Recently, a group of dance folks were emailing various questions and issues via the NDEO (national dance education organization) list serve. Larry Lavender posed a question that I want to think about some more:
He wrote:
"How and why making dances is "research" and/or "scholarship" is not very clear to administrators with whom I work, nor to faculty in other departments. I don't think it is very clear within dance, either, to tell you the truth. But as it concerns those outside of dance, I think they are confused as to how making a dance per se "is like" (or is in any sense "the same as") writing a book chapter or a journal article .. which are "normally" what research and scholarship "products" tend to look like.
On the level of the activity itself -- what one spends one's time doing -- they sort of get the point, I think. That is, they know we go in to the dance-creation process with open questions, intuitive hunches, ideas for approaching the work, and that we are informed as we go by the emerging dance, etc. In other words, they know we are conducting practical inquiry into our ideas/materials for new dances, and that our dances are the "findings" of our inquiry.
But they are also aware that when one submits an article or book chapter for publication the submission is blind reviewed or in some other way scrutinized by the field for relevance, originality (of some kind), etc. And, when an article or book chapter is turned down for publication, the writer does not get "research credit" within the university just for having written and submitted it... right?
I think this is why I have had administrators and others ask me "how is making a dance for students to perform in one of the department concerts in your own building actually research/scholarship in the sense of contributions to the whole field?"
So, I wonder how do you all address that kind of question if and when it comes up?
Putting the idea that choreographed and publicly presented dances in a college dance program often lack the equivalence of a peer-review scenario aside for a moment, let's just focus on the idea of choreography as research.
Is a choreographer like a more traditional researcher?
Making a dance can be a way that we answer a relevant question. The question might just be one that WE, the choreographer, are asking but it's a start.
Now, thinking about choreography getting "peer-reviewed":
The difference is that we work with bodies, physical concepts, and a different organizational paradigm too...well, sort of. We have drafts, just like our journal articles. We have deadlines too...and more often than not, our deadlines are FIRM. A concert date is set, your dance needs to be too! Like researched papers, dances shift, change and get clearer as we go along. They get ignored, get inspired, figure themselves out after a new research direction presented itself to the researcher. The difference is essentially what Larry mentions... we don't have a way to validate the research that the choreographer presents in a dance. We accept it at face value and clap when it's over. That's the feedback we get. And we always have applause. No matter what we saw. On the surface, we have a "supportive" audience come and see our dances. I use quotations here because supportive is often synonomous with obligatory. Students are required to see performances. Friends are guilted into attending a dance concert. Boyfriends or girlfriends or spouses and other family members REALLY can't miss it. But feedback from those in our field? (A PEER REVIEW...)
Rarely do we get it. Some of us are lucky to have colleagues and friends ask us some really important questions to nudge our research along but it is through an email or via a post-show moment in the hallway. Or, we get this sort of feedback in a rehearsal that we invite these generous friends and colleagues to come to and they come because they are wonderful and they love us and we love them. But how do we get critical feedback the same way we get from a journal after a handful of blind reviewers read our work? I guess the review is the closest thing. But who reads reviews? And even if we get a review, how often does this happen? No one is ever writing a review or critique of a college dance concert unless it is a student writing a paper for a dance course. How often is there the luxury to have it written by someone in the field and read by people in the field? This is problematic, beyond the main concern: THERE IS NO TIME FOR THIS. But further, we all know each other. We never write what we really saw, believe, wonder about, question, etc. because:
1) it's difficult to put questions about dances that are abstract into cognitive words.
2) we don't do this because it is NOT our dance, so what authority do we have to give feedback.
3) if someone asks for feedback and we have issues with the dance, we worry about hurting someone's feelings.
4) really, how do we know "what's wrong with a dance?" Maybe we know parts of what is wrong but ...even that feels icky and elitist.
(and this opens another can of worms) IF WE GIVE FEEDBACK - WHETHER IT BE POSITIVE OR CRITICAL OR JUST NEGATIVE, THESE ARE OUR INDIVIDUAL BIASES. ISSUES. TASTES.
SO REALLY - HOW THE HELL CAN THERE BE A CRITERIA OR RUBRIC FOR PEER REVIEW? AND EVEN IF THERE WAS ONE, WHO THE HELL WOULD BE THE AUTHORITY (AUTHORITIES) TO CREATE IT?
Well, is it that choreography has a lack of respect in the world of "research" or is it just that we can't think of it in the same way? Yes, choreography isn't validated in the field by an audience of peers in the same way as a journal article is but what can we do to give it something else...?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Re-surfacing. Or coming up for air. Or just plain old "back to blogging".
So here I am, weeks since my last blog post. So much for daily writing.
Where do I start after I so blatantly failed on the "dailiness" part?
Do I give excuses? Skip that and instead go right into what I've been doing? (Isn't that essentially one and the same?)
Or just start from here...right now... on Thursday afternoon, August 26 at 2:30pm and see what happens, realizing that it will likely be a combination of all of the above:
excuse-giving, recapping, and some other current, up to date ideas. (with some email-checking happening simultaneously, of course). Damn that email. It only means more work if I open it. But I can't resist the new messages!
Since leaving Vienna, Jeffrey, Evie and I flew to Boston, MA on August 9th where we were joyfully met by parents. What a homecoming and reunion. So lovely to see my folks and spend a restful week at the beach. Evie loved the ocean and the sand and everything the beach offers a toddler: sandcastles, sand in her hair, sand in her diaper, sand in her mouth...seagulls, chasing seagulls, feeding seagulls, shells, collecting them, throwing them, eating them. I love visiting the cape, and hope that life is filled with many summers where I can bring Evie there.
There was one attempt on my part to go to the Centerville public library and get on line to blog since my parents don't have a wireless connection at the house. My laptop settings were not jiving with the library though and so it was a futile attempt. But then it occurred to me. The cape was a vacation, and taking a vacation means taking time away from what we do normally. So writing about dance questions everyday, which I deem a normal activity, deserves a break when one is on vacation.
So now we are back, Evie is settling into a daycare routine, the cats have been de-flead of their fleas, the clothes have been returned into the closet that was re-designed when we were away, laundry and emails are more or less caught up, and the week long residency at UNCG with a great group of 12 grad students finishes on Friday. So its time to dive in...
Some thoughts on making a dance fast:
Making a dance in one week is challenging, certainly, but it also has some great merits:
1) decisions must be made quickly, and so you get better and eliminating something sooner in the process when it just doesn't fit. Rip the bandaid off. There is no time to coddle a section that might just need a swift kick out of your dance.
2) You are immersed in it day after day, so even though the amount of days is only 6 consecutively, you know exactly where you are, what material you have, what you need to do next. Even if you run out of time one day, there isn't a long wait until the next rehearsal. But even if you don't know exactly where you are or what material you have you don't have time to second guess yourself, so you have to remain confident, certain, and make decisions.
3) If your process includes dancers contributing their own material (which I can't imagine I would ever EXCLUDE from my process) well then, this material that is contributed is what you have to work with. There is certainly editing you can do within
it all but bottom line- your ingredients are your ingredients. This is somewhat terrifying yet also it is rather calming too. You can't bake a cake if you only have ground beef. With ground beef you know you're making a few things: you're making hamburgers. Or maybe tacos. Or maybe meatballs, but you'll also need breadcrumbs for that. Does that make any sense? I always seem to make analogies to food...
Some less meritorious details:
1) The dance cannot marinate. (food, again).
2) Do you really know what is good or bad/ right or wrong/ appropriate or unfitting for this dance in such a short time?
3) You've only begun. Then it's time to scatter.
4) You prioritize. Things like "cleaning phrase material" go away because you are still figuring out what music you should use.
5) A really important detail like what music you should use should not be saved until the end of a rehearsal period.
Fortunately for me, this dance will have 6-7 more rehearsals, for 90 minutes each. On Friday evenings at 5pm. Starting one week from Friday, Sept. 10.
I guess I wonder though- what will I do in that amount of time that will make it strikingly stronger than it is now?
Things I'm thinking about:
1) what the hell am I doing with music?
2) do we need a microphone?
3) how do these parts gel?
4) how do people speak about what they love in this dance?
5) how does the language of what we love in the dance stand against the other text parts that are less clear, less about love, and more just there because they developed in rehearsal?
6) what goes away?
7) what still needs to be there?
8) how do I incorporate these other theatrical parts I've been thinking about -
like the props in the wheelbarrow? (that word looks misspelled no matter how many times I look at it).
9) does the manifesto stay as it is?
10) (and this one is my favorite- thanks to my friend Larry who put it out there for me to consider):
if a dance is going to set out a promise at the beginning of itself, does it have to fulfill its promise? is that even possible?
more on this.
Where do I start after I so blatantly failed on the "dailiness" part?
Do I give excuses? Skip that and instead go right into what I've been doing? (Isn't that essentially one and the same?)
Or just start from here...right now... on Thursday afternoon, August 26 at 2:30pm and see what happens, realizing that it will likely be a combination of all of the above:
excuse-giving, recapping, and some other current, up to date ideas. (with some email-checking happening simultaneously, of course). Damn that email. It only means more work if I open it. But I can't resist the new messages!
Since leaving Vienna, Jeffrey, Evie and I flew to Boston, MA on August 9th where we were joyfully met by parents. What a homecoming and reunion. So lovely to see my folks and spend a restful week at the beach. Evie loved the ocean and the sand and everything the beach offers a toddler: sandcastles, sand in her hair, sand in her diaper, sand in her mouth...seagulls, chasing seagulls, feeding seagulls, shells, collecting them, throwing them, eating them. I love visiting the cape, and hope that life is filled with many summers where I can bring Evie there.
There was one attempt on my part to go to the Centerville public library and get on line to blog since my parents don't have a wireless connection at the house. My laptop settings were not jiving with the library though and so it was a futile attempt. But then it occurred to me. The cape was a vacation, and taking a vacation means taking time away from what we do normally. So writing about dance questions everyday, which I deem a normal activity, deserves a break when one is on vacation.
So now we are back, Evie is settling into a daycare routine, the cats have been de-flead of their fleas, the clothes have been returned into the closet that was re-designed when we were away, laundry and emails are more or less caught up, and the week long residency at UNCG with a great group of 12 grad students finishes on Friday. So its time to dive in...
Some thoughts on making a dance fast:
Making a dance in one week is challenging, certainly, but it also has some great merits:
1) decisions must be made quickly, and so you get better and eliminating something sooner in the process when it just doesn't fit. Rip the bandaid off. There is no time to coddle a section that might just need a swift kick out of your dance.
2) You are immersed in it day after day, so even though the amount of days is only 6 consecutively, you know exactly where you are, what material you have, what you need to do next. Even if you run out of time one day, there isn't a long wait until the next rehearsal. But even if you don't know exactly where you are or what material you have you don't have time to second guess yourself, so you have to remain confident, certain, and make decisions.
3) If your process includes dancers contributing their own material (which I can't imagine I would ever EXCLUDE from my process) well then, this material that is contributed is what you have to work with. There is certainly editing you can do within
it all but bottom line- your ingredients are your ingredients. This is somewhat terrifying yet also it is rather calming too. You can't bake a cake if you only have ground beef. With ground beef you know you're making a few things: you're making hamburgers. Or maybe tacos. Or maybe meatballs, but you'll also need breadcrumbs for that. Does that make any sense? I always seem to make analogies to food...
Some less meritorious details:
1) The dance cannot marinate. (food, again).
2) Do you really know what is good or bad/ right or wrong/ appropriate or unfitting for this dance in such a short time?
3) You've only begun. Then it's time to scatter.
4) You prioritize. Things like "cleaning phrase material" go away because you are still figuring out what music you should use.
5) A really important detail like what music you should use should not be saved until the end of a rehearsal period.
Fortunately for me, this dance will have 6-7 more rehearsals, for 90 minutes each. On Friday evenings at 5pm. Starting one week from Friday, Sept. 10.
I guess I wonder though- what will I do in that amount of time that will make it strikingly stronger than it is now?
Things I'm thinking about:
1) what the hell am I doing with music?
2) do we need a microphone?
3) how do these parts gel?
4) how do people speak about what they love in this dance?
5) how does the language of what we love in the dance stand against the other text parts that are less clear, less about love, and more just there because they developed in rehearsal?
6) what goes away?
7) what still needs to be there?
8) how do I incorporate these other theatrical parts I've been thinking about -
like the props in the wheelbarrow? (that word looks misspelled no matter how many times I look at it).
9) does the manifesto stay as it is?
