Returning to Jamais Vu : Uncanny Encounters in the Live Art Archive and in the Flesh

Elaine O’Sullivan, Independent scholar


The call out for proposals for the ReView section of Performance Philosophy appealed to me, as it suggested a mode of return that was akin to, but not synonymous with, the traditional form of a scholarly review. Rather than focusing solely on the critical appraisal of an art object/event, emphasis is placed on the prefix ‘re-‘ inviting us to attend to the specific nature of the repetition involved. We are invited to revisit a performance we have encountered at least once previously, thus evoking a sense of déjà vu, of the ‘already seen’. It suggests a more personal approach that draws on the nuances of memory and perception, and on the temporal disjunctions at play.

With this in mind, my paper focuses on a movement-based performance entitled Jamais Vu that has a strong personal resonance for me. This solo performance by live artist Anne Seagrave consisted of iterative choreographed sequences, found objects, and a video/sound installation. The artist’s body was presented naked coated in a chalky white paint. Over its lifecycle, Jamais Vu (2005–2007) was re-performed and re-presented to create different permutations. Both the artist and I have returned to the work in different ways: from the position of creator and from the position of spectator. A signature mark of Seagrave’s compositional style is to return again and again to particular movements, objects, and images driven by a specific set of conceptual concerns, reworking and reactivating the assemblage. I have revisited the work time and time again to critically and creatively reflect on my engagement with it. In what follows, I explore the significance of this déjà method, and this artist/work for contemporary performance. In doing so, I centre my analysis on my inexplicable attachment to the work, the nature of which I explore as my text unfolds. I reflect on three stages of encounter or reencounter with Jamais Vu: Encounter in the Granary Theatre, Cork (Ireland) / Encounter in the Live Art Archives, University of Bristol (UK) / Encounter via re-enactment for camera, Plymouth (UK).

Encounter in the Granary Theatre

Figure 1: Anne Seagrave, Jamais Vu (2005). Video still from premiere of performance, Granary Theatre, Cork, Ireland

I first encountered the performance at its premiere in the Granary Theatre, Cork (Ireland). It was presented as part of the venue’s ‘Bodily Functions’ programme of live art in 2005. [1] I remember the dimly lit space and the artist moving rhythmically to a pulsating sound score. Her movements were very slow, very precise:

Her body stands slightly bent, fingers beckoning toward her mouth. A flashing bucket lies opposite. The light bounces off the white-woman. Her pigment, the coating of the limbs is skin-strange. Is she marble, ice or ash? Her movement is very slow, very precise. She is engaged in an activity. It requires concentration. She is reeling something in and out. It comes from her mouth winding toward the metal bucket. Her body kneels, fingers engaged in pulling an invisible thread. Her body leaps forward, she has caught something. She is inside. The white-woman has a bucket for a head. (O’Sullivan 2005, 28–29)

This descriptive passage of my engagement with the work dates to 2005. It was written shortly after viewing the performance and included in my MA dissertation. It is written in the present tense even though it recalls an earlier event. It is written in this way in an attempt to re-experience the affective force of the performance. It is as if I’m reliving my spectatorial encounter with the work by restaging it on the page. This approach echoes the idea of “performative writing” (Phelan 1996, 1997), a writing that is not about the event but that is ‘of’ the event as Adrian Heathfield describes, “[t]his writing is not simply upon a subject or about it but, rather, is ‘of’ it in the sense that it issues from it, is subject to its force and conditions” (Heathfield 2006, 179). This approach can also be usefully applied to critical writing (see Heathfield & Hsieh, 2009), to arrive at a theoretical or philosophical frame that takes on the condition of its object of study, in a sense emanating from it. This writing is not applied to the work from the outside rather it celebrates the moment of contact between the idea and the work, the coupling of the concept-as-event, and the event-as-concept.

On viewing Seagrave’s performance for the first time I described it in terms of an ‘encounter’. As Simon O’Sullivan notes “[a]n object of encounter is fundamentally different from an object of recognition”. It causes “a rupture in our habitual modes of being” but it is also a creative moment that “obliges us to think otherwise” (O’Sullivan 2006, 1). I wasn’t overly familiar with live art at the time of viewing, being more accustomed to traditional theatre forms. Yet my fascination with Jamais Vu seemed to extend beyond the experimental structural, temporal and aesthetic qualities of the work. Even though I couldn’t articulate at the time what it was about the performance that drew me in, holding me there, I knew it had a profound impact on me. It got under my skin.

