There is this dreadful thing called audience participation. The kind I’m talking about might involve everyone in the audience clapping their hands together in a certain manner or, worse, being singled out from the crowd by a performer. On these occasions I’m regularly so embarrassed that I would gladly disappear into the nearest hole in the ground. I have often asked myself why I feel so uncomfortable when everyone around me seems to be enjoying themselves – or are they just pretending?
The role of the audience has been a subject of discussion in creative practice and its discourse for many years. As Peter Handke, addressing his audience, wrote in his play Offending the audience over forty years ago: “You are the topic. [...] You are the centre. You are the occasion. You are the reason why.”[i] Without the audience there would be no performance. Peggy Phelan wrote in her famous essay on the ontology of performance; “performance honours the idea that a limited number of people in a specific time/space frame can have an experience of value which leaves no visible trace afterward.”[ii] The presence of the other makes the act a distinguishable performance, there is potential for transformation during the event for both spectator and performer. This is achieved most effectively when we commit to the idea of performance not as an improving or educational activity, but as a place of change. The underlying rationale here is a belief in the ability of performance to challenge and question, to trigger and provoke thought, to destabilise society, ultimately leading to personal and political change. Helen Freshwater points out this connection between participation and empowerment:
“Our sense of the proper, or ideal, relationship between theatre and its audiences can illuminate our hopes for other models of social interaction, clarifying our expectations of community, democracy and citizenship, and our perception of our roles and power (or lack of) within the broader public sphere.”[iii]
Yet we should ask what, how and who is empowered? It might be true that participation allows for a degree of agency but this might manifest itself in critical reflection rather than the immersion of the spectator. Furthermore, the participatory agenda that initiated from the political left is today being absorbed into conservative vocabulary where terms such as ‘democracy’, ‘community’ and ‘citizenship’ are used to support and advance neo-liberalism. If by the public sphere we understand a place where social, cultural and political issues can be identified, discussed and contested (importantly also in critical relation to the state) it must also be acknowledged that the ‘art of conversation’ in bourgeois society excluded/excludes certain members of the public, for example women and people with low social status. One might argue that artistic production in itself (rather than its discourse) can initiate and activate certain public spheres, as will be demonstrated on the example of works by Xavier Le Roy/Marten Spångberg and Tino Sehgal. Exactly what ‘other models of interaction’ Freshwater is referring to remains unclear but perhaps it is sufficient to note that if we can understand that in the theatre situations are constructed, or staged, for us, theatre also carries the potential to disrupt, making us aware of the power that we, as spectators and participants, have over the construction of our own lives.
If the audience is the reason why performance is created, Herbert Blau identifies an issue in 1990, which contextualises the following discussion:
“The question of participation remains the most fertile experimental issue in performance, in or out of theatre, it is of course an unavoidable issue in any concept of the audience, though what we mean by participation – degree of, kind, passive or active? – is a large part of the question.”[iv]
The issue still seems valid and worth considering in today’s contemporary art context with its popular notion of participation. How much should the spectator be part of a performance? 
