'[Dancing] gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive' - Merce Cunningham
Of course in the case of Cunnigham it gave him more than that (a career, to start with!), but this is quite poetic and true I think, so deserves being read.
When you leave several shows in a row a bit disappointed , telling your friend 'I mean it was good, but something was missing', you start thinking you'd be better off saving your money for something else next season (a new coat?)
But then you see great shows, pieces that are good from beginning to end, dances that kind of blow your mind or bring you to tears, and you feel so grateful. I've had three great dance evenings in the space of a month: Rosas danst Rosas, Lotte Van Den Berg and now Jiri Kylian.
I had never seen any Jiri Kylian pieces before, so I didn't know what to expect, apart from the fact that it had to be good, and the expectation rose when I saw how busy The Place was. Last Touch First is choreographed by Kylian and Michael Schumacher.
As we take our seats, the six performers (3 men, 3 women) are already on stage, in position. The stage is covered in strong beige fabric. 1 woman is reading in a rocking chair and another in a tub chair, the other woman is standing by a table with a candle on it. Two men are sitting by a window, playing cards, while another is standing at the door, looking at the woman in the rocking chair.
As the piano music begins, they start moving, but very slowly. They even blink in slow motion. The guys play cards, the woman licks her finger to turn the page of her book. Some things are odd: the woman by the table pulls at the table cloth, sliding the candle from one side to the other, the woman on the tub chair pours herself a drink, and becomes quite drunk. The man at the door surprises the girl in the rocking chair and she avoids his kiss, turning her face away from his.
There is some terrible sadness in them, a longing of some kind... they all look somewhat bored, waiting for something. Kylian and Schumacher mention Chekhov in the programme notes, and this is definitely the feeling I got away from reading Chekhov: the characters are bored out of their heads and think they have missed on what life had to offer. I really responded to that emotion.
Behind the decorum and appearances, they're actually all a bit crazy: in the second half of the piece, the table is turned upside down, a woman is lifted above the door, they play with a mirror (creating a great lighting effect), and there are flashes of fast movement. They are many great duets, with many poses that look difficult to hold, but the dancers make it all flow beautifully.
At the end, the drunk woman walks slowly towards the door, the fabric being pulled from under her feet by the 5 other performers, who are sat at the front of the stage. The furniture has moved forward with the fabric, and they all take on their initial position (woman on the rocking chair, man standing behind her etc...). They start talking to us but no sound comes out. They slowly close their eyes. Maybe they can only escape in their dreams. The piece ends at the right time: I have tears in my eyes.
This post is not dance related, but Mercedes Sosa was an astonishing singer, a wonderful woman and I will miss her performances very much. She died on Sunday, aged 74.
I can't really say how I felt about this piece. It was so different from I have ever seen, more performance/visual theatre than dance. So I am just going to describe what I saw, in the hope you will get an idea of what it was like. (It is quite possible I will have missed some bits!)
The stage is much wider than it is deep, and it is almost bare: no masking, about eight chairs along the edges, a piano in the top left corner, and a floor paved in bars of soap. An old woman with wild reddish hair sits on a chair. Neon lights at the back come on, slowly lighting the space. A young woman enters the stage (from a door on top right corner) and sits on the other side, near the piano. They wait. For possibly over two minutes, they sit and wait.
Finally a young man comes in, walks over the young woman. He touches her, wanting to show his affection, but she shakes him off repeatdly. She goes to play the piano (what music? The notes didn't say. Chopin?), while he moves angrily, stamping on the floor and making a hole in the soap paving. He then walks to the front right corner, sits and eats some bread and water.
Another man walks in slowly. He looks strange: he is blinded, his face covered by a mask of plasters. The first man takes him to the centre stage, and feeds him some of the bread he has been chewing, provoking repulsion in the audience. The blinded man wants more and tries to fish more bread from the mouth but there is none left by this point. The first man sits on the chair at the back, and cuddles the blinded one as if a baby, sitting him on his lap and taking him in his arm. The blinded man gets angry, tries to escape this hold, punches are exchanged, with loud thumping, until he walks. The soap pavement under the chair has been partially destroyed by the fighting.
