tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27940013946938268962024-03-12T19:13:33.761-04:00Reflections on DanceAynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-21612426306304652692009-04-17T01:08:00.011-04:002011-10-22T00:01:51.090-04:00Merce Cunningham's Nearly Ninety at BAMA spaceship arrived at BAM tonight. And mysterious godly creatures danced their hearts out, roaring with commitment.<br /><br />Merce Cunningham’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Nearly Ninety</span> is an ode to his dancers. They find center and presence within the impossible. Over and over, they tilt inhuman balances until they fall backwards. They tumble through space for precarious moments to be caught, just in time, by one another. Theirs is a familiarly complex proposition. They leave, and soar, in order to return back home.<br /><br />In this piece, dancers wind themselves around one another, looking for all possible ways to share weight. They really touch. And they really counterbalance. Often they are two people, preposterously balanced, completely dependent.<br /><br />These are tasks completely of the body and demanding complete attention from much more than just the body. There is no second-guessing. There is no comment. There is no room for anything outside of pure human endeavor. The only meta-level is the inherent metaphysics of human effort expended so fully.<br /><br />John Paul Jones, Takehisa Kosugi, and Sonic Youth play live music from an outer space satellite metal contraption complete with a stairway to heaven. Lighting and sound emphasize a relationship between the space age, man-made set made by Benedetta Tagliabue and a bubbling, gurgling, elemental video projection by Franc Aleu.<br /><br />In the tension between industrial and organic, and within the relentless difficulty of the dance, brief moments of delicious personality emerge. Rashaun Mitchell’s hips feel satisfyingly (almost orgasmically) obscene as they slowly shift to the side. Andrea Weber’s fingers tingle so slightly, gently touching the air as her leg slices another direction. Silas Riener catches his jumps off guard-- a mad man risking all.<br /><br />They transmit electricity generated only by a certain kind of being alive. And I imagine that they have learned much about this from the man they dance for. At 90, Merce Cunningham is still relentlessly and rigorously exploring what it means to move. Which is really the same thing as what it means to be alive. <br /><br />After a packed BAM opera house gave many standing ovations, much cheering, many tears, and a happy birthday song, Merce Cunningham spoke gently from his wheelchair. <br /><br />“After my first year at Cornish, my parents had a discussion. My mother didn’t see a future in dance. My father said, ‘If he didn’t have that dance game, he’d be a crook.’ I’m delighted to be here and able to tell you that story. And I’m delighted to be able to give you something you may not have seen before.” <br /><br />We are delighted too.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-4970509167629843132009-03-09T15:08:00.016-04:002009-03-21T01:56:19.515-04:00Jerome Bel, Veronique Doisneau<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiyDP5nDgegHwUt2HJZl1iTVf28ZgGfQmQ78Kl9UoTkHmEJ1v2a__Etf6cg_LwxVRwwZh405XPOwcoISRGGtNcEkC1jP6Ma8JpQSXAdx8Xrocf3Jwe5ikjeJ_EDRDBKm6iPr5M5OiuXeU9/s1600-h/VeroniqueDoisneau_JeromeBel-tm.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiyDP5nDgegHwUt2HJZl1iTVf28ZgGfQmQ78Kl9UoTkHmEJ1v2a__Etf6cg_LwxVRwwZh405XPOwcoISRGGtNcEkC1jP6Ma8JpQSXAdx8Xrocf3Jwe5ikjeJ_EDRDBKm6iPr5M5OiuXeU9/s400/VeroniqueDoisneau_JeromeBel-tm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311267587168485218" /></a>A woman stands onstage at the Paris Opera. She talks with a quality that is soft, open, a bit hesitant. A light pink rehearsal sweater, reminiscent of little girl dance tights, frames her 42 year-old woman’s body. <br /><br />This uneasy relationship between girl and woman is one of the elements that choreographer Jerome Bel elicits so naturally and poignantly in Veronique Doisneau (both the name of the performer and the name of the performance). In his piece, seen in a film version at Baryshnikov Arts Center on Sunday, Mr. Bel literally gives voice to an artist whose primary job has been to be beautiful and quiet, not drawing attention to herself. <br /><br />Ms. Doisneau discusses her life as a ballet dancer, part of that group of women who, although fully adult, are still called <span style="font-style:italic;">mesdemoiselles</span> backstage at the Paris Opera. She shares information about her salary, her children. She reveals a mature, regular person going about her work. In a soft aside, she wonders if she wasn’t talented enough to become a star. <br /><br />She speaks about <span style="font-style:italic;">Giselle</span> and begins to dance. In a moment that is simultaneously public and intensely private, she gently hums music to accompany her own dancing. She evokes all of the little girls who perform, by themselves, in living rooms and bedrooms across the world.<br /><br />Veronique Doisneau alternates between fact and fully embodied fantasy. The piece, and the woman, present the contradiction that is dance performance. In the hierarchy of the Paris Opera Ballet, Ms. Doisneau is a <span style="font-style:italic;">Sujet</span>, a mid-level status in which she can perform <span style="font-style:italic;">corps de ballet</span> roles as well as soloist ones. In Mr. Bel's performance she becomes the literal subject as well as a powerful narrator. And she makes clear the ways in which she is expected to be an object.<br /><br />In the understated and powerful climax of Veronique Doisneau, Ms. Doisneau performs a <span style="font-style:italic;">corps de ballet</span> role from <span style="font-style:italic;">Swan Lake</span>, alone. She stands still in choreographed poses while perhaps the most famous and gorgeous music in ballet dances around her. Audience members who know the ballet can imagine what the principal ballerinas would be doing while Ms. Doisneau stands on the side, filling in the picture. <br /><br />And yet she doesn’t just fill in the picture. In this context, her role becomes an exquisite-- and still --solo. Ms. Doisneau inhabits her poses with the breath and life of a master performer. She exhibits the depth of presence that transforms spectacle (interestingly, the French word for show) into something more metaphysical. <br /><br />Ms. Doisneau’s ability to fully inhabit her body within an imaginary world is both child-like and also the most profound kind of adult activity. She finds a way to deeply engage, even in the midst of disappointment and just-missed dreams.<br /><br />Mr. Bel has, once again, created a precise and moving performance that turns around and questions its own nature. He looks at, and critiques, the very particular world of dance. But he also gives his work the space to move into the most tender, and broad, and complex corners of human experience.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-50318263912470140402009-02-06T22:32:00.008-05:002009-02-06T23:01:26.758-05:00Disfarmer by Dan Hurlin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygf-ULo_w496t1OCu-os_uOMUdYRZ1hbUtBCdyhoVkVaoJ-YdBY_H0i9zfTuFZDEbsgkZ2LfxNK9lULPDqYXO8rBts3iIp9pEH8gedFhlgAZGKCwTE3-CB8UbYLduAYmT8V7ic96uqhSd/s1600-h/012909disfarmer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygf-ULo_w496t1OCu-os_uOMUdYRZ1hbUtBCdyhoVkVaoJ-YdBY_H0i9zfTuFZDEbsgkZ2LfxNK9lULPDqYXO8rBts3iIp9pEH8gedFhlgAZGKCwTE3-CB8UbYLduAYmT8V7ic96uqhSd/s400/012909disfarmer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299893487575602530" /></a>Photo by Pavel Antonov<br /><br />A man wakes up. He puts on his glasses, pulls out a tape measure and checks the size of his foot. He drinks a beer. Answers the phone. Looks for something to eat. He hits his head on the red lamp in his darkroom.<br /><br />The next day the man wakes up. He puts on his glasses, pulls out a tape measure and checks the size of his foot. He drinks a beer. Answers the phone. Looks for something to eat. He almost hits his head on the red lamp in his darkroom, but ducks instead. <br /><br />In his puppet portrait of a portrait photographer, Dan Hurlin looks at the non-events that make up an artist’s life. These are not dramatic, break-through moments. The artist, Mike Disfarmer, is not crazy, or particularly inspired. His is a life of tedious repetition and meticulous attention.<br /><br />Disfarmer seems like someone who is not particularly likeable, and yet I like him. I watch five grown men gently handle a puppet one-fifth their size. They breathe with him and pay attention to him in a way that taps my human urge to love anything that is small. They also remind me that puppetry acknowledges, so fundamentally and satisfyingly, that we humans make worlds. We make our own worlds and try to find order and meaning in the best ways we can.<br /><br />As the evening progresses, the small Disfarmer puppet gets smaller. At first the change is imperceptible but, eventually, he is miniscule. His bed swallows him up. His camera is twice his size. He is nowhere near hitting his head on the red darkroom lamp. <br /><br />Like a Kafka metamorphosis, this seems like a familiar bad dream. Disfarmer is old, overwhelmed and under-equipped for simple everyday tasks. And he is an artist, small in the face of a looming passion. His is a profession in which there is no easy way to measure success or accomplishment; it is built detail by detail. He makes me think of all the tasks we set for ourselves. And the ways we achieve them, one small step at a time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFB28tuXhjmFNYyZmn0-pdJXczYy2gMztZn2Mor4g9ToK_Z1e8Nu1iWp1F4-kXXmkn4FmhfuVUo7JUmYor6Hlr3rYzq8Awaghnt574YLTTojGJBrcwZisVg-kz82C4TYzeuf5_XlnC4OK/s1600-h/1131.