conversations in ten questions 68: Jo Strømgren

© Jakub Sobotka

Founded in Norway in 1998, Jo Strømgren Kompani has become one of Scandinavia's most successful independent companies and a much sought-after dance theatre company worldwide, performing around 150 shows a year in both large national theatres and small alternative venues. Jo Strømgren Kompani, which has toured more than 60 countries, will perform for the first time in Istanbul on 21-22 November 2023, tonight and tomorrow night, as part of the Cemal Reşit Rey Concert Hall's 2023-24 season dance programme. At CRR, the company will perform Made in Oslo, a show consisting of three short works created by its founder Jo Strømgren for the Oslo Danse Ensemble, which closed in 2018. GONE (2015), THE RING (2014) and KVART (2007) each deal with independent themes, but together Strømgren aims to portray different aspects of contemporary life.

Strømgren is an interesting and versatile artist. Trained as a dancer, he has choreographed and continues to choreograph for many of the world's most renowned ballet and contemporary dance companies. However, Strømgren's production is not limited to dance; he is also a set designer and director of theatre, opera, cinema and puppet theatre. Strømgren is best known for his productions of Henrik Ibsen's plays in theatres in Scandinavia and neighbouring countries; he is also a member of the Norwegian Writers' Union and has written and directed many plays for the national and municipal theatres in and around Scandinavia. 

The floor is now open to Strømgren, who answers our questions with all sincerity...

What is the essence of performance in your opinion?

Difficult question. After having spent an hour wondering, I chose to continue answering the remaining questions.

Do you believe in the transformative power of art? How?

The artist in me woke up when I was 13 years old. I read “Animal Farm” by George Orwell. It is still today the best book I’ve read about politics and, well, society in general. Why did it make such an impact? Because the characters were animals, not humans. It was not real, and therefore everything became clearer. This has been a mantra for me later, to never show reality on stage. Always an abstraction or an interpretation of reality. It’s an echo of Plato’s shadows in the cave, we see best what is a representation of reality. If we look straight at things, we sometimes don’t see or understand anything.

When you are working on a piece, what sources inspire you? Do dreams play a role in your pieces?

I never get inspired by dreams as I find reality far more interesting. I often catch myself thinking when I see or experience things, in bright daylight, that this would never fit in a novel or a movie, simply because it would seem too unrealistic. As if it was made up, or from a dream. I think it’s a matter of how you observe details. Some people just see cars in the street, others see a lot of drivers. Cars don’t have stories, drivers do.

When do you decide to give a title to a piece you are working on if it already does not have one?

Titles are very difficult. It’s an art form itself. So, I always keep titles short, usually just one word, hoping they can unlock possible doors, but not to open them fully. Sometimes I wish I could choose the term visual arts often use - “No title”, or in music – “Sonata”. But the convention in theatre and dance is always to give a work a literary name, even though the work may be abstract and deserves being seen with an open mind. Usually, I give a piece a title a year beforehand since that’s when theatres need to publish something in their season programs. Sometimes it can help my process to have a keyword, other times it can be a burden. The title “Death” can feel right on a dark and cold January morning but completely wrong on a bright sunny day in July, for instance.

Are there any artist or person whom you think influenced your art most? And if there is such an artist or person, who?

Over the years, I have read and heard that I’m inspired by a great variety of other choreographers. It’s puzzling, because most of them I’ve never heard about or ever seen. There is a tendency to imagine artists finding inspiration in their own field, but for me it’s opposite. Maybe my biggest inspiration has never ever been mentioned. At the beginning of my career, I attended a massive retrospective art exhibition of Jan and Iva Svankmayer in Prague. It looked more like a flea market than an art exhibition, packed with strange objects, films and paintings. I have been carrying those impressions with me ever since. Absurd, intuitive, and with an incredible creative joy. And totally outside any fashionable trends. I hope for those exact words when I read reviews of my works.

When you consider the current state of the world in every sense, what is the most important and urgent issue for you as an artist?

Privately, I am very angry and very political. I would go to jail for my opinions in many countries, if I were to shout them loud. But I believe we can undermine the power of art if we use it as a megaphone. For me, the theatre is like a church or a mosque, a place where you can step out of reality and take a break to observe and reflect and, depending on the type of show, hopefully make a change in your way of thinking. The current state of the world is terrible, indeed, but after having worked and performed in about 70 countries over the last 25 years, I also know that there is trouble everywhere at all times. I like to think that we can make a difference in the theatre, otherwise I wouldn’t bother with all this hard work for very little money. Perhaps most important for me now is to never present anything as black and white. Polarization is arguably our worst enemy these days. There are so many shades to a dilemma or a problem, and the theatre is perfect for taking people on a trip revelaing these nuances. If anyone comes out of my shows with an clear answer, I would be sceptical, as if I have done something wrong. But if they come out feeling they understand more, or curious to learn more, I am satisfied.

