Ironic Moustachios and Sincere Sentiment: Miguel Gutierrez and Jenny Holzer at ICA

The following is a review of the collaborative work of Miguel Gutierrez and Jenny Holzer at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston, 7/28/10.

When I think of Miguel Gutierrez, my stomach gets gushy--he is a man who invites hugging. I had the pleasure of seeing Miguel Gutierrez and the Powerful People (MGPP) one time before last night's collaborative performance at the ICA. This was in 2007 in Burlington VT when MGPP performed Retrospective Exhibitionist and Difficult Bodies. As a recent college graduate with one dance constructed (naively) and little exposure to dance that struck me as authentic or moving, I was deeply impressed. The space was intimate, Mr. Gutierrez was making eye-contact and the piece was deeply personal and fairly explicit. I giggled. Later I cried. After the performance, I felt nervous and giddy like a new romance. It was the most profound dance experience of my life.

After that, very little has lived up. I've made dances, which I rarely like in retrospect and I've seen dances, which I almost never like at all. So, when I saw that MGPP would be performing at the ICA, I was thrilled, and when I saw that Mr. Gutierrez would be collaborating with Jenny Holzer, whose projected installations, which create worlds of words (what could be better!?) to inhabit, and whose work I'd seen at MASS MOCA, I was intrigued.

But when I realized that the concert had sold out, I worried--had Miguel "sold-out" too?

Shame on me for even thinking of that. While the show (put together mostly through email in a short (and Mr. Gutierrez emphasized, SHORT) period of time) was not perfect, it was clear that the motivations and methods underlying his work were still present.

After a discussion between the artists and Richard Colton (a precontextualization, which is probably much more fruitful than the ubiquitous "talk-back"--bravo ICA!) the shades came down in the performance space, which is mostly glass and overlooks the harbor. The dance, I Say the Word, began with all the lights on. Mr. Gutierrez entered the space, came as far downstage as possible and began to shake. Earlier, Mr. Gutierrez had spoken of the politics of dance--the body that one chooses to show and the way one shows that body is a political action. The politics of standing in short cotton shorts and a tee shirt and shaking so that the belly jiggles are, in the world of dance, volatile ones. Shaking intensely, Mr. Gutierrez addressed his audience. The text in the piece was from Arno by Jenny Holzer, while her projected text was by the poet, Wislawa Szymborska, as were the thematic seeds for the entire presentation. The dance especially pulled from the poem, Life While You Wait, which compares life to a play that we cannot rehearse for, and which is dreadfully important.

As Mr. Gutierrez addressed the audience, he was joined by a cast of Miguel Gutierrez impersonators--9 dancers in bandannas and mustaches, tattoos and sleeveless, sloganed tees moved in close to him and began to shake. Then they laughed, hard.

Thus the ride began, and it was wild. The dancers with all their bodies (let's talk about the politics in this piece...but only when we have a lot of time) filled the space. Shifting, walking, running and occasionally personal "freak outs" of improvisation were the most common movement motifs. The simplicity of the movement in shifting patterns with small variations was never dull, because the audience was looking at the expressive faces or reading the silly tee shirts and feeling caught up in the small dramas (a dancer steps on something sharp, removes it from the performance space while the other dancers talk about it and make sure he is ok).

Later, Mr. Gutierrez shows his skill at building layers over time. As a sound artist, he often works with a looper pedal, building layers of sound and language until he creates a rich and musical score. In much the same way, he slowly built up the sound of dancers speaking by adding them cumulatively into the space. In this environment of several dancers, shifting in the space while speaking more (beautiful) text from Arno, he added the layer of a beautiful duet between himself and another male dancer. This was the high point of the piece for me. The duet reminded me of the awkwardness of first touches. The partnering was sincere and tender, with moments of effort and release. It was heart rending and lovely. As they broke apart the dancers began to walk organizing themselves into lines while dropping the text. One dancer was laughing; it turns out she knew what was up. The next section included some of the most fantastic kitsch dance I've ever seen to KC and the Sunshine Band. Thus Mr. Gutierrez fulfilled my expectations: he made me cry and laugh. With all of this happening, I barely had a chance to wonder where the projected installation played into the piece...

The running section that followed felt aimless and too long, but the standing close to the audience in the darkness while breathing heavily felt right. Then the blinds lifted and the words of Wislawa Szymborska enveloped the space from the outside (the projectors were pointing at the outside of the building). Here, Mr. Gutierrez chose the simplest methods of showing the projection by moving his dancers through the space in a line and alternately being projected on, or breaking the projection with shadows. The dancers turned to each wall and looked--looking at the audience and then, looking at the audience that had formed outside the windows. It took me some time to realize that the installation had been running for the entire time the shades had been drawn and this was why a crowd had gathered outside, just in time to see and be seen by MGPP.