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFB28tuXhjmFNYyZmn0-pdJXczYy2gMztZn2Mor4g9ToK_Z1e8Nu1iWp1F4-kXXmkn4FmhfuVUo7JUmYor6Hlr3rYzq8Awaghnt574YLTTojGJBrcwZisVg-kz82C4TYzeuf5_XlnC4OK/s400/1131.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299896350404578194" /></a>Photo by Mike DisfarmerAynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-63497568831569370482009-01-14T23:07:00.006-05:002010-04-19T15:16:07.692-04:00Guest Blog PostCheck out a guest post on Marin Leggat's new blog: <a href="http://danceandfaith.blogspot.com/2008/12/on-faith-and-dance-by-aynsley.html">Danceandfaith.blogspot.com</a>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-27400935267933005892009-01-05T00:22:00.023-05:002009-01-05T20:02:10.745-05:00On Freedom of Information 2008<span style="font-style:italic;">On December 31, 2001, in response to the US invasion of Afghanistan, Miguel Gutierrez did a performance/protest/ritual improvisation in which he tried to move continuously for 24 hours while blindfolded and earplugged. He wanted to do something to acknowledge the people whose lives were being disrupted by the conflict. This year, Miguel reprised the action with at least 31 different artists in 31 different states moving, blindfolded and earplugged, for the last 24 hours of 2008. Organizing <a href="http://freedomofinformation2008.blogspot.com/">Freedom of Information 2008,</a><br /></span><span style="font-style:italic;">his hope was to create a nationwide contemplative action of protest, reflection, and solidarity.</span> <br /><br />___________________________________________________________________________________<br /><br />In her twenty-third straight hour of dancing, my friend Janice raises her arms delicately and lightly, like she is flying. She dervish-spins and crawls along a cardboard boundary delineating the ten by ten foot space in which she moves. <br /><br />.....<br /><br />Twenty-three hours before, at 12:01am on December 31st I turn on my computer screen. I watch live webstreams of artists on the east coast beginning to dance. <br /><br />Janice Lancaster criss-crosses her ten by ten foot space. She marks her territory, or rather it marks her. She walks in orderly, linear lines, hitting one cardboard boundary and then the next. I feel claustrophobic and overwhelmed knowing she will dance in this North Carolina gallery space for the next 24 hours.<br /><br />In New York, Miguel Gutierrez begins with rolling, organic movements. And while Janice appears alone, Miguel has an audience. I am glad he has support. Then, when an audience member seems to join him in a bit of a contact improvisation, I feel protective. I wonder if he wants the company.<br /><br />.....<br /><br />As these dancers begin their long journey, I think about turning off the computer and going to bed. I am aware that it is a luxury to choose to go to bed. <br /><br />I think about my plans for tomorrow and I feel a new responsibility to use my freedom well.<br /><br />.....<br /><br />At 1:01am, my time, I watch Malinda Allen join the dance from Arkansas. As Janice and Miguel dig further into their solitary worlds, she joins with a completely new and beginning energy. She bounces and hops. <br /><br />I am struck by the beauty and hope implicit in dancing as protest. <br /><br />What is it that keeps us going?<br /><br />.....<br /><br />At 2:01am I send an email to all of my friends. They have to witness this event, the power of art and silence and meditation and empathy and dance. It is hard for me to contain the experience of this cross-time-zone offering.<br /><br />.....<br /><br />I do go to sleep. And when I wake up in the morning, I am concerned about the dancers. By now, even Hawaii has started. What if I go to the webstream and find only a black screen, or a note? I am worried about Janice. I am worried that the people I emailed will link to find some horrible remnant from an experiment gone awry.<br /><br />I turn on my computer. And there is Janice in North Carolina and Miguel in New York and Greg in New Hampshire and Malinda in Arkansas and even someone in Hawaii… And they are all still dancing. The most private, individual dances take place, simultaneously, within the most public, communal performance I have experienced. <br /><br />.....<br /><br /><br />I go on New Year’s Eve errands: the rehearsal studio, the video editor, the bagel store. I carry with me a magical and seemingly secret knowledge of an event taking place across the country. <br /><br />I walk to a studio in Greenpoint, Brooklyn to watch Miguel in person. I enter during his fifteenth hour of moving and join eight other people including three children, one painter, one photographer, and one person who seems to be officially holding the space.<br /><br />We sit on the window side of the room, quiet and yet not overly precious, as Miguel balances and stomps and grunts. I feel the movement of clearing out and of continuing. I am shocked by his presence and groundedness after fifteen straight hours of moving.<br /><br />At one point his sounds turn to mmmmmm, maaa, maaaaa. It reminds me of that universal childhood sound of vulnerability.<br /><br />.....<br /><br /><br />Eventually, at 3am, after a free person's New Year's Eve revelry, I return home. <br /><br />Against the quiet protests of my husband, I turn on my computer to find recorded webstreams of Janice in her twenty-third hour of dancing. I watch as she continuously jumps (high on concentration energy?) and moves into a headstand. She curls up and also flies, a fetus and a bird, a baby learning to walk. <br /><br />She crawls over her cardboard boundaries and then she begins to peel them off the floor. She pulls them off and rolls, wrapping herself in cardboard. <br /><br />She is no longer linear and ordered. She is a mad and free woman rolling around in her own walls. <br /><br />.....<br /><br /><br />I go to sleep knowing that Janice and Miguel have made it to the end. Hawaii still has an hour left.<br /><br />This performance has exploded my sense of the time and space in which performance takes place. <br /><br />What does it mean for a performance to take place in thirty-one different states, simultaneously consolidated onto my one computer screen? What is structure, beginning middle and end, in a twenty-four hour performance that spans six time zones?<br /><br />What does it mean to be a witness to such a private and, I would imagine, transforming experience? <br /><br />In what ways am I a witness to the private and public pain caused by war? <br /><br />And is it enough to be a witness, an audience member?Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-21330256596551216742008-12-28T20:15:00.018-05:002008-12-28T21:31:20.977-05:00On India<span style="font-style:italic;">(I planned to see Pina Bausch’s “Bamboo Blues” so I’d have an excuse to write about India; I decided I could miss the performance and simply write about India instead.)</span> <br /><br />I start with a sound. An aching, melancholy call to prayer joined by the scratch scratch of a young man sweeping the sidewalk. It is the sound of religion, and class, and dirt.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxpaXN8V7KE0vwAzbH9G50j4YnKHIYIcSs2FI6QNvLn-BQZJjs_OfV94X9Ng2pFRxaG-AjNKDri1917qEK3hk-SJa8-miW1uTO_DpC7rNxnmqZJbgAVKLsLAVG1hCKyXpmECschDCaK7c/s1600-h/MathewPokoikIndia5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxpaXN8V7KE0vwAzbH9G50j4YnKHIYIcSs2FI6QNvLn-BQZJjs_OfV94X9Ng2pFRxaG-AjNKDri1917qEK3hk-SJa8-miW1uTO_DpC7rNxnmqZJbgAVKLsLAVG1hCKyXpmECschDCaK7c/s400/MathewPokoikIndia5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285025663448333922" /></a>Before my husband and I arrive in Mumbai, my father’s friend who is Indian and who we have never met asks if this will be our first time. When we answer yes, he says he will be there to pick us up. We find him slightly to the side of the people pushed up against a metal gate waiting for passengers. He greets us with a restrained (and most-loveable) warmth and nods towards a waiting car. <br /><br />Cigarette in hand, he points out his city as the car lurches its way to our hotel. He sees us in and I am embarrassed by how fancy and western our hotel seems. He says he will meet us in the morning, show us around.<br /><br />He brings his wife and charges ahead to museums, the zoo, the restaurant. He is funny and warm (I have to use the word again) and cynical. We hear about government and history, flora and fauna, beggars and money and the US. We are jet-lagged and also swept away by his embrace and his plans.<br /><br />He gives us his time in a way that I couldn’t have imagined. Eases our transition to a foreign world. Is my favorite person I have met in a very long time.<br /><br />He tells us he grew up an Untouchable. <br /><br />(When I checked in a few weeks ago, he said he listened for many hours to gunshots during the recent terror attacks. Housed refugees in his apartment.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicl_M2HiKFEReECN2sAhqqyGbXAbnmhZnLFnt7XETtf8QekTTvJ8f0SE1_fNv07S648aSoeZMFtCEd3oePXFyelnEvy4cZLWIsJ48kxR5pbXYTNZttwlziZhKclTa3o36ObDHgH2LtqwNY/s1600-h/MathewPokoikIndia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicl_M2HiKFEReECN2sAhqqyGbXAbnmhZnLFnt7XETtf8QekTTvJ8f0SE1_fNv07S648aSoeZMFtCEd3oePXFyelnEvy4cZLWIsJ48kxR5pbXYTNZttwlziZhKclTa3o36ObDHgH2LtqwNY/s400/MathewPokoikIndia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285021296954086658" /></a>My husband and I make our way from Mumbai to Delhi. The physical chaos overtakes me now that we are on our own. The mass of people and cars and motorbikes and bicycles moves fast and furious. I am scared to cross the street.