This sense of knowing and yet not knowing fully what the event meant to me permeated my engagement with Jamais Vu on first and even on subsequent viewings. Perhaps this feeling of uncertainty, of not being able to access a singular, definitive meaning for the piece was part of its attraction. This sense of rupture or unsettling of familiar frames of reference was built into the work in its conception, and in its design. The term ‘jamais vu’ literally translated means ‘never seen’. It refers to the uncanny feeling of the familiar appearing strange or novel/new (see Freud [1919] 1955). In the performance this feeling is activated via the incessant repetitions that constitute the compositional structure of the work. In its first instantiation, the performance consisted of three short movement interactions that were repeated eight times over a one-hour duration. The temporality of the piece unfolded like an iterative loop to create a mesmerizing and ghostly apparition. On each return, we recognise something familiar (a household object, a body, a reoccurring gesture or motif) that carries the trace of difference. As spectators, this accumulation of images creates a disorientating effect as events interrupt each other forming loops and arabesques.

This initial encounter with the performance was to become my first in a series of encounters with the work. I have a history with this performance, what might be termed an extended relation. This approach of focusing on a ‘single’ performance, revisiting and reworking that encounter over time, reflects Seagrave’s approach to making the work (returning again and again to the piece to create different versions). This temporal aspect is significant as the different stages of encounter I go on to describe correspond with different stages in my personal life. In writing this paper, I am returning not only to the event(s) of Jamais Vu (2005–2007), but also to the events of my life to create a kind of retroactive timeline. I trace and retrace significant images, objects and moments in my attempt to articulate what Jamais Vu means to me. Or perhaps what it does to me, how it is played out across my body and mind via the writing and performing of ‘then’, again.

Encounter in the Live Art Archives

Figure 2: Anne Seagrave and Manuel Vason. Collaboration #2, London, 2005

In 2010, I was conducting research for my PhD thesis (O’Sullivan 2014) in the Live Art Archives at the University of Bristol when I happened upon documents relating to later versions of Jamais Vu. It was here I truly felt the familiar made strange—the performance I knew so intimately transformed. I was intrigued by these new additions and the process whereby a single performance becomes the first in a series of works all framed by the same name.[2] There were a number of documents in the Seagrave file including: a glass slide with an image of an early untitled work that reminded me of Jamais Vu, two photographic images created by the artist in collaboration with Manuel Vason that referenced Jamais Vu, and two videos documenting Seagrave’s final performance ofJamais Vu at the NRLA Festival in 2007. [3] I will briefly describe each of these artefacts in turn.

The dark, barely perceptible print on the miniature glass slide fitted in the palm of my hand. Intended for illumination by a light box I held it close under the shutter of my eye. I held it close to trace the dimpled contours of a youthful figure and a shiny object sculpted by time. The image was taken sometime in 1984 when Seagrave was still a student studying visual and performing arts at Brighton University or what was then called Brighton Polytechnic. The artist is seen balancing tentatively on an overturned table with a shiny object, a metal bucket, suspended in midair. It was the vessel but also the black and white chiaroscuro effect of the image that brought me back to Jamais Vu, back to a performance that had yet to take place or that was yet to come. Through a glass darkly I see not one but two performances. They are not related, they are separated by years in terms of timeframe but in my mind they co-exist.

The photographic images created by Seagrave in collaboration with Manuel Vason (see figure 2) directly reference Jamais Vu. They are not documents of the live performance, but form part of a wider performance photography project and book by Vason (2007) in which he collaborated with artists to create new works for camera or to restage elements of previous/ongoing works. The aesthetic of the still image depicted above differs greatly from the dimly lit space of the live performance. However, the body is presented in a similar way to how it appears in Jamais Vu, and objects like the bucket and the mirror across the chest (also a feature of the live performance) reappear. The status of these images then lies somewhere between event and document, they operate performatively (see Auslander 2006) but they also seem to extend the frame of the original performance. Rebecca Schneider notes the ways in which a document itself might be encountered as an event, as “a performance of duration” (2007, 34). Arguably these still images are another version of Jamais Vu, another permutation of the work as it lives and lives on in mutation.

What does it mean or do then, when I encounter Jamais Vu via its documents? Does the performance still (on the glass slide) or the performance for camera touch me in the same way as the live event? Do they have a similar pulling power to Jamais Vu, and to the first time? While there is definitely an archival pleasure in discovering new artefacts, a sense of discovery or reveal, these images don’t affect me in the same way. Their appeal lies in their connection to my original experience of Jamais Vu. I didn’t go into the archive in Bristol in search of these documents. I was doing research for my PhD at the time, and it was not my intention to revisit the work I had centred my MA dissertation on. It was not my intention to go back and look again at Jamais Vu . I was busy sifting through piles of images relating to other artworks when the documents/Jamais Vu found me.