With that realization and the satisfying quiet ending (the dancers left the space and a voice stated, "The performance is now over. Please feel free to stay in the theater.") I felt that the collaborative piece was complete. Much as in life, the dance fulfilled itself as best it could. It was enough, and then it was over.

Life While-You-Wait

- Wislawa Szymborska

Life While-You-Wait.

Performance without rehearsal.

Body without alterations.

Head without premeditation.

I know nothing of the role I play.

I only know it’s mine. I can’t exchange it.

I have to guess on the spot

just what this play’s all about.

Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,

I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.

I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.

I trip at every step over my own ignorance.

I can’t conceal my hayseed manners.

My instincts are for happy histrionics.

Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.

Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.

Words and impulses you can’t take back,

stars you’ll never get counted,

your character like a raincoat you button on the run –

the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.

If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,

or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!

But here comes Friday with a script I haven’t seen.

Is it fair, I ask

(my voice a little hoarse,

since I couldn’t even clear my throat offstage).

You’d be wrong to think that it’s just a slapdash quiz

taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.

I’m standing on the set and I see how strong it is.

The props are surprisingly precise.

The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.

The farthest galaxies have been turned on.

Oh no, there’s no question, this must be the premiere.

And whatever I do

will become forever what I’ve done.

Dirt: this is my body

In preparation for A Sense of Place: Celebrating a Creative Community, I've been working on a duet that explores the concept of body as home. In collaboration with Carrie Kidd, I've created a dialogue between my dancers using free associated text about the cliche "home is where the heart is".

Please come to A Sense of Place in Robin Hood Park, Keene NH on Saturday July 24th at 6pm to see my piece and the work of Angie Muzzy, Becky Midler, Michael Soldati, Paula Aarons and Stephanie Ritchie-Logan.

"Making a decision is an act of violence."

In her chapter on Violence in "A Director Prepares: seven essays on art and theater", Ann Bogart explains the painful and necessary act of making choices. Parts of which are available here:

Exhibit A

This came to mind sharply recently when I went to see a dance performance and wrote a criticism of the show. I'm still debating whether to include the review in this blog and it was not printed in the local newspaper, but I did show it to one of the choreographers (henceforth known as "Exhibit A"). The way I wrote of Exhibit A's work, apparently offended her, and the surprise at that realization led me to questioning what I value in dance and what the disconnect between our views might be.

One comment I made about this Exhibit A's piece was,

"I found the movement invention interesting, but I sometimes felt the transitions were unmotivated and unclear. "

Exhibit A was surprised at the criticism given that I liked the piece. My criticism, which I frequently have with dance, is that movement choices are arbitrary or appear so to the audience. When I discussed Exhibit A's work with her, I began to understand the dissonance I had felt watching the piece. The process of inquiry seemed to be missing from the choreography. Although Exhibit A thought she had made choices, really she had chosen one choice out of one. She did not inquire about further possibilities. Her choices were arbitrary. For me then, her work lacked the "violence", the tension that draws one in, the feeling that every moment is worthy of attention.

The choreographer wants me to pay attention to and care about something that they have not paid attention to...expletive, expletive, grumble.

One part of Exhibit A's piece I had questioned was a repeated motif of walking to a new section of the stage and then "doing something" (gestural movement). The dance consisted of a pattern (walk, do something, walk, do something). I asked Exhibit A "why?" (apparently a confrontational question!) She stated that she liked pedestrian movement. During our conversation I didn't say (but I'm saying now), "There are many movements I like. They do not always make it into my pieces." There were many movements in her piece that I liked in and of themselves, but in the context of a piece with a powerful motivating inspiration, unmotivated walking seemed a questionable choice, which I came to believe was actually a lack of choice altogether.

Unfortunately, Exhibit A is the norm, not the exception. What I've realized is that artists often think that they can simply allow inspiration to strike, and they don't like to evaluate their work. In addition, they tend to become attached to their ideas. Instead of using a process to choreograph, they accept the first answer they stumble across. As an audience member, I can only forget the process when it is clearly in place and respected by the choreographer. Like a good novel or good scientific article, good choreography can be evaluated using the Intellectual Standards of Critical Thinking. Many of us use these standards without consciously thinking of it, but in some, because it has never become transparent, they skip steps and then those skills atrophy through under-use. Because no decisions have been made and the piece has not been held up to inquiry, the best choices exist in the ether where none of us get to enjoy them.

