Gravity and the song of plastic – A neo-materialist stage performance on material terms
What happens when the stage is no longer a place where man rules – but where material takes over? What happens when the familiar, everyday plastic ceases to be a passive object and begins to behave in its own way, with will, direction and resistance? From such a position begins Sanna Kekäläinen‘s neo-materialist stage work A Friend From Ethiopia 2, which was born out of practical need and grew into a philosophical call to see the world differently.
If I Would Lose My Voice, premiered by Kekäläinen & Company in 2020 on the main stage of the National Theatre, marked a turning point. The work expanded from the realm of body and identity politics towards a broader awareness of ecological crises: climate change, species loss and environmental threat. At the same time, it moved from a human-centred mindset towards a perspective in which material determines the conditions of performance.
One key insight was unexpectedly found in a warehouse: a massive, cheap, fossil-based tarpaulin that seemed to contain something crucial. This 12 x 12 meter plastic sheet was not just a set – it was an actor. Its weight, movement and resistance created a space that could not be controlled. The press brought the sound of the material to the stage, its weight setting in motion something philosophical: what if the material is not just the background or medium of our actions, but part of our agency?
Neo-materialism on stage – when an object is no longer an object
Kekäläinen’s work is linked to a broader philosophical trend, neo-materialism, which challenges the legacy of modern Western thought. Neo-materialism questions the boundary between living and non-living, active and passive, human and non-human. At its heart is the idea that material is not a passive background or a neutral surface, but an active part of the world – an actor with its own dynamics, agency and even resistance.
When an oil-based plastic refuses to obey and takes its place in space, it is no longer a mere object. It is part of an event that forces both performers and spectators to reassess their place in the world. In Kekäläinen’s work, plastic is not only an aesthetic choice, but also an ethical and political statement. The world after capitalism, overconsumption and the fossil economy cannot be built on the terms of the past – but it can be built into something performatively meaningful.
Taivassali – a space that invites participation
The performance space has a meaning. A Friend From Ethiopia 2 is made especially for the Taivassali space. Taivassali is an exceptional space: original, open and transformative. The space is not just a frame, but part of the world of the work. The historically layered building, with its large windows flooded with the northern light beloved of visual artists, invites participation. The Taivassali enables what is central to Kekäläinen’s work: the viewer is not an outsider but becomes a co-experiencer.
The performance is not a linear narrative but an event in which everyone participates – including the material. In this space, the viewer does not just watch, but encounters. Not just watching, but feeling. The intrinsic behaviour of the material creates situations that cannot be predicted, and each moment reshapes the experience.
Costume and set are not separate, but belong to the same material logic that creates meaning. The tarpaulin is not a set, it does not make the space ‘finished’, but its weight and surface act as a second skin. The costumes are not decorations, but also participate in the same ethical debate: why produce something new when what already exists can say enough – or more?
Criticism and longing – towards a non-human-centred stage
A Friend From Ethiopia 2 is a multi-level critique: it criticises the fossil economy, cheap production and the visual overload that characterises contemporary culture. But it is not just a critique. It is also a poetic proposal. Perhaps we can learn to live in a world we do not control. Perhaps we can share the stage with others – including actors we have not taken seriously before.
The lack of control over the material is also an artistic strategy. The performance is not about control but about exposure: about allowing the material to lead. Plastic slides, curves, pulls. It refuses to be moulded or bent – and therein lies its power. The viewer encounters this agency concretely, as a physical metaphor, as a sensual presence.
Plastic on stage is a contradictory, powerful and alienating element. It is like a ghost of the past and a shadow of the future. But that is precisely why it is so necessary. For when the plastic begins to speak, we are forced to listen – no longer just for ourselves, but for those who will be left behind.