Works-in-Progress
DC Arts Center - Washington, D.C.
April 28, 2010
The Field/DC's presentation of The Dinner Party was one of the first dance events that I attended after moving to DC last summer. So, as I prepare to return to California, it seems fitting that another episode of The Dinner Party will be one of my final DC reviews. A wonderfully diverse program awaited the audience with nine individual offerings. Choreographic works still dominated the program, though this time, music and photography were also included. The breadth was an accurate representation of 'fieldwork for mixed disciplines' as opposed to my first Dinner Party where there was only dance and only solos. This broader scope also permeated the choreographic works themselves: two solos, a duet and three group pieces. Variety was the common denominator on Wednesday night.
The four solo performances (2 music, 2 dance) were the highlights of the evening. Patrick Smith's Creation Suite, a tripartite acoustic guitar composition, was beautiful. In particular, the first movement, Kinnara, explored the space between major and minor keys using arpeggiation. I felt the presence of a Baroque prelude where the purpose was to explore different keys to the enth degree, including notes and intervals that are not necessarily a part of that original key. This type of experimentation is really the only way to unlock the mysteries of and discover the possibilities within the major and the minor. The electronic music of Yoko K. involved audience participation in composing her soundscape. She was so genuine, authentic and passionate about her message of 'small changes' that you could not help but be charmed by her and her musical goals. Bridget Kelly's Center explored and examined points of origin in the body and how they translate into choreography. Positions were achieved (the arm behind the body, a pointed index finger, arabesque extension), though the intent was focused on how the body got to those postures. Nothing was peripherally placed; it organically emerged from a central point, traveled through transitory space and then achieved the final pose. These resting places were very beautiful in their own right, but for me, the impetus and transitional movement were most compelling. Feel This, composed and danced by Ilana Silverstein, was the final piece of the program. The costuming and choreography suggested a Duncanesque, Egyptian quality as she moved through a series of very dramatic poses. Silverstein is a strong performer and her choreography interesting, but her gaze was very distracting. She constantly looked around with no clear focal point, taking away from the overall piece. This is something that is incredibly difficult to recognize if you are choreographing on yourself. I wonder if she should spend some time out of her work setting it on other dancers. A lack of visual focus would be obvious if she was choreographing on someone else.
Of the group pieces, the most developed were two by Orit Sherman, Sphere and Inside a Cell. Sphere has a very consistent image throughout the work, starting right with the opening pose. The dancers stand in 2nd position, with their hands grasping an imaginary ball. As they moved through the dance, the volume of that spherical space remained clear in their bodies. Inside a Cell reminds us that sometimes biological progressions can be both calm and organic or abrupt and jarring. Sherman sought to illustrate both aspects - quiet flow alongside punctuating change. Although the dancing and choreography were strong in both of these pieces, I must admit that at times, I was worried about the safety of the dancers. Each piece had seven women and the performance space at the DC Arts Center is tiny. There was some holding back and some actual collisions due to the restrained working area. I would be interested to see these pieces in a larger venue to get a fuller understanding.
The idea of works-in-progress is necessary in the performing arts, but it is also leaves me feeling a little lost. I want to see another showing of all these pieces at their next level of development. I think this would provide a much stronger relationship between the audience and the work. Then again, maybe it's completely valid to not have a sense of resolution.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
NY Export: Opus Jazz
PBS Great Performances
Dance in America
"NY Export: Opus Jazz"-2010
original airdate-March 24, 2010
The relationship between dance and film has several layers and dimensions. First and most common, dance is usually filmed. Videographers generally record most work (in rehearsal or performance) for archival, press or company purposes. Second, with the rise of 'interdisciplinary' and 'new media' movements, film has a home in live performance as an additional element conveying the message of the choreography. Then there is the dance film - a separate entity where dancemaking and filmmaking purposefully fuse in the creation of a cohesive artpiece. For a successful dance film, there must be a two-way give and take where choreography adapts to film and film adapts to choreography. Most dance films fail to meet this criteria and the film portion takes over, resulting in a completely inaccessible and weird product. Some level of weirdness is okay, but can there be more to the choreography than one dancer sitting on a chair twirling her hair for an hour and a half? The post-moderns would counter by saying that this pedestrian, gestural movement is just as valid a dance choice as a pas de deux. Fine, but can we have a little balance? I don't mind experiencing deconstructed movement but, if a film is billed as a dance film, it would be nice to include some formal technique as well. I think that a true dance film is a rather elusive animal.
