DANCING SOBER IN THE DUST

STEVE TOASE

The inside of the masks are rough with nails and wire. I push my hand inside. Raw metal snags my skin, adding new blood to old. I place the head-mask to one side and take the leg piece out of the wooden trunk. Built from cardboard and skin it has been made heavy with plaster of Paris and encased bandages that healed no-one. I lay it in position, followed by the arms and body piece. The gauzed eyes stare at me, daring me to try on the outfit. I ignore its challenge and continue to empty the crate.

1.Der Schlaffman (The Sleeping Man) Outfit, 1923, Gypsum, Cardboard, House Paint.

Der Schlaffman is a costume made to be worn during the dance The Dream of the Still Sea. While the dancer appeared on stage wearing the costume, the first act is for him to be sewn into the outfit. The stitches run up the back, across the slash representing the mouth, and through the eyes reducing visibility to very narrow slits. The dance is then performed purely in response to the location of sounds performed by the second dancer representing The Still Sea.

By the time I have finished, ten costumes are laid out, radiating from where I sit in the museum attic. I count three times just to check. Six are too small for me to wear. The others would fit, but not comfortably. Comfort was never intended to be part of the performance. At the bottom of the empty crate I find three files of papers bound with cheap red string. I do not open them in case the words within animate the masks and they prevent me from leaving this room of grey light and dust. Cradling the documents to my chest I climb back down the metal ladder, leaving the costumes prone upon the wooden floor like sacrifices around a king. It doesn’t feel right to crate them once more.

The curator walks up to the desk, where I sit with choreography plans and costume designs spread out around me. He is a small unkempt man who hovers before he speaks. He reminds me of a bird who waits until the killing is done.

My first instinct is to shuffle the papers away. To hide them from sight, but they are obscure enough in their language. By the time I make my decision it is too late. He picks up a piece of yellowed paper and turns it over to better see in the light of the archive’s high windows.

“Die Schiedler Tanzen,” he says, putting the document down and picking up another.

“You know of this?” I say. I shuffle the papers as if looking for something and conceal two pages. He picks up another, adjusts his glasses and sighs.

“Of course, Frau Armstrong. We have records of all that is held within the archive. These were donated by the police when they finished their investigation. Of little value apart from morbid curiosity. No artistic merit.”

“Morbid curiosity?”

“The Schiedler Tanzen were husband and wife. Their approaches were unconventional and not to everyone’s taste. Not to anyone’s taste, even in the febrile atmosphere of the Expressionist movement.”

In my head I see the costumes still laid out on the wooden floor several storeys above us. Smell the painted cardboard dulled by dust. Feel the iron scratch against my skin. My hand goes to the scab on my wrist and I resist the temptation to scrape it off.

“Do you know where I can find out more?”

The curator looks toward the floor then back up at me and nods toward the door.

“Not here,” he says and turns his back on me.

I slide the papers into my rucksack, and leave. The curator will not interfere with the costumes. They will stay where they are until I return for them.

2.Der Tod Von Tieren (The Death of Animals), Outfit, 1927, Gypsum, Roofing Nails, Fur From Unknown Animals, Mummified Meat From Unknown Animals, Papier-mâché

Der Tod Von Tieren was only used for one performance, offending even the decadent tastes of the audiences at the time. Little detail remains of the choreography, (the diagrams are highly stylised), but they seem to suggest that a live animal was used during the course of the show.

The microfiche reader is rarely used anymore and it takes time for the librarian to find first the machine itself and then the roll of newspaper records.

“We have a project to digitise our archives,” the librarian says, leading me through the corridors of paper. “We haven’t got that far back yet. Are you sure you cannot be more precise about the year?”

I cannot. My only guide is the date of the last document in the files. I do not remove them from my bag until she leaves me alone.

It takes all afternoon to find the notice of their deaths, searching through year after year until I find the column hidden within a morning edition of the city’s main paper, removed by the time of the evening edition. Once I have the date I visit the police station to find out the address.

The police are still housed in the same building they were in the 1920s, a vast arc of windows and wall painted the same green as their officer’s uniforms. The entrance smells of vomit and regret, and I step around two recently released drinkers who are only suffering their hangovers until they have enough energy to drink once more.

Inside, I hand the receptionist my print-off and wait while they disappear to return with a police officer whose rank I do not know. He holds my piece of paper in his hand, low to his side like a knife.

