It is Sunday evening and we are about to meet H, who will take us on a sensory performing arts experience.

We knock on the door and are told that H is currently in her room but knows that we are coming. Her parents have prepared the space so that there is an open area in the room, almost like an extension of the family garden. This is where H has her favorite corner, and it was for that reason that we initially chose this room as the venue. For some children within our target group, the home is the only possible space for participation in cultural life. This tailored format makes participation possible on H’s own terms.

H meets us as we enter with our objects and materials. We place the ladder and the drawers in position. The chimes made of cutlery sound and then fade out. In the silence, we bring out the “squeak cloths.” A moment of anticipation and heightened presence arises — not least from our side. No one fully knows what will happen next. H stands with her back toward us in her corner, cautiously scanning the room. From different positions in the space, we initiate small squeaking sounds, tentative attempts at communication. H listens attentively and gradually enters into the exchange. A quiet moment follows, and then we introduce the music box, its slightly skewed resonance vibrating against the wooden drawer.

H moves diagonally across the room toward her father, who gently pauses her movement. We begin laying out the ropes with brushes attached, inviting her into the interaction. We know that she enjoys the sensation of bristles. This time, H lowers herself to the floor. The wheelchair remains to the side, even though it often supports focus. A cushion is nearby as a source of security.

Slowly, Lisbeth initiates a movement with the soft blue yarn, drawn upward from both sides of a knitting piece. Together, we shape the yarn’s movement through the room, almost as if outlining the shared space and the shared moment. Attention then shifts to the tangled rope with its embedded string of lights, brought out from a drawer. The fly swatter with its fringes immediately becomes a favorite. H herself pulls the feather duster from the side of the drawer in a clear gesture of recognition from our previous visit. Objects and bodies move in a partially shared rhythm in the center of the room.

H watches the light and its subtle changes as it meets objects and moving bodies. Yet it is above all the sounds that capture her attention. Sound initiates her own movement and song, filling the entire sphere around her. The vibration of a ping pong ball striking the strings of a box. The high frequencies of the comb. The spoons. A small metal chain with its subtle sound close to the ear. The egg slicer and its strings. Rustling. Gentle rhythmic tapping. Resonant tones. In every way, H receives, creates, and recreates this sensory universe through her own expressions. We try to follow, to join the energy of the moment as it unfolds under H’s leadership. It becomes a mutual becoming in the present — over an hour of sensory flows.

H moves toward the ladder and meets Meike. They stand on either side of its opening, the cutlery chimes between them. The vacuum hose, with its tactile extensions, captures H’s interest. The extensions remain intact despite her patient investigation of their durability.

The sun slowly sets. When the final tones of the kalimba fade and the lamps are switched off, it is noticeably darker outside. We gently pack up the materials. Everyone who has been present remains in the room, perhaps with a shared sense that something significant has taken place. This is what participation and visibility in cultural life can feel like when barriers are removed.

Before our next visit, we speak with the parents about filming — something the family is entirely open to. We look at the basement room as a possible venue, allowing stage lighting to have greater space and magic as the days grow brighter. H passes us in the hallway, seemingly content, returning to her room.

All of us adults who remain agree on the importance of taking in the world through the senses. Everyone should have this. We have so much to learn from H!

Photo: Meike Deppert 

Text: Ellen Spens