10) (and this one is my favorite- thanks to my friend Larry who put it out there for me to consider):
if a dance is going to set out a promise at the beginning of itself, does it have to fulfill its promise? is that even possible?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Working with words
Written notes, on a small piece of paper, that hold little statements of 'niceties'.
That's what we've worked with as a thread in our work with Lisa.
I find this particularly connected to what I'm doing with the grads next week.
How do we work with these statements?
Rather than just speaking them, we could "dance their rhythmic qualities" in material we create. This removes the literalness, or at least that is the hope.
Lisa is having us work with these little niceties in many ways:
they are on pieces of paper, handed back and forth to one another in a very informal way, they are in a pile, and recited after being picked at random, they are read privately and not recited...
OK, so what from here bears repeating/borrowing/stealing/morphing/thwarting?
Back for one more class with her and then tomorrow, we leave Vienna!
That's what we've worked with as a thread in our work with Lisa.
I find this particularly connected to what I'm doing with the grads next week.
How do we work with these statements?
Rather than just speaking them, we could "dance their rhythmic qualities" in material we create. This removes the literalness, or at least that is the hope.
Lisa is having us work with these little niceties in many ways:
they are on pieces of paper, handed back and forth to one another in a very informal way, they are in a pile, and recited after being picked at random, they are read privately and not recited...
OK, so what from here bears repeating/borrowing/stealing/morphing/thwarting?
Back for one more class with her and then tomorrow, we leave Vienna!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
the time, in fact, forces the devices
So after two sessions today with Lisa Race at Impulstanz, I see that there are curveballs thrown your way that you often have to deal with but forget about: like the fact that people may have to leave rehearsal to catch a train to another country. So how do you deal? These details affect the structure of a dance considerably. So does the level of people learning material in a group. When Lisa taught some new material to folks, it was really slow moving. So your time is gobbled to some extent this way. Or your plan to work with set phrase material needs to be altered in the work if it isn't in people's bodies.
This was good to see - how do you make fast decisions.
I also noted that the devices are around and it seems they need to be around when you work quickly like this and need to finish with a product.
So how do you come really uber-prepared, is the question but still make this a work that is shared in its give/take in the rehearsal process?
I also thought it was great Lisa had one of her recently graduated students there, shadowing, making decisions even. Makes me want to follow up with this more with Jen H. at UNCG. There are some good details with the short residency: an assistant can be present- who helps you AND gets to see this process from a new perspective and contribute to it, too.
This was good to see - how do you make fast decisions.
I also noted that the devices are around and it seems they need to be around when you work quickly like this and need to finish with a product.
So how do you come really uber-prepared, is the question but still make this a work that is shared in its give/take in the rehearsal process?
I also thought it was great Lisa had one of her recently graduated students there, shadowing, making decisions even. Makes me want to follow up with this more with Jen H. at UNCG. There are some good details with the short residency: an assistant can be present- who helps you AND gets to see this process from a new perspective and contribute to it, too.
So if I miss a day of blogging do I double up the next day???
It seems like the natural answer to this question is yes- it's so easy to punish yourself and be hard on yourself when you commit to doing something a certain way and you falter somewhere in there. It's like the military image of a lieutenant commanding his inferiors to drop and give him twenty (push-ups) as a punishment. I missed yesterday's writing so I will write twice today- ok, fine! But I don't want to make that the standard rule. If a day is missed, a day is missed. Bummer. life goes on and imperfection comes with the territory. So I'll just move on (I'll keep moving!) and write something interesting the next day. Or at least that's the goal. I might just have to do some push-ups too.
I'm working today with Lisa Race in a two day intensive called "Making a Dance Fast"- 10 hours essentially of making a dance, crammed into two days. This is especially intriguing to me as I approach the one-week long residency at UNCG- one week to make a dance for 12. I've always only made a new dance with my students in the semester long time frame. Twice a week, 2 hours or so each time. So figure 4-5 hours a week, for around 8 weeks -30-35 hours or so? In doing the math here, it seems like this whole dance-making thing can become a bit formulaic. I work in these parameters and the following results: a ten - twelve minute dance (my usual dance length), made for a college dance concert, generally attended by friends and parents of the performers, and my colleagues and friends who are good enough to attend (or obliged to attend). This dance will be one of 8 or so in a concert, nothing really threading these dances together other than a lighting change, costume change, and cast change. Oh, and some applause. The dance will feature anywhere from 4-12 students (my usual cast size).
It will be so good to be inside someone else's choreographic process, albeit a very condensed one like this. Working with different time limitations in a rehearsal process can do wonders to stir the pot of how you work, I think. For me, the same time frame has probably been a huge reason or crutch that has kept my dances looking pretty similar. I never thought about that but it seems inevitable, doesn't it? When you work within a certain time frame consistently, your body gets in a rhythm- it knows what and how to operate and thus, the product is probably pretty predictable.
So let me think about what my rehearsal processes have been like w/ my students at WFU.
The process is usually something like this:
I start with movement ideas...noodling about in the studio for a while renders some phrase material. This phrase material may have began with a certain image or idea that I am working with, or maybe it's just movement accumulating itself, for the joy alone of stringing movement moments together, and somewhere in that accumulation do I realize that the movement seems to have an "aboutness". Ah, I keep falling and coming back to my vertical. Ah, this seems to be about anxiousness. Or so it goes. Then as I keep accumulating do I keep exploring more of those ideas, or challenging them, or a bit of both. Music may or may not accompany me in this noodling stage. If music is around, it is almost never the music I will use in the piece. This material comes to the audition. I present it to the students to see "who gets it". I cast my dance. This is an artful negotiation, because 7 other choreographers are auditioning the same cadre of students. So I have a cast and we meet the following week.
I usually start without music when its time to make a new dance. I have always sort of worked this way because I think I've feared that I would become really complacent with the music, or get really bored with it, or both, and the movement would also, as a result, feel bored next to the movement. I think this stems from a couple of things. First, I don't have a music background, so my experience working with the music in rehearsal can only be so deep. Second, I have had adhered to this school of thought from readings, and the words of so many teachers along the way: working with set music first = becoming something you are enslaved to. In other words, you end up just sort of spitting out a movement score of what the music already does. A cheap and unoriginal replica. The audience isn't stupid- it can "read" the music without a visual accompaniment to translate. I don't want to do this, for heavens sake. So by avoiding music until later in the process, I've felt safer (in my mind) of these pitfalls. But if I think about this more now, it seems pretty escapist on my part. I think I am being sophisticated by not working with music until later, and I keep working away with the movement stuff, shaping something just with physical intuition to guide me. The absence of music is always there though, lurking in the rehearsal process, tapping me on the shoulder saying "uh, how much longer will you ignore me?" This is a habit, just like movement invention for me can be habitual and an unoriginal replica of something else too. In addition to the ignoring the music thing, it probably deters from my movement invention possibilites as a result too, not to mention it deters from the possibilities of what I can do with my dancers, too. I'm distracted because a really big chunk of this dance is missing! So now, without music, its sort of like proceeding with a blindfold on. There are so many possibilities for me to shape in the dance and the absence of music is like a dance without a map. So I just keep noodling. Wow, I never thought about it this way before. What am I saying here?
Well, there have been a few cases where I did start with music, as was the case with Schubert's Winterreise. But it is not the standard for how I work.
Back to process:
I come to the first rehearsal with movement phrases we saw at the audition. We repeat these and for no other reason than "this is the first set of ingredients I have", these movement ideas become a base. The next subsequent rehearsals become the following: more noodling (so the creation of new material), and then manipulation of the earlier phrases with these newer phrases. Dancers contribute material in there too, certainly. I usually pair them up, give them a movement problem, and they solve it in various suitable ways. In there, I serve as the editor of their problem solving, tweaking moments by asking them to repeat something, slow something down or speed it up, eliminate something else, or turn it somehow into...a trio, a solo, a more physical version of itself, a version that involves more contact, etc. Essentially, these ideas are textbook for me and everyone else - they are part of the formula that I have followed. Many of these ideas emerge from what I think the movement ideas need to feel more complete, other things come from impressions I have held onto from others' work that I have been a part of. I edit, and then hope material is remembered. I rarely, if ever, videotape. Some of this is laziness, some of this is simply "is it really that good that if it is lost, it will be a tragedy?" This editing process is something that I know my students, when they rehearse their own material, work with too. These ideas or some similar version of them are transparent and then appear in their work. So it goes. On and on. When I have something new in this rigmarole, I work with it, and they'll apply some watered down version or interpretation of it somewhere in one of their dances too. Original ideas are hard to come by.
So yeah, essentially, if the above description is stage two of the dance process (the editing) and stage one was the initial creation of material to be edited, then stage three is the putting it all together: the music comes in, the dance finds itself organized into a 10-12 minute package: a series of phrases with transitions essentially. The dance is subdivided into sections that the cast and I have labeled certain things along the way: "mother wind" for instance, was a section in my dance "Postponing Descent". I think I like the title for this section more than I like whatever the movement looked like in this section. But I digress. Back to the formulaic dance. It has sections, they have been edited, transitions come last, music is added, music is often edited, the relationship of all parts together is investigated and determined, costumes get finalized (we always have beautiful costumes, thank you Lisa Weller) and then we are in tech week. Now the dance gets its legs, so to speak, and it becomes a familiarized and comfortable thing for the dancers more and more. It is essentially their dance now, not mine. I sit and watch and find moments that are interesting that I didn't notice before for a long week in the theatre. The dance has its own powerful way of doing that- having moments- split second ones often- that are better than its creator is responsible for. These moments are few, but I love them. Then the moments that I, the creator, did spend some serious time thinking about, crafting, organizing and categorizing in a time frame, with thought given to the tempo and moments that preceded and post-ceded them, seem less interesting to me when the whole package is up there. But I'm fairly certain I'm the toughest critic when it comes to the stuff of those moments. I also sit and take copius final notes: someone's arm pathway was different and distracting, someone was late on an entrance, the section called.... was really tight tonight. The dance happens 4x - one long weekend- and then its over. We have a good video documentation of it, and I promptly never watch this. I'm not sure I've made a dance I really want to study again. I do think I keep making dances that get clearer and more interesting each time. The next dance is a slightly better version of the one that preceded it. But in terms of why, or what it is that makes them slightly better, I am unsure. I do know that I am hopeful and excited over and over again with the beginning stages of each new dance. I get giddy and passionate and delighted that I am making something new. Then I get lost, wonder what the hell I'm doing, wonder why these people keep coming to rehearsal and trusting me. Then something gels, and I feel confident that yes, this dance will be complete and will be punctual. Then I sweat it out, dream and think about the dance and its potential incessantly. Then I share frustrations with the cast, and ask them to help me figure things out. They always do. They love helping, as well they should. They have big investments in this! Then we have a throw away rehearsal some where in there because it is important to not always take this so seriously. Or maybe because I'm tired, spent, creatively depleted, or all of the above. Or maybe they are. So we eat candy and talk about whatever, usually. These rehearsals, I am convinced, help shape the piece, yet I cannot say for sure HOW exactly. Then we have rehearsals where we run the hell out of these dances and I keep changing things. They oblige, every time. Then there are rehearsals where dancers make suggestions to be more efficient. They, in the doing of this dance, know where the dance needs an oil change. I listen, and the changes almost always make sense so we apply them. Sometimes, something fairly significant gets altered in rehearsal, just because I'm usually nervous that something is flat so I take a hammer rather than a chisel to it. This almost always gets scrapped and we revert to the previous place. Why? One- I was not entirely confident with this choice but felt obliged to try. Two- the dancers find this frenzied attempt too disconcerting.
So back to original ideas in dances. I'll start with changing the PROCESS in baby steps. For me, changing the rehearsal times and time frame I work might do something new. For one, this time frame change creates different rules for preparedness. Coming to one of only 6 total rehearsals only with earlier noodle phrases is NOT ENOUGH. Good. I'm going to deal with this in two weeks. Will start THE NEXT BLOG on all the possible artillery I can pull out at rehearsals.
------------------------------------
I found it interesting the other day when I had to describe my work to someone. I felt speechless. What is my aesthetic?
I only ever know what I am working on next or what I am currently working on and this is always vague. I just am in a process of making a new dance- not sure I am in control of it as much as I should be but I know I am making a dance. How is that an aesthetic?. I fall back on my formulas of dance making because 1) acceptable versions of something usually result this way. 2) I can also respond with: "There isn't necessarily a process that is the same every time" but this is a fall back response to such a question, it isn't me being sophisticated and elusive and deep. It's me averting the question. SO what is my work? I think I'm trying to find a category to feel comfortable in, a club to feel worthy to be a member of. To say I make dance theatre work- is that fair? I've only dabbled. I think in describing my work to someone, I'll stick to this for now:
I make work that tries to invent interesting and beautiful movement in interesting and beautiful ways, sometimes accompanied by text, sometimes not. I try to make something interesting via a process that is interesting. My work is currently under construction, getting its foundation retrofitted however. Stay tuned for updates.
