Local Gestures
because the personal is cultural
D’après une histoire vraie, by French choreographer Christian Rizzo, is two drummers and eight dancers, a total of ten men including five with long hair and half a dozen with beards. I’m saying this because it’s the casting of my wet dreams. I’m saying this because I should have loved it. I did like it though. The show certainly has a lot of qualities going for it, most of which come from the fact that it is inspired by folk dance. As a result, D’après… avoids a lot of contemporary dance clichés. First, let’s mention how rare it is for a choreographer to know how to make men dance together. Often, contemporary dance will go straight for antagonism – drama is always the easy answer – as though it is the only way men can interact. That’s right… Even in contemporary dance we have to put up with this macho bullshit. However, here we witness interactions that are refreshingly different. Men put their arms on each other’s shoulders, hold hands, support each other, lean on each other, and invite each other to dance. The feeling of fraternity, of inclusiveness that emerges as a result makes the show most endearing. Indeed, there is something soft about D’après…, like the middle grey floor where the dance takes place or the low-key lighting that gently reveals it. There is a balance between the moments when the dancers are physically linked and the ones when they dance on their own. Both appear to be grounding experiences. The performer finds his footing as he sways from foot to foot on the beat, holding his hands behind his back, before joining his comrades. Since folk dance is usually practiced by non-professionals, there is also a switch of importance between the limbs. Édouard Lock has said that the difference between a dancer and a non-dancer is in the legs. Here, it is obvious. The steps executed by the dancers are simple and it is in their arms that most of the movement occurs. There is no showing off. Gone is the ego of the performer. This is about the pleasure of being together. Also gone is the existential crisis from contemporary dance. Folk dance is life affirming. As one dancer walks around the grey floor, standing on the outside looking in, we can feel his admiration before these dancing bodies, his desire to join them. Where Rizzo has more trouble is in the tricky transition that a community dance must undergo to become a theatrical dance. The choreographer does what he can by introducing elements of contemporary dance, like the modern set design or the variations in numbers of performers and speed of the dance, yet there is something that prevents the dance from imposing itself in our eye or in our mind. Still, let’s mention that Rizzo does a better job of it than Hofesh Shechter had with Political Mother. In the end, the best thing about the show for me was the drummers. Then again I always feel that way. May 30 & 31 at 8pm Théâtre Jean-Duceppe www.fta.qc.ca 514.844.3822 / 514.842.2112 Tickets: 48-58$ / 30 years old and under: 43-48$
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Lorsque j’ai assisté au concert de Martha Wainwright au Théâtre Outremont, je ne pouvais cesser de percevoir l’événement tel qu’il était. Assis au balcon, j’étais étrangement conscient du fait que nous étions sur une gigantesque boule qui flottait dans l’espace, boule sur laquelle un bâtiment avait été érigé, bâtiment dans lequel un être humain chantait, être humain qui était observé par une centaine d’autres de son espèce. Tout ça me semblait d’une absurdité et d’une beauté totales. Cette absurdité n’est pas seulement le contexte inévitable de Built to Last de Meg Stuart, mais aussi son contenu. Au-dessus de la scène est suspendu un mobile géant de neuf planètes entourant un soleil blanc. En avant-scène git une maquette de tyrannosaure. La scène, microcosme pour la planète terre au complet, apparait comme un terrain de jeu immense où les actions humaines n’ont rien à voir avec les forces de l’univers. L’insignifiance des humains transparaît. Ils ne font que jouer; ils n’ont jamais la chance de participer aux affaires de l’univers ou même de les influencer le moindrement. La danse initiale des cinq interprètes se limite à un calcul de l’espace, aux paramètres du corps qu’ils ne peuvent jamais excéder. Ils sont confinés à l’humain. Alors, sur ce terrain de jeu démesuré, les danseurs (mais aussi les personnages qu’ils interprètent) font du théâtre. Leurs mouvements ne s’accumulent pas; ils ne font que se suivre et ils perdent leur sens aussitôt qu’ils sont exécutés. « Nous sommes motivés par l’enthousiasme, » dit l’un des interprètes. L’enthousiasme… Un sentiment vif, mais qui ne sait perdurer. « What’s in our hearts and in our souls must find a way out. » Built to Last avance au son de Stockhausen, de Beethoven, de Rachmaninov… Il y a un décalage énorme entre ces musiques dramatiques et la danse des interprètes, qui ne font pas dans la virtuosité. Ironiquement, la musique semble plus appropriée pour le mouvement des planètes que celui des humains. Notre musique est plus grande que nous. Peut-être est-ce pour cela que la musique de Beethoven aura survécu plus longtemps que Beethoven lui-même. Elle n’est pas du domaine de l’humain, mais du divin. Dans un cube blanc, les danseurs bougent comme s’ils se trouvaient en état d’apesanteur. Les quelques moments magiques offerts par Built to Last ne semblent pas parvenir de l’intérieur de l’humain, mais de sa place dans l’univers. Je le répète : nous nous trouvons sur une boule qui flotte dans l’espace. Dans Forgeries, Love and Other Matters, œuvre co-créée avec Benoît Lachambre, Stuart nous avait présenté un monde post-apocalyptique. À la manière de Charlton Heston devant la Statue de la Liberté dans Planet of the Apes, avec Built to Last, on se rend compte que ce monde est peut-être déjà le nôtre. Tout dépendant d’où notre regard se pose, le titre du spectacle peut paraître ironique ou approprié. Les planètes sont faites pour durer. Le dinosaure, non. Les humains… Ils sont des dinosaures en devenir. Nous ne sommes que de futurs fossiles. 