Archive for the ‘Dance Culture’ Category

#371 – A New Ballet Mécanique

Monday, March 1st, 2010

thinking through the digital & the body.

Digital Incarnate: The Body, Identity, and Interactive Media, an exhibition at Columbia College, features multiple paths to the place where the corporeal and virtual meet. This is a place with a long history: humans have been pondering the body and the mind, the physical and the mental, for millennia. But it’s also a new place: a site in which the technologies of the digital both echo older histories and point-click toward unknown destinations.

Digital Incarnate @ The Arcade Gallery, Columbia College Chicago, February 8 – April 2, 2010.

Two of the displays—Luftwerk‘s Doppelgänger and Troika Ranch‘s Liquid Mirror—are playful and fun. They pull the viewer’s body into the digital through shadow play, silhouettes, and light shows. Actual limbs and their visual extensions blur on a dark screen in Luftwerk’s piece and flickers of light in Troika Ranch’s vertical screens.

One thinks Marshall McLuhan here, but also, glimpsing darker shadows in the shadow and light, x-ray scanners at the airport and other modes of surveillance. The body seemed to evaporate into the digital in these pieces in ways that were at first frolicsome, but increasingly ominous: the body etherealized, but also filled with foreboding.

OpenEnded Group‘s Paul Kaiser and Shelley Eshkar lean toward the traditions of animation in their collaborations with Bill T. Jones and Merce Cunningham. The OpenEnded pieces—Ghostcatching and Hand-drawn Spaces—are striking for how much they reproduce the signature styles of these two famous choreographers in digital form.

As Kaiser explained in his talk, the transformation of Jones’ body to the digital realm revealed his muscular, flowing, vibrant dance style (the markers to record Jones’s dancing body would literally rip off as he moved). When OpenEnded Group combined the motion of a male and female dancer in a Cunningham piece, the angular, skeletal aspects of Cunningham’s choreography remained. They were even accentuated by the merging of two actual bodies into one digital body. Cunningham’s already-abstract emptying out of subjectivity and control from his dancers’ bodies were even more ghostly and phantom-like as they flashed across three screens.

A final computer station features a collaboration between the choreographer William Forsythe and  researchers at Ohio State University. Synchronous Objects, a complex digitalization of Forsythe’s One Flat Thing, reproduced, feels like a lab report, but one that is endlessly entertaining. One Flat Thing becomes quite multidimensional, almost overwhelmingly so—it is indeed reproduced. The user can instruct the computer to map out different aspects of the dance: traces of the dancers’ limbs, the negative space between the dancers, particular relationships between different dancers, and more.

I’m not sure if it’s art or science, or both, but it is something. One plugs into the matrix, in control of data that may lead to new programs of the very self. As fingers manipulate a dance of virtual space, bodies may simply become like so many other buttons, knobs, dials, and touch screens that we use to move between the flesh itself and our machines. Or, perhaps, at the module, our bodies tap into a grid we never knew we already occupied. We begin to glimpse a secret map of the place where inside and outside might merge in what essayist Sondra Fraleigh calls “the elusive soma,” the “body mysterium.”

Choreography has become cartography. We reach the edge of skin at the synapses of the circuit board, and feel, for a moment, sitting in front of a boring screen, waiting for a video to upload, the electrifying shock of watching the material leap into the virtual—what is becoming what might be.

#364 – The Digital Made Flesh

Tuesday, February 9th, 2010

koosil-ja/dancekumiko’s algorhythms.

A cyborg is a cybernetic organism, a hybrid of machine and organism, a creature of social reality as well as a creature of fiction. Social reality is lived social relations, our most important political construction, a world-changing fiction. – Donna Haraway, “A Cyborg Manifesto”

Blocks of Continuality/Body, Image, and Algorithm, Koosil-ja/danceKUMIKO‘s multimedia dance performance, explores “the coexistence of the digital and flesh worlds” to dramatize “the potential of a dynamically networked body situated in digital environment.”