"Strings Attached: An Experiment in Connection"

Strings Attached: An Experiment in Connection

May 19, 8pm at TSA Collective
$5 donation

“…interaction should consist of bidirectional communication, and can have no predetermined outcome if the interactors are genuinely engaged in the exchange of information/experience.” Sita Popat

Strings Attached is an interactive performance choreographed and performed by Cindi L’Abbe. The piece explores the roles of audience, director and performer through modes of audience participation, choreographed structure and improvisation. Soundscore will be provided by Ian Logan and David Ross. The performance will be followed by a panel discussion moderated by Laina Barakat.
The panel includes Cindi L’Abbe, Ian Logan (of Sisters and Brothers) and Cathy Nicoli (dance faculty at Keene State College).


What’s the point?
To allow audience members to “enter” a dance by interacting and directing the performance
To explore the concept of communication through a dance conversation using words and physical strings
To illustrate the connected-ness of human beings through invisible and visible threads
To create interactive art as a demonstration of the creative potential of audiences as well as performance, to democratize the dance

What are we talking about?
Interactive elements in performance art as methods of creating audience “connection”, relevance
Improvisation as conversation, performance as communication
The performing arts as an illustration of humanity

My Work for the Concert...Flowers I'm Playing With

100 Flowers: Dances Inspired by the Work of Georgia O’Keefe

Saturday Jan 30, 7pm and Sunday Jan 31, 4pm

At the Stone Church on Main St, Brattleboro, VT

$12

Jack-in-the-Pulpit Series:

#1 Jack-in-the-Pulpit Abstraction

#2 Jack-in(and out of)-the-Pulpit

#3 the jack in the pulpit is a broken flower

Choreography: Cindi L’Abbe

Performance: Cindi L’Abbe, Angie Muzzy & Tammi Squires

Music: Heysátan (Sigur Rós), Superstar (Sonic Youth) & Why Don’t We Do It in the Road? (The Beatles)

ballet skirt or electric light

Choreography & Performance: Cindi L’Abbe

Music: And the birds are about to bus (Set Fire to Flames)

100 Flowers

100 FLOWERS:

A DANCE CONCERT BASED ON THE WORK OF GEORGIA O’KEEFE

CHOREOGRAPHY BY

AMY SOFTIC, CINDI L’ABBE, MOLLY MELLOAN AND BRENDA SIEGEL

Saturday January 30^th at 7pm

Sunday January 31^st at 4pm

At the Stone Church on Main St. in Brattleboro

For more information call 802 348 6699 or email info@flowyogadance.com

Making Movement: Part 1

On January 20th I presented a Creative Movement Workshop at The Starving Artist, hosted by Impetus Dance Collective. This workshop was part of a regular series, taught by different artists on the third Wednesday of every month at 8pm.



During my workshop I presented a snapshot of several tools for creating dance. by the end of the 1hr class (just one!) the participants had created solo dances that were visually compelling and complete. They moved through several levels of composition in the short period of time and were able to experience these levels in a connected way, which is uncommon in expanded time (often it is difficult to recognize that after weeks of phrase-making we've shifted into shaping the arc of the piece or editing).



Because these tools are useful for all dance-makers, I'm sharing them here. I'll just describe the way we used them in the workshop and share some ideas for alternative approaches. Most of these methods can be adapted for a wide range of purposes. I'm going to write this in sections, so be alert!



1. Phrase-making:

This collaborative phrase-making game (adapted from Liz Lerman's toolbox) warmed us up, and took away some of the stress of making a dance "from scratch".



In the workshop, we stood facing center and I made a movement, saying "One. This is movement number one of an eight-count phrase; what is movement number two?" Taking turns we each added a beat to the eight count phrase until it was complete.



Part of the purpose of this activity is to use speed to bypass our internal editor. There is some amount of pressure to create a movement quickly. There are no wrong answers and the phrase often is pretty interesting and danceable by just about anyone.



The phrase-making game can be adapted by adding text and creating a movement for each word. It can be used by a solo dance maker to bypass that internal censor in the early stages of choreography (e.g. "I'm making and 8 count phrase. Go! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8!). It can also be used in a technique class as a method of increasing our movement memory by making it into an accumulation phrase. (This could also be combined with learning people's names).



For the purpose of our workshop, phrase-making expanded the warm-up, created a sense of community, jump-started our movement making skills and provided the initial "seed" for our dances.

Drafting Dances

I'm currently working on dances inspired by the art of Georgia O'Keefe for 100Flowers, a dance concert featuring the work of Brenda Siegel and myself at the Stone Church in Brattleboro VT on Jan 30 and 31.

Brenda and I had discussed the idea for this concert almost a year ago, so I began toying with the idea last year and thus have had a lot of time to play with my pieces.