28 & 29 mai à 20h Usine C www.fta.qc.ca 514.844.3822 / 514.842.2112 Billets : 48$ / 30 ans et mois ou 65 ans et plus : 43$ Il y a un an, je voyais Hetero, une pièce de danse des Japonais Teita Iwabuchi et Kaori Seki. À ce moment, mon cerveau avait malheureusement cessé de fonctionner, me laissant sans critique. Je m’étais promis que je me ressaierais plus tard… Nous voilà un an plus tard. Je me ressaie, mais il y a toujours un blocage. Pour une raison obscure, je ne parviens pas écrire ma critique à la troisième personne. Pour une raison obscure, ça sort comme ça : Si je faisais le même mouvement que toi, En même temps que toi, te verrais-je mieux? (voir = comprendre) Si j’étais ton miroir, te verrais-tu en moi Ou ne percevrais-tu que la différence, Ce qui est le même en nous s’effaçant, (1 – 1 = 0) Ne laissant transparaître que nos différences, Que ce qui déborde de ce même? Pourrais-je t’écouter dans le silence? Ne puis-je t’écouter que dans le silence? Pourrais-je t’écouter si bien Que je pourrais te voir Lorsque tu es derrière moi? Je ne peux jamais arriver à être Parfaitement toi, ce qui me chagrine Et me réconforte. Je désire La symbiose tout autant Que ton individualité. Je désire la balance de moi moi/toi toi\moi toi comme une respiration. (inspiration = expiration) Je ne veux pas que tu sois moi, Pour que nos corps puissent s’entremêler Comme des doigts en prière. Je veux que ton corps soit L’espace positif de l’espace négatif De mon corps. ( +/- ) C’est ainsi Que tu reposeras sur mes épaules J C J A O A M U M B B E E Sans difficulté Et que lorsque tu les quitteras Je sentirai le poids De ton absence. ( -/- ) SYLVAIN VERSTRICHT : On perçoit souvent dans ton travail le désir de montrer l'envers du décor. Pourquoi? D'où vient cette obsession? MARIE BÉLAND : Ce qui me fascine dans les spectacles, et particulièrement dans la danse contemporaine et performative, c’est ce rassemblement que nous créons autour de cette activité hyper codée, ce dans le but de se lancer dans l’inconnu. Le spectacle et ses codes sont pour moi les balises qui permettent aux spectateurs comme aux artistes de vivre l’expérience toute particulière que les arts vivants proposent. Ces codes sont fascinants, ils constituent à mon sens le reflet des nombreux codes qui régissent nos sociétés et de leurs nombreuses contradictions. Les décortiquer, les révéler, c’est aussi décortiquer et mettre en lumière ce qui nous permet d’agir et de fonctionner ensemble. Montrer cet envers du décor c’est donc ma façon de porter un regard, critique à l’occasion, sur ce que nous sommes. C’est aussi célébrer le fait que l’expérience du spectacle vivant nous rassemble encore, surtout de nos jours où on tend à s’isoler pour se rencontrer, via internet, la télé à la maison, Facebook, etc. Cependant, il y a une force qui demeure dans l’expérience de groupe qu’est le spectacle vivant, et c’est ce que j’ai envie de montrer, en souhaitant que ça nous fasse peut-être réfléchir sur nos manières de « vivre ensemble ». Dans les arts vivants, ce qui importe pour moi c’est le vivant, et j’en fais à la fois l’objet et le sujet de mon travail. Révélations 15-17 mai à 19h30 + 18 mai à 16h Tangente www.tangente.qc.ca 514.871.2224 / 1.866.844.2172 Billets : 22$ / Étudiants : 18$ I didn’t watch Eurovision this weekend but I did go to Tangente to see Dance Roads, so let’s pretend that it’s the dance equivalent of Eurovision. In competition: Wales, the Netherlands, Canada, Italy, and France. Representing Wales, Jo Fong with Dialogue - A Double Act A video projection where the public sees itself in real-time, as in a mirror, which reminds me of the Belgian theatre company Ontroerend Goed’s Audience (and this even though I haven’t seen it). On stage, six chairs, two of which will find seaters, the female performers of Dialogue - A Double Act. They provide the suggestion of a performance, a sort of low-energy runthrough, like Michèle Febvre in Nicolas Cantin’s CHEESE. They often explain the performance instead of or just before actually doing it, like Andrew Turner had in Duet for One Plus Digressions. All this to say that it’s as charming as the performers are, but leaves us with a feeling of déjà-vu. Representing the Netherlands, Jasper van Luijk with Quite Discontinuous An athletic duo for two men with lots of floor work, which could make us think of breaking, but the moves are decidedly contemporary. The dancers are agile and the partner work is inventive. The relationship between the performers remains ambiguous. There seems to be a desire for connection, but both are on their own trajectory so that there is a difficulty in