I’ll admit I’m a little sceptical when it comes to AR and art. It is one of those combinations that sounds endlessly exciting in theory, but is surprisingly difficult to pull off in practice. The last time I saw AR used in a genuinely innovative and exciting way was at this same venue for Sugar Mountain, so Networked Flesh piqued my curiosity enough to give it another go.
The performance itself is immediately immersive. With dancers throwing themselves around the space and a soundtrack of relentless, pulsating beats, there are moments when it feels less like watching a performance and more like being transported into Berlin’s KitKatClub. The energy is physical, sweaty and unapologetically high-voltage, with the dancers providing a constant sense of movement and momentum.
The AR, however, is a more complicated proposition. When it worked, it added another layer to the performance, extending the physical world into something stranger and more digital. But it felt like it landed about 50 per cent of the time. Too often, the augmented elements seemed decoupled from what the dancers were actually doing, rather than feeling intrinsically connected to their movements or the world they were creating on stage.
That isn’t to say the ambition isn’t admirable. Quite the opposite. There is something exciting about artists taking on technology that is still finding its language, and Networked Flesh is clearly reaching for something beyond a conventional dance performance.
But AR remains one of those notoriously difficult tools to integrate into live art. When it clicks, it can be transformative. When it doesn’t, you become conscious of the technology rather than absorbed by the performance.
Networked Flesh is a valiant, high-energy attempt at bridging those worlds. The dancers and music deliver the visceral experience; the AR is still searching for the moment when it truly becomes part of the flesh.