Part of the collection included two video documents of Seagrave’s performance of Jamais Vu at the NRLA festival in 2007. This was the final presentation of the piece. Jamais Vu had been extended to include twelve short movement interactions that were repeated twice over a one-hour duration. Furthermore, the piece was performed over a number of consecutive days with different structural elements removed. By the final day, the video and sound elements of Jamais Vu were removed, and the artist’s white body paint had faded. It was as if the work was performing its own erasure or “becoming itself through disappearance” as Phelan (1996) argues.

Watching and re-watching the video frame by frame I noted the points of departure and points of familiarity with the version of Jamais Vu I knew. I analysed the film to see if it would draw me in, holding me there. While I felt an affinity with the moving image, a vague sense of recognition, it still didn’t move me in the same way as the live performance. Of course, these documents were always going to fall short of my initial encounter with the work, but they were useful to consult in terms of exploring my reengagement with Jamais Vu. Perhaps they could shed some light on why I was compelled again and again to return to the performance—was it the allure of the performing body, the mesmerizing iterative choreographed sequences in the work, its abstract yet highly emotive quality, or its understated paired back nature? All of these elements intrigued me, but there were two things in particular that had a binding force.

The first was my attraction to the fluid open-ended nature of the work that seemed to suggest a kind of non-identity, a queering of categories, boundaries and borders—both in relation to genre and in relation to gender. The performance was part multi-media installation, part choreographic presentation. It was a solo body-based piece that had strong visual and sculptural resonances. It was developed and performed primarily in live art contexts, but it would equally have been at home in a dance or visual arts setting. The body, although recognizably female, was presented with an androgynous veneer. In different sequences, notably the movement interaction wherein the spout of a tap is pressed against the artist’s groin, it took on different gendered and sexed positions. This play with signifiers disrupting binary oppositions and the constantly changing nature of the work appealed to me. To reencounter Jamais Vu then was to encounter it anew—as if for the first time. It carried the familiar and the trace of my difference.

In 2010 (five years after my initial encounter with the performance), I was looking back at the piece with new insight. In my writing around the performance in 2005 I had focused on the inexplicable and un-representable quality of the work, that part of Jamais Vu that seemed to evade me. At the time, I had started to explore my own desire as queer. In a way then the performance consciously or unconsciously became associated with that tentative, yet exciting, time in my life. It spoke to me in its abstractions and in its half-formed images, in its play with figures and forms. It became a creative outlet or source for working out or working through my emergent sense of self. Writing about lesbian spectatorship in the context of cinema, Patricia White coins the term “retrospectatorship” to refer to viewing practices that invite us to “re-encounter something we’ve seen before but didn’t yet know what the encounter would mean to us” (1999, 215). Focus is placed on the temporality of reception, the idea of looking back to retroactively make sense of an experience.

In critical writing it is not unusual to return to a performance witnessed previously to reflect on your encounter. However, it is unusual to return to the same event over and over again. [4] This déjà method leads to concentrated focus and close analysis of an individual work, the ability to track its changes over time. It also creates a record of the writers’ changing engagement with the piece. In 2005, I didn’t yet know what that initial encounter would come to mean to me. I didn’t yet understand the power of the piece, the ways in which it would resonate for me. Of course, the queer associations I attach to the piece are bound up with my own personal history. While the piece will come to mean different things for different people, a queer sensibility is what I bring to Jamais Vu—it is what happens between my body and the work. In 2010, my returns moved from the page to the stage, as I experimented not only with writing or rewriting Jamais Vu, but also in performing or re-performing it. I was more aware of what the performance meant to me at that point, yet I still felt the pull back.

Encounter via Re-enactment for Camera

Figure 3: Untitled 6, After Jamais Vu by Anne Seagrave, 2005. Performance Re-enactment Society, Hugo Glendinning and Elaine O’Sullivan, 2010

In the dimly lit space, I begin to move. I repeat the movement interaction with the bucket. On each iteration, I experiment with positioning my body differently or with rotating the axis of the sequence. Hugo is also moving, performing a kind of choreography with his camera. He captures my performance from different angles and perspectives. I’m only semi-conscious of his presence. Click, click, click… catching numerous frames per minute. Click, click, click… I hear my bones grumble, my joints creak. This is strenuous work that requires a flexibility of body that I do not possess. I am repeating from memory… the light bounces off my silver bucket-bin. The mirror on the floor catches my reflection. In the half light, I see a flickering of chalky-white skin, a body moving slowly and meticulously to a silent rhythmic beat. Click, click… a footfall, the swishing of limb—my body rubs against the black cloth leaving its mark. I dive into the bucket and down onto the hard concrete floor.

