The following chapter examines choreomania as a dynamic and evolving concept, highlighting its idiosyncratic elements that can serve as a framework for artistic creation. This inevitably incomplete discussion of choreomania is narrow in scope. I have deliberately done this in order to ensure its relevance for the subsequent practical phase and to align with the constraints of a two-year master's research project. The second part of this section discusses the intersection of choreomania with my artistic practice and interests.
The notion of choreomania comprises a series of fluctuating ideas about collective movement outbursts in the Middle Ages in which individuals danced in public space until complete exhaustion or even death. The aim of this section is to delve into the conceptual shifts of choreomania (especially during the nineteenth and early twentieth century) and to examine its potential as a catalyst for artistic creation today. By analysing idiosyncrasies and discourses formed around choreomania, this chapter seeks to trace its vestiges and establish connections to contemporary practices.
Understanding the term choreomania is complex because, as a concept, it “never quite captures the reality of the events it attempts to describe” (Gotman 2018, 4). To grasp this complexity, it is essential to first consider the nature of concepts themselves. Philosopher Henri Bergson (1859–1941) likens concepts to photographic stills, which temporarily capture an aspect of reality; but reality is much more fluid and rapid. Expanding on this, Deleuze and Guattari argue that concepts are not fixed, they are fluid and changeable, and its history “zigzags” (Deleuze and Guattari 1991, 23). Kélina Gotman, professor of Performance and the Humanities and author of Choreomania: Dance and Disorder (2018), similarly notes that before the term ‘choreomania’ emerged, various associated concepts described the practice as “erratic and abrupt, as well as highly infectious, forms of corporeality, all of which looked somewhat like dance […]” (Gotman 2018, 4). Thus, rather than a static idea, choreomania emerged as a shifting and historically contingent notion, shaped by the discourses that seek to define it.
As Gotman argues, the creation of modern ideas about choreomania is rhizomatic - moving, multiplying, and branching out in non-linear ways (Gotman 2018, 2). This fluidity makes it difficult to trace choreomania as a singular or stable concept, requiring a more nuanced approach to its historical development. In this sense, Michel Foucault’s (1926–1984) notion of genealogy - a method that traces the historical evolution of ideas and practices, exposing the power relations and contingencies that have shaped them over time - becomes essential for a deeper hermeneutical exploration of choreomania.
Through this genealogical lens, Gotman uncovers a history of control embedded in medical, historical, and anthropological archives. These records not only document perceptions of choreomania but also reveal the mechanisms of biopower - the regulatory systems that institutionalised knowledge employs to define and manage life itself.1 In particular, these discourses have been used to marginalize and pathologize bodies that deviate from social norms. But to fully grasp this trajectory, we must first return to the origins of choreomania.
Episodes of so-called choreomania have been recorded across various historical periods and geographic regions.2 It has been referred to under different names, including Chorea Major, St. Vitus’s or St. John’s Dance, Sydenham chorea, dancing mania, the Tarantella in Italy, the Convulsionaries of Saint-Médard in early 18th-century Paris, the Abyssinian tigretier, and the imanenjana in Madagascar, among others. One of the most well-documented historical cases occurred in Strasbourg in July 1518, when a woman named Frau Troffea began dancing uncontrollably. Within a month, hundreds had joined her. While many attributed such episodes to Satanism or witchcraft, Theophrastus von Hohenheim Paracelsus (1493–1541) argued that the cause was likely more earthly than divine (Jana 2022). From 1518 onward, Strasbourg authorities began treating dancing mania as a medical condition. As Lynneth Miller suggests, choreomania was an event “trapped between medieval and modern ideologies and treated according to two very different systems of belief” (Miller 2017, 150). This tension between supernatural explanations and emerging medical discourses highlights the shifting perceptions of choreomania, shaped by the cultural frameworks of different historical periods.
