Some Thoughts on the Empowering Sensual Objectifications in Contact Improvisation
This text was part of a workshop I facilitated atthe “Queer Contact Improvisation” symposiumin Hamburg, organized by Wiktor Skrzypczak and Katya Engbrecht. It was first published on Diana Thielen’s blogat www.movementactivism.com
“Being a subject was good; being an object was bad. But, as we all know, being a subject can be tricky. The subject is always already subjected. Although the position of the subject suggests a degree of control, the reality is rather one of being subjected to power relations. Nevertheless, generations of feminists—including myself—have strived to get rid of patriarchal objectification in order to become subjects. Until quite recently (and for a number of reasons), the feminist movement worked toward claiming autonomy and full subjecthood. But as the struggle to become a subject became mired in its own contradictions, a different possibility emerged. How about siding with the object for a change? Why not affirm it? Why not be a thing? An object without a subject? A thing among other things?“
What struck me from my first CI class was the surprisingly pleasant experience of not actually being encountered or perceived as a human, as a person, as an individual, as Beata, but simply being used as a kind of material—as a supporting object used by others to carry out various motions and movements. It wasn’t offensive, but rather refreshing and relaxing, because the touch and the interactions didn’t demand anything from me directly. The touch was driven by other intentions, and I was merely a medium for exploring goals that were not my own. This feeling wasn’t entirely new. I actually enjoy being screened for dangerous goods by airport security, for example. And in a more planned and direct way, I’m also familiar with objectification games in BDSM contexts—such as when people are used as footstools. When sharing experiences of pleasurable objectification with others, we usually embraced this experience as an invitation to take a sort of vacation from ourselves. It’s a chance to not always be the same you. But to admit these secret pleasures and turn a concept that describes problematic aspects into something fun feels like a taboo, a no-go.
Certainly, I do want to be seen as a whole human being with my own unique life story. Of course: “Act in such a way that you treat humanity never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.” Objectification can actually be very dangerous, especially if it is not based on consent and when it fails to acknowledge all the other aspects that make up a person. (#malegaze, and the omnipresent hegemonic sexual objectification of women.) Karl Marx used the term to describe the objectification of labor, which leads to alienation from the self as a consequence of being a mechanistic part of a social class—a condition that estranges a person from their humanity. I would never question these perspectives. But what strikes me is how objectification is mostly automatically and unquestioningly regarded as something negative, destructive, and morally problematic in and of itself, while terms such as individuality, subjectivity, and humanism are generally viewed as positive and idealistic. Yet this devaluation of objects and objectification is incompatible with the enjoyable experiences I mentioned earlier. Moreover, the exaggerated emphasis on humanism, subjectivism, and emotionality can also have harmful effects; just think about neoliberal working conditions that demand affective labor—even waiters at a restaurant have to do their job with their whole personality; they have to project vitality, when probably all they actually want is to get the job done without fuss. If being human serves capitalist logics, then being a thing can be understood as something subversive, anarchic, and rebellious. Can’t becoming an object dismantle fixed and rigid systems of individuality and personhood? If so, then objectification could also be understood as inherently queer. I would like to propose that materiality could be understood as an alternative and extension of gender. We all know that even objects are not spared binary gender categories (such as the German masculine “Mond” and the Latin feminine “luna”). But objects also possess many qualities beyond gender. Interestingly enough, we already carry so much with us and within us that belongs to the world and is not gendered—such as minerals, bacteria, and the DNA strand. I want to argue that in processes of objectification, we do not actually become “the other” or something entirely different from ourselves; we simply focus on certain dimensions of ourselves that have always already been there—and have always already existed beyond gender.
In the field of philosophy, Martha Nussbaum is one of the few thinkers who directly addresses the positive aspects of objectification, particularly in erotic contexts. Nussbaum believes that it is possible that “some features of objectification […] may in fact, under certain circumstances, […] be even wonderful aspects of sexual life,” and thus “the term ‘objectification’ can also be used […] in a more positive sense.” Nussbaum provides an exquisite example of benign, positive objectification: “If I am lying on the bed with my lover and use his stomach as a pillow, there seems to be nothing at all harmful about this, provided that I do so with his consent (or, if he is asleep, with a reasonable belief that he would not mind), and without causing him pain, provided, as well, that I do so in the context of a relationship in which he is generally treated as more than a pillow.”
In cultural theory, there is a discernible shift—an interest in things and objects—known as the “non-human turn,” which has led to the publication of books with titles such as *Alien Phenomenology—or How It Is to Be a Thing*. In contrast to Martha Nussbaum’s concept, these theories focus less on the sensory aspects of objectifying humans and more on objects themselves. Once we reach that point, we can ask quite existential questions: What is a thing? Defining objects is not easy. Definitions quite often employ the concept of instrumentality. But the more you think about it, the more you realize that instrumentality can be applied not only to, say, a hammer, but also used to describe dogs, cakes, haikus, and even humans—they can all be put to use as a means to an end: I use a taxi driver to get from A to B, and I even use myself to cook myself a meal.
