Seen But Not Her | Vulcana Circus

Seen But Not Her was an exciting fusion of classical music with circus and contemporary movement, made about women , presenting the compositions of women, and produced entirely by women. Celebrating female empowerment and herstory, this show overthrew any traditional understandings of the feminine. There was a strong mathematical sense fundamental to this production simply with the inclusion of three composers, three musicians and three movement based artists; and the algorithm that resulted from Celia White’s clever Artistic Direction.

Images + cover image: Jacob Morrison.

Pre-performance, I was drawn to the burnt orange lighting state reflecting off a glistening black piano, and I found myself returning to the roundness of two skirts splayed out on the floor. The musicians took to the stage in vintage white dresses, opening the scene with the entrancing music of Fanny Mendelssohn’s Piano Trio Op. 11-2 Andante espressivo (1846). This movement begins and ends gently with the piano, played exquisitely by Cara Tran. The additional layer of the strings in this rich soundscape was handled brilliantly in tandem by violinist Flora Wong, and celloist Francesca Masel.

I was transfixed by the grace of this experience and watching the trio almost meditatively, when I was utterly shocked by the sight of body parts emerging from underneath the skirts in the foreground. It was fantastic. This moment set the tone for the evening and had me wondering if there was a seatbelt hidden somewhere that I needed to strap on.

Dressed in white vintage jumpsuits that evoked a sense of play, once fully visible, these three performers set off on a sensory discovery exploring their own physicality and each other. Sandi Woo, Mayu Muto and Abbey Church are all captivating movement-based artists, and I loved watching them in these moments, especially when sneaking up just close enough to the musicians to pull at the fabric of their dresses, before slipping back under the skirts they were born from, Church managing comically to get under the same one as Muto. 

Muto and Woo emerged through the skirts their posture rising with the music evocative of a waltz, revealing the full body of huge, hooped skirts with bustles reminiscent of a Victorian era dress. In a powerful acrobatic moment Muto continued to rise gradually, until she was towering like a giantess above us. It became obvious she must have been standing on top of Church, hidden completely underneath the fabric and framework of the skirt, revealed to be extraordinarily long. It was a thrilling homage to child prodigy Mendelssohn, whose teacher Friedrich Zelter, intending only to imply the highest of praise, wrote to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe about her, “she plays like a man”.

To my delight whenever the trio of physical performers came back out of these skirts the mood was different. The next time I saw them they were trying to pull Tran away from the piano by her chair. She insisted on playing as they interfered, changing the noise she was producing until it felt perilously discordant, and she threw the sheet music in frustration and kept playing without it. As the trio moved on to lift Masel away from her cello, and play havoc with Wong and her violin, I had a feeling Surface II (2013) written by Australian composer Nicole Murphy must have begun.

I felt like I was watching the inner workings of a glorious music box. The cogs in this microcosm represented by the musicians and their instruments, and the mathematics intrinsic to music generally, and more specifically in the complexity of a piano trio such as this. Also trapped in the music box, layered over these inner workings were the physical performers, who for me were like spirits or muses who represented the imperfect nature of creativity. The equilibrium in the music box was broken when the muses started to interfere with the musicians.

Interestingly, I discovered Murphy’s composition was inspired by a quote from a book called The Kamikaze Mind, written by Richard James Allen. “When you finally get inside you realise there is no outside, only a single curving surface, and that where you are was constructed by the imagination of where you were”.

White’s imaginative direction guaranteed this whole work was littered with clever symbolic moments like road signs to a deeper meaning. I found it particularly beautiful when the muses started unwrapping each of the musicians into street clothes, and in turn themselves, adding colour to the sound. It was also in line with a change in the era of composers from the 19th century to the 20th.

I also loved that each time the muses returned to the skirts, they were subverting their function. Church surfaced at one point, legs first all monstrosity, treading air like water. Woo seemed lost in a foreign world; and Muto was playing with skirt as cape, until it took a sinister turn and coiled into a rope around her mouth. I was extremely moved by this bold and visceral artistic commentary on traditional male and female archetypes, and women drowning under the weight of trying to be heard, compete with the toxic patriarchy.

The muses split to investigate the musicians one on one, staring at them and inhabiting the space around them as they played, finally allowed to touch the instruments. Then they fell into an exhilarating push and pull, part play and part war. The background score conflicting, chaotic, and most unladylike. A precarious balance between two thighs, an arching torso held in balance by just one ankle, the three muses scrambling across the floor before rising in a final balance, clutching one lone sheet of music held up high, symbolic of so much.