Click, click… my body momentarily gives in. It lingers there on the floor, extending the sequence to include more rolling and rocking side to side. On standing, it forgets to separate itself from the bucket. As I rise to a standing position the bucket remains hugging my head. It is really dark now. I become more attuned to the surrounding hum of quiet voices and the rhythmic click, click of the camera. I begin to take on its mechanical beat. With every click I shift slightly performing micro-movements that bring me back and forth. I perform a crossing and cupping of my hands (as seen above) that relates to my memory of Seagrave performing a reeling motion, as if reeling an invisible thread from her mouth toward the bucket lying on the ground. My bucket-bin is covering my head, and I’m acutely aware of my own breathing. I reach out to pull the thread that connects me to another place and time. A chord that brings me back, that reels me in.

In 2010, a few weeks after my discovery of the archival documents relating to Jamais Vu, I participated in a project called Untitled Performance Stills by the Performance Re-enactment Society and Hugo Glendinning. The PRS is “an occasional collective of artists, archivists and researchers, founded with the intention of using documents and memories to revive past art experiences and create them anew. Its collaborative performance reenactments are acts of conservation and transform past works into new events” (Clarke 2013, 364). [5] This project was presented in Plymouth in the wider context of a live art symposium entitled ‘The Pigs of Today are the Hams of Tomorrow’. [6] Participants were invited to revisit a performance or a moment from performance history that had a strong personal significance for them. In preparation for the event, participants were asked to bring any relevant objects or materials with them that would help with restaging their memory. I knew instantly that I would choose a sequence from Jamais Vu. I chose the sequence with the bucket as it had an aesthetic and a conceptual appeal. I remember being surprised by the beauty of the mundane domestic object as it swivelled on the floor catching the light. In the moment of performance, it had an allure and a reflective quality that is not as apparent in its everyday use. It is also a vessel that carries or transmits things, which seemed appropriate in the context of re-enactment wherein my body was to become the transmitter of performance history, at least my version of it. Finally, the metallic bucket seemed to connect Jamais Vu to traditions of performance art and live art more broadly. It is an object that reappears in many historical and contemporary performances, an object that could be used perhaps to create a very different ‘timeline’ of performance history, and a very different sense of artistic lineage—different in a non-linear, highly arbitrary way.

I arrived in Plymouth with my bucket (a silver bin), white body paint and a small panel of glass to use as a mirror. I had been practising the movement sequence prior to my arrival at the symposium. I had been repeating the movements while watching a video of the 2005 performance. Simultaneously, I had been reflecting on my spectatorial and archival encounters to consider how these experiences might be integrated into my re-enactment. It was not my intention to recreate the sequence faithfully. Partially, because I knew my untrained body would be out of synch with the rhythmic sound score of the performance, and partially because I wished to re-embody my spectatorial experience of the work, what Jamais Vu meant to me. To perform or re-perform the piece as I remembered and perceived it both then and now (looking back). In the end, it became quite difficult to ‘pin down’ what exactly was being re-performed, whether it was my memory of the live performance, my memory of the documents, or a memory of a memory. All of these layers coupled with my collaboration with the camera forged a kind of mnemonic overlay that was self-differentiating, differing in its remembering and in its relay with the art-historical past.

The image that was selected (out of hundreds of takes) to form part of the Untitled Performance Stills (2010) exhibition is related to all of these elements. It is particularly interesting to compare this image to Seagrave’s performance for camera in collaboration with Vason (see figure 2). In displaying the Vason (2007) image I have turned it upright rather than presenting it in its original landscape form. I did this to reflect my memory of Seagrave’s performing body moving with toes pointed in the Granary Theatre space, but also to mirror the portrait form of my re-enactment for camera. As Seagrave notes (2007b, 2011), her practice is closely related to traditions of self-imaging and self-portraiture. She describes how her body is painted to resemble a classical sculpture. In the wood panelling that surrounds her body, it appears she has been mounted on a plinth for display. However, the mirror attached across her chest reflects the spectators gaze. The camouflage effect of the chalky body against the grainy wood is a stark contrast to the dark surround out of which her ghostly form emerged in the live performance. My image evokes the latter aesthetic by contrasting the black background with the whiteness of the painted skin. If you look closely, the remnants of my performance remain as chalky residues on the black cloth to be reactivated or retraced. My performance then, like Seagrave’s for camera functions as a document, but also an event in itself. Perhaps it too partakes in the event of Jamais Vu, extending the temporal frame of the original performance. At the very least, it touches Jamais Vu like a “translation touches the original lightly and only at the infinitely small point of the sense” (Benjamin 1992, 81)—to create a reverberation of the ‘already seen’ in the ‘never seen’.