At first you are drawn to the screens onstage, trying to grasp how the dancers are “playing” them, but soon this grows frustrating, and you realize that it makes much more sense to watch the dancers themselves, and the ways they are registering the onslaught of images and sounds. But even that starts to lose its centrality. One is ultimately left in a Benjaminian “state of distraction,” lost in the dizzying architecture of the digital network, bodies dancing through in fragmented bits and bytes.

In the opening series of pieces, images of traditional dancers, advertisements, famous paintings and sculptures, and other material flash up on the screens and the dancers cut and paste movements together from these digital sources. A girl kicks her foot against a wall, repeatedly. And the dancers follow suit. An African tribal ceremony shifts to a Picasso nude to an advertisement for cigarettes. The dancers seek to lose themselves—and the audience—in the gestural mix. It is not altogether unlike Merce Cunningham’s Cage-ian efforts to choreograph dance by improvisatory chance rather than controlled design. One is not surprised to learn that Hwang studied with Cunningham.

The final piece of the performance grows more intriguing when the dancers attach digital sensors to their bodies, and musician Geoff Gersh plays a large thumping pneumatic bar with his brain waves (also by digital sensor). Here the give and take between digital and flesh promises to be most “dynamically networked.” However, the results are a bit disappointing. The screens feature rather stereotypical “virtual world” imagery and the relationship between dancer movements and digital screens is predictable. The cyborg at this dance turns out to be a wallflower.

What is oddly the most compelling moment is when the dancers, musician, and technicians alike incorporate the wiring up of technology into the performance itself. The choice to lay bare the process of getting into digital gear, calibrating the equipment’s remote control capacities, and verbally announcing when the dance is about to begin (“Ready, ready, ready, go,” the call goes round) made visible the complex coordinations required in all networks. The digital, this Brechtian moment suggested, is above all else social.

It is indeed the sociality of the digital network that Koosil-ja and danceKUMIKO start to summon into heightened form. This sociality is where the flesh and the digital meet. The social body is between the buttons, on the beams, and in a digital ether whose long tail turns out to be embodied itself: it’s the foot of a young woman kicking against a wall.

#363 – Drawn To Dance

Saturday, February 6th, 2010

it figures.

Describing his efforts to draw the dancer María Muñoz, John Berger hints at the unlikely links between drawing and dance.

The effort of my corrections and the endurance of the paper have begun to resemble the resilience of María’s own body. The surface of the drawing, its skin, not its image, makes me think of how there are moments when a dancer can make your hairs stand on end. – John Berger

John Berger drawing of María Muñoz.

Both drawing and dance use visual representation to suggest forces that become—whether through fleet of foot or sleight of hand—attached to the material.

You lose your sense of time when drawing. You are so concentrated on scales of space. – John Berger

In drawing as in dance, Berger suggests, something slips through our fingers, darts past the corner of our eyes.

We who draw do so not only to make something observed visible to others but also to accompany something invisible to its incalculable destination. – John Berger

We see deeper surfaces beyond the surface, bodies within the body, glimpsing positively into negative spaces. We feel it, sense it, but then it’s gone.

Drawing María in the Bridge position was like drawing a coal miner working in a very narrow seam. – John Berger

Perhaps only through something like the repetitive technical labors of drawing and dance can we affix presence to that absence. Call them riveting art forms.

#333 – Dancing About Architecture

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

sarah best maps her memories of dancing at links hall, chicago.

Shouldn’t all architectural drawings include the memories of what happened within their walls?

sarahbest

#316 – Bodies Upon the Gears

Thursday, June 4th, 2009

standing bodies, dancing bodies, social bodies.

Two extremely different events — the “Tank Man” from the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989 and a white man getting his groove on at the Sasquatch Music Festival — but they seem oddly connected to me as examples of individuals sparking democratic collective consciousness and action through use of their bodies.

