Local Gestures
because the personal is cultural
Pour gagner, il faut tuer. C’est ce que l’une des voix désincarnées que l’on peut entendre dans LOIN… du chorégraphe français Rachid Ouramdane nous rappelle. À la guerre, il y a les tués et il y a les tueurs. La victoire n’est qu’une illusion. Dans ce solo, les voix coulent à un rythme effréné, se succèdent, nous plongent dans un univers où les guerres incessantes font éventuellement de nous tous des colons colonisés. À mesure que le temps avance, le passé se compresse sous son propre poids et, dans l’énumération des événements d’une vie, deux ans passés en prison passent aussi vite qu’une mort subite. La parole demeure toutefois vitale pour Ouramdane, ces témoignages enregistrés étant la seule chose qui puisse nous sauver de l’amnésie collective, quoi que certains intervenants semblent douter que la mémoire soit le moins pire des maux. Toutefois, le chorégraphe continue de dérouler le fil de son microphone au fil de l’histoire qu’il raconte, pour laisser une trace aussi visible que celles qui marquent l’âme des victimes directes ou collatérales de guerres et autres colonisations. La rapidité des monologues, surtout celui d’Ouramdane, évite à la sentimentalité d’infiltrer le ton de la voix, transformant cette multiplication de mots en un récit qui – à l’image de l’Histoire elle-même – nous affecte sans que l’on ne puisse toujours préciser de quelle manière, les effets concrets, mais les causes de plus en plus lointaines, notre vie que l’écho de voix que nous n’avons nous-mêmes jamais entendues. Tout sur scène est d’un noir plus moderne que gothique : l’écran vidéo, reluisante, en coin, à la verticale; les trois haut-parleurs style gramophone; les flaques statiques qui s’écoulent de ces éléments scéniques, autre trace laissée par les témoignages, visible mais dont le produit demeure mystérieux. Le tout est encadré par quatre tubes de néon. Le visage d’Ouramdane demeure surtout dissimulé sous le capuchon de son chandail, lui aussi noir, faisant écho aux visages que fragmente l’écran vidéo, étroit. Sa danse, (trop) simple, comme s’il ne voulait pas distraire du propos, rejoint la scénographie : au sol et en lenteur, à la même vitesse que les haut-parleurs qui pivotent; convulsive alors que les lumières clignotent incessamment; une marche rapide d’un côté à l’autre de la scène alors que les haut-parleurs tournent à haute vitesse... Un Américain d’origine vietnamienne dit que Bruce Lee était son héros car il semblait plus vrai que Spiderman ou Superman. « Whatever happened to heroes? » chante Ouramdane. Sur l’écran, des logos de compagnies telles que Mercedez-Benz et Fuji déferlent. Dans un système capitaliste, les compagnies deviennent les colons. L’héroïsme ne se mesure plus aux prises de position morale, mais au portefeuille. 24-26 avril à 20h MAI (Montréal, arts interculturels) www.m-a-i.qc.ca 514.982.3386 Billets : 25$
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I email Nancy who emails Adam who emails me. In between, who knows what happens? I’m not sure if Nancy’s words are her own or if Adam has tampered with them. I might have modified what Adam sent me. Here is an interview where none of us should be held accountable for what we might or might not have said. Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2014 14:32:09 -0400 From: Sylvain Verstricht To: Nancy Gloutnez Hi Nancy, I'm so sorry I dropped the ball on this interview. Sometimes I just feel so overwhelmed with all these things I love but that I do for free, and I don't even have a job! How do you manage doing what you love and making a living? Date: Wed, Apr 9, 2014 at 8:46 PM From: Nancy Gloutnez To: Adam Kinner Salut Adam, Je me demande souvent si la bergère en moi aurait fini par faire une chorale de ses moutons ou juste une grande mozaïque de balles de laine. Toi, qu'aurais-tu fait? Date: Thu, Apr 10, 2014 at 6:29 PM From: Adam Kinner To: Sylvain Verstricht Nancy seems to think that simultaneously doing what she loves and making a living has to do with being a shepherdess of sheep. I am sympathetic to this idea. I often think that the job of the choreographer is to be some kind of shepherd, giving some direction, some discipline, some organization, some structure to the chaotic ideas, bodies, trainings, materials that performers (myself included) bring to the process. How to turn that stuff into money is a whole other problem, but the image of shaving seems apt. The shepherd captures and capitalizes the excess, but not the essence of the animal. For choreographers, I think we (they) are more needy. For Nancy, the question is whether to make a choir of the sheep or to display them as balls of yarn. For me, the question seems to be whether the sheep need to know that they are the dancers, and then further, if the presenters of dance need to know. What do you think? Can the dance of the sheep go unnoticed or does it need to be presented in a black box in order for it to register as the art-work it is? Also, is this how the interview is supposed to go? Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2014 19:48:36 -0400 From: Sylvain Verstricht To: Nancy Gloutnez I've always thought that human beings were excessively androcentric when it came to (well, everything) the parameters of art. It's like these studies that have been coming out that established that, besides humans, only parrots and Asian elephants can dance because they're on the beat about 25% of the time. The ability to pick out a beat seems as arbitrary a way to define what constitutes dance as any. Also, it seems that the more freedom one is given, the more one feels anxiety about what is expected of them (re: Adam's question about how this interview is supposed to go). Yet, that's (what comes before) the starting point of any art project, which – to be fair – can come with its own share of anxiety. Nancy, does it help you that you studied music and that you work with jig? Is the sound of the steps always your starting point? Or do you sometimes begin with visual ideas? Date: Thu, Apr 10, 2014 at 9:53 PM From: Nancy Gloutnez To: Adam Kinner I always start with the idea of an energy I want to portrait. I find that music gives me more freedom to do that than any other form of art. Through formal organization of musical ideas, and having people step dancing them, other images stand out and that's when the fun begins... Jig for me is a medium to grow closer to music. As a step dancer, I find that putting more attention to the sound (in the way a musician would) substantiates jig. In Les Mioles, I like that the body performs with the same simplicity and sobriety as a musician. I like to think it gives space for the audience to hear and hopefully feel jig differently. Also, I love grey zones, ambiguity, searching for the thin line... I have a very hard time finding that with concrete visual elements at the start, for now anyway. I'm far more anxious about making sure I articulate my thoughts properly when it comes to talking about my work to anyone uninvolved in it. Even though I'm well aware of the importance of that part in my role as a choreographer, a part of me strongly resists intellectualization. Adam, what's that like for you? Date: 1:13 PM (1 hour ago) From: Adam Kinner To: Sylvain Verstricht I always start with an idea. I'm also a context junkie. So, I always start with an idea and a context. Sometimes the context is not fully formed and has to be invented. Sometimes the idea is not fully formed and has to be invented. But the work always comes from some conceptual place (the idea) and that conceptual place is always related to the context. So with the remix it’s very clear: the idea is to rework someone else's material and the context is a 10-minute piece that follows the original, to be presented in a dance studio. For me, the work comes out of finding a way of approaching these elements ethically. Yes, ethics. Something about the way that bodies are used, the way that people are organized, the notion of "working" in dance. These are ethical issues more than artistic ones, somehow. So for some reason the work follows the ethics. After that it's just trying to take some kind of pleasure with the material. But I'm with Nancy in that I never start with concrete visual elements. But, differently from Nancy, I like to intellectualize the work, and I feel committed to exploring work both from a kind of aesthetic perspective and from an intellectual one. Sylvain, do you make work? If so, where do you start? I do make work. I write. Often, something internal is preventing me from writing. More and more, the only way for me to start is by writing about why I can’t write. I’d say that’s the thread that goes through all my most recent work. REMIX April 12 at 6pm & April 13 at 4pm Studio 303 www.studio303.ca 514.393.3771 Tickets: 10-20$ “It’s like being in a choose-your-own-adventure book,” I tell her. “You notice everything, every detail, so someone’s chest can become an entire world rather than an element in the world. So, at any given moment, you’re conscious that you could go right or left, and even if you just move one foot in either direction, you