Still Pilgrim by Angela Alaimo O'Donnell

Put on your traveling shoes, comfortable for pilgrimage. Or take them off and be still a while. Both are proper for this collection of poetry.

Angela Alaimo O'Donnell created the persona of the Still Pilgrim for her latest collection of poems, aptly called Still Pilgrim, as a way of exploring passage and, in the monastic sense of the word, stability. The title on its own is ambiguous. A pilgrim who does not move? Still a pilgrim after all these years? As you read through the collection, you might be moved to answer yes to both questions---or no---at different points.

If you have read other writing (poetry or prose) from O'Donnell, you'll find familiar themes. Grief. The sensuality in life (and especially food). A sacramental outlook on life. The inherent hopefulness in each day.

In the poem, "The Still Pilgrim Makes Dinner," she deftly touches on all these with lines such as, "It’s Mother’s Day and I have no mother. / She left and took my daughterhood."  She goes on with details of the meal the pilgrim is cooking: frying oil, onions, the apron "soiled / by meals I've made for thirty years." Because I find hope in sacramental language, I am buoyed by the final lines (I recognize others may find them less so) as she concludes, "My mother, who is five years dead, / lives in this meat, these eggs I broke, / this dish she taught me how to make, / this wine I drink, this bread I break." In the 14 lines of this sonnet, we are given the way loss can lead to loss of self, but also how tradition and memory and, frankly, recipes can make that which was lost present again. Is it resurrection in the most literal sense? No, but I still find resurrection in this one poem. All these tangible things---chops, oil, flour, smoke---become so quickly "outward signs of inward grace."  All these sacramental items make present someone who is gone. I may be projecting but I am left with feeling that the pilgrim's dead mother both vanishes upon recognition and remains present in a meal.

(In case I need to be explicit, that one poem is possibly my favorite in the collection, and I've loved it since I read it on The Christian Century website, printed it out, and tacked it to my cubicle wall at work.)

The concerns of the Still Pilgrim span some distance, literal and metaphorical and metaphysical. She " . . . Invents Dawn" and " . . . Recreates Creation." She " . . . Sings to her Child" and " . . . Talks to her Body." She references other poets, considers sunrises and bird songs, wakes to the prayer of her beloved's breathing. She ponders perfection and the table manners of Jesus. The Still Pilgrim is ecstatic, sad, pensive, angry, forgiving, grateful, amused---in turn and simultaneously. She may "Sit back and enjoy the drama" or else run "like a woman catching fire."

The book opens with two epigraphs from T.S. Eliot (and a third from the Psalms), but I hope I will be forgiven if this collection brought to mind another, if perhaps too obvious, passage from Eliot:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity, 
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, 
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, 
There would be no dance, and there is only dance.

I would suggest that this is a point the Still Pilgrim knows well. This collection invites us into the dance studio and the meditation room, to move into the mystery of life and death and joy and regret and to sit with it all in contemplation.

I will admit that, in order to get this review written in a timely manner, I read the collection too quickly, a sin against any poetry. What I will do---and recommend to you---is to take it slowly. As "The Still Pilgrim's Refrain" would teach us, there is satisfaction in " . . . again . . . again . . . again . . . "

_______________________
Full disclosure: Paraclete Press, the publisher of Still Pilgrim sent me a preview copy of the book for the purpose of review. The thoughts expressed in this review are my own and sincere.

The Revolutionists - Main Street Theater

I saw The Revolutionists, by playwright Lauren Gunderson, last week at Main Street Theater. I've been thinking about it since.

I went in part because it's billed as a feminist play about women in the French Revolution. I consider myself a feminist and the premise intrigued me. Gunderson takes three historical women and one of her own invention to give us insight to the state of being a woman in the period---while drawing our attention to how too many things have not changed.

Indeed, one of the most interesting things Gunderson does is introduce us to period playwright Olympe De Gouges, a writer I'd not heard of before. Played by Shannon Emerick with a conflicted enthusiasm, Olympe works to make sure that "egalite" refers to women in the new France. It's a matter of historical record that she stood before the all-male national assembly and read her Declaration of the Rights of Women. A fascinating person to learn about.

Also in the quartet of women is Charlotte Corday (Molly Searcy), the woman who assassinated Jean-Paul Marat, and Marie Antoinette (Bree Welch), famously the last queen of France. The fictional woman is Marianne Angelle (Callina Situka), a composite of black women of the period that Gunderson created because of the scarcity of information for any women in the struggle to free the slaves of the Caribbean.

The conversations between these women are full of plans for revolution, arguments about best tactics, and accusations of weaknesses. There is sisterhood and there is division. Revolution isn't easy and even when the end goal is agreed upon, the road is full of peril and detours and arguments about routes.

Overall, the production is fine and everyone is more than capable in their roles. I was more than impressed with Welch who, as the alternately shallow and then surprisingly insightful queen, had quite a bit of heavy lifting in the show. Watching her work was amazing. It should also be said that the other women were never overpowered by Welch, but held their own admirably. It's seldom one sees such a strong ensemble working together.

There were things, however, that gave me mixed emotions about this production. For a play that is presented as a comedy, there were times when I felt the best comedic effect was not pulled out of the script. I found myself thinking, "that was funny, that should have elicited laughter." Whether downplaying some of the humor was a choice by director Andrew Ruthven or if the company just didn't find these moments as ripe for humor as I did, I couldn't say.

Another thing that sort of drew attention to itself to no real effect is that, while everyone spoke in modern English pronunciation, whenever a name was used, it was given the French pronunciation. It felt forced and didn't add anything. Had some hint of a French accent been used throughout, the names would have made sense, but as it was, it was as if we were hearing a translation of a play but some words didn't quite make it into English. I'm not sure what would have been lost if we'd heard Charlotte as we hear it in every other American context.

Other issues I have with the production fall under matters of taste and are really about the script itself. Lest you go in with the idea that this is an historical comedy, it really isn't. It's presented as a self-aware play (i.e., there are references when the characters let us know they're being watched by a 21st Century audience). It's a format that I generally don't care for. Along the same line, anachronistic expressions are thrown about. (For example, a quick Google tells me the word "feminist" wasn't in use until a few decades after the French Revolution.) Finally, a lot of the humor seems to go for the easy punch-line of things like Marie Antoinette saying the word "fuck" and "badass" and such. That can be funny and certainly the queen may have used whatever French equivalents she had at her disposal, but I feel like I've seen it before. I certainly have no issue with the word "fuck," employing it with some regularity myself.. As a comedic device, I find it wears thin quickly. It plays best in a skit but is hard to sustain in a full length play.

I fully own that most of these criticism are a matter of personal taste.

And so, I'm left to say that this is a production worthy of an evening of your time in a theater. The thought provoking themes within the comedic setting make for a fun evening in the theater that will give you something to chew on long after the final blackout.

At this writing, there are two more weekends of performances. Get your tickets here.

The Christians by Lucas Hnath at The Alley

The only theater pieces I've seen more than once are pieces I've been in or directed.

Until The Christians at The Alley Theatre, here in Houston, Texas.

This is not a review. It's a personal reaction. As a practicing, every-Sunday sort of Christian, theologically educated, and invested in how the church is represented in media, there is no way I couldn't take it personally.

If you haven't seen it and expect to, I'm not avoiding spoilers, neither am I purposefully revealing anything. Read on at your own risk.

So. Where to begin.

Pastor Paul (played with a delicious understatement by Richard Thieriot) has had a revelation from God that radically changes his theology. Without discussing it with anyone, not even his wife, he reveals this change to his mega-church congregation in a Sunday sermon.

Things unravel from there.

I think I'll not talk about that revelation (although I'm currently in the same place as Pastor Paul on this topic). I think I'll talk, instead, about Elizabeth, who touches one of the more tender spots in my religious history. She sits silently on the stage for an amazingly long time before she ever speaks, She has one speech in particular that sends a laser to the tender spot in my soul. I have a copy of the script (from the September, 2014 issue of American Theatre) but I think I'll not quote it. In essence, she is struggling with the idea that if she changes her mind about the issue at hand, she'll one day look back at her past and think she was stupid.