Later, in the nineteenth century, medical historian and pioneer epidemiologist Justus Friedrich Carl Hecker (1795–1850) wrote The Dancing Mania, which was included in the first publication of the influential Sydenham Society. In this work, he constructs a discourse on dancing manias, centring it around the 1374 episode in Aix-la-Chapelle (Aachen, Germany), known as St. Vitus’s Dance. Seeking to establish the epidemic scale of the disease, Hecker traced paradigmatic case studies across centuries. However, in doing so, he framed choreomania as a recurring medical phenomenon rather than considering the historical specificity of each event. Gotman later challenges this approach, arguing - drawing on Giorgio Agamben - that a paradigm “does not describe rules or principles; it does not become more ‘true’ because of its adoption as a model” (Gotman 2018, 40).
Hecker describes men and women “exhibit[ing] to the public both in the streets and in the churches [a] strange spectacle,” where they “lost all control over their senses” and “continued dancing […] in wild delirium, until at length they fell into the ground in a state of exhaustion” (Hecker 1846, 87–88). He also portrays this “mental plague” as having afflicted thousands with “incurable aberration of mind, and disgusting distortions of body” (idem, 96). To explain the origins of such behaviour, Hecker proposes a range of possibilities, including Bacchanalian dances, the aftermath of the Black Plague, the disastrous floods from the Rhine and Maine rivers, and the dreadful socio-economic conditions in Western and Southern Germany (idem). He further legitimises his epidemic framework by tracing earlier cases: in 1237, one hundred children were seen dancing and jumping along the road from Erfurt to Arnstadt; in 1278, two hundred fanatics began to dance on a bridge in Utrecht; and, in 1027, eighteen peasants disrupted a Christmas Eve service at the convent church of Kolbig. Hecker extends his account to more recent episodes, including the women’s pilgrimage to St. Vitus’s chapel at Drefelhausen in 1623 and the so-called disease of Tarantism3 in the seventeenth century.
Through this extensive cataloguing, Hecker presents choreomania as a long-standing, epidemic affliction, reinforcing the idea of an uncontrollable, pathological disorder that transcends time and place. However, Gotman critically exposes how this portrayal not only medicalises choreomania but also constructs it as a “disorder of collective chaos increasingly mapped onto marginal bodies seeming to impede the rise of modern nation states” (Gotman 2018, 26). By framing choreomania as an irrational and disorderly force, Hecker’s narrative implicitly reinforces power structures that seek to suppress movements that challenge the status quo.
Aided by the works of Foucault and Edward W. Said (1935-2003)4, Gotman articulates how discourses on otherness - the construction of certain groups as fundamentally different or outsider - served to uphold systems of control, particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. She highlights how Hecker’s “sensationalising portrait” (idem, 43) of the dancing disease is saturated with Orientalist prejudices. Yet, his depiction extends beyond this, incorporating “erratic gestures” and “neurological disorders that further tie the elusive other into a discourse on social politics and medicine, setting whole casts of ‘marginals’ apart” (idem, 5).
This shift in the concept of choreomania - from a localised phenomenon to a transhistorical pathology - allowed political authorities to wield it as a tool of social control. A striking example of this occurred in Madagascar in 1861, when King Radama II took power. The revolts that emerged in response were quickly dismissed as cases of choreomania, “transmuting a political protest into a mere instance of madness” (Jana 2022). This deliberate reframing aligns closely with Foucault’s work on madness and the transformation of its perception from the medieval period to the nineteenth century, where the classification of mental illness became deeply entangled with mechanisms of institutional and political authority.5
Each of the above-mentioned works incorporates idiosyncratic elements such as uncontrollable movement, letting loose, the otherness of femininity, or erratic gestures. Beyond these aesthetic aspects, an equally compelling approach lies in critiquing the political manoeuvres and control strategies employed by authorities - whether medical, anthropological, or governmental - when confronted with seemingly uncontrollable collective masses.
A contemporary parallel can be found in the response to the Covid-19 pandemic, which altered the dynamics of public space and provoked a rise in gatherings and raves as a reaction to increasing regimentation and body politics. Chris Ashford argues that the pandemic exacerbated tensions between marginalised groups, particularly ravers and travellers, intensifying their conflict with mainstream society over the contested use of liminal spaces (Ashford 2022, 252). Similarly, Bogomir Doringer7, in his ongoing research on dance floor dynamics as a reflection of social and political shifts, describes a “dance of urgency,” citing the massive raving protests in Georgia following the police shutdown of Bassiani Club (Tbilisi) (van Langen 2019). The following trailer video offers a brief insight into the protesters’ perspective.
