#1. Feature: Can I count you in?

During the Spring Forward Festival, I woke up early every day, battling jet lag to head down for breakfast. On the second morning, the news was dominated by Putin’s Victory Day parade on Red Square. His speech lasted nearly an hour; it wasn't until I checked the reports later that I learned four of the marching units included North Korean troops. The grand spectacle broadcast to the world was, in fact, pre-recorded footage used to substitute for a real display of weaponry. Modern warfare is indeed a difficult game to play.

By the third day, the news shifted to a cruise ship stricken by Hantavirus. The vessel docked in Spain, where a small quarantine boat approached it in isolation to conduct a ship-wide inspection. The media gathered on the shore, their lenses uniformly aimed at the ship’s exit.

It has been a long time since I felt this close to the world. It isn’t that international news doesn't reach Taiwan; rather, when nestled in the safety and comfort of home, one's senses tend to revolve around work and its social networks. We instinctively let ourselves off the hook, quietly surrendering our connection to the globe. This "opening up" during my travels is not just about watching performances—it is about recalibrating my antennae to sync with the rest of the world.

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Returning to the festival, the selection criteria mean most creators are young contemporary artists from Europe. Choreographers of this generation have largely moved beyond the pursuit of pure aesthetics; instead, they treat the body as a "mobile archive." They use movement, simulation, and structural frameworks to respond to truths that language cannot reach, or those that were once forbidden to be spoken.

Valencia choreographer Inka Romaní, dressed in traditional Valencia costume paired with Salomon sneakers, used repetitive folk dance movements in her piece Volvamos al baile. Humorous captions on a screen warned the audience that the steps would remain unchanged for the next five minutes, encouraging them to focus on the story the subtitles were telling. Through her body, she sought to release history. These rigid, gymnastic movements were once tools used by the dictator Franco to control the female body. As a soloist, she sprinted across the stage, while the background text humorously explained that the original version was meant for six dancers, but due to budget constraints, she had to tour alone. Constraints, it seems, are timeless; all she can do is keep dancing—and keep speaking.

Greek choreographer Chara Kotsali opened her piece, IT’S THE END OF THE AMUSEMENT PHASE, with a trio engaged in a frantic, pre-apocalyptic dance. Moving to iconic pop hits passed down through generations, the three dancers performed awkward and humorous line dances, summoning entertainment classics from specific eras. Bursts of laughter erupted across the audience at different moments, reflecting a map of ages and awakening memories of different times. As excitement gave way to exhaustion, they continued to dance without pause, challenging the audience’s senses in a marathon-like feat. We watched as dance shifted from a brainwashing tool of propaganda into a response to the present, the individual, and the future. When entertainment no longer entertains, it suddenly becomes a variant reflection of history. As the audience endured the wait for the final act, and as the dancers exhausted both emotion and stamina, the piece embodied the contradictory relationship between individual and collective history—a cycle of rising and falling tides.

I was particularly struck by Good Vibes Only (beta test) by Italian choreographer Francesca Santamaria. The show began with an announcement welcoming photos and videos, immediately stamping the action with a Gen-Z label. Within self-taped frames (reminiscent of the vertical crop of Instagram or TikTok), the dancer replicated viral video content driven by background music. With every "swipe up," her body switched movements, emotions, and facial expressions. She gradually became a "product-like" Barbie—never missing a beat, never showing fatigue, never appearing unprofessional—serving as a sophisticated satire of modern consumerism and the social media generation. At the end, she lifted her top to reveal a QR code on her belly, walking into the audience with exaggerated poses and inviting everyone to scan and connect. Opening the link revealed not just a simulated social media profile, but the classic rhetoric of "donating." Want more? Buy her a coffee.

Finally, Wired featured dancers from Denmark taking turns to move with the music, using their bodies as a display of "artistic weaponry"—showing the audience their precision, control, power, and ease. Utilising African-American dance languages, they explored and tested boundaries, allowing music and dance to link everyone’s physical senses across oceans and borders. By the end, observations of the world, social issues, and current events were thrown back to the newly connected crowd through spoken word. As the world demands so much attention, action, and human intervention, the question was posed: "Can I count you in?" The lights dimmed, the curtain fell, and the words became seeds—planting the opportunity for action in our hearts while bringing this intense four-day festival to a powerful full stop.

The stories, visuals, sounds, and power carried by the body over these few days culminated in that single call to action. Dance may seem to say nothing, but between the movements, rhythms, and mediums, it has said everything.

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Can I Count You In?