Touching History: Re-enactment and Queer Temporality

Re-enactment privileges bodily sensation and experience as a means of engaging with the past (see Agnew 2004). Thus it resonates with what Carolyn Dinshaw has called a “queer historical impulse […] toward making connections across time” (1999, 1). It calls for a more sensate historical enquiry, a mode of “doing history” akin to what Elizabeth Freeman proposes in her concept of “Erotohistoriography”. She writes:

Erotohistoriography is distinct from the desire for a fully present past, a restoration of bygone times. Erotohistoriography does not write the lost object into the present so much as encounter it already in the present, by treating the present itself as hybrid. And it uses the body as a tool to effect, figure, or perform that encounter. (2010, 95)

While some re-enactments attempt to recreate an original with exacting precision as a restorative gesture, many artistic re-enactments take a more critical approach by embracing the temporal disruptions at play. [7] Within these works it is possible for different times to be registered upon a single body (the re-enactors body) thus queering any sense of linear or sequential time. Events interrupt each other forming loops and arabesques.

For my re-enactment, I was working with a myriad of documents and memories, all belonging to different places and times, and yet all tangentially connected or framed by the name Jamais Vu. I used my body to explore the work, and to explore my attachment to the performance. I used my body to transmit something of Jamais Vu’s effect, and to investigate what I could learn about the performance by doing it. I wondered what I could learn from re-performing the piece that I couldn’t access from merely viewing or writing about it. As noted earlier, the difference between my untrained body and Seagrave’s agile perfectly timed movement was painstakingly clear. In addition, I noticed that my bucket-bin kept sliding forward when I attempted to dive in. This was partially due to the shiny surface of my artefact, but also due to a detail that I had recorded in writing but apparently forgotten about in practice. I had written about a ‘flashing bucket’, but I did not recall the strobe light that Seagrave had positioned inside her bucket—the lead from this was anchored to the floor, preventing the bucket from rolling.

The idea of corporeal movement functioning as a knowledge practice is addressed by Vanessa Agnew when she describes re-enactment as a “body-based discourse” (2004, 330). The body, my body then becomes a site of criticality, a site of performance-as-philosophy. Laura Cull Ó Maoilearca poses the question “in what ways or to what ends might we consider performance as a kind of philosophy?” (2015, 1). Perhaps my re-performance for camera is one such way in that it reveals insights about a work/artist that has not received the critical attention it deserves [8] . Furthermore, it reveals the uncanny temporal and experiential aspects at work, when the “ghosting” (Carlson 2003, 7) of past events on a performer’s or spectator’s body takes place.

In redoing Jamais Vu, I was ironically trying to ‘save’ the performance that Seagrave (2007a) was trying to ‘erase’. I was trying to perform a dynamic preservation wherein the body becomes “a kind of archive” or “a kind of ruin”, which generates “a queer kind of evidence” (Schneider 2001, 103). I was exploring how my body and its identification, its desire; was intrinsically linked to the performance of the ‘never seen’. What once felt almost un-representable had retroactively found a way to be not only represented but fully embodied via practices of retrospectatorship and re-enactment.

In Conclusion

This method of looking back, of returning again and again is significant for performance philosophy as it suggests a more durational approach to criticism. A close almost claustrophobic engagement with an object over time reveals insights about its processes as well as its finished product/s. This method of “déjà-viewing” (as Grant 2014 describes it) highlights the temporal and experiential aspects of spectatorship. [9]

The abstract and conceptual nature of Seagrave’s work is in itself a kind of performance of philosophy, exploring ideas about repetition, memory and temporality through a body-based practice. With its iterative structure, its haunting allure, the work demands that we look again, that we return, that we re-view.


