December 17, 2008

Pina Bausch, Bamboo Blues

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The characters in Pina Bausch’s dances seem to live in a magical world consisting solely of wild passion, broken hearts and prom dresses. Questions kept going through my mind: Do they have commitments or responsibilities? Do they pay bills? Do they know any other hardship than that of love? Did the women just finish shooting a Pantene Pro-V commercial?

While watching the luscious, sensual Bamboo Blues, the questions kept coming: Do they know they’re in a piece with Indian references, or do they just think their fiery orange and hot magenta dresses are pretty? What do they think about India’s abject poverty, extreme violence against women, or the transgender hijiras? What is appropriate in representing another culture? Bamboo Blues is a dreamy, soft-core “India Lite”. It works best if you just go with the flow.

Pina, we love you and we always will. Your creations speak volumes of sensuality and human emotion, without even saying a word. All your lovely dancers have to do is walk on stage and we are riveted. Your sets (by Peter Pabst) are magnificent. When we think of the hallmark of dance dramaturgy, we think of you.

Yet I can’t help but wonder, Pina: How can sensuality be portrayed in other ways than textbook femininity and masculinity? Would you be able to make a dance with a short-haired woman? How about divvying out the relationships, which are entirely straight? The topic of carefree lovers alone is not substantial enough to hold interest.

There is a reason critics have a difficult time critiquing her work. Because perhaps the point of it all is to not think about reality; her dances are luscious stagings of isolated human drama – and should be appreciated for just that.

December 3, 2008

Pipilotti Rist, Pour Your Body Out

(AP Photo/Richard Drew)

 

(AP Photo/Richard Drew)

 

Just a short observation on the immense and lovely video installation by Pipilotti Rist at MoMA: Not only is it an amazing feat of projection, but the fact that one watches the imagery lying on a large comfy daybed completely transforms the art museum experience.

Comfortably lying supine, my body’s overall relaxation allowed me to simply observe more. (Which recalls a principle of eyesight: squinting or straining inhibits overall eyesight; relaxing the musculature around the eyes allows for both a global view and a heightened attention to detail. “Inhibition” in the Alexander Technique sense.)

I also let go of the urgency to view the installation (which I feel is often the case in a gallery- the immediacy of observing, processing and critiquing all at once) so that I was finally able to indulge myself in Rist’s wild, red-headed traipse through her Technicolor backyard. Lovely.

The photo below is of “City Lounge”, an outdoor space in the center of St. Gallen, Switzerland, that has been designed by Carlos Martinez in collaboration with Rist, as a result of a design competition to create a public living room. Again, a space that makes you want to be anything but vertical!

city-lounge1

September 18, 2008

Iannis Xenakis, Oresteia

Just a few thoughts on Miller Theater’s production of Oresteia: With all due respect for Luca Veggetti’s direction and choreography, does Iannis Xenakis’ highly contemporary and thrilling score call for dance in a balletic jazz idiom? In fact, why bring in dancers at all? Why not elaborate the most successful bits of choreography, those in which the chorus members were asked to move? The dancers, despite their feline prowess and technique, never took their eyes off the floor, and in listening to the complex brilliance of the music, one ultimately begins to tune the choreography out, much like one tunes out external noise when reading a compelling book.

In this production the chorus members were the most powerful actors and purveyors of affect, not the dancers, which doesn’t mean to suggest doing away with the choreography, but rather specifying whom exactly to choreograph. Given the music’s precedence and intrigue, I think the choruses alone would have sufficed.

Veggetti’s direction, on the other hand, was tasteful and careful not to overload the scene with too much stimulation, astutely setting visual artist Pascal Delcey’s slowly morphing imagery above the action. The small stage was remarkably minimalist and well managed, considering the fact that roughly 70 people shared the same space.

But the music reigns. Kudos to The International Contemporary Ensemble and to bass Wilbur Pauley, whose performances were impeccable, though it is hard to tell when a player botches a quarter tone passage… The keenest aspect of Xenakis’ score has to be the subtle instrumental commentary, for the plot of Aeschylus’ elaborate story is only hinted at in the singers’ dialogue. (This commentary was precisely what the choreography tried to usurp, and in doing so became distracting, not enlightening.) The star of the evening was undeniably David Schotzko on solo percussion, perched high above the action, not unlike Athena, who in the last scene lays down the final judgment and orders all to disperse, nixing Orestes’ punishment and ordering the Furies’ conversion to benevolence.