About 25 years ago, I entered seminary as a deeply closeted, deeply ashamed gay man, doing my best to not be gay. At some point in my seminary career, I wrote a paper on why gay and lesiban folk should not be ordained. I mentioned this to my friends where were with me at my first trip to the Alley for this show. Both expressed some surprise at this.

"Oh yeah," I said." Not many people know the Republican me."

So, dear fictional character Elizabeth (played by Emily Trask)---you are so real that you are me. And I don't look back at myself as being stupid, but I am frustrated with that person. I also feel badly for that person who was me. Since that person was me, I know how much you suffered with that self-condemnation. That sort of fear is what I connect to with Elizabeth. What if this new revelation is wrong? What if my old understanding is right?

One of us is wrong. The present you (or past me) or the future you (or present me). How do we deal with the notion that we might be wrong? How do we give up certainty?

Another character, the only other female character is a single mother named Jenny (a heartbreaking performance by Melissa Pritchett). She is timid. Her timidity is the result of some really hard knocks in life. The church has been her stabilizer. The church has been the place where she could connect and not feel alone. The schism that Pastor Paul's new teaching has created both makes sense to her but causes a rift in her social life. Haltingly, she asks Pastor Paul questions. Without using the word, she eventually asks, essentially, Pastor Paul if he's been manipulating them, the congregation. It's the crucial moment in this play. Religious leadership and power emerges as a dominant theme from this point onward. This is another tender spot in my life.

The associate  pastor, Joshua (a confident performance by Shawn Hamilton) (interesting choice of names, by the way---Paul, the main promulgator of the Christian faith in the first century, earliest and most prolific or at least most preserved shaper of earliest Christian theology, and Joshua, the successor to Moses who used military might to take over the Promised Land and sometimes conflated with Yeshua, the Hebrew name of Jesus) tells a moving story of his mother, an unbeliever, and how he is certain that he saw in her dying her descent into Hell. His conflict with Pastor Paul isn't so much a power struggle---refreshingly so!---but a question of how do we square our experiences with one church teaching or another? In him we come up against the struggle of wondering how we might come to know whether what we experience is true or what we want to experience. Do our experiences shape what we believe or do what we believe shape our experiences.

Elder Jay (Jeffrey Bean also delivers a great, subtle performance) raises the question of the corporate, as in the financial and legal, nature of the church. While this was the least tender spot for me, it still rang true.

So, this play, this Socratic dialog of a production, hits many many layers of life in the church and does so without resorting to satire. Granted, this presents a church that I wouldn't belong too---it's a mega-church that apparently doesn't have a very strong sacramental practice and I'm all about the smaller congregation and sacramental life---but the questions raised and, more importantly, NOT answered, are questions that I think a broad demographic of Christians could relate to.

Goodness, I don't know what else to say. This production has me in a jumble. I'm so so so so glad to see a play that presents Christians non-ironically, non-satirically, with serious attention played to the real, complicated life of faith. I'm so glad there are no heroes, no villains, just people of deeply held conviction, all of whom make good and poor choices because of their convictions.

It's all so real. As a Christian, I take it all so personally.

This production is going to haunt me for a very long time.

Lucinda Cobley - matrix - O'Kane Gallery, UH-Downtown

 First off, full disclosure: I work at the University of Houston-Downtown. In the nearly five years I've been there, I've been impressed with the O'Kane Gallery and the range of artwork it has presented. Up until now, it had been in a rather small space---which made the presentations all the more impressive, I think. Kudos to gallery director, Mark Cervenka.

On Thursday, February 4, 2016, the O'Kane Gallery inaugurated a new space, just yards from its previous location. The new space offered a new installation by locally working artist, Lucinda Cobley. It is an installation entitled matrix. 

I knew the first show in the new space would be an installation, which excited me---I do love the site specific, large scale works. What I hadn't expected was that this first exhibit would be so understated and subtle.

I do love understated and subtle, as well.

In her artist's talk, Cobley talked about her piece as being a response to the history and, particularly, the location of UHD. We are situated at a juncture of two bayous (White Oak and Buffalo). These bayous have served to shape Houston in a variety of ways, and so have been mapped extensively.https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5738266808396954868#editor/target=post;postID=3221669864198158684;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=link

Cobley explained that much of her research for this piece involved looking at old maps, the way they were coded, how solid lines and broken lines communicated various information. As such the installation is built on a grid that is visible via the lighting underneath.

Moreover, she wanted to express something of the natural world that the bayous bring so close to this university. As someone who regularly explores the bayous on lunch breaks, I appreciated this aspect as well.

She further went on to talk about how she wished to bring into a busy university building a place of calm and quiet. Blue dominating the color scheme certainly speaks to that intention (and less to the bayous, whose waters are not exactly blue, but I digress).

I think this photo, even more than the others, gives an idea of the scale of the new space and the installation.

I will admit that the opening of an art show is not the best circumstance for experiencing all those things. I stood with the crowd at the opening and took it in, trying to listen to what Cobley was trying to tell me with her quiet work, but it was difficult to do with people milling about, chatting, eating hors d'oeuvres, and snapping photos with friends. 

So I returned to the space on Friday, when the campus is sparsely populated anyway. When I entered, there was only the gallery attendant and two friends who, while chatting about the coming weekend, did so in hushed tones---the effect of the installation? I wondered. I definitely found experiencing it with fewer people about to have a quieting effect, the illuminated blue speaking of sky even as the grid and lines and dots spoke of the earth. I heard more, I believe, in this quiet conversation than I had the night before.

It always seems a shame that the O'Kane Gallery is a bit removed from the usual paths of Houston art-goers. It is, it seems, a destination of it's own, not something people happen upon unless they are already on the UHD campus for other reasons. I certainly never knew of it until I began working there.

But I would hope this small write-up might encourage people---particularly those who like to take time to listen to an artwork---to make their way to the campus (most easily accessed via the MetroRail) and listen to matrix. The gallery hours are:
Monday - Friday
10:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m.
Saturday
12:00 - 5-00 p.m.

Venus in Fur - Main Street Theater

Sometimes, just standing in the right place at the right time gets you cool things. Today, after church, I was just kinda standing around when a fellow parishioner came to me, asking if I could use a pair of tickets this afternoon, since he couldn't. Not having anything especially pressing to do this afternoon, I took the opportunity.

The show was Venus in Fur by David Ives, co-presented by Houston's Main Street Theater and the Prague Shakespeare Company. The two theaters have a recent history (facilitated by two former Houston actors now living and making theater in Prague) of cultural and talent exchange, a recent production of Twelfth Night being another example.

Of course, if you've paid any attention to recent theater doings, you've at least heard of Venus in Fur. It was the most produced play of 2013. Until this afternoon, I'd not seen a production myself and had only a vague idea of what it was about.

Actors Guy Roberts (who also directed) and Jessica Boone play the two characters, Thomas and Vanda, at opening with a big, broad, loud style, setting up the situation of a frustrated director not finding the perfect actress for his play. As the play progresses, the characters get less broadly drawn (although sometimes louder) and Roberts and Boone brought us performances that barreled forward with comedic flair and occasional suspense. It was a remarkable thing to behold.

Boone has the heavy lifting of the script. Her character switches back and forth between a manic actress desperate for a role and the demure role she hopes to land. Having said that, both actors played Ives' script with skill and wit, offering surprises throughout the 90(ish) minutes (no intermission) of the play. The energy coming off the stage makes me certain they must feel like they just ran a marathon after a performance. As a sometime actor myself, I felt a little exhausted for them at the end.

The two actors gave a brief talk-back after the show, and they talked about the precision of Ives' script, how there was no room for ad libbing or misspeaking of a line. Having seen a few of Ives' shorter scripts produced over the last few years, I would say that is a hallmark of his writing---and I hesitate to say it, but it's also hard to find actors who will play a script with the sharp precision Boon and Roberts displayed.