Note to self: ask my students to describe their work. At various intervals throughout the semester.
I'm working today with Lisa Race in a two day intensive called "Making a Dance Fast"- 10 hours essentially of making a dance, crammed into two days. This is especially intriguing to me as I approach the one-week long residency at UNCG- one week to make a dance for 12. I've always only made a new dance with my students in the semester long time frame. Twice a week, 2 hours or so each time. So figure 4-5 hours a week, for around 8 weeks -30-35 hours or so? In doing the math here, it seems like this whole dance-making thing can become a bit formulaic. I work in these parameters and the following results: a ten - twelve minute dance (my usual dance length), made for a college dance concert, generally attended by friends and parents of the performers, and my colleagues and friends who are good enough to attend (or obliged to attend). This dance will be one of 8 or so in a concert, nothing really threading these dances together other than a lighting change, costume change, and cast change. Oh, and some applause. The dance will feature anywhere from 4-12 students (my usual cast size).
It will be so good to be inside someone else's choreographic process, albeit a very condensed one like this. Working with different time limitations in a rehearsal process can do wonders to stir the pot of how you work, I think. For me, the same time frame has probably been a huge reason or crutch that has kept my dances looking pretty similar. I never thought about that but it seems inevitable, doesn't it? When you work within a certain time frame consistently, your body gets in a rhythm- it knows what and how to operate and thus, the product is probably pretty predictable.
So let me think about what my rehearsal processes have been like w/ my students at WFU.
The process is usually something like this:
I start with movement ideas...noodling about in the studio for a while renders some phrase material. This phrase material may have began with a certain image or idea that I am working with, or maybe it's just movement accumulating itself, for the joy alone of stringing movement moments together, and somewhere in that accumulation do I realize that the movement seems to have an "aboutness". Ah, I keep falling and coming back to my vertical. Ah, this seems to be about anxiousness. Or so it goes. Then as I keep accumulating do I keep exploring more of those ideas, or challenging them, or a bit of both. Music may or may not accompany me in this noodling stage. If music is around, it is almost never the music I will use in the piece. This material comes to the audition. I present it to the students to see "who gets it". I cast my dance. This is an artful negotiation, because 7 other choreographers are auditioning the same cadre of students. So I have a cast and we meet the following week.
I usually start without music when its time to make a new dance. I have always sort of worked this way because I think I've feared that I would become really complacent with the music, or get really bored with it, or both, and the movement would also, as a result, feel bored next to the movement. I think this stems from a couple of things. First, I don't have a music background, so my experience working with the music in rehearsal can only be so deep. Second, I have had adhered to this school of thought from readings, and the words of so many teachers along the way: working with set music first = becoming something you are enslaved to. In other words, you end up just sort of spitting out a movement score of what the music already does. A cheap and unoriginal replica. The audience isn't stupid- it can "read" the music without a visual accompaniment to translate. I don't want to do this, for heavens sake. So by avoiding music until later in the process, I've felt safer (in my mind) of these pitfalls. But if I think about this more now, it seems pretty escapist on my part. I think I am being sophisticated by not working with music until later, and I keep working away with the movement stuff, shaping something just with physical intuition to guide me. The absence of music is always there though, lurking in the rehearsal process, tapping me on the shoulder saying "uh, how much longer will you ignore me?" This is a habit, just like movement invention for me can be habitual and an unoriginal replica of something else too. In addition to the ignoring the music thing, it probably deters from my movement invention possibilites as a result too, not to mention it deters from the possibilities of what I can do with my dancers, too. I'm distracted because a really big chunk of this dance is missing! So now, without music, its sort of like proceeding with a blindfold on. There are so many possibilities for me to shape in the dance and the absence of music is like a dance without a map. So I just keep noodling. Wow, I never thought about it this way before. What am I saying here?
Well, there have been a few cases where I did start with music, as was the case with Schubert's Winterreise. But it is not the standard for how I work.
Back to process:
I come to the first rehearsal with movement phrases we saw at the audition. We repeat these and for no other reason than "this is the first set of ingredients I have", these movement ideas become a base. The next subsequent rehearsals become the following: more noodling (so the creation of new material), and then manipulation of the earlier phrases with these newer phrases. Dancers contribute material in there too, certainly. I usually pair them up, give them a movement problem, and they solve it in various suitable ways. In there, I serve as the editor of their problem solving, tweaking moments by asking them to repeat something, slow something down or speed it up, eliminate something else, or turn it somehow into...a trio, a solo, a more physical version of itself, a version that involves more contact, etc. Essentially, these ideas are textbook for me and everyone else - they are part of the formula that I have followed. Many of these ideas emerge from what I think the movement ideas need to feel more complete, other things come from impressions I have held onto from others' work that I have been a part of. I edit, and then hope material is remembered. I rarely, if ever, videotape. Some of this is laziness, some of this is simply "is it really that good that if it is lost, it will be a tragedy?" This editing process is something that I know my students, when they rehearse their own material, work with too. These ideas or some similar version of them are transparent and then appear in their work. So it goes. On and on. When I have something new in this rigmarole, I work with it, and they'll apply some watered down version or interpretation of it somewhere in one of their dances too. Original ideas are hard to come by.
So yeah, essentially, if the above description is stage two of the dance process (the editing) and stage one was the initial creation of material to be edited, then stage three is the putting it all together: the music comes in, the dance finds itself organized into a 10-12 minute package: a series of phrases with transitions essentially. The dance is subdivided into sections that the cast and I have labeled certain things along the way: "mother wind" for instance, was a section in my dance "Postponing Descent". I think I like the title for this section more than I like whatever the movement looked like in this section. But I digress. Back to the formulaic dance. It has sections, they have been edited, transitions come last, music is added, music is often edited, the relationship of all parts together is investigated and determined, costumes get finalized (we always have beautiful costumes, thank you Lisa Weller) and then we are in tech week. Now the dance gets its legs, so to speak, and it becomes a familiarized and comfortable thing for the dancers more and more. It is essentially their dance now, not mine. I sit and watch and find moments that are interesting that I didn't notice before for a long week in the theatre. The dance has its own powerful way of doing that- having moments- split second ones often- that are better than its creator is responsible for. These moments are few, but I love them. Then the moments that I, the creator, did spend some serious time thinking about, crafting, organizing and categorizing in a time frame, with thought given to the tempo and moments that preceded and post-ceded them, seem less interesting to me when the whole package is up there. But I'm fairly certain I'm the toughest critic when it comes to the stuff of those moments. I also sit and take copius final notes: someone's arm pathway was different and distracting, someone was late on an entrance, the section called.... was really tight tonight. The dance happens 4x - one long weekend- and then its over. We have a good video documentation of it, and I promptly never watch this. I'm not sure I've made a dance I really want to study again. I do think I keep making dances that get clearer and more interesting each time. The next dance is a slightly better version of the one that preceded it. But in terms of why, or what it is that makes them slightly better, I am unsure. I do know that I am hopeful and excited over and over again with the beginning stages of each new dance. I get giddy and passionate and delighted that I am making something new. Then I get lost, wonder what the hell I'm doing, wonder why these people keep coming to rehearsal and trusting me. Then something gels, and I feel confident that yes, this dance will be complete and will be punctual. Then I sweat it out, dream and think about the dance and its potential incessantly. Then I share frustrations with the cast, and ask them to help me figure things out. They always do. They love helping, as well they should. They have big investments in this! Then we have a throw away rehearsal some where in there because it is important to not always take this so seriously. Or maybe because I'm tired, spent, creatively depleted, or all of the above. Or maybe they are. So we eat candy and talk about whatever, usually. These rehearsals, I am convinced, help shape the piece, yet I cannot say for sure HOW exactly. Then we have rehearsals where we run the hell out of these dances and I keep changing things. They oblige, every time. Then there are rehearsals where dancers make suggestions to be more efficient. They, in the doing of this dance, know where the dance needs an oil change. I listen, and the changes almost always make sense so we apply them. Sometimes, something fairly significant gets altered in rehearsal, just because I'm usually nervous that something is flat so I take a hammer rather than a chisel to it. This almost always gets scrapped and we revert to the previous place. Why? One- I was not entirely confident with this choice but felt obliged to try. Two- the dancers find this frenzied attempt too disconcerting.
So back to original ideas in dances. I'll start with changing the PROCESS in baby steps. For me, changing the rehearsal times and time frame I work might do something new. For one, this time frame change creates different rules for preparedness. Coming to one of only 6 total rehearsals only with earlier noodle phrases is NOT ENOUGH. Good. I'm going to deal with this in two weeks. Will start THE NEXT BLOG on all the possible artillery I can pull out at rehearsals.
------------------------------------
I found it interesting the other day when I had to describe my work to someone. I felt speechless. What is my aesthetic?
I only ever know what I am working on next or what I am currently working on and this is always vague. I just am in a process of making a new dance- not sure I am in control of it as much as I should be but I know I am making a dance. How is that an aesthetic?. I fall back on my formulas of dance making because 1) acceptable versions of something usually result this way. 2) I can also respond with: "There isn't necessarily a process that is the same every time" but this is a fall back response to such a question, it isn't me being sophisticated and elusive and deep. It's me averting the question. SO what is my work? I think I'm trying to find a category to feel comfortable in, a club to feel worthy to be a member of. To say I make dance theatre work- is that fair? I've only dabbled. I think in describing my work to someone, I'll stick to this for now:
I make work that tries to invent interesting and beautiful movement in interesting and beautiful ways, sometimes accompanied by text, sometimes not. I try to make something interesting via a process that is interesting. My work is currently under construction, getting its foundation retrofitted however. Stay tuned for updates.
Note to self: ask my students to describe their work. At various intervals throughout the semester.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
more on the structure of the dance
So I'm thinking more about structural things. Foundations. The plans on large white pieces of paper in an architect's tube that require some serious explaining and spatial relational understanding. (Reading a drawing to scale is so not my strong suit). But I have structure on the brain. Especially since I'm making a new dance for 12 graduate students at UNCG in a couple of weeks. I have seven rehearsals to make this dance, with hopeful check ins along the way. I am working with a series of written details that will work in the piece... (questions I asked the dancers to answer about what it is they love about dances they see and what it is they love, in general). I am curious to see how and where the things we love in general are also of key importance in dances we love. Are they the same? Not always but sometimes?
Not sure how their responses will gel together but, channeling some of my Joe Goode workshop experiences, I know there will be material that will emerge from the collisions of these ideas too. There is lots to explore and I am feeling like there should probably be a script of some sort but that feels like a scary place to start. I am not a playwright, even if the material I'm writing has already been written. Furthermore-how much can I edit when it's not my stuff? Well, these and other scary questions that emerge when you're working with WORDS are all up in my face. I know that if all else fails, I have three moments from ATdK's work that I can't stop thinking about that I want to extract, change in a way that is suitable to me and respectful of that work, and present anew in this dance. I know that now, but will I still know that when I'm in the thick of rehearsals? Well, let's say yes.. and so for now, I'll call these three things this:
1) The moving group statue
2) The lineup
3) The hand holding
But before I go any further, I want to talk briefly about ownership in dances. I believe that these moments that are filmic in my brain are by no means the actual choreography. They are my reading and interpreting of a text (the Rosas dance) and my ability to paraphrase something from that text in a conversation with someone else (the students at UNCG). I will reference this dance when I have this conversation but these dancers are in no means recreating that dance. The group moving statue for instance involved 8 dancers, and some pretty complex lifting, resting, falling and shifting moments. I can only see the THOUGHT of them as a moving statue. I cannot recreate it, nor would I ever dream of doing that. I am in love with the experience I had witnessing that moment at that time, and it is THIS experience that I wish to recreate somehow. The same is true of the line up moment, and even the simple hand holding idea too. I loved how I felt when I watched them. I believe all that I have written in regards to these three ideas is actually a high compliment to the Rosas dancers and to ATdK. It is not disrespectful or a dishonest act of stealing their material. I believe we as artists do this all the time...try to recreate the things or experiences we love and we do it consciously and /or unconsciously all the time. I am being much more conscious about it here. (blatantly so). I am also (on a more subconscious level, I think) doing what I asked the UNCG dancers to do: write what it is they love about dances. I loved those moments. I loved so many more in the work but these three are rising to the surface, after a few days (and new cities) have passed me by. I love them because they are clean, they are going to be a snapshot, a whiff of what my brain and body felt and they will become new moments.
what else:
I also know that I want a microphone, downstage right, where dancers will reveal something about themselves, comment on what is happening around them, ask a question to the audience, or just sing something. I want to know who speaks other languages too.
