Performance is an art form based on time. It exists only within the flow of time and ceases to exist outside of a specific temporal frame. Even if time is captured through physical mediums like photographs and videos, it remains dead time, past time, time that can never be experienced in the same way again. The performance piece Butler and Foster by the artist Mup, created to explore post-performance forms or what happens after the stage, adds an additional layer of temporal complexity. This three-part series by Mup will encompass the time that flows between each performance in the series. The names 'Butler and Foster' suggest characters from a British period drama, which somehow leads one to imagine their identities before the actual content of the performance. In the time of the creators and the expectations of the audience, ‘Butler and Foster’ might have lingered in an unshaped form before finally appearing. Perhaps they are not characters, but rather forms of time itself.

Thus, revisiting Mu:p's work in retrospect is akin to exploring a file explorer where one navigates through folders with different ‘modified dates,’ performing actions like play, pause, rewind, fast forward, and skip within and between folders. It involves unearthing time that lurks within, but can never be the original. This process confronts and traverses those countless times not as a linear sequence but with a sense of free directionality, approaching the act of transforming time into a kind of virtual space. For the author who only experienced the second installment of the series, Butler and Foster_ Knight lands, trying to uncover the spatial sense of that performance time by rummaging through Folder 2 and speculating about Folder 1, which is empty, and Folder 3, which has yet to be created, leads to the ultimate conclusion: 'Air': 空氣 - 空器 - 共起.

1/3. Gonggi – Atmosphere Lingering On
 

Upon arriving at the venue, I receive an A4-sized sheet along with instructions to select a seat number. Unlike a typical performance where this sheet serves as both a ticket and an introduction, this one is mostly blank. Does it hint at the atmosphere of the space? The sheet features small printed words and numbers scattered across its surface, as if they were meticulously placed based on precise measurements. As described at the top, is this place indeed “The Realm of the Knights”? The Knight of the Wand, the Knight of the Sword, the Knight of the Cup, the Knight of the Pentacle. A dotted line runs horizontally across the center of the paper. Unconsciously folding the paper along this line reveals text on the otherwise blank back. In the middle of the empty page, there is a single sentence: “The knight on the rim is dim.” Not knowing that this phrase is a common idiom, I consider the meanings suggested by “dim”: gloomy, faint, pallid, bleak... I attempt to interpret this literally and add my own meanings, trying to imagine what kind of performance might unfold. Holding the paper folded horizontally, I shuffle through the creased areas and follow the lines, lingering over the surface and edges.

The guide, signaling the start of the performance, strangely leads us outside the venue. In the sharp December winter air, as we linger momentarily, the curtain that had draped inside the venue is gradually pulled aside by the performers. As transparent glass doors slowly reveal themselves, I begin to feel a slight tension, sensing a reversal of roles as I wait outside and become a performer waiting behind the stage. Seeing the guide trying to open the doors, I think it might be time to enter, but the door doesn't open. Is it a lack of preparation? I try to appear unfazed as I watch the guide's movements, opening one door after another, but they don’t seem particularly flustered. Is this a calculated move? Finally, a door opens, and we enter. We take our seats on the circular platforms, each marked with our chosen number, suspended like a boat in the center of the stage. Although it is undoubtedly very sturdily constructed, sitting on a platform floating in the middle of the stage makes me feel oddly tense. Unlike typical performances where one focuses on the front, I find myself glancing around, avoiding eye contact with those seated across from me, and rustling the paper in my hands again.

Finally, the first performer appears. They walk subtly from outside through the glass doors, finding the door handle and pulling it open with a creak. As soon as I realize this action mirrors that of the guide from earlier, the boundary between inside and outside, and the front and back of the performance, suddenly blurs into one shared atmosphere. However, even though it isn’t raining outside, the performer enters drenched. They walk to a corner, dripping water, and slowly remove their wet clothes. In this dimly lit room, which has a somewhat forlorn ambiance and is positioned close to one side of the audience, the performer seems to shed a layer of emotional vulnerability, as if they are disrobing in a space isolated from the world. The eyes of the audience seated nearby wander aimlessly around the space, perhaps fearing they might be perceived as peering into someone else's private domain. Conversely, the audience on the opposite side, observing the performer's back, might be reminded of paintings like Edward Hopper's Night Windows, where the contrasts of light and shadow evoke a melancholic mood. The naked skin of the performer vividly conveys a sense of fragility, anxiety, and precariousness. Once changed and tidied up, the performer takes the discarded clothes and walks to the center of the stage. There, they hang the wet clothes on a line. The faint sound of dripping water throughout the performance creates a pale, foreboding aura. This sound brings forth the repressed, intimate emotions contained within the performer's disrobed attire, filling the space and enveloping the audience within this charged atmosphere.^{[ 1 ]}

^{Translated by ChatGPT}