While Roberts and Boone are on their way back to Prague, I hesitate to say much more about this production, as it seems it is something they will keep in their company's repertory for a while. Suffice to say, this was an afternoon well spent. If Main Street Theater and Prague Shakespeare Company continue to exchange work like this, Houstonians are advised to check it out.

Spotlight [Film]

I don't go to movies often. For the most part, I find the money that goes into making a movie requires that it make a lot of money and so I consider movies more of a commercial product than a medium of artistic expression (even though I recognize that personal skill and vision are found even in some of the most commercial movies). While I certainly enjoy the big blockbuster now and then (particularly anything with superheroes), I also don't usually go away with any deeper appreciation of the human condition. My favorite movies don't have action figures for sale in toy stores.

And with that snobbier-than-I-really-mean caveat, I turn my attention to the movie Spotlight.

Based upon the story of the Boston Globe's reporting of the Roman Catholic priest pedophile cover-up, it is a story full of potential for sensationalist story telling. Luckily, the filmmakers here are not interested in sensation. They're here to show us how a team of reporters took on a story, not of their own choosing, and slowly uncovered a far reaching conspiracy that ran deep into the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, not only in Boston, but around the world.

First, the cast is amazing. All of them keep the emotion under control, keep the characters human while still letting the enormity of the situation run over them. Even when Mark Ruffalo (who, I'm surprised to say, didn't recognize for the first few minutes he was on screen) is given a meltdown to perform, he gives us more humanity than histrionics. Rachel McAdams is heartbreaking in her understatement. And when Michael Keaton gives us a pretty big reveal towards the end of the movie, it would be easy to miss due to his subtlety (and I believe we all know how larger than life Keaton can get). The whole cast maintains this sort of even keel throughout, the heroes never too heroic, the villains never threatening in a cartoon way. It feels like an acting style that I haven't seen in movies for ages (but, again, I don't see a lot of movies) and that each actor maintains it is astonishing to me.

Second, the way they tell the story creates the uneasy feeling that there are no exceptionally good people here, just a few that are making a brave decision to get it right in this one moment. I don't want to say too much more about that, as I feel it is part of the pleasure/discomfort/human-condition-revealed-ness of watching. Let's just say that there is complicity to be shared beyond the immediate perpetrators of the abuse and its cover-up.

Third, on a personal level, I wonder where I am in this, where the people closest to me are in this. As a very pious, religious, gay boy in the 1970s (Lutheran, not Roman Catholic, but set that aside for now), would I have been a target for a religious authority who preyed on youth? I'm not sure. In a sense, certainly, but I could also be, to speak of it derogatorily, a "tattle-tale." It was part of my piety. Had a priest/pastor tried to seduce me as a 12 year old, I may have gone only so far before my own conscious had gotten to me (and hence would have blamed myself, not the priest) and I would have likely found a way to put a stop to it. Had I gone to my parents with it, as some children in this story did, would mine have been the sort to press charges or would they have kept quiet, told me to not mention it again, as some parents did? I don't like to think about that, which is saying enough.

This is the type of movie I would like to see more of, really. Quiet, subtle, dealing with big issues with a human touch. I hope Spotlight makes enough money and wins some awards to make it attractive to investors to make more.

Cédric Andrieux at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston

This evening, I attended a one-hour performance at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston as part of their current exhibition, Double Life. The title of the show and the artist performing it are the same: Cédric Andrieux. I went not entirely sure what I would see, only that the little bit I saw about it on Facebook looked interesting. It involved dance, so I really didn't need to know much more.

Andrieux is a soft spoken man---in the relatively small performance space of the CAMH main gallery, he wore a mic and was still sometimes hard to hear---and he actually looks a little uncomfortable speaking on stage. His delivery is unrelentingly deadpan, devoid of emotion. He does have a sense of timing, so all of this played in his favor when he related something humorous (or even if it wasn't inherently funny, as when he announced he would go offstage to put on---and later take off---a dance belt and unitard). He was, in short, charming in his decidedly low-key presentation.

He relates his early interest and drive towards becoming a dancer, despite not having a natural talent for it (or so he says). From seeing French broadcasts of the tv series Fame to seeing local live performances, he worked his way into education and finally a career that involved eight years with the Merce Cunningham Dance Company.

This is the most fascinating portion of the presentation. He demonstrates the morning class the company took everyday, never changing, for eight years. He describes it as coming out of Cunningham's belief that everything is performed for the first time, there is no true repetition, and that he could occasionally find in it a sort of Zen meditation. More often, however, he found it depressing. He named the part he hated most, the one section he didn't mind too much, and described the ways his mind would wander. It is, in fact, a little boring to watch but a reminder of how much of preparing for art making is a chore.

He also notes that he joined the company after Cunningham was relegated to directing his company from a chair and was using the Lifeforms computer program to create his choreography. Andrieux demonstrated how this would work, which was painstaking, laborious, and often more than difficult for the dancer---it was sometimes an exercise in disappointment and perhaps shame that he could not always give what Cunningham asked for. Andrieux also noted that during these years, something always hurt.

These two sections, in his soft spoken, deadpan way, speak loudly to the hard, physical labor that goes into dance making. The tedious moments, the embarrassing moments, the painful moments that are invisible to most audience members are magnified here. For anyone interested, as I am, in seeing how an artist works to make art, it was riveting.

Throughout the performance, Andrieux shows us pieces of choreography, not only from Cunningham, but also from Trisha Brown, whose work he danced in his post-Cunningham Career at the Lyon Opera Ballet. He speaks to how her work was different from Cunningham, how it required him to find a more fluid way to move. Demonstrating it, I imagine, would be a revelation to anyone who things all modern dance shares a single style or vocabulary.

He performs all this without music except for the excerpt of The Show Must Go On by Jérôme Bel. The music is by The Police, "Every Breath You Take." The piece involved acting out the title of the song, so Andrieux stands close to the edge of the performance space and watches us, the audience, as lights come up on us. the fascinating part of this, to me, was that this was also the piece wherein he showed the most---any, really---emotion. He smiled. He seemed to enjoy seeing us. It stood out after all his neutral face performing. He had mentioned that in Brel's work, they were humans before dancers. His smile seemed to highlight that sentiment. It was good to see.

After describing all this, I have to close with the curious thing to me about all of this. Andrieux tells his own story, performs it all solo, but the show itself is credited to Brel. Part of the show is explaining how the show developed, much of, apparently, over emails between the two men, but it was Brel who shaped all the raw material that came out of Andrieux. That in itself was an interesting piece of process information for me.

I didn't go to this with the intention of writing about it. As the sparse postings on this blog demonstrate, I seldom feel the need to write about work I've seen. This show, however, had me humming throughout, fascinated by the stories, the demonstrations, and even by the efficacy of relentlessly emotionless delivery. As I said above, I was charmed by it all.

It compelled me to record these thoughts. 

Surprise! there in the sunlight

It's been over a year since I've posted on this blog, not because I haven't seen things worthy of writing about, but . . . just because, I guess.

I went to a performance tonight that I didn't intend to write about, but as I was watching it, I felt the urge to express a thing or two. This isn't so much a review as a response and thoughts provoked by a performance.

I should state up front that I've known jhon stronks and his work for several years. This is me talking about a friend and his work.

jhon r. stronks|there in the sunlight is mostly jhon and whoever he's dancing with at the moment. Tonight it was Nicole McNeil, and they've developed some fine chemistry together. They are playful and tender and blunt with one another---so much fun to watch. Fun and emotional.

But the thoughts provoked tonight has to do with jhon's use of gender conventions.

He has a recurring character/alter-ego/presence called Miss Understood. She appears in high heels, dress, and a beauty pageant sash with her name on it. But this isn't drag. It's a man in a dress and heels. There's no attempt to be a woman, but an expression of feminine conventions. The dress is cut low enough to reveal some chest hair. There is stubble on his chin. His legs are not shaved. There is no attempt to hide or obscure masculine conventions. And yet, above I found myself referring,  instinctively, to Miss Understood as "she."

It comes off as neither put-on nor put-down. This isn't making fun of gender, it's expressing humanity across lines and categories. It's done with so much comfort and ease that there's no doubt that we're seeing jhon/Miss Understood---or at least some parts of him/her---however performative the expression. This is performance as present-moment-choices as opposed to performance as artifice.