“What’s your interest in finding this building?” he says, without introducing himself.

“I’m a theatre historian. Dance mainly. I saw a photograph of one of their costumes online, and I was intrigued.”

“We’ve had people trying to find the address before,” he says, then goes silent.

I lean on the counter, my rucksack heavy on my back as if its weight is pushing me to ask the next question.

“And did you give it to them?”

“They were ghouls. Wanting to do murder tours. We don’t need that kind of tourism.”

“That’s not my interest,” I say, and hand him my university ID hoping he does not look at the date. He hands it back, writes something on a piece of paper and pushes it across to me. His handwriting is neater than I was expecting.

3.Das Tier Unter der Erde (The Beast Under The Soil), Outfit, 1921, Wire, Clay, Glass, Stones, Concrete

There is no evidence Das Tier Unter der Erde was ever used in a performance. Although the files found contain both choreography and sheet music for a short piece involving the ‘mask’ no contemporary accounts exist of a dance involving the outfit. The costume is incredibly heavy (weighing in at 13 stone) and would have been far too restricting to perform in for very long.

Apart from graffiti on the outside walls, the house looks like it has been untouched since the 1920s. It stands alone on the outskirts of the city, hidden within a copse of overgrown blackthorn trees. The river runs beside the fence, water shattering against the tumbled stones of a broken weir. In its shudder and shift I hear music and pause to make notes, before returning to the task in hand.

Although the shutters are rotten and askew I can see no signs of entry, so make one, wrenching damp wood away from soft plaster. There is no glass in the windows.

Inside is dark. I think about widening the gap in the window to allow in more light, but something about the house suggests that it does not want to be lit by the sun. Instead I find my lighter in my pocket and let that guide me through the broken rooms.

There is no floor. I am tempted to blame that on thieves following the abandonment of the house, but everything else is in place. I say that as if the rooms are crammed with furniture and crockery. This is not the case. Stepping along the exposed beams, I walk into the second ground floor room. The two hammocks hang from the ceiling, swinging from the breeze caused by my movement through the door. For a moment I expect Jochan and Sabine to sit up, annoyed to be disturbed, but there is nothing in the hammocks except dust and dried blood. I walk over and push the nearest one, letting it swing back and forth. The dirt of eighty-years slips through the bullet hole like sand through an hourglass.

4.Lawine (Avalanche), Outfit, 1920, Gypsum, Copper Wire, Lime Paint, Razorblades

Lawine is the earliest of the eleven known costumes attributed to Die Schiedler Tanzen. The attention to detail is exquisite, with finishing touches that are lacking from their later outfits. For example the stitching on the gloves, and the detailing on the face show a degree of care that seems to be missing from subsequent costumes. It is noticeable too that Lawine is much lighter than their later outfits and that the interior is not as raw, with padding in place to cushion against any sharp edges left by the production process. The razorblades have all had their edges dulled, though it is noticeable that when the costume was repaired (possibly for the brief reprisal of the dance for the disastrous 1926 retrospective), that the lost razorblades were all replaced with sharp ones. Examination during recording found many rusted due to the presence of blood.

The upstairs of the building is barely used, with dead pigeons covering most of the floor, mummified and still. I step my way through the corpses to reach the single cabinet on the other side of the room. I’m not surprised to find it is older than the 1920s, and broken. Poverty meant that even the one piece of furniture they allowed themselves would have been scavenged from the streets. I open the doors, just to make sure, even though I know that nothing will be inside, and then tip the whole thing over onto the carpet of dead birds, turning my face from the rising cloud of dust. I reach into the cavity beneath the floor, until moments before hidden by the cabinet. The box is heavier than I expect and it takes all my effort to lift it out and carry it back down the broken stairs. It smells of rotten meat and sealing wax. I resist the temptation to open it straightaway and leave the house to its ghosts.

5.Der Wartende Mann An Der Kreuzung (The Waiting Man at the Crossroads), Outfit, 1925, Sackcloth, Iron Nails, Iron Barrel Hoops, Wooden Splinters, Bottle Glass, Tar

At the time of the performance Der Wartende Mann An Der Kreuzung (worn during the dance by Sabine) was interpreted as taking its inspiration from Voodoo, and particularly the rituals surrounding Baron Samedi. When this was suggested in a local newspaper, Sabine is supposed to have flown into one of her characteristic rages, threatening to burn down the printing press responsible for producing the publication. No other clues to the inspiration were left by the couple, so only supposition is available to us. However, the most fitting interpretation has recently been put forward by Dr. Helen Canterbury, during the conference that preceded this exhibition. Dr Canterbury pointed out Sabine’s grandmother was born in the North of England and would almost certainly have been familiar with folklore surrounding criminals gibbeted at crossroads. This seems far more in line with the other themes in Sabine and Jochan’s work.