Enter NY Export: Opus Jazz, a new 2010 film version of Jerome Robbins' Ballet in Sneakers (1958). This may be the only real and actual dance film I have ever seen, where the choreography remained technically and authentically intact, the abstraction of filmmaking was captured through landscape and scenework and most important, Robbins' examination of youth was constant in both media (film and dance). The opening visuals of the film are a short journey through everyday youth activities: relaxing at the beach, playing video games, skateboarding, bicycling, riding the subway, doing laundry. Before any dance step enters the picture, the narrative of young urban life has been established. The context is there from the very beginning and holds true through the entire film. The first group dance sequence takes place in an outdoor space where circle dances and couple dances pervade. This provided a strong indication of both the social role of dance and the flirtation and romance behind it. Another open space, warehouse-style this time, housed a variation for the men where the movements embodied struggle, anger, abandon and freedom. The filmed locale provided a place where these feelings could be explored and the choreography itself - lunges with hands reaching out and quick pirouettes followed by abrupt falls to the floor - told of the internal emotions. In all of the segments, real jazz steps helped forward the story: rule-breaking parallel pirouettes, laid-back step-ball-changes, flirty hip isolations, sexy fan kicks, showy hitch kicks, and unrestrained axles and lay-outs. Robbins was able to bring this unique physical syllabus to life in a way that fed his narrative vision.
Not only was NY Export: Opus Jazz an excellent dance film, but also an example of solid jazz choreography. Jazz dance is in a precarious place right now; at a crossroads of sorts. Currently, jazz is abundant in dance studios, performance teams and on reality television. At the same time, it is not very successful in professional or semi-professional choreography. The dance genre itself is not to blame; jazz dance has an incredible movement vocabulary on which to build interesting and artistically challenging work. But the reality is that jazz dance, as used today, lacks artistic maturity and choreographic rigor. For jazz to participate and flourish in the repertory of professional companies, we must look beyond its adolescent performance team identity. Not every movement has to mean something, but it doesn't have to look like a dance studio recital either. Jerome Robbins' choreography shows that jazz has a important and valuable role alongside ballet, modern, and post-modern dance: the depth of this art form is there, it just isn't being adequately accessed right now.
Dance in America
"NY Export: Opus Jazz"-2010
original airdate-March 24, 2010
The relationship between dance and film has several layers and dimensions. First and most common, dance is usually filmed. Videographers generally record most work (in rehearsal or performance) for archival, press or company purposes. Second, with the rise of 'interdisciplinary' and 'new media' movements, film has a home in live performance as an additional element conveying the message of the choreography. Then there is the dance film - a separate entity where dancemaking and filmmaking purposefully fuse in the creation of a cohesive artpiece. For a successful dance film, there must be a two-way give and take where choreography adapts to film and film adapts to choreography. Most dance films fail to meet this criteria and the film portion takes over, resulting in a completely inaccessible and weird product. Some level of weirdness is okay, but can there be more to the choreography than one dancer sitting on a chair twirling her hair for an hour and a half? The post-moderns would counter by saying that this pedestrian, gestural movement is just as valid a dance choice as a pas de deux. Fine, but can we have a little balance? I don't mind experiencing deconstructed movement but, if a film is billed as a dance film, it would be nice to include some formal technique as well. I think that a true dance film is a rather elusive animal.
Enter NY Export: Opus Jazz, a new 2010 film version of Jerome Robbins' Ballet in Sneakers (1958). This may be the only real and actual dance film I have ever seen, where the choreography remained technically and authentically intact, the abstraction of filmmaking was captured through landscape and scenework and most important, Robbins' examination of youth was constant in both media (film and dance). The opening visuals of the film are a short journey through everyday youth activities: relaxing at the beach, playing video games, skateboarding, bicycling, riding the subway, doing laundry. Before any dance step enters the picture, the narrative of young urban life has been established. The context is there from the very beginning and holds true through the entire film. The first group dance sequence takes place in an outdoor space where circle dances and couple dances pervade. This provided a strong indication of both the social role of dance and the flirtation and romance behind it. Another open space, warehouse-style this time, housed a variation for the men where the movements embodied struggle, anger, abandon and freedom. The filmed locale provided a place where these feelings could be explored and the choreography itself - lunges with hands reaching out and quick pirouettes followed by abrupt falls to the floor - told of the internal emotions. In all of the segments, real jazz steps helped forward the story: rule-breaking parallel pirouettes, laid-back step-ball-changes, flirty hip isolations, sexy fan kicks, showy hitch kicks, and unrestrained axles and lay-outs. Robbins was able to bring this unique physical syllabus to life in a way that fed his narrative vision.
Not only was NY Export: Opus Jazz an excellent dance film, but also an example of solid jazz choreography. Jazz dance is in a precarious place right now; at a crossroads of sorts. Currently, jazz is abundant in dance studios, performance teams and on reality television. At the same time, it is not very successful in professional or semi-professional choreography. The dance genre itself is not to blame; jazz dance has an incredible movement vocabulary on which to build interesting and artistically challenging work. But the reality is that jazz dance, as used today, lacks artistic maturity and choreographic rigor. For jazz to participate and flourish in the repertory of professional companies, we must look beyond its adolescent performance team identity. Not every movement has to mean something, but it doesn't have to look like a dance studio recital either. Jerome Robbins' choreography shows that jazz has a important and valuable role alongside ballet, modern, and post-modern dance: the depth of this art form is there, it just isn't being adequately accessed right now.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Deborah Riley Dance Projects - Chew on This
Dance Place, Washington, D.C.