-------
I also know that I am tired and sore from walking around Bratislava and then later this evening, throughout Sweden platz in Vienna. Who knew it was so difficult to find hand sanitizer here?
Today is the first time that Jeffrey and I both remarked that we are ready to get home. So is Evie... although I'm actually not totally convinced she wants to leave Vienna. She loved watching the powerful hydrofoil motorboat disrupt the water as we sped down the Danube. She also admired a street performer today - her first street performance! You know, the ones ...who dress in silver and pretend to be a statue that move very minimally and only when you toss some euro in their hats... She also will not tire of chasing pigeons, dogs, or other children around the plazas. I'm not tired of chasing her, either. No really, I'm not.
Movement practice today: WALKING. Lots of it. Now I will stretch for 20 minutes and take a shower.
Not sure how their responses will gel together but, channeling some of my Joe Goode workshop experiences, I know there will be material that will emerge from the collisions of these ideas too. There is lots to explore and I am feeling like there should probably be a script of some sort but that feels like a scary place to start. I am not a playwright, even if the material I'm writing has already been written. Furthermore-how much can I edit when it's not my stuff? Well, these and other scary questions that emerge when you're working with WORDS are all up in my face. I know that if all else fails, I have three moments from ATdK's work that I can't stop thinking about that I want to extract, change in a way that is suitable to me and respectful of that work, and present anew in this dance. I know that now, but will I still know that when I'm in the thick of rehearsals? Well, let's say yes.. and so for now, I'll call these three things this:
1) The moving group statue
2) The lineup
3) The hand holding
But before I go any further, I want to talk briefly about ownership in dances. I believe that these moments that are filmic in my brain are by no means the actual choreography. They are my reading and interpreting of a text (the Rosas dance) and my ability to paraphrase something from that text in a conversation with someone else (the students at UNCG). I will reference this dance when I have this conversation but these dancers are in no means recreating that dance. The group moving statue for instance involved 8 dancers, and some pretty complex lifting, resting, falling and shifting moments. I can only see the THOUGHT of them as a moving statue. I cannot recreate it, nor would I ever dream of doing that. I am in love with the experience I had witnessing that moment at that time, and it is THIS experience that I wish to recreate somehow. The same is true of the line up moment, and even the simple hand holding idea too. I loved how I felt when I watched them. I believe all that I have written in regards to these three ideas is actually a high compliment to the Rosas dancers and to ATdK. It is not disrespectful or a dishonest act of stealing their material. I believe we as artists do this all the time...try to recreate the things or experiences we love and we do it consciously and /or unconsciously all the time. I am being much more conscious about it here. (blatantly so). I am also (on a more subconscious level, I think) doing what I asked the UNCG dancers to do: write what it is they love about dances. I loved those moments. I loved so many more in the work but these three are rising to the surface, after a few days (and new cities) have passed me by. I love them because they are clean, they are going to be a snapshot, a whiff of what my brain and body felt and they will become new moments.
what else:
I also know that I want a microphone, downstage right, where dancers will reveal something about themselves, comment on what is happening around them, ask a question to the audience, or just sing something. I want to know who speaks other languages too.
-------
I also know that I am tired and sore from walking around Bratislava and then later this evening, throughout Sweden platz in Vienna. Who knew it was so difficult to find hand sanitizer here?
Today is the first time that Jeffrey and I both remarked that we are ready to get home. So is Evie... although I'm actually not totally convinced she wants to leave Vienna. She loved watching the powerful hydrofoil motorboat disrupt the water as we sped down the Danube. She also admired a street performer today - her first street performance! You know, the ones ...who dress in silver and pretend to be a statue that move very minimally and only when you toss some euro in their hats... She also will not tire of chasing pigeons, dogs, or other children around the plazas. I'm not tired of chasing her, either. No really, I'm not.
Movement practice today: WALKING. Lots of it. Now I will stretch for 20 minutes and take a shower.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The place is the thing...
I am on a train from Prague back to Vienna. I just passed a beautiful lake- it is a clear day and the light at this hour (5:15pm) is beautiful. Evie is sleeping, Jeffery is watching Avatar on his ipod. We splurged on first class tickets for this and it was worth every euro. Riding a train can be so civilized, relaxing and contemplative. Tomorrow, we will board a hydrofoil train and head to Bratislava, Slovakia. Will the 90 minute boat ride feel as good? This train ride feels a bit like a marathon at 5 hours but the comfort of a first class car, our traveling away from one new foreign city and back to another, makes it feel like we've really lived today. Traveling has its ups and downs, certainly but I want to savor it now for the days when I am in Winston Salem and feeling particularly frozen or landlocked in that space. I am moving on a fast speed train and I am loving it. I am eager to return to Vienna...
Vienna and Impulstanz are both magnificent. I feel like I have only scratched the surface of both though. How do I get back for another summer- teaching a class at Wake's Vienna program or somewhere else in Europe? Or both?
Today, the highlight of my Prague trip was this morning. We visited a beautiful convent in Prague, right by the Maximilian hotel where we stayed called Convent of St. Agnes. It is a convent that began in the mid-late 13th century by a woman named Agnes who defied the path of marrying into a political marriage that her father, king Wencellus of Bohemia had pre-determined for her. Instead, she organized the means to have a convent built. Nuns came from Asisi (Italy) and the convent served to help the poor and the sick. She was a bad ass, basically and I wonder how a blockbuster movie about her staring someone like Julia Ormond has not happened yet. Agnes is actually St. Agnes I think- as in a saint...and if not- she should be; after reading her short bio on the convent wall entrance, I feel compelled to read more. Her tomb is on the grounds of this convent now, as is a medevil art gallery with extensive biblical art paintings and sculptures from the 1200’s-1500’s. They are in surprisingly great shape and are beautifully displayed there; it is the largest medevil art collection in Europe. What is most magnificent though is the convent itself, which you can tour through for free.
Immediately, passing through these tall vaulted ceilings, stone and brick walls and wide open, sparce rooms did I think about making something for this space. It begs for a site specific performance. How do I get back there to do this? I am reeling, and am imagining the following ideas:
-somehow exploring the idea of piety in performance. what does pious mean?!
-how is there camaraderie amongst a group of women who are nuns?
-what does it mean to love and worship something or someone who you cannot see? How do you feel Him? React to his grace? Respond to his good will? How does this translate in a space with movement?
-how is movement like prayer? How is it ritualistic? How does it move from habitual to meditative?
-When is it done privately (even if someone is watching)? What does movement look like when it is communal and shared? How does the space and place transform in both of these scenarios?
-how does singing happen in that space (with its tall, domed ceilings that echo incredibly)? What is sung? Who sings? Why sing- how does God hear singing and respond to it?
-how do we tap into the spirit of Agnes and recreate her character in performance?
It’s amazing when a place speaks to you in a performative way. I don’t think this has happened to me before this morning. Immediately, I wanted to be in this space in a movement research way. Why a convent? I was so drawn to go there when we arrived in Prague yet I had no idea why. I remember as a young girl my mother showing me a picture of her friend Donna dressed in a nun's habit. I don't know why I saw this picture. Did I find it? Did we visit with her and then my mom showed me this? I knew Donna has a husband and children, though so what possessed her to lead a life as a nun and then leave it?
All of this site specificity is of course connected to Anna Teresa de Keersmaker’s work that I saw at the Odeon theatre in Vienna last week. ATdK and her company originally performed a piece in Avignon, at a particular historical site that had some sort of significance (which I am forgetting) and the dancers worked with musicians who played instruments and sang songs from mid evil times. It was so stunning. She is kind of a genius, I think. It was great to see the piece and then talk about resonant moments with Kathleen Hermesdorf and Lilly Dwyer, two SF dancers that I met (or re-met) with this past week. The space at the Odeon theatre was a large, open, pillared room with gargoyle-type figures at the ceiling. It was old, and worn yet still chiseled and intact. This space in the large theatre complex was modern in a way, even if it felt really old, too. That pretty much sums up Vienna to me, too. An example: the space had floor to ceiling windows that looked out to another apartment building whose tenants had a television set on for instance. What an interesting juxtaposition of old and new: musical instruments from the 1500's in a room that is dated probably 300 years later, with a 21st century television show in the background for those who noticed.
The piece used natural light in a phenomenal way. It was amazing to watch light literally disappear as the sun went further down and down until there was nothing left to see but a solo dancer in the space, naked; his sounds more visible than any movement. Basically- these dancers were so just so beautiful it was as though I knew I was experiencing something special and I kept getting tingly just thinking about it. A few memorable and particular structural notes:
-walking patterns from left to right and right to left, simple patterns, some more complex. Focus intense and direct with one another. Moments when dancers held hands with a light connection (almost courtly) and then a hand would leave this connection as the other dancer watched this, remaining in place.
-a line up of dancers from downstage to upstage, vertical and staring leftward. A series of different beginnings ensued, some doing the same thing, others leaving. Simple idea yet executed beautifully.
-dancers joined together to re-enact these moving sculptures. They repeated this, with their fronts changing, and we were treated to a new perspective. This made me feel like I was in a piazza and walking around a sculpture, examining it from many different viewpoints.
It just occurred to me that these structural ideas could be "starters" in the act of creating something new. Generating new material is not the hard part. Structuring it, organizing it, putting it together with multiple people ...is. I like the idea of starting with something that is so specifically structurally based. Force myself to organize whatever movement ideas I spit out within these structural parameters (or any, really, that one comes up with)...
It's like telling a choreographer that her movement, which is chicken, is acceptable but it must be grilled chicken with creamy risotto, blanched asparagus and orange-infused beets. Go- make the meal.
Vienna and Impulstanz are both magnificent. I feel like I have only scratched the surface of both though. How do I get back for another summer- teaching a class at Wake's Vienna program or somewhere else in Europe? Or both?
Today, the highlight of my Prague trip was this morning. We visited a beautiful convent in Prague, right by the Maximilian hotel where we stayed called Convent of St. Agnes. It is a convent that began in the mid-late 13th century by a woman named Agnes who defied the path of marrying into a political marriage that her father, king Wencellus of Bohemia had pre-determined for her. Instead, she organized the means to have a convent built. Nuns came from Asisi (Italy) and the convent served to help the poor and the sick. She was a bad ass, basically and I wonder how a blockbuster movie about her staring someone like Julia Ormond has not happened yet. Agnes is actually St. Agnes I think- as in a saint...and if not- she should be; after reading her short bio on the convent wall entrance, I feel compelled to read more. Her tomb is on the grounds of this convent now, as is a medevil art gallery with extensive biblical art paintings and sculptures from the 1200’s-1500’s. They are in surprisingly great shape and are beautifully displayed there; it is the largest medevil art collection in Europe. What is most magnificent though is the convent itself, which you can tour through for free.
Immediately, passing through these tall vaulted ceilings, stone and brick walls and wide open, sparce rooms did I think about making something for this space. It begs for a site specific performance. How do I get back there to do this? I am reeling, and am imagining the following ideas:
-somehow exploring the idea of piety in performance. what does pious mean?!
-how is there camaraderie amongst a group of women who are nuns?
-what does it mean to love and worship something or someone who you cannot see? How do you feel Him? React to his grace? Respond to his good will? How does this translate in a space with movement?
-how is movement like prayer? How is it ritualistic? How does it move from habitual to meditative?
-When is it done privately (even if someone is watching)? What does movement look like when it is communal and shared? How does the space and place transform in both of these scenarios?
-how does singing happen in that space (with its tall, domed ceilings that echo incredibly)? What is sung? Who sings? Why sing- how does God hear singing and respond to it?
-how do we tap into the spirit of Agnes and recreate her character in performance?
It’s amazing when a place speaks to you in a performative way. I don’t think this has happened to me before this morning. Immediately, I wanted to be in this space in a movement research way. Why a convent? I was so drawn to go there when we arrived in Prague yet I had no idea why. I remember as a young girl my mother showing me a picture of her friend Donna dressed in a nun's habit. I don't know why I saw this picture. Did I find it? Did we visit with her and then my mom showed me this? I knew Donna has a husband and children, though so what possessed her to lead a life as a nun and then leave it?
