Looking back on Batsheva

I went to see Batsheva Dance Co. at Chicago's Auditorium Theatre over a month ago, and I thought I missed my opportunity to blog on this experience. I've just started my Spring Break, though, and realized that despite the immediate impact of images fading, writing on a performance, or at least pieces of it, is always fulfilling. It helps me understand and define my own aesthetic, and reconsider aspects that didn't appeal to me at first viewing. I also came home to find the Batsheva review by Sid Smith in the Chicago Tribune that had been saved for me.

Batsheva performed "Deca Dance," which is an ever-evolving conglomeration of various pieces that Ohad Naharin has choreographed. The piece of the program that I was hoping that Batsheva would present, and was so incredibly excited that they did, was the "Echad Mi Yodea" segment. I have seen this piece twice before, both performed by Hubbard Street in "Minus 16." This piece, which utilizes the accumulative nature of the music (an intense rock-version of a Hebrew children's/traditional song). Sixteen chairs are set in a semi-circle, and the dancers perform a seemingly simple but wildly specific accumulation in time with the music. One chair is left empty for a dancer that is slowly walking around the semi-circle, and one dancer consistently falls to the ground, over and over again. The most striking part, for me, is the end of the "chorus," when the dancers jump up to a strong parallel stance and chant along with the music. ("Shebashamaim, uva'aretz," actually meaning "In the heavens and on earth," ironically enough, against the severity of the music.) Something about the accuracy, musicality, strength, and piercing focus makes this piece come alive for me, and it is truly one of my favorite works of art. While Smith, in the Tribune review, mentions the presense of the audience-participation section, also performed by Hubbard Street as part of "Minus 16," (which I agree, is definitely a clever crowd-pleaser) I was surprised he didn't mention this brilliant piece.

I agree with Smith, when he acknowledges the tiresome repetition of the excerpt of the piece set to lines by poet Charles Bukowski. I admit, this was not my favorite, and I'm surprised they chose to perform two pieces with an accumulative structure, especially when the first one was so strong (and memorable, for Chicago-audiences, at least). The "gritty" lines, as Smith put it, didn't do anything for me. I was impressed, however, by the dancers' ability to repeat the same movement, in a way that was recognizably the same movement, but at the same time, not truly a mechanical carbon copy.

I was also excited that Batsheva performed sections from "Shalosh," or, "Three," which I had seen in Tel Aviv this summer. The section they performed is one of sheer athleticism, along with grace, boldness, and passion for movement. Toward the end of the piece, the dancers align themselves in one of three lines, the front dancer taking a moment to solo or do something showy before moving to the back of the line. The solos escalated to a point of what to me represented almost forced, self-afflicted violence or humiliation, as they pulled up their shirts or even unzipped flies (Smith says, "innocently," though I got more of the sense of dangerous naivety). To me, it was as if they were a part of a competition, almost a mock-reality show, and the rivalry and ridiculousness get out of control. The presence and honesty it must have taken to perform this is admirable.

While there were definitely many other mentionable moments like the incredible performance of the soloist who improvised for 20 minutes or more before the show opened, the intriguing women of Naharin's "B/olero," or the various sensual duets both, male, and male with female partners. Truly, their athleticism and artistry never fails to inspire me.

Some things of disappointment, however, were the quite visible and definitely audible protesters outside the theatre, denouncing the Company for its government's military actions, and calling for a complete boycott of everything Israeli. I find this action to be, first of all, inappropriate, and second, counterproductive. While Batsheva is an Israeli company that is proud of their people and culture, they are not representative of every political opinion (of which there are many!). It upset me so deeply that artists would be targeted by this blind and unfocused anger. Coming to my second point, it is the artists--the dancers, musicians, actors, painters, and poets--who can bring people together for shared experiences of compassion. If we cannot share art with each other, how can we share peace?

On silence

I'm still getting used to trying to write regularly, though this sometimes proves difficult...

A few weekends ago was U of I's spring production February Dance. I performed in an event that happened before the show, coordinated by New York choreographer and U of I faculty member Tere O'Conno. Participants were asked to meditate on silence--We had five minutes to perform a piece in a 10 ft. by 22 ft. square area, the only limitation being that our performances had to be in complete silence.

This Silent Show opened with a professor and orchestra conductor in the Music Department simply reading through a score, minimally conducting, gesturing, and internally processing. Other performers danced in the intimate area, performed Tai Chi, or projected videos. One artist who is particularly adept at the skill of knitting presented various personified objects he had created.

When I first began thinking about this project, my first impulse was to think of silence as oppressive. I have participated in numerous movements in which silence is used to demonstrate a lack of voice and legitimacy. This includes the Day of Silence movements on high school and college campuses, a day of self-imposed silence to demonstrate the lack of voice that the GLBTQ etc. community feels every day. I was also reminded of the Breaking the Silence series that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra performs every summer. In this series, summer director James Conlon chooses and conducts pieces by composers that were victimized during the Nazi Regime, often music considered "degenerate" or even written by Jews while in the concentration camps. However, I realize that silence as a meditation and solace can be enlightening and necessary. Through all of these thoughts, I did some free-writing on the nature of silence, both oppressive and liberating.

Free-writing became central to my piece. I decided I wanted to perform this stream-of-consciousness writing. I collaborated with a friend, and, dressed in white T-shirts and shorts, we wrote, drew, and scribbled on each other with markers, while rolling, arching, otherwise maintaining contact with each other.

