What is technique?
This week I will participate in the “Performance as Research” working group at the American Society for Theatre Research (ASTR) conference in Puerto Rico. The paper I have been developing for this working group turns on the notion of TECHNIQUE, which I now realize is probably going to be central to my dissertation as well. So my big theoretical project right now is the development of these twin concepts: technique and practice, practice and technique.
I define practice as anything that people do in repetition. (This is just my current working definition, of course – neither commonly accepted nor even fully satisfactory to me.) I would also add that “embodied” practice implies repetition through the body. Technique, for me, is the thing that is repeated.
I am trying to get away from the notion of brand-name “Techniques” (with a capital T): Stanislavski technique, Meisner technique, Viewpoints, Contact Improvisation, Aikido… It’s not that I don’t believe these things exist in a meaningful way – they obviously do, some more than others. But I don’t want to call them techniques (or, even worse, methods) because that suggests to me that they are static and codified, when in fact they are constantly changing both in passing from one person to another and also within the practice of an individual.
What is really clear for me is the idea of a single element of technique – sort of like an “atom” of technique. These are concrete “details of doing” such as the following: “stand with your feet shoulder width apart”; “the group maintains a single note while one person sings the melody”; “initiate from your hips rather than your shoulder”; “emphasize verbs rather than nouns”; “remember a time when you experienced something similar”; “repeat what your partner said, but switch the pronouns to reflect who is speaking.”
These are what I would call “technical elements” or “elements of technique.” Readers of this post may recognize many of the ones I mentioned, and we might even be able to say things like: “that comes from Lecoq” or “Meisner invented that” or “X took that technique from Y and developed it further.” It is then possible to analyze the way in which technique circulates across geographic and temporal distances, throughout different contexts and applications, passing from teacher to student, from audience to observer, from colleague to colleague, as well as (perhaps even more importantly) developing and shifting over time within the practice of an individual or group…
We can also use this definition to distinguish technique and practice from one another. Let’s say that, on some days, when I wake up, I do something that I call “the cat.” The doing of it is the practice, which expands and deepens over time, which is bound very intimately to my own life and presence, and which in a certain way has no name. The technical element, however – which is what I refer to when I say that I “do” the “cat” – can be traced through a complex lineage: the teachers who taught it to me, the person who taught it to them, the man who adapted it from hatha yoga, the inventors of hatha yoga and whatever their influences were…
Technique is what circulates. It is not tied to a specific time or place, nor does it include in itself any kind of inherent goal or aim. To think of the “cat” exercise again: it could be done for joint flexibility; for upper arm strength; for rhythmic play; to help wake up in the morning; for relaxation; as meditation; as an art in itself; as training for actors; in praise of god… Different goals and intentions take precedence in different moments: the cat (or “dog”) in yoga vs. Grotowski cat; but also: Grotowski’s cat in the ’60s vs. Grotowski’s cat in the ’90s; and: my cat this morning vs. yesterday…
What is really interesting to me is the possibility of tracing techniques as they circulate through different contexts and applications. This for me is the way to reconnect the performing arts and all kinds of non-performative embodied practices. Too often, in our culture, we look first at the goal of an activity and categorize it according to that goal. In this way we separate performative and non-performative practices from the very beginning, and fail to realize how connected they are.
If instead we look at the circulation of technique, then we’ll see very clearly that technique is indeed flowing between performative and non-performative applications all the time. Of course, the uses to which technique is put are extremely important. The cat will develop differently if it is being used to train actors (and what kind of actors?) as opposed to promoting relaxation or as a physical fitness regimen. But we can’t only look at the goals and intentions of a practice. We also have to look at technique, which is somewhat separate from goals and intentions and which circulates somewhat independently of them, on a different level.
What do you think, dear readers? Does this approach to technique open doors? Do you find it limiting?
Another question:
How should we talk about big name-brand techniques like the ones mentioned in the third paragraph above (as opposed to small “elements of technique” that circulate through every individual moment of practice)? To what do words like “Meisner” or “Viewpoints” or “Aikido” or “Kathakali” refer to? Sets of technical elements? Sets of practices spread over space and time? Lines of transmission of technique? Social groups founded on agglomerations of technique?
Another question:
I also argue in my ASTR paper that “embodied knowledge” is another word for technique. One person responded to my paper with the following comment: “It may be true that a performer’s technique becomes a kind of embodied knowledge, but technique neither comes entirely from embodied experience, nor does it encompass the whole of knowledge contained in the idea of embodied knowledge. Technique is at best a subset of embodied knowledge…”
Am I wrong to say that technique = embodied knowledge? Is there a significant portion of embodied knowledge that goes beyond technique? This is a question about what counts as knowledge. It is obvious that embodied practice and embodied experience go well beyond technique. But shouldn’t “knowledge” should refer to that which is independent of the individual and circumstances? – precisely that which can circulate from one context to another and still retain its validity. Isn’t knowledge that which is in a sense “objective” because it can be realized under diverse circumstances? In that case, isn’t technique just another word for practical knowledge? – knowledge in the form of how to do something…
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