Fabla Collective’s Do Birds Dream of Flying? is an acrobatic feat that transforms dance into a site of dreamy vantage points. Centred on a ladder that swings and rotates, the agile duo makes even the most demanding strength work look effortless as they glide, skim and traverse the air in this outdoor performance.
Although simple in its form, the piece keeps us engaged, as rotations accelerate into spins and immobile poses turn into cartwheels. While the exalted, saxophone-reliant soundtrack exudes pomposity, this seems a deliberate homage to the circus tradition from which the show emerges.
The symbolism elevates the show beyond mere aerial tricks. As the duo balances the ladder, shifting it from vertical to horizontal, it becomes clear that the ultimate goal is not to arrive at the top. Rather, the avian dreams open new perspectives that ground us back in reality, emphasised by the dancers closing the show with their bodies splaying out on the pavement.
Do Birds Dream of Flying? is the paradoxical question Fabla Collective attempts to respond by testing their sense of balance and coordination in a rotating and swinging ladder set at CIAJG Main Square. Merging dance, circus and physical theatre, Sven Du Swami & Mojca Špik explore aerial space, vertically and horizontally, defying gravity. The sky is cloudy, the music is ethereal. For the next 21 minutes the duo explore trust, risk, speed. Body pressure is sustained by various weights on the ladder base, which allows them to remain hanging sometimes behind their knees, sometimes in one hand, moonwalking. By hooking a bicycle bench to the top of the stairs, Špik energetically spins, recalling a windmill. It didn’t rain. Not sure about birds, but judging from the enthusiastic ovation, many people in the audience do indeed dream of flying, and Fabla Collective showed us all how.
Sometimes the simplest things are the best ones, and the most magical those without tricks. Here, we have an open-air plaza, a custom-made metal turntable, a weighted ladder, a harness with straps. We have Mojca Špik, a slight figure – yes, almost birdlike – who perches on the rungs, tipping and tilting to spin the structure, and her body with it. We have Inan Sven Du Swami as counterbalance and guide, handling himself and the ladder so that the whole human-mechanical apparatus can sweep into carousel curves, letting the bodies walk on air or skim the ground like swallows.
We do, I admit, have a somewhat soupy soundtrack – but the performers rise above it. Špik arcs skywards and we, childlike in fusing the physical, the emotional and the imaginary, feel flight, exhilaration, freedom. But every takeoff has its landing: the pair must come down to earth, and our dreams of transcendence dissolve into our ordinary world. Atop the ladder, the empty harness swivels and nods in the wind, as if to acknowledge our applause.
The industrial geometry of a mobile ladder stands at the centre. As the audience gathers in a circular embrace, the conventional ‘front’ disappears; Mojca Špik orientates space through action. While she climbs, the ladder spins, her organic curves pressing against rigid steel in a delicate dialogue with gravity.
Rather than typical circus ‘tricks’, Špik maintains a fluid continuity, transforming the aerial space into a cinematic arc. When Inan Sven Du Swami enters as a silent supporter, his reassuring presence pushes her toward daring investigations. With added stability from the specialised equipment, her limbs find the freedom to spin and leap, just like a bird in pursuit of flying, yet always searching for the ground after every ascent.
By witnessing a human who repeatedly ascends, only to crawl upon the ground once more, Do Birds Dream of Flying? leaves one wondering: whether birds or humans, do those gifted with the sky still yearn for the ground?