If you visited the Move - Choreographing You exhibition at the Hayward Gallery between October 2010 and January 2011 you may have encountered Xavier Le Roy and Mårten Spångberg’s Production[v]. It is also probable that you may have missed it. With no specific performance time scheduled or announced, the work by the French choreographer and the Swedish writer/critic acts as an intervention-performance event with a team of dancer-participants rather than performers. The participants, scattered around the gallery, rehearse movements of their choice from iconic works of post-modern dance on their iphones. As soon as a viewer stops to take a closer look at what they are doing the participants pause their dancing and directly ask the viewer a question ‘What are you looking for? Can I help you?’ or something along the lines. What follows this little ritual of human (inter) action depends on the participation of the viewer(s). The encounters are meant to initiate conversations and discussions about dance, the exhibition, choreography, or life and work in general. A friend who visited the exhibition told me that they ended up discussing the benefits of eating cereal instead of bread for breakfast. The project is a provocation of course. It exposes some fundamental principles about our relationship to performance. Instead of ‘passively’ being allowed to watch a performance, we are directly addressed and forced to acknowledge, defend and evaluate our position as viewers. However, what might first appear as a harsh denial of spectatorship, with the possibility of leading to embarrassment, is indeed an opportunity and possibility for exchange, equality and freedom for the viewer to choose, decide and channel their desires and expectations of the performance. There will be no more dancing but the participants will talk about anything with us; their bodies are created, not by movement, but by communication. And it is up to us to take responsibility for our actions, for what we want to hear, see or experience. Notice the difference between the question ‘What are you looking for?’ and ‘What are you looking at?’ Here we can clearly see a shift in the role of the museum /gallery visitor; the new visitor will not be a “receptive entity but instead an agent who exercises creative and responsible influence over the work.”[vi]
There are two main theoretical frameworks that have influenced thinking on spectatorship in recent years: Nicholas Bourriaud’s theory of Relational Art and French philosopher Jacques Rancière’s idea of The Emancipated Spectator. Rancière writes in 2009:
“Emancipation starts from […] the principle of equality. It begins when we dismiss the opposition between looking and acting and understand that the distribution of the visible itself is part of the configuration of domination and subjection. It starts when we realize that looking also is an action which confirms or modifies that distribution, and that “interpreting the world” is already a means of transforming it, of reconfiguring it. The spectator is active […]: he observes, selects, compares, and interprets.”[vii]
Therefore it can be said that to watch or to look, which is the defining role of the spectator, is an active doing. Furthermore, the capacity and potential of emancipation is integral for Rancière’s notion of ‘dissensual democracy’, which opposes consensus, as supported and practiced in neo-liberal democracy, in favour of disagreement and conflict. Birrell claims that “Rancière’s insistence on a ‘community of equals’ based on an ‘equality of intelligence’ holds important implications for undertaking and understanding the potential of ‘artistic research’” by which he refers to the assumption that both artist and viewer are taking an equal part in the creation of the art work and the artist does not claim superiority in knowledge over others; thus a redistribution of knowledge can take place[viii]. Rancière points out the complex relations between contemplation and action:
“There is no straight way from looking at a spectacle to understanding the state of the world, no straight way from intellectual awareness to political action. What occurs is much more the shift from a given sensory world to another sensory world which defines other capacities and incapacities, other forms of tolerance and intolerance. What works out are processes of dissociation: the break in a relation between sense and sense - between what is seen and what is thought, what is thought and what is felt.”[ix]
Bourriaud is interested in visual art practices and perceives the concept of Relational Art as “a set of artistic practices which take as their theoretical and practical point of departure the whole of human relations and their social context”, therefore defining the title of his book Relational Aesthetics as an “aesthetic theory consisting in judging artworks on the basis of the inter-human relations which they represent, produce or prompt”.[x] In other words, the question that can and should be asked when engaging with an art work is one of co-existence: “Does this art work permit me to enter into dialogue? Could I exist, and how, in the space it defines?”[xi] By approaching the observer with a possible exchange by dialogue, this dialogue can become a social exchange; the relational artist endeavours to ‘repair’ a lack of connections and develop tools for bringing people together therefore creating a social bound.[xii] Although urbanisation has essentially brought people together, through way of increasing social exchanges, today’s culture of cash-machines, self-check out and TV means that machines carry out tasks which once represented opportunities for human exchange.[xiii] In Relational Art (art)works are produced with regards to their relational value and not simply for consumption; the “artwork’s form is spreading out from its material form”[xiv]. It can be argued that both the performing arts and relational art as social practices usually omit material objects altogether and instead ‘only’ produce ephemeral encounters, meetings and experiences. It is in the actual and temporal engagement with the object of performance that meanings are constructed, deconstructed and re-combined despite of any usefulness or positivity that might or might not be contributed to a particular art work. Here we can also see how performance might escape, or not, the critique that relational aesthetics as a theoretical framework has experienced in recent years. Rancière suggests that relational aesthetics are reproducing and repeating objects, behaviours and signs that then loose their capacity of resistance and through their conviviality promote proximity amongst individuals rather than distance, which makes them ‘consensual’.[xv] Bojana Kunst suggests that the critical potential of relational art works needs to be reconsidered in order for them to resist processes of institutionalisation, globalisation and empty autonomy.[xvi] The important question is, who interacts with whom, where, when and how, and who is left out in this relation. French choreographer Xavier Le Roy makes this point explicit in Low Pieces (2010) when he invites his audience to start a general discussion with his performers, who are casually sitting on stage, at the start and the end of his performance.[xvii] After a few minutes of discussion the stage and auditorium lights are turned off at once. One can sense a shift in the atmosphere in the theatre when it is no longer clear who speaks to whom and whether the performance has finally begun or ended.