Furthermore, Doringer emphasises the inherently political nature of dance and movement, aligning with Susan Leigh Foster’s Choreographies of Protest, where she argues that bodies observing and interpreting one another create a purposeful convergence that manifests grassroots activism (Foster 2003). This reinforces how movement can serve as both an act of resistance and a means of connection.
By examining choreomania through this lens, we can identify recurring elements that extend into contemporary practices: collectivity, political protest, and mass movement, but also oppression and disconnection. These themes emerge in various artistic responses to the 1518 Strasbourg events, such as the theatre performances The Maladies (Nasr 2022), Dance to the Bone (Yates and Hoare 2022), and The Dancing Public (Ingvartsen 2021), all of which incorporate aspects of bodily urgency, communal experience, and societal control. Beyond performance, choreomania has also been envisioned as an emotional and psychological state. The author of The Dance Tree, for instance, describes it as an “enraptured refuge”, ultimately portraying it as “a complete collective ecstasy” (Jana 2022).
Erratic gestures, bodily excess, and exhaustion have longed served as artistic catalysts, drawing from historical accounts of choreomania and reinterpreting them in contemporary works. The “spectacle of ancient uncontrol” (Gotman 2018, 47) reflects a long-standing fascination with disorderly movement, which continues to inspire artistic expressions across different media.
This fascination is evident in music, where choreomania’s physicality and loss of control are embedded in both sound and lyrics. Bauhaus’s song St. Vitus Dance (1980) evokes erratic movement through its references to the historical phenomenon, opening with the line, “Back in the good old days when dancing meant exploding”. Similarly, Horace Silver’s The St. Vitus Dance (1999) translates involuntary bodily responses into the repetitive, jerking motions of its piano solo:
Spotify link to The St. Vitus Dance by Horace Silver (1999)
Literature has also explored choreomania’s themes of bodily excess and loss of control. John Waller, in A Time to Dance, A Time to Die: The Extraordinary Story of the Dancing Plague of 1518 (2008), frames the dancing plague as a “psychic epidemic”, likening it to other involuntary bodily responses such as laughing or fainting.
More recently, artists have explored choreomania’s exhaustion element rather than its erratic gestures. Choreomania: The Dancing Plague, a performative initiative by NLNL, focuses on sustained movement and endurance, mirroring the relentless nature of the historical phenomenon. Similarly, Jonathan Glazer’s short film Strasbourg 1518 (2020) features solo performers dancing in isolation until they collapse, visually echoing the historical descriptions of dancers pushed beyond their physical limits.
In summary, choreomania is not just a historical phenomenon but a shifting concept that has travelled across geographical regions and fields of knowledge, continuously reshaped by the discourses surrounding it (Gotman 2018, 4). Its underlying elements - whether emerging from historical narratives or the discourses imposed upon them - offer a rich foundation for artistic creation. Key elements include collectivity, social engagement, otherness, the societal response to epidemic outbreaks, political movement, control, biopolitics, the use of public space, uncertainty and change, resistance, erratic gesture, excessive motility, loss of control, liberation, exhaustion, and ecstatic or meditative states.
The challenge now lies in engaging with these elements thoughtfully, ensuring that contemporary interpretations do not reduce choreomania to a mere caricature of the past, but rather explore its complexities in ways that remain relevant and critically aware.
This section explores how choreomania intersects with key aspects of my artistic practice, including endurance, collectivity, and public space. Through performances like 8-Day Performance (2024) and Ode to Life (2023), my work with SYNAPSE Collective, and other projects, I examine themes of constraint, liberation, and communal experience, positioning my practice within the broader discourse on choreomania.