I've been thinking a great deal lately about the way that some artists (O'Keefe is a good example) come back to the same idea again and again and try to access that idea in different ways. This is something I wrote about in my review of Candice Salyers' work, "You are Welcome Here" (see below). I've noticed that following the work of one choreographer (or artist of any medium) over time and seeing the recurrence of various themes or motives, and the increasing depth at which an artist explores those motives is extremely satisfying for me as an audience member. I think that in other art forms, where the art is set down in a solid way and exists in the context of the stream of work that's been created it is easier to see---consider O'Keefe and her flowers, or her abstract landscapes, or her skyscrapers (not to mention the recurrence of methods of abstraction, color, shape etc.). However, choreographers do not exist separate from their past works either, and they are subject to the same obsessions.

I am a case in point. I began working on one of my Georgia O'Keefe pieces (based on her Jack in the Pulpit abstractions) last year. I performed the solo (Jack-in (and out of)-the-Pulpit) at Open Marley Night at Experimental Movement Concepts (Baltimore). The piece at that time was a merging of the shapes I saw in the flower painting and the emotional feeling I got from the painting tossed together with my own emotional garbage of that time. This is not the type of work I normally do, and I was uncomfortable with it. I felt it was too literal, too emotional and not cohesive or well-crafted.

Months later, I began to re-work the piece and decided that I wanted to use this literal and emotional movement and re-interpret it against very different music in order to show that the same solo with changes only in tempo, music and facing was not the same piece at all. The piece was performed in progress at Keene State College in November and fell flat completely. Juxtaposing the vastly different moods created a feeling of disconnect amongst people in the audience and I was still not comfortable with the piece, which somehow felt both too personal and untrue.

However, by this time, while I still felt the "emotional garbage" attached to the piece was somehow making it difficult to turn into real "art", I was also obsessed (like really obsessed) with the puzzle of how to use this movement and create different effects. The movement material for the piece is not (I don't think) extremely inventive, and it is often literal---however, I'm convinced that much of the "meaning" we attribute to dance has more to do with the context in which we present the movement than with the movement itself.

The Jack-in-the-pulpit Series by Georgia O'Keefe includes six paintings. In my initial choreography, I had only looked at two. I began to realize, that O'Keefe had looked at the flower and chosen to interpret six different elements of that flower. I decided to turn my piece into a suite, a series, and interpret multiple perspectives of the emotional, shape-oriented and constructive elements of the original piece.

At the first Official Alumni Dance Concert at Keene State (Dec. 1, 2009), I presented two parts of my Jack-in-the-Pulpit Series. Part II: Jack-in (and out of)-the-Pulpit is a duet in which the original solo is presented by one dancer, while the other dancer sits and takes notes while observing the soloist and smoking a cigar (a la Freud). The first solo is extra emotional, slow and with very literal, music. The soloist does not seem to notice the other dancer. At the end of the first solo, there is an interaction (in silence) where the second dancer drops the notebook and pen and comes up to the first dancer, hands her the cigar (which the first dancer views with disgust and confusion) and then repeats the solo in a new facing at double time and with very different music (still with literal lyrics). The first soloist views this in confusion and disbelief, and the second soloist is clearly performing for the benefit of the first.

Part III: the jack-in-the-pulpit is a broken flower is a solo, performed in silence in an intimate proximity to the audience. In this section, there are piles of novels stacked in towers in a row, and the dancer is partially obscured by the books as she performs the same movement material and interacts with the books. She also reads text from the books out loud.

I have not yet finished and presented Part I: Jack-in-the-Pulpit Abstraction, but the piece will be a group piece and (using the same movement material) will present the abstract shapes and images from the paintings without the emotional subtext. On January 30 and 31, the parts will be performed in order as one piece.

My hope is that the repeated viewing (in a short enough time to see the connections clearly) will add interest to the work for the audience. It has been interesting (obsessing also) to me that the re-visiting of the material started out on a meta-level for this piece (perform, revise, perform) and has become so consuming as to drive the piece itself. Interpret; re-interpret.

(I, (s)he, they) You

am floating on
a plane of subsistence
usually never quite existing
in:substant/consequent:ial
lives (sort of) in 2 dimensions
but with curved spaces
rounded bulging places
is/am/are indeterminate
crowding the limits
of infinite universes
ever-expanding
(marijuana-type thinking)
cannot, willnot, amnot
violating (mis)understood
axioms am-->are idiomatic
of unrealized ideals
skips along edges of
whatever
since all edges are the same
width (less-ness)
are eliminating
elements
that can be
(n)either created (n)or destroyed

I hope they'll take me...

Here's a smattering of what I'm telling SLC about myself. I hope they like me...