All of this site specificity is of course connected to Anna Teresa de Keersmaker’s work that I saw at the Odeon theatre in Vienna last week. ATdK and her company originally performed a piece in Avignon, at a particular historical site that had some sort of significance (which I am forgetting) and the dancers worked with musicians who played instruments and sang songs from mid evil times. It was so stunning. She is kind of a genius, I think. It was great to see the piece and then talk about resonant moments with Kathleen Hermesdorf and Lilly Dwyer, two SF dancers that I met (or re-met) with this past week. The space at the Odeon theatre was a large, open, pillared room with gargoyle-type figures at the ceiling. It was old, and worn yet still chiseled and intact. This space in the large theatre complex was modern in a way, even if it felt really old, too. That pretty much sums up Vienna to me, too. An example: the space had floor to ceiling windows that looked out to another apartment building whose tenants had a television set on for instance. What an interesting juxtaposition of old and new: musical instruments from the 1500's in a room that is dated probably 300 years later, with a 21st century television show in the background for those who noticed.
The piece used natural light in a phenomenal way. It was amazing to watch light literally disappear as the sun went further down and down until there was nothing left to see but a solo dancer in the space, naked; his sounds more visible than any movement. Basically- these dancers were so just so beautiful it was as though I knew I was experiencing something special and I kept getting tingly just thinking about it. A few memorable and particular structural notes:
-walking patterns from left to right and right to left, simple patterns, some more complex. Focus intense and direct with one another. Moments when dancers held hands with a light connection (almost courtly) and then a hand would leave this connection as the other dancer watched this, remaining in place.
-a line up of dancers from downstage to upstage, vertical and staring leftward. A series of different beginnings ensued, some doing the same thing, others leaving. Simple idea yet executed beautifully.
-dancers joined together to re-enact these moving sculptures. They repeated this, with their fronts changing, and we were treated to a new perspective. This made me feel like I was in a piazza and walking around a sculpture, examining it from many different viewpoints.
It just occurred to me that these structural ideas could be "starters" in the act of creating something new. Generating new material is not the hard part. Structuring it, organizing it, putting it together with multiple people ...is. I like the idea of starting with something that is so specifically structurally based. Force myself to organize whatever movement ideas I spit out within these structural parameters (or any, really, that one comes up with)...
It's like telling a choreographer that her movement, which is chicken, is acceptable but it must be grilled chicken with creamy risotto, blanched asparagus and orange-infused beets. Go- make the meal.
Gotta do it everyday...
A writer writes everyday, or so the adage goes. Certainly, I remember all of my writing teachers in college and graduate school hammering this idea home and with every sermon, I can remember thinking (especially at the beginning of the semester when I am hopeful, fresh, and rested) that writing everyday seems easy to accomplish. So why is it so hard? And why do I care about doing it everyday, anyways? Let's just say I'm feeling a need to really anchor into some daily practices. And writing is one of them. Dancing is the other.
Throughout my adult life, writing in a journal was the standard way of getting stuff down. It wasn't that I wrote everyday but I had some brief successes with journal writing both forced (for a class) and on my own. Contents: usually, the journals had uninteresting ideas about dance making, art in general and its relation to my life at the time, poetry writing (usually bad poetry writing) or whatever else is going on in my life that made its way to a page for some reason. But then it would just sort of halt. I know I am not alone with the half-finished journals that live in a box somewhere. This writing practice (like so many other practices I have wanted to be faithful to) fizzles out.
So why do I want to have a more enduring relationship with writing? This summer has seen some more academic writing on my part so maybe that has prompted a new attention and relationship to writing. Or maybe the existence of this blog is instigating my rant here? Is that what a blog does? Replaces the overpriced journal I have carted around in my bag for years and years and years, always fearing I'll lose it, or worse, my cousin Alexis will read it again like she did when I was 10 and our families were at the beach together and she stole my diary and read all about my crush on a boy from school named Kevin and then teased me relentlessly about this?!?! (deep breath) Or is it that I see the blog as a really functional way to start something larger? Like, uh, a daily writing practice? Originally, this blog's first intended theme was writing about Impulstanz and the artistic questions that are emerging while I am a student and audience member here. I say the 'intended theme' because I find this blog becoming something I want to nurture more. Impulstanz is great but it will be over for me very soon. So how do I take what happened last week and make it linger, transform, and inspire a wealth of future ideas with important questions and considerations that I will flesh out in other art-related writings? I mean, really- who reads blogs anyways? Maybe this blog is a draft for something in print?
But back to the journal for a second (which sits beside me as I type, looking at me forlornly) I think I need to tell it to take a seat on the bench and be happy in its second string role. The second string is not undervalued, I will tell it. It is a noble role, certainly. The laptop has its issues and I can't use it ALL the time. Buck up, moleskin journal, you'll get your due.
So what have I written? My colleague and friend Rian Bowie in the English Dept. at Wake and I co-wrote a paper about bringing our students in her African American Poetry course and my Dance Composition course together last semester for a joint-assignment. We submitted it to JODE after several extensive edits in June/July. I also wrote a performance review about a show here in Vienna and plan to write another before I leave. I have been faithfully writing little commentaries about our trip on the family blog. I mention these not to keep tabs (well, not really). These writing projects are momentum builders, small brush strokes in a large wall-size painting (or a series of paintings for an entire show) that I have to complete. I think what I'm getting at is the importance of the dailiness of writing. These papers happened because I was writing material for them consecutively, consistently, with dedication, etc. I wasn't writing good stuff but I was writing in a way that made me realize at least how long I still had to go before these pieces were presentable. I think this 3 week experience of Vienna is teaching me that everyday I must be actively writing...
...and oh yeah actively DANCING. Everyday I must commit to a movement practice too! Even if its just a little, it has to be daily.
So since I'm writing now- what are the stipulations of these dailinesses? Even if it is not worthy of another reader, it is everyday. Even if it is not spectacular, or inspiring or connected to something larger that I am working on it is everyday. Even if it is not something tidy, or complete. Even if it is nonsensical. But everyday, there is a goal: a movement practice and a writing practice. These events do not have to follow one another. They do not need to happen in the same place or way every time (how can they, for god sake?! I marvel at people who get up and write for hours every morning when they wake up at the same desk.
As I'm proselytizing here about my daily practices, some questions emerge. How long do I have to write and dance everyday? Does the writing and dancing have to reflect each other consistently? How do I record both? In this blog? How much do I edit both practices?
An important reminder: it's one thing to THINK about writing or moving everyday but that won't get me points. "Put your money where you mouth is, Tsoules". (That’s what Jeffrey would say). So I have to go move now. I already wrote for the day.
I guess this blog post is a confession.
And it is a deal I am making - with myself, and whoever else reads this.
Throughout my adult life, writing in a journal was the standard way of getting stuff down. It wasn't that I wrote everyday but I had some brief successes with journal writing both forced (for a class) and on my own. Contents: usually, the journals had uninteresting ideas about dance making, art in general and its relation to my life at the time, poetry writing (usually bad poetry writing) or whatever else is going on in my life that made its way to a page for some reason. But then it would just sort of halt. I know I am not alone with the half-finished journals that live in a box somewhere. This writing practice (like so many other practices I have wanted to be faithful to) fizzles out.
So why do I want to have a more enduring relationship with writing? This summer has seen some more academic writing on my part so maybe that has prompted a new attention and relationship to writing. Or maybe the existence of this blog is instigating my rant here? Is that what a blog does? Replaces the overpriced journal I have carted around in my bag for years and years and years, always fearing I'll lose it, or worse, my cousin Alexis will read it again like she did when I was 10 and our families were at the beach together and she stole my diary and read all about my crush on a boy from school named Kevin and then teased me relentlessly about this?!?! (deep breath) Or is it that I see the blog as a really functional way to start something larger? Like, uh, a daily writing practice? Originally, this blog's first intended theme was writing about Impulstanz and the artistic questions that are emerging while I am a student and audience member here. I say the 'intended theme' because I find this blog becoming something I want to nurture more. Impulstanz is great but it will be over for me very soon. So how do I take what happened last week and make it linger, transform, and inspire a wealth of future ideas with important questions and considerations that I will flesh out in other art-related writings? I mean, really- who reads blogs anyways? Maybe this blog is a draft for something in print?
But back to the journal for a second (which sits beside me as I type, looking at me forlornly) I think I need to tell it to take a seat on the bench and be happy in its second string role. The second string is not undervalued, I will tell it. It is a noble role, certainly. The laptop has its issues and I can't use it ALL the time. Buck up, moleskin journal, you'll get your due.
So what have I written? My colleague and friend Rian Bowie in the English Dept. at Wake and I co-wrote a paper about bringing our students in her African American Poetry course and my Dance Composition course together last semester for a joint-assignment. We submitted it to JODE after several extensive edits in June/July. I also wrote a performance review about a show here in Vienna and plan to write another before I leave. I have been faithfully writing little commentaries about our trip on the family blog. I mention these not to keep tabs (well, not really). These writing projects are momentum builders, small brush strokes in a large wall-size painting (or a series of paintings for an entire show) that I have to complete. I think what I'm getting at is the importance of the dailiness of writing. These papers happened because I was writing material for them consecutively, consistently, with dedication, etc. I wasn't writing good stuff but I was writing in a way that made me realize at least how long I still had to go before these pieces were presentable. I think this 3 week experience of Vienna is teaching me that everyday I must be actively writing...
...and oh yeah actively DANCING. Everyday I must commit to a movement practice too! Even if its just a little, it has to be daily.
So since I'm writing now- what are the stipulations of these dailinesses? Even if it is not worthy of another reader, it is everyday. Even if it is not spectacular, or inspiring or connected to something larger that I am working on it is everyday. Even if it is not something tidy, or complete. Even if it is nonsensical. But everyday, there is a goal: a movement practice and a writing practice. These events do not have to follow one another. They do not need to happen in the same place or way every time (how can they, for god sake?! I marvel at people who get up and write for hours every morning when they wake up at the same desk.
As I'm proselytizing here about my daily practices, some questions emerge. How long do I have to write and dance everyday? Does the writing and dancing have to reflect each other consistently? How do I record both? In this blog? How much do I edit both practices?
An important reminder: it's one thing to THINK about writing or moving everyday but that won't get me points. "Put your money where you mouth is, Tsoules". (That’s what Jeffrey would say). So I have to go move now. I already wrote for the day.
I guess this blog post is a confession.
And it is a deal I am making - with myself, and whoever else reads this.
Friday, July 30, 2010
I'm not alone in the theatre
Forgot to mention....
My companion at the theatre was a young man from the festival who I met on the tram. His name is Yan (Jan?) from Estonia. He's 27. He, like many Europeans at this festival, are professional dancers or choreographers. They can sustain this identity and lifestyle in Europe. They make enough money to do this, and not hold 3 other jobs at the same time. They are suitably paid for whataw they do.
After the show, Jan sees a fellow Estonian artist and leaves to greet her. Her name is Evelyn and she is a writer. She writes about performances for an Estonian paper and is paid adequately for this, too. I share these details for one reason:
Jan and Evelyn focus on performance or writing, respectively. They do these specific things alone and are supported to do them so that they may do them expertly. They investigate their identities in these roles entirely. I find this a lot with European dancers I meet. They perform full time. This is a full activity and a full life, emotionally, artistically and financially. I guess the last time I was in Europe as a 19 year old I didn't quite get this difference between Europe and the states. Now I get it.
A met a woman named Lilly, who is from San Francisco, and she is moving to Berlin next month. Go, girl. She REALLY gets it.
I continue to marvel at the scene in these theatre spaces. The dance performances are THE place to be! The houses are always packed, the energy even in the lobby is tangible. I feel myself smiling like a little kid.
Must go to bed now, tra la.
My companion at the theatre was a young man from the festival who I met on the tram. His name is Yan (Jan?) from Estonia. He's 27. He, like many Europeans at this festival, are professional dancers or choreographers. They can sustain this identity and lifestyle in Europe. They make enough money to do this, and not hold 3 other jobs at the same time. They are suitably paid for whataw they do.
After the show, Jan sees a fellow Estonian artist and leaves to greet her. Her name is Evelyn and she is a writer. She writes about performances for an Estonian paper and is paid adequately for this, too. I share these details for one reason:
Jan and Evelyn focus on performance or writing, respectively. They do these specific things alone and are supported to do them so that they may do them expertly. They investigate their identities in these roles entirely. I find this a lot with European dancers I meet. They perform full time. This is a full activity and a full life, emotionally, artistically and financially. I guess the last time I was in Europe as a 19 year old I didn't quite get this difference between Europe and the states. Now I get it.
A met a woman named Lilly, who is from San Francisco, and she is moving to Berlin next month. Go, girl. She REALLY gets it.
