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

true form

I do not recall how I happened upon these musicians, but now I am
totally obsessed with them and their wild, whirling performances.
The Jaipur Kawa Brass Band hails from Rajasthan and like all things
Indian on this blog, they are mind blowing and heart shatteringly brilliant,
spilling with colour and life. As if I needed another reason to run away to
my Indian gypsy life.

la danse fantastique

la danse de l'opera de paris is an exceptional film.
its quiet, poetic, strong and humbling.

a vehement swing

this was my last proper full weekend in new york before
my grand departure to lands unknown and i had a lovely saturday
that somehow created itself cosmically, i like to think.

after a convergence of luck and brilliant timing at the doorstep
which would result in wonderful sights later that evening, j, l and
i made our way to the hindu temple in flushing. our main objective
of that afternoon was to dine lavishly at the temple canteen in the
basement, which we did lovingly. it was delicious. to say the least.
i think this has become one of my favourite places in new york.
its weird, wild and feels like you are in another world, which somewhere
along the route of the seven train, you end up in.

but it does get better.
we went to see fuerzabruta that evening with a massive gracias to john (jon!?!)
for making it happen. i saw de la guarda a couple of times a few years back
and this totally blew all of my fond memories of that to pieces.
heaps of beautiful, colourful, effervescent little pieces.
i felt like i was going to explode because i was taking in so much
inspiration that my senses did not know how to function anymore.
so you ride this intense wave of all things electric.
fuerzabruta is graceful and poetic. utterly unstoppable in its valor.
there are these tiny moments between the big things that make a
heartfelt ping at something stirring in your person.
there are grand moments where strength and endurance is pouring
out copiously for all to relish, admire and marvel at.
there is a scrim that unravels and its purple and shiny and i want
to make dresses out of this stuff. undaunted, fluid dresses!
this purple material, fluid and flowing and floating and there are these
two limber creatures climbing up and down and dancing and yelling
on their opposite sides. it was so romantic, distinctive and potent.
it floored me. it was a complete lucid dream.
there was also a pool which realized all my dreams awake.
i don't know what i have to do to get into that mylar pool, but i would
consider a number of unspeakable things for a slide. glide. (ask j/l)
oh, as long as i can wear my satin swan printed knickers.
thanks again j5, you are beyond brilliant.

The Hindu Temple Society of North America
45-57 bowne street. flushing new york.

Fuerzabruta
daryl roth theatre
101 east 15th street. nyc.