yellow

I just viewed Diana Crum’s site-specific work, yellow, at the Main Library here in Salt Lake City. I was particularly excited about this performance due my recent interest in how environments affect our behavior, our interactions with spaces, and our interactions with others.

For those not familiar with the main library, the entrance is an expansive vestibule with small shops on one side and the library on the other. When you walk in and look up, you see up at least three stories and then out skylights into the sky.

The performers were eye-catching in their unseasonable bright yellow costumes—a great contrast to the huge windows and skylights in the main area of the library, which cast a grey shadow with the rainy, cool weather.

The performance began with the dancers being seemingly blown in—traversing the long space between the two sets of entrance doors at either end of the space. Eventually ending in a long line across the vast space of the vestibule, the dancers began a slow, leaning, and backward descent into the floor.

For me, this section was the most engaging. I was drawn in by the spotted contrast of the yellow costumes to the grayness seen through the windows, the grayness of the steel beams, and the stone floors. They dancers were like beams of light in an otherwise desolate landscape, the landscape of the library.

Part of the reason I was drawn to this section was that it allowed me to view how the people using the library (hereafter referred to as the “people of the library”) interacted with the dancers. Many of them wove a curvilinear path that avoided the dancers without ever acknowledging their presence. It was as if the dancers conflicted with the people of the library’s sense of who or what “belonged” in the vestibule, and they choose to pretend that the dancers didn’t exist. Instead of investigating what was happening, these “onlookers” chose to continue on their way—even though the very nature of their changed path was as a result of the encumbrance of the dancers in the space. Why?

When we enter a library, we expect certain things: books, quiet, and people looking at books or studying. We certainly don’t expect to see dancers in yellow slowly falling to the ground or being blown by an invisible wind.

This piece challenged the people of the library to question their assumptions of the use of the library space. What else don’t we do in this space? And why not? If nothing else, it made the people of the library go out of their way for a moment—change their pattern. It would be interesting to do a study on this kind of work and catalog how many different kinds of behaviors a piece like this might elicit—from ignoring, to a side-ways glance, to standing to watch. And—I wonder if there is any way to motivate more people toward the standing to watch end. Or would that even be preferable?

Thoughts?

Rachael Shaw is a VCU alum & current MFA Candidate at the University of Utah

Raw Moves: Story of Eight reprise

Raw Moves’ The Story of Eight opens with all eight of its props waiting on stage, arranged in a careful pile and under a dim pool of light. Pillows, jackets, a ladder, a very fake looking bouquet of roses, an oversized mattress, a washing basin, some rope, and a few small chairs sit as if posed for use by the school photographer. They ominously await the spooky action that will ensue- an alternately boring and disturbing parade of underdeveloped images of sex and violence mixed with sequences of disappointingly predictable groupthink dance.

One of the first striking images we see is of a man suffocating a woman with a pillow. He smothers her just long enough for us to recognize the image and then gives up on it, moving on to some other quick and dirty partnering around the mattress. This will be a recurrent theme in Eight, a little abuse, nonchalant and then back to the dancing. Eileen Rojas jokingly flirts with suicide (jacket and rope). Nathan Shaw and Ursula Perry will perform what looks like Dancin’ with the Stars’ answer to interracial sex. You guessed it- the rope is alternately a noose, a whip and a lasso. Karin Fenn, the oldest performer, will chase a bouquet tied to a string. And finally, at intermission, they’ll tie Jennifer Beaumont to a chair and leave here there smiling while the lights come on in the house.

At the risk of being compared to Arlene Croce, at this point I must make a confession. At intermission last night I snuck out the back door of the Rose and stole away into the night with my companion. I couldn’t take it any more. I felt like I was watching a pale imitation of what RDT tries to pass off as contemporary with slap stick scenes of racism and sexism added to give the work a controversial flair. In my defense, I had watched the whole thing in January when it premiered, and found it about as satisfying an experience as this review indicates. After seeing the first half last night, I could tell things hadn’t changed much since then.

If I was reading this review I might find myself thinking that the person who wrote it was just uncomfortable with what he was seeing. Everyone in Eight is actually very talented and they care a lot about what they do, and so I owe it to them be clear here. What annoyed me was that all of these very real societal issues were raised in a such brief slap-stick scenes and then dropped like hot potatoes so that they can get back to the real dancing (which wasn’t a tenth of what they’re capable of anyway). But what disturbed me was listening to the audience laughing at all of this. Again, let me make it clear, I love the offensive. I am not even uninterested in the idea of “offensive” humor. But what is there to laugh at when we tie a woman to a chair for no apparent reason, or make a middle aged woman jump up and down for a fake (wedding) bouquet? Where’s the joke? Did I blink and miss something?