<br /><br />My body remembers the dance classes I’ve taken in which we practice moving in chaos. In those classes, we learn to stay grounded in the midst of upheaval and the unknown and passionate, crazy dancing. In those classes, we look for the empty space, find ways to slide and swirl around each other, never bumping in. <br /><br />When my husband and I ride a bicycle rickshaw, our western bums don’t both fit fully on the passenger seat. We half-sit and grip a metal bar. We swerve down roads with cars much faster, and heavier than us. We hit a traffic jam in the old part of Delhi, try to stay in our seats amidst rickshaws and cows and horse-drawn buggies. I notice that I am the only woman not wearing a burka. I feel a little scared. I am a visitor. I am different and I don’t know if I am welcome here. And I remember to find my center, the one that is grounded and resilient, quietly present. <br /><br />I begin to see the speed and the chaos as a wild and quite functional dance. The people of the city know how to ride this rhythm, just as New Yorkers ride theirs.<br /><br />In Delhi, I alternate between being timid and being engaged with the city. I walk around walls. (There are so many walls.) And I hide behind them. I walk down tiny alleyways with stray dogs and chickens getting their heads cut off. I enter an old courtyard near a mosque where an old man offers me a candy, nods to the sun. I see a very old dance form in a very new and desolate skyscraper-mall-town. I listen to an electric tabla played by a robot developed in California. <br /><br />We listen to the call to prayer and the street sweeper from a hotel room in a gated area. Children, many holding children, walk into the middle of the busy smog-ridden streets to tap on the windows of our air-conditioned taxi. As we make our way to the airport, they ask for money.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-gPmmM8KuNLCjDUYuJ2g0Gw9vVy2JReodSPNwInX1OCvFuxaxdR-HUZwXnfFfELYVJsiPvBwxKW7If310tX4DovyAy497Jh6aZfk2uJo6EIdKPsD39efu9cnsyn3xAl7e1v0G6rq9nGL/s1600-h/MathewPokoikIndia2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-gPmmM8KuNLCjDUYuJ2g0Gw9vVy2JReodSPNwInX1OCvFuxaxdR-HUZwXnfFfELYVJsiPvBwxKW7If310tX4DovyAy497Jh6aZfk2uJo6EIdKPsD39efu9cnsyn3xAl7e1v0G6rq9nGL/s400/MathewPokoikIndia2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285021185756051890" /></a>We go to Varanasi. Ganges River. Hindu holy place in which to die and be cremated. A little girl sells candles to light and float on the river. 10 rupees for good Karma. <br /><br />The smell of a human body burning. The price and weight of the wood with which to burn the body. Death as a part of life. Commerce as a part of death.<br /><br />A fat old man and his two skinny dogs, all three barking orders to hotel workers. The white woman wandering around with her sari and bindi, seemingly unmoored and floating on her “spirituality.”<br /><br />Like a picture from the guidebook, women wash colorful clothes in the river. The rhythm of dunking and twisting, laying out to dry. Sunset. Big black plastic speakers set up along the river blast the soundtrack of Varanasi. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZtOjYRhEpwIn3OxVbVXtFU1sbsfHp2256ytrCm22pK6SfEFfxLfuc7006ThF00dcs7_QHVzpJs4iyPZlCtUd2ieE8NbCP68ff1qFYC4IgEyZbmUAp7UWnIBPFldCsU2N_of3B363WtdM/s1600-h/MathewPokoikIndia3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZtOjYRhEpwIn3OxVbVXtFU1sbsfHp2256ytrCm22pK6SfEFfxLfuc7006ThF00dcs7_QHVzpJs4iyPZlCtUd2ieE8NbCP68ff1qFYC4IgEyZbmUAp7UWnIBPFldCsU2N_of3B363WtdM/s400/MathewPokoikIndia3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285020959522624786" /></a>And Calcutta. My father’s friend’s family invites us to a meal. (From Mumbai he’s given his mother instructions about what to make for us. How to welcome us in.) I am so touched, in fact overwhelmed. Again. <br /><br />And my husband is sick. And I am a bit scared to go to my new friend’s family by myself. It’s something about the pain of feeling things that are so tender and giving. Someone who’s never met me cooking a whole and special meal for me. I don’t even cook for myself. I give in to my fear and cancel, try to find comfort (it isn’t possible) behind a hotel wall.<br /><br />Calcutta is about realizing how overwhelmed and saturated we are. We traveled to India for my husband’s photography work. He talks about how his work is to be present and porous, to take everything in. When he is photographing, he cannot hold his breath, pull away from gravity, lower his eyes, indulge those things we do to pretend we’re safe and separate and sterile.<br /><br />We have taken in a lot. And have still managed to pull away from a lot. It has been a study in culture, and contrasts, and comfort. <br /><br />We are ready to go home. And yet even the concept of home has been forever dislodged and set in motion. How do we find home in our own bodies? In a foreign culture? How do we make a home? What could possibly explain the vast differences between the physical homes of the poor and the rich, in India and in the United States? What millions of factors converged to birth us into our particular families and circumstances?<br />.....<br />After 20 hours in flight, we arrive back in the US. Newark smells clean, almost alpine. New York City moves in slow motion. It is obsessively orderly. It is easy. And it is not the same.<br /><br />__________<br /><br />See more of Matt's photography for his project, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Global City</span><a href="http://www.mathewpokoik.com"> here</a>.<br /><br />Read choreographer Jill Sigman's reflections on her trip to India, "A Postmodern Passage" <a href="http://www.thinkdance.org/page6/page23/page23.html">here.</a><br /><br />Some related musings and questions on <span style="font-style:italic;">Slumdog Millionaire</span> will be coming soon.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-85054425964567536722008-12-06T20:21:00.044-05:002008-12-07T20:22:57.027-05:00On Garden of Earthly Delights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjShyphenhyphen4L42CIwYkHxykTAi6MVC6Nz0p5NJuV0g15YEzME6Oggv39iB-WTa9-qaQxUkPeOWOzQQjh0YixBtEfoce2IZgYtTOGuB4b388XPpJD_o1OJA3TK-Ruc25VVj59807u6g8XLxuWVzOC/s1600-h/43363319.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjShyphenhyphen4L42CIwYkHxykTAi6MVC6Nz0p5NJuV0g15YEzME6Oggv39iB-WTa9-qaQxUkPeOWOzQQjh0YixBtEfoce2IZgYtTOGuB4b388XPpJD_o1OJA3TK-Ruc25VVj59807u6g8XLxuWVzOC/s400/43363319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277143655355720242" border="0" /></a>photo by Glenn Fawcett<br /><br />I bring my aesthetic-educator-visual-artist husband to Martha Clarke's <span style="font-style: italic;">Garden of Earthly Delights </span>because I want him to tell me about Hieronymus Bosch. I want to hear his perspective on the relationship between Clarke's live work of art and the painting from which she draws inspiration. In going to see this revived (and historic) performance, I look forward to a dialogue about the history of art. <br /><br />We sit in an audience that is different (more off-Broadway, more money for tickets, more shuffling around in their seats) than we are used to. We engage in a bit of dialogue and I eek out a few opinions about art based on other art. But mostly Matt and I experience a fully sensual and magical theater-going experience:<br /><br />Lonely, empty wind. Dead branches.<br />The godly, body-articulate, Jennifer Nugent leading other performers in animalistic, barbie-footed, centaur crawls. <br />Writhing, twisting, circling, spiraling. tongue licking.<br />Shiny, reflective Dutch-painter-marley playing with light.<br />Human pendulums, long-hair-upside-down-people floating back and forth....<br />Red stick, rain stick penises.<br />Rolling people, ocean/boats.<br />Buckets of dead people rags. The plague. Ashes Ashes we all fall down.<br />Weighted, earthy Breugel waltz.<br />Blind and stupid. Clunky witch hunt potato famine. <br />Madrigal, gregorian, remote.<br />No sense of time (a dream or a painting)<br />Raping and killing.<br />Flying and spinning and cackling.<br />Drum God Thunder<br />Medusa Dogs<br />Orgiastic, sensual, sexual, erotic, cello stabbed in the navel. Music as an umbilical cord and death.<br /><br />And suddenly a branch with green leaves. A beautiful black man floating in the air holding a living tree. An image with <a href="http://countercritic.com/2008/11/07/a-measure-of-change-or-what-sleeping-with-the-enemy-and-goat-islands-lastmaker-have-in-common/">new significance as of November 4.</a> It is also an image reminiscent of <span style="font-style:italic;">Waiting for Godot</span>. <br /><br />Artists and history and extremes of human experience float together on Minetta Lane.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkv1ORDCu6GcotDCMEzLe9bSLvWXAKjIzmQtzdjoLurvh_vIUHgCiiglertotkN0dLJN0ROI8TRCAKDKWD-zkYsiYPawS0zi-9nU-9WE6SWNujwZChJvJoj2bzPA0Qvek6zsOXHJu-JbA6/s1600-h/1garden.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkv1ORDCu6GcotDCMEzLe9bSLvWXAKjIzmQtzdjoLurvh_vIUHgCiiglertotkN0dLJN0ROI8TRCAKDKWD-zkYsiYPawS0zi-9nU-9WE6SWNujwZChJvJoj2bzPA0Qvek6zsOXHJu-JbA6/s400/1garden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277119615042214642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style:italic;">The Garden of Earthly Delights</span> by Hieronymus Bosch; Museo del Prado, MadridAynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-88085030465044242942008-10-21T23:57:00.015-04:002008-10-22T01:10:17.216-04:00On Sincerity (related to Trajal Harrell’s “Quartet for the End of Time”)Trajal Harrell’s new piece drew me into a quiet (though filled with music) world that often bypassed my thoughts and went straight to feeling.