In Budapest: Communal Resilience Brings Shelter from the Roaring Gales

Tamara Gvozdenovic: After Bura. Photo: Gregory Ofner.

Author Marina Srnka

Founded in 2021 by Péter Juhász and Jenna Jalonen, this self-sustaining alternative cultural programme in Hungary is still going strong three years on despite the economic and political headwinds facing cultural institutions in the country and beyond. The programme invites internationally renowned choreographers to train and guide young and promising dancers in developing several standalone pieces. The programme provides lectures, self-management tools, and professional guidance, as well as mentorship to newly graduated dancers. The four choreographers invited are afforded an equally comprehensive experience in leading and developing ensembles. The first of four performances emerging from this year’s edition is Gvozdenovic’s After Bura. What can this tell us about the state of the performing arts scene?
As I enter Trafó’s performance room, the dim light casting an otherworldly glow through the thick fog creates an unsettling first impression. The dancers are already on stage, as if I am arriving at a story that has no beginning, that is already, always present. Water glistens on the floor, but my initial instinct connects it to something deeper—something primal—like blood. I soon realise that in this piece, there is not much difference between the two: The dancers embody ten survivors of a tragic shipwreck, and this unsettling performance is a phantasmagoria, a disorienting exploration of their struggles during and after the calamity. In their frightening presence, I feel the echoes of the thousands of souls that perish each year, silently and unseen, in the seas around Europe.

The ten performers spread across the stage; the movement of their bodies tells of memories etched into the flesh, the scars of survival. They don dark attire and water-repellent shoes with distinct socks, some pieces ensnared in fishnet. The soundscape is austere yet eerie, punctuated by a rhythmic drip of water, later interspersed with the distant echoes of a boat’s horn. Small narrative snippets develop through a number of quite familiar imageries: two dancers embrace and find solace in each other’s arms; others contort and writhe on the floor, their bodies twisted in pain; one girl, clad in a dress accented with a striking red layer, waves her arms with a grimace–somewhere between a goodbye and cry for help. One simple gesture resonates through the performance—a girl standing upright with her elbows bent, hands raised faced up, before pulling her arms down sharply towards her right hip, as if rowing a boat. A small physical act, but its endless repetitions lay bare the impotent futility of a dinghy lost on the high seas. 
Suddenly, a group of dancers emerge, forming a beehive-like cluster, their collective gaze piercing through the audience. They centre our attention on the movements of their hands and the guttural sounds emanating from deep within—soft movements of exhalation that combine with piercing inhalations, a cramp in the stomach. As their struggle persists, time stretches just a touch too long, threatening to sap the scene of emotional gravity. Yet, subtle shifts—like an acceleration of rhythm or the introduction of simple movements such as body waves, back bends, or a sharp tilt of the head—offer brief moments of engagement. 


The choreography expertly combines fleeting moments of preserved individuality and the enduring rhythms of collective solidarity. The emphasis on breath is perhaps the most distinctive aspect, functioning on multiple levels—metaphorical, rhythmic, and physical. The distorted breathing sometimes resembles laughter, an unsettling, frenetic sound that crescendos with intensity; at other moments, it mimics the panting of a struggling animal, or the eternal image of people rowing across the empty ocean. As the dancers move their hands in and out, they shift slowly into geometrical formations, tracing the four main geographical directions. This segment unfolds in a trance-like rhythm, inviting you to surrender to the hypnotic interplay of music, the constant, powerful breathing, and the mass of bodies. You can lose yourself in this spellbinding combination, or you can resist and ponder where it might lead. The resonance of the performance ultimately depends on what connections the audience draws from its themes, whether reflecting on present-day immigration, historical traumas, or the weight of everyday struggles.


Finally, dance music starts pumping and strobe lights hit the scene, triggering a collective dance of ecstatic liberation. Now, the solemn sequels from earlier are repeated in a mad frenzy, before the dancers spiral into a frantic circle. In the after-show discussion, several audience members agreed that this final electronic climax was the most memorable aspect. Yet, I wonder if this standard-issue clubbing ecstasy, with the customary plea to give in to dance, was not an all-too-predictable climax. Where the piece truly shines is in the insistent repetition and the quiet grappling with the (potential) of time, as we roll with the deep waves of change and permanence. As such, the loud finale acts not so much as a culmination as a loud rejection of what went before.
The ending rebounds the beginning, as the past, present, and future merge in the timeless space of a dream. We leave the drowned souls to lament their fate alone. The survivors slowly move to the light, disoriented and contorted.

Written from the première of the performance on 23rd October 2024 at Trafó Center of Contemporary Arts, Budapest, Hungary.

After Bura

Concept and choreography: Tamara Gvozdenovic
Co-creators and performers: Anouk Mouttou, Jil Sira, Kim Sonnet, Lia Zigdon, Mariella Nunez Karg, Panagiota Georgiou, Romane Postel, Sofija Milic, Stav Moritz, Telis Tellakis
Light: Dézsi Kata
Producer: SUB.LAB Event Productions