That Nicole dances with him and expresses femininity throughout---she does not put on traditionally men's clothing, for example---says something about comfort in her own person. I think. It's hard to know what artistic choices are made by who, but knowing jhon, I suspect he would only have put her in a suit and tie if she's wanted to be in one.

In short, both felt authentic in their particular gender expressions.


I wish I had something profound to say about all this, but I wanted to note it.

* * * * *

I said this wasn't a review and I'm sticking to it, but since I'm writing I should be a good host and mention the guests to Houston who were in the show. Muscle Memory Dance Theatre. This company came down I-45 to share their work with a Houston audience, and I for one am grateful to have seen them. It's a lovely company. If I were in Dallas, I would make a point of seeing more of their work. Perhaps they'll make the drive down I-45 again sometime. 

I do want to note one piece, however, a solo choreographed and performed by Brandy M. Niccolai. It entitled "Torment in White." The dance was more subtle than the title might expect, although there some torturous moments of Brandy throwing herself to the floor repeatedly. In between moments like that were graceful moves that juxtaposed nicely against the more overtly torturous. 

What I found particularly captivating was the costume by Jeanne S Mam-Luft. A white, back-less, party dress with layered skirts also had leather belts---I presume men's belts---threaded though the waist-line so that the buckle ends hung down on the outside of the skirt, the notched ends hanging down on the inside of the skirt. During floor work, the buckles made thudding noises on the floor.

I found the image unsettling. Perhaps because I was already thinking about gender, and because violence against women has been a topic of discussion in social media of late, it felt like an image of menace, ever present to this woman. 

I may be reading more into it than was there, but in a brief conversation after the show, Brandy confirmed that it was an image intended to be unsettling. She seemed pleased that I was unsettled. 

If Muscle Memory comes down this way again, I hope they bring this piece again. It warrants a second look. 

* * * * *

All of a sudden! An impromptu pop up evening of dance and performance with Muscle Memory Dance Theatre and "there ... in the sunlight." Contemporary Dance

June 21, 2014

The Barn

Houston, Texas 

Knock Me a Kiss at the Ensemble Theatre

There is a danger in writing plays (or any fiction) with historical figures, especially when said figure looms large with accomplishment and influence. The temptation toward hagiography---or else defamation---is strong, and more than one writer has perished walking the narrow corridor between the two.

Playwright Charles Smith entered this territory by writing a play that looks at incidens in the family of W.E.B Du Bois, the prominent Black leader of the early 20th Century, perhaps best known for the book, The Souls of Black Folk. Smith skirts the danger somewhat by focusing on Du Bois' daughter, Yolande.

That play, Knock Me a Kiss (now playing at Houston's Ensemble Theatre through February 24), focuses on Yolande's relationships with two men, band leader Jimmy Lunceford and poet Countee Cullen. Since it is a matter of historical record, I'll consider it no spoiler to say she marries Cullen.

The marriage does not go well. If you know the story, I won't repeat it here and if you don't, you'll see where it's going by the end of the first act. Let me tell you, instead about the surprises of the show.

The big surprise, given the historical figures, the subject matter, and the fact athat the Ensemble is marketing the play as a drama is how very funny the show is. The were moments when the audience was howling like a sitcom audience. Between the skill of the cast and the words given them by the playwright, the Du Bois family is a very funny group of people. Much of the humor, actually, comes from one of Yolande's suitors. Jason E. Carmichael's Lunceford is a smooth talker and even as we watch Yolande fall for it, we also can't help but laugh at his audacity. The audience is onto his lines and can't help but laugh at his shameless advances.

Except that's not all there is to Lunceford. As the play progresses, we see the swagger is his expression of something more real than we might first suspect.

The whole cast gives us these layers and while the it's patently unfair to single out individiual actors in such a strong cast, I have to mention Detria Ward, who plays Nina Du Bois, the matriarch of the family. She first presents onstage as wide-eyed, slightly addled, over-protective mother. The amazing thing to watch is how Ward keeps those traits intact even as she eventually delivers some of the most emotionally devastating scenes of the play.

Michelle Elaine holds the cast together with a fairly subdued portrait of Yolande Du Bois, alternately daddy's girl, jazz age party girl, and activist in her own right. Countee Cullen as played by Mirron Willis gives us a nuanced portrait of a man who did what men like him did in that age---I found I could neither cheer him nor condemn him. Adding to the comedy while also delivering some dramatic moments was An'tick Von Morphxing skillfully lending support as Yolande's friend Lenora.

It's a credit to the entire cast, really, that each is able to deliver both the laughs and the emotional punch. Too often, I've seen actors change acting styles according to the scene being played, basically changing characters as they do so. Not this cast. They are remarkably the same people whether we're laughing with them or crying with them---very much like real life.

And as for W.E.B. Du Bois---as played by Wayne DeHart, he is both doting father (and whatever foibles that might entail) and focused, disciplined leader of a cause. What we see in this play, however, is what we are too quick to forget: great men of the past were still men of their times. Charles Smith gives us  Du Bois who is to be admired for his accomplishments, even as we're disappointed that he couldn't see beyond his cultural norms where the roles of women were concerned. It's a complicate portrait that neither tears the man down, nor puts him too high on a pedastal.

Director Chuck Smith handles this cast of strong performers with wonderful grace. The action is clear, the staging clean and economical. The set design by Jason Lorst, costumes by Macy Perrone, and lighting by Kris Phelps all collaborated to take us back to the days of the Harlem Renaissance with style.

All in all, it is a beautiful show, not nearly as serious as the poster may lead you to believe---but have a tissue at hand. If you have a heart, you'll need it.

Random Thoughts on a Constructed Situation With a Very Long Title

The Menil Collection opened a new show this weekend, Silence. I didn't have time today to take in the whole show but I stopped in particularly to see Tino Sehgal's Instead of allowing something to rise up to your face dancing bruce and dan and other things (2000), which the little card on the wall called a "constructed situation."

The situation was this: at one end of a room with all white walls, a performer writhed about on the floor.

That sounds snarkier than I mean it to. I sat on the floor in a corner of the room opposite for, I'm guessing, over half an hour, watching this choreography (for it was choreographed---there was a definite sequence that repeated), noticing a number of things.

There was no soundtrack and the performer made no noise. The floors of the Menil are black-stained wood, which make for a nice surface for this sort of thing. The performer (in this case Shanon Adams, a local dancer) sits up on her knees, but never rises to her feet. There are moments when the performer puts her feet on the white walls---she's wearing black sneakers---and the marks of other performers are on the wall where their feet moved, too.

Writhing is the best verb I can think of to describe the motion, but it is a writing neither in agony nor in pleasure, near as I could tell. Simply contracting and stretching. Rolling up and pouring down. None of the movements, to my eyes, conveyed any specific meaning, except one moment when she holds both hands up to her face, shadowing her eyes, almost as if using binoculars to look at the viewers. This was the only acknowledgement (if that's what it was) of being watched.

The performer wore nothing particularly flashy or unusual. A light green, sleeveless pullover with a sort of ruffled skirt-like hem over a black leotard. Her arms are bare. The most unusual thing was mismatched ankle socks, one white, the other grey with pink trim.

Things I noticed as I watched this slow-motion dance was how it created interesting perspective and line with a human body, perspective and line that moved, yes, but in a way that let us see the subtleties the human body is capable of. Because it was a silent piece, the soundtrack became the sound bleeding in from outside the room---people moving, sound installations from other pieces in the show (yes, a show called Silence has sound pieces), and whatever sound the viewers made in the space. One fellow had on shoes with rubber soles that squeaked and echoed in the place with every step he took.

The audience is interesting to watch in these situations. Unless they're used to this sort of performance, many don't know what to make of it. For a time, I was the only person in the room. It occurred to me that someone might come in and mistake me as part of the performance (an idea that delighted me and I nearly played into it, but decided it wasn't polite to the artist or "real" performer). Some people poked their head into the room only to withdraw. One young girl looked in and seemed startled to see a the performer on the floor and quickly exited. She returned in a minute or two with an adult male (her father, I presume) but she still seemed cautious about this whole situation. Another gentleman seemed to know the performer and walked up close to her and said something, but too quietly for me to make out.