will then be in a different world.” It’s Moving in this World that director Marie Brassard and dancer-choreographer Sarah Williams encourage us to do. The first of Sabrina Ratté’s video images that hit us are of Williams hovering between windows, between doors, between portals, like so many options that could be explored: right or left? Her sequin dress leaves her arms and legs exposed. At the back of the stage, behind a translucent curtain, the light only alternatively hits one of her arms or one of her legs, as if her body could materialize in one world or another. As she spins in the light, her reflecting dress turns her into a disco ball. She absorbs and becomes her environment. The edge of her body fades. A rotating cube with luminous borders appears on the curtain. From behind, Williams interacts with the virtual element, seemingly shrinking it with her hands, spinning it, enlarging it. At what point is the illusion so perfect that it becomes real? “Something must be real, somewhere, I guess.” Could the only thing that is real be our brain? (See John Mighton’s Possible Worlds.) If drugs can affect my brain so that I perceive everything differently, how do I know what is real? The only thing that exists without chemicals is nothing. Maybe nonexistent nothingness is the only thing that is real. Maybe the only thing that is real doesn’t exist. The curtain is lifted. She is still playing with something, but it is invisible to us. Moving in this World constantly shifts between us being on the outside soberly looking in at Williams and on the inside sharing her sensory experience. Not surprisingly, the latter is more satisfying. None of this sobriety bullshit. Moving in this World plays like a live version of Roger Corman’s The Trip, penned by none other than Jack Nicholson, a film that is admirable in its nonjudgmental representation of the experience of drugs. If the show capitalized on its strengths and stuck with the sensory experience, it could become as great as the movie. April 8-10 at 9:30pm Usine C www.usine-c.com 514.521.4493 Tickets: 28$ / Students or 30 years old and under: 22$ On April 10, Wants&Needs Danse will be presenting the 14th edition of their popular Short&Sweet series in conjunction with the Art Curator's Association of Quebec's "Envisioning the Practice" conference, which looks at Performing Arts Curation. For the occasion, here is an interview that had been conducted with organizers Sasha Kleinplatz and Andrew Tay for the 7th edition of Short&Sweet. SYLVAIN VERSTRICHT: I've been thinking about [Short&Sweet] in terms of artistic direction and, given the high number of choreographers that get to show work, that maybe the best artistic direction is to have none at all. How do you choose who is going to present work? SASHA KLEINPLATZ: I think what we do is try to get people who represent different parts of the contemporary dance community in Montreal. Basically, we will try to make sure we have artists who are young, mid-career, and established. We also try to have a balance between different types of work, i.e. artists who create more cerebral or conceptual work versus artists who create work that is very movement based. We also try to include some artists who aren't necessarily working in the contemporary dance milieu; for example, we have asked clowns, performance artists, hip hop choreographers and puppeteers in the past. I think as curators we believe our challenge with Short&Sweet is community building and creating dialogue. At the same time we try to ask people who we think would make good use of this particular kind of performance situation. SYLVAIN: It also seems that, even though the Montreal dance community is rather small and everyone knows each other, there is still a bit of a divide between francophone and anglophone artists. Short&Sweet is one of the few times when I feel like that line gets somewhat erased. Am I wrong in assuming this and is this something that's important to you? ANDREW TAY: It is definitely something that we think about, and we feel like this is part of what makes Short&Sweet fun and interesting. Homogeny can definitely be boring and every good party needs a good mix of people. I think that we are trying to breed a curiosity among artists to see all the different types of dance ideas that are out there no matter where they are coming from. This curiosity creates an atmosphere that transcends boundaries such as language... We also think this situation is really unique to Montreal and important! I was at a symposium recently that was talking about the so-called