kraut (Chapter 18) in this volume.

(21) See Ramsay Burt (Chapter 17) in this volume.

(22) See Ketu H. Katrak and Anita Ratnam (Chapter 15) in this volume.

(23) See Anurima Banerji (Chapter 21) in this volume.

(24) “Re-creation” is the term that Roller chose for his project. For a complementary discussion of The Source Code, see Sabine Huschka (Chapter 30) in this volume.

(26) See also Fabián Barba (Chapter 20) in this volume.

(27) At the thematic level entitled “Refugee Alien” on the Source Code website, we find the recording of a conversation of the Errand into the Maze re-creation team at Rozelle School of Visual Arts in Sydney in January 2013. Roller talks about a specific movement, a form of “withheld collapse” or “a collapse where you know you have to go on” as Barbara Cuckson, custodian of the Bodenwieser Archives, had explained to the team; and he suggests that it might be possible to read this movement as the manifestation of Bodenwieser’s “biographical pain.” http://www.thesourcecode.de/refugee-alien.html#function-of-movement.

(28) Ibid.