I think this sort of performance has an intimacy to it that unnerves some viewers. The number of people who barely cross the door's threshold only to duck out before they saw 30 seconds of the performance. Some, I suspect, are the sort who simply reject this type of performance as art and can't be bothered with it. (I was probably one of them 15 years ago.) But I suspect some find the intimacy too much, voyeuristic, somehow creating a relationship that happens too soon and they have to get away before there's a commitment made they don't want to keep.

I was much enthralled by the simplicity of the performance, not to mention the commitment to it by the performer. I hope the marks on the wall from the shoes remain throughout the show---I want to go back and see those accumulate. I simply want to go back and see other performers. I understand there are a number of performers engaged for the run of Silence.

Is this a review? No, just musings.I can understand why some may not wish to view this---it is challenging in it its own way, and the title of the piece gives the view very little to hang a hat on. But for me, I could have watched longer. And probably will.

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I really didn't have much time for the Menil this afternoon, so I didn't take in much of the larger Silence exhibit. I did, however, see a short film by Manon de Boer called Two Times 4'33" (2008). Click on the title to see a rather accurate description of the piece. 

Besides loving that it's produced by an outfit called Auguste Orts (my grandfather's name was August, so all the better!) I loved the way this film used all the things John Cage was after with this piece. The ambient sound as soundtrack, then the film's silence as the museum's ambient sound, again, became the soundtrack, the filming of the faces, first of the performer and then of the audience---all fascinating to watch. 

But I couldn't help but think of another film interpretation of 4'33", seen in 2010 at the Contemporary Art Museum, Houston in the Dance with Camera show. In that film, Merce (Manchester) (2007) by Tacita Dean, Merce Cunningham, two years before his death, sits in a chair, "dancing" to the piece his partner in life and art had created decades before. It's a poignant yet whimsical piece that delighted me when I saw it

These two films are quite different in how they interpret Cage's score and both made me smile. It makes me wonder how many films have been made of 4'33"and if it's time for a 4'33" film festival. 

The Dance of a Classical Guitar

This is not a review. Few of my Orts on Arts posts are reviews, but this definitely is not one. It's a personal reaction. 

This evening, I attended "An Evening in Spain" a classical guitar recital by Juan Carlos Aguilar at the Havens Center of St. Stephen's Episcopal Church (Houston, TX).

Let me say my musical education is somewhat lacking among my arts education. I can't talk about it in technical terms. I can only say I love the guitar, in nearly all its permutations (the exception probably being some of the more feedback prone electric guitars, and even then there are exceptions to that exception).

It was a free event and nearly triple what was expected showed up and they ran out of programs. I didn't get one, so I can't tell you what I heard tonight, but I do remember there was some Spanish music, yes, and a Tango, something Italian, something for lute by John Dowland (whose name, I admit, I only recognized thanks to Sting) which was arranged for guitar by Benjamin Britten, and an American piece that was a classical homage to Jimi Hendrix.

It was all lovely and exciting and amazing. I can't tell you anything more about it than that, really. It was an amazing free gift to everyone who attended.

Because it was so well attended, it was standing room only. I stood. It was the best "seat" in the house. From where I stood, I could watch as well as listen.

The hands of Juan Carlos were mesmerizing. It's almost alchemical how the slightest fluttering of a hand can create the many different sounds that came from the strings. His left hand bounced up and down the neck of the instrument, changing shapes constantly. There were times that I nearly laughed and clapped, the hands were so clever and quick. The coordination and strength and intelligence of those hands held me as rapt as the music they created.

All the way home I thought of those hands.

I said to myself, "It's all a dance with you, isn't it?"

Circuitous Dance / Kate Warren

I'll just start by saying: I'm super excited that Kate Warren is finally starting her own company, called Circuitous Dance / Kate Warren. So let's get the performance info up front here in case you found this by searching for just such information:

From the Circuitous Dance / Kate Warren Facebook page: Circuitous Dance will be performing March 30 & 31 @8 pm & April 1 @ 1 pm. Performances at Cafe Dance, 3307 B Hancock Drive. Tickets $12 & $10 for students. CASH OR CHECK ONLY. For reservations, call or text Kate Warren @ 512-633-3525.

The 2011-2014 Ensemble:
Annette Christopher
Melissa Feather
Lisa Nicks
Mysti Jace Pride
Cherami Conley Steadman

Also from the page: "Here's how I would do it. Meet my friends for dinner at Chez Zee. Drive one block and head into Cafe Dance to see the premiere or Circuitous Dance. Finish the night with a good glass of wine under the stars at Fabi & Rosi. Discuss what you saw/experienced at the show. Did you like it, not like it? Have an opinion and feel good about it. That's what art is for." (You'll see these sentiments reiterated below.)

Now, about Kate. I first got to know her while I was still living in Austin. In my mid-thirties, I decided I really liked dance and should try a class. I landed at Kate's Cafe Dance, where she and Kathy Dunn Hamrick run their Hamrick/Warren School. I ended up taking class with Kathy, yoga with Kate, but the real joy was the hour (or more) I'd spend afterward just yakking away with Kate. We can talk. We're those people who meet for lunch (when I'm in Austin) and then assume that the five dollar sandwiches we bought entitle us to the table and endless tea refills for the entire afternoon. I'm barely exaggerating. Because I was determined to do a short interview, what follows is only twice a long as I originally intended. And of course, we were on the phone for at least an hour after the "official" interview ended.


I'm thinking about all the things I'd like to say about Kate, about how one of my favorite pieces of choreography is a nearly 20 minute solo ("Fugue State") danced without music, that she put on Kathy Dunn Hamrick a decade ago, or how I've told her that when she dances, I'm straight. (I'm a little disappointed at the news that she isn't performing in this concert, but I'm sure I'll live.) But I'll just let her talk about her company and her show and hope it encourages you to go see it.

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NEO: So after all these years of dancing in just about every other modern dance company ever to call Austin home, why have you decided to finally form your own company?

KW: I was just telling the dancers the other day, in every company I've been in I would always sit back and say, oh I wouldn't do it like that. Then I read somewhere that if you say that too many times, you need to be starting your own business. But then, just the thought of running a dance company the way I was used to dance companies being run, it was just overwhelming. 

Then when I read about the Royal Shakespeare Company, and how they would work together for three years and then those people would leave and they'd bring in a whole new group, I thought, oh, I could do this. Because after three years, you could even assess for your own self, I do want to keep doing this or I don't want to keep doing this.

I remember reading that somebody in New York, I don't remember who it was, was starting a company and he went to Merce Cunningham for advice and Merce said, I worry about money every day, how I'm going to pay people. Every day. So just know you're going to have to do that. So for me, this is an easy out of, if after three years if I can't do this or don't like it or I'm not good at it, I can stop, too. I think directors and choreographers, they feel so responsible because they're employers.

Then, three years is a good amount of time to get a taste of something and then go on, because you always feel bad about leaving. I feel like I've always overstayed by one to three years because I didn't want to hurt someone's feelings or just self-doubt. Should I leave? Do I think I'm better than I really am? All that. And then going through anywhere from a year to three years of not wanting to be in that place and not really enjoying myself.

The artistic director, also [might say] in their head, there's nothing more I can do for you and there's nothing more you can do for me---just because of where you're at---and how awkward that is. Again, just making that commitment and knowing that you have an out, that appealed to me.

NEO: How many dancers do you have?

KW: I have five.

NEO: And they've all committed to three years?