connecting. It might even be impossible. After one lies on the ground as though dead, the other shines spotlights on him, as an homage to the other and the desire for connection with him in spite of its unfeasibility. Representing Canada, Sarah Bronsard with Ce qui émerge après (4kg) A strange creature appears in obscurity at the back of the stage. We imagine there’s a dancer under there, though we can’t even figure out in what position they are. Soon we are able to make it out: it is her dress worn upside down, hanging off her body. She drops it on the floor, leaving her with a black pant-and-shirt combo. This is significant because Bronsard dances the flamenco but, like she leaves the typical dress behind, so she does with other elements of the dance. For example, she performs to ambient music and a dozen percussive contraptions with Mason jar lids for drums. As such, it’s hard to anticipate where the piece will go at any given moment, casting flamenco in a new light. Representing Italy, Andrea Gallo Rosso with I Meet You… If You Want Another duo for two men, which begins with them pushing each other’s back repeatedly, a rather lazy display of antagonism that unfortunately ends as soon as it gets more creative. In the second section, they evolve independently before falling into partner work for the third act. They end with the choreographic find of the piece as the two men, standing back to back, slide against each other to embrace on one side before sliding against each other’s back and embracing on the other side in a loop. Still, the piece lacks clarity. Representing France, Teilo Troncy with . je ne suis pas permanent . It begins quietly, with but a bit of a light on a sole woman. Soon, we hear music, but as though it is coming from a great distance. The dancer seems happy about it. The music comes in full force and she can finally do her jazzy dance with great energy. When the soundtrack disappears, she is left alone, humming as if trying to remember what she must do, psyching herself up. However, the grandeur of her movements danced to silence makes her look as though she’s having a meltdown. Things don’t seem to be going wrong technically as much as mentally. And the winner is… The Netherlands! Because it’s refreshing to see a contemporary dance piece that actually has dance in it. The Netherlands might seem like the obvious choice as it is the crowd-pleaser of the bunch. One might say that it’s not a particularly daring choice from the judges, but then again none of the pieces were especially daring either, so it might be fitting. www.danceroads.eu www.tangente.qc.ca Marche, marche dans cette parade infinie de corps vers la mort. Derrière le rideau, des corps obscurcis attendent de se matérialiser pour eux aussi marcher comme ceux qui sont venus avant eux, comme ceux qui viendront après eux, pour ajouter leur maillon dans la chaîne humaine qui progressivement, relativement, deviendra de plus en plus minime, rapetissera jusqu’à n’en devenir qu’un point indéchiffrable, avant qu’ils ne retournent d’où ils viennent, dans un autre monde, dans l’au-delà. Cette marche qui ne peut dévier de la ligne chronologique, cette marche dont l’accumulation incessante du temps efface la signifiance de toute action humaine. Cette marche au rythme du battement incessant du tambour, du temps qui n’arrête pour personne. Cette marche qui ne se résume que par elle-même. La Tragédie d’Olivier Dubois, c’est peut-être ce défilé de dix-huit corps nus, microcosme humain, vers l’inévitable mort. Ou c’est peut-être autre chose… Pour un instant, la marche se ralentie, comme si on la plaçait sous une loupe. Ce moment n’est pas plus signifiant que n’importe quel autre. Il est tout comme celui qui vient avant ou après. La poète Edith Sitwell a dit que la poésie est la déification de la réalité. N’importe quel moment pourrait être ralenti, être déifié, être poésie. Les acteurs de ce choeur épousent des poses statuesques. Par le fait même, ils dessinent leur vie, la colorent, l’écrivent. La tragédie est peut-être plutôt la mythologie que l’humain crée pour être moins animal, pour être plus divin : pour que sa vie excède sa propre durée. Le Christ est mort; longue vie au Christ! Des mouvements individuels commencent à émaner des corps, les propulsent hors de leur rang. L’espace doit maintenant être navigué pour éviter les collisions avec les autres. On ne peut parler de liberté. Les mouvements ne semblent pas consciemment choisis autant qu’ils semblent naturellement se manifester par ce qui fait de chacun un individu au-delà de son contrôle. On ne crée pas le destin; on le réalise. Au coeur de ces convulsions, des mouvements synchronisés apparaissent, la collectivité donnant par moments à l’individu quelque chose d’un peu plus grand que lui. La déification par le nombre, par l’amplification, par la volonté : le désir même de la déification. Une lumière stroboscopique fragmente l’action en images partielles. Nous ne percevons que des fragments du tout. Comme toujours, chaînon que nous sommes. 1-3 mai à 20h Théâtre Maisonneuve de la Place des Arts www.dansedanse.ca 514.842.2112 / 1.866.842.2112 Billets : 34$ + taxes 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$ 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
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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