<br /><br />As an audience member, I was challenged in the best of ways. I was trusted to find my own way into the piece. I was given time to find deeper ways to engage repetition, subtlety and presence. I felt safe to find the ways in which my experience and the art could interweave.<br /><br />I hadn’t expected this. I thought I might be confronted with yet another work that screamed at me (in voice or in body) from the stage, inviting me to feel uncool for actually caring (or showing that I care) about the art and even about life.<br /><br />In program notes, Harrell’s dramaturg Julie Perrin asks, “ Is sincerity on stage a new form of heroism?”<br /><br />Reading this question after the performance helped me see why I had responded so strongly to the piece. (A chronically sincere and earnest person, I can’t even get my Facebook updates to have the requisite funny and ironic tone.) And it left me feeling two things: First of all, furious that the question is actually relevant. Second, hopeful that my experimental contemporary dance community could be moving out of a self-absorbed teenager phase <a href="http://culturebot.org/2008/10/04/bill-t-jones-and-other-dance-y-discontents/">(See Andy Horwitz on Culturebot)</a> and into a more thoughtful and mature place. Not a staid or conservative place, but a place with a different kind of engagement.<br /><br />I felt like I had seen a sincere piece, not a piece about sincerity. And this is interesting. I wonder how much I saw and responded to sincerity because that is what I am interested in seeing and hoping to see.<br /><br />Harrell’s work takes its name, and some inspiration, from music written by Olivier Messiaen while interned in a prison camp during World War II.<br /><br />I felt this in the honesty and presence of the piece (at least my impression of the piece). In a prison camp, in the End of Time, in <span style="font-style: italic;">our </span>time, I don’t think there’s time for too-cool, for insincerity. The world needs more than that. When faced with atrocity and death, failed economies and global relationships, even when faced with human kindness and talent, what is the best and truest we can offer?<br /><br /><a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2008/10/on-trajal-harrells-quartet-for-end-of.html">link to a first response poem on this piece</a><br /><br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-17145035746176755522008-10-16T21:37:00.007-04:002008-10-17T20:35:35.119-04:00On Trajal Harrell's "Quartet for the End of Time"Returning<br /> Focus<br />Falling<br />Returning<br /><br />Wonder<br />Putting on<br /> (a show, a cover)<br /><br />Taking off<br />Taking care of<br />Releasing<br /><br />Maybe<br />. . .<br /><br><br /><br>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-21385086003129906802008-09-25T00:15:00.023-04:002008-10-17T00:42:03.090-04:00On Ivana Muller’s “While We Were Holding It Together” at the FIAF: Crossing the Line FestivalI was scheduled to begin a sitting meditation retreat tonight; I went instead to Ivana Muller’s performance, <span style="font-style: italic;">While We Were Holding It Together</span>, co-presented by DTW and FIAF as part of the Crossing the Line Festival.<br /><br />Instead of practicing letting go within a monastery, I sat in a theater and watched five performers hold it together.<br /><br />The five performers sustain the same positions for Muller’s entire 67 minute piece. Their eyes move. They quiver out of muscle fatigue. But it is primarily the movement of their voices and minds that we follow.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXJljDEHD8Vpnuxwl2gCzPgefOIFteiztfvfchLbgcWy44cCsIc3YYPqGjthTlTZmRJnoWOwXvGEkf3d5rKOja-uUgud84H1Pkhatelv5vZ8MBq3e6N_NdLFgYeB9MOlZfnBCtuALbAIG/s1600-h/f-2008-09-23-muller.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXJljDEHD8Vpnuxwl2gCzPgefOIFteiztfvfchLbgcWy44cCsIc3YYPqGjthTlTZmRJnoWOwXvGEkf3d5rKOja-uUgud84H1Pkhatelv5vZ8MBq3e6N_NdLFgYeB9MOlZfnBCtuALbAIG/s400/f-2008-09-23-muller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249808124729750370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">(Ivana Muller's <span style="font-style: italic;">While We Were Holding It Together)<br /><br /></span> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMWX_S1V8-MkaiSRHpJ-uZrQdBVHRDABVgd7H69dqbl99DmxuOC6oU_0zYw75WYACTdanxuqX0dAeSEbmqAL5NqU4nWzDAh0F1-8fV-AvN3TK8gTc2Rm8skcH75QjjqDk0fS8jl6oeATL/s1600-h/zazenzendo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMWX_S1V8-MkaiSRHpJ-uZrQdBVHRDABVgd7H69dqbl99DmxuOC6oU_0zYw75WYACTdanxuqX0dAeSEbmqAL5NqU4nWzDAh0F1-8fV-AvN3TK8gTc2Rm8skcH75QjjqDk0fS8jl6oeATL/s400/zazenzendo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249808289499662626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">(Sitting Meditation Retreat -<span style="font-style: italic;">Sesshin</span>- at Zen Mountain Monastery)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">From their frozen tableau, Muller’s performers talk: “I imagine we are all beggars asking for money.” “I imagine we are the last creatures on earth. We’d like to touch each other.” “I imagine I’m an oak tree, and winter is coming.”<br /><br />Each time the performers make a statement, I see their shapes, their stillness, as something different. My perception of the very same picture shifts enormously. What was a hand becomes a branch or a bus pole or a microphone stand.<br /><br />The performers imagine things funny, raunchy, tedious. And also big: “I imagine this body doesn’t belong to me.” “I imagine not being able to imagine anymore.”<br /><br />In a blackout they leave the stage. From offstage we continue to hear them, “ Are we now only thoughts?” “No, we’re still an image…”<br /><br />Muller looks at the existential questions I grappled with in an apricot tree hideaway as a kid, those same questions that bring me to Zen practice and art practice as an adult. She looks at nothing less than the nature of experience.<br /><br />The last words we hear, in the black, from offstage, are these: “I imagine we are in this all together.”<br /><br />And that is why I go to theater.<br />And that is why I will go to my meditation retreat tomorrow.<br /><br />At the monastery, I’ll sit still, among other people, and watch the movement of my thoughts and emotions and fantasies. I’ll be asked to question what my body is, what death is, who there is to die.<br /><br />At least that’s what I imagine I’ll do.<br /><a href="http://www.dancetheaterworkshop.org/muller"><br />Link here to see a video excerpt </a><br /></span><br /></div></div>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-15592725079390264932008-09-18T23:52:00.000-04:002008-09-21T23:25:58.000-04:00On Samuel Beckett's The Image as conceived by Arthur Nauzyciel at FIAF Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tVVf2YMXUHZMzdJ_jgdxqalGs2F1tfiYumNHE5QZgRMBt-6z1VxWF88vqL6VGEcZitWxRC1tttdtYiEvZKyeix5k8CBPZFppYB74sd44_T_5NwOByzc9NcTL2vh8JVpOk4xjjvLkxo5-/s1600-h/f-2008-09-18-image.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tVVf2YMXUHZMzdJ_jgdxqalGs2F1tfiYumNHE5QZgRMBt-6z1VxWF88vqL6VGEcZitWxRC1tttdtYiEvZKyeix5k8CBPZFppYB74sd44_T_5NwOByzc9NcTL2vh8JVpOk4xjjvLkxo5-/s400/f-2008-09-18-image.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247576127796990690" border="0" /></a><br />There’s grass on the eighth floor covering the floor people lying on it not smoking it though it smells sweet real one man lying one woman standing facing one standing not facing us as Beckett’s short story projects onto the wall painted three shades of blue next to the wall that is windows looking into the changing sky magical pixie musician in green plays computer pipes motion sensors detecting the growth of the grass for a moment and for fifteen minutes the woman not facing faces and recites The short story en Francais high culture pretention with spit flying onto the grass dancer lying spastic showing off skill for fifteen minutes I imagine he is performing the way he would perform this piece another another or another until he becomes a dog and he’s good with his hand in his mouth barking his high spastic jumps I don’t care wasting my time he finishes and bows never coming together I am mad about the mud not even mud made to Beckett’s nine page short story made out of one long sentence called The Image.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-62675023902482209712008-09-07T19:02:00.005-04:002008-10-17T20:48:05.757-04:00On Falling<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinP2rW9xy7wwez6aJS_-Bg9EBpxDct8Lw5aYY_Xo25I7n_nj9vOKU8HKOeKVOGdxUOVDELcJuDwDuaBaN5LWXwHpniX81eSIvnJEaB06wvRnj3SX9hAuZDWcUgheCVD0x40OqLpgHgpMW1/s1600-h/IMG_4719_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinP2rW9xy7wwez6aJS_-Bg9EBpxDct8Lw5aYY_Xo25I7n_nj9vOKU8HKOeKVOGdxUOVDELcJuDwDuaBaN5LWXwHpniX81eSIvnJEaB06wvRnj3SX9hAuZDWcUgheCVD0x40OqLpgHgpMW1/s320/IMG_4719_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243419266366256338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Poet Anne Carson reading </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Falling </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >at Mount Tremper Arts on August 2</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">She stands on the wood floor and connects the dots between a father and a helmet and falling (in war, in dance, in love).<br /><br />And she reminds me how important falling is to the process of making art, how close leaping and falling are.<br /><br />When we create, we leap between two seemingly unrelated words. From nothing to something. We bring our experience and skills but we don’t know exactly where or how we will land. Trying to know gets in the way.