KW: Yes. I asked seven people. One person was in school and she said she wanted to travel. And the other person is also a visual artist and said she couldn't make the time commitment. And it's funny because one of the dancers said, "Gosh, three years, that's a big commitment." And then she said,  But I usually stay with companies anywhere from five to ten.  [Laughter]

Just knowing that it has an ending on it and you can't leave, to me it creates all kind of things. It creates a sense of urgency because you only have three years. But there's something very easy about it in the sense that from a dancer's point of view, and I guess from an artistic director's point of view, too, you know nobody new is coming in and you just don't worry about that. And seeing that happen, when someone new is brought it, well it's like bringing in a new cat. Everyone has to smell around, and find their place and the hierarchy changes. Being in that situation as a dancer, it's extremely uncomfortable and it really, to me, takes away from the focus of the work.

NEO: What were you looking for in dancers?

KW: There were dancers that I knew I wanted to work with, that was Lisa and Cherami. They had become solo artists. I knew their work ethic, I liked their choreographic work, I loved their dancing, so I knew I wanted to ask them. Then Annette was someone who had been taking my class, I knew she wanted to perform, and the couple of performances I've seen her in, I was very drawn to her. She's very dramatic and I like that about her. Mysti was almost like a beginner, but she works like a freaking dog. She works harder than and dancer I've ever known. Just the fact that she has such an incredible work ethic, it was like, how could I not ask her? I knew she would get better and it's amazing how much she has grown since September. So I had four people and I didn't want an even number. So this young woman, Melissa, I knew her barely. She mostly took Kathy's class, took one or two of my classes. I just thought, why not ask her? And it was interesting because when I asked her, she said to me, well you're telling me everything you can offer me, but what do you think I can I offer you? She's technically trained, but she loves improv and contact. I said, I've had those things, but I usually don't do them and so I figure you can teach us about that, teach a class to us or a warm-up. Her perspective is different from everyone else's because that's really her main love.

NEO: Are you doing all the choreography or is everybody choreographing?

KW: Well, that was kind of a thing they asked because all of them are independent artists except for Melissa. And that's open, it's up in the air. The whole thing about working this way is that we all get to decide how we want it to be. For this concert, I've choreographed everything, but that doesn't mean I have to choreograph everything every time we perform. We'll decide that as a group.

NEO: How many pieces are in the concert?

KW: There are five solos and one group piece.

NEO: So you've choreographed a solo for everyone. Are you performing?

KW: No. I was thinking the first year I'd choreograph solos on everyone, the second year I'd choreograph duets and the third year I'll choreograph trios, but as I choreograph duets and trios, I will perform, just to even out the number.

NEO: Tell us about the pieces.

KW: Well, the solos are like short stories to me. It became clear to me, as I knew each dancer, what I knew of them—like the woman who is so dramatic, Annette, her piece is about being a spy and she pulls it off beautifully. Lisa's piece is called "I'm Not Dead Yet." [Laughter.] Lisa is the oldest, but I know Lisa and we've had many conversations about that. She's still an incredible mover and she's still relevant. To me, that's what the piece is about. I know as she and I talk, because I go through the same thing—you hit a certain age and people just stop looking or they think oh, they can't dance anymore or they probably don't have much to say.

NEO: And it's wrong!

KW: Well, it's not always wrong. [Laughter.] But it's certainly wrong about Lisa and you kind of stamp your foot and say, I am still relevant, I do still have something to say. So I wanted to create something like that for her because she's still such an incredible dancer.

NEO: She's such a strong soloist.

KW: It's amazing! And her music is "The Orange Blossom Special," which is like a runaway train and just perfect for her.

Cherami's piece is called "Still Life" There's just this struggle of having children, wanting to dance, being very relevant in what you have to say, and how do you make that your life, how do you live with it.

Melissa I knew the least so her solo is three minutes but she has blossomed. She was an English major and she's dancing with a poet reciting a poem. She identifies with words.

The last solo, Mysti's solo—she commissioned me to put a solo on her a year ago, and I did that and then I created another solo for a festival last November, but it was like the "B" part of that first solo. And the solo for her this time is the "C" part. The first solo is a very depressed person, and the second solo was someone realized they were depressed and starting to come out of that. This solo is a person completely crossed over, kind of to the other side of that. And in her own life as a dancer, that's exactly what's happened to her. 

What's been cool about the solos---They're amazing, the growth and the understanding of everyone within the movement and the revealing of themselves in the piece is just so joyful for me to see. I think we've created this atmosphere of trust. We take class together every week, just them and me. The older companies, like Graham and Limon and Cunningham and Paul Taylor—to me that's the backbone of their companies. The dancers take class together with no one else there. They breathe together and move together, they see each other's strengths and weaknesses. And they get all the attention they deserve. Instead of having to take class with other people in the community, there's just a focus on them. It's been very rewarding for me that they're really comfortable revealing their vulnerabilities in front of each other.

NEO: And then the group piece?

KW: The group piece is called "Flipped Earth." It started out to be a piece about betrayal, but what it's ended up being is about—if you're animals on the earth and something dire happens like the earth cracks open and the surface completely changes, so you have dry land and now you're in water. And now they have to morph into water animals. I just don't quite know if I want that to be a good thing or a bad thing. [Laughter.]

NEO: Is that a happy ending or a sad ending?

KW: That's right! I don't know!

NEO: Is there something else you want people to know about this concert?

KW: Just come and have the experience and like it or don't like it. Years and years ago, when they opened, I guess it was a modern art museum in Dallas, I forced my husband's family to go and we ended up afterwards in Starbucks for three hours, talking about what we saw. And almost everybody hated it. But I said, now you guys don't understand, this is what art is supposed to do. It was such an experience with us that we still talk about it. "Remember that time we went to the museum and we saw this florescent light and we knew that wasn't art?" [Laughter.] So just show up, give it a try and then definitely have an opinion about it, good or bad. Just come and have the experience. Take a chance, and it's okay if you don't like it.

The Landing Theatre Company's American Buffalo

American Buffalo by David Mamet
produced by The Landing Theatre Company
O'Kane Theatre, University of Houston-Downtown
August 18, 2011

As a new employee at the University of Houston-Downtown, I've been making some effort to get to know something of the arts communities on campus.

Tonight was my first taste of the theater on campus. The Landing Theatre Company is not a student company, but was created as the "professional component" for the UHD theater program. As such, I figured I might see what the department aspires to be.

Judging from tonight's performance, UHD couldn't ask for a better ambassador for its arts program.

I won't talk about Mamet's script. Either you're familiar with it or you're not. Either you enjoy his foul-mouthed version of reality or you don't. Either you're into this brand of American realism or you're not.

Set all that aside, yes or no, and go see this show.

The three-man cast---Steve Irish as Donny, Matt Hune as Bobby, and Drake Simpson as Teach---inhabits this play with all its quirks and tensions and makes it live. At intermission, I overheard an audience member say it was like looking in someone's window and watching real life. As a theatrically trained person, I like to argue with those sorts of statements, aware of the theatrical conventions as I am, but she wasn't far off. Mamet's script has plenty of ambiguities, moral and otherwise, and it would be easy, tempting even, to simplify the complexities, but none of the men retreated from the challenge. The shifting loyalties and suspicions played by the men managed to evoke laughter as well as shoulder-aching tension. I can't say enough good things about the surprising choices each actor made throughout the performance, always keeping in character yet never becoming predictable.

I seldom come right home and write a blog like this, but the people behind this production are doing some fine, fine work and deserve an audience. I've focused on the acting, but the sets and costumes (by Frank Vela and Pat Covington, respectively) are also spot on.

If you were on the fence about checking out this new company in this little campus theater, let this blog post be the thing that pushes you over the edge and into an audience seat. This is good theater, very well played.

(Performances through August 28th--Visit the LTC website for details and tickets.)

Scandal by Shusaku Endo

A couple of months ago, on my blog for religious thoughts, I wrote about an Australian friend in Japan, Darren. He and his partner, Atsushi, had visited me when I was in Chicago and their friendship has made what's happening in Japan so much more personal.

Which has little to do with this post. Except that Darren brought me a book from Japan, an unnecessary "house guest" gift. Because I'm a terrible, ungrateful host, I had never read it, but the tsunami made me think of it. Since I could do so little for Japan, I could at least read the gift from Japan.

