Personal Notes #9: Magnus Westwell, Caught Hold of Nothing at Edinburgh Art Festival 26

The personal Notes series explores how artists think, feel, and create, as they share what’s been on their minds lately…

‍Scottish-born interdisciplinary artist Magnus Westwell weaves immersive performances where movement, music, and choreography breathe as one. His work explores the delicate interplay of fragility, catharsis and transformation, drifting through the ethereal spaces between presence and absence.

Inspired by John Glenday’s poem Vitruvian Man, a formative influence from his childhood, Westwell’s latest work, Caught Hold of Nothing, explores themes of repetition and decay. Sound is central to his practice, with the violin as a foundational source. Rather than preserving its familiar, delicate voice, he distorts it into something fractured and weathered, creating soundscapes that feel damaged and on the verge of collapse. This sense of disintegration extends to his choreography, where movement often appears to be in a state of suspended free fall. 

Presented as part of Edinburgh Art Festival 2026, Caught Hold of Nothing offers a first glimpse of a new performance in development, created with long-time collaborator Océane Robin. United by a shared interest in broken movement, the pair continue their artistic dialogue in this work-in-progress presentation. The preview lays the foundation for the world premiere of the full ensemble production at the 2027 festival, followed by an autumn tour. The project also marks new collaborations with production designer Furmaan Ahmed and Los Angeles-based producer and sound artist Paul Corley.

A Sadler's Wells Young Associate alumnus, Westwell has presented interdisciplinary performances and collaborations at leading cultural venues across the UK and Europe. His acclaimed works include the sold-out premiere of Sunder at Sadler's Wells Theatre, live performances of its soundtrack broadcast on BBC Radio 3, and Broken Light Of My Heart, commissioned by BUILDHOLLYWOOD in 2023. His collaborators include Virgil Abloh and Louis Vuitton, Paolo Carzana, Marianna Simnett, Mark Leckey, and BULLYACHE, with performances at the Barbican Centre, Southbank Centre, Abbey Road Studios, and Hamburger Bahnhof.

We spoke to Magnus Westwell about vulnerability, risk, and suspension.

You’re performing this preview of Caught Hold of Nothing with Océane Robin. How did this collaboration first take shape? And what's the thread between the piece and Glenday's Vitruvian Man?

I’ve been working with Océane Robin across different projects for almost 5 years now. I think we speak a very similar language, both interested in a kind of broken movement, and we inspire each other a lot in the studio, which creates a good momentum in the process of making. For Caught Hold of Nothing, we’ve worked together across a few different research stages and residencies over the years. This continuity in the creative process feels really important to me - a trust that builds and accumulates, enabling us to create with more risk. In terms of the work’s title, which comes from the Vitruvian Man by John Glenday - I was introduced to his poems when I was much younger, as my mum had some of his books in the house. I’m drawn to the atmosphere he creates in his work, there’s a lingering absence in the words, and this particular line from the Vitruvian Man always felt like a title that really encapsulates the mood of the work. 

If you had no constraints, no logistics, no budget, where would you want to perform next? What place keeps pulling at you?

Somewhere in the mountains, or a quarry - Nextones in Italy would be a beautiful setting for this work. I’m also hoping we can tour the work to France at some point soon.

What are you a little obsessed with at the moment, and where's it showing up in the work? 

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about silence, charging space with sound and then taking it away. There’s something so guttural about that kind of silence that I’m drawn to. I’ve been interested in understanding different physical and sonic thresholds through my work, trying to find spaces that exist on the other side of these limits, and understanding those tipping points. At the moment, I’m thinking a bit about precarity and risk - why the possibility of failure or danger can make us almost feel more intensely alive. I’m interested in how balancing this in real time affects the experience of both performers and audiences in live settings.

Is there a past performance that's stayed with you physically, one you still carry? What were you working through when you made it?

Recently, I was in Cyprus performing at VIMA Art Fair. The night before the performance, I had my time to rehearse on the outdoor stage and test the sound. It was late - around 01.30 am - and I did a run of my solo work, Caught. It was just me, the curator Kostas Stasinopoulos, and the sound and lighting technicians who were present. I was quite exhausted after travelling. I remember the feeling of the wind against my body, and hearing the waves from the sea beside the stage. That feeling of performing with just me and the wind and sea, and not really doing it for anyone else, has really stayed with me. There was a deep stillness and calm in the air. The following day, I performed for a few hundred people, but it didn’t feel the same. I guess audiences can be distracting forces sometimes. I often try to cocoon the performers on stage in my work, and also really immerse the audience in the landscape we’re creating, so everyone is in it together. I feel that external focus is a tool you can use to generate something really exciting, but it is a force that always alters the work a lot. It’s something I’m still figuring out.

Is there a sound or atmosphere that keeps surfacing across your work? 

The violin is the source of most of the sound in my work, although I’m more interested in taking that recognisable, fragile sound of the instrument and distorting it into something else. The resulting sound feels dusty and damaged, it’s not clean. I think at the moment I want to make sound and movement that falls apart - there’s often a feeling of freefall in my work, through time, or some endless liminal space, and it never really lands or resolves. This suspension really fascinates me. There’s a lot of attempting and trying in the work, a lot of loss. But it’s also really hopeful. The conflict and tension between these opposing feelings is what I’m drawn to most of the time.

What would you like to see more of in the current dance scene?

I think we need more funding for artists to develop work slowly, more space for failure, more risk from programmers, institutions and funders to support experimental work. I think there’s so much potential in works that are challenging how art forms are traditionally presented, but sometimes I feel that dance aesthetics and soundtracks get stuck in loops of regenerating similar styles. My experience in music feels completely different, or at least I feel that scene moves forward at a different pace, often with more experimentation and vulnerability within new ideas.

Any upcoming work you're ready to give us a glimpse of? 

This preview at EAF26 is a taste of what we have planned for the 2027 festival, where we will present the world premiere of the full production, performed by an ensemble. And then we’re planning a tour of the work in Autumn 2027. I won’t say much about it at this point, but I’m excited to share more soon! I’ve been working with such an amazing team of collaborators for Caught Hold of Nothing - I’m particularly excited by a new collaboration with production designer Furmaan Ahmed, and also to be working with LA-based producer and sound artist Paul Corley, who is mixing the soundtrack for the production. It’s really fulfilling to have been able to focus on this project slowly over a few years. These things take time to develop and refine, and I’m so excited to now begin sharing Caught Hold of Nothing with people.

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