It is so obvious to me that my late start in dance, and my love of literature (and words and syntax) are connected to the process and the product of my choreography. My passion for creating dance is constructivist; it is the same passion that some people have for building cabinets. I am inspired by exploring concepts, creating images and then manipulating movements and phrases to build a work of art. I construct dances similarly to the way I would write a story, poem or (even more so) a research paper. This is likely because, of all of the arts, literature moves me the most deeply, allows me to enter into it the most fully, and seemingly would be the ideal direction for me to go in my own expressive endeavors. Words are like magic to me. However, I dance instead of writing. Why? I’m not sure; myriad reasons, but most likely: I dance because it feels good and right. My body wants to move, and I love to create patterns of moving bodies in space—to see bodies move. It turns out that the challenge of expressing myself through dance is somehow more do-able than the challenge of living up to all these great novels and poems I’ve read. The novelty of dance keeps me intrigued and adventurous. I don’t feel bogged down by rules, and (perhaps in my naïveté) I act out of a sense of joy.

My body “thinks” differently than a highly trained dancer’s body. I create movement that other dancers might not because my most ingrained habits as a mover do not come from the barre. Unlike most of the dancer\choreographers I’ve met, my dances are conceived outside the studio with a long process of research, writing and diagramming before I even begin to move. In addition, much of my choreography is directly influenced by literature. I have choreographed narrative and non-narrative pieces inspired by favorite stories and novels and have even danced with my favorite books on stage with me as props.

While there are too many writers whom I admire to fit in the allotted space here, there are fewer choreographers who really make a strong impression. The world of “art” dance is relatively new (although dancing has been a part of human life since before written language), and perhaps that is why there does not seem to be a rigorous and theory-based aesthetic like there is in other arts. Of the few choreographers who really move me, I am impressed and inspired by the work of Bill T. Jones, because his layers of complexity, meaning and imagery allow audiences to enter his pieces from wherever they are. I feel a strong connection and affiliation with the work of Miguel Gutierrez and Candice Salyers, two very different choreographers who respect and illustrate the humanity of performers and thus of all of us. These choreographers allow and encourage vulnerability and interpersonal connection to take place on the stage. I’m interested in that exploration and believe that it may be the next change in dance. It is the opposite of what is happening in “contemporary” dance, which is an ever-increasing level of technicality with an ever-decreasing level of craft and meaning.

Levity...and honesty

Candice Salyers' Chamber Series takes us down The Rabbit Hole: A Review

Event Description:
Dancer and choreographer Candice Salyers, will perform at The Rabbit Hole, 805 Main Street, Fitchburg on Friday, October 16th at 7:00 PM. Her solo dance/movement 'Chamber Series' explores qualities that exist within the transformation of perception and the perceiving of transformation. This site-adaptive dance work travels through a series of intimate and expansive spaces, and stems from the artist's desire to inspire care about human being and to expand imaginings of what is possible for human becoming.

Review (by Cindi L'Abbe):

Sometimes the dance world leaves me feeling cold, and not just cold, but helpless. I believe that dance, as much as any other art, has the possibility to be both incredibly emotionally compelling and painstakingly well-crafted. The dances that I see most often, however, seem to be more self-indulgent and (at the risk of sounding a little "red") decadent than either compelling or well-crafted (to say nothing of being both). This world doesn't seem hospitable for my own dances, nor does it offer me dance that feeds me and forces me to grow. Candice Salyers is one of a limited group of dance artists who renew m y faith in the art form and in myself.

Full disclosure alert: Candice has been a teacher of mine and a close mentor. I have affection for her personally, but she is also, to quote a new-agey friend of mine, "a powerful presence". Her small-space performance at the Rabbit Hole on Friday night provided the perfect opportunity to magnify and focus that power.

The performance began outside on the sidewalk, with Ms. Salyers who was (in spite of the cold) dressed in a lovely white camisole dress that evoked lingerie and formal evening attire. Lying on the sidewalk, thus attired, in downtown Fitchburg elicited a couple of cat calls from passers by. These did not at all detract from the performance, an exploration of the body as an objet d'art, flesh, matter---an exploration of seeing and being seen. In fact, later, the outline of her body chalked onto the sidewalk and bordered with small white-painted G.I. Joes, she wrote in the negative space, "My inner world is a post 'male-gaze' society." Somehow, Ms. Salyers, as a woman and an artist has moved beyond the objectification of a cat-call and if she does not feel objectified then it seems unlikely that she can be.