That gift was Scandal by Shusaku Endo. Endo is a native Japanese writer, known somewhat for not only his novels, but for exploring his Catholic faith in the context of being Japanese. This is a theme that runs throughout the book. Being Christian is treated as somewhat mainstream, but definitely not the norm. It is also big part of the plot.

The storytelling employs that particularly 20th Century device of making certain events surreal, leaving the reader not always completely certain what is really happening, and what is only the imaginings of the main character. And I'll just leave that there.

What's most interesting, and what is staying with me weeks after I turned the last page, are the ideas that Endo puts forth.

Well, let me get the least interesting idea out of the way. Sex and scandal, scandal and sex. Sex and violence, violence and sex. I wished the titular scandal wasn't sexual in nature. I wish that the exploration of humanity's darker impulses didn't get played out in sex and violence. I feel like I've seen this before. That Endo handles these themes deftly is to his credit, but also a bit beside the point. I guess even in Japan, sex is dirty and sinful and you save it for the one you love.

But what is interesting is how Endo explores, in this context, the question of rage. How does one work up the will to burn children alive in a locked house? How does one find a thrill in self-asphyxiation? Where does the impulse for cruelty come from and why do some seek cruelty?

As we were advised on 1980s pop radio: "Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused," but Endo connects all this to the charge one gets when s/he loses control, gives into the darkest impulses. He (or at least the translator, Van C. Gessel), calls this rage. The mild-mannered main character, Suguro, is drawn into a circle of people who would help him explore these impulses, this rage.

I think I've experienced rage. Not recently, but I recall times as a teenager, on the farm, when the cow would not stand correctly for milking and how I would beat on the animal, angry, but more than angry. (I realize it's a little surreal to interject the image of a milk cow into this discussion, but it's the memory that comes to mind.) I'm a bit of a mild-mannered character myself, but in those moments, I recall the loss of control that Endo speaks of. The determined intent to inflict pain, and it went past just being angry at the cow. It was a channel for something else---I suppose I might guess about teen angst and frustrations, but as crazy as it appears in print, when a character describes (second hand) the state that allows someone to burn children alive, I connected it to that sort of out of control feeling when I was beating the cow. There is a point when you know you're doing something wrong, but you keep on because you don't know how to stop. The event has become it's own thing and you no longer have any will in the matter.

And then there is a step farther that Endo takes it. Suguro, I imagine, is something of an analog for Endo--both are Japanese Catholic writers with long careers---and at one point, someone tells Suguro (and I may be paraphrasing), "You've written a lot about sin, but you've never written about evil."

Is this the state of rage? Is evil the point where we cross the line from merely choosing to do something wrong and we are caught up in some sort of altered state of rage? Of evil? And does that always look like "raging." Or can it be the cool-headed, just following orders, action of herding people to their death in a gas chamber?

Well, the Holocaust isn't directly addressed in this novel. Neither is the interview of the Lutheran minister who did his best to be a pastor to the BTK serial killer when it was discovered the killer was a congregant. These are, however, where my mind went. That pastor in in Kansas spoke of seeing his parishioner in a state beyond just committing a sins. He saw his parishioner in a state of evil. (As I type that, I'm also reminded that the BTK murderer said he killed out of pursuing sexual fantasy---so maybe rage and evil are somehow easily sexualized. I don't like thinking about that, quite honestly.)

Well, when I sat down to write about this book, I didn't intend to end up in Nazi Germany or Wichita, Kansas. But therein lies the example of what good literature will do. It'll take you down unexpected connections,

I wish I had some profound observations to make about these connections, but maybe the connections will do for now. It's been two months since I finished this book, and I'm still pondering the distinctions Endo makes. And what to do with them.

So, a public thank you to Darren, not only for a good read, but also for giving me something to chew on for weeks after reading. (Even if it took me nearly a decade to get around to it!)

Rehearsal Visit to the Kathy Dunn Hamrick Dance Company

I've written a time or two or three about the Kathy Dunn Hamrick Dance Company. I'm obviously something of a fan.

So when discovered that I had double booked myself for her upcoming Summer Dance concert (June 16-18, 2011, 8pm at AustinVentures Studio Theater 3rd and San Antonio, Austin, TX), I could've kicked myself.

So I asked Kathy for the favor of the next best thing: A rehearsal visit. She said yes.

So I saw a rehearsal yesterday. Realizing that this is a new dance, three weeks away from its debut, let me share with you what I saw.

In one of the links above, I said something about having watched Kathy grow as an artist in the ten+ years that I've been watching her. This new piece continues her current direction that I felt started with Alone, Alone and was also evident in Here.Me.Now. These pieces all feel like they're coming from a different place from some of Kathy's past work. They're more serious. They take time for stillness. Where as before, Kathy wowed with bright colors, flashy moves and non-stop action (all of which, I'd say, were facades for more serious thought below the surface), here Kathy is letting the dancers---and hence the audience---have more time for reflection, more interior moments. Her sense of humor is still there (a tango for three is hard to not find humorous), but there is emerging in her work a voice that is asking us to take some things seriously.

This new work is call Murmur. Kathy tells me that behind this dance are her ruminations on threats that begin so softly, so quietly, that we don't notice them growing. What's the line between a quiet murmur of trouble and a shout of emergency?

The rehearsal I saw---and it was a rehearsal, with all the stops and starts a rehearsal entails---reveals a definite rhythm to the piece. Throughout, phrases of sustained, slow movement is alternated with phrases of quick, sharp gestures. The wonder of this pattern is how many different ways this it can be played. Solo dancers and duos and larger groups follow this pattern and the dynamic is always shifting.

This was most apparent to me in the duets. Kathy is somewhat known for the partnering in her choreography. Just when I think I know a KDH partnering phrase, she finds new ways for two people to interact. What's most intriguing to me in this piece is that I found the duets to have a significant range of emotional content. Some were tender, some were playful, some were coldly dutiful. I saw moments where something started out tender, but were really just practical, expedient even. Some moments looked like they were pairings of simple social convention.

Kathy tells me that she made this dance with some specific lighting in mind. She described a bit to me what would be happening there. I won't try to repeat her concept, but it all does make me sadder that I won't see the final piece. I hope some of you will see it. You're welcome to come back here and tell me about it in the comments section below.

I should also mention that, sharing the bill for Summer Dance, is NobleMotion Dance, another company I've written about a time or two. I had been looking forward to seeing these two exciting companies perform next to each other. Really, if you're in Austin or can there that weekend, see this concert. It should be a dance watcher's treat.

I thought I'd also share some video Kathy made about her process. I had trouble imbedding the video, so follow the urls below:

http://vimeo.com/23760101

http://vimeo.com/23944201

Watching Myself Watching

A couple of years ago the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company was here in Houston. During the post-performance talk-back, Jones said the best way to look at modern art is to look at how you look at it. (I think he was quoting someone, but I don't recall who. I'd love to know the exact quote and source, if someone recognizes it and knows.)

I've been thinking about this quote over the last week, as I've been to three different events and I've been doing that postmodern reflection upon my reflecting. This is going to get pretty stream of conscious here. You may want to hold onto something.

So, last Tuesday night, I went to see the latest Cirque du Soleil show, OVO. I had amazing seats on a press pass (for interviewing the choreographer, Marjon van Grunsven) I had never been to a Cirque show and was greatly anticipating it, especially after interviewing van Grunsven. I had a great deal of fun interviewing her.

And I had a great deal of fun at the show. These highly skilled performers dazzle with feats of strength and grace that are hard to beat. There were sections of this work that I could have watched for much longer than they went on. It was as if gravity wasn't working the same on stage as it was in my seat. One such section involved a trampoline, a rock-climbing wall, and some people who must have the strongest fingers and toes on the planet.

But a curious thing happened the next day. I sort of forgot that I saw it. If it came up, I'd say, "oh yeah, I saw that! It was amazing, you should go!" But I didn't go around mulling it over, puzzling over any deeper meaning.

I mean, it's not really designed for that. It has only the thinnest of stories, about an egg that is lost in this rain-forest-like environment, and these insects playfully argue over it. There's also a thin love story between a ladybug and . . . I'm not sure what the guy was supposed to be, but not a ladybug. It's all resolved with the egg lost and found, the lovers separated and reunited, a happy show with few plot or character surprises.