The “Tank Man” is iconic, serious, political, death-defying. The white man is from a banal everyday moment, silly, cultural, life-affirming. But both individuals are brave in their own way, and both point to the multiple levels at which, when it comes to social, political, and cultural change, the exact relationship between the individual and the collective remains so ineffable and mysterious (while also so embodied and bodily!).

(I should say that I post this comparison at the risk of what for some may be a trivialization of the “Tank Man”; but I think it’s worth keeping the links open between moments of politics and of pleasure, of deadly-serious acts of courage and light-heartedly-comic acts of foolish inspiration. Though they are different, they are perhaps not entirely unrelated.)

The Tank Man (set to music and a message from the video maker).

(Note: be sure to watch the video through to its joyous end.)

#246 – Reach Out in the Darkness

Monday, October 27th, 2008

the accumulation of “the sixties” in five easy dance steps.

If asked to name one art performance that sums up the 1960s counterculture, Culture Rover would choose Trisha Brown’s Accumulation, from 1971 (seen here in a brief excerpt at the beginning of Byron Woods’ video preview of the Trisha Brown Dance Company at Duke’s American Dance Festival).

Set to the song “Uncle John’s Band” by the ur-countercultural rock group the Grateful Dead, the piece typically features a female dancer who adds simple movements one to the next until they gather into a kind of balanced, natural rhythm: pared down, vernacular, and earthy.

The dancer steps out in front of the curtain, on the stage apron, as if to signal the informality of the performance. The music begins, a lilting acoustic guitar with maracas and clave sticks ambling along behind the melody. First, the dancer’s thumbs gesture like a hitchhiker’s in search of a ride. Then the hips sway and the dancer steps back and forward as if tangoing with the audience. One leg kicks up and down. The thumbs move again in small circles at the waist. The dancer inhales and reaches up skyward, drawing the hands in to the belly and up over the head in what resembles the outstretched end of a yogic sun salutation. Repeat.

Trisha Brown

The pace is easy-going, the body loose and relaxed. Limbs elastic, without the formal rigidity of classical ballet or even much other modern dance. The beauty of the piece is striking: it has a goofy yet profoundly moving quality of dawning illumination.

The dancer alludes to numerous Sixties roles in the brief six-minute performance. She is, first of all, female. I have come to believe that the counterculture was, despite its retrograde aspects, driven most of all by transformations in gender norms. The changing boundary between femininity and masculinity is key. The dancer is an Even Cowgirls Get the Blues adolescent girl setting out on the road in adventure. She is also a religious seeker seeking out the spiritual, meditating at sunrise. She is part dancer under the psychedelic strobe light flash, deep within herself among the ballroom crowd. She is also dancing in her bedroom alone, listening to a song emanate from her record player, imagining community through the vinyl grooves and electronic signals. She has discovered love. She is pleased, amazed, in the moment. She understands and inhabits her own body in a new way. She feels herself move through space: sweetly, sentient, grounded, in tune.

This performance encapsulates the Sixties counterculture because it is about an individual facing the universe: from the possibility of community with others to the discovery of the self to the perception of humanity’s place within larger, non-human realms. The dancer is not a revolutionary here, she has not mapped out an ideology. Instead, she achieves an openness and dexterity of mind, spirit, and body; she discovers a willingness to interact and transform and a desire to know and feel anew.

This consciousness, as it was called at the time, was the invisible vapor fueling the Sixties counterculture. It was more a feeling than an idea; it was a mood not a manifesto, an affective state not an ideological position (though of course these binaries were in continual dialectic interaction).

Trisha Brown’s Accumulation suggests how the Sixties counterculture exploded into being in the relationship of sensation to sensibility. As the dancer repeats her bodily movements, she adds new insights. She accumulates — ideas, awareness, experience, knowledge. Moving and then moving again, returning and reaching out into the dark theater, she establishes connections and then pulls them back into herself.

There were many distopian aspects to the Sixties counterculture, however the openness and discovery expressed in Accumulation presents the Sixties counterculture at its best.

Image: Trisha Brown Dance Company