Circus in Film - Capturing the Uncapturable

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Circus in Film – Capturing the Uncapturable

Putting a circus act on video might seem counterintuitive to some, but more and more artists are reaching out to new audiences by taking their acts from stage to camera— and Estonian aerialist Kadri Hansen is one of them. In this article, Kadri explores the creative possibilities of making circus films.

Vanishing Act

As circus performers, our act vanishes as soon as our performance is over. It is a disappearing art form, just like any other performance art where nothing tangible is offered to the audience. In the best-case scenario, our work will be remembered and talked about long after our show, and we can just hope for ourselves that we will remember to keep the vivid feelings of our own performance before they gradually pass from sight. The true experience is lived only in the moment. While having one’s creations captured on film can allow their work to live beyond the performance itself, it is a whole art on its own to capture circus arts:, a genre that is ideally experienced with all five senses, now flattened down into a two-dimensional form. Having one’s circus act on film is a captivating way to detach our physical bodies from our work while still showcasing both our physical and artistic skills. It can live on long after we lose the ability or will to perform.

While live performance is an exchange between the performer and the audience serving as the other half of the relationship—the one who’s not in the spotlight—in film, this dialogue becomes a dance between cinematography and the performer, making the camera one of the invisible yet equally important partners of the whole act—a partner whose purpose should also be well-acknowledged, its movements justified.

The Beginning

I had always been a bit skeptical when it came to online circus shows, as somehow the intimacy and danger that circus performers offer to the audience feels a lot more distant than it does when sharing a physical space and energy while being in the same moment with the viewers. The pandemic at the beginning of 2020, however, was the door-opener for all kinds of performing arts to find their way to the audience virtually.

My short aerial dance film was born out of a full- length six-minute aerial act, filmed during a lockdown in my home country, Estonia, for an online cabaret commissioned by Firefly Theatre & Circus in Edmonton, Canada. It was part of their first virtual circus show and also showcased later on that year at the virtual Alberta Contemporary Circus Arts Festival. At the beginning of this year, the footage of the act was re-edited into a short aerial dance film which made its world premiere as part of the world’s longest-running dance film festival, the 50th Annual Dance On Camera Festival, held at the Lincoln Centre in New York. That was my first step into the world of dance films and different film festivals, including the International Circus Films Festival, which was born in the same year as the pandemic.

From a personal perspective, my step from the stage into the circus film world was fueled by the combination of the distance from the live audience that the pandemic initiated, and the desire to use that distance as an artistic advantage.In my mind, I believe I had formed an unconscious list of ideas I hadn’t been able to explore because they wouldn’t necessarily work in front of live audiences—things such as “acting small” instead of performing all-out like a theatre actor.Another advantage of distance—the most important one for me—is the mental one. When there is no one to impress, one is ultimately free. NowI was free to imagine all the possible creative choices that I’d considered unreasonable in live performance.

On Energy

One of my doubts regarding performing for a camera was whether I could create a similar kind of energy in my performance to that which is normally shared with a live audience, as we are able to play off of them, read them and, in turn, allow ourselves to be seen by them. The meaningful exchange of attention and acknowledgment between the audience and the performer is eliminated when one is executing their act just for their camera team, who, in my case, consisted of only two other people in the space. That’s what I was afraid of… yet to my pleasant surprise,I did not need to have the audience’s eyes locked on me to be able to communicate my vision,nor did I need them to be there to feel that I was fully “in the zone” of my performance. On the contrary, it felt private and personal to be able to perform in solitude, similarly as I had done for so many hours, or even years, when looking back into my act creation process. That being said, if I knew no one would ever witness my creation, I probably wouldn’t have found the motivation to create it, either. Yet, to create and perform for a camera, there was this comforting thought: sometime, somewhere, people will see me perform; people will see me perform even when I’ve actually left the stage (be that wherever), when my character has left their environment. The audience will see me, yet I will never be able to see them.While many performers were longing to get out, both literally and figuratively, during the pandemic—longing to connect again with the people in the same room and space— I enjoyed sinking into the pleasure of withdrawing in its widest meaning. I found myself having a dialogue, becoming inspired and feeding off of the energy of the same companion as I often do when I’m alone: music.

Visibility

The option not to become so well “exposed” before a large, live audience also manifested itself in my artistic and technical choices for my act: I wanted to make myself “invisible,” in a sense.  Under different circumstances, when having a large crowd in the performance space, I would not want to be eaten by the dark background, nor take the risk of becoming invisible to the eyes looking at me. However, during the act creation for the screen, it soon became one of the most exciting technical parts of the project: thinking about how to light certain elements.I finally felt confident using black silks, a black costume, and a fairly low-lit background and space.