The young woman plays the piano again and, while the young man starts putting the floor together again (like a puzzle) a little girl with very long blonde hair and in pink leotard walks in. She helps placing the soap bars neatly back before dancing a little.
An old man, tall, slim, bald, walks in. The little girl looks at him and walks off. He sits down. The old woman walks in and sits next to him. The lights change to something dimmer and warmer than neon. The young woman, who has stopped playing piano, is sitting down next to it. She pours a glass of water on her feet, and starts lathering up the soap with her feet. The young man, now in the opposite corner, does the same. They look at each other, smile, play.
The man with plasters on his face walks back in and sits on a chair along the back wall. He starts to whimper loudly, moving about on his chair. The old man goes to sit next to him and seems to calm him down with a few quiet words (we cannot her what he says) but then he starts whimpering again, and the old man keeps talking. The other young man takes his chair and comes sit next to the old one and makes another loud noise, the old woman sits next to him and does the same, and finally the young woman sits next to the man with plasters and talks quietly too. Slowly they all stop until the young woman is last.
The young girl walks back in, heading straight to the piano, where she plays some high notes. The old woman walks to the piano and plays low ones. The young woman comes and sits in the middle and plays a tune. When they are done, the blinded man suddenly walks up along the back wall, almost in a panic, until he find a rope that he pulls, tipping a big glass container full of water. For 30 seconds, water pours down on the stage, drenching him. The whole cast is looking at him. It is a beautiful image.
Things get a bit funnier after that, as the floor is now slippery and the cast must carefully manage that, as if they were walking on ice. The young couple hug and keep falling and laugh.
Then it got very moving for me: the old woman walks across to the old man and they kiss tenderly for a long time. The old man then turns around and starts crying, his sadness feeling very real. They both sit, but the old man seems to be gone: little by little, he falls on the floor. He has just died. The old woman cries, her face to the back wall, before turning to sit a beautiful song (what? I do not know) in the quavering voice of an old mezzo-soprano.
Finally, in what was a superb and very powerful image, the little girl, holding a big bucket of water, comes near the old man and, sat on the floor, starts slowly washing his face, his hands, his feet.
The end.
You can watch an extract of Stillen here.
A bit late on that one but this is worth checking out: two dancers of NY City Ballet got the idea to film Jerome Robbins' NY Export: Opus Jazz, and the idea is now happening. There is a trailer of their work on youtube, and a blog charting the progress of the shoot.
More background info on Dancing Perfectly Free.
Went to the free DeloitteIgnite festival at the Royal Opera House yesterday, and two pieces made me think how contemporary dance (and dance in general) could be made so much more popular: by people taking classes outside, in parks for example.
This idea had vaguely crossed my mind a few weeks ago when I saw this picture of a dance performance that took place on a basketball court on the (great) WNYC Culture blog.
Dance Gang. Credit: Kennis Hawkins
Ben Wright's This moment is your life, as seen through disco glassesReally like this.
This is from 2002 - I feel so behind! Anyway.
More on Sasha Waltz and noBody here.
Very interesting video over at the New York Times. Their chief dance critic disects a Merce Cunnigham solo. I think this is a great way to open dance to people, by doing something simple: explaining it!
Dissecting a Dance - New York Times.
A debate has been going on in dance circles about the quality of British dance works, with John Ashford, who was director of The Place, saying they were not very exciting in an issue of Time Out a few months ago.
Luke Jennings from the Observer gets involved this week, when he reviews a double bill by Hagit Yakira and Sara Dowling from Laban Theatre (Laban is a famous contemporary dance school)
'The problem with this kind of work is not, as Ashford claims, that it's timorous. It's that a substantial cohort of theory-laden choreographers have lost sight of the fact that they work in the theatre, for the benefit of a paying audience. The hour-long Yakira/Dowling programme is notionally open to the public (who, after all, have bankrolled the whole thing), with tickets priced at £12. But there's no local advertising, and the fact that the blurb-sheet doesn't even bother to credit the dancers - I recognised the ever-excellent Elisabetta d'Aloia, but no one else - tells us that non-Laban outsiders are not expected to attend.
