I was running late to the opening night of A Resting Mess, the culmination of eight years of work from local mover and friend Daisy Sanders. As I hurried my partner down the hallway and into the main gallery, we were immediately starstruck.
Around forty people sat around a scattered mess, completely quiet. Daisy, almost motionless, spoke softly, welcoming the audience to country. Everyone sat in bated silence, awaiting the first iota of movement. To describe the moment as magical is almost an understatement.
What strikes the viewer first is the eponymous Mess: large piles of discarded rubbish strewn across the wooden floorboards, emitting this ever-present, almost callous energy. The presence of the Mess was as constant as the air in the room – no matter where you looked, there was Mess. The Mess’s mien felt at times oppressive (arresting perhaps), in the same way that large amounts of mess feel untouchable.
This deification of the Mess is ruined almost immediately the second Sanders and Co. launch themselves head-first into the Mess with a child-like carelessness. Throughout the performance, the status of the Mess fluctuates, from an entity to worship to a shame we must hide, and other times the Mess is just… mess. No matter what service the Mess is providing to the narrative, the high level of interactivity and malleability present with the Mess is impressive – by the end of the show, every small bit of mess, from the egg cartons, newspaper scraps, and pharmacy receipts, was handled, jostled, and thrown across the room.
Arguably, the audience also becomes part of the Mess throughout the performance, being jostled and guided across the room by the performers (respectfully, of course). There are a couple set pieces which focus on audience participation, which can be horrifying in theory, but I struggled to find anyone participating without a smile on their face, which I think stands as a testament to Sanders’ ability to captivate and hold space for an audience.
A Resting Mess. Photography by Josh Wells Photography.
What I have regretted to mention so far within this review is that A Resting Mess is a dance show (or movement show, depending on your proximity to Kings Street Arts Centre). For those who care about genre, it’s rooted in “modern dance”, but the dance is in this space between improvisation and choreography, which I don’t see a lot of in local art spaces, but it should happen more. Giving the movers a loose script but allowing them to play within those limitations allows for the individual personalities of the movers to shine through, which I personally adore.
There’s a lot of carefulness in the choreography that I admire, mainly due to the fact that rest is a large part of the creative process. Yes, there are the occasional high-energy jolts of movement, but they often punctuate an otherwise low-energy performance, where the movers slowly turn around, lay down, or hug. I think this is an incredible decision from Sanders, because A Resting Mess is 70-odd minutes long without a backstage to hide in. In this scenario, having something more subdued is the key to a sustainable performance where you respect the mover’s humanity and limitations while still presenting something of high quality.
The movers were accompanied by (kind-of) two musicians, Josten Myburgh and Pavan Kumar Hari, both staples of the local scene. Myburgh and Sanders have been collaborating for a fair while, and seeing the fruits of their labour is incredibly satisfying. Unlike most dance, where the movement follows the music, it felt that the music followed the dancers, scoring their movements, like a post-modern experimental version of Looney Tunes.
The reason why I said “kind-of” two musicians is because there is some ambiguity. One, Hari’s role within A Resting Mess is arguably more akin to moving than musicking, though their brief intermissions on a hybrid steel pan-djembe is thoroughly appreciated. Sure, Myburgh has their moments of theatricality, but it mainly boils down to laying their head on the snare drum during moments of rest – cute, but not as involved as Hari.
Two, Felicity Groom, who performs prominently throughout the show as a mover, wrote the more-lyrical music featured in the show, played out in speakers and sung out by a choir of movers in some of the show’s most pivotal and moving scenes. Her lyricism is simple and joyful, yet it alludes to something more complicated, perfectly complimenting the show. The harmonies, led by Maree Cole, Gomes, and Sanders are utterly gorgeous in the way they resonate throughout the room and everyone’s eardrums. Groom’s music is so well-executed that it alone would be grounds to recommend A Resting Mess to someone.
However, my favourite aspect of A Resting Mess is its moral. I’ve written a fair amount about Mess but not about rest, and that’s because, firstly, Sanders has written an in-depth detailing of the role of rest in the show and its creation, and secondly, because I find what the show says about rest, mess, and the relationship between the two beautiful, and I wanted to save it for the end.
The lore of the show is that eight years ago, Sanders developed chronic fatigue, which fundamentally changed the way she interacted with her own artform. As someone who has many creative friends and is creative themselves, resting is a hard thing to do – it’s antithetical to the grind culture of having a career in the arts. What is relaxing for many can feel imposing and daunting to the creative-inclined, like a pile of ever-growing unfolded laundry. Like an untouchable Mess.
A Resting Mess is an autobiographical performance by Daisy Sanders of her troubles accepting rest as an artist, and facing that rest is inevitable. Throughout the show, Sanders demonstrates different ways to face the Mess, but they’re never presented as the “right way” to face it. Maybe you Marie Kondo the Mess, maybe you truly embrace the chaos, maybe you shun it and stuff it under the couch. The manner of which you face Mess doesn’t seem important to Sanders. Rather, it is that you find people to help you lighten the load of the Mess, and that you enjoy the process of rest, because without it we do not function.
A Resting Mess is on from August 15 to 25, with free and ticketed performances.