A BRUTAL BREAKDOWN OF SWAN LAKE,

PERFORMANCE BY Josef Ka

VIDEO BY Krzysztof Skarżyński

TEXT BY Sandra Wilk, Strona Tańca

Josef Ka in her performance “Swan Lake” (original title: “Jezioro łabędzie”)—a clear reference to the great ballet masterpiece—leaves no room for conventions. There is no space here for the romantic tale of Prince Siegfried and Odette, transformed into a swan by a sorcerer. If anything, we might find only the Evil Spirit taking the form of a night bird, setting the rest of the events in motion… The performer, who is based in Finland and whose performance was shown at the 7th Butohpolis – International Festival of Butoh Art (Teatr Akt, April 26, 2025), begins her story about male dictatorship while sitting in an “egg.” It is a kind of cocoon made of grey material, restricting movement and visibility. We, the audience, only see some bulges and struggle inside, and hear sounds we try to decipher. Inside, a glass object is being moved, there’s the sound of rubber, the tearing of fabric… A swan is being born—but is it, really? Will this be the ugly duckling that turns into a beautiful bird, a symbol of lifelong fidelity? No. Josef Ka offers us neither a beautiful fairy tale nor the famous ballet libretto. What they bring is the raw truth, suspended between tenderness and brutality. The figure hidden in the cocoon first “gives birth” to white balloons resembling small eggs, then pushes out from under the fabric a large jar full of milk. Finally, she emerges. Androgynous, slim, tall, pale. Naked, except for boots. Secondary sex characteristics are covered with black tape—breasts, navel, suprasternal notch—yet the mons pubis is not. Something is going on here… Alone and with visible effort, she pushes the heavy glass vessel across the concrete. Amid the ruins beside Teatr Akt, she reminds me of Sisyphus, condemned to eternal, futile labor, without a word of complaint—although it’s clear to me that both the jar and its contents will soon shatter, spill, and she will have to start all over again. From the ashes, a twin story will likely be born, because if this “punishment” mirrors the Greek myth (for listening to rumors, for betrayal of a divine secret), then one shouldn’t expect anything different. With every minute, Josef Ka builds greater dramaturgy—visual, emotional, and sonic. The scraping of her boots against the concrete cuts into one’s senses unbearably. And yet, there’s still so much sound—alongside the voice of her body. Simultaneously, nature provides a counterpoint with the intense evening birdsong. In this sonic landscape, the figure twists, “breaks,” becomes increasingly dynamic. At one point, the performer wraps black tape around her waist, as if donning a new burden, and attaches a condom filled with milk to the installation. Now, there’s also a single bird feather on her forehead, like a warrior, and she begins her dominant, prideful march with the fluid-filled tassel swinging between her legs. It hardly matters whether we interpret this “penis” as containing semen or milk—both images carry double meanings, fluid and shifting like genderfluidity itself. As the abstract nature of the events onstage deepens, the butoh in “Swan Lake” grows more intense. It gradually unveils its mysteries. Each moment reveals elements of this anti-dance: the communal aspect, for example, as the artist is illuminated by the flashlights of audience cellphones (so the fewer people participate, the less is visible), or the use of various cultural codes (like the symbolic use of milk poured on a naked body, typically a symbol of arousal, here rendered cold and clinical). I watch the final moments of this extraordinary performance from between the legs of spectators who, midway through the show, suddenly stood in front of me, unaware I was sitting on the ground in the shadows. To see anything, I have to kneel and brace myself with one hand on the ground. The performance continues, and the cold seeping from the wet concrete pierces my body more and more. [I would have something powerful to say about that, but I don’t dare. Not in a theater review. But if I’ve read the meanings correctly, I want to say to Josef Ka: I hold you close — ed. note] When “Swan Lake” comes to its end and the applause fades, I remain in the ruins. Alone. In complete darkness, leaning against a wall. For a long time, I can’t take a step forward—I feel as if the entire cosmos might fall on me. “What a force,” I think. An extraordinary performer. An extraordinary piece. Dozens of codes in one butoh performance. Birds singing overhead. Millions of stars. A sleepless night. Go experience it.