One of the first intriguing aspects of choreomania that caught my attention was the prolonged duration of its episodes, which resonated with my interest in long-durational performances. Beyond that, the idea of pushing the body and mind to their limits has fascinated me for years - ever since I began exploring performance art and came across Marina Abramović.
This interest materialised in my practice last year through my 8-Day Performance (2024). During this period, I imposed a strict constraint on myself: refraining from responding to any external demands - whether written, verbal, or physical. I could not text, take calls, or engage in even the smallest socially expected gestures, such as smiling when greeted, as that too implies acknowledgment. My premise was to be present while avoiding any action that could be interpreted as a response.
Through this experiment, I sought to confront my imperfect self and examine how I coped with the guilt of not meeting others' expectations - both personally and musically. To document the experience, I kept a journal with two components: personal reflections and notable anecdotes, alongside three daily observations on my physical state. In addition, I recorded daily improvisations and created a painting each day. At the end of the 8-Day Performance, I analysed these three data sets, identifying parallels and divergences among my journal, music, and artwork. This performance became a pivotal moment in both my artistic and personal journey - not only reshaping how I relate to others but, more profoundly, deepening my understanding of and trust in myself.
Furthermore, one of my first large-scale interdisciplinary projects Ode to Life (2023) was deeply connected to themes of uncertainty, life's struggles, and the presence of death. Themes that resonate with the complex social contexts in which so-called choreomanias emerged, as well as the tragic fate to which dancers were subjected. In my performance Ode to Life, I crafted a transcendental journey by blending classical piano repertoire with my own poetic prose. It explored the feeling of letting go, of liberating oneself from the doubts one might have on their path.
In general, the ideas of collectivity, community and socially engaged practices are ones which I feel very connected to. Many of the projects I have participated in required a collective action. Some of these include playing in diverse improvisation ensembles, playing a piece for fifty pianos and ensemble called 11.000 Saiten (by Georg Friedrich Haas), forming part of the feminine co-creative musical theatre Onze Zilveren Stem (directed by Ginette Puylaert), or participating in the 365 Project by The Mystifiers, which is a co-creative project with groups at risk of social exclusion, among others. These last two projects not only resonate with the collective and socially engaged aspect, but also with the concept of otherness and marginalised groups within society.
Building on the themes of collectivity and socially engaged practices, another key aspect of choreomania that resonates with my artistic practice is its relationship with public space. As demonstrated, the movement of bodies within public spheres has historically carried political implications, explored by André Lepecki through his notions of ‘choreopolitics’ and ‘choreopolicing,’ as well as by Foster in her discussion of ‘choreographies of protest’ (Gotman 2018, 15–16). However, my interest lies less in the political dimension itself and more in how public space is activated through movement and performance.
This exploration has been central to my work with SYNAPSE Collective, a group of five artists from different disciplines who create socially engaged, performative installations in public spaces. In these performances, participants are invited to take the lead in artistic contributions, fostering a sense of belonging, community, and non-hierarchical dialogue between artists and audiences. As a collective, we engage in a practice deeply rooted in improvisation and long-durational experiences, exploring what unfolds once all preconceived material has been exhausted - how the perception of time shifts, and how our presence, as well as that of those around us, evolves. This project embodies key themes of public presence, collectivity, socially engaged practices, and long-durational performance, offering another lens through which to examine choreomania’s influence on contemporary artistic engagement with space.
Up to this point, my artistic practice has not engaged with themes such as otherness in colonial or queer bodies, the struggles of Covid-19, erratic gesture, excessive motility, loss of control, biopolitics, or sites of resistance. Nor has it used art as a form of political protest, a critique of control, or an exploration of exhaustion, ecstasy, and meditative states. This is not to say that I will or will not explore these themes in the future, but rather to acknowledge the current scope of my artistic practice.
While many artists draw inspiration from the sensationalising portraits of choreomania and attempt to replicate its imagery, my interest lies in tracing its genealogy and uncovering the rhizomatic, interwoven narratives that emerge from it. In the next chapter, I examine the creative processes of professional movement and performance artists who have researched choreomania, providing insights that will further inform and refine my own experimental performance try-outs.