I fear the joke is on all of us in the dance community if this kind of work is the best we can do. There a crushing irony when a young company like Raw Moves can only seem to use the reality of their performer’s identities in such a cheap way. It almost makes me long to return to the oblivion of Nikolais where all the bodies on stage are infinitely replaceable, neutered, raceless creatures who emerged from the womb in nude unitards. I hope that we are laughing and crying and standing up to applaud at The Story of Eight because of the very real discomfort I felt. I hope we don’t really think that The Story of Eight is funny or poignant, because it’s neither. I hope we know how bad the music is and how derivative the movement is. I almost can’t blame the dancers, it’s hard to see something you’re inside of for what it is. But I’m having a harder time forgiving the audience or the choreographers. We should know better.

Sam Hanson is a BUS student in Performance & Media at the University of Utah

reviews near and far

Lindsey Drury was a 2007-08 Graduate Research Fellow at the University of Utah. She also co-founded GoGoVertigoat in SLC. She has been living, working and making dances in NYC since 2008. Last Friday was her 30th birthday. To mark the turning point Lindsey rented a 44-passenger school bus and invited friends and well-wishers to join her on “Totally Lost: A Bus Tour of New York as a Dance.” Lindsey is a trained tour guide; I had experienced a previous bus tour at the American Dance Festival; she described “Totally Lost” on her Face Book Event page: This tour peels away the superfluous layers of New York City to get at its essence: Dance.”

Because I had a previous engagement, I was picked up at 9:30 PM, about mid-way through “Totally Lost.” The 15 or so passengers had already imbibed wine and were in a celebratory mood. Our first stop after picking me up was on the Bowery at the former location of the legendary punk club, CBGB’s, (now the site of a vintage clothing boutique.) On the way there Lindsey quizzed us about our knowledge of CBGBs and gave us some factual history as well as some history that may have been a little less than factual. Upon disembarking she gave us a movement score which was to form a line in front of the building’s window, and to walk as slowly as we could “butoh-style,” to the curb, while whispering the names of artists who had performed at the former club – Patti Smith, Blondie, Talking Heads, The Ramones, The Misfits – over and over. We repeated this several times, a ritual to honor punk history. At the end, Lindsey led us in a loud cheer with the names of the artists. A small crowd had gathered.

Next stop: Washington Square Park. It was a balmy Friday evening at 10 PM and the Park was full. After giving us an (I think totally fictional) account of Marcel Duchamp picnicking on top of the Arch and having some sort of rendezvous with Carolee Schneeman one of us did a solo dance interpretation of the assignation. We were then instructed to walk around the park in pairs with one person having their eyes covered and the other telling them a narrative of what they were seeing.

On the way uptown to Central Park Lindsey asked me to describe the piece I made for my 30th birthday in 1981. In that piece – “DEAD” – I recorded the names of every death I could remember happening in my lifetime, I made a falling and standing solo of exhaustion to that score. Lindsey asked us to call out the names of our own dead. Then to shout those names out the bus windows. Finally she asked us to at the next 3 red lights for some one to use a name in a dance. At the first light a woman called out a name and she danced wildly at her seat. Lindsey then asked that the next person come to the front of the bus to dance; this woman chose Merce Cunningham and did a beautiful Cunningham adagio. The final person was told to get off and do her dance for us on the sidewalk as we watched from inside the bus; she chose Maya Deren and crawled on the sidewalk to the consternation of some onlookers.

At Central Park, so magical at night, though I would never chance it alone, we performed for one another and, of course, ate cake. Lindsey then had us form an outward-facing circle as she told the story of an academic paper she heard being delivered on the late Pina Bausch. The paper posited that Pina had been a great artist/choreographer because she had never found true love. Lindsey then had us all lie down in the circle on the grass. As we faced the stars we were to declare with a simple “yes” or “no” if we’d ever found true love, knowing if we had, we’d never be a great artist. I think all except one said “yes.” We got back on the bus. Drank champagne, and went home after a very full and satisfying tour.

Ishmael Houston-Jones is the prez of the board of directors for Ashley Anderson Dances. He has served on many a board, written many a paper & made many a dance. For a real bio visit www.ishmaelhj.com

Brolly Arts H2O

Brolly Arts transformed the Rose Wagner Center for Performing Arts into a playground for over 40 artists to fill vacant public space with aesthetic works concerning H2O. Whether it was a decorative umbrella laying on the ground or vessels made from recycled water bottles, there was always something that caught your eye. Unlike a playground, however, some of the works at the Rose were scattered in a manner that turned the evening into somewhat of a scavenger hunt rather than the intended gallery stroll. Nevertheless, a gathering line outside of the women’s restroom ushered viewers to what Kathy Adams names, “One of the two most intriguing dances of the night.”

