There is a breed of performance, usually a solo show, that is not about presenting a choreography or a text. It’s more like: “I want to give you something, I’m not sure what form it’s going to take, I just want to be with you and I want you to see me.” If that sounds a little solipsistic, it really isn’t. At least not in Katherina Radeva’s 40/40, an exercise in generosity of spirit.
Radeva is a set and costume designer, an artist and printmaker, a theatre-maker. She’s not a trained dancer but when she hit 40 and set out to make this piece, it was to ask why we shouldn’t see a body like hers on stage. She tells a story of doing rhythmic gymnastics as a child – she was good at it, too – but her teacher said she couldn’t take part in competitions because she wasn’t thin enough. So it’s a political act just to be here, a middle-aged woman, an immigrant, to present herself and “her Balkan body” to the public without shame, to defy “this permission business” about what’s worthy.
Switching between autobiographical voiceover and little dances, Radeva is here to share her energy, her delight in moving and her unfiltered joy, all those things etched on her face as she gently bops to the Eurythmics or ecstatically bounces to some obscure Swedish dance music. Three seasoned female dance artists – Liz Aggiss, Rachel Krische and Lucy Suggate – helped guide the creation, but Radeva’s deeply felt dancing, with its neat gestures and light touch, is all her own.
This is an undemanding 50 minutes thanks to the ease and directness of its communication, the pleasure of being in Radeva’s company. Studies have shown that when we watch dance, some of the same neurons fire in our brains that would if we were actually dancing but, crucially, only if the movements are ones we think we could do ourselves. So unless you’re a ballerina, those neurons aren’t firing at Swan Lake, but watching Radeva get lost in a beatific beat, they surely are.