In the second section of the work, Ms. Salyers directed us inside the bookstore where she began moving slowly with her back to the small audience among the bookcases. As a performer, Ms. Salyers is impossible to look away from; even her smallest movements are imbued with obvious meaning and intention and she seems to always move from her innermost self with all of her might. Tucked into the stacks of books she moved in slow motion with a quality of seduction which made the audience feel that they were looking in at a private moment. At one point she slowly slid her strap off her shoulder and then back up. This coquetry (partially inspired by the ways Marie Antoinette might seduce someone, in other words, the flirtations of a powerful woman) was amplified by her use of direct eye contact. It was fascinating to see the reactions of audience members with whom Ms. Salyers made and held eye contact. Often she would smile at them, and at one point played a game of peek-a-boo by always finding the eyes of one audience member while spinning around. Some audience members reacted as though they'd been "caught" looking at Ms. Salyers, which is intriguing and led me to question what we are thinking of the people we see when we see a performance. Do we dehumanize performers so much that we fool ourselves into thinking that they don't know we are there?

Given the slow movement, the simplicity of the composition and the single-pointed focus of solo work, it may speak to the "powerful presence" of Ms. Salyers as a performer that no one's attention seemed to flag. I attribute this to something else (or rather, something additional); simplicity allows us to focus and humanity\meaning\consciousness intrigue us. How many dances have lost me because of too much movement? I have not known myself to ever complain because there was too little dancing in a dance.

Following Ms. Salyers up the spiral stairs of the Rabbit Hole, I was struck by the playfulness and kindness of her piece thus far. The last two sections of the work would prove to be no less intriguing, but, for me, more haunting, abstract and beautiful.

Part three of the performance was danced on a floor covered with rose petals. Given the themes of the piece throughout, the seductive nature of rose petals could not be ignored. The movement in this section demonstrated, more than any of those previous, Ms. Salyers' tremendous strength and technique as a dancer. However, her dance was much more than a display of virtuosity. Every movement of her hands, a foot, the top of the head was clearly intentional and meaningful. The repetition of a phrase which grew and crystallized with each repeat was so compelling that I didn't notice (but was informed by friends later) that the audience was once again, disconcertingly confronted with the objet d'art\flesh question. Flipping her body with power and strength, Ms. Salyers revealed her underwear, her thighs and the feminine nature of her body. Having danced in a work of hers in 2005 (Belief is a Persistent Angel), I couldn't help but see similarities. The primary dancer in the 2005 work has performed a similar solo in a similar costume with similar results.

The final section of the work at the Rabbit Hole consisted of a solo that I'd never seen, but had heard described. The fact that Ms. Salyers explores the underlying themes of her work over the course of years, is additional evidence of the intellectual prowess and attention to craft that she embodies. A worked and re-worked piece satisfies the audience with its completeness much more than the staged result of a stint at Jacob's Pillow, never mind the lights and set and flash. Familiarity with the work of a choreographer and their process is also satisfying, so my full disclosure clause applies here again.

During this last section a slide projector projects a single slide with the text, "My body lacks nothing.", while in one of the most beautiful pieces of dance I've seen (excepting perhaps a similar segment in the aforementioned Belief...), Ms. Salyers raises herself from the floor to standing with full understanding and experience of every movement. The most stunning moment, for this observer, occurred when, standing on one foot, she slid the other leg off the floor and slowly, reaching through the sole of her foot and toes (Ms. Salyers has some of the most articulate toes I've seen) she searches for and encounters the floor, feeling it fully before placing her weight on it. Once she was standing, she joined the audience (after smiling at us) and the projector clicked, "(except for you)".

To paraphrase Ms. Salyers, my inner world is a post "meaningless dance" society. She lives in that world with me.

Explorational Musings to Inspire Movement

I pulled these notes from my journal today to share with Steph to help us generate both movement ideas and larger, conceptual, project ideas:

9/5/09
Micro-dance:
Small space
Technology
New Hampshire
Sense of Place
Community (small scale)
Community (large scale)
Identity à personal style
Who am I as a mover?
Who am I in this place?
Who am I in relation to dance?
Who am I in relation to the other dancers in the space?
Community à Communication
Verbal, physical, touch, visual, via the internet
Act/react
Via the internet, information distributes itself in clusters which spread exponentially (I drew some diagrams\schematics)

9/12/09

“Dance is movement in space and time.”
Life is movement through “place” and time.
What is the significance of the place I live in, and my personal history? How does my relationship to dance change in this place as opposed to another?