I continue to marvel at the scene in these theatre spaces. The dance performances are THE place to be! The houses are always packed, the energy even in the lobby is tangible. I feel myself smiling like a little kid.
Must go to bed now, tra la.
Jérôme Bel and other stuff...
Well, tonight at 6pm marks my 10th consecutive (and the last) class in five days. I'm tired! Everyday between my two classes we've been running around trying to see a new museum or another area of town. Today we took a much needed break from being tourists. Yesterday's visit to the Leopold museum was enough to sustain us for a day I think. Oh the art there! Schiele, Klimt, Kokoschka, Muehl...these secessionists were intensely talented and just intense period. They didn't shy from using vibrant colors, even with so many haunting images. Schiele's naked self-portrait for instance, features the artist without feet and with red eyes and a red belly button. It's the kind of work that struck me as both inimitable and the kind of painting that even though I thought I was done looking at it, I kept going back to view it again and again, teetering between fascination and fear.
Evie was of course, most interested in her soccer ball, which we played with in the lobby, Jeffrey and I tag teaming with her. Tomorrow, we'll attempt to hit the Schonbrunn palace. I think I remember reading there is also a zoo there, so Evie will be happy.
So yes, a week of heavy dancing after very little dancing has yielded some noticeable changes in my body. Lifting Evie hurts. My feet are banged up. I have bruises on my shoulders from rolling. My legs feel like anvils. I'm trying to feel like "water" when I dance (as one of my teachers, Marta, keeps shouting at us in class) but I'm thinking I look more like a peanut butter sandwich. Perhaps the seven day break will do me good before I go at it again for a two day intensive workshop next weekend.
Being a student here is the best. Being a student PERIOD is the best. I found myself explaining to one of my new Austrian friends, Sabina, that I felt like a big empty container before this trip and that this week has slowly been filling me up again...with new information, new perspectives, new commitments and new promises to myself as an artist. For one, it's time to be serious with a daily movement meditation or practice. Why is it so hard to carve out even 30 minutes everyday for my body? I must insist on it and keep this experience close to me for a long time. I already know that I will leave here inspired, motivated, and hopeful, and after savoring this fullness a bit for myself, I'll be ready to spill it back out to my students in some sort of new, transformed, 'Christina' way. Ultimately, this workshop was well timed for me- I needed this more than I think I ever have needed a new learning environment. Dancing and living in Vienna for three weeks has filled my tank with gas. And then there is seeing work here...
Last night I went to see French choreographer Jérôme Bel's recent work. He collaborated with former Merce Cunningham and Lyon Opera Ballet dancer Cédric Andrieux to create a 75 minute solo, performed by Andrieux. I know what you're thinking: a 75 minute solo? Really? It was beautiful! Andreiux essentially just narrated his life in dance...from sharing his love of the hit TV show FAME when he was 9, to demonstrating the warm up in a Cunningham company class, to performing solos he has danced as an adult by Cunningham and Trisha Brown. He began by introducing himself and reciting his date and place of birth. He is 33, like me. What different lives we have led. At age 16, he entered a conservatory in France where the school's system constantly pitted him in competition against his peers. Grateful to graduate at the age of 20 and leave France for a job dancing in New York City with Jennifer Muller, Andrieux only mentions a fixation with a male dancer in Muller's company as a major factor to help persuade him to take this job. In his performance, we follow many of these seemingly important life details along the way but in Andrieux's performance, they are like insignificant signs one passes on a long road trip and then promptly forgets so as to not miss the valuable road sign we need next. But in these details that pass us by, I wonder what gems are missed. We're following his life's map, traveling from his past to the current moment, where he stands on stage, and he is always navigating. As his passengers, we follow him through vulnerably beautiful, sad, exciting, funny, and unpredictable moments. Yet throughout these different stretches, Andrieux is so matter of fact throughout the work. Despite the bumps and difficult moments that extend throughout his prolific career as a dance student and professional dancer, there are also many celebratory milestones that are shared mundanely. For instance, we learn that Andrieux takes an open class at the Cunningham studio soon after arriving in New York. Merce happens to be observing this class and personally invites Andrieux to an upcoming company audition. Andrieux describes the audition only as "lasting two weeks" and then immediately we are in the throngs of his seven year career with the company. Andrieux begins the work by remarking that he was never naturally talented as a dancer yet the awards he received in school and important jobs he received early in his career might invoke some commentary. However, Andrieux only shares with his audience that he remembers thinking that so many dance successes happened rather quickly for him. Significant milestones such as these are never commented on by Andrieux however. He presents a dance excerpt or a costume change with the same even-tempo delivery as the person who asked for my umbrella at the theatre's coat check. He never makes different inflections in his voice to suggest how he feels (or how we should feel, for that matter) about a significant event in his life.
Along the map of his dance-life journey, we stop at a rehearsal with the Merce Cunningham dance company. I was disappointed to not hear of some tribute to the recently passed Merce Cunningham, or some comments of his experience dancing for Cunningham. But for Andrieux, by taking us directly into the process of learning Merce's choreography generated from a computer program, we see that Andrieux is respectful of Cunningham, even if this reenactment shows Andrieux stumbling through Merce's nearly impossible physical requests. This rehearsal reenactment immediately brings Merce Cunningham back to life, and on stage with Andrieux. We follow their rehearsal together, a Merce Cunningham ghost, feeble bodied in his 80's and seated in the corner, asking Andrieux and his imaginary company members in the space to follow his concocted dance steps as though they are something we would read in a manual to connect a dvd player to a television monitor. This moment in the work is particularly powerful. I realize at once that I am both voyeur, giddy and delighted to be in on this rehearsal moment and yet it feels like a private and sacred event that actually becomes a beautiful and reverent tribute to Cunningham too.
As Andrieux transitions from a rehearsal moment like this one with his soft, almost-whisper like voice to the next place in this performance, he states: "I'm going to dance this for you now" and an excerpt of famous contemporary choreographer's work made for him takes place. Andrieux uses an attached microphone in the piece and as we watch him dance, we hear his breath amplified, or the microphone feedback from his arm swipe the cord attached to him. These moments are magnificent. The performance is not glorified, it is almost just an archive, a way for the body to remember these highlights, and for us to watch him relive them. We watch him dance and it is an opportunity to just observe a skilled dancer executing difficult movement. Certainly it is about Andrieux doing this movement but even more, his unassuming presence, dressed in rehearsal sweats pants, tee shirt and socks allow us to strip away the formalness of what this moment might have been at one point and instead admire the organization of these dances, the artfulness of their accumulated steps, the specificity of the dance's sequences. Ultimately, these dance excerpts allow us to focus on a choreographer's choices like we are using a microscope to see it. And more, we realize how special it is to see his interpretation of another person's choreography.
His pattern is consistent: he performs one beautiful series of movements by Trisha Brown, for instance, until it is finished. Now, after his dancing is complete do we really appreciate the hard work of it all. He takes as much time as he needs to catch his breath or drink some water. He walks upstage a bit, as if to shake off the remnants of this excerpt before he transitions back into storyteller mode. We wait for him to do these sort of things multiple times and it is never indulgent. He does not respond to the audience's applause. He does not add a joke, or a comment about his execution of anything. There is no lighting change to transition us, it is just him, reflecting on what just happened, and us, reflecting on his reflection. Where to next on his map? Andrieux is so even tempered and unassuming in his performance you begin to realize that even if there is a life altering event like a breakup, a death in the family, or an injury in the life of this dancer, it will not enter the performance with a big, dramatic entrance. It will simply pass by, like another road sign.
Bel and Andrieux's work made me think. Telling one's life story in performance, through performance is not a new performance theme by any means yet somehow, in the stripped down storytelling mode of this work, Andrieux's life is utterly human and poignant to anyone. Attending a dance class at Impulstanz the morning following the performance, I could not help but look around the studio crowded with dancers from all over the world and realize that each of us has unique dance stories, impressionable early dance teachers, humiliating moments at auditions or in performance; moments that translate into beautiful, vulnerable material. This collaboration was succesful first because of its simple, no-fail structure. Have a dancer tell his story with words and dance. It will be rich because it will reach all of our senses. We will watch, we will listen, we will viscerally experience it, we will empathize, we will crave certain moments, be jealous or relieved that we did not experience others, and we will leave the theatre in love with the dancing body and all it is capable of expressing. Thank you, Jerome Bel and Cédric Andrieux for reminding us of this.
Evie was of course, most interested in her soccer ball, which we played with in the lobby, Jeffrey and I tag teaming with her. Tomorrow, we'll attempt to hit the Schonbrunn palace. I think I remember reading there is also a zoo there, so Evie will be happy.
So yes, a week of heavy dancing after very little dancing has yielded some noticeable changes in my body. Lifting Evie hurts. My feet are banged up. I have bruises on my shoulders from rolling. My legs feel like anvils. I'm trying to feel like "water" when I dance (as one of my teachers, Marta, keeps shouting at us in class) but I'm thinking I look more like a peanut butter sandwich. Perhaps the seven day break will do me good before I go at it again for a two day intensive workshop next weekend.
Being a student here is the best. Being a student PERIOD is the best. I found myself explaining to one of my new Austrian friends, Sabina, that I felt like a big empty container before this trip and that this week has slowly been filling me up again...with new information, new perspectives, new commitments and new promises to myself as an artist. For one, it's time to be serious with a daily movement meditation or practice. Why is it so hard to carve out even 30 minutes everyday for my body? I must insist on it and keep this experience close to me for a long time. I already know that I will leave here inspired, motivated, and hopeful, and after savoring this fullness a bit for myself, I'll be ready to spill it back out to my students in some sort of new, transformed, 'Christina' way. Ultimately, this workshop was well timed for me- I needed this more than I think I ever have needed a new learning environment. Dancing and living in Vienna for three weeks has filled my tank with gas. And then there is seeing work here...
Last night I went to see French choreographer Jérôme Bel's recent work. He collaborated with former Merce Cunningham and Lyon Opera Ballet dancer Cédric Andrieux to create a 75 minute solo, performed by Andrieux. I know what you're thinking: a 75 minute solo? Really? It was beautiful! Andreiux essentially just narrated his life in dance...from sharing his love of the hit TV show FAME when he was 9, to demonstrating the warm up in a Cunningham company class, to performing solos he has danced as an adult by Cunningham and Trisha Brown. He began by introducing himself and reciting his date and place of birth. He is 33, like me. What different lives we have led. At age 16, he entered a conservatory in France where the school's system constantly pitted him in competition against his peers. Grateful to graduate at the age of 20 and leave France for a job dancing in New York City with Jennifer Muller, Andrieux only mentions a fixation with a male dancer in Muller's company as a major factor to help persuade him to take this job. In his performance, we follow many of these seemingly important life details along the way but in Andrieux's performance, they are like insignificant signs one passes on a long road trip and then promptly forgets so as to not miss the valuable road sign we need next. But in these details that pass us by, I wonder what gems are missed. We're following his life's map, traveling from his past to the current moment, where he stands on stage, and he is always navigating. As his passengers, we follow him through vulnerably beautiful, sad, exciting, funny, and unpredictable moments. Yet throughout these different stretches, Andrieux is so matter of fact throughout the work. Despite the bumps and difficult moments that extend throughout his prolific career as a dance student and professional dancer, there are also many celebratory milestones that are shared mundanely. For instance, we learn that Andrieux takes an open class at the Cunningham studio soon after arriving in New York. Merce happens to be observing this class and personally invites Andrieux to an upcoming company audition. Andrieux describes the audition only as "lasting two weeks" and then immediately we are in the throngs of his seven year career with the company. Andrieux begins the work by remarking that he was never naturally talented as a dancer yet the awards he received in school and important jobs he received early in his career might invoke some commentary. However, Andrieux only shares with his audience that he remembers thinking that so many dance successes happened rather quickly for him. Significant milestones such as these are never commented on by Andrieux however. He presents a dance excerpt or a costume change with the same even-tempo delivery as the person who asked for my umbrella at the theatre's coat check. He never makes different inflections in his voice to suggest how he feels (or how we should feel, for that matter) about a significant event in his life.