This dance was Mallory Rosenthal’s driving work, titled with the women’s bathroom icon, in which six women – resembling a skilled company – displayed outstanding feats of technicality and intricate gestural play. Rosenthal’s use of space was imaginative not just in the foreground but also away from the audience’s immediate view; the dancers would leap behind a wall into pedestrian movement to provide a witty sound score involving the flushing of toilets, the jetting of faucets, and crinkling of paper towels preceding and subsequent to the pulse of “All The Girls Standing In Line For The Bathroom,” by N.E.R.D. This work’s success lies in its inventive craftsmanship and multi-viewer-friendliness. Perhaps the only thing lacking was a shift in dynamics.

Taking place on a table in the laundry room was “Divided,” from which flowed a tensely elegant duet composed by Sofia Gorder. Dancers Ursula Perry and Jersey Riemo embodied Gorder’s visceral movement beautifully. The most interesting movement took place in the dancers’ torsos wherein a collapse or a slight shift was repeated consistently throughout the piece, yet by the end the viewer still could not grasp which bones they had moved. The pace of this work was adverse to the mercurial lure of the lighting, albeit a short stillness, in which one dancer was on top of the table and one beneath, which cast a beautiful but fleeting image. I craved more of these moments.

Trailing in after the dancers were images of rivers agleam in willows, light moving from waters, and quiet trees holding their breath in lavender. In a brief poetry reading, Joel Hall eloquently conveyed these images that persisted in my mind even as I ascended the staircase to see Brent Schneider’s water/video installation. This installation allowed the visitor to walk into a dark space where the shroud of lobby chatter dissipated and where crystalline shimmers illuminated a mesmerizing video in which a dancer, totally submerged in a body of water, reeled and twisted to the trickle of delicate water. This installation was not complex; there were a few facets that had been flourished enough to keep the visitor interested for the duration of the video, however the decision to leave this world was a difficult one to make.

I have never seen the Rose in such great spirits. The opportunity to walk leisurely around among works of art before taking your seat is more than enjoyable. For those of you who arrive exceedingly early to formal performances, suggest more pre-shows because Brolly Arts’ “H2O” was thirst quenching.

Becca Dean is a BFA candidate at the University of Utah

Salt Lake Art Center -- Dark Horse

Sometimes I get tripped up by the labels of things. “Installation” is a term in particular that I can be very picky about. The word makes me yearn to be immersed in something otherworldly and strange, something I can enter into and wonder whether the rest of my day was more real or less real than this other environment.

SLAC’s main gallery this weekend has been (and currently is) the site for a “nonstop performance and site specific installation”. There is a large square of white on part of the floor, with lighting trees at each of the four corners. One edge is lined by sixteen metronomes. There is a chair, and a red phone. A cord separates this area from another in which there resides old wooden bleachers. There are two gramophone horns on one side pointed at two chairs on the other. Finally, there is a small staircase that bridges the two spaces. Couples are invited to enter the space and slow-dance in silence. Individual performers wander the space doing their own dances. An ambient electronic score washed over the room.

Here’s my line of thinking as I entered this space: I thought there would be more. I’m happy there’s less. It’s nice to watch people dance. I don’t want to slow-dance. I don’t have a partner anyway. Maybe if I take my shoes off I can pretend to be one of the performers and dance my own way by myself. Why is there the sound of a woman panting? Is she running from something? Is she having sex? Somebody just came out of the bathroom. Wait a minute… this installation is remarkably like a stage.

And there you have the more-or-less ten minutes of immersion I could sustain before I realized that there was literally no reason this “installation” couldn’t just be some stage somewhere. Moreover, the space has windows into upstairs hallways, and the orientation of the audience to the stage meant that everything we saw was framed by us also watching people enter and exit the bathrooms behind the stage.

Still pondering what slow-dancing and horses had to do with the various bodily functions being performed in the background, the special 9pm performance started up. Here I feel like we arrived at the meat of the work. The dancing was splendid and the choreography was fresh. I was glad to be watching this in SLAC’s gallery-turned-black-box, and I hope that SLAC continues to explore the idea of providing an alternative venue for the performing arts.

In sum, it was an evening of some very refreshing dance presented in an unusual space. I wish the installation aspects of it were stronger and better integrated. Why bleachers? Why rules about what we can do or how? Why not let us wander the space freely? Why not construct the dance to immerse us more instead of maintaining a traditional audience/performer barrier? While the invitation to cross this barrier and become performers ourselves (in couples, dancing in a specific way, in silence) was intriguing, why not create a situation in which perhaps we’re not sure anymore who is watching and who is doing?

And please don’t pretend that we’re not going to notice the bathrooms, or that having the bathroom hallway as background isn’t going to change the meaning of your work. I’m interested in many of the ideas that went into Dark Horse, and I was impressed by the dance that was embedded in it. But for me the execution did not support those ideas enough and left me with a lot of questions about what the artist really intended. Or maybe I was just disappointed that this idea of installation didn’t fit my idea of installation.

Matthew Beals is a Modern Dance MFA candidate at University of Utah.