Object-oriented theories seek to view things as phenomena that cannot be properly understood when categorized in hierarchical positions as subordinate to human beings. Rather, anthropocentric worldviews are gradually beginning to crumble, and humans are no longer the center of everything. Furthermore, objects are not merely defined by their use by humans. Televisions, planets, works of art, fossils, nuclear weapons—they all seem to possess a life of their own, a certain agency. It can never be entirely clear who or what is actually acting. The effects of actions are always the result of networks or even collectives involving both animate and inanimate entities. It is not only we who use objects; things also define us and shape the way we act and live. Furthermore, objects can offer resistance; we are not able to change and shape them entirely by our own will alone. It is more of an interactive process of reciprocal influence—not only between humans and things, but also between things themselves; objects do have their own relationships. We as humans can ultimately also be categorized as objects among other objects in a so-called flat ontology that makes no distinction between the types of things that exist but treats all equally. Carpenters, leather, kangaroos, oil, symphonies, thunder, Martinis, Donald Duck, Japan, men and women, ambulances, mangoes: influencing one another, gathering and merging. These theories have a spiritual undertone: Everything is connected; everything is one.
After this digression, you might ask yourself: What does all of this have to do with Contact Improv? How can we apply all of this to our dance?
In a workshop led by Kristin Horrigan titled “Contact Improvisation and Gender,” participants were asked to list typical roles that dancers assume in CI. They identified roles such as: passive and active dancer, the initiator, the listener, the clown, the antagonist, teacher, student, dying swan, acrobat, lover, energizer, and so on. All of these roles are closely linked to traditional gender dynamics. By raising awareness of these gendered roles, Horrigan encouraged her students to avoid falling into them automatically and unconsciously, but rather to engage with them more deliberately, mindfully, and freely—giving themselves the opportunity to step back from them and be creative. Now I would like to expand and broaden this selection of roles by adding objects—specifically, the ideas we developed when considering objectification as a crucial phenomenon.
Becoming aware of the roles one takes on during a Contact Jam allows one to ask why someone might choose to take on the role of the “inviter,” the “follower,” “the mother,” or “the child” when dancing CI. The reasons for this may be influenced by one’s personal history and are related to experiences and personal histories, which in turn are shaped by society and culture. I believe that by inviting you to become objects, we might have a chance to shake off those automatic responses that lead us to assume typical roles. Because things can be quite different from those stereotypes—they are so much more than just people with their own little stories.
If you join a jam with this in mind, you can not only observe yourself—and see if you tend to take on the role of the “inviter” or “the follower”—but you can also experiment and play with your purely material and object-oriented aspects. You can decide what materials you’d like to offer others and choose what the others offer. You can become as hard as a rock and observe what others do with this rock. You could feel tired and look for a human pillow to rest on. How does it feel when you allow yourself to use others as objects? How does it feel when you allow others to use you as a tool? How does the difference feel? Just observe what new spaces and possibilities this opens up.
If you intuitively feel the urge to move upward, you may already be unconsciously looking for a body or body part that will serve as a stable base to climb upon or be lifted from. We already bring with us physical aspects of ourselves that have nothing to do with our “soul” or innermost life. Objectively speaking, we have a certain height and shape that can be used to create a scene. Finally, we bring with us a certain aesthetic that can be observed and contemplated, just like works of art in a gallery or pottery in a Japanese tea ceremony. The way we style our hair, how we dress, whether we’ve shaved—these could all be superficial side effects if you’re interested in dance as an inner experience of emotions and feelings. But if you take pleasure in being an object, those factors can play an interesting role. It might influence the dance—perhaps you’ll dance with people whose clothes match the color of yours. Dance can then also be understood as a form and practice of design with its own aesthetic qualities.
Finally, becoming an object might also help you cope with emotions by giving tangible form to abstract feelings and attaching them to an object. For example: if you feel like trash, it could be empowering not to solve the problem psychologically but simply—for a staged and limited amount of time—to be treated like trash, to be thrown away or even recycled—whatever that might look like in a dance context. Or the moment you no longer feel like dancing, you simply stop and don’t feel guilty—just as technical objects break all the time (which could also be a creative way to address issues of consent). You’re allowed to do nothing, and just gather dust like a forgotten object. Or you become dust, falling on others, freed from the demands of human life: “Become yourself, be yourself, express yourself, carpe diem.” Finally!