Along the map of his dance-life journey, we stop at a rehearsal with the Merce Cunningham dance company. I was disappointed to not hear of some tribute to the recently passed Merce Cunningham, or some comments of his experience dancing for Cunningham. But for Andrieux, by taking us directly into the process of learning Merce's choreography generated from a computer program, we see that Andrieux is respectful of Cunningham, even if this reenactment shows Andrieux stumbling through Merce's nearly impossible physical requests. This rehearsal reenactment immediately brings Merce Cunningham back to life, and on stage with Andrieux. We follow their rehearsal together, a Merce Cunningham ghost, feeble bodied in his 80's and seated in the corner, asking Andrieux and his imaginary company members in the space to follow his concocted dance steps as though they are something we would read in a manual to connect a dvd player to a television monitor. This moment in the work is particularly powerful. I realize at once that I am both voyeur, giddy and delighted to be in on this rehearsal moment and yet it feels like a private and sacred event that actually becomes a beautiful and reverent tribute to Cunningham too.
As Andrieux transitions from a rehearsal moment like this one with his soft, almost-whisper like voice to the next place in this performance, he states: "I'm going to dance this for you now" and an excerpt of famous contemporary choreographer's work made for him takes place. Andrieux uses an attached microphone in the piece and as we watch him dance, we hear his breath amplified, or the microphone feedback from his arm swipe the cord attached to him. These moments are magnificent. The performance is not glorified, it is almost just an archive, a way for the body to remember these highlights, and for us to watch him relive them. We watch him dance and it is an opportunity to just observe a skilled dancer executing difficult movement. Certainly it is about Andrieux doing this movement but even more, his unassuming presence, dressed in rehearsal sweats pants, tee shirt and socks allow us to strip away the formalness of what this moment might have been at one point and instead admire the organization of these dances, the artfulness of their accumulated steps, the specificity of the dance's sequences. Ultimately, these dance excerpts allow us to focus on a choreographer's choices like we are using a microscope to see it. And more, we realize how special it is to see his interpretation of another person's choreography.
His pattern is consistent: he performs one beautiful series of movements by Trisha Brown, for instance, until it is finished. Now, after his dancing is complete do we really appreciate the hard work of it all. He takes as much time as he needs to catch his breath or drink some water. He walks upstage a bit, as if to shake off the remnants of this excerpt before he transitions back into storyteller mode. We wait for him to do these sort of things multiple times and it is never indulgent. He does not respond to the audience's applause. He does not add a joke, or a comment about his execution of anything. There is no lighting change to transition us, it is just him, reflecting on what just happened, and us, reflecting on his reflection. Where to next on his map? Andrieux is so even tempered and unassuming in his performance you begin to realize that even if there is a life altering event like a breakup, a death in the family, or an injury in the life of this dancer, it will not enter the performance with a big, dramatic entrance. It will simply pass by, like another road sign.
Bel and Andrieux's work made me think. Telling one's life story in performance, through performance is not a new performance theme by any means yet somehow, in the stripped down storytelling mode of this work, Andrieux's life is utterly human and poignant to anyone. Attending a dance class at Impulstanz the morning following the performance, I could not help but look around the studio crowded with dancers from all over the world and realize that each of us has unique dance stories, impressionable early dance teachers, humiliating moments at auditions or in performance; moments that translate into beautiful, vulnerable material. This collaboration was succesful first because of its simple, no-fail structure. Have a dancer tell his story with words and dance. It will be rich because it will reach all of our senses. We will watch, we will listen, we will viscerally experience it, we will empathize, we will crave certain moments, be jealous or relieved that we did not experience others, and we will leave the theatre in love with the dancing body and all it is capable of expressing. Thank you, Jerome Bel and Cédric Andrieux for reminding us of this.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Questions for The Choreographer
I have much to blog about regarding the classes I'm taking: the organization and dissemination of a specific exercise, differing teaching styles, using recorded music in class vs. live music, how much deeper one can go in a two hour class vs. a 1 hr. 15 minute class and how do you still make it a full experience...
but first- some questions that buzz in my mind after taking technique classes that might be good companion questions for a student taking a release technique class at the same time they are taking a choreography class too:
1) make a series of movements that continually fall off the center axis of the body. Start vertical, fall off vertical but keep coming back to a long center axis, even if it remains off balance.
2) make a movement chain on the floor with one surface of the body always touching the floor. start and end on the ground.
3) create a series of winding up and then unwinding movements in a cohesive grouping of movement ideas.
More later.
but first- some questions that buzz in my mind after taking technique classes that might be good companion questions for a student taking a release technique class at the same time they are taking a choreography class too:
1) make a series of movements that continually fall off the center axis of the body. Start vertical, fall off vertical but keep coming back to a long center axis, even if it remains off balance.
2) make a movement chain on the floor with one surface of the body always touching the floor. start and end on the ground.
3) create a series of winding up and then unwinding movements in a cohesive grouping of movement ideas.
More later.
Day one.
Blogging
Blogging about Impulstanz (http://www.impulstanz.com/en/) has proven to be more difficult than I originally predicted. My daughter Evie’s week-long virus has not helped things; and living in a big city like Vienna has its challenges when you’re pushing a stroller and carrying diapers and everything else one needs for any sort of excursion with a one year old. I marvel at all the single parents in the world.
My husband Jeffrey, 14 month old daughter Evie, and I live in Winston-Salem, NC and we pretty much drive everywhere. The last week in Vienna reminded me of how much walking one does in a big city. For instance, we must walk 10 minutes to get to a tram that takes us downtown or I walk 15 minutes each way to Impulstanz classes. It’s wonsderfsul not having our car(s)! I also love operating without cell phones and all of the gear accumulates in our house-- different types of strollers, carriers, shoes, blah blah blah. Ah, to live a bit more minimally! One thing I’ve learned on this trip is that it’s good to alter your routine in a drastic way. It’s important to do this regularly and I need to remember that I don’t need to travel to Europe just to upturn the norm. Must walk or bike instead of always taking the car. Must accumulate less. Must travel more.
Vienna has inspired me on so many levels! To start off my blog (which is really a dance-themed blog) I must first begin with some things I've noticed about this glorious city the past week. Dance making and dancing, in general, requires paying attention to your environment, after all...
1. This city is old and beautiful. Its architecture is ornate and incredibly jaw dropping. The Austrians did not hold back on making a bold statement about their city’s grandeur and power; this is reflected in the old apartment buildings as much as it is in St. Stephens cathedral.
2. People here are out with their families, in the thick of it all. They push their kids in strollers everywhere and I never hear another child crying. If a baby is crying, it's usually Evie... In general, The Austrian's are happy.
3. Healthcare. Evie needed pediatric care twice because of a high fever that persisted for over 5 days. Following the fever, she had a rash all over her body for two days. All of this sucked. (And from this point forward, we will refer to the those seven days as the "lost days"). We visited a children’s hospital (St. Anna's kinderhspital) twice. Both times, the cab getting there and back to the apartment cost as much as the visit itself. Evie had a blood sample analyzed on the premises (no off-site lab) and 15 minutes later, it was determined she had a virus. We were given a prescription for some nose drops. This cost 3 euro at the local drugstore (about $4.50). We did not have international insurance. This was the out of pocket fee! In the hospital waiting room, we never waited more than 15 minutes for a doctor, and both doctors we met with spoke nearly perfect English. What are we waiting for, America? (To quote my friend David Ford's motto for change)...
4. Very few people here are obese. Very few people are homeless. I have spotted only two destitute homeless men since arriving. Both held a Gosser (local beer) in their hands and although they were both very unclean and ragged, they did not ever feel threatening. They also were not asking for money.
5. This city is immaculate. There is no garbage. Anywhere. It is also a very green city. The Viennese recycle paper, plastic, glass and aluminum, and there are clearly marked bins throughout the city to dispose of these. ALL Viennese bring shopping bags to the grocery store. (We shop at a BILLA store two blocks away, or at the famed outdoor Nascht Markt). There is no “paper or plastic?” question at the checkout counter. There is also never an individual buying a ridiculous amount of anything or multiple things in general. Grocery shopping is a civilized affair. One buys enough to eat for a day or two and then returns when this process needs to be repeated. I wonder what they would make of our obsession with Costco…
Oh, and mayonnaise here comes in a tube, like toothpaste. How smart! No need for the jar and knife and messy hand...
6. The city transit system is phenomenal. It is rare to wait more than 5 minutes for the trams (above ground rails). Also, the transit system works on an honor system. No one is there inspecting your ticket or waiting for you to pay. A week long unlimited pass is 14 euro. This is our preferable way to go. If you use it only once a day roundtrip you’ve gotten your money’s worth. Certainly, Vienna is a walking city so if one prefers that, cool. But most locals seem to prefer the bike. Every main street has a dedicated bike crossing lane with stop and go lights. Bikers and pedestrians carefully intermingle with cars, and there is always a mutual respect in the world of traffic.
7. Vienna is a multigenerational city. Old and young mingle alike.
8. Vienna is a multicultural city and Vienna is an international destination. Americans are far from the primary tourist population. I see and hear Greeks, Turks, Arabs, Africans, and Asian people everywhere and they are holding up the same Vienna city maps that Jeffrey or I hold. It’s nice to spend some time in a foreign place and not glaringly be an outsider, or glaringly be the token American tourist. One striking detail: I see many women wearing burkas here andcarrying Louie Vuitton bags. These women, who, from my ethnocentric position I would assume are unhappy, look quite content to me actually...
9. Vienna can be hot hot hot in July one day, and then rainy and cold for several days following that. I did not bring enough warm clothing.
10. Austrians do not scoff at you when you reply in English. Many speak English. Even the cab drivers are nice and do not try to take advantage of you.
11. Art and performance is not a happy side dish in Vienna. It is the main course. The museum quarter is the heartbeat of the city. Surrounding all of the stately buildings in the MQ, there are multiple museums, with multiple theatres nearby. Surrounding the theatres are open air restaurants where people wait either to enter one of these sacred spaces or talk about them after the fact with friends over a beer or a coffee. Music, dance, opera, and theatre posters are everywhere. Impulstanz posters cover public transportation spots. Everyone knows about this festival.
With this, I begin by presenting a little bit of the scene at Impulstanz. Simply put, it is international, international, international.
I began here with a two day workshop in improvisation/writing/composition with Vienna based artist Sabina Holzer. The workshop participants were from the following countries: Austria, Romania, Holland, England, France, Japan, Egypt and oh yeah, me from the US. What a gift to be around dancers from all over the world and hear about their backgrounds. All of these people spoke English in addition to their home language too. (Incidentally, the workshop teachers all speak English in class and if a student doesn’t understand, they usually can muster something recognizable in that person’s language. This makes me think how important it is to be bilingual. This also makes me realize I must practice my Greek and Spanish somehow! But I’m getting distracted. Back to Sabina’s workshop later…I’d like to instead talk about the 5 day release technique class I’m taking this week with Marta Coronado.
Marta Coronado’s release technique class moves at a slow but steady pace. She takes care to explain herself and her exercises with great precision and wonderful accompanied imagery. She is so enthusiastic. She speaks about her movement the same way she demonstrates it: passionately. After the first day of her class, I recall thinking: she is so clear, and English is not even her first language. The first day of class began with two reminders. This week is about having fun and dancing with less effort than usual. For release work, “less is more” is often an underlying concept but teachers often cannot articulate what they mean by this. Coronado does. We repeat the same exercises many times, getting faster as we go. There are never counts, they are not needed. We move together as a group, guided by moments to "go!" and execute a specific action, usually the beginning of a new chain of movements. Coronado accumulates much of the same material which is a gift. By repeating a set warm up for instance, the body can ease into the floor work with more elasticity, breath, and confidence each time. For me, I notice that I just seem to be getting longer, better stacked and aligned, my joints feel more gooey, and my presence is much more focused with each repetition. In essence, it DOES take less effort with each pass at an exercise. My body remembers the material so my mind can focus less on the sequence and pay attention to the natural pathways, directions, and initiations that naturally follow in the body and in her exercise. Class becomes profoundly intuitive, actually. I love this! This is the mark of an exceptional teacher...a post-class "high" is always a gift in any circumstance and with Coronado, I have it consistently, regardless of what state of mind or body I was in before class began. I want to give that kind of class to my students! Marta is a former Rosas dance member and regularly teaches their repertory. Her knowledge is vast. She is sparkly, incredibly energetic and yet very even with her teaching style. She is always in control of this huge morning class and her voice never gets frenzied or nervous. It’s funny how I notice these kinds of things- perhaps setbacks in my teaching style? After 2 days in her class I’m also amazed at Marta’ ability to share only 3 exercises, essentially, in a 2 hour class period and yet it is so full. So far, the class structure is the following:
1) She essentially begins with her long extended floor exercise (which she adds small changes to each morning). By the end of the week, we'll know it all. This begins with a really generous body scanning activity, which we do standing. It moves into the floor at a super slow place; pausing along the way to stretch or just breathe at key places. This exercise is then repeated 3-4 more times with speed increasing incrementally twice, and a handful of leg swings being eliminated along the way. As a result, you execute a really full floor phrase more than just a “warm up exercise.” It is dynamic in speed, effort, tempo, direction changes, and momentum. It begins standing and continues with many seated, rolling, roaming, tipping, body/floor massaging, flying, compacting and releasing, rolling, and circular journey places along the way. There is much weaving, swinging, spreading and suspending and yet little muscular effort. I hope I remember it entirely and can make it part of a movement ritual for myself. I also hope I can use it as a base and model something similar for my next technique class. What can I borrow from here and change to include in my class?