<br /><br />In creating a contemporary arts center, my husband and I are learning how to support the leaps <span>and</span> the falls. We grow big enough to hold it all, strengthening those human muscles of excitement and fear and joy and embarrassment and…<br /><br />We learn to stay present. We can’t wall off what is new or scary or different. We breathe with the process <span>and</span> the results, the experiences of the artists <span>and</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>the audience members. There is no protection. And that is how we know we're alive.<br /><br /></div><br /></div>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-35233928617103369632008-07-14T23:16:00.000-04:002008-07-14T23:34:04.647-04:00Romeo and Juliet with a Happy EndingI first heard Sergey Prokofiev’s music for the ballet <i> Romeo and Juliet</i> when I was about five. My dad played the record and asked me to imagine what it would be like to dance to. I imagined and, once again, scooched chairs around the living room to 5-year-old-heart-on-sleeve-style-dance.<br /><br />Later that week, I put on my favorite dress and accompanied my dad to American Ballet Theater’s <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in L.A. I remember the sweet, mysterious smell of the theater and a jar of candy that a stagehand let me dip into. The sound of the orchestra tuning up was unbearably exciting, topped only by the tapping of toe shoes getting into place before the curtain opened.<br /><br />Apparently, I danced in the aisle at intermission (I don’t remember). And then I danced at the Jewish Community Center and at countless other studios (I remember) until ending up a choreographer in New York.<br /><br />I didn’t dance in the aisles at Mark Morris’s <i>Romeo & Juliet, On Motifs of Shakespeare</i> at Bard’s Summerscape the other night. But the music (Prokofiev’s original score, recently unearthed by musicologist Simon Morrison) resonated in my bones. And I couldn’t help but bounce around in my seat.<br /><br />The newly re-discovered music, and newly created dance, includes a happy ending. Romeo does not take his own life. The friar enters just in time. Juliet wakes up. The families are so happy they get along. The two star-crossed lovers dance a love dance within a twinkling star-filled set.<br /><br />I’m not sure how I feel about a happy ending. Or about any <i> Romeo and Juliet</i> dance that is different (or, in this case, maybe not different enough) from the one burned into my memory 26 years ago.<br /><br />But at the same time, the piece reminded me of the power and pleasure of storytelling. <i>Romeo and Juliet </i> (with or without the happy ending) is juicy. It hits on the biggies: family, death, love. And Morris does a sweet job catching the tenderness of young, first love. (There is a beautiful, self-conscious and sexy morning-after scene with a nearly naked Romeo and Juliet on a bed with one large red silk sheet….)<br /><br />Towards the end of the piece, I liked being swept away by the romance. The gentleness and eagerness in the two lovers reminded me of my first loves. I went back to five-year old dance class. Scarf in hand, we ran around the room to delicious music. And then, years later, there was the other kind of love. Somewhat shyer and more complicated. But also delicious.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-75302131241223980582008-06-19T22:56:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:45.915-05:00Maguy Marin Umwelt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkvVE26qm3Y8jL8uAr_u-6ulPsWpEs9HYew930S6OkypO1q38NAN9_hiV-tfgOLw3ioazWbDEE8lVFh91aau7tbioiFWHYxTue8wl6IPycXzypg9LUANjfRQBEDD6thbcN51YiR5WWgSm/s1600-h/marspan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkvVE26qm3Y8jL8uAr_u-6ulPsWpEs9HYew930S6OkypO1q38NAN9_hiV-tfgOLw3ioazWbDEE8lVFh91aau7tbioiFWHYxTue8wl6IPycXzypg9LUANjfRQBEDD6thbcN51YiR5WWgSm/s400/marspan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213792583069552322" border="0" /></a>photo by Andrea Mohin for <span style="font-style: italic;">The New York Times</span><br /><br />I just watched my life flash before my eyes. Well, many lives. In Maguy Marin’s <i>Umwelt</i> (at the Joyce Theater this week) dancers appear and disappear through a slatted set. We see them, for a few moments at a time, in the midst of performing mundane and sometimes unusual tasks. Nine performers move in and out of our awareness and we get glimpses of solitary and communal lives.<br /><br />They move in unison while visually separated by vertical openings in the set. Three appear and take big bites out of apples. Two put on crowns. Four button shirts. A few scratch. They put on doctors' coats. Eat carrots. Carry trash. Wipe their noses. Pull their pants up. Hold a baby. Kiss. Fight. Carry a naked and lifeless body across their shoulders.<br /><br />One spool of rope on the right side of the stage unwinds towards another spool on the left. It is a constant marker of time. Unceasing air from very high-powered fans blows on the dancers the entire time. The ongoing sound of the wind and the score is abrasive and driving.<br /><br />As the 60 minute piece moves forward, I begin to notice patterns and relationships. The performers put on crowns, but also shower caps, sunbonnets, blue caps, and wigs. They eat apples, and big pieces of meat, cupcakes. They dress in doctors' coats, a drunkard’s housecoat, monks’ robes, sexy silk robes. A performer points a finger as if mad with the same phrasing as another pointing a flashlight or a gun. A woman jumps on a man, another woman is carried away.<br /><br />Within the ceaseless and ongoing movement and imagery, I begin to find meaning. My eyes and mind search for things I have seen before and they search for differences.<br /><br />Each performer takes a moment to stand still at some point during the piece. When he or she does, everything stops. In those moments, my mind returns to the image of the monks’ robes. I think of the religious practitioner, philosopher, and artist, those necessary and slippery roles. Those roles in which standing still can find patterns and meaning, but also nothing.<br /><br /><br />Read <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/19/arts/dance/19mari.html?_r=1&ref=arts&oref=slogin">Claudia La Rocco's review</a> (with a mention of this blog's fave, Jerome Bel)<br /><br />Some info on the word <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umwelt"><i>Umwelt</i></a><br /><br />And a video from <i>Umwelt:</i> <object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FAWYJv6foIs&hl=en"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FAWYJv6foIs&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-18699605832494121452008-06-10T13:17:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:46.001-05:00Chris Yon at DTW<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLGYSae_OiKflwVMyJDiI-kLgjJFzP-RKpCcdb-w7BnLnSMFM2e1XIBe4esJN2FJTveoum7ia9-JsTPGBu4kbAGMm_dY37qU7wtKkjLI0H7qhyDJUtss-GEL93c6WtnjxurhGoQXU9-K1/s1600-h/stick_diptich.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLGYSae_OiKflwVMyJDiI-kLgjJFzP-RKpCcdb-w7BnLnSMFM2e1XIBe4esJN2FJTveoum7ia9-JsTPGBu4kbAGMm_dY37qU7wtKkjLI0H7qhyDJUtss-GEL93c6WtnjxurhGoQXU9-K1/s400/stick_diptich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210306188854840578" border="0" /></a>Diagram by Jeff Larson<br /><br />Chris Yon chooses black and white design elements for his new piece, <span style="font-style: italic;">HUGO</span>. At the same time, his dance exists mysteriously and comfortably in a grey area.<br /><br />A blank, TV-sized screen on the DTW stage flickers static onto the faces of a forward gazing audience. We watch nothing together. The static becomes a silent film beautifully made by David Bagnall and featuring performers Taryn Griggs and Jeff Larson. The two inhabit stark architectural landscapes within New York: an empty park fountain, an alleyway. The screen is split. Griggs is in on the left, Larson on the right. They move in the same straightforward ways in the same locations, yet in different frames. These feel like parallel universes.<br /><br />The film continues past when I think it will and I am intrigued by this shift of expectation. Maybe I have entered a dance theater to watch a silent dance film. But then Yon comes onstage and turns off the screen. Stage curtains open to reveal Griggs and Larson. They are dressed in their film costumes, black and white striped tops, black bottoms. Stripes of white tape run horizontally across the black floor.<br /><br />The two perform, often in separate worlds. They move clearly in space and in controlled, precise ways. They sometimes seem like animals, kung fu cartoons, aliens in a sci-fi movie. They also obsessively gesture in a way that is both remote and quite familiar. Who are they? Where are they? The music repeats as if stuck.<br /><br />Out of the midst of this driven repetition, something starts to change. Larson moves slowly. His seemingly untrained, and therefore unhidden, movement breaks my heart a little bit. Unhindered by sleek and prescribed form, he is nakedly human. Some essence has been reached. He brushes Griggs’s hair away from her face, softly and curiously grooms her. The parallel universes hesitantly touch.<br /><br />Yon and another man slowly wheel a grand piano onto the stage. Nicky Paraiso begins to play. Karinne Keithley sings in a light and otherworldly way. It is a moment of transcendence in the midst of a most gentle and sensitive mundanity. Keithley sings that nothing has attached itself. She says the word “untranslatable.”<br /><br />I can’t quite make sense of <span style="font-style: italic;">HUGO</span>. And that’s ok with me. It brings me to a place that is beyond words and beyond sense. This is the place of life’s greatest questions and the most interesting dance.