Wearing a tight white collar shirt and gray pants, Lisbeth enters the stage, her hair pulled back, her lips fashioned in a curious smile. She marches towards the front, stops, her eyes taking in the view in front of her. Her powerful stance and athletic figure remind me of a tiger surveying his prey. Her first movement is of a steady hand, gliding horizontally in front her, creating a clear boundary, as if she is signaling us to quiet down: she is now in control. Her presence shrouded in an ominous sound, not yet clearly defined.
The theme is stated clearly in the program; I am about to watch the power of a speech unfold in front me. And as the craftily demure opening gradually begins to grow in dimension, both in sound and movement, I begin to feel my body as captive; heart – pounding, breath – shallow, jaw clenching. Rage. Can it possibly be rage? I am safe in my seat, watching an exceptional dancer, yet my body prepares to pounce on an invincible and unknown enemy. In less than 30 minutes, through sharp, overarching movement and sound unexpectedly growing louder, Lisbeth creates a soldier that can attack on slightest provocation.
Lisbeth and her sound partner clearly demonstrate how skillful manipulation of body language and exhilarating loud sound can trigger basic emotions, overriding the stronghold of a human intellect. But she doesn’t end the piece there, she takes it further and further to the edge, and there, something else is lurking. And as her body shakes, gradually the floor underneath me shakes, and then my body shakes. When she collapses, she appears empty, as though she has given it all – All of herself. The emptiness is mine as well. And yet within it there is something more, something much bigger, bigger than I can imagine.