In IHOPEIWILL, Soňa Ferienčíková spins a spider-like web to explore the complexity of family dynamics. Gradually unspooling a line of flesh-coloured fabric from her hips, she stretches it across the stage, fastening it at different levels in each corner, and weaving a zigzagging lattice of thread and memory in the process.
Moving with caution, Ferienčíková navigates the structure like a thief dodging trip wires, careful not to disrupt the fragile architecture of her past. At times, it seems supportive – something she can lean into or use to invert her body into simple suspensions. At others, it becomes suffocating and restrictive, tangling around her neck or catching at her wrist.
As a result, IHOPEIWILL serves as a poignant metaphor for the benefits and burdens of lineage. With its gentle score, layered with multilingual reflections on home and childhood, and unchanging lighting, the work feels more like a durational art piece than a performance marked by dramatic shifts. Yet, there is one moment of suspense when the last length of fabric slips from Ferienčíková’s hips. What comes next when the thread of inheritance runs out?
Emily May
In IHOPEIWILL, threeiscompany and Jaro Viňarský contemplate the threads that bind us, the futures we imagine, and the worlds we construct. The work begins in the theatre foyer, where a performer wraps herself in knotted beige fabric. While building her cocoon – a nod towards transformation and entrapment? – she works her way into the auditorium, where a nostalgic soundscape collaging ambient tones with field recordings and voiceovers plays. Then, the unravelling begins. With deliberate clicks, the performer locks fabric into metal bearings, shifting from wrapping into weaving, cocoon into web. Each click is methodical, vulnerable, and marks a decision; a moment of trust in becoming.
Is she breaking free or building anew? The web resists and supports in turn. The metaphor is clear: we must learn to live within the systems that bind us. As the atmosphere tightens, urgency builds. The climax isn’t a spectacle, but a quiet release. Unbound, the performer hands the fabric to an audience member – a gesture of trust. She enters the installation like a painting, suspended in her web, returning not as maker, but part of the made.
Nicola Mitropoulou
Upon arrival, a web of large ropes stretches across the theater stairway, leading up to the first floor. An exhibition accompanies the performance, though without advance notice, many – including myself – miss the chance to view it before seating.
Onstage, Soňa Ferienčíková lies with canvas rope wrapped around her torso. As she moves, she clips and tightens ropes anchored at each corner, slowly building a net. Her torso appears mic’ed, and she seems to trigger sounds as she manipulates the structure.
A backdrop of voices in multiple languages fills the space, though much of it remains hard to decipher, adding to the work’s opacity. When one pole is pulled inward by the growing tension and audience members rush to assist, a sudden, genuine moment emerges – perfectly aligning with the piece’s underlying theme.
The venue, more suited for seated viewing, limited the experience. What new meanings could have surfaced if we were free to walk around the web of tensions?