anglo - franco culture divide and some people were arguing that a bilingual audience doesn't exist. I totally disagree with this and I think events like Short&Sweet prove it is an exciting possibility. I think we are lucky since dance is not necessarily a language-based art form and because of this we have more opportunity to cultivate this kind of audience. SYLVAIN: For this edition of Short&Sweet, you asked choreographers to collaborate with artists from other disciplines. Dance always strikes me as being particularly collaborative, so I was wondering how this constraint concretely affected your piece this time around… SASHA: I know for me it felt like an opportunity to take a chance with collaborators I have never worked with before. Because the piece is short I felt comfortable treating the collaboration as a blind date between myself and the two collaborators and interpreters (musician John Milchem, performance artist Adriana Disman, and interpreters Nathan Yaffe and Susan Paulson). We have all agreed that the process of the collaboration is as interesting as the outcome/performance. We were all just excited to see what working together yields. For me this goes back to the original spirit of experimentation and risk-taking that I was looking for when Andrew and I conceived of Short&Sweet. Short & Sweet #14 April 10 at 10pm La Sala Rossa https://www.facebook.com/events/371765872964691/?fref=ts Tickets: 10$ SYLVAIN VERSTRICHT : Bonjour, Caroline! Quatre années se sont écoulées depuis que l'on s'est parlé la dernière fois, alors que tu présentais ton travail en tant que finissante à l'UQAM. Que s'est-il passé depuis? CAROLINE DUSSEAULT : C'est plutôt 6 ans déjà! Eh oui, j'ai terminé en 2008. J'ai fait quelques créations, je suis maintenant à travailler une pièce qui décale complètement le spectacle de danse et où je m'amuse à passer de la réalité au monde imaginaire que crée le spectacle. Et toi? Toujours dans l'écriture? SV : 2014 - 2008 = 6, en effet! Toujours dans l'écriture de mon côté, et un peu de radio aussi. Le spectacle de toi que j'avais vu, Les Rudiments, était axé sur le couple. Même si pour La suite logique, que tu présenteras au Festival Vue sur la Relève, nous avons affaire à un duo, tu sembles être rendue ailleurs... Quelle est la relation qui se dessine entre les danseurs Corrine Crane-Desmarais et Georges Nicolas-Tremblay? CD : Ils se rapprochent de plus en plus tout au long de la pièce. C'est en gros le portrait d'une rencontre. Rencontre que l'on retrouve également entre eux et le public! Dans cette version de 30 minutes, c'est peut-être moins évident à capter que dans la version originale de 1h! SV : Si je comprends bien, la musique et l'éclairage du spectacle sont attribués aux différentes sections de façon aléatoire. Est-ce que ça représente un défi pour les danseurs? CD : Oui, exactement. Ça demande une disponibilité totale de la part des danseurs. J'ai eu de la difficulté à trouver ces perles là qui sont prêtes à ne pas avoir de "partition"! Ce n'est pas seulement la musique et les éclairages, mais il y a aussi d'autres paramètres qui varient. Par exemple, dans la version longue, il y a une section qu'on ne verra pas ce vendredi où j'enregistre, à l'entrée du public, des témoignages. J'en choisis un puis je le fais jouer pendant le spectacle et les danseurs modifient leur séquence dansée en fonction de ces informations! En fait, tout est permis! Ils peuvent suivre les règles, ils peuvent les briser... SV : Parlant de défis, est-ce que c'en est un d'adapter une pièce de danse à la scène du Cabaret du Mile-End? CD : C'est toujours une adaptation de changer de salle. Au Cabaret, il y a du public sur trois côtés et la scène est surélevée. Étant donné que les danseurs vont dans le public, il faut revoir un peu la façon dont ils entrent et interviennent. Mais le plus gros défi n'a pas été de l'adapter à l'espace, parce que la scène est d'une bonne grandeur; c'est surtout de faire une adaptation 30 minutes d'une pièce d'une heure! Avec les interventions avec le public, ça prend toujours du temps établir un contact. Aussi, comme il n'y a ni début ni fin, ça prend un certain temps à faire une transition imperceptible... Je ne t'en dis pas plus et j'espère avoir piqué ta curiosité! 4 avril à 20h Cabaret du Mile-End www.vuesurlareleve.com Billets : 10$ |
Sylvain Verstricht
has an MA in Film Studies and works in contemporary dance. His fiction has appeared in Headlight Anthology, Cactus Heart, and Birkensnake. s.verstricht [at] gmail [dot] com Categories
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