Many thanks to Anne Seagrave for making it possible for me to have a continued engagement with her practice over the years. This paper is closely related to my PhD research which was supervised by Dr Paul Clarke (University of Bristol) and Dr Ika Willis (University of Wollongong [formerly University of Bristol]).


[1] Bodily Functions was curated by Tony McCleane-Fay, artistic director of the Granary Theatre, Cork. It was a year-long festival of live art and included work by artists such as Alastair MacLennan, Franko B and Aideen Barry.

[2] Alastair MacLennan also recycles objects and images across performances to create different permutations. However, he usually gives each work a new title despite their interrelation—for example, Body of Earth (1996) and Body of (D)earth (1997). In the context of dance, Kate Elswit (2008) has written about the short solos performed and re-performed by Valeska Gert under the title of Canaille. The work continued to be called Canaille despite undergoing significant changes. Elswit refers to the works as “extended embodied inquiries, which were not directed toward a singular outcome” (2008, 63).

[3] For further information on The National Review of Live Art festival see The NRLA Video Archive can be accessed from here. It contains video footage of Seagrave’s performance. For a history of the festival see Heddon, Milican and Klein, eds. (2010).

[4] For a rare example that analyses repeated returns to a performance from a spectatorial perspective see Kartsaki (2011). She explores the role of writing and re-writing in remembering a performance drawing on art historian T.J. Clark’s repeated returns to a Nicholas Poussin painting (over a six-month period he visited the museum every day to document his responses to the artwork). With reference to Heathfield’s ‘Writing of the Event’ (2006), she describes a mode of writing that she calls “the writing of return, which occurs as we return to performance in a later time to re-think […] the different experiences that the work creates” (Kartsaki 2011, 5).

[5] This description of the PRS originally appeared on the groups Facebook page. The core members of the group are Paul Clarke, Tom Marshman and Clare Thornton. For a discussion of the wider context of Untitled Performance Stills (2010) and debates surrounding re-enactment in contemporary art see Clarke (2013).

[6] University of Plymouth and Plymouth Arts Centre. Live Laboratory Symposium: The Pigs of Today are the Hams of Tomorrow, The Slaughterhouse, Royal William Yard, Plymouth, 22–24 January 2010.

[7] See Forsyth and Pollard (2005) for an example of a re-enactment that transforms and updates a historical performance work, and Barba (2012) for a description of an attempt at precise replication which plays with the inconsistencies that emerge.

[8] Seagrave’s work occupies a marginal position in histories of live art. Very little literature exists on her work to date aside from a published artist interview by Ayers (2000), a performance photography project by Vason (2007) and an overview of her contribution to Irish performance art by Phillips (2015). The majority of the information on her practice remains in archival and mnemonic form.

[9] Grant engages with White’s (1999) concept of “retrospectatorship” to explore her personal attachment and remake/remix of the queer associated film Rebecca. She notes that “[S]ensuous methodologies seem to me to be eminently suited to the epistemology and hermeneutics […] of déjà-viewing” (2014, 1). She argues that retrospectatorship—a viewing mode described by White as shaped by the experiences, fantasies and memories it elicits in the spectator—might also function as a production mode, especially in the context of spectatorial productions (Grant 2014, 2). Both White and Grant are writing about film spectatorship. In the context of performance, Carlson’s (2003) concept of “ghosting” takes a similar approach by focusing on the role of individual memory in the process of theatrical reception. Analysing the recycling of theatrical elements, he writes about “this sense of something coming back in the theatre” (2003, 2).

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———. 2005b. Jamais Vu. DVD. Devised, Composed and Performed by Anne Seagrave. Video Prod. Fred Benoist. Recording of Performance in Cork City: The Granary Theatre, Bodily Functions Programme of Live Art. DVD Courtesy the Artist.

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———. 2007b. “Why Me? The Artist’s Use of Self Image.” In Manuel Vason: Encounters: Performance, Photography, Collaboration, edited by Dominic Johnson, 202–203. Bristol: Arnolfini.

———. 2011. Personal Interview. Krakow, Poland.

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Dr Elaine O’Sullivan is an early-career researcher with a PhD in Theatre & Performance Studies from the University of Bristol. Her thesis focused on the movement-based performance work of live artist Anne Seagrave. This research was funded by an NUI (National University of Ireland) Denis Phelan Scholarship, and an NUI Travelling Studentship in the Humanities & Social Sciences. Currently, she is developing work at the intersection of contemporary performance, mindfulness and philosophy. She is Assistant Editor of Choreographic Practices Journal.

Copyright (c) 2017 Elaine O'Sullivan

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