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-6606079326638944552008-06-05T00:42:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:46.166-05:00Ishmael Houston-Jones Without Hope<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghXq5kvewTHzrO69JecFGPkldAzQkhNE2PDSl52HLMTIirGAbSf30hG8tFmhVNBx9tmScRbNTvLLAFM-j4XSzz5iKmbvo-_UlefvgvG611IaFToKUEsDX9tVkhP39RuVNoyRFaFM6QxdIx/s1600-h/aynsley_review.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghXq5kvewTHzrO69JecFGPkldAzQkhNE2PDSl52HLMTIirGAbSf30hG8tFmhVNBx9tmScRbNTvLLAFM-j4XSzz5iKmbvo-_UlefvgvG611IaFToKUEsDX9tVkhP39RuVNoyRFaFM6QxdIx/s400/aynsley_review.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208262052757470786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This is an experimental review I wrote during a class taught by Claudia La Rocco this spring. (See her new blog, <a href="http://blogs.wnyc.org/culturist/">Culturist</a>.)<br /><br />Check out our class's reviews on <a href="http://www.dancetheaterworkshop.org/blog/2008/05/20/writing-on-dance-with-claudia-la-rocco/">DTW's website</a>.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-67918303063735540492008-06-05T00:16:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:47.394-05:00AVMG on Tour!AVMG started traveling this year. We just returned from San Francisco where we performed at the <a href="http://patriciasweetowgallery.com/">Patricia Sweetow Gallery</a>. Before that we taught in Sao Paulo and performed in Rio de Janeiro at the <a href="http://www.rio.rj.gov.br/centrocoreograficodorio/en/ccrj.html">Centro Coreografico do Rio</a>. It's been a wonderful few months! See photos below.<br /><br /><b>Djamila and Aynsley in San Francisco: <br />(artwork by Gale Antokal, costumes by Liz Sargent)</b><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYgZsOx1M9U9sy0875IQCU9R89S0AyETCKVckE5-05ToGjwEvyXqunxlFKcROgu0l1sJlN-_cWDPVw3AoSaQG3WPmraeMkq4wVbOr5aRQ4zY7VNWAME-PBFAu2jIKkuIoTh9zy5McseXj/s1600-h/IMG_4167.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYgZsOx1M9U9sy0875IQCU9R89S0AyETCKVckE5-05ToGjwEvyXqunxlFKcROgu0l1sJlN-_cWDPVw3AoSaQG3WPmraeMkq4wVbOr5aRQ4zY7VNWAME-PBFAu2jIKkuIoTh9zy5McseXj/s400/IMG_4167.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208250241597406754" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZB-yJM8hTONIIU7vtj90zW8ZKE95g7ka5C-g78n3W9mppZP8Mjsf1SlQHUN6gTCVcFxn636jHAc0yF-6xujFOgtyzHRt1k0-PNmPF47evvhck76GxeBxPqnHnPlmNevYNzZkrySf8IGpD/s1600-h/IMG_4159.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZB-yJM8hTONIIU7vtj90zW8ZKE95g7ka5C-g78n3W9mppZP8Mjsf1SlQHUN6gTCVcFxn636jHAc0yF-6xujFOgtyzHRt1k0-PNmPF47evvhck76GxeBxPqnHnPlmNevYNzZkrySf8IGpD/s400/IMG_4159.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208250649619299890" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhYXp9dU3gQR1A_niVCjbdsUroejW0skEdPS7fN9bLOkLnAyCWnV5ieBlQpAYUWpyFG0Oh2dHL24VuShURgKFgMBrRR3OfoAlyV7H_UjL_1FBQ7w5NbxC1q3S6mb4WR5RuIUiLuF8zXVm/s1600-h/IMG_4177.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhYXp9dU3gQR1A_niVCjbdsUroejW0skEdPS7fN9bLOkLnAyCWnV5ieBlQpAYUWpyFG0Oh2dHL24VuShURgKFgMBrRR3OfoAlyV7H_UjL_1FBQ7w5NbxC1q3S6mb4WR5RuIUiLuF8zXVm/s400/IMG_4177.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208249777740938770" /></a><br /><br /><br /><b>The Company in Rio:</b><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNpnXMjr0xQMYWd6aQOuz8J3TfvQWI0VzjgFPfFcdHFQCbQeIqlcViJw7qs5ETkR5-oej8v3rH1U_1XoYH-2ICJTssU74pzhenohaIPqcqOIQYgZNIuPpDvl-NgTyjE1D0KeI8kyrhQoL/s1600-h/2451227962_d57ee79b1e.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNpnXMjr0xQMYWd6aQOuz8J3TfvQWI0VzjgFPfFcdHFQCbQeIqlcViJw7qs5ETkR5-oej8v3rH1U_1XoYH-2ICJTssU74pzhenohaIPqcqOIQYgZNIuPpDvl-NgTyjE1D0KeI8kyrhQoL/s400/2451227962_d57ee79b1e.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208249047596498434" /></a>Cheri, Djamila, Kristen, John, Matt, Aynsley <br />(clockwise left to right, with lots of fried food)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0NLrQa7MJqPPW-EE5pCCyk0UtwJnRxMK1yBhn6THGz69g_XkcEgySjH0F5oyBjNJ4GempIfigmbC-W0juQEc3_MutlNlt2DHei_jAbcOc3wwp5SRIBKbTQlAaEDN-KO_BoteqWa-_SXj/s1600-h/2450453311_72096f0d97.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0NLrQa7MJqPPW-EE5pCCyk0UtwJnRxMK1yBhn6THGz69g_XkcEgySjH0F5oyBjNJ4GempIfigmbC-W0juQEc3_MutlNlt2DHei_jAbcOc3wwp5SRIBKbTQlAaEDN-KO_BoteqWa-_SXj/s400/2450453311_72096f0d97.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208248742653820402" /></a>Cheri Paige Fogleman--dancer extraordinaire<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfEM9796mvMTxPFDLmC1fy2oCgDlbi97jliydbLJ1rH_GiaZaaTPITV8Gh4v90V9ODXKf3crZcdJpg2iJaoJRj63wVtbcT8F-5yRfK_BFuy8PCBuiyirxKZH3cHK8xpu7NW-YgobWgv-e/s1600-h/2450442379_4dda41e68d.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfEM9796mvMTxPFDLmC1fy2oCgDlbi97jliydbLJ1rH_GiaZaaTPITV8Gh4v90V9ODXKf3crZcdJpg2iJaoJRj63wVtbcT8F-5yRfK_BFuy8PCBuiyirxKZH3cHK8xpu7NW-YgobWgv-e/s400/2450442379_4dda41e68d.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208248381876567522" /></a>Leanne Darling--musician extraordinaire. (Check out her <a href="http://www.leannedarling.com/">CD release party</a> this Friday, June 6)Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-82380177938004807552008-05-20T15:13:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:47.518-05:00Clare Byrne Mayfair<b><i>Witch Night</i>, May 9</b><br />Just in time for Mother’s Day, <a href="http://www.clarebyrneweeklyrites.blogspot.com/">Clare Byrne</a> lays out a feast of female possibilities. Her <i>Witch Night</i> is a weaving together of five short pieces, each of which explores wild and playful depths of femininity. Characters, costumes, and voices come and go while inviting rich questions about the nature of performance, onstage and off. <br /> <br />We first meet the white witch. She enters the intimate performance space and, talking in a hilariously shrill voice, sacrifices a baguette. She passes around pieces of the bread and we eat together. It is a sacrament and a thanksgiving, an acknowlegement of the community that is created within the audience of every performance. <br /><br />The white witch invokes feelings of mystery, fear, and support. She implies that, this evening, we will not know what is real and what is pretend. She feeds us like a grandmother, a priest, and a prostitute. <br /><br />Byrne adds other ingredients, dances and short films, into her witch’s brew. We see an MTV-type dance complete with fierce back-up-booty-dancers. Byrne performs <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgf3xgbKYko">Martha Graham’s <i>Lamentation</i></a>. She uses leaves on the floor to dance an audience member’s fortune. The white witch returns and, while speaking lyrics from <i>Camelot</i>, sexually squeezes white icing out of tubes and onto cupcakes. We eat again.<br /><br />One of the films, <i>Morgan, Child Goddess</i>, stars a beautifully awkward and open young girl romping through the woods. <i>Union of the Fishes</i> stars a naked Byrne and Sharon Estacio. Pubic hair not concealed, they make body sounds and move close together. <br /><br />Like Martha Graham, Byrne explores raw and powerful female energy in her work. It is not limited to this, but it is unusual in this. She looks at the roles that women play and the ones open to us. She also looks beyond the roles. <i>Witch Night</i> feels inspired by the ten-year-old girl in <i>Morgan, Child Goddess</i>. The evening seems to come from that age before cynicism and cool have hit. It is as if we have joined a girl’s unhindered imagination. We are free to be anything.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8Smv_O60zcoxfJAIciIGF-BwQeFF0FE6O0gcwge-Pkeb9r74ukhvSBxkq_JcoZrgSffThGToBGpO20or2Xf24tgOYmFOGeMEVYqacvCVk8rb5CMWmBW9JEoIBv6Zpkxe_FLyKSYzAa4D/s1600-h/-2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8Smv_O60zcoxfJAIciIGF-BwQeFF0FE6O0gcwge-Pkeb9r74ukhvSBxkq_JcoZrgSffThGToBGpO20or2Xf24tgOYmFOGeMEVYqacvCVk8rb5CMWmBW9JEoIBv6Zpkxe_FLyKSYzAa4D/s400/-2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212562520017712098" /></a>Will Rawls kneeling, photo by Stefan Jacobs<br /><br /><b><i>Kneelings</i>, May 10</b><br />Byrne finishes her <i>Mayfair</i> with <i>Kneelings</i>. From 8:10 until 10:00 am, four dancers make their way across Manhattan’s 23rd Street. On the sidewalk, in the middle of each block, one of them kneels. They sit still while New York City walks, and drives, by. It is aesthetic and religious. (Are the two different?) Simple, grateful, gentle, subtle and bold.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-60505932049724910352008-05-11T12:32:00.000-04:002008-09-21T23:26:45.038-04:00Endgame (an essay)I first saw Beckett’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Endgame</span> twelve years ago at the conservatory I was attending. I loved it.<br /><br />I sat close to the stage, next to the boy I liked. I was blown away by the crafted laughter about things that, ultimately, were very serious. The play offered me intellectual and spiritual respite from technical dance training.<br /><br />In the twelve years that have since passed, both of my grandmothers died. I moved five times. I got married. I was pregnant and lost the pregnancy. There have been many beginnings and endings. <br /><br />In short, life has happened.<br /><br />Tonight, I brought life with me to <a href="http://www.bam.org/events/08GAME/08GAME.aspx">BAM and a new performance of <span style="font-style: italic;">Endgame</span></a>. I connected with Beckett’s play and his characters in many new ways.<br /><br />Nagg and Nell, talking from their solitary trashcans, became the nursing home patients with whom I’ve worked. Trapped and protected by their claustrophobic metal homes, they search for a way to connect. They eat dry biscuits and try to tell jokes like they used to. They itch, they fall asleep, they die.<br /><br />Clov and Hamm’s stuffed dog became the teddy bear of my friend’s six year old son. The bear he put down just long enough to open his arms wide and, leading with his little chest, give me an enormous, open hug.