Tino Sehgal’s works can be seen as examples that operate in the visual art context, as opposed to theatre. In This objective of that object (2004) the viewer enters a room where Sehgal’s five interpreters (the term which he uses, as the people involved are almost never trained performers but mainly carefully selected members of the local public) stand with their faces to the wall. They start half-singing, half-whispering the phrase ‘The objective of this work is to be the object of a discussion’, gradually getting louder before falling into silence. There are several options for how the piece can develop from this point. Whenever another visitor enters the space, the procedure starts from the beginning. If no one replies, the interpreters slowly fall to the floor. If the visitor responds verbally, for example by asking a question, the interpreters start a discussion and the potential for a dialogue arises. The nature of This objective of that object allows the visitors to have the responsibility and the power to influence the work in a significant way. Even if this sometimes fails on a practical level, the conceptual proposition is clear: no dialogue – no Art. The viewer is asked to take part, to respond to a question. If she refuses to act and remains silent the art work comes to an end; the interpreters symbolically ‘die’ and the piece is over. If, however, the visitor asks a clear question, the interpreters will start a discussion amongst themselves.
My first personal experience of Sehgal’s work took place in July 2011 at Manchester Art Gallery where I encountered Ann Lee (2010).[xviii] Together with approximately fifteen other people I entered a small white cube that was completely empty. Awkwardness, where should I stand? A few minutes later a young girl, approximately thirteen years old, enters the room. Facing the wall of her choice she starts telling us how she was first two-dimensional, then three-dimensional and how she is now trying to exist in the fourth dimension with the help of Tino. Her voice is monotonous, her slow and controlled movements robotic yet fluent, her gaze calm and distant, never resting in one place. She appears fragile and vulnerable but then she directly addresses me me with a question: ‘Would you rather be too busy or not busy enough?’ Panic! Red cheeks. Silence. I say, ‘I would rather be too busy.’ She asks, ‘Why?’ I say, ‘Because then I don’t have time to think so much.’She says, ‘Interesting’ and continues with her story. I can’t believe I just said that! What a ridiculous thing to say! It is clear that the tables have turned; she is completely in control of the situation. The piece continues with her narrating a story and ever so often addressing someone with a question. At the end, she quotes a long complicated passage of philosophical text and then asks the person next to me ‘Do you know what it means?’ The question every parent loathes is, more often than not, answered with ‘No, I don’t’. In both of Sehgal’s works described above the physical participation of the viewer, through her voice, is not only anticipated and wished for but essential to the work; without this dialogue, or confrontation, rather the art work does not exist. The implications of this kind of work are that the viewer might feel that she is put ‘on the spot’, left in a position where she feels uncomfortable, exposed and on display as her presence is highlighted and questioned. Can I look at this person? How do I position myself in relationship to her, or to others? How do I talk to her? Am I responsible for her actions (or even her ‘death’)? What am I expected to say or do? For Sehgal the viewer is an autonomous human being with agency and his work demands viewers to take responsibility for their actions; participation almost becomes a moral and ethical obligation. As Sehgal explains,
“You cannot be uninvolved, somehow, when there’s this other person who can look back at you. The viewer in my work is always confronted with him-or herself, with his or her own presence in the situation, as something that matters, as something that influences and shapes this situation. This experience that his or her presence has consequences can kind of empower the viewer.”[xix]
Wood extrapolates, “[Sehgal’s] work [isn’t] naively optimistic about the pleasure of participation; he scores a razor-sharp path between the popular notion of ‘interactivity’ and the discomfort of alienation.”[xx] It might be the case that through feeling alienated, and somehow removed, a gap emerges between an ideal situation or system and our perception of this system. We start to understand the rules and structures within which we exist (that is ‘How the system is constructed and works’), and as participants we become aware of the faults, limits and boundaries in the system and our potential (or lack of) power to change it. Moreover, through feeling awkward and uncomfortable we are experiencing a state of difference, conflict and otherness which is inherently connected to Rancière’s model of dissensual democracy. As Deutsche points out, “conflict, division, and instability, then, do not ruin the democratic public sphere; they are conditions of its existence.”[xxi] Sehgal’s inclusion and incorporation of children and gallery assistants (in earlier pieces) are a move towards highlighting and drawing attention to those people normally invisible in the privileged space for (material) art. By giving these individuals agency and power he subtly subverts the operating systems of the gallery. If we conceive of the gallery as a metaphor for society, Sehgal’s practice can be read as quite radical.