Tiny Dances

As my time in Baltimore grows short (sigh), I am brainstorming new and exciting projects to take with me to NH. Stephanie mentioned to me that her problem with dance, and many people must feel this, is that it is so ephemeral, so temporal and ungraspable. When dances are produced for the stage, there is so much build-up and then they pass before the eye and disappear.
While dance for the camera has developed into a major art form in its own right in the past few decades (thanks be to Merce Cunningham and Meredith Monk), the form is production heavy and intensive, and given the audience for it, almost as fleeting and ungraspable in the end.
Stephanie has mentioned a desire to create dance for the internet and of course she's not the first to think of it (browse youtube and see many dance films, most though are promo-reels and documentation of rehearsals or concerts). The internet in conjunction with film is a great way to collaborate with dancers and artists who are not in the studio with you, and the finished product can be watched again and again for cheap or free.
But one of the problems with the internet is that it can be difficult to spread your art---it's available to everyone, but how will they find out about it. I think that putting all of the internet dances--tiny, lo-production, fun dances that are as much or as little "art" as the collaborators\choreographers want-- into one place (how about a microdance.org ?) and then linking that site to all of our blogs and social networks and tweeting it and spreading it out in that way, is smarter than using facebook or YouTube itself to share the dances.
However, the magic of the internet is in the collaborative, interactivity of it, so creating a YouTube channel that is linked to the main site, and inviting subscribers and viewers to create their own videos in response (dance theater workshop does something similar using twitter: http://www.dancetheaterworkshop.org/blog/).
I'm still hashing out the details of what I'd like to do, but I'm excited to get to NH, and talk with Stephanie and possibly create something fun, kitschy and artsy and accessible that will spread the word of dance.

I have decided

that I want to be a literature professor. Too bad this means that I would need to get another bachelor's degree, then a masters, then a doctorate...

But, how fun is it that I decided, on a whim to read Don Quixote and The Idiot at the same time, and I did not even realize that, not only are they parallel in subject matter, but The Idiot seems to be directly inspired by Don Quixote, and open about this within the text. In addition, who knew that Don Quixote was a shining example of meta-fiction, which I thought was a 20th century literary form (form isn't the right word...formlessness is better).

And, I don't get to have a captive audience to discuss this with.

Maybe I'll make a dance about it instead.

MOVE MUSIC!!!!!

For Immediate Release
Contact: Lauren Withhart, Press Coordinator
443-845-0779 cell
withhart@comcast.net

"Move Music" on July 30th and 31st : new dance, live music
"Move Music" will feature new work from local choreographers: Reggie Cole, Cindi L’Abbe, Kelly Mayfield, and Lauren Withhart. Each choreographer will present an innovative collaboration between movement and live music. "Move Music" will be presented at the Creative Alliance at the Patterson Theater located at 3134 Eastern Ave. in Highlandtown. Performances are on Thursday, July 30th at 7:30pm and Friday, July 31st at 8:00pm.
"Move Music" is a unique opportunity for dance to live symbiotically with musicians live on stage. Each choreographer will showcase their creativity along side talented local musicians. Representing the wide spectrum of modern dance, each choreographer builds a unique relationship that highlights musicality and virtuosity.
Cindi L’Abbe founded Dilettante Dance Company in Baltimore. Her work is a true collaboration with guitarist David Ross as they explore literary works of Edgar Allen Poe and the photography of Georgia O’Keeffe, the process of which is documented at www.dilettantedance.blogspot.com. Reggie Cole has dance and choreographed with CityDance Ensemble, Edgeworks Dance Theatre, and Contradiction Dance as well as performing solo work both regionally and internationally. In this concert, he is presenting solos and duets with cellist Henry Mays and percussionist William Goffigan. Kelly Mayfield, founder of DC’s Contradiction Dance explores the life between internal and external realities with Imaginary Clouds, accompanied by Aligning Minds. Lauren Withhart, an MFA candidate of Dance from UMD and professional member of Baltimore’s The Collective, VTDance, and Gesel Mason Performance Projects in DC, presents two restaged works, including a distinctive improvisation with partner Betty Skeen.
These four choreographers along with professional local musicians unite for a two-evening engagement at the Creative Alliance. The performance will feature professional dancers from the Baltimore and DC area with original scores by local composers.
"Move Music" is the perfect performance to invigorate the senses and stimulate the Baltimore dance community.
Ticket info:
Tickets are $12/adults or $10/students & members on Thursday, July 30th. Tickets are $15/adults or $12/students & members on Friday, July 31st. Tickets can be reserved by calling 410.276.1651 or visiting www.creativealliance.org. Performances are at 7:30pm on July 30th and 8:00pm on July 31st.

Updates, Mind-spew

I am about to begin working on a new piece (which I began thinking about in February, but which is only now becoming a serious consideration). It is always an overwhelming feeling to step into the studio and begin new work. I think that I am lucky in some respects, as I rarely enter the studio with no idea. In face I never begin moving with the intention of making a dance when I don't know what that dance is. Is that a weakness, a mistrust of my body's ability to create, a snobbery, some cerebral prejudice, desire to show off my erudition...and on and on? Probably some of those things are part of it, and some of it is the way I came to dance. I have no idea why I'm a dancer---it makes no sense!