These invisible barriers - and you often get the same insiders-only vibe at the Place - are bad for dance. They indicate an indifference to public opinion which, as the economic purse-strings tighten, the art form can ill afford. The choreographers who will survive are those whose work speaks to those outside the bubble, not just those who know the secret handshake.'
Full review here.
Thoughts?
Another very sad news today.
A good article and interesting video on the NY Times Arts Beat blog. Do take time to watch it.
'Mr. Cunningham ranks with Isadora Duncan, Serge Diaghilev, Martha Graham and George Balanchine in making people rethink the essence of dance and choreography, posing a series of “But” and “What if?” questions over a career of nearly seven decades.' NY Times
From the Guardian archive, a step-by-step guide to Merce Cunningham.
Article 19 reminds us that he had already made arrangements for his company after his death: the company will go on tour for two years before disbanding.
I was not the biggest fan (I like musicality) but he was a true legend.
Now that I have booked my places, I can talk about the special weekend Taste The Place at the Place ('The UK's premier centre for contemporary dance')
On Friday 11 and Saturday 12 September, they are offering over 50 free dance sessions, in a massive range of styles and for people of all ages and dance experience.
Sessions include street, Kathak, Egyptian, Contemporary African, samba, Cha Cha Cha, jazz, contemporary, ballet, plus sessions for families ('dads and lads' sounds like one I'd love to watch!), pilates, tai chi and more...
On Friday, there also are some DJs and on Saturday a barn dance, some Q&As, film screenings and plenty more.
You can only book for 3 free sessions, so making a choice was hard, but I can't wait!
A friend sent me this great video, really clever, well-made and almost hypnotising.
Click here to see the credits.
More on Erika Janunger here.
I went along to the steps of St Paul's cathedral last weekend to check out Bonachela Dance Company's new work, The land of yes and the land of no. Dressed in white, six dancers moved up and down the steps, performing solos or in partnership with others, before a big finale all together.
In a way this was typical abstract contemporary dance, with quite a lot of floor work and some phrases that looked bloody exhausting to perform - particularly the last section, that must be relentless for the dancers.
As well as a cast of very good dancers, the piece benefits from a great score written by the Italian composer Ezio Bosso. All strings and minor keys, it conveys particular emotions (somethign bitter sweet, some sadness, the wish to soar) that I could see in the movement and the dancers.
My only small criticism is that I found it difficult to see how Bonachela explored how everyday signs and directions affect us, which is apparently the idea behind this piece. I noticed how, when they performed in three, two dancers often seemed to block the other or redirect his movement, but beyond that... A solo by Paul Zivkovich also reminded me of someone trapped, unable to achieve what he wants because of society's obligations and expectations.
But this is only minor, for anyone can read what they want into an abstract dance piece, and it does not matter anyway. What matters is that it makes you feel something, touches you. And I was quite touched by The land of yes and the land of no. I am now curious as to how these extracts will transform into a full-length piece at the Queen Elizabeth Hall this September, without the powerful backdrop of St Paul's columns behind them.
Some nice black and white images of the performances here and here.
More info on Bonachela Dance Company here.
'I am not interested in how people move, but in what moves them'
Pina Bausch
The Guardian - 'a dangerous magician of modern dance'
The Times - 'Europe's most influential modern dance choreographer'
The New York Times - 'the scene is smaller without her'
and more
I showed the video of ballets C de la B's piece, Ashes, to a friend and he made me laugh saying: 'Why do people always look like tramps in contemporary dance?'
Hummm... yeah... it's true that they often look like they are wearing their own rehearsal clothes, or are in their underwear...
Budget issues, most probably?
But it's not always like that, of course. See Guillem/Maliphant/Lepage's Eonnagata and its Alexander MacQueen costumes. I also had a look around and saw this video for Inbal Pinot & Avshallom Pollak Company, from Israel (part of Dance Umbrella 2009). Great coiffures!
