As you make your way to the theatre below the tone is set by a protruding mirror on the wall  that reflects as normal, then flexes in on itself to  distort the beholder. As if compressed in a black hole – “It reflects reality by distorting it”. This portal is Edoardo Dionea Cicconi’s “Xyzt”. This blurring of self is also mirrored in Josh Woolford’s shadowed forms of “Avoiding it”. Parma Ham’s latex sculptures then add to this feeling of distortion with their grand unconventional folds. Further complemented by some of Sade’s highly textured paintings and Lulu Wang’s “Umi” with its intricate indents.

Heading further in, a low ominous chant reverberates against the sounds of a distant hammering noise. A figure emerges with a bare torso fixing a red apron and black gloves. Surrounding him is a circle of candles around a series of logs with nails of varying lengths protruding. He kneels on a red cushion. Selects a hammer, then a nail and proceeds to hammer gently into the log in front of him. Mesmeric. He continues. Presiding over the ceremony. The ritual of it all is trance like and leaves the audience rapt, with many questions. It finishes and the spell is broken. I wonder why he taps so gently and why the nails often fall out just as much as they go in. Is it about Sisyphus and the futility of trying?

Talons of Creed is the brainchild of Alban Adam. He confirms afterwards that it is about losing yourself in repetition – derived from pagan beliefs and rituals around surrendering to the void. The nail tree had a strong presence in the lore of the middle-ages that is now lost to the modern world. A modern audience can attach their own meaning and learn from the catharsis of the repetitive act at its centre. It allows personal meaning to intersect with the Pagan, superstition and religion too. The immersive sound work is by Samuel Accecedo.

The night before, there is a projector screen of plastic film showing a mysterious vintage Japanese movie. A figure peers out from behind the plastic in stark white make up and bouffant cream dress. They breathe and gently ripple the screen. As the music swells, they breathe in the screen as if about to asphyxiate on it before finally puncturing it. What happens next feels like a birth – an emergence. The figure ventures out into the audience. Fixing them with their gaze and venturing out curiously. Making  their way to a chair facing a mirror. A microphone dangles from the ceiling and they gasp “I am that”, repeating it, growing stronger and more forceful:

“We are who we are”. The dress that is shed; leaving them almost naked. A piano piece begins. The heavy make up is wiped off as they press against the mirror. A beautiful rebirth.