I say familiarity because, really, we don't do the same work over and over again. To be sure, the same things happen again and again (improvisation and, umm, unplanned choreography a.k.a mistakes excepted). We do walk forward at this point. We do do x, y, and z to certain counts of music. But none of that means that we repeatedly dance the same piece. Show after show, the same choreography reveals a different piece because we are alive, conscious and intentional in the material. (For my money, that's how I know the choreography is good -- does it have the potential to be rich, satisfying and different three years in?)
Some nights, the music starts, and I am caught up in an intense fierceness. It's like a smell on the breeze; we all scent it. And then, we go. Some nights, we seem more relaxed. Some nights, there's a journey, a switching backwards and forwards. Some nights, I feel like I can't find where my colleagues are. I wonder if my being in a different emotional space is communicable as part of the performance.
Our performances here have been different. I felt we were, well, I don't know. The intensity came from a different place, yet one that we all felt. I have never felt so alive and connected. I remember noticing the smells of our bodies, the smell of the air. The quality of the light. And I'm finding that I can't write about it. It was so personal, so powerful that blogging it feels intrusive. I hope though that the connection between us was visible to the audience, because seeing them was part of what made our performance so different.
The audiences were so visible to us that I felt that they were part of our performance. In theaters and dance performance spaces, we often cannot see much of the audience -- occasionally, we can see people in the front row. Sometimes, a piece asks for the house lights to be raised; occasionally, the ambient light from the stage reveals indistinct forms in raked seating. This time, however, I could see people's expressions, their stances (some people were standing). I'm surprised by just how much I know about the audience. I felt people move with us; I saw people move in to check something out. I felt people trying to figure out how we were doing stuff. The audience was so alive that I took a risk.
Stage lights can be dizzying; they are very bright -- too bright to look at directly; they change colour; they come and go; there's no stable anchor point. To mark where you are on stage, you often have to pick an architectural feature: the exit lights at the back of the auditorium, the lights from the tech booth or tech table in the house. Sometimes, floor lighting is available. Because the space was so light, there were more than a couple of architectural features that I could have picked. But I didn't. I chose a person.
I kept seeing a woman in the audience; every time I looked up, I saw this woman. She was in my line of sight; she was my center point. I didn't want to keep staring at her, but she was there. She radiated an energy that was equivalent to the one I was feeling on stage. After about two minutes, I felt I could trust her; I decided to use her as my anchor. I've never done that before. I've never picked a person to help me be stable, to help me find my place on the stage. It was an incredible experience. Not only was I connected to the other dancers, I was directly connected to the audience.
I don't know what this woman saw; if she could feel me; if my connection to her was visible to other audience members. But I do know that this venue, this person gave me a performance experience that I've not had. It will stay with me for a long, long time.
The audiences were so visible to us that I felt that they were part of our performance. In theaters and dance performance spaces, we often cannot see much of the audience -- occasionally, we can see people in the front row. Sometimes, a piece asks for the house lights to be raised; occasionally, the ambient light from the stage reveals indistinct forms in raked seating. This time, however, I could see people's expressions, their stances (some people were standing). I'm surprised by just how much I know about the audience. I felt people move with us; I saw people move in to check something out. I felt people trying to figure out how we were doing stuff. The audience was so alive that I took a risk.
Stage lights can be dizzying; they are very bright -- too bright to look at directly; they change colour; they come and go; there's no stable anchor point. To mark where you are on stage, you often have to pick an architectural feature: the exit lights at the back of the auditorium, the lights from the tech booth or tech table in the house. Sometimes, floor lighting is available. Because the space was so light, there were more than a couple of architectural features that I could have picked. But I didn't. I chose a person.
I kept seeing a woman in the audience; every time I looked up, I saw this woman. She was in my line of sight; she was my center point. I didn't want to keep staring at her, but she was there. She radiated an energy that was equivalent to the one I was feeling on stage. After about two minutes, I felt I could trust her; I decided to use her as my anchor. I've never done that before. I've never picked a person to help me be stable, to help me find my place on the stage. It was an incredible experience. Not only was I connected to the other dancers, I was directly connected to the audience.
I don't know what this woman saw; if she could feel me; if my connection to her was visible to other audience members. But I do know that this venue, this person gave me a performance experience that I've not had. It will stay with me for a long, long time.
Wow, what a visceral experience and how magnificent that you could find enough words to share.
ReplyDeletehumble thanks