#藝遊

藝術節期間，我每天在時差中早起，下樓用早餐。第二天的早餐新聞報導了普丁的紅場閱兵，近一小時的致詞，回頭查閱報導才知道，四支閱兵部隊包含了一支北韓軍隊，而傳送給全球的大場面，是代替軍武展示的預錄畫面。現代戰爭真難打。

第三天早餐新聞被漢他病毒郵輪覆蓋，涉染疫的郵輪在西班牙下船，檢疫小船獨自靠近，進行全船檢疫。媒體團在岸邊遠觀，鏡頭一致對準船上的出口。

很久沒有感覺自己與世界如此靠近。倒不是說臺灣沒有國際新聞，而是處在安全舒適的環境裡，感官總是圍繞著同溫層與工作打轉，自動放過自己、自動放棄與世界連結。這一趟旅行的打開，不只是為了看表演，更是重新打開接軌世界的天線。

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回到Spring Forward Festival，因應入選規則，編創者多為歐洲當代年輕創作者。這個世代的編舞家多半不再追求純粹的美學，而是將身體作為移動的檔案庫，用各種動作、模擬、框架，去回應那些言語無法觸及、甚至是過去被禁止言述的真實。

標籤瓦倫西亞的編舞家Inka Romaní以重複的Folk Dance動作，幽默地在螢幕上預告接下來5分鐘的舞步都一樣，鼓勵觀眾將注意力放在字幕要告訴你的故事。她在舞作《Volvamos al baile》裡穿著西班牙傳統服飾、腳踩著Salomon運動鞋，跳著傳統的舞步，以身體釋放歷史。這些制式、接近體操的動作，曾是西班牙獨裁者Franco控制女性身體的工具。獨舞的她踩著舞步全場飛奔，背景卻幽默解釋初版實為六人編制，卻因為預算而只能一人巡演。限制不分年代，她能做的僅只是繼續跳／說下去。

希臘編舞家Chara Kotsali以三人群舞起始，舞作名稱《IT’S THE END OF THE AMUSEMENT PHASE》預示了一場末日前的掙扎狂舞。三人在耳熟能詳的代代流行樂曲中，開啟彆扭又幽默地各種經典排舞，持續召喚特定時空的娛樂經典。一段接一段，此起彼落的笑聲在觀眾群中分散響起，映照出年齡地圖，也喚醒不同時代的記憶。隨著興奮逐漸疲乏，三人依舊舞動不止，馬拉松式的挑戰觀眾的感官。我們看著舞蹈從洗腦式的宣傳工具，逐漸轉化為對現在、個體，與未來的回應和體現；當娛樂不再具有娛樂的效果，眼前霎時成為一場血淋淋的歷史變奏曲。當所有人忍受著等待最終曲，也當舞蹈幾近耗盡情感與體力之際，整個舞作從表演者到觀眾席，恰恰體現了關於個人與集體歷史的矛盾關係，以及每一個潮起又潮落的循環往復。

我特別喜歡的《Good Vibes Only》，由義大利編舞家 Francesca Santamaria 編舞兼演出，一開演就宣告歡迎拍照錄影，以最直接的規則，為接下來的行動貼上GenZ的標籤。舞者在自行貼起的框框（如同Instagram、Tiktok的直式影片框）裡，隨著背景音樂的驅動，複製曾經病毒式傳播的影音內容。身體則在一次次「上滑」中，切換動作、情感與表情的內容。直到她逐漸成為宛如「產品」的芭比娃娃，不能錯拍、不敢顯累、更不能表現得不夠專業，像是對現代消費主義與社群世代的一場精緻諷刺。演出最後，她掀起上衣露出肚子上的QR Code，走進觀眾席，擺出各種矯揉姿態，邀請眾人掃碼與她連結。點開網頁，映入眼簾的不只是個人社群的模擬圖，還有最最經典的抖內話術。Want more? Buy her a coffee.

最後的《Wired》由來自丹麥的舞者隨音樂輪番起舞，以身體作為軍火展示，讓觀眾看見他們的精準與控制、有力與輕鬆。透過非裔美國的舞蹈語言開啟各種試探、探索，讓音樂和舞蹈連結眾人的身體感觸，跨越海洋、國界，成為感受彼此並開啟溝通的共通語言。末了，那些關於世界的觀察、議題與事件，再次透過言語，拋向方才已連結起來的眾人。當世界還有這麼多事情需要關注、需要人類的作為與行動之際，「Can I count you in?」燈暗，幕下，話語成為種子，在心頭種下行動的契機，同時也為這連續四天的超緊繃藝術節畫下有力的句點。

這幾天身體乘載的故事、視覺、聲音與力量，都在那當下化為一句行動的召喚。舞蹈看似什麼也沒說，卻在動作與動作、節奏與媒材之間，什麼都說完了。