I personally consider the anonymous silhouette of a body projected through the black silks as one of the most eye-pleasing frames of the film.  It’s the moment where I feel the closest to the artists who have the choice to be detached from their work, such as a painters, illustrators— anyone whose artistic expression isn’t directly attached to their face and body; whose work doesn’t have the need to include their identity.

Limitations as Inspiration

Through video art, I wanted to explore everything that I felt too constrained to do throughout my career in performance art. Therefore, most of my inspiration sources were simply artistic reversals: the opposite directions of what I was conditioned to do. For example, the beginning of my act is rather abrupt, startingin medias resin the middle without having the easing-in of a smooth intro. I imagined it to be somewhat similar to turning on a TV and catching the film midway through, only assuming how the story began or what might have happened to the character beforehand. When normally I’d use louder, engaging music that could overpower the noise people create in different performance venues, I had the liberty to use a soundscape that was a lot more minimalistic—quiet—without worrying that it wouldn’t be heard.

As aerialists, we are physically located quite far from our audience in terms of both height and distance. Therefore, a great benefit that comes with using cinematography in the service of circus performances is that the audience can have a much more intimate view of the performer through the camera lens. In addition, through cinematography, we are opened up to so many new, creative ways to place our audience where we’d want, thus offering them new angles and viewpoints they normally wouldn’t have access to.

Empowerment

Part of many—yet not every—circus artists’ journeys is the wait to be chosen, whether by a client, producer, or casting director. Being able to create personal work that is aligned with one’s sense of self can therefore be both empowering and therapeutic, as we often face an artistic compromise when working for the vision of someone else.

Creating a performance for screen offered me an illusion of control over the audience’s eyes  through the framing of shots; the illusion of control over my own artistic voice, as the possibilities to showcase one’s personal aesthetic choices on film are limitless; and ultimately, the illusion of creating something near-tangible, more “reusable” than a circus act— something that I always feel perishing whenever I’m not in the moment of performing it.

On Screen or Live?

When I ask myself whether I would prefer to continue performing for live audiences or choose to create conceptual acts for film, my initial reaction is to answer both, as they seem to embody qualities that are both attractive, and yet opposite. One of these genres is more extraverted and outgoing, with its spontaneity, risk, and connection between people; the other more introverted, with its controlled outcomes, and without the opportunity to connect with the creator at the moment their work is showcased.

I then realize that, in theory, I do enjoy the idea of having the final say in the outcome of my act and all the appealing qualities film offers, especially the ability to be seen while being hidden; to explore performance styles from beyond the restrictions of live venues. To go beyond the realism that the real world and the laws of physics impose. It all feels incredibly inviting.

But finally, there’s something that only a live audience can offer: the thrill of having someone there and witnessing the risks we face as performers for for the performer to not being perfect; the ability for the performer to sense whether or how much the audience is with them; and the tempting need for immediate… human connection, for some; for others—validation. An instant gratification.

Kadri Hansen
Kadri Hansen is an Estonian aerial acrobat who loves to share parts of her inner self through aerial performances. Kadri is inspired by contrasts and contradictions both in humans and Estonia's nature in different seasons. Having a degree in graphic design and visual communications, she has a great curiosity towards different forms of art and visual storytelling. At the beginning of 2022, Kadri's first aerial dance film was selected to have its world premiere at the "50th Dance on Camera Festival" in New York, thus combining Kadri's extensive performance background with her studies in visual communication.
Kadri has been involved with Circus for most of her life, alongside being put into music school at the age of 5 where she learned classical piano for many years. Due to the fact that the circus community is fairly small in a country of 1.3 million people, Kadri's curiosity has taken her to live, train and perform with various companies in Mexico and Canada over the years. Kadri's movement style has been described as organic and deeply emotive. Her acts often have a powerful yet nostalgic feel to them.
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Kadri Hansen

Kadri Hansen is an Estonian aerial acrobat who loves to share parts of her inner self through aerial performances. Kadri is inspired by contrasts and contradictions both in humans and Estonia's nature in different seasons. Having a degree in graphic design and visual communications, she has a great curiosity towards different forms of art and visual storytelling. At the beginning of 2022, Kadri's first aerial dance film was selected to have its world premiere at the "50th Dance on Camera Festival" in New York, thus combining Kadri's extensive performance background with her studies in visual communication. Kadri has been involved with Circus for most of her life, alongside being put into music school at the age of 5 where she learned classical piano for many years. Due to the fact that the circus community is fairly small in a country of 1.3 million people, Kadri's curiosity has taken her to live, train and perform with various companies in Mexico and Canada over the years. Kadri's movement style has been described as organic and deeply emotive. Her acts often have a powerful yet nostalgic feel to them.