Returning to Rancière’s argument, as outlined in The Emancipated Spectator, he suggests that the spectator is already active and that “spectatorship is not passivity that has to be turned into activity. It is our normal situation. We learn and teach, we act and know as spectators who link what they see with what they have seen and told, done and dreamt.”[xxii] Therefore, to watch or to look, which is the defining role of the spectator, is an active doing and there must be a two-way process of interaction in all kinds of artistic production, whether it is in theatre, dance, or art. Van de Vall reinforces this ontological position of art when he states: “All art, classical and modern, is ‘interactive’ in the sense that it requires the active imaginative and cognitive involvement of the recipient.”[xxiii] The viewer is appropriating works for herself and automatically makes meaning of them. Participation in this way becomes a social phenomenon by emphasising the position that the viewer occupies. The act of placing the spectator at the centre of attention can change, enhance or distract from the individual experience of the work. This unusual situation can heighten consciousness and might result in embarrassment on behalf of the spectator. These difficult and uncomfortable situations might open up spaces and help to understand the nature and potential of dialogue, as Heathfield suggests;
“Dialogue is a space in which one often encounters the ice hard facts of personal, philosophical, ideological, somatic and cultural difference. […] Dialogue proceeds in the miss as much as the hit, in the passing over and turning away, in refusal and sometimes most testily in silence, which is not to be mistaken for non-communication.”[xxiv]
The act of participating is a political act; so take part in something (a performance, an election) means to be given agency and therefore the opportunity to act, to re-act, to inter-act, to ‘make a move’ and change the situation through participation. This translation of art into society might not always happen on a physical level but more importantly, in our minds.
If we accept the idea of the ‘emancipated spectator’ as a prominent feature in contemporary (post-modern) society we are faced with the ethics and problematics of spectatorship: What are the limits to the audience's involvement? How are contracts of behaviour (for example spoken and unspoken agreements on how to ‘act’ as a spectator) determined and communicated?
Having explored some possibilities of what can constitute a theatrical contract from a theoretical point of view, one can now precede by questioning how this contract structures a relationship between the spectator-performer, the watcher-watched, the looker-doer. When talking about spectatorship today, it seems inevitable to talk about participation. Most art these days has some sort of ‘relational’ value to it and most artists understand performance as an exchange between spectator and performer with the performer presenting something that depends on the participation of the spectator in order to function as an exchange. Active presence is required in this common situation allowing both spectator and performer to become recognised as unique individuals. This idea goes back to traditional theatrical theory, for example Brecht’s ‘Epic Theatre’ where the spectator has to be distanced from the performance through the Verfremdungseffekt in order to become aware of his social situation. It can also be seen in much of Forced Entertainment’s performances that, under the direction of Tim Etchells, operate through an attack on audience passivity. In Cut Piece (1964) Yoko Ono instructs her audience to come on stage and cut off all of her clothes with a pair of provided scissors while she remains in a passive position. Here the act of cutting can be seen as a violent, aggressive and exposing act but it can also be seen as a form of present - a gift from Ono to her spectators as they take away with them an actual piece of Ono’s (clothes). An extreme historical example of this exchange in performance art (rather than theatre) would be Marina Abramović’s Rhythm O in which she presents her audience with a table of 72 objects (including objects that cause pleasure and pain, and a gun) which they were invited to apply to her body in any way they wanted for the duration of six hours. In this legendary work from 1974, Abramović risked her life but also questions the spectator’s relationship to her body and the power dynamic between spectator and performer. Here, the spectator takes all the responsibly for the course of the performance. A more recent example is Live Artist Kira O’Reilly who takes a more subtle approach when she gives audience members the opportunity to cut her skin in a one-to-one performance situation, making apparent the complicated relationship that arises out of a situation in which social and moral conduct and personal dilemmas become explicit through this tiny yet huge action of cutting (Untitled Action for Bomb Shelter, 2003).