The music swelled as a rope dropped from the ceiling with sheets of paper that wafted through the air. I could make out information about the composers Mendelssohn, Murphy, and Auerbach. Integral to the music box, these three women may not have been physically in the room, but they were always present for me, represented in the music box analogy by the sheets of music at the very least.

In a moment of tense high pitched brilliance, the muses discovered a lipstick as though for the first time, and in the ultimate subversion of the contrived feminine, they painted their mouths with it and ended up looking like clowns, or even court jesters; just another role in history that was traditionally male oriented.

The composition grew even livelier still and with these changes in musical energy, I wondered if we were hearing the third and final composer for the evening, Russia’s Lera Auerbach and her Triptych: This Mirror has Three Faces (2012). In Auerbach’s own words, this composition in five parts is about “three different faces or roles of the same person or as three distinct personalities, each with their own face”. At the same time, it is just as much about the three different instruments in the piano trio.

Chaotic jazz took over and the muses seemed effected with Muto swinging sideways through the air in slings, Church hooping frenetically under the rope, and Woo cavorting on the piano. As these acts continued, they became bigger and faster until it appeared as though the muses were no longer in control. This was my favourite section of the whole show, as the music had it’s revenge.

In a climactic moment, Church took up a rope from the side of the stage. The tension built musically as she slowly dragged the rope with her entire body weight, determined to get it on stage. That is until her back hits Muto’s feet and they walked up it. Once vertical in a two high, Muto discovered the ultimate strong woman in Church, attached at the waist to no less than what is a now a tightrope, which Muto deftly walked. It was a breathtaking moment, like apparatus and Church were one. That is until the fabulous tragicomedy of Church being dragged back to the side where the very same rope began, demonstrating the insane physics behind it all. The musicians came in and cleaned the lipstick off the faces of the muses as the theatre returned to a quiet state.

Within a few beats the music picked up almost faster than before in a complex, percussion driven piece. Bathed in red light the musicians reached harmony just as the muses met in the middle and fell asleep. That stillness too was fleeting, and when they woke up Woo was playing with the under part of one of the skirts as it became a nun’s veil or habit; Muto was climbing along the floor with the sling around her neck pulling her back slowly; and Church was standing in the very middle of the stage visibly wrapping a rope around her torso.

The music was softly dissonant before seductive squeals led to an even bolder discordance, like a siren. Church appeared possessed by the music as she used the rope around her torso to counterweight Muto who had almost no control, spinning fast and landing with precision. Woo capered with the bustle frame on. In the electrifying finale, Church started to hoop around her neck and arms near uncontrollably whilst still counterweighting, until she finally lost the hoop and everything in the space stopped simultaneously, including the music. Then, almost in slow motion, Muto slowly descended, Woo retreated with bustle up like armour, and Church calmly unwound the rope from around her torso.

Suddenly all six performers were able to hear non-diegetic music, and the musicians were free to move away from their instruments and slow dance with the muses. Celebrating their meeting away from the instruments and apparatuses, the stunts, perceptions, and expectations. Free of the restrains of the music box. Just six women moving the way they wanted, in response to their desires. It was simple as they formed a circle and then moved together, balanced on the beat by leaning their weight out together, holding each other up. As the light went down, the spotlight focused only on them.

Seen But Not Her was completely different to anything I’ve ever seen before, and I have been simply enchanted by it. I am not a musician, but I have a far greater appreciation for classical music after this unique offering. Expertly woven by many hands over two different developments, it was prevented from running originally in 2020 (with different artists) due to the first Covid lockdown in Queensland. Ultimately, it was lucky this show ran at all, given White’s gutsy second attempt at a season, with all but one of the dates falling within the Covid lockdown at the beginning of July (2021).

This coincidental axing of a production like this, about women like Fanny Mendelssohn who was only ever published under her brother Felix’s name whilst she was alive, feels like such a cruel blow. Therefore, it is extremely important I mention the names of the amazing women who originally had a part in making this show, but never got the chance to perform their work, including Christina Powell, Louise King and Teresa Milanovic (Muses Trio) and Bianca Mackail; Alex Mizzen; and Hana Hart.