April 17, 2010
Our relationship with food is complex. There are weighty yet pertinent topics to be addressed: sustainability, hunger, obesity, greed. Though in the quest to give these serious issues their due attention, it is easy to forget the other end of food's spectrum: community, enjoyment, fun, celebration. In Chew on This, Deborah Riley Dance Projects succeeded in balancing both sides, without downplaying or emphasizing either. In addition, Riley did not attempt to solve any problems relating to food. Rather, through the interdisciplinary performance, she introduced various topics and let the audience sit with them. There were no conclusions or calls to actions, just ideas and information. An unresolved story, like this one, forces the audience to look at how the subject matter plays out in their own lives. A risky and vulnerable undertaking for a choreographer, but incredibly relevant.
A sense of inclusion was apparent as soon as you walked into the theater. Instead of the usual drawn curtain, the performance space was open and filled with dancers engaged in a picnicking scene; they were talking, snacking and interacting with each other and the guests. The audience was encouraged to partake of food tables set up at the front of the stage. It was a very relaxing and inviting environment where food was a soothing, calming presence.
The formal part of the program began unobtrusively while the house lights were still up and everyone was still chatting. The company members from Chew on This then led us through a plethora of emotion and action surrounding food. The first major group section integrated pieces of fruit into the choreography, where we saw the dancers treating each apple and orange with significant care and attention, as if the food held a sacred meaning for them. This section had a surprising end when the movement abruptly turned to grabbing, hoarding and hiding the food. It was interesting to see this place of respect spiral into one of selfishness. A subsequent segment featured short duets employing contact improvisation as the primary choreographic tool. Here the couples shared various points of weight in order to accomplish the steps, speaking to our mutual need in achieving common goals. One final variation revealed the dichotomy that often exists in the world of food. One couple performed a haunting, almost hopeless pas de deux surrounded by a circle of other dancers. The circle individuals were passing fruit back and forth to each other in the true spirit of sharing. While that was occurring, the two dancers in the middle were clearly excluded from partaking in this meal. They tried (several times) to break away from the circle and move to another space, but each time, they were followed and enveloped again. A brilliant juxtaposition of how we include only those we choose, without looking right in front of us at those in need.
Deborah Riley has created a brave composition where somber and lighthearted material can peacefully co-exist. Peter DiMuro even provided moments of true humor with his narrative interludes. Modern dance that tackles societal problems is so often jam-packed with angst, sometimes to the point that the importance of the issue gets lost. Balance is the key and Riley's Chew on This reflected a necessary parity.
April 17, 2010
Our relationship with food is complex. There are weighty yet pertinent topics to be addressed: sustainability, hunger, obesity, greed. Though in the quest to give these serious issues their due attention, it is easy to forget the other end of food's spectrum: community, enjoyment, fun, celebration. In Chew on This, Deborah Riley Dance Projects succeeded in balancing both sides, without downplaying or emphasizing either. In addition, Riley did not attempt to solve any problems relating to food. Rather, through the interdisciplinary performance, she introduced various topics and let the audience sit with them. There were no conclusions or calls to actions, just ideas and information. An unresolved story, like this one, forces the audience to look at how the subject matter plays out in their own lives. A risky and vulnerable undertaking for a choreographer, but incredibly relevant.
A sense of inclusion was apparent as soon as you walked into the theater. Instead of the usual drawn curtain, the performance space was open and filled with dancers engaged in a picnicking scene; they were talking, snacking and interacting with each other and the guests. The audience was encouraged to partake of food tables set up at the front of the stage. It was a very relaxing and inviting environment where food was a soothing, calming presence.
The formal part of the program began unobtrusively while the house lights were still up and everyone was still chatting. The company members from Chew on This then led us through a plethora of emotion and action surrounding food. The first major group section integrated pieces of fruit into the choreography, where we saw the dancers treating each apple and orange with significant care and attention, as if the food held a sacred meaning for them. This section had a surprising end when the movement abruptly turned to grabbing, hoarding and hiding the food. It was interesting to see this place of respect spiral into one of selfishness. A subsequent segment featured short duets employing contact improvisation as the primary choreographic tool. Here the couples shared various points of weight in order to accomplish the steps, speaking to our mutual need in achieving common goals. One final variation revealed the dichotomy that often exists in the world of food. One couple performed a haunting, almost hopeless pas de deux surrounded by a circle of other dancers. The circle individuals were passing fruit back and forth to each other in the true spirit of sharing. While that was occurring, the two dancers in the middle were clearly excluded from partaking in this meal. They tried (several times) to break away from the circle and move to another space, but each time, they were followed and enveloped again. A brilliant juxtaposition of how we include only those we choose, without looking right in front of us at those in need.
Deborah Riley has created a brave composition where somber and lighthearted material can peacefully co-exist. Peter DiMuro even provided moments of true humor with his narrative interludes. Modern dance that tackles societal problems is so often jam-packed with angst, sometimes to the point that the importance of the issue gets lost. Balance is the key and Riley's Chew on This reflected a necessary parity.
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