Seen on Feb. 3, 2023, Beyond The Black Box, De Brakke Grond, Amsterdam. By Gina Miroula

It can feel so good when you explore boundaries together, stretch them. In love. With a partner. Or lying under your lover or mistress you’ve been doing it with for a year. But how does that actually work with colleagues, acquaintances and strangers? What distance can you bridge and what especially creates discomfort? Proxemics by theater maker Salomé Mooij is an exercise in closeness and part of festival Beyond the Black Box.

The audience is scattered throughout the theater, both on the benches and on the playing floor. From the ridge of the auditorium a voice sounds. “I am now at the furthest point. Salomé Mooij does not have to raise her voice to reach the auditorium. Still, she feels too far away to make full contact.

Mooij shines a laser rangefinder on the floor. The red point of light jumps back and forth among the audience, circling across the floor. She was inspired by American anthropologist Edward T. Hall, who made a study of the distances people keep from one another. Slowly, she moves down through the balconies, gets a little closer.

At public events, the distance between listeners and speakers is usually eight meters, she says. Listeners cannot see the speakers’ eyes; expression must be magnified, through gestures or the blinking of eyes. The person speaking knows nothing about the people being spoken to. ‘Reaction from the listeners is neither necessary nor desired,’ Mooij says.

Other anecdotes about distance and proximity follow. Like the two-meter rule, the social distance: just too far to have a sincere conversation. Or the dominant boundary (standing above someone) and the distance of working together, after which Mooij produces a series of affirmative sounds: “Hmm, really, yeah. Regularly, she interacts with the audience. She jumps into the arms of an unfamiliar gentleman, dives into the neck of a lady with long blond hair. Close by, Mooij names the visibility of her pores, how you hear and smell someone’s breath, feel body heat. “It’s the distance of making love and fighting. It produces an intimate scene that feels strangely uncomfortable. Mooij stretches her exercise in closeness effortlessly.

Proxemics is a strongly designed performance at the intersection of performance and artistic research. The climax arrives when the music comes on, the saxophone sounds in “Poetry: How Does it Feel?” by Akua Naru sounding from the speakers. With arms wide, circling like helicopter blades, Mooij moves dreamily, almost floating, through the space. In doing so, she proves herself a master of probing desire.