The following description and analysis of my encounter with five live performances will further examine the issues located around spectatorship and audience from a practical point of view. Musical Pieces (2010) is a series of performances that work with the production of sound in theatre.[xxv] By using simple actions and few props (a microphone, a tennis ball, a glass of water) Augusto Corrieri plays with theatre’s mechanisms of revelation, concealment, and deception. He writes: “The choreographies propose different ways of dissociating the voice from the body, the sound from the object, and the effect from the cause.”[xxvi]24 The unspectacular, simple and quiet nature of the work and the calm and delicate performance by Corrieri makes us reconsider that, in the theatre, what we hear is sometimes not what we see and what we see is sometimes not what we hear. The four sections are cleverly structured backwards so that the ending reveals the beginning. Having seen the performance twice, I have discovered more and more details each time and what by some people has been described as ‘an exercise in concentration’ continues to surprise and playfully remind us of the role of the spectator in performance.               
In 60 Minutes of Opportunism (2010), in which I participated as a performer, Ivana Müller uses recorded and live voice to reflect and comment on some of the most prominent issues in performance today; the idea of public and private, the issue of liveness and presence, the relationship of author and performer, and the act of performing and watching.[xxvii] She writes on her website about her piece as a piece “about being ‘public’” that “questions the authority of one another, performer, choreographer, and audience”.[xxviii] The humorous yet sometimes simplistic text acts as a constant reminder of the situation of performer and spectator in the theatre but also uses the more serious theme of terrorism as an allegory.
Another curious piece engaged with the topic of spectatorship is Maria Kefirova’s Canis Lupus Familaris (2010), which was thefirst piece of the second evening of DancEUnion, a three-day contemporary dance festival of new talent from across Europe hosted at Southbank Centre in March 2011.[xxix]27 The piece both troubled and fascinated me with its provocation and proposition on spectatorship. The set-up consisted of an un-proportionally large screen placed awkwardly at the front of the stage obscuring most of the stage itself. Next to it a chair. The performer enters, comes next to the screen and demands ‘I need someone to sit in the chair’. No reaction from the audience. Awkward shuffling, nervous looking around, the paws of my hands are starting to sweat. She repeats her demand, and when no one volunteers, she reaffirms ‘I’m serious’. More awkward silence. Finally a man stands up and comes forward. Relief. As he enters the stage and takes his place in the chair a close-up of his face appears on the screen. I start to laugh and at the same time think ‘This is really mean’. The chair is located behind the screen so the man does not know that every small facial expression of his is projected onto a huge screen. I wonder what he will think when he realises what just happened. What follows is a short grotesque and slightly dominatrix performance in which the performer is wearing a dog mask and throws ice cubes towards the direction of the chair whilst telling a story about loneliness and love. Half of the time the audience does not know and can only guess what is happening behind the screen, the man however has the privilege of full vision. Then the performer asks him to leave. The whole process repeats from the beginning. Another audience member is called on stage. However, the situation has changed now as we are no longer in the uncertain position of not-knowing but fully aware of what is going to happen. One could assign a certain exhibitionist quality to the next spectator as he enters the stage. Repeat. Next. This time a girl. But then something changes. The girl talks back at the performer. I realise that the interaction has been set-up. Or has it? I am no longer sure who is spectator and who is performer. Who has been informed and who has not. At the end of the performance I feel both betrayed and surprised, confused and disgusted as I wonder how bold and radical the performance really was. Were we, as spectators, used as a tool or were we genuinely contributing to the performance? Or, was the performance merely a comment on the calculated devises that are used in some performances to initiate audience participation? At the end we are left with more questions than answers, and it can be argued that this ambiguity can create productive gaps in the reading of the performance.
