a dance like clockwork honey

It is an interesting experience to watch a performance

and be continually flooded throughout the viewing with other

images and thoughts it conjures in ones mind. I felt that way

this evening, watching the Mark Morris Dance Group at BAM.

Accompanied by a few stragglers running from the train though

the slush coming out of the sky, I was temporarily seated in the

back of the orchestra for the first piece, Behemoth. Being level

with the dancers for this part was ideal, to see the patterns, the

repeats, the prints in the space made with their bodies and

limbs. On all of their costumes, marigold and kelly greens,

each one had a little piece of mirror on their chest and they

would twist and one would hit the light and make little shadows

and sparks all over the room. It was clever and at first you think,

is that someone’s watch reflecting, what is going on? But, when

you realize it is the dancers and its part of their movements, it

brings a quiet smile.

I was thinking about Atomic City, a beautiful, thoughtful show with

acrobats that my brilliantly talented previous roommate, Aidan

performed in. It reminded me of the movements in that show. I

loved that about Behemoth, the repetitions of their playful, silly

movements, flopping feet like fish, the zigzag twisting with fingers

and to witness the reverb of these motions. The silence and space

in between become motions in another thought, in itself.

A scene started with five bodies, lying slightly to the side, feet facing

us. I immediately thought of one of my favourite passages in Albert

Camus' A Happy Death, where Patrice and his companions are at

the house on the top of the world in Algiers, sunning themselves until

they melt with pleasure. The cats are mentioned in this section of the

book, being lazy, carnal creatures and then some of the dancers were

stretching long and crawling across the stage, seemingly worshiping

the warmth of something and slowly scampering to reach it.

I started to think about those old wristwatches where you can see all

the springs and gears and everything is turning and it has its place but

there does appear to be a randomness about it. The dance felt like this,

but as if there was honey between the gears, making some motions in

between a flux.

I loved the tenderness when one of the male dancers picked up his lady

counterpart and held her up, displayed to the world and then laid her

back down, sliding her on to his back. It was quiet. I liked that.

The second piece ‘Looky’ was hilarious and fun. The backdrop was

like a Rothko painting and a Bill Viola art video to start and then the

dancers were running around in what I deemed to be Dolce and

Gabbana pajamas (but there was one star printed Miu Miu bodysuit,

I swear!) and making a tableau vivant turned barnyard hoe down.

But, don’t get me wrong, it felt so entirely Italian. This transformed

into a drippy gossip heavy formal ball a la Jane Austen. From there,

we turn to the jazz age, straight out of the chapter in The Great Gatsby

where Fitzgerald is writing about the citrus fruit for the lawn party.

It was drunken and erratic, with saltwater taffy melting soft Bob Fosse
struts and then wrapped with a slight resemblance to a Greek tragedy,

which is not too far off because the final dance was exactly that,

the death of Socrates.

I got all referential in this entry and that is not my intention, but I wanted

to stay true to everything that passed my mind and all the scribbles in

my notebook. Nonetheless, see this show at BAM if you can. Its worth it

for all your own set of inspirations and images.

Mark Morris Dance Group

@ BAM

February 26, 27 7:30pm