Eloina always knew she wanted to be on stage as herself, rather than perform in a play that “some old white dude wrote a million years ago”. A queer performance artist known solely by her first name, she has made shows about menstruation, body hair and female ejaculation since graduating in 2018 and is quite often undressed on stage. The nakedness is always for a reason, she stresses. “It is about decensoring the body for myself,” she says. “At the same time, it’s to liberate others in their own bodies.”
She began by performing in underground spaces – the kind of weird and wonderful cabaret nights that switch from burlesque to drag “to a video piece about birthing – and then someone emerges wearing a pig’s head,” she says playfully.
That was until this year’s breakout show, High Steaks, which had sellout runs at London’s Vault festival and the Edinburgh fringe and is on a UK tour. She performs naked except for a well-positioned accordion in the opening scene and an occasional sprig of parsley. For all its fun and mischief, the performance deals with the raw and traumatic topics of labia-shaming and cosmetic surgery. Two beef steaks hang from Eloina’s labia and she unhooks, chops and grills them during the hour-long show, which has had visceral responses – one man nearly fainted when I saw it.
Research on the rising number of young people seeking labiaplasty is incorporated, including Eloina’s own desire to have the surgical procedure aged 10. “I have a memory of somebody at school saying that mine looked like someone’s mum’s and me looking at my mum’s and thinking, ‘Oh shit!’ In my teens, when I started having sex, I would roll up my labia and tuck them in. I knew that if I stood a certain way, you could see less. The amount of shame I felt about just two little flaps of skin …”
It is abundantly clear that the nudity in High Steaks has nothing to do with sex. Some people though, invariably men, “will come because they think it’s a sex show or an opportunity to see a naked woman on stage”. She can spot these people from afar. “If you’re not looking me in the eye but directly at my vagina, there’s something going on. That’s why I introduced the mirror, which is between my legs for half the show, so that they would have to look at themselves looking at me.” Moreover, her mother, Annie, sits in the front row and is part of the show. “So don’t disrespect all of that.”
Has she ever felt in danger? “Yeah. After somebody asked on a feedback form where they could find other nude performers, I thought, ‘Not only am I in danger, but so are my peers and body-based artists who are making, really important work.’” When she spoke up about her fears, she was asked for evidence, but says: “Why should we wait until I’m physically harassed in front of an audience?”
Many in her audiences have spoken of the way her work has transformed their relationship to their bodies. Some have looked at their vulva in the mirror for the first time or, she says, felt comfortable enough to have a conversation with their husband about how much shame they feel.
What is imperative is how artists are protected, she adds, and to that end she and the show’s director, Louise Orwin, have put together their own document about safeguarding, from backstage to front of house safety. “These protocols are what I go through with venues. There is loads of detail on what happens if something goes wrong.”
Importantly, the document states that a performer reserves the right to eject any audience member who is there for the wrong reason. Venues have been highly receptive to scrutiny of their safeguarding practices, she observes. This should be the case not just for her but for similar acts coming through the door. “If you’re making the choice to programme this kind of vulnerable work then you’ve got to facilitate that.”
The idea for High Steaks came out of a cabaret night in which friends were sharing their work. “It was about imperfections and the lengths that we go to, the tiny medical procedures we do.” The material resonated so strongly with the audience that she expanded it, with testimonies from cis, trans and non-binary people as well as her personal journey.
Perhaps most shockingly, it contains reports of parents confirming their children’s fears. “So many of the people I’ve spoken to have said, ‘Yeah, my mum told me that something wasn’t right.’ This is how we learn shame, generationally.” That notion of shame, and banishing it, is what underpins Eloina’s show. The result is psychic healing, acceptance and, by the end, joy.
High Steaks is at Colchester Arts Centre on 15 November, then touring
