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Frau Troffea stepped out on to the street and began to dance. Under the full heat of the sun, she moved frenetically to an imaginary beat. As sweat gathered on her brow and blisters grew on her feet, she found that she couldn’t stop. Soon, more than 30 people had joined her, dancing day and night. By the time the authorities were alerted, 100 or so people had been infected by this ‘dancing plague’, a phenomenon that afflicted the townspeople of Strasbourg in the summer of 1518. Many collapsed from exhaustion; some died. In etchings depicting similar occurrences from throughout the medieval era, the group of dancers looks like a solid mass. Arms are interwoven, hands held, torsos twisted into each other like the difference between ‘I’ and ‘you’ no longer matters.
You lose yourself to dance, so the song goes...
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The 12 artists in Chorus at Arusha Gallery this spring take their cue from rhythm, harmony, music, or sound – and their art responds to the varied reactions we might have to them. There are depictions of collective euphoria as well as the moment this tips into something more disquieting. We might feel in turn enchanted and invigorated, lulled or shaken by the art on display. While all the artworks were made by contemporary artists, living and working in the 21st century, there is a sense of timelessness that pervades the show. Chorus speaks to an atavistic response to the strains and resolutions, beats and vibrations of sound.
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This theme of enchantment hums through the artworks in Chorus. In one delicate work on paper by Mohammad Barrangi, a procession of masked figures follows behind a piper, as if transfixed by the curious instrument’s song; a flute appears too in the foreground of John Stark’s contemporary take on a memento mori. The symbol of the flute or pipes is linked in many cultures to the gods, perhaps due to the ethereal quality of its sound – the breath of heaven. Most famously, the goat-god Pan in the Greek myth invents the pan pipes from seven lengths of reed, and the Ancient Egyptians believed the flute was brought to earth by the god Isis. In Hinduism, Krishna plays the flute and transfixes milkmaids with his intoxicating song:
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When the first full moon of autumn approaches and the jasmine is in bloom, the shrill, soft sound of the flute penetrates the rooms. It is Krishna calling.
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One possible explanation for the 1518 ‘dancing plague’ was a mass outbreak of ergotism, a severe reaction to the psychoactive fungus ergot that commonly grows on grains, such as rye. The ergot got into the flour, which got into the bread, which got onto the plates of ordinary townsfolk all over Strasbourg, so the theory goes. I like the idea that the rhythms of the dance were coded into the fungus already – only to break out once they had found a suitable host.
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Exhibition text by Figgy Guyver, a writer and editor who lives in London
Photography by ZAC and ZAC
Chorus
Past viewing_room