If you were to transcribe his choreographic work into words, you could probably only do it in a lengthy and elongated, even and flowing phrase, unbothered by syntax, into which a subordinate clause weaves its way to stop the sentence shortly afterwards. Suddenly a striking line would grab your attention, the slight suggestion of an idea would come up and, just as quickly, dry up as though discarded. Then, in a startling textual movement in a long, flowing motion, an innovative phrase would emerge and, continuing to travel, pick up the theme once again until – abruptly – it’s reached the end.
​Conversely, Stephan Herwig, choreographer and dancer, has in fact used the written word as the basis of his piece “Rhythm & Silence” – which is spectacular because it’s completely silent. He let the dancers do a free interpretation of E. E. Cummings’s grasshopper poem “r-p-o-p-h-e-s-sa-g-r”, dividing the poem into lines, letting these be taken as phrases, repeated and combined, then paused, slowed down or sped up and doubled as an echo.

Like this exceptional example indicates, Stephan Herwig always works together with his dancers on the genesis of his choreographic work. For his new piece “In Feldern” (Within Fields), too – which he launched in the hot summer of 2020 at the Schwere Reiter in Munich. His notes are lying on a table in the hall. Earlier he had literally wound his youthful body around the chair while attentively following the stage, repeatedly calling the action to a halt, clarifying things, playing placeholder music. An especially composed score will be added later, he says, by the Munich sound artist Daniel Door. This is his first time collaborating with a composer. Until now he’s always chosen his musical moods himself – or done without sound altogether, as in “Rhythm & Silence”.

The two dancers on stage indicate moves, recapitulate what they’ve already tried out. But Stephan Herwig is not someone who “rehearses” pieces. A magic bond seems to connect him with his dancers when he hints at his imaginings with a few explanations and gestures, and the dancers transform it into their performance. Anna Fontanet (Barcelona) and Susanne Schneider (Munich) – with whom he has already worked in “Rhythm & Silence” (Susanne Schneider joined them for the second run) – understand him immediately. The rehearsal is a communal searching process, an attempt, and ultimately a discovery. “Before the first rehearsal, I try to know as little as possible,” says Stephan Herwig, “until I’ve found a structure or idea that I want to make space for.” In the first creative phase, he therefore tries to accept anything that the dancers present without immediately questioning its ability to be artistically integrated. With this sense of openness, he involves the dancers in his creative process. And even though his name stands over the piece in the final credits, he knows that it would have become different if he had worked with other dancers. The dancers on stage now present him with almost sphynx-like movements, their heads immobile, their eyes locked into each other’s in a fixed stare. Karen Piewig, who danced together with Stephan Herwig in “Rebirth” (2008), is sitting next to him and making suggestions, offering ideas, discarding others – she has been his artistic assistant for many productions.

Rarely has Stephan Herwig found people in an audition with whom he can work; Anna Fontanet, with whom he has collaborated since “In This Very Moment” (2012), is an exception. He’s usually discovered his dancers on the stage or even taught them, as is the case with Giovanni Zazzera from Luxembourg, whom he cast in “In Feldern”. Gaetano Badalamenti was recommended by a colleague. Or it’s people whom he initially just finds agreeable and knows he can start a rewarding creative process with them. This is important, as the moves presented and tried out in improvisation only start to take shape gradually during an extended rehearsal period – in actual fact, a trying-­out period, a period of process, simply becoming, and a time of collaborative creation. On visiting day to the rehearsal, there are only two dancers there. The balanced symmetry of the sexes – two women and two men, also a feature of “Rhythm & Silence” – is noteworthy. “I consciously choose symmetry so that gender doesn’t become a theme,” says Stephan Herwig. Gender doesn’t actually matter to him. Instead, he constantly tries to change the makeup of the pairs on stage so that gender indifference is also structurally obvious.

But space is more important to him than gender. At the beginning of a piece, he looks at the space in front of him and how the bodies act in this space. Fundamentally, there’s no such thing as “small” or “grand” movements; what’s critical is the connection of the space around the bodies. In that way, as Anna Fontanet and Susanne Schneider once again demonstrate that, in rehearsal, what’s important are the moments of stillness during which micro-movements are released: a twitching shoulder, a direct glance, a hand stretching out from a dancer’s body otherwise brought to a halt. Then the stage once more becomes dynamic: the dancers investigate the space, screw themselves into spiral verticality, begin to travel along the floor. They are rapacious in the most potent sense of the word: they grasp at space with their bodies – vast, sweeping, completely physical and with a strong stage presence. Lines of vision, arm movements, twisting bodies now penetrate the stage like magnetising vectors that stretch out a net of inner relations.

That might feel abstract, but Stephan Herwig counters: “Human bodies on stage cannot be abstract”. But what he wants to negotiate artistically is abstract: staging the pure physicality of bodies entirely without narrative ciphers, bringing space and time to the performance, wholly elemental and substantive, and at the time immediately comprehensible, like the contemporary poetry of someone like E. E. Cummings, or descriptive like scores of concrete music.

Dance, light, set and music: all the staging components should feel equal and always be able to stand alone. “I’m searching for a dance that works without music, without lighting and without a set. I expect the same thing from lighting, from music and all the rest. Everything has to be strong enough in its own right.” That’s what yields, along with the various staging elements, an expressive dialogue of forms – yet not the illustration of a narrative or a theme in which the one is in the service of the other.

That requires from the audience active observation and the productive interpretation of what’s presented – in this way, the audience is involved in the creative process. Stephan Herwig is interested in what each individual sees. At the same time, the images and ideas about what’s been perceived should continually be able to transform. “Situations should be able to change, but not so that one can determine the exact moment in time when it happened. I like it when people notice that the dancers have entered a different mood and they no longer don’t know how they got there.”

The process-orientated nature of creation is reflected in the staging, but also in Stephan Herwig’s own life. As a freelance artist, he needs to be able to cope with vicissitude, as well as with the fact that he is basically dependent on sponsors, judging panels and a market in which, even in the contemporary sector, there’s always a mainstream element that can promise success. In recent years, he detached himself from that when he brought projects to fruition without financial support – which he refers to as an act of liberation. Now he can once again take more risks and only do what really interests him artistically. He also doesn’t want to repeat himself, and finds the thought of something “bearing his signature” dubious. Often, only after the fact, does he recognise that a recurring theme connects something to his previous work. He’d rather venture into unknown territory.

​As he does now with “In Feldern”, which was developed during the period of corona restrictions. Stephan Herwig generally welcomes limitations – they objectively serve to focus the creative process. At the moment he’s able to get on well with social distancing on stage. What’s more problematic is that there’s also distance to the audience, as unhindered dialogue after the performance can no longer take place. For the first time, his piece features composed music and a constructed stage set (by Mirella Oestreicher), which also indicates how his artistic work is continually opening up in all directions. But, for him, the audience is part of that. If thoughtful dialogue can no longer take place, then ultimately his artistic work will really become abstract, both for his dancers and for him as choreographer.

 

Dunja Bialas is a journalist who specialises in film criticism, and editor of the internet film magazine “artechock”, as well as co-founder of the international film festival UNDERDOX. She follows Munich’s dance sector with avid interest.