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Improvisation in Audiovisual Performance: Spontaneity as Method
There is a moment in every live performance when structure dissolves—when sound and image stop being controlled elements and start responding to the space, to movement, to the energy of the room.
This is where I feel most present. Improvisation, for me, is not an effect or a technique—it is a way of existing within the work itself. It is about removing the distance between intention and execution, between thought and action.
Why Improvisation?
There is a tendency in art to view control as mastery—to plan, to refine, to perfect. But what if the most honest expressions emerge not from perfection, but from unpredictability?
In my experience, improvisation is not about “playing freely”—it has its own discipline, its own demands. It requires absolute attention to the present, a willingness to let go of preconceived ideas, to listen deeply, to respond rather than dictate.
- It is not about randomness—it is about responding in real time.
- It is not about avoiding structure—it is about allowing structure to emerge from within the moment.
- It is not about rejecting precision—it is about finding precision in fluidity.
Every performance is an experiment. And in that experiment, what matters is not what I intended to create—but what actually happens when the work meets the space, the people, and the moment.
Improvisation in Sound
Live sound work is always a negotiation between control and release. There are elements that can be structured—prepared textures, sequences, sonic environments—but once the performance begins, these elements cease to exist as fixed forms.
Instead, they become variables—things that can be extended, deconstructed, reshaped.
- Feedback loops evolve into shifting patterns.
- Rhythms emerge, then collapse, then reappear in unexpected places.
- The smallest sound can suddenly become the center of the composition.
Sometimes, silence becomes more important than sound itself. Other times, layers build into something that was never planned but feels inevitable.
This, to me, is the essence of live performance—not the repetition of recorded work, but the ability to let sound become what it needs to be, in that exact moment.
Improvisation in Visuals
Visuals, like sound, can either follow a predetermined structure or evolve in response to the performance. When I work with live visuals, projections, and light, I don’t see them as a backdrop—I see them as a second layer of the composition, an instrument in their own right.
- Slow, shifting light patterns can feel like a sustained drone in music.
- Glitching visuals, distorted in real-time, can mirror the textures of processed sound.
- Darkness can be used as an active presence, like silence in a composition.
One of the most interesting aspects of audiovisual improvisation is that the audience completes the experience. Their movement, their focus, their reactions—all of this shapes the rhythm and intensity of the work.
The Role of the Unknown
The best moments in a performance are often the ones that were never planned. A feedback frequency that takes on unexpected harmonics, a visual element that glitches in a way that wasn’t predicted, an interaction with the audience that changes the trajectory of the piece—these are the moments where something real happens.
This is what makes improvisation so powerful. It acknowledges that art is not just about the creator’s vision, but about what unfolds in real-time. It removes the distance between the performer and the audience, making both equally involved in the act of creation.
Improvisation as a Practice
To work in this way requires trust—trust in the process, trust in the materials, trust in yourself. It is not about preparing less—it is about preparing differently.
- Learning to listen deeply.
- Developing a sensitivity to space and energy.
- Understanding when to intervene and when to let something unfold on its own.
Improvisation is not chaos—it is a heightened state of awareness. And in that awareness, new possibilities emerge.
No Two Performances Are the Same
Every time I step into a performance, I know that what happens tonight will never happen again.
This is both terrifying and liberating. It means that every mistake, every unexpected shift, every silence, every sound—it all belongs to this moment, and this moment alone.
It is an act of surrender.
It is an act of trust.
And in that, something real is created.
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