An experience that centres on the perspective of a theatre-seat placed in the public space, where an audience of one experiences curated views of the city.
The experience frames the surrounding City, adding comic and tragic fictions through the use of miniature machines and optical illusions. Through these small interventions the audience of one is led through an unfolding narrative of five imagined cities, the characters and idiosyncrasies of which is portrayed through visual and audible theatrics.
A collaboration between theatre maker Francine Kliemann and sound designer Evan Reinhold and support from Royal College of Art.
The project was tested and exhibited in July 2019 at White City and at the Royal College of Art in London, UK. Further development iplanned for 2020.
Arandula is like a Classical music. Each note is part of a meticulous and mathematical composition. Anyone that was born in Arandula knows how to read and knows how to play each note. The Arandulans love to teach anyone who comes from outside to read their music, but they do not tolerate and do not accept if you fail, and if you cannot learn it perfectly. The invitation to visit Arandula comes wrapped in an envelope with golden drops and perfume of roses and your first days visiting the city everything seems to be very easy. You see yourself smiling through the streets and playing the first two pages of the piece with a seamless technique. What the Arandulenses havent told you, is that with the course of the pages, the musical score of Arandula becomes very hard to learn, and almost impossible to play. Anyone who visits Arandula, begin to feel a certain discomfort when realizing the judgment of the Arandulans when they notice that you are missing the score, and dissonating the song. Visiting Arandula is like waking up on a stage, in the middle of a classical concert, holding an instrument that you have no idea know how to play. You want to get out, but you need to wait for the maestro's signal, and for the applause of the audience. The thing is that you have no idea how many pages of music are still left, or if the concert will ever end.