<br /><br />Hamm’s failed search for painkillers brought me to friends’ diagnoses that are unbearable -- and the raw aliveness of bearing. I felt the hopelessness of the set’s nearly windowless walls. <br /><br />Tonight, Nagg and Nell, Clov and Hamm became the partnerships I have known. We stumble through repetition and annoyance, power, deception, love and need. We see one another and also avoid seeing. <br /><br />Beckett, through his meticulously choreographed stage directions and script, gives me a lot to see. He points me to murky and meaningful areas of my life. Tonight, as with the first time I saw <span style="font-style: italic;">Endgame</span>, I felt the audience around me laugh while I did not. I felt the tension, or connection, between being entertained and being real.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-67599106134675790612008-04-05T14:59:00.000-04:002008-04-06T11:15:08.298-04:00Support Precedes MovementI was introduced to this phrase at <a href="http://www.bodymindcentering.com/About/">The School for Body Mind Centering</a>. Lately I’ve been thinking about <span style="font-weight:bold;">“Support Precedes Movement”</span> within individual movement studies and as a way to look at the role of a choreographer. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Anatomical, physical support precedes the physical execution of a movement.</span> If I am in touch with the deep support of my body's core muscles, I am better to able to move. I am more efficient, more powerful, more expressive. I am less prone to injury when I get out of a chair, run, dance, even when I slip and fall.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Emotional support precedes the physical execution of a movement.</span> If I have a strong sense of internal emotional support, if I feel confident, open, resilient, I have more choices available to me when I move. I can let go of body habits and armoring that don’t serve me. I can try new ways of moving that seem different from my personality and not fear loosing myself. When the dancers I work with feel supported, feel seen and heard, they create and move with great imagination and honesty and passion.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Anatomical, physical support precedes emotional movement.</span> When I find the support of my feet grounding into the earth, I am better able to stay present within a strong emotion. When my body feels support, I am able to allow emotions like anger and sadness to move through me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Emotional support precedes emotional movement.</span> When I know that I have people to talk to and tools like writing and meditation, I am better able to venture, move into new emotional territory. I know I can take risks and that I can change.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A choreographer’s own anatomical, physical, and emotional support precede the movement of a creative process.</span> When a choreographer is grounded in her own body, her own interests, her own reasons for making art, when she has personal support and financial (imagine!) support, she can move to entirely new, deep areas. When she has support, she can support the movement of her collaborators and her audience.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">It is the choreographer’s responsibility to be conscious and clear about how she chooses to support, or not support an audience.</span> If, as an audience member, I feel supported by the choreographer and the choices she has made, I will move with her to any number of dark, confusing, chaotic, passionate, dull places. When I do not feel supported, I am unwilling to move. When I don’t feel that the choreographer has thought of me and made deliberate decisions about my experience, I don’t trust where I am being taken and I resist. I am not talking about hand-holding or making easy pieces. On the contrary, I am looking for ways to better take audiences into uneasy places, to the places where movement in the big sense of the word happens. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What is the support that allows movement within our audiences? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1.</span> Clarity and confidence within the artistic vision. <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2.</span> Clarity and confidence in the execution of that vision. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3.</span> Thoughtful attention given to the kinds of movement <br />(emotional, intellectual, kinesthetic) we hope for within our audience.<br /> <br />4. Thoughtful attention given to the best ways to bring this particular vision and this particular kind of movement to this particular audience. <br /><br />What is the artist interested in? What is she exploring? Why is she making art and sharing it with an audience? What is her intent for the audience? How does each part of the performance-going experience support this intent? Do the aesthetic, tone, and comfort level in this performance space support this particular vision? What experience does the audience member have at the box office, in the lobby, as she walks into the performance space? Do the first moments of a piece convey confidence of artistic vision? (This is not the same as dancers walking around looking confident. The artistic vision could convey confidence by directing the dancers to look not-confident.) Is the piece structured in a way that supports its intent? <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />These are my thoughts so far. I’d love to hear others.</span>Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-82326853703853150712008-04-05T00:14:00.001-04:002008-04-06T11:27:24.761-04:00AVMG PERFORMANCES April 8, 12, 13!<b>Tuesday, April 8 at 7pm</b> <br />Dance Conversations at the Flea. Free.<br />41 White St. btwn. Broadway and Church.NYC. <br />Curated by Nina Winthrop and Taimi Strehlow. Moderated by Melinda Ring.Work by <a href="http://www.movementgroup.org">Aynsley Vandenbroucke Movement Group</a>, Macushla Roulleau, Amber Sloan, and Roxanne Steinberg.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">We're showing work in progress excerpts from a piece looking at the abstraction of words and movement...</span><br /><br /><b>Saturday, April 12 and Sunday, April 13 at 7:30pm</b><br />AVMG performs <i>Full Circle</i> at Baryshnikov Arts Center <br />Studio 6A, 450 W. 37th Street, between 9th and 10th Avenues. NYC.<br />Tickets $15 reserved thru <a href="http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?showCode=AYN0">SmartTix.com</a>, $20 at the door<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Performed in the round and lit entirely by flashlights, <i>Full Circle</i> explores circles, cycles, perception, and community.</span><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dCjN96Dn2dI&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dCjN96Dn2dI&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>AVMG's<i>Full Circle</i> excerpt. Videography by Jenny Holub. Live music by Leanne Darling and John Wieczorek. <br /><br /><b>Upcoming Performances</b><br /><b>April 23-28</b><br />AVMG performs <i>Full Circle</i> at Centro Coreografico do Rio<br />in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.<br /><br /><b>May 29</b><br />AVMG performs as part of an installation at Patricia Sweetow Gallery<br />in San Francisco, CA.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-24460059472295579312008-03-30T15:54:00.000-04:002008-11-13T11:07:47.928-05:00NYTimes Article on Obama Body Language<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjQnIOzZjyFvrPF9D3bK1eXETY_FlRZ_MchgVylFKa5F5_jjvVh8kIV1VU_81wBVDNrksGn40Tj19NIpv8OurWn4Ldh7YKrdgvDN0qaovB-dlNyCOaWqfzQbBA8W4w4e2g-GDhyphenhyphen0xGwR2/s1600-h/29watch.span.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjQnIOzZjyFvrPF9D3bK1eXETY_FlRZ_MchgVylFKa5F5_jjvVh8kIV1VU_81wBVDNrksGn40Tj19NIpv8OurWn4Ldh7YKrdgvDN0qaovB-dlNyCOaWqfzQbBA8W4w4e2g-GDhyphenhyphen0xGwR2/s400/29watch.span.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183625831074360498" /></a> Photo Steve Fenn/ABC<br /><br />In a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/29/us/politics/29watch.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=obama+the+view&st=nyt&oref=slogin">New York Times article</a> called "Obama Communicates, Even Without Words," Alessandra Stanley makes a brief attempt to look at Barack Obama's sensitive, effective use of movement. A movement analyst could have done it better. Note his subtle <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2008/02/ways-of-seeing-narrowing.html"><i>Narrowing</i></a> and folding of his arms and legs to attune to the women.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-20829235804301290542008-02-22T14:59:00.000-05:002008-11-13T11:07:48.389-05:00Ways of Seeing (Narrowing)<i> When we name a movement, we can see it and experience it more clearly. This series explores the many names that Laban Movement Analysis <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/search/label/LMA%20Intro">(See post on LMA)</a> offers. While these often sound like regular English words, they sometimes have slightly different meanings when used in an LMA context.</i><br /><br /><b><i>Shape Flow</i></b> refers to the subtle, personal movement that underlies all movement and breath. For more information on <i>Shape Flow</i>, see <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2007/11/ways-of-seeing-bulging.html">previous post</a>.<br /><br />One element of <i>Shape Flow</i> is <i>Narrowing</i>. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiuvlJD6E-2vfyuQ-jPNNQFLjqoXkV3775nTCxEAd2M5qUKgyu_kylavEr8LGRpVvgRfIUUlxXlGHbIiecio2gOzoygbioU-afsfJBZ8E13M7imzi2_jK2HQAFNo7QOjQp9HS71rnBrBW/s1600-h/WilliamEggleston.