This last moment of shrill, exhilarating cacophony -the most aurally theatrical moment I’ve experienced- was well worth any flaw in the production. I never thought that in this city of incessant, deafening clamor, I’d be so thrilled to hear such a noisy event…

September 9, 2008

Interview with Olivier Dubois

It seems that Vaslav Nijinsky is making himself manifest to me lately. I just finished reading Journal de Nijinsky, the diary he furtively kept during his later years under psychiatric observation; MoMA screened a documentary on the Ballets Russes a few weekends ago; and I came across an interview with French choreographer Olivier Dubois in Mouvement magazine where he talks about reinterpreting the legendary dancer’s work, The Afternoon of a Fawn. Dubois has some interesting things to say, so I have translated the interview below. Conducted by Gwenola David, July-Sept. issue, 2008. (note on the translation: when I say “dancer”, I have translated from “interprète” which literally means interpreter, but equally dancer in the context of choreography. I mention this because Dubois touches on ideas about interpreting, and in French the word is essential. Also, I have put into boldface those comments I found particularly interesting)

“MUTATIONS OF A FAUNE”

Olivier Dubois, an unusual dancer, makes an abstraction out of his corpulence and reflects on the interpretation of choreography. For Faune(s), he calls on Christophe Honore, Sophie Perez and Xavier Boussiron so he can “deviate from the known paths”.

May 29th, 1912, Theatre du Chatelet, Paris. L’après midi d’un faune abruptly overturns choreographical conventions. Vaslav Nijinski, herald of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, broke away from proper academic codes and shattered the glorious icon of the virtuoso soloist. About a century later and following many other artists, Olivier Dubois attacks the myth with the respect of an iconoclast passionate about history. An uncommon dancer of insolent roundness and indulgent suppleness, he undertakes a revival of the Fawn, placing the original score under the baton of Dominique Brun. But since he intends to question notions of the dancer and of updating an existing work, he has also asked Christophe Honoré, filmmaker and writer, Sophie Perez, director and scenographer, and Xavier Boussiron, composer, to imagine their own visions. To which he will add his own. Faune(s) will be a very plural interpretation…

Why did you start dance at age 23?

I don’t really know. I had taken a few classes before, without much desire or follow-up, just as I had done a lot of sports: tennis, horseback riding, judo, karate, Thai boxing… Professionally I saw myself in some sort of diplomatic career, like a cultural attaché. I studied applied foreign languages in Aix-en-Provence and had prepared the Inalco exam. Except that college didn’t fit me at all, neither did the rythym, the people. I reached saturation. Long story short, after my degree, I wanted to explore something else… dance for example. I love a challenge. I’m someone who always tries things. After tons of negotiations with my parents who thoroughly objected (I didn’t have the physique, the technique nor the experience), I went to Paris for a trial year. There I devoured dance. I took up to four classes a day, from ballet to modern, read books, studies, went to shows… in order to make up for lost time, to acquire the vocabulary, to make myself into an intelligent body, to be able to adapt myself to choreographer’s propositions. At the end of one year, I had my dancer’s “costume” et could make a difference at auditions. My great chance was to debut with Damiano Foa and Loura Simi, of the company Silenda. They made me understand what it means to be a dancer, in terms of engagement and of responsibility. And they allowed me to work towards authenticity in my movement and the motivation to take on this career.

Did anyone ever question you because of your body, different because of its roundness?

I had never questioned myself beforehand. At one time I believed it was my difference that explained why they always chose the other guy in the final round of auditions. In reality, I simply wasn’t ready. I learned that with Karine Saporta. I dance with an almost fantasized image of my body -with sensations of movement. If I visualize something, I prevent myself from exploring that place where the supposed physical norms don’t correspond, that place where I don’t expect. Even so, my stance doesn’t mean to bring up a militant discourse. My body is simply my working tool. I know that it doesn’t “conform” because people’s regards tell me so. Like Angelin Preljocaj, who told me one day, “The day your body poses a problem for you, it will be my problem too. Because you’ll dance differently.”

You have danced for Karine Saporta, Angelin Preljocaj, Jan Fabre, Nasser Martin-Gousset among others, then took a detour with Cirque de Soliel, then in Las Vegas for Celine Dion’s concert. Why such diversity?

I’m bulemic. I love to learn, to subject myself to new rules. I love to get lost. These experiences were also fields of exploration. With Angelin Preljocaj for example, I learned to be interchangeable, to dance in a group. In Las Vegas, I discovered American-style productions, I learned to sing, to do acrobatics. I went to the audition to accompany a friend, and then I sort of fell into it. In the end I got myself kicked out… I took up too much space on stage. With Jan Fabre, I loved the generosity of the information and whom I met, the combat, the audacity, the engagement, the sense of live directing, which was worth all the pain I endured and the frantic speed. He does a lot to artistically nourish the dancer. He shares his artistic friendships. We dined with Nan Goldin, Matthew Barney, Marina Abramovic, Björk… I’m serving the work, not of the choreographer. Even if we aren’t equal, because he remains my employer- in front of the art, we work together. This focus on the same goal -creation- balances the relationship.

Is that the question of the dancer/interpreter?