This isn't really a criticism of the show---it was still amazing. It also didn't give me much to ponder afterward. I didn't feel any revelation about the human condition, receive any new insight into the human condition or the ways of the world. As I tried to find something to ponder, I wondered how I felt about inter-species kanoodling, but even if I wanted to play with that, it's presented in such a fun, non-serious way, it would just be looking for trouble. And looking for trouble isn't why I think about performances I see. No one really thinks a ladybug and an insect of indeterminable species are going to get it on, anyway. It's just people in costumes.

And all of this non-cerebral engagement probably says more about me than it does about the show.

Moving onward to Friday night, when I saw The Aluminum Show at Miller Outdoor Theatre. I think it is fair to say that this is a cousin of Cirque du Soleil in that it is full of spectacle (very SHINY spectacle). It's not as acrobatic, perhaps, not as, well, circusy as Cirque, but once again, we have a very thin storyline that exists only to tie together shiny . . . let's call them events. Fans and inflatable things are involved. Go to the webpage or watch video on YouTube. It's not all easily described.

It was a good time, no doubt about it. Lots of kinetic energy, lots of shiny flash, but scratch the shiny surface . . . and I guess that's what it was. At any rate, seeing this has not stayed with me, either, at least in no way other than this sort of reflecting on my lack of reflection of the show. It's fun, you should go see it if you have the chance. But it's eye candy, with little brain food. Don't go in with any other expectations.

Then, Sunday, I took some friends to see the current show at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston. I had already been to see it before and will likely go see it again before it leaves the CAMH. It is a show called Answers to Questions: John Wood and Paul Harrison. Wood and Harrison are a British pair of artists who make videos. What to say of these videos? I've been describing them as a cross between physics investigations and Stupid Human Tricks, layered with a deadpan British sensibility.

They're very simple videos, really. They're mostly shot from one angle, no fancy camera tricks, no editing wizardry. It's a video of a man running an electric sander on as stack of paper, several reams of paper, actually, and sending the sheets flying. It's a video of paint being poured on the floor to reflect the florescent lights above it. It's a video of two men handling a sheet of plywood, supporting each others weight with it, tilting it, using it as lever while one of the men acts as a fulcrum, simply seeing all the ways two men can manipulate a board together.

It's an immensely entertaining show. I laughed and smiled throughout. I heard my friend, Lisa, laughing from across the museum more than once. Two of the friends who were with me were aged 10 and 13. They were very much engaged throughout.

But unlike Cirque and or the Aluminum Show, I think about this show. It's not just entertainment. That level is there, which you can't say for some contemporary art shows, but I'm thinking about it and wanting to go back immediately. It's feeding me somehow.

Context has a lot to do with it. I'm familiar with some portion of contemporary art's history. Cirque is really the circus. Performance studies folks will make comparisons and contrasts, but I don't know much about the circus. I can watch "Board" at Wood and Harrison and think about the experiments in pedestrian movements performed at Judson Church in the 1960s. I've seen an exploration of a chair by David Gordon that is vastly different from Wood and Harrison, but I think an argument could be made that they share a lineage, some genetic material. Wood and Harrison are in a museum, videos playing on multiple screens. The other two events were live performances. I could watch a video over and over whereas the performance sped by and was over and gone. (Although I pause to point out that I almost always prefer live performance over anything recorded.) Wood and Harrison's simplicity of presentation is much closer to my own aesthetic than the spectacle and flash of the other two events.

To write about Wood and Harrison in the same blog as with Cirque and the Aluminum Show is probably ridiculous. They exist in such vastly separate universes. Just for starters, the aesthetics of each are just not comparable. The colors of Cirque, the shininess of Aluminum, the drab whiteness of Wood and Harrison . . . They enter a single blog because I saw them all in close proximity of each other.

But this blog entry, again, is less about the shows than about me. I'm watching myself watching. I'm trying to be aware of my own judgments, my own influences, my own expectations for the work I see. I suppose I hope exposing my own reactions will help you explore your won.

One last thought: Wood and Harrison make videos to be shown in museums. The other two events were meant for big arenas---a big top, a hillside theater. Is one art and the other "only" entertainment? A quote from Merce Cunningham (to take it out of context) goes: "Not to show off but to show." (See the fuller context here.) Is it fair that to say that Cirque and the Aluminum Show exists to show off, while Wood and Harrison are showing? I mean, my reflections on Wood and Harrison have included thoughts about curiosity, cooperation, wonder. While I can project all those words onto the other two shows' spectacle, I'm not drawn into the same sort of musing.

Spectacle sort of suggests an intent to show off. And again, there's not anything inherently wrong with it. But being shown without flash, without color . . .

What do you think?

A Picture's Worth 1000 Words: Addendum to Choate / Noble Collaboration

In the last post, I noted that the effect of Light Blanket X44, the collaboration between Jeremy Choate and NobleMotion Dance, was hard to describe. This lovely photo will help with the description:


Photo Credit: Lynn Lane. Click Lynn's name for a couple more shots under "dance."

That's all. Read the previous blog entry for more on this visual treat.

Noble and Choate Collaboration

Noblemotion Dance first caught my eye back in 2009, at the Big Range Dance Festival here in Houston. I've been doing my best to follow the company's emergence as one of the more exciting modern/contemporary companies in Houston.

I'm rather taken with an ongoing collaboration that Andy and Dionne Noble (the co-artistic directors of the company) have started with light artist and designer Jeremy Choate. I wrote about their first collaboration last fall for Dance Source Houston. You can see that review here.

Last month, I saw their second collaboration, this time as part of the Jewish Community Center's annual Triple Focus, a part of the JCC's Dance Month. It was a fine program all around, but I've decided I really want to record some thoughts on one piece in particular, Light Blanket x44, the second Noblemotion/Choate collaboration. It was performed by four dancers, Jesus Acosta, Shohei Iwahama, Brittany Thetford, and Brit Wallis.

The dance opens with a hand held light, with only a woman's face illuminated. Tapping sounds appear to have her concerned. Smaller lights come on. It's a net of Christmas lights, spread over the floor. She gets up and tiptoes over them. bars upstage and downstage of her rise, taking with them two ends of a net of lights. She is "caught."

The three other dancers appear out of the darkness, but never in full light. They are shadow creatures and they're menacing without ever really appearing dangerous.

But more on the narrative in a second. The visuals were . . . what's the word? No single word. Delightful, stunning, magical. Those work for now. All those tiny lights created subtle shadows on the dancers. There are often dances where dancers are subtly lit, bu seldom with such a close light source. When some of the dancers were under the net and rose to standing, this eerie sort of reverse silhouette appeared, this human shape made up of tiny lights. And, I'm finding, hard to describe.

As for the narrative, this dance felt more narrative than the previous Choate/Noblemotion collaboration (Photo Box D). I wouldn't try to nail it down, but it was definitely a dreamlike state watching it. The tapping in the night, the appearance of shadowy creatures---it was scary in the way that childhood fears are scary. There is a repeated gesture, where sometimes the shadows, sometimes the "dreamer" (for lack of a better description), raise their arms in a "V" and vibrate them rapidly. It's a sort of "boogedy boogedy boo" gesture, the sort of thing you might do when playing with a kid. "I'm gonna get you!" Not a serious threat, but an awful lot of scary fun.

I hope they restage this piece again somewhere. Soon.

One last note. I should mention part of what makes this collaboration so interesting to me---and, I think, what makes for interesting results. Andy Noble has mentioned in interviews that the normal order of things is for a choreographer to make a dance, rehearse the dancers, and the week or so before it goes before an audience, the lighting designer is brought in to light the show. Jeremy Choate is not only a theatrical light designer, he also creates light installations, which appear in galleries and museums around the nation. I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but it was decided that for once, the light guy gets to start. Choate creates a light design and then the Nobles choreograph for the design.

I understand there are more of these collaborations to come. The first two have primed the pumped. I've high anticipation and expectations for the next one.