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiuvlJD6E-2vfyuQ-jPNNQFLjqoXkV3775nTCxEAd2M5qUKgyu_kylavEr8LGRpVvgRfIUUlxXlGHbIiecio2gOzoygbioU-afsfJBZ8E13M7imzi2_jK2HQAFNo7QOjQp9HS71rnBrBW/s200/WilliamEggleston.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169898845777615778" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmICi2o240SrAOYUh8VuFsMze17Rd4_c9bjMrpEBEE6_C9qvZAvyp7qnPNf4ZHJswyP5L6vErv53eDruKUvAu5JrA8L71K-_D9Lg0gteZDQZtqrZDYBCDIGwnbFHVfqclwaBkIIPMPN_5/s1600-h/MikeDisfarmer.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmICi2o240SrAOYUh8VuFsMze17Rd4_c9bjMrpEBEE6_C9qvZAvyp7qnPNf4ZHJswyP5L6vErv53eDruKUvAu5JrA8L71K-_D9Lg0gteZDQZtqrZDYBCDIGwnbFHVfqclwaBkIIPMPN_5/s200/MikeDisfarmer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169898725518531474" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />Photo of woman by William Eggleston.<br />Man and woman by Mike Disfarmer.<br /><br />In <i>Narrowing</i>, a <i>Shape Flow</i> movement condenses in towards the center within the horizontal dimension. It is the opposite of <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2008/01/ways-of-seeing-widening.html"><i>Widening</i></a>. The people above are <i>Narrowing</i>. Their torsos seem to shrink (They are also <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2008/01/ways-of-seeing-shortening.html"><i>Shortening</i></a>.) <i>Narrowing</i> is the movement we do when we try to take up less space. When we are scared, or shy, or not breathing fully. Sometimes we <i>Narrow</i> so the people around us will not feel threatened.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HW0fHnZ-3r4-OilRkH1P_ivqYOzbGA4ij1I4FvORmzREzRw8OheJBoau8FGJBOFfplw5dIYy8Qcn0Ckg8pZJwDExrf4Ow9rgRH7Xte20jBBaKFSAwiLebTl0-CsAD-wX7OJ0QZUQEkHZ/s1600-h/travisruse.com.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HW0fHnZ-3r4-OilRkH1P_ivqYOzbGA4ij1I4FvORmzREzRw8OheJBoau8FGJBOFfplw5dIYy8Qcn0Ckg8pZJwDExrf4Ow9rgRH7Xte20jBBaKFSAwiLebTl0-CsAD-wX7OJ0QZUQEkHZ/s400/travisruse.com.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169898987511536562" /></a>NYC subway riders in their <i>Narrowing</i> dance.<br />Photo by <a href="http://travisruse.com">Travis Ruse</a>.<br /><br /><b>Try it:</b> Exhale and contract your ribs in towards your center. Smoosh your shoulders and arms in towards your sides. Feel your torso <i>Narrow</i>. Pretend two elevator doors are closing in on your sides. Think about the times in your life when you <i> Narrow</i>. Is that effective for you? The next time you are on a train or bus or plane, notice the people around you. Who <i>Narrows</i> and who <i>Widens</i>? Do the opposite of what you normally do.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-64481278402962665832008-01-27T16:27:00.000-05:002008-11-13T11:07:49.212-05:00Ways of Seeing (Widening)<i> When we name a movement, we can see it and experience it more clearly. This series explores the many names that Laban Movement Analysis <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/search/label/LMA%20Intro">(See post on LMA)</a> offers. While these often sound like regular English words, they sometimes have slightly different meanings when used in an LMA context.</i><br /><br /><b><i>Shape Flow</i></b> refers to the subtle, personal movement that underlies all movement and breath. For more information on <i>Shape Flow</i>, see <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/2007/11/ways-of-seeing-bulging.html">previous post</a>.<br /><br />One element of <i>Shape Flow</i> is <i>Widening</i>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByZx3yvbWvQKmxSDvDOYXBORVDhD_5EnBEZONE2xh_1MlJYMEQgXNblVIhrsLUWnXy7LdscAcXFH3tBEwDc_kJM869tkPoHjRe7Tzc_MSIHqiCj56LU9jAyOKOL7Kha1CoMmfKojlR41Q/s1600-h/Nicholas-Nixon-Covington-Kentucky-1982.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByZx3yvbWvQKmxSDvDOYXBORVDhD_5EnBEZONE2xh_1MlJYMEQgXNblVIhrsLUWnXy7LdscAcXFH3tBEwDc_kJM869tkPoHjRe7Tzc_MSIHqiCj56LU9jAyOKOL7Kha1CoMmfKojlR41Q/s200/Nicholas-Nixon-Covington-Kentucky-1982.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160280660972717410" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7A7aSZJpglJ-h2ZOqdYkFNSOeSUz1tj-GFULLRRPn0A8dg502roCz_fBnuQxtIeu9csTiofQ5SlWgZqDsXG3SCfIvxXvWaq4w6aDHq3WHwgwrgTWv6ek-a71k_KubGr3INUeeBHA-19dd/s1600-h/RichardAvedon.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7A7aSZJpglJ-h2ZOqdYkFNSOeSUz1tj-GFULLRRPn0A8dg502roCz_fBnuQxtIeu9csTiofQ5SlWgZqDsXG3SCfIvxXvWaq4w6aDHq3WHwgwrgTWv6ek-a71k_KubGr3INUeeBHA-19dd/s200/RichardAvedon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160280514943829330" /></a><br /><br /><br />Photo of boy by Nicholas Nixon. <br />Photo of woman by Richard Avedon.<br /><br />In <i>Widening</i>, a <i>Shape Flow</i> movement expands to the right and left, in the horizontal dimension. The boy and the woman above are <i>Widening</i>. Their arms move out to the side, but their breath and whole bodily senses do too. <i>Widening</i> is expansive, open, vulnerable. It is the movement we do before we give someone a big hug. We <i>Widen</i> when we are proud, full of life. Also when we want to establish dominance, power.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8iHUpns6yLTGbbwq0EiJaYWWaER1T7mCLem3ub-zRmme84FOz8F67SjGt5KJ3QBRc1RgCV_wdccDTDvTNocE8WpeBd-qOoyppLru3zUAt_3w2ISwLeF7i7IufHuP1dQ7GBiODgSMpAZz/s1600-h/unknownMOMAcollection.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8iHUpns6yLTGbbwq0EiJaYWWaER1T7mCLem3ub-zRmme84FOz8F67SjGt5KJ3QBRc1RgCV_wdccDTDvTNocE8WpeBd-qOoyppLru3zUAt_3w2ISwLeF7i7IufHuP1dQ7GBiODgSMpAZz/s200/unknownMOMAcollection.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160281116239250818" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7X0Nq630A4mlXTxjBWcjqMph8BJkzsRcvHHAET-foNlPcpdsUlXdL7aK2k6NoOjojX42P39r3oxGsith4XPIH5daHJRk-WAEbLqruopUCiqPt11opahUkKFSLSy3l-osOSh3dxiaSqp2I/s1600-h/ErnestJ.Bellocq.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7X0Nq630A4mlXTxjBWcjqMph8BJkzsRcvHHAET-foNlPcpdsUlXdL7aK2k6NoOjojX42P39r3oxGsith4XPIH5daHJRk-WAEbLqruopUCiqPt11opahUkKFSLSy3l-osOSh3dxiaSqp2I/s200/ErnestJ.Bellocq.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160280974505330034" /></a><br /><br />Man, Unknown, MOMA collection. <br />Photo of woman by Ernest J. Bellocq.<br /><br /><b>Try it:</b> Take a deep breath and expand your ribs out to the right and the left. Feel your chest and shoulders <i>Widen</i>. Allow your arms to follow the movement of your breath, imagine the whole world is yours. Think about the times in your life when you <i> Widen</i>. Decide on one situation in which you would like to <i>Widen</i> more. Think of the people you know who <i>Widen</i>. Do those moments excite you, irritate you? Do you trust them? Watch for the next time a dancer <i>Widens</i> in order to stretch out a movement, appear bigger.Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2794001394693826896.post-49868244393440596212008-01-12T00:34:00.001-05:002008-01-28T13:42:00.637-05:00What's The Egg That Needs To Be Cooked Now?That's one of the things choreographer John Jasperse wondered about during a forum called <i>Curating Dance: Ideas and Innovation</i> held at the Association of Performing Arts Presenters (APAP) conference on Friday January, 11th. The question derives from a Thurston Moore <a href="http://www.villagevoice.com/music/0738,odonnell,77824,22.html">interview</a> in which Moore recounts someone telling him, "You should never boil an egg twice."Jasperse spoke of this as a reminder to take risks, to keep challenging ourselves within performance creation and curation. This became a theme that was articulated quite beautifully by many of the eight panelists during a three hour forum.<br /><br />I was especially touched by Jasperse, Sixto Wagan of DiverseWorks in Houston, and Ken Foster of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco. These three passionately and boldly spoke about the role of risk taking not only in developing the arts but, even more importantly, as a way of developing the kind of citizens we want in our communities. Foster said, "The choice to not risk is as large a statement as the choice to risk. Over time, what happens to our culture? I know it looks safe to only present comedians, but it's not. I look at our own current political situation and I hold presenters largely responsible for that." And Wagan, "How can I help redefine what culture can be...What can I do to shake things up?"<br /><br />These men struck me as thinking, questioning, caring human beings interested in supporting and developing other thinking, questioning, caring human beings. In a culture in which schools (and governments) have become places for filling in multiple choice bubbles, artists and the people who present them have an even greater responsibility to offer alternatives. <br /><br />Jasperse spoke about our "convenience lifestyle," and a "permeating value system that says ease is good, effort bad." He said, "A soundbite that goes with this is 'if you can't say it quickly, it's not worth it.' But poetics exist in a realm of not one point." (Nice to be reminded of this at APAP, an event that seems set up to share soundbites.)<br /><br />Jasperse reminded me of <a href="http://reflectionsondance.blogspot.com/search/label/Jerome%20Bel">Jerome Bel</a> and "La Societe de Spectacle," with his remarks. He continued, "Entertainment is not the central component of my work. Instead of that passive model, I look at pleasure in the aesthetic experience. If that doesn't function, people will say no. The pleasure is a means to an end and that end is awakening. That is my responsibility as an artist--- awakening."Aynsley Vandenbrouckehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08957715708240199027noreply@blogger.com0