I did not start dancing until I was 20 years old, and not only did I not dance, but I avoided moving for most of my childhood, so I really had no concept of what my body was capable of. My means of creative expression was primarily through writing; I wrote poetry, dabbled in short fiction and filled boatloads of notebooks with "free-writing" (sort of creative non-fiction mind-spew if you will...I will). Writing always seemed natural, because reading was natural. Reading is still the most natural thing I can think of--I will waste an entire day on a novel without a second thought. Given my predilection for ridiculous literature (Ulysses? Why not?), it makes sense that I approach choreographer with my head first and let my body follow. This process of writing, reading, planning, diagramming and reading before I even think of dancing is something that I enjoy and that I'm a tad "stuck" on. I am proud of the work that I make: however, I sometimes feel like a fake. I feel like I make dances that scoff at dance a bit, and that is certainly not my goal.

So why do I make dances...why not just write novels (haha, JUST write novels). The truth is that I think that dance is FUN. Really. That's it. I could write novels (probably not...but let's just say so for now), but I choose to deviate from what is natural for me and break into a field where I'm not all that good (really, when I perform it looks like I have no respect for technique, but actually I am in awe of technique...I just am trying to force these old bones into positions that they are not trained to go, although I'm continually surprised at how much an individual can improve even as they approach thirty), and take my writerly, readerly constructionist creative method and apply it to a body-based art form, which is "supposed" to be beautiful and otherworldly and stunningly effortlessly impressive etc, etc... I do it because it's fun. And because I think that dance audiences and dance makers deserve to see and create works that have meaning, craft and thought.

So out of that spirit of fun, I'm back in the studio (or to be more honest, I haven't really brought this new piece "into the studio" yet). I'm working on a trio for Jackie, Sara and myself, that is based on the 20th love poem from Pablo Neruda's 20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair. I'm hoping to perform the piece in the show we're putting up in July (yes that's crazy I know, and you can buy your tix at http://www.creativealliance.org/).

The poem is here:
XX
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.I

no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like she was before my kisses.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

My concept for the piece is to have two representations of the poet as characters. Downstage, with a pile of paper and pencils, writing and crumpling and pining away, is the old poet, remembering his love. Upstage is the memory of the young poet with his love, reliving their romance and parting again and again in the old man's memory. Throughout the piece, the old poet will create a partition, a line on the stage, separating himself from the memories with his poetry. The remembered youths will be cought in an endless wheel of moving towards and away from one another as the lights go down.

The accompanyment will (hopefully) be an original composition by David of classical guitar and a tenor singing the spanish poetry.

Sounds beautiful, but the danger is that all these preconceived notions will make it lose the beauty that it holds in my imagination. We shall see.

FYI

Sara, David and I are performing on Saturday at 8pm at Experimental Movement Concepts (3618 Falls RdBaltimore, MD 21211(410) 366-2626). It's an open choreography showcase, hosted by the Collective Dance Co., and it's free and open to the public.

So, come out!

fun with photos, reflections on light

We wanted to have pictures that would make people come to the dance concert so we got together to make them. Sara, in black velvet with no sleeves, her white legs bare from above the knee, Zach with his camera, David with his guitar (hair sleek but not slicked, each curl a picture of the shape of the universe). I wore gray. We met in a grand ballroom of an old hotel (all the lights out) and danced in the space of light on the floor that came in from the tall windows. We wanted to be in the room, with all its old world glamour, with all of my strange gestures.

We felt like gangsters sneaking into the grand hotel, but when I left for home, walking quickly through the yellow-lit streets, I realized that what I felt, really, was the illusion of being part of a rococo painting. The chiaroscuro; the light and shadow brought my dances to life in still shots more than I was capable of doing on stage. In that tall light streaming across the carpet, everything took on weight and we stacked the gold painted chairs into a sculpture that was perfect for breaking our bodies into fearfully beautiful chair-like pieces and the light made the shadows seem so heavy and significant.


The light coming in from the yellow-lit city was not so different from the sunlight that used to stripe across our bedroom walls and ceiling in our first apartment (in Keene), blind-shaped tiger stripes of light that a film major once told me represented imprisonment when shot in a film, and if I'm honest, there were times that I felt trapped. The sunlight striping the old bedroom walls is not so different from the splotches of sunlight (shaped like the negative space between the leaves and branches of trees) that decorated thousands of notebook and novel pages from the time I could read and write and walk in the woods alone. The light of the space between tree leaves is not so different from the soft orage glow of the night-light, shaped like a turtle that was the first birthday gift from my first and only boyfriend when I was 17. The light of the brass turtle (that still sits in my bathroom) is not so different from the vivid twinkle of the stars in Drewsville NH in December in the cold and snow when all other light is extinguished.

All photos by Z. Z. Handler 2009