2) The second exercise is a fuller-moving standing exercise. It is more full bodied, more multi-faceted in the space it covers vertically and more for the legs and feet and how they connect to the spine. Monday’s exercise was a release in the trocanter sort of aim; with direction changing weight shifts in the feet that follow an undercurve and over curve quality. Tuesday’s was an arm swiping, figure eight swinging, coming in and out of the floor thing…familiar terrain yet still new for me! So anyways, these get repeated multiple times, with direction changes, and often with a partner to guide the initiation of something on another person’s body.
3) The phrase. It is short but complex and detailed and she takes the time to review all of the precise moments that the phrase demands. It can always be clearer. She also frequently breaks moment by moment down so that groups are facing in different directions, and are forced to see one another.
4) There are some frequent reminders about connections in the body that she repeats often:
Heel/ sitz bones
Pinky carving/side of foot carving in spirals
5) She also is a fan of retrograding material and working with the diagonals in the body in her full phrase material. So for instance, as the leg reaches across the body, the arms go in the opposite direction. This yields an opportunity for momentum of something else. As a result this momentum comes naturally, it is not forced. Her release class is economical. Big movement happens because the body is placed effectively to make it happen. It is not forced or willed, it just happens because all of the body's ducks are in a row.
6) Marta frequently talks about students elaborating movement for no good reason. Elaborating an action's functional reality is a choreographic choice but not what she wants nor is it at the core of the technique she is sharing. The pathway of the arm, for instance goes up and then down, it doesn’t flourish beyond that. I see dancers take this correction and others continue to do it "their way". Habits die hard. I may be an older dancer in this group of young people but I know this correction by now and that feels good.
More later.
Blogging about Impulstanz (http://www.impulstanz.com/en/) has proven to be more difficult than I originally predicted. My daughter Evie’s week-long virus has not helped things; and living in a big city like Vienna has its challenges when you’re pushing a stroller and carrying diapers and everything else one needs for any sort of excursion with a one year old. I marvel at all the single parents in the world.
My husband Jeffrey, 14 month old daughter Evie, and I live in Winston-Salem, NC and we pretty much drive everywhere. The last week in Vienna reminded me of how much walking one does in a big city. For instance, we must walk 10 minutes to get to a tram that takes us downtown or I walk 15 minutes each way to Impulstanz classes. It’s wonsderfsul not having our car(s)! I also love operating without cell phones and all of the gear accumulates in our house-- different types of strollers, carriers, shoes, blah blah blah. Ah, to live a bit more minimally! One thing I’ve learned on this trip is that it’s good to alter your routine in a drastic way. It’s important to do this regularly and I need to remember that I don’t need to travel to Europe just to upturn the norm. Must walk or bike instead of always taking the car. Must accumulate less. Must travel more.
Vienna has inspired me on so many levels! To start off my blog (which is really a dance-themed blog) I must first begin with some things I've noticed about this glorious city the past week. Dance making and dancing, in general, requires paying attention to your environment, after all...
1. This city is old and beautiful. Its architecture is ornate and incredibly jaw dropping. The Austrians did not hold back on making a bold statement about their city’s grandeur and power; this is reflected in the old apartment buildings as much as it is in St. Stephens cathedral.
2. People here are out with their families, in the thick of it all. They push their kids in strollers everywhere and I never hear another child crying. If a baby is crying, it's usually Evie... In general, The Austrian's are happy.
3. Healthcare. Evie needed pediatric care twice because of a high fever that persisted for over 5 days. Following the fever, she had a rash all over her body for two days. All of this sucked. (And from this point forward, we will refer to the those seven days as the "lost days"). We visited a children’s hospital (St. Anna's kinderhspital) twice. Both times, the cab getting there and back to the apartment cost as much as the visit itself. Evie had a blood sample analyzed on the premises (no off-site lab) and 15 minutes later, it was determined she had a virus. We were given a prescription for some nose drops. This cost 3 euro at the local drugstore (about $4.50). We did not have international insurance. This was the out of pocket fee! In the hospital waiting room, we never waited more than 15 minutes for a doctor, and both doctors we met with spoke nearly perfect English. What are we waiting for, America? (To quote my friend David Ford's motto for change)...
4. Very few people here are obese. Very few people are homeless. I have spotted only two destitute homeless men since arriving. Both held a Gosser (local beer) in their hands and although they were both very unclean and ragged, they did not ever feel threatening. They also were not asking for money.
5. This city is immaculate. There is no garbage. Anywhere. It is also a very green city. The Viennese recycle paper, plastic, glass and aluminum, and there are clearly marked bins throughout the city to dispose of these. ALL Viennese bring shopping bags to the grocery store. (We shop at a BILLA store two blocks away, or at the famed outdoor Nascht Markt). There is no “paper or plastic?” question at the checkout counter. There is also never an individual buying a ridiculous amount of anything or multiple things in general. Grocery shopping is a civilized affair. One buys enough to eat for a day or two and then returns when this process needs to be repeated. I wonder what they would make of our obsession with Costco…
Oh, and mayonnaise here comes in a tube, like toothpaste. How smart! No need for the jar and knife and messy hand...
6. The city transit system is phenomenal. It is rare to wait more than 5 minutes for the trams (above ground rails). Also, the transit system works on an honor system. No one is there inspecting your ticket or waiting for you to pay. A week long unlimited pass is 14 euro. This is our preferable way to go. If you use it only once a day roundtrip you’ve gotten your money’s worth. Certainly, Vienna is a walking city so if one prefers that, cool. But most locals seem to prefer the bike. Every main street has a dedicated bike crossing lane with stop and go lights. Bikers and pedestrians carefully intermingle with cars, and there is always a mutual respect in the world of traffic.
7. Vienna is a multigenerational city. Old and young mingle alike.
8. Vienna is a multicultural city and Vienna is an international destination. Americans are far from the primary tourist population. I see and hear Greeks, Turks, Arabs, Africans, and Asian people everywhere and they are holding up the same Vienna city maps that Jeffrey or I hold. It’s nice to spend some time in a foreign place and not glaringly be an outsider, or glaringly be the token American tourist. One striking detail: I see many women wearing burkas here andcarrying Louie Vuitton bags. These women, who, from my ethnocentric position I would assume are unhappy, look quite content to me actually...
9. Vienna can be hot hot hot in July one day, and then rainy and cold for several days following that. I did not bring enough warm clothing.
10. Austrians do not scoff at you when you reply in English. Many speak English. Even the cab drivers are nice and do not try to take advantage of you.
11. Art and performance is not a happy side dish in Vienna. It is the main course. The museum quarter is the heartbeat of the city. Surrounding all of the stately buildings in the MQ, there are multiple museums, with multiple theatres nearby. Surrounding the theatres are open air restaurants where people wait either to enter one of these sacred spaces or talk about them after the fact with friends over a beer or a coffee. Music, dance, opera, and theatre posters are everywhere. Impulstanz posters cover public transportation spots. Everyone knows about this festival.
With this, I begin by presenting a little bit of the scene at Impulstanz. Simply put, it is international, international, international.
I began here with a two day workshop in improvisation/writing/composition with Vienna based artist Sabina Holzer. The workshop participants were from the following countries: Austria, Romania, Holland, England, France, Japan, Egypt and oh yeah, me from the US. What a gift to be around dancers from all over the world and hear about their backgrounds. All of these people spoke English in addition to their home language too. (Incidentally, the workshop teachers all speak English in class and if a student doesn’t understand, they usually can muster something recognizable in that person’s language. This makes me think how important it is to be bilingual. This also makes me realize I must practice my Greek and Spanish somehow! But I’m getting distracted. Back to Sabina’s workshop later…I’d like to instead talk about the 5 day release technique class I’m taking this week with Marta Coronado.
Marta Coronado’s release technique class moves at a slow but steady pace. She takes care to explain herself and her exercises with great precision and wonderful accompanied imagery. She is so enthusiastic. She speaks about her movement the same way she demonstrates it: passionately. After the first day of her class, I recall thinking: she is so clear, and English is not even her first language. The first day of class began with two reminders. This week is about having fun and dancing with less effort than usual. For release work, “less is more” is often an underlying concept but teachers often cannot articulate what they mean by this. Coronado does. We repeat the same exercises many times, getting faster as we go. There are never counts, they are not needed. We move together as a group, guided by moments to "go!" and execute a specific action, usually the beginning of a new chain of movements. Coronado accumulates much of the same material which is a gift. By repeating a set warm up for instance, the body can ease into the floor work with more elasticity, breath, and confidence each time. For me, I notice that I just seem to be getting longer, better stacked and aligned, my joints feel more gooey, and my presence is much more focused with each repetition. In essence, it DOES take less effort with each pass at an exercise. My body remembers the material so my mind can focus less on the sequence and pay attention to the natural pathways, directions, and initiations that naturally follow in the body and in her exercise. Class becomes profoundly intuitive, actually. I love this! This is the mark of an exceptional teacher...a post-class "high" is always a gift in any circumstance and with Coronado, I have it consistently, regardless of what state of mind or body I was in before class began. I want to give that kind of class to my students! Marta is a former Rosas dance member and regularly teaches their repertory. Her knowledge is vast. She is sparkly, incredibly energetic and yet very even with her teaching style. She is always in control of this huge morning class and her voice never gets frenzied or nervous. It’s funny how I notice these kinds of things- perhaps setbacks in my teaching style? After 2 days in her class I’m also amazed at Marta’ ability to share only 3 exercises, essentially, in a 2 hour class period and yet it is so full. So far, the class structure is the following:
1) She essentially begins with her long extended floor exercise (which she adds small changes to each morning). By the end of the week, we'll know it all. This begins with a really generous body scanning activity, which we do standing. It moves into the floor at a super slow place; pausing along the way to stretch or just breathe at key places. This exercise is then repeated 3-4 more times with speed increasing incrementally twice, and a handful of leg swings being eliminated along the way. As a result, you execute a really full floor phrase more than just a “warm up exercise.” It is dynamic in speed, effort, tempo, direction changes, and momentum. It begins standing and continues with many seated, rolling, roaming, tipping, body/floor massaging, flying, compacting and releasing, rolling, and circular journey places along the way. There is much weaving, swinging, spreading and suspending and yet little muscular effort. I hope I remember it entirely and can make it part of a movement ritual for myself. I also hope I can use it as a base and model something similar for my next technique class. What can I borrow from here and change to include in my class?
2) The second exercise is a fuller-moving standing exercise. It is more full bodied, more multi-faceted in the space it covers vertically and more for the legs and feet and how they connect to the spine. Monday’s exercise was a release in the trocanter sort of aim; with direction changing weight shifts in the feet that follow an undercurve and over curve quality. Tuesday’s was an arm swiping, figure eight swinging, coming in and out of the floor thing…familiar terrain yet still new for me! So anyways, these get repeated multiple times, with direction changes, and often with a partner to guide the initiation of something on another person’s body.
3) The phrase. It is short but complex and detailed and she takes the time to review all of the precise moments that the phrase demands. It can always be clearer. She also frequently breaks moment by moment down so that groups are facing in different directions, and are forced to see one another.
4) There are some frequent reminders about connections in the body that she repeats often:
Heel/ sitz bones
Pinky carving/side of foot carving in spirals
5) She also is a fan of retrograding material and working with the diagonals in the body in her full phrase material. So for instance, as the leg reaches across the body, the arms go in the opposite direction. This yields an opportunity for momentum of something else. As a result this momentum comes naturally, it is not forced. Her release class is economical. Big movement happens because the body is placed effectively to make it happen. It is not forced or willed, it just happens because all of the body's ducks are in a row.
6) Marta frequently talks about students elaborating movement for no good reason. Elaborating an action's functional reality is a choreographic choice but not what she wants nor is it at the core of the technique she is sharing. The pathway of the arm, for instance goes up and then down, it doesn’t flourish beyond that. I see dancers take this correction and others continue to do it "their way". Habits die hard. I may be an older dancer in this group of young people but I know this correction by now and that feels good.
More later.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)