The Silent Woman: My Creative Process Part 1
Upon hearing the story of Oskar and The Doll, my imagination was immediately captivated. Vivid images played out in my mind, depicting the interactions between Oskar and The Doll. During a conversation with my mentor, Monika, she suggested that I document these scenarios in the form of storyboards.
Initially, I hesitated; drawing wis not my thing. The idea of creating storyboards intimidated me. How could I translate the scenes in my mind onto paper effectively enough to communicate the story to an audience? As an avid fan of art and collage, I came to a solution. I could use existing images to construct my storyboards, allowing me to convey the narrative I wanted to tell. The process of sourcing images, cutting them out, and assembling countless collages turned out to be quite labour-intensive, but ultimately rewarding.
.
I discovered a certain satisfaction in this hands-on process. Each collage became a tangible representation of the story of Kokoschka and his doll borne out from my imagination. Ideas that had previously been only abstract began to materialize within my collages. This creative endeavour sparked new thoughts and concepts, continuously shaping my narrative.
One of the first collages I created depicted Oskar outside a dressmaker’s shop. As I delved into various autobiographies and analyses surrounding the doll, a critical question emerged: why did he want this doll created in the first place? What inspired him to pursue the idea of a doll? While reflecting on this, my imagination began to weave its own story. In moments of grief or longing, memories can resurface unexpectedly. It is not uncommon for one to be reminded of a lost loved one whilst doing the mundane, or to catch a fleeting glimpse of them in ordinary life.
What if this was Oskar’s experience? I envisioned him wandering the streets of Vienna, gazing at shop windows filled with mannequins dressed in styles reminiscent of items Alma might have worn. In a moment of poignant reflection, Alma perhaps passes by behind him, causing her reflection to appear in the window. When Oskar turns around, she is gone, yet the fleeting image of Alma superimposed on a doll stirs a revelation within him—the idea for an Alma doll begins to take shape.
However, I remembered that Oskar was in Dresden at the time of the commission, and Alma wouldn’t have been there. Consequently, I adjusted the setting, deciding that it was the dresses in the window that reignited his memories of Alma. After all, she was never far from his thoughts.
Finding photographs of shop windows typical of the early 20th century proved time-consuming. I scoured the internet for images that would fit with what I had in mind, searching for mannequins clad in the right fashions. Spotting an appropriate image for Oskar was equally challenging. I struggled with historical accuracy, particularly regarding the cavalryman’s uniform of the Austro-Hungarian Guards—I had to make compromises. Though I was frustrated by the absence of a sabre in my chosen image, I eventually settled on one that fit my creative needs.
As indicated by “Frame 1,” this representation marked the beginning of my narrative. However, I realized I had to provide context for why we find Oskar here at this particular place in time. I needed to take a step back and explore the love affair between Oskar and Alma and explain what happened and how Oskar eventually finds himself in Dresden. To introduce the couple, I thought it would be powerful to depict them lying in the same position as in Oskar’s painting The Bride of The Wind. I had previously imagined projecting The Bride of the Wind onto a screen, gradually enlarging the image to evoke the feeling of encountering the painting at the Kunstmuseum in Basel. The image would dissolve, and we would be left with the couple lying on stage.
Sourcing images for these storyboards was a more enjoyable experience; I retrieved visuals from Oskar’s original works, finding silhouettes of tango dancers and integrating the faces of Oskar and Alma as represented in Kokoschka’s art.
However, I am getting ahead of myself. Before conceptualizing the two lovers at their happiest, I was still busy with establishing the storyline from Oskar’s encounter with the doll in the shop window to the eventual realization of the doll itself.
Monika provided invaluable guidance during this phase. She encouraged me to consider movement—specifically, a movement phrase that would encapsulate Oskar as he was in Dresden, post-war. I took myself back to research. I watched archived films on YouTube featuring World War I veterans suffering from shell shock, coupled with articles detailing the physiological impact of such trauma. Involuntary shaking was a prevailing symptom, a direct consequence of the relentless shelling and horrific conditions faced in the trenches.
I was already aware that Oskar had sustained serious injuries—he had been shot in the head and stabbed in the lung with a bayonet. Therefore, the movement phrase I imagined needed to reflect this history of trauma. I recalled a poignant portrait of Oskar and Alma in an embrace, with her gently caressing his face. I envisioned how these nurturing moments with Alma might provide him solace and security amidst his turmoil, leading me to develop a movement phrase from this visualization.
I thought of him wanting to re-enact the moment when Alma caressed him, offering comfort. I incorporated the common shell shock symptom of trembling into his movements. Initially, Oskar continuously stroked his face, but his motion evolved to include lightly grazing the wound on his head before returning to his face, repeating this gesture in a comforting loop. However, I struggled to expand on the movement further. To overcome this challenge, I turned to music as my muse. I desired something melancholic yet hopeful.
Randomly, Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Me to the Edge of Love” appeared on YouTube. It felt too modern, so I searched for an instrumental version, and the algorithm did not disappoint. I came across Alexandre Da Costa’s rousing version, but it was too beautiful. I kept searching. Unbeknownst to me, “Dance Me to the Edge of Love” is a tune often used for tango. I kept getting videos of tango in my feed, specifically danced to this Cohen track.
Then it hit me! That is how the movement evolves from abject terror and despair to hope, joy, and pleasure. What if Oskar begins with his descriptive movement phrase while suffering a PTSD episode, but needs something more? Another physical consolation of love. He reaches and grabs a coat and pretends it’s Alma. He begins to dance with it/her, and soon they are moving as one, just as they used to. In this sequence, the coat transforms into Alma, but a much more docile version—one that can be led and moved about. What if the coat transformed into a doll?
ACT ONE of The Silent Woman will be showing as a work in progress at the Wandsworth Arts Fringe Festival on 13; 15 & 21 June!