How do you design? You tour with your ensemble to many cities in different cultural regions around the world and you personally work with many ensembles around the world. Do you feed off these travels and collaborations, or do you have a cabin on an island in Norway where your designs are born?

Haha. Both. The world is wonderfully big, but also wonderfully small. There is a mantra you hear often – you need to be local to be universal. But not everything local has relevance to the world. I’m always trying to find this universality, and it’s very obvious when I do find it. Some shows do not awake interest outside Oslo, others can tour anywhere in the world for decades. The good thing with traveling and understanding more about other local places is that you can be local where you are as well. Some countries are so familiar to me that I’m able to become local and not Norwegian in my way of thinking and working. USA, Russia, Spain, Germany, UK, Poland… and Switzerland is just like being at home. Some countries are under my skin already. However, I wouldn’t be able to use Turkish influences yet. This is our first time in Turkey and also, Turkey is more than Istanbul. It’s a country you need time to understand. Complex history, complex society, complex geopolitical position, and so on. I know a lot of Turks, but I yet do not know the nature of homo turcus. I hate those stupid tourists who spend two weeks in Norway and feel they are experts on everything Norwegian.

When we looked at your CV, we were very impressed; in addition to choreography, you have an intensive production in almost all fields of performing arts such as theatre, opera, puppet theatre, stage design and play writing. As someone who trained as a dancer and is working as a choreographer with both ballet companies and contemporary ensembles, what was the impulse that led you to write theatre plays and direct plays as well, especially plays by Ibsen?

It's a privilege to work with abstract artforms, but as I define myself as a storyteller, it would be stupid to avoid the most efficient communication tool we have – language. Life is so short and there are so many stories to tell. Some artists focus on finding their style and cultivating their message to the world, but I am drawn by the opposite. I’m just the catalyst that can turn ideas into stage performances, and in the process, using the most adequate tools at hand. And they are not about me as a person, but what I observe. I can tell my story to a stranger when I get drunk. On stage it’s about far more interesting things. I’ve always been focused on finding the right format for each idea or story. Dance is great for some ideas, but if you want to go far with political content, for instance, it’s maybe better to do it as puppet theatre. Puppets can’t get arrested. Intellectual ideas are best with text, the big pompous themes are maybe best in an opera format. Ibsen is great too, because it’s something (some) people know beforehand, being a common reference with certain expectations. And playing with expectations is a fantastic creative tool. Seeing something new is surprising, seeing the opposite of what you expect can be even more surprising. But the thing I’m very provoked by, and afraid of in my own work – is to choose the wrong format for an idea. I’ve seen neo-classical ballets about war and even a classical opera trying to portray life among prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. Sorry, but that’s almost blasphemy. Such hybris happens when artists overestimate the power of their format.

Made in Oslo is a show consisting of three short works you designed for the Oslo Dance Ensemble, which closed in 2018. What do these three works, whose design dates range from 2007 to 2015, correspond to in your personal and professional history?

Coming from a small country, people often ask what’s going on up there? Do you have dance? And yes, we do have dance. Our problem is, however, that we often export the most cutting-edge dance work, and not what’s popular with the audiences at home. Same thing happens in Turkey, I guess. So, I thought it would be an idea to present the “Norwegian taste” internationally. Not a deep artistic message, but perhaps interesting to see what people like in other corners of the world. And it’s also interesting to show work from previous decades. The show has been on tour for some years now, and there have been no comments about being “old-fashioned”, which is great. Some things are timeless, hopefully our work too. It’s also the first time we have tried the cheap trick of triple bills, showing three different pieces in one night. This is very common with the big ballet companies and the reason is simple – audiences like it. I like it myself too. Instead of leaving the theatre thinking the show was a waste of my time, I can be kind of satisfied because I liked at least one of the pieces.

With Made in Oslo, Istanbul audience will encounter a show of yours for the first time. Is there anything particular you would like to tell the Istanbul audience before they experience Made in Oslo?

Nothing. Buy a ticket, enter the theatre, and turn off your mobile phone. There is nothing to explain or say beforehand. I cannot promise a fantastic experience, but maybe good to remember - we wouldn’t be invited around the world if it was bad.

[The Turkish version of this interview was published in unlimited.]