I leave the box unopened in my room and return to the museum, ignoring the temptation to stay and just open the lid a touch. To reach inside and feel the texture of the costume. I control myself like all good dancers should, and leave.

The curator looks up as I knock on his open door. He carries on reading for a moment and puts his book to one side.

“Come with me,” I say and do not wait to see if he follows. I hear him shuffle in his chair as he rises, then smell the reek of aftershave as he falls in step behind me. We climb through the museum in silence until we reach the ladder up into the attic.

“After you,” I say and wait until he climbs, placing each foot with care as if preparing himself for a betrayal. He is not looking in the right place for treachery.

Once he is inside, I follow him up and stand aside as he turns on the overhead bulb. The light glares down, the dull costumes waiting upon the wooden floor like skinned clowns.

6.Die Frau Der Weiden (The Woman Of The Willows), Outfit, 1929, Copper Wire, Stones, Gauze, Velvet Curtains

One of the last costumes Sabine and Jochan made, Die Frau Der Weiden is also one of the most elaborate. Each length of copper wire has been knotted to create some kind of approximation of willow branches. The detailed choreography found in the archive accompanying the costumes shows the complex performance was designed to create sound and not just movement. As with all the later costumes designed by Die Schiedler Tanzen the interior provides no padding or protection for the dancer, and the sharp copper wire would have been incredibly uncomfortable for the performer. Indeed, one contemporary report describes visiting the backstage area after the performance to find Jochan’s body covered in slashes, blood seeping down to collect on the floor.

I can tell by his posture, by the way his shoulders slump, that the curator has no interest in my find. He turns to face me and shrugs.

“You found the costumes then?”

“You knew these were here?” I say. He looks me up and down as if searching for some glitch or error that might explain me.

“Of course. I told you before. We have records of all material we hold within the museum. We just choose to—” he pauses while searching for the right word. “Emphasise some of our collection over others. No-one is interested in this amateurish fancy dress.”

I nod, because I know that what he says is true for himself. Unless it is chipped marble or dusty oil paint, then it will find no place within his exhibitions.

“I will ask you to please pack them away, and in future not enter areas of the museum that are off limits to visitors.”

“I’m not a visitor,” I say. “I’m a researcher.”

He pauses halfway down the steps, just his head and shoulders above the hatch, looking like he is emerging from the earth.

“You are a visitor. You are not accredited by an academic institution recognised by our organisation, and you will do well to remember that I only allowed you to have a certain amount of freedom as a favour to an old friend. An old friend, I might add, who only had the vaguest of recollections of you.”

He disappears out of sight and leaves me with the ten costumes of Die Schiedler Tanzen, but all I can think about is the eleventh waiting for me.

7.Hügelgrab (Burial Mound), Outfit, 1924, Soil, Clay, Moss, Grasses, Stones, Sacking

Hügelgrab seems to represent a changing point in the approach of Die Schiedler Tanzen. Here is where we first see seams left raw enough to raise welts on skin, due to the movement of the ill-fitting costume during the marathon 5 hour performance. In some ways the chronology of Die Schiedler Tanzen’s costumes represent an abandonment of skill through time, as if the shedding of detailing was part of the intention.

Although known about in private circles for a long time previously, it’s believed that the performance of Hügelgrab was the first time that Sabine Schiedler’s violent rages played out in such a public forum.

In the attic I cannot resist the temptation and strip, leaving my clothes beside me in an untidy pile. I take my time. There are many decisions to be made. The costume must be big enough to fit, and it must be in good enough condition that I do not have to worry about damaging the fabric. These narrow my options and I choose Der Tod Von Tieren.

Even though the meat has mummified over the decades I still feel I can smell a hint of rotten flesh as I pull the sleeves onto my arms, and step into the leggings. There is no flexibility. No allowance for knees and elbows. I pause, remove the arm pieces and slide the mask over my head.

The weight sits on my shoulders, grinding welts into my collarbones. Slipping on the arm pieces once more I pick up the fur covered gloves and flex my hands until my fingers are in place. The points of roofing nails scratch their way into my palms, and through the discomfort I wonder if they reroute the destiny hidden in the lines there.

I have no urge to dance or to move. I can barely keep standing in the outfit. Inside the mask is raw, the gauze used to carry the gypsum roughly cut and inward facing. If I turn my head to see better out of the narrow eye slits my cheeks are cut many times and blood collects in my mouth. I cannot tell if the iron taste is from the wounds or the rusted metal. I am so engrossed in my own discomfort I do not notice the curator behind me until it is too late.

8.Waagen (Weighing Scales), Outfit, 1923, Metal strips, Heavy weights increasing up to 14lbs, Meat hooks (rusted), Leather straps, Buckles, Wine bottles, Rough hemp sacking.

Waagen was most certainly one of the most extreme performances by Die Schiedler Tanzen and may reflect the deteriorating mental state of both Sabine and Jochan. In contrast to many other performances, the choreography involved the dancer (in this case Jochan) dressing in the outfit on stage. First the basic clothing is worn and strapped up at the back, then the iron strips are affixed to the arms, preventing them moving from a crucifixion pose. On the end of the metal strips were rings through which the meat hooks were threaded. Once this was done Sabine placed the mask over her husband’s head. Many witnesses recorded that this was the most disturbing part of the performance. Extending from the mouth and each eye was a single glass wine bottle. Apart from this the mask was featureless. It did not take a leap of imagination to imagine what would happen to Jochan if he fell, unable to use his hands to break his descent.

Then, over the next ten minutes Sabine suspended increasingly heavy weights from each side of his outstretched arms. There seemed to be no pattern and no attempt to ‘balance’ the distribution. Waagen was performed three times and on each occasion was halted by worried members of the audience, concerned for the wellbeing of Jochan. Sabine’s rage at these interruptions was only matched by her husband’s.

“Whatever my personal feelings about these particular items of our collection, that does not give you licence to wear them, like, like . . .” he stumbles, his anger overcoming him. “Some toddler rummaging through a dress-up box.”

I am still stood as Der Tod Von Tieren. He seems unsettled by my appearance, as if I am the dead animated by cardboard and Papier-mâché. My face hidden, I smile at his discomfort.

“Outfits such as this are made to be worn, not locked away. Die Schiedler Tanzen did not put so much work into their costumes for them to be forgotten.”

He looks me up and down. I notice his hands are clenched into fists by his sides. I smile again.

“You will take the costume off, and you will leave the premises.”

“And if I say no?” My voice sounds muffled.

“Then I will bring the authorities to eject you from the premises,” he says, but there is uncertainty, as if in that sentence he is acknowledging he is no longer an authority. He is used to compliance. From artefacts. From visitors. From colleagues. My resistance unnerves him. Only the pain stops me laughing at his growing awareness that he is a fallen king. I undress in front of him, taking my time to put on my own clothes. This time he sees my smile, and turns away to stare into the darkness of packing crates and forgotten artefacts.

9.Der König der Küste (The King of the Coast), Outfit, 1928, Sacking, Metal Funnels,

Papier-mâché, Sand, Rubber Tubing

This late costume was very simple and eyewitnesses reported that at first they thought it represented a new direction for Die Schiedler Tanzen. Jochan appeared on stage in what appeared to be a comical outfit. Light and loose the sacking juxtapositioned with the regal name suggested some kind of comment on poverty and wealth. However, as the performance progressed, the audience became more and more disturbed.

Sabine joined her husband on stage, carrying a large bag of sand. With no other music or real choreography she began to use the funnels to pour the sand into the clothing, until the weight was so great that Jochan was no longer able to move. Then, using the tube and funnel affixed to the mask, she poured in dirty seawater, presumably into the mouth of her immobilised husband until his stomach held no more and the water and vomit fountained onto the stage.

Back in my accommodation I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the box for half an hour before lifting the lid. I wish I was more versed in the rituals of saints. The Church must have liturgies for exposing holy relics, but having never taken holy orders I do not know such words. Instead I sit in silence, and when the moment feels right I open the lid.

The mask is on the top. I lift it out and hold it up to the light. It is obvious straight away that it is far too small for me to wear. I cannot deny I am a little disappointed, but as long as it is worn then everything will go as it should.

There is little decoration. The eyes are gauzed, so that the performer can see the reactions of the audience. I reach inside, and catch my hand, blood collecting in my sleeve. I am not the performer for the dance to come. Yet it is fitting that I, the one who brings this performance back to the waiting world, is the one who it takes a price from first.

Next, I remove the tunic and hold it in one hand, gauging the weight. Again, the beauty of the costume is in the lack of adornment. The simplicity. All the detail is hidden on the inside, away from the gaze of the audience. The only way for those who watch to know what is hidden is in the movements of the dancer. The interpretation.

I lay out the whole outfit on the floor. Each piece as well made as the last. Sitting beside it, I run my hands over the plain fabric and sigh. It’s hard not to be disappointed that someone else will bring life back to such an exquisite piece of tailoring. I pick up my bag and leave to visit the museum for the last time.

10. Moderne (Modernity) 1922, Outfit, Papier-mâché, Cement, Rubble, Glass

Although Die Schiedler Tanzen later themes veered more toward the esoteric, their earlier work suggested a tension between the emergence of a modern world and their discomfort with those changes. In Moderne, one of their earliest known performances, Die Schiedler Tanzen expressed this in the discordant orchestration and awkward movements. Moderne was responsible for the initial interest from audiences in their work, an interest that seemed to fade over the decade.

If I hadn’t left a note with the address of my accommodation I doubt the curator would have ever found me. Though he knows I have stolen Lawine, he is surprised when I open the door wearing the costume. He walks past me, into the room and waits for me to shut the door, holding his hands behind his back, face toward the floor.

He is lost for words, but only for a moment.

“As soon as I leave here, I will be contacting the police.”

“And yet you didn’t bring them with you,” I say. I like the sound of my voice inside the costume. I imagine that my words rustle the metal stitched to the outside.

“We have matters to discuss first.”

“The eleventh costume. The one believed to have never been made, or worn,” I say. I point to the floor, the rusted razorblades rattling along my sleeves.

“Take off that outfit, donate this one,” he says, sweeping his hand toward the mask. “And we’ll call an end to the matter.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in amateurish fancy dress.”

“I’m not,” he admits, and I admire his candour. “But hidden things and lost things will bring attention to the museum and attention brings funding.”

“And that’s all you care about? Funding?”

“All I care about is the museum. And what do you care about?”

I pause for a moment, and really think about the answer. Give it some time and consideration. He kneels down and runs a hand over the front of the mask.

“The performance,” I say.

The sleeves of Lawine are baggy enough that he does not know about the presence of the iron bar until it makes contact with the back of his skull. I try not to break the skin, but there is a small cut and for a moment I have a few nerves that it might ruin the performance.

Carefully I slide him into the costume. It is not easy. He is a dead weight. Soon though he is ready and I wait for him to wake up.

It is hard to tell at exactly what point he realises he is the star of the show. There was no chance for him to rehearse so all his choreography is improvised. The buckles that hold the sleeves to the thighs make it difficult for him to stand and as he does the razorblades and nails inside the mask press down into his skin. I listen to them grind rather than cut through his skin and muscle, and for a moment I imagine I can smell scorched bone from the friction. As he sings, the blood soaks through the plain white fabric. Die Schiedler Tanzen never named the outfit, but I think I shall call it Die Blumen.

By now he is upright and his full weight is on the blades in the feet of the tights. He stumbles, trying to reach the door, but every gesture increases the intensity of the performance. Die Schiedler Tanzen designed the costume perfectly. None of the blades cut his tongue, so he is able to provide his own accompaniment throughout. Eventually he is tired out from all the work he has put into the choreography and collapses to the ground. When I lift the mask from his face he wears the marks of his strenuous performance. I am saddened that the costume is only suitable for one show, but now I have seen the dance as Die Schiedler Tanzen intended, I’m sure that I will be able to recreate it many, many times.

11. Unknown, 1930?

It is rumoured that at the time of their deaths Sabine and Jochan had been working on a costume that was to be the culmination of their performances throughout the decade. However, though their notes, diaries and sketchbooks have been very thoroughly researched, there are only hints of such a costume.

Soon after their final public show, the bodies of Jochan and Sabine were found. The conclusion of the police at the time was that Jochan was shot first while he slept and Sabine then drowned herself in the river beside the house. The final costume was never found.