This diversity allows me to enrich myself, to be a force of proposition, to dare extreme contortions. Actually, the problem of a dancer/interpreter goes along with that of translation, which I loved in college: this painful space of perpetual dissatisfaction, of contortion in order to get inside the shell of the work and try to hold it up. Interpretation, it’s the “almost” -to use an expression by Umberto Eco in Dire presque la meme chose- in other words, the selected portion that’s not totally satisfying.

“To bend, to submit oneself and above all to pervert in order for the work to exist”, you write. Is this your definition of a dancer’s gesture?

A gesture contains an intrinsic duplicity. I try to make my body malleable, available, but it isn’t a virgin body. It’s loaded with lived experiences. Like a novel that enriches itself with new words every day -where I delve in to write another book. What I am largely perverts what’s asked of me, since the vector, being me, is my body, my experience, my doubts, my audacities, my imperfections. A dancer is a physical thinker. I don’t exactly follow the steps, I deviate slightly and with conviction, but always in the service of the work.

You have applied to be the director of Centre Choregraphique National de Rennes et de Bretagne. You place the dancer at the heart of your project…

In France, recognition unfortunately comes through institutions. My project aimed to create a place of reflection within the choreographic landscape, and a true platform for dancers, offering resources over a duration of time. The nature of a dancer’s problems isn’t only viewed in terms of training. Why am I the first [dancer] to propose directing a national choreographic center?

In Faune(s), you approach L’Apres-midi d’un faune as an auteur, but above all as a dancer. What is your point of view?

I have a feeling that Nijinski created L’Apres-midi d’un faune as a dancer. The piece didn’t provoke a scandal because of its eroticism but because the handsome virtuoso dancer, transformed into a woodland creature, didn’t respond to the public’s expectations. Faune corresponds to this historical moment when the dancer becomes the choreographer. What interests me is to approach it as a dancer, to traverse the original work in its scenery, with a painted canvas by Bakst, the nymphs, etc. My goal isn’t to dance Nijinski, but rather the Faune, to forget my costume and my shapely form, to disappear behind the work. The error would be that people saw Olivier Dubois. It’s a really complex and subtle challenge.

How have you proceeded with the work?

I worked with Dominique Brun, one of the founders of the Knust Quartet, who has worked on a transcription of this work for many years. She passed on her knowledge and the score to me, in total fidelity, but not in an old-fashioned way. I root myself in history so that I can free myself from it. The question of the dancer and of the reappropriation of heritage is at the heart of the project. Similarly, I asked filmmaker Christophe Honoré, Sophie Perez and Xavier Boussiron to create their own vision while respecting the original’s format, to know the theme, the music and the one same dancer. Cinema interests me as an art of “living dead objects”, which is to say, that which brings forth the fiction of life all while freezing it, therefore killing it on the film, in order to replay it semi-eternally. As for Sophie Perez, I love her way of subverting theater, to draw from history, to dredge up both the sublime and the messy, to rub the trivial and the intellectual together. She rummaged through Nijinsky’s writings, his biography -notably his relations with Diaghilev, his mother, his wife, etc. Then she thought up objects that I improvised with in order to compose a portrait… a subjective one. I wished to confront myself with artists with whom I had never worked, in order to deviate from the known paths.

You have just finished the forth version of Faune(s). What’s next?

The forth version reproduces the experience of this journey. In other words, how the passing through the three preceding versions nourishes the dancer… The superposition ends by erasing Olivier Dubois dancing Nijinsky -so that the Faune can appear in the foreground.

June 14, 2008

Matthieu Hocquemiller, J’arrive plus à mourir

We are going to throw a huge party.

We will want grandiose and pathetic beings.

We will be anecdotal and essential.

We will explain seriously what dance is, the inscription of the intimate and of the collective, the complex articulation of meat and of immediacy.

We will talk about politics, we will say really big words, enormous words, we will say that capitalism is an ultra-violent enterprise of annihilation. We will say that violence is a class violence.

We will invite in our anxieties, the ones that paralyze us, that devastate us.

We will invite in the collective breath.

We will dance magnificent solos of love and we will be tiny fragile things.

Words from the Montpellier-based choreographer Matthieu Hocquemiller for his show “J’arrive plus à mourir” (rough translation, “I can’t die anymore”) presented at Mains d’Oeuvres last night. The performance, which started out as a messy, insouciant party, eventually turned out to be a lovely, insouciant declaration of being. (Right up Miguel Gutierrez’s alley.) The three dancers, Evguenia Chtchelokova, Elise Legros and Cyril Viallon, threw all their might into the performance, dancing with powerful and released voluptuous bodies.

An exuberant and visceral orgy. A touching, honest confession. Tiredness.

Enjoyably unpedantic. The political and the intimate, churning together like the contents of a stomach.

A great show.

June 14, 2008

Mains d’Oeuvres: le cousin de Chez Bushwick?

