Biłat stands, walks and rocks with the cello, demanding from it, as she does from herself, that it produce sounds and emotions far beyond familiar, mundane expression. There is an interplay of reciprocal provocation between the human and the cello. Although there is only one human performer, there is continual dialogue. Boundaries are crossed, the unknown and extremes of expression are sought out and received with a conscious abandonment. As she sings Rebeka, I see a battle-worn woman who nevertheless has enough cynicism and resilient wit to face any stranger who enters her domain. The figures she embodies share an unending resistance to resignation, in spite of the depth of their despair. It is clear to all present that she will not be governed by nor cower to another’s command.

It is perhaps a reductive exercise to name the archetypal figures I saw appear on stage. Of course, each of us in the audience witnesses the emergence of different figures. Nevertheless, for me, one thing was undeniable: all the figures seemed to be responding to the calamity, extremity and horror of war, its relentless violence and destructive capacity. Biłat, in fact, dedicated her performance to "... people in Gaza suffering inhumane war and starvation."

The last segment of her performance begins with the sound of male voices - soldiers or pilots - speaking in that all-too-familiar techno-militaristic jargon to indicate the coordinates of their next target. Biłat underlays their voices with a tense rhythmic plucking … a musically sophisticated ticking clock. The scene then unfolds: Biłat makes sinuous movements with her body as her fingers slide deftly up and down the cello’s neck, producing a rising and falling melodic line. This smoothness gradually gives way to fitful, twitching, jerky movements as her melodic line rapidly accelerates. Biłat rises from her chair as if to actively engage in the battle. Instead of encircling the cello, she pushes against it in an offensive stance and counter-stance. The confrontation ends abruptly. Biłat lays down her bow on the chair, and turns to the audience, fully disarmed. She stands before us with an uncanny expression on her face. That look: ravished but still standing; off-balance, but wholly present. Biłat then flings the cello over her shoulder. She holds it by the neck with both hands while its body hangs behind her back like a captured deer. The two of them: back to back. The audience is still, spellbound. Biłat then goes down on all fours, the cello laying flat on her back like a beautiful carapace. As a new hybrid form, the creature slowly advances off the stage, hand by hand, knee by knee, passing through the theater’s curtains and up the stairs, from the darkened theater to the lingering light of the summer evening.

In my reading of the last piece, through the intimate erotic interaction between woman and cello, some of the soldier/warrior's characteristics are adopted and embodied by the woman. She succeeds in deconstructing his uniformed identity such that the threat of his dominance is thwarted. In the current political moment, there is a stark reduction of possible stances in relation to war as either ‘Pacifism or Militarism.’ Julia Biłat shows a third hybrid possibility: deconstruction and sublimation of the soldier/killer. All of us have plural identities. It is only by denying this plurality that authoritarian intentions can be realized.

What is extraordinary about Biłat’s skill as a performer is that after she has fearlessly summoned and embodied a figure, she doesn’t collapse. Instead, she harnesses that expressive dimension and embarks in a new direction. The importance of this aspect of Biłat’s performance can not be overemphasized. She doesn’t pause and ask ‘What just happened?’ but with an exquisite sense of timing, she catches and conjures the next musical figure, leading the audience once again into the unknown. The level of attention in the theater was palpable. No one coughed or shifted in their seats. It felt as if we had suddenly become intensely awake: ears perked, skin taut, tingling and receptive, conscious of every breath and movement in the space … in short, we were in a state of enchantment.

Text by Cecile Rossant