The experience was different than anything I had ever done before, and with the audience also standing inside this white box with us, the setting was extremely intimate. (With the exception of the showering/scrubbing that followed,) I enjoyed this opportunity to think about the nature of silence and its resulting thoughts.

A musical Inauguration brings hope for the Arts

Music played a crucial role in President Obama's inauguration today, and with it came a feeling of invigorating relief and forward motion.

CNN broadcasted the words of American jazz musician/composer/arranger Quincy Jones during their coverage of the Inauguration.  As a friend of Barack Obama's, he is requesting that Obama create a new official cabinet position: Secretary of the Arts.  With arts funding suffering under the previous administration, and especially now, due to the economy crash, our role in being arts advocates is even more imperative.  I might be being too idealistic, but I really hope that Obama's approval will come to pass.  To sign a petition to support it, click here: http://www.PetitionOnline.com/esnyc/petition.html

Regarding other thoughts, a quartet that consisted of Itzhak Perlman (violin), Yo-Yo Ma (cello), Gabriela Montero (piano), and Anthony McGill (clarinet) performed "Air and Simple Gifts," arranged by John Williams, at the Inauguration.  The piece opened with Perlman's angelic, rubato strains, and Yo-Yo Ma entered with the deep, resonant tone of the cello.  When the clarinet sang the first familiar phrase from Simple Gifts, one could not help but think of "Appalachian Spring" and the inherent American sound of Copland.  The piano joined and it became a swift journey of the American spirit, and a sound of new hope for the future in this coming era.

Josh Groban, who never fails to move me with his genuine musicality and rich, true voice, performed "My Country 'Tis of Thee" on Monday the 19th with Heather Headley and the DC Gay Men's Chorus, a really fantastic blending of voices.  The two unique voices each brought out different colors and blended fantastically with the choir.  U2 also performed a passionate "In the Name of Love" among other songs on Sunday, one of numerous other artists to perform on inaugural weekend.

Many a marching band also carried this spirit through the parade, including the first openly gay band to march in the Inaugural parade (a contingent from the Lesbian and Gay Band Association).

I only felt that a physical manifestation of this excitement was lacking.  Perhaps a Secretary of the Arts would put dance in its proper place, at the forefront of the arts, for the first time.

Gaga class in Tel Aviv

As my first post on my new blog, I’d like to share some writing I did following my experience in Tel Aviv this summer, where I spent three weeks studying Batsheva Dance Company’s training technique.

An original technique known as Gaga, developed by artistic director Ohad Naharin, combines elements of improvisation, visualization, focusing techniques, and physicality. The classes in Gaga technique were physically and mentally intense, complex, and amazingly rewarding I took at least two, and frequently three classes per day, which were usually taught by Batsheva Company members or its Ensemble (their training/apprentice company) members. Their knowledge of the body, movement, and the technique was rich and deep, and their passion for sharing their knowledge and dancing with the students was inspiring. The classes were primarily taught in Hebrew (of which my comprehension is little), but phrases and important ideas were translated for us English speakers. I met other Israelis who were warm and inviting, and danced with a few other Americans also studying the Gaga technique. (See Deborah Friedes' Dance In Israel blog: http://www.danceinisrael.com)

The Batsheva technique is simple at its core, but complex if you are trying to grasp all that it offers. During my three weeks of dancing, I learned how to open myself up to the information that was being offered and absorb the Batsheva philosophy. My body began to apply the ideas more naturally as the classes progressed, and I learned how to be more free an uninhibited. While the technique taught at Batsheva is about many things, including allowing the body to be free by releasing excess tension, harnessing one’s imagination as a source of inspiration, and connecting to your own personal passion for movement and dance, I found its core values—understanding the body as a natural source of energy, power, and a positive life force—to be especially powerful. I found myself understanding more than ever before how movement and dance is deeply life-affirming. Many of the classes had elements of a cardio workout and were otherwise physically draining. Some teachers pushed us to a point near exhaustion. However, at the moment that we were able to rest, the energy and life that radiated was one of the most amazing of my dance experiences. The tingle of the flesh, the pounding of the heart’s pulse, and the breath flowing through the body kept me going. Many ideas in Gaga, like this, are equally valuable in metaphor as they are in physical practice. As the classes continued and I began to understand more deeply Gaga’s connection to determination and life. As we shook, suspended, connected, floated, pushed through exhaustion, and danced, the idea of resiliency, strength in perseverance, and harnessing positive energy resonated deeply with me. I found that working in this way, in Israel, was a powerful and meaningful experience.

The Graham tradition is of course deeply rooted in Batsheva, as she co-founded the company. The idea of emotion, drama, and struggle that's inherent in Graham is also present in Gaga. When we were pushed through physically difficult situations (whether it was cardio or muscular fatigue), we were always reminded to find the pleasure in the effort, and the passion through the struggle. I also had two classes with Ohad Naharin, and he is an incredible mover and a passionate, driving teacher. The classes were more challenging, as he really wanted to try to get us to understand the technique at its deepest level.

I was also able to see a number of Batsheva performances, and they were incredible—I especially loved the performance of Shalosh at the Suzanne Dellal theatre, a performance of beauty of human body in motion and humor that crescendoed into a finale of intense physicality and matching emotion. Batsheva will take it’s show, Deca Dance on tour in the States, starting late January.

I am so grateful for this experience I had with Batsheva, and I have been utilizing bringing the technique into and its philosophy my other classes. The ideas inherent in understanding my own sense of energy and power, the ability to conjure life from movement, and the struggle to persevere are now becoming an integral part of dancing.