As an example of franchised mass-produced audience participation may serve the phenomenon that is called Blue Man Group. I have experienced this spectacle twice, not because I am a fan but because of circumstance.[xxx] What surprised me most was that ten years ago in New York, when they were just starting out, the show was almost exactly the same as when I saw it in Berlin in April 2011. The only thing added was audience participation. A mix between old-fashioned clowning tricks, high-energy drumming, abject action-painting and 3-D visual effects, the show is a huge success in the U.S., Berlin and Tokyo. In our interactive society of iphones and facebook, people (especially young ones) seem to be thrilled by the idea of participation. I suppose there is somewhat a pleasure involved in seeing ‘normal ordinary’ people called up on stage to ’perform’. It is a mix of empathy and Schadenfreude that is at stake here. On the one hand it could be argued that the Blue Men succeed in getting the audience involved in their humorous show by literally entertaining the crowds for the 120 minutes of the performance. On the other hand, and after reflection, a feeling of entrapment and manipulation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as I question the purpose and intentions behind the anonymous blue faces. Was the participation genuine, did we get fooled, or used? How exactly did we benefit from this expensive interactive experience?
Lastly, La Ribot’s Llamame Mariachi (2009) is a playful investigation into the idea of time, both in performance and in life.[xxxi] The performance is divided into two distinct sections. The first consists of a twenty-five minute film after which follows a one-hour live performance. The single-shot video is not edited and therefore appears to be happening in real time. It is a chaotic visual rollercoaster filmed in a huge old theatre with each of the performers filming one section. Here, movement directly produces the images; we can see fragments of the three bodies as the camera is passed from one hand to the other. In stark contrast to the video stands the second section performed live (therefore also happening in real, actual time) with its carefully controlled and sometimes painstaking slow motion. The way time is perceived in this performance is altered as we become aware of the effect that speed and slowness have on our own bodies as spectators – we are “always on the edge of falling, as if in a low-gravity environment”.[xxxii] The set resembles a big table full of papers, pamphlets and books, (from Bausch to Merleau-Ponty) from which the three performers take turns quoting passages of text. Their brilliant performance is light and playful and marked by their struggle to correctly pronounce the words; there is a pleasure involved in watching them exposing and playing with their accents.
In conclusion, I return to the ontology of the live and its peculiarities. “Eventhood allows spectators to live for a while in the paradox of two impossible desires: to be present in the moment, to savour it, and to save the moment, to still and preserve its power long after it has gone.”[xxxiii]It is for exactly this reason that live performance demands from us an involvement that goes beyond the moment of the event. To close with a quote by Corrieri:
“Performance, then, as a piece of fiction: it never truly takes place, except in the minds of the spectators. It remains unfulfilled, something that is yet to happen. It doesn’t fully exhaust itself by appearing. And, hopefully, it cannot be consumed.”[xxxiv]
[i] Handke, P. (1969). Offending the audience. In Kaspar and other plays. New York: Hill and Wang: p.21.
[ii] Phelan, P. (1993). The Ontology of Performance: Representation without Reproduction. In Unmarked: The Politics of Performance (pp.146-166). London: Routledge: p.149.
[iii] Freshwater, H. (2009). Theatre & Audience. Houndsmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire: Pelgrave Mcmillan: p.3.
[iv] Blau, H. (1990). Repression, Pain, and the Participation Mystique. In The Audience (pp.144-209). Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press: p.148.
[v] Le Roy, X. &Spångberg, M. (2010). Production. [Hayward Gallery, London. 6th January 2011].
