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?