Mains d’Oeuvres is a fantastic venue and resource for fledgling artists. Located just north of Paris in the suburb of Saint Ouen, it could be likened to the alternative creative spaces for interdisciplinary arts in Brooklyn. It caters specifically to young companies, helping them get on their feet through various residencies and administrative aid. Here is an excerpt from their mission statement:

Mains d’Oeuvres is a space for creation, research and exchange, a laboratory open to experimentation and to all kinds of questioning. We welcome projects that are danced or not danced, pro or con, immediate or derisive; projects that are singular in their research and that attempt to (re)question or rethink society and the art of choreography.

We are here to bring to life creations that will draw their inspiration from the texture of the body, the soul and the times; we are here for hybrid projects that blur the boundaries between the arts; for projects that are more of conviction and less of seduction.

We are less interested in purely aesthetic or purely physical dances, nor are we interested in those that don’t say anything, don’t question anything, that don’t bring anything to the foreground.

It’s a place to keep an eye on…

June 1, 2008

Catherine Baÿ, Blanche Neige

A testament to the fact that performance art needn’t employ a megaphone or other ostentatious devices to get its message across. Catherine Bay’s project of gun-toting Snow Whites is cunning, decisive and wonderfully subtle. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen anything so powerful in the realm of both performance and choreography.

On Friday night the Snow Whites invaded Sonia Rykiel’s clothing boutique in the sixth arrondissement (think Upper East Side), as Ms. Bay was invited as a part of Parcours Saint Germain, a swanky neighborhood fair of art exhibits. As the champagne-happy attendees (many of which strolled in for the free booze) perused the ultrachic fashion accessories, the pistol carrying Snow Whites wandered around creepily, like demented Disneyland Terminators.

In what was a very fine-tuned group improvisation, the Snow Whites performed off of loose scores: they chose between exhibiting a robotic surveillance over the crowd (just like the real security guards in the store), chatting to each other coyly, sipping on champagne (just like us), toying with their guns listlessly, and occasionally dropping down dead. The performers, all young, pretty-faced dancers, improvised with tact and subtlety. They all wore costumes and caps made of thin rubber which upon closer viewing were finely molded and beautifully objects themselves.

Through her performances, film, and in her Blanche Neige poem/manifesto, Bay messes with codes of representation and behavioral norms. (”the intimate versus the social body” she notes.) Blanche Neige is deeply critical and quietly rebellious. In these times of Homeland Security and continual American pop culture domination, this work is powerful, fascinating and unnerving. Through these demented characters’ behavior, we realize that they are no more demented than we are- they simply choose to operate under different norms.

Still from

**Blanche Neige is coming to NYC’s French Institute / Alliance Francaise in the fall! Save the date!**

May 4, 2008

Interview with Jérôme Bel and Daniel Buren

This year’s Vidéodanse program at the Centre Pompidou contains a great interview with choreographer Jérôme Bel and visual/installation artist Daniel Buren. I have translated it here for those interested in reading it. Interview conducted by Jean-Max Colard in Paris, Feb. 2008.

Everything Depends on its Context

A meeting between two prestigious regulars of the Pompidou Center: Daniel Buren, artist, has covered the exposition walls with his large retrospective in 2002, and Jérôme Bel, choreographer, has presented his works here with the sense of “show” that we have come to expect from him. But what do they have in common, these two creators -each one deeply engaged in their own discipline, questioning it head-on and breaking all the conventions?

Jérôme Bel – I realized that in the last four years, my pieces came from “invitations” -they were commissions. I don’t have the time anymore to develop my own ideas, not even a small one on the side. I respond to commissions. To contexts.

Daniel Buren – Actually, an artist always works under commission, a term that’s a little obsolete and to which I prefer the terms “invitation”, “request”, and “offer”. I’m not talking only about what you can do in a public space, but also in a museum, in a gallery. Even in the case of an art gallery, where you have the most freedom, it’s still a commission we’re responding to!

Jérôme Bel – The nicest is when I’m offered a context that I wouldn’t have sought out myself, for example, L’Opéra [Ballet] de Paris. I had never imagined doing a show with a classical dancer. The worst is when they say to you, “Come, and do whatever you want!” I could as easily just stay at home!

As a choreographer, you question your contextual environment with acuity…

Jérôme Bel – Yes, I’m very much interested in that, which isn’t the case for other choreographers. I often work “on site” (in situ; “site-specific”). It’s kind of weird to say that in front of Daniel Buren. I identified a lot, actually, with your way of working, notably the idea of not having a studio. Because early on, you abandoned the idea of a studio, which really helped me. My method of working is the artist, or the writer -alone reflecting on his or her work. Even if I work with actors/dancers in the end. Or with a context. The Opera of Paris was such a determining context that I didn’t imagine abstracting it. The same with Thailand [in reference to Pichet Klunchun and Myself]: I don’t see myself arriving with my dancers, housing them in a four-star hotel and rehearsing a piece in a theater in Bangkok. No, once I’m there, I work with Thai dance, its relation between Thai culture and our own.

Daniel Buren, as in your participation in live plastic art performances like the Circus- do you still see yourself working “on site”, or is there another way to work?

Daniel Buren – No, and my answer is simple: what is essentially site-specific is the theater, the circus. It’s there where everything plays out, before the eyes of witnesses, in a specific place -it’s completely site-specific, well before this notion was introduced into the art world, except perhaps during the Renaissance, for we must not forget that the fresco artists at the time worked “on site”. But since then we’ve forgotten this aspect of artistic work a little, and the idea has become fixed that the artist is completely free, detached from any context outside of a canvas.

Jérôme Bel – For choreographers, there are still independent companies: I am the master of my tools and of the way in which I produce and present my work. I turned down all the commissions people could ever give to me that fell under the classification of an independent company. I don’t have the time anymore to be independent! I’m extremely dependent!

Daniel Buren – It’s a paradox. Whoever says “site-specific” seemingly abandons the artist’s freedom in order to respond to the context, to the point where certain artists only see themselves to be “decorating.” I have received these critiques before, but I was aware of them and had already integrated this problem -and therefore its antidote- into my work.

Jérôme Bel - The idea of the artist’s freedom, it’s preconceived and absurd. Are we really free? No. And also the idea that we must be alone at home before our easel, or in a museum with walls, windows, the public… It’s an obsolete paradigm. For me, on the other hand, I’m interested in working with this reality and it’s why I find commissions interesting: we aren’t free, there’s a context, constraints, spectators. At the center of something constraining with very precise rules, how can we ever get started? It’s easier in the end. The more constraints I have, the better I see where I must work, my subject takes shape -I love it! If someone says to me, “Do whatever you want”, I’m not interested. I want to do what there is to do.

Jérôme Bel, have you ever made choreography for a public space?

Jérôme Bel – No, even though people have proposed it to me. Projects like these are usually very successful, but I can’t imagine my work outside of the theater. If what I do on stage were to be moved out to a public space, no one would notice it. For me, it doesn’t make sense because I do it on stage and I oblige the people to watch. The tradition of western theater is to not say anything and to stay until intermission. In Switzerland, what I did was so banal that the public didn’t even see it. Only the black box of the theater, with lighting and the immobile position of the audience, allows showing these things. I turned down an offer in an airport because I don’t imagine what one could do in this context, surrounded by travelers and their luggage.

Daniel Buren – That’s interesting, because one of the rare times that I turned down something a little enticing was for the Munich airport. I was perhaps wrong because others succeeded in doing things that were not so bad. But I just wasn’t feeling it. And I know airports too well to know that one can want to do many things, but one is not to look at an art work. Another problem comes up: Can all sites, specific or not, and all contexts welcome a art installation? I don’t think so. In the public space, certain artistic propositions are often accepted because of their relative invisibility. Their advantage is that they don’t disturb anyone, don’t cost a lot and don’t provoke anything. No one sees them, so it’s okay!

Jérôme Bel - On the other hand, there is in our world a tradition in the street. One of my ideas for the Pompidou Center would have been to bring into the theater the people who do things on the square in front of the building.  Like the mime all smeared in white who doesn’t even budge an eyebrow. I want to show that on stage. To bring into the theater what happens on the street, or even in the wings -it resembles what I already do. The piece Véronique Doisneau at the Opera Ballet of Paris brought out this approach.

What was it like watching this piece by Jérôme Bel? Did you recognize any of your own approaches to “on site” work, this time applied on stage?

Daniel Buren – I was blown away by this piece, but I wasn’t thinking of myself. Moreover, I don’t think we can see the works of others likewise. I thought about it, and after reading a sentence where Jérôme explained he was influenced by my work, I could make the connection and see what he meant by that, and of course I was very proud.

Jérôme Bel - Yes, but I would like to say again today that [that piece] came to me thanks to your idea of art, to this history of “on site”, of working with the context. For me, dance is just a tool, just like you use stripes in your work. I’ve always thought that it was a language, a tool, and it’s why I can work with a ballet dancer or with hip hop dancers, which are today the two most recognizable figures in dance. Whereas a contemporary dancer is much more difficult to define.

Daniel Buren – Most of all in the street! I saw the premiere of Véronique Doisneau at the Opera, and the piece came right after the conventional lineup of all the dancers on stage, from the little ones up to the star dancers. It’s like the great fountain shows of Versailles (les Grandes Eaux): they’re magnificent but they’re also a total cliché. And then you see walk on stage this dancer who has never achieved star status who tells her story, speaks of what has been painful or wonderful at the Opera -I thought that was fantastic. Because in addition you saw both dance and a critique of the dance profession. Actual pleasure that doesn’t camouflage actual suffering. I was astonished by the public’s reaction. I was expecting to hear hissing -you too I presume. But since it was very delicate, the audience was touched by something they already knew in the back of their mind, a certain truth that’s hidden at the Opera.

We’re touching on an idea here that’s fundamental for you both, the notion of criticism. Daniel Buren, you have contributed to what has been called “institutional criticism”, and in a way Jérôme Bel’s show at the Opera is of this kind. We know very well that to make a criticism of a place, an institution or a context is not necessarily to speak poorly about it, in any case it isn’t a total demolition. It’s above all a way of questioning the space, working accurately, the reality of a location, and also to talk about the great aspects.

Daniel Buren - One has even to accept that the “critique” in question plays in all directions. The accent can be very critical, but its sensibility cannot limit itself to an exclusively negative dialogue. I’ve always fought against that, even if in the beginning I was more often a critic than not. In the early 70s, once I realized that my work was being classified as political criticism, I quickly added in things that accented the artistic -the aesthetic- side of my work that I wouldn’t have done until then. If plastic art can only exist by its critical discourse, one day or another it will sink into this criticism. There are examples of very good artists, like Hans Haacke for example, who closed themselves off in an exclusively critical method. As soon as he would make something, we would wait for him to ferociously critique the museum, the gallery, those who were financing, how he was going to tell us his story and where he was going to lead us. Others, you’ll say to me, only paint bouquets of flowers, and they’ve got a point!

Jérôme Bel – I could have destroyed the Opera. I could have found an embittered dancer, who wasn’t faring well and who wanted to do something to the institution. In the beginning, I made the mistake of wanting to work with “the worst ballerina”. The Opera refused, I slammed the door. They called me back and offered to choose a dancer situated in the middle ranks of the hierarchy. To take from the middle, that’s what there was to work with. Because crisis, criticism, is to put into crisis, open the thing, show the insides, and with Véronique Doisneau I precisely open the Opera of Paris from the inside. The dancer Véronique Doisneau is in the middle ranks of the Opera Ballet corps, she’s not a star, but she’s not far from being one. She has problems with the establishment, but also many joys -each audience member decides for his or herself.

Daniel Buren – This detail nicely shows what it means to accept a commission. Without that dialogue, the piece wouldn’t have been balanced. If you had acted alone in total freedom, you would no doubt have gone astray and the show wouldn’t have had the strength that it did. In every commission there is before anything else the acceptance of the other.

Daniel, you have sometimes used people as a medium, whether they were stand-ins for a performance, or museum guards that you had dressed in striped vests. Here we’re reaching the boundaries of theater, direction, and even choreography…

Daniel Buren – In 1973, then in 1975 in the streets of New York, I did a project entitled Seven Ballets in Manhattan, which clearly brings up choreography. “Protesters” marched with a colored placard, as in a strike. They had a route, they walked for two hours and changed neighborhoods every day. The only thing they were allowed to answer to passersby who posed questions was the name of the color that they were toting. Before that, in early 1968, I did a project in Paris with people wearing sandwich advertising boards. And then there was the museum guards’ vests, a project started in 1977 and on display at MoMA right now in the exhibition Color Charts, where I made 150 vests of five different colors. Which creates an improbable ballet of a museum guards army that criss-crosses and meanders on all floors.

On the other hand, you also directed Superpositions, where you had a painting made by assistants by directing them live. It’s a very autonomous approach and similar to a studio environment. On stage there is a large empty wall onto which you dictate to five people to glue or tear off colored sheets of paper. A spectacle of a painting in the process of being made.

Jérôme Bel – In that, there is an act that is theatrical-performative. It’s you who dictates to your assistants where they must glue the sheets of paper. You are a director, in real time. I must say that that’s my dream! To direct actors while they act. I direct them beforehand or the previous day, but during the actual show, they don’t always do what I told them to! It’s the limitations of a director: once the piece is created, I can’t say anything else to them. No one’s ever done that, apart from Tadeusz Kantor, who was in the wings and intervened during the performance. I saw him at the Pompidou Center and I was completely fascinated. It’s an act that I’ve never stopped thinking about. It’s really my dream. If an orchestra conductor one evening is feeling down, he can change the orchestra, the game. It’s absolutely performative -it’s in his idea of the work in the instant that it’s playing out.

Daniel Buren – I’ve never thought of that, it’s funny but it’s true! And I’ve never seen that in theater or in choreography. I am there like an orchestra conductor that directs a score that hasn’t yet been written but the performers still can follow and compose at the same time. It’s also like a ballet, and I improvise what happens throughout, with all the surprises that can arise.

Jérôme Bel – I have to say that you’ve hit there the essence of theater. Directing, in its most performative aspect, for me, is the essence of theater, and everyone searches for that at present. And it’s always people coming from elsewhere that help us reach it.

Daniel Buren – My point of departure was not at all theater, but to “do” the painting, all the paintings: the spectacle of those amateur painters that you sometimes see in the street painting away. In the U.S., there are TV shows where you learn to paint. It’s often about painting a mountain landscape with a lake and you watch the progressive making of the picture. It’s really the worst kind of painting, but despite it all there’s something fascinating in the way the picture is created. It’s the fascination of the “doing”, whether it’s executed by a leisure painter or by Picasso, that interests me. Which has set in motion this type of performance for me. There’s a pleasure to doing that affects all people who paint, whether it’s Picasso or Yves Brayer. But then it gets confusing: it’s not because we get pleasure from doing something that we must automatically show it to others so that they too can find pleasure in it. That becomes a problem.

Jérôme Bel – In dance, you sometimes see a dancer’s own pleasure. And it’s frightening. One can enjoy dancing, and it’s necessary perhaps to have this pleasure, but why give it to me to see? That’s not enough. I, the spectator, want to feel it too!

Daniel Buren – Exactly. In these TV shows, it’s always catastrophic in the end. When the guy finishes his mountain landscape, it’s horrible. But during the entire time we were watching him do it, there’s something fascinating. The problem is the result. Whereas at the end of the Superpositions show, the lights go out, the realized work is destroyed and there’s nothing left. What counts here is only the process, not the result.

Contemporary dance often shows the making of a work on stage, or its “work in progress”…

Jérôme Bel – Yes, and I like this idea a lot. I always try, during the course of the performance, to make the viewer understand how I made the show. From the beginning to the end, it’s one of the laws of my work. There are rules to the game, the viewer learns them, and he or she then sees how I start to trick, to play with the rules. It’s working with the mind. I really like this TV show that you speak of. When I see someone first put on the colors, the forest in the background and then put in the people, I am in his head, I see the mind of the work. There is a construction, and I’m amazed.

Daniel Buren – What’s beautiful in this kind of living spectacle is this game with time. For me, time is equally present in art that’s in a space, and is essentially inseparable from what we see. It is explicitly inherent in the term “on site” (in situ) when I use it for example. It’s also true of traditional painting- time isn’t apparent as such and it’s rarely ever felt by the viewer, but it’s there! It’s moreover what I find much more exciting in painting than in video: the time isn’t fixed in advance. In painting, it’s free. A painting can be one second or one hundred years. It’s not imposed and doesn’t depend on the viewer.

Jérôme Bel – That there is your advantage. In the visual arts, the viewer decides how much time is spent. We [who are in dance or theater] are stuck in the dark for a specific duration. And I clearly see that the artists I know have a hard time staying in the theater! By habit and by aesthetic choice, they have a much different idea of the timespan of a work, freely chosen by the viewer. 

May 1, 2008

Vidéodanse 2008

Since 2000, the Pompidou Center has hosted these 2 to 3-week-long screenings of dance videos, open to the public at no cost. The Vidéodanse trend is to show a marathon of dance videos, although they aren’t so much dance videos as they are video recordings of the proscenium stage. I was hoping for more “dances for the camera”, which is dance made specifically for the video medium. In any case, it was good to see them all, for you could catch recordings of live performances that you missed in the past years. I caught as many screenings as I could this year, often camping out in the Center’s lower level makeshift theater. (I was the one lying on the floor in the back right corner.) Here are just a few highlights: (the ones with links have video content)

Le Sacre du Printemps (1913) – Vaslav Nijinsky. At long last. The Rite of Spring as it was meant to be performed. With what seems like three (mediocre) contemporary Rite of Springs coming out every year, I was happy to finally see what Diaghilev, Nijinsky, Stravinsky and Roerich had originally intended. In 1994, the National Opera Ballet of Paris recreated the original choreography and costumes (as accurately as they could), and it was a fantastic experience -both for its historical significance and for its musical and choreographic genius. Haunting.

Entr’acte (1924) – René Clair & Francis Picabia, with Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, Georges Auric and music by Erik Satie. Perhaps the first “dance for the camera” ever made, a surrealistic concoction of images and visual effects originally made for the intermission of Picabia’s ballet Relâche at the Théâtre des Champs Elysées. Though not actually “dance”, it was programmed in a dance context and occasionally frames a dancing ballerina from creative angles. (Which is why I call it “dance for the camera”: using film or video to showcase movement from a new perspective) Balloon-headed dolls, a funeral cortège chasing a runaway coffin, peeking underneath a ballerina’s skirt… Cynical, playful and irreverential -all you’d expect knowing its auteurs…

Le Ballet Triadique (1922) – Oskar Schlemmer. Made for the stage in 1922 by the multidisciplinary Bauhaus artist, then reconstructed and filmed in 1970. Dancers are masked and stuffed into abstract geometrical costumes, made with materials such as copper, plexiglass, aluminum and rubber. (A new use for these materials at the time) A very colorful, architectural and innovative study of movement in space.

Variations V (1965) – Merce Cunningham, John Cage, Stan Vanderbeek, Arne Arnborn and Nam June Paik. Does this image of a multimedia dance performance sound familiar to you: the projection of video images everywhere, motion-capturing sound devices, sound-producing light devices, laptops and speakers, gadgets and wires littered across the stage, blips and bleeps and blips and bleeps, etc., etc., etc.? Merce Cunningham can probably say that he did it first, in 1965, with this powerful video project. Again, a true “dance for the camera”, this version having been made specifically for film. The image and sound engineers are all shown in the film, sitting behind the controls in their horn-rimmed glasses, coats and ties, or maneuvering a device, which reinforces the work’s unpretentious and honest nature. A truly collaborative and successful project that bypasses empty experimentation with the goal of rejecting any imagery, movement or sound that is taken for granted. (Even the graphic design of the opening credits was stunning.)

Quad I & II (1981) – Samuel Beckett. If you can believe it, Beckett was a choreographer too. Hypnotic and unsettling, the 15-minute “teleplay” consists of four cloaked dancers methodically shuffling around a square stage in a tight, geometric canon. A well-crafted commentary on the monotony of life. (The video excerpt in the link is of poor quality; in a better quality video, you can hear the metronomic swishing of the steps and see the swift, eerie movement of the dancers much better.)

Blanche Neige Episode #1 (2005) – Catherine Bäy. As a part of a series of performances and installations using five women dressed as Snow White (who often tote assault rifles), Catherine Bäy messes with codes of representation, often critiquing male political systems with a subtle ferocity. I think this series is fantastic. I love it. Visually striking and fiercely critical, not without a dark sense of humor. 

Other viewings included Returning Home, a interview/documentary on Anna Halprin’s artistic bond with nature, a documentary on Isadora Duncan’s life by Elisabeth Kapnist, and a video presentation hosted by Mark Tompkins celebrating his company, I.D.A.’s 25th anniversary. There was a lot that I would have liked to see but just didn’t get to. Maybe next year.

February 16, 2008

Saburo Teshigawara, the theater technicians will never forgive you.

 

Two thoughts came to mind when watching Saburo Teshigawara dance over a huge bed of broken glass last night:

1) Self-expression, no matter how passionate, does not guarantee artistry;
2) Set design, no matter how sharp (pun woefully intended), has the danger of being a total gimmick.

Both of these conclusions apply to Glass Tooth, being presented by his company Karas at Theatre National de Chaillot this weekend.

Teshigawara is known for his visually striking set designs, and that they are. The rectangular beds of glass were simple, aesthetically pleasing and stunning when lighted. The reflections projected onto the black proscenium created a wonderful, soft texture above, and the lighting formations on stage were as sharp and clear as the glass pieces themselves.

Before the performance begins, one ponders the implications of dancing on broken glass. “Omigosh! Will they cut their feet? What does it all mean? Treading the precarious path of life? Tackling one’s perceptions of fear? Pure, shameless suspense?” It turns out that all he wants to do is make friends with the material.

“It is important to accept the environment and its materials. One must use them, not as tools, but for their own qualities, in the same way costumes and lighting are used in dance. The relationship we create with objects is like a duet.”

Thus, there are no overarching themes or symbolism; we get to watch Teshigawara perform what looks like improvised upper body movement over the crunching shattering glass (wearing shoes of course). He and his Japanese dancers feign ecstasy when crouched near the glass, caressing and touching the glass shards as if they were a bunch of cute, fluffy anime characters. Kawai!!! Let’s be friends!

What impressed me, actually, was his actual choreography on marley. His strong, elastic dancers were formidable executing Teshigawara’s fluid and lightning-quick “Forsythe-esque” movement. This demonstrated his deft movement capabilities and just how decisive his choreography could be.

Unfortunately the rest was rather forgettable. The performance included what seemed like a psychadelic rave gone bad (pop-and-lock-like movement to atrocious, generic techno music), a could-be scene from the original Japanese film “The Grudge” (a scary, pale little Japanese face glaring at the audience), and to top it off, a terribly boring solo by Teshigawara to a Romantic string quartet (music uncredited in the program, by the way) in which he resembled a sort of Japanese Pierrot Lunaire who was all sad ‘n stuff. (the whole part about self-expression not guaranteeing artistry) By the end, my pop culture corrupted self couldn’t help but want to hear a certain Annie Lennox song…

Saburo Teshigawara is not without talent, nor are his fantastic dancers; if you ask me, he should focus on his dynamic choreography, and not let his notorious set designs get in the way.