[vi] Hantelmann, D. von (2007). How to Do Things With Art: Zur Bedeutsamkeit der Performativität von Kunst. Zürich, Berlin: Diaphanes: p.192.
[vii] Rancière, J. (2009). The Emancipated Spectator. London: Verso: p.16.
[viii] Birrell, R. (2008). Jacques Rancière and The (Re)Distribution of the Sensible: Five Lessons in Artistic Research. In Art & Research. Retrieved June 18, 2012, from:
[ix] Rancière, J. (2009). The Emancipated Spectator. London: Verso: p.75.
[x] Bourriaud, N. (1998). Relational Aesthetics. Les presses du réel: p.112/113.
[xi] ibid: p.109.
[xii] Sörenson, A. (2008). Art Object. BallettanzDance in Art: Ballettanz das Jahrbuch 2008 (pp. 74-81). Berlin: Friedrich Berlin Verlag: p.80.
[xiii] Bourriaud, N. (1998). Relational Aesthetics. Les presses du réel: p.17.
[xiv] ibid: p.21.
[xv] Rancière, J. (2009). Aesthetics and Its Discontents. Cambridge: Polity Press: p.45/46 & p.56/57.
[xvi] Kunst, B. (2006). Sodelovanje in proctor / The collaboration and space. In Maska 21 (101-102), (pp.  80-87). Ljubljana: Maska: p.82.
[xvii] Le Roy, X. (2011). Low Pieces. [Southbank Centre, London. 28th November 2010].
[xviii] Sehgal, T. (2010). Ann Lee. [Manchester Art Gallery, Manchester. 15th July 2011].
[xix] Griffin, T. (2005). Tino Sehgal an interview. Artforum International 43/9 (pp.218-220): p.219.
[xx] Wood, C. (2005). Tino Sehgal – ICA Frieze Magazine. Retrieved May 15, 2011, from:
[xxi] Deutsche, R. (1996). Evictions. Art and Spatial Politics. Cambridge, Mass-London: MIT Press: p. xxiv.
[xxii] Bishop, C. (Ed.). (2006). Participation. London: Whitechapel; Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press: p.16.
[xxiii] Vall, R. van de (2008). The mediation of passibility: art and interactive spectatorship. In At the Edges of Vision: A Phenomenological Aesthetics of Contemporary Spectatorship (pp. 133-168). Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited: p.140.
[xxiv] Heathfield, A. (2009). Intangibles of performance. In ENPARTS (European Network of Performing Arts) Babylon Europe: Boundless languages (pp. 40-47). International Conference Proceedings November 29th 2008. Venice: Marsilio Editori: p.47.
[xxv] Corrieri, A. (2010). Musical Pieces. [Toynbee Studios, London. 5th October 2010].
[xxvi] Corrieri, A. Musical Pieces. Retrieved October 10, 2010, from Augusto Corrieri website: - _ednref27 
[xxvii] Muller, I. (2010). 60 Minutes of Opportunism. [Wickham Theatre, Bristol. 3rd December 2010].
[xxviii] Muller, I. 60 Minutes of Opportunism. Retrieved March 17, 2011, from Ivana Muller website:
[xxix] Kefirova, M. (2010). Canis Lupus Familaris. [Southbank Centre, London. 17th March 2011]. - _ednref31 
[xxx] Blue Man Group. (1991). [BLUEMAX Theatre, Berlin. 23rd April 2011].
[xxxi] La Ribot. (2009). Llamame Mariachi. [Southbank Centre, London. 26th November 2010].
[xxxii] Rosenthal, S. (Ed.). (2010). Move: Choreographing You, London: Hayward: p.120.
[xxxiii] Heathfield, A. (2004). Alive. In A. Heathfield and H. Glendinning (Eds.), Live: Art and Performance (pp. 6-15). London: Tate Publishing: p.9.
[xxxiv] Corrieri, A. (2006). Words for later: Quartet and the poetics of performance. Dartington. Retrieved August 17, 2011, from Augusto Corrieri website: