Choreographing Displacement: On What Moves and What Doesn’t
As an odissi dancer rooted in India's classical traditions, my relocation to the United Kingdom marked more than a geographical transition. It required a fundamental reframing of my artistic orientation. In India, dance is not merely performed; it is lived. It seeps into the body through ritual, mythology, familial memory, and collective inheritance. It is an epistemology of being. In the UK I encountered a different ecology altogether—one where dance is institutionalised, often determined by funding structures, cultural policies, and curatorial discourse.
Some pivotal encounters have remained with me, continuously reshaping my understanding of these divergent landscapes.
The first was Marina Abramović’s landmark retrospective at the Royal Academy of Arts in 2023. For the first time in the Academy’s 255-year history, its main galleries were devoted to a solo female artist. Abramović’s practice is uncompromising: her performances are durational, physically exhaustive, and emotionally charged. From the claustrophobic proximity of Imponderabilia to the ritual austerity of The House with the Ocean View, the exhibition demanded more than attention; it demanded presence. Yet what lingered with me was not solely the visceral quality of the work, but the infrastructure that enabled it. Corporate sponsors such as BNP Paribas and Rolex underwrote the staging, creating a protected space for what might otherwise be seen as risky or transgressive. Here was an irony: performances that disrupt emotional and physical norms were made safe by the very institutions they do not interrogate. Discomfort is sanctioned, so long as it remains non-political.
This irony resurfaced in a conversation at a UK-based dance symposium. A young choreographer shared that their original piece on climate justice had named specific fossil fuel corporations. Funders requested that these references be removed. 'Too political,' they were told. Symbolism was acceptable; direct critique was not. Thus, even within ostensibly progressive spaces, the politics of performance must be veiled, metaphorical, and aesthetically palatable.
In India, constraints are cultural rather than bureaucratic. Funding is sporadic and frequently contingent on alignment with dominant religious or nationalist aesthetics. Performative critiques of caste, gender, or religious orthodoxy are seldom supported. They are not formally rejected but quietly disqualified under euphemisms such as 'inappropriate,' 'non-classical,' or 'misaligned with tradition.'
Thus it is often from marginal spaces that the most incisive performances emerge. I recall a street theatre performance by a Dalit collective in Kolkata, staged in front of a municipal building. There was no funding, no designated audience—only the sheer urgency of bodies in protest. It was choreographically sophisticated, politically lucid, and unapologetically direct. But it was never viewed as dance. It was ‘agitation’, not art. This form of artistic erasure is not incidental; it is systemic.
In India, legitimacy is not only governed by institutions but also by internal hierarchies—the opinions of gurus, senior artists, funding panels, and cultural gatekeepers. The boundaries of acceptability are rigorously policed. Reinterpret mythology through a spiritual lens, and it is lauded. Reinterpret the same mythology through feminist or anti-caste lenses, and it becomes dangerous. What emerges is a culture of soft censorship, where innovation is encouraged, but only within a framework that remains decorous and deferential.
The UK has carved out spaces for socially engaged performance, particularly within the public health and community arts sectors. At the Cambridge Festival, I participated in a movement session co-led by an NHS psychiatrist and a magician. No mirrors, no stage, no spectacle—only embodied storytelling among strangers. It was quietly transformative. These initiatives recognise dance as a medium for social healing rather than aesthetic display.
Yet even within these inclusive structures, limitations persist. Work that addresses grief, trauma, or neurodivergence is welcome. Work that challenges corporate interests, colonial histories, or land rights risks defunding. Aesthetic resistance is acceptable; economic critique is not. The question is not whether dance can be political, but whether its politics can be permitted.
Reference
Abramović, M. (2023) Marina Abramović. [Exhibition] Royal Academy of Arts, London, 23 September – 1 January.
The author
Pratiti Ghosh is a PhD researcher at the University of Exeter whose interdisciplinary work explores how classical Indian dance forms—particularly odissi—negotiate identity, tradition, and globalisation in post-colonial contexts. With a Master’s from Cambridge and dual Master’s degrees in History and Economics from India, she investigates performance not only as artistic expression but as a strategic tool within the cultural economy.
