Oh Anna

Parades and Changes Over the Past 43 Years:

an interview with Anna Halrpin

By Ann Murphy

This article was originally published in the January/February 2013 issue of In Dance, a monthly magazine published by Dancers' Group, serving the San Francisco Bay Area and beyond. dancersgroup.org

When choreographer and dancer Anna Halprin and her husband Larry perched themselves on the side of Mount Tamalpais in Marin County, they rooted their creative futures in a landscape of redwood, madrone, oak and berries. Little did they know that their choice would help revolutionize post-war dance in the United States. On five acres of wooded hillside Larry Halprin, a landscape architect, built Anna a stage in the trees—the now famous dance deck that hangs below a leafy canopy and an open sky—and this became an important laboratory for some of the most inventive artists of the last 60 years, including Terry Riley, Trisha Brown, Merce Cunningham, Simone Forti, Morton Subotnik, Yvonne Rainer and Robert Morris. Anna began to create scored systems on the deck that were fixed yet fluid, echoing the structured improvisations of her forebearers Isadora Duncan, Rudolph Laban and Mary Wigman. Then, by applying ideas from landscape design, music, politics, film, psychology and poetry to the moving body in the environment, she formulated works shaped by the cultural concerns of the day, from war to the unadorned body to the sexual politics of family life.

Now, at 92, Anna is remaking for the last time what may be the most seminal dance “score” of her career. In mid-February dancers from as far away as Paris will stage a final iteration of Parades and Changes, the dance that caused the New York police to issue a warrant for the artist’s arrest, stunned East Coast audiences with its total nudity, but also prompted curmudgeonly critic Clive Barnes to marvel that in the paper- tearing sequence, “Fantastic shapes evolve, paper sculptures mingling fascinatingly with nude bodies. The result is not only beautiful but somehow liberating as well.” In the less provincial environment of Berkeley in 1970, Parades was the first art event in the concrete modernist building built for the new Berkeley Art Museum. The dance program was an event described as “a multidisciplinary art extravaganza, heralding a radical new building and an ambitious cultural enterprise.” Now, 43 years later, Anna and her dancers return to say goodbye to the concrete structure, which will be repurposed by the university once the museum shifts downtown. We will all say goodbye to a legendary dance.

For this last look at a dance that changed the terms of performance and public expression, Anna is striving to make Parades as timely as ever as it channels the uprisings around the world. She is including a new, rhythmically patterned stomping section devised by composer and long-time collaborator Morton Sobotnik designed to suggest protest.

She will add a falling section, that connotes sacrifice and death, and, most important to her, she is injecting a tender embracing section that signals our capacity for caring and concern. A few weeks ago I had the privilege of talking to Anna after a rehearsal about this final installment. This is what she had to say:

Ann Murphy: What does the title Parades and Changes refer to?
Anna Halprin: It’s the idea that there is a sequence of actions that go like this [she moves one hand after the other on the table top] that remind me of a parade, but they keep changing. So [in a dance] we might have a series of blocks going like this [demonstrates again] but they will change every time you do it, and that’s where the title Parades and Changes comes from. It was very hard to find a title [for a work that] keeps changing so much in its relevance to historic culture, so it has one connotation in one particular time. The first time I did it it was inspired by Picasso’s painting called “the Family Circus.” My family was like a circus, and the cast was all family. The second time I did it I did it with a group of hippies. Then the third time I did it was with the multi-racial company. So the cast changes as well, and as the cast changes the cultural overtones change.
AM: So your casting is in response to the cultural moment?
AH: Yes. And I want to say that with regard to the family cast, I had spent over 25 years working with children, so I was very used to relating to children. Rana was 10 and Daria was 14 and they were part of the children’s troupe. In those days children weren’t taken seriously in dance as members of a cast. I think Robert Wilson used a child in one of his pieces but that was very unusual. So that wasn’t an expectation— children taken seriously as children in a cast. And that was where I was—I was building a family at that time.

AM: Did you score the original Parades and Changes, and have you scored successive iterations, and if so what does that mean?

AH: You saw me scoring right now today. I get resources from the group I’m working with. Then I begin to see what they’re presenting to me, and then I begin to find the scoring element. So my first score is very open: here’s an idea; explore it. That’s a very open score, but still I selected the idea of the embrace because I felt I needed that in this piece—I needed this human factor that was missing. Parades and Changes until now was completely task-oriented and I wanted something more humanistic. Now, at the very beginning, it starts with people telling stories, so the task is: tell a story. I will take an ordinary task but unlike the Judson I want to turn it into a dance. I don’t want to leave it as a realistic task. So when people talk about task-oriented movement on the East Coast it’s very different from what I mean by it. The environment has been foremost in my sensibilities. I even do exercises with the eyes with my students so they learn how to look and see the environment instead of an object. I can look at Sue as an object, or I can look at Sue and be aware that there’s a fire going on behind her, and that she’s gesturing, and that there’s a man over there with grey hair, and a woman over there with a white blouse. I’m still looking at Sue but I’m looking at her in relation to the environment and not as an object.

AM: What does this relationship to the environment bring to your work?

AH: One of the first things is that it broke the barrier of the proscenium arch, because I worked on the dance deck that meandered in around the trees and is suspended in the air. I was aware of the sky and the animals that went by. So it had a huge effect on me to get out of the box studio or the proscenium arch theater and opened up a whole world of new possibilities that had to do with being more realistic about life. It’s as if the dances I’d been doing [earlier in my career] were little exhibition pieces in a box.

AM: What do you mean by being more realistic about life?

AH: It means that you’re contacting other people, which gives you a different relation to the audience, so it becomes more inclusive. At a very profound level it means working as nature operates. Nature operates according to processes. Nature doesn’t have an ABA and a formalistic compositional technique. Nature works in process—a tree grows, the sun comes out, the rain comes. It’s never a fixed form. That was so reinforced by my husband, because he built that deck and he’s the one who got me out of a box....[He] got that not from the Bauhaus but from going up to the Sierra for a month at a time every August and living there and sketching and drawing and writing and observing. He was my major collaborator and that had an effect on me. The deck itself had an effect on me.

AM: Did your and Larry’s choice of moving to the side of Mt. Tamalpais prefigure that? Were you already aware of the role of the environment?

AH: In an intuitive way. I was born on the Skokie Plains, and I was never comfortable in an urban environment. And Larry started a kibbutz in Israel working the land, and was originally getting his PhD in biology.

AM: So you both knew open space?

AH: Right. I remember something Larry wrote. He said: When I was a little boy I used to go to a tree, and I’d hide in the tree to get away from all the adults and their problems.

AM: So you went and hid in a tree in another way?
(Laughter.)

AM: Anna, I know that when you performed Parades and Changes at Hunter in 1967 you had to get out of town fast.

AH: Very fast!

AM: Tell me what happened.

AH: Well, when I did Parades and Changes originally, it was commissioned by a music festival in Sweden, and I knew ahead of time the cultural attitude about nudity—they took saunas together—nudity wasn’t a cultural taboo in Sweden. So when we did it there, the dressing and undressing scene was received with the following comment by a dance critic. He said that “it was like a ceremony of trust.” Then it was presented on national television. Well, 43 years ago imagine performing something like that on our national television. Then I got a letter from this farmer that said—oh it was so beautiful to see the naked bodies. It reminded him of his newborn calves—sacred and innocent.

Then when we did in New York I was a little naïve. I made an assumption that New Yorkers are very sophisticated, and it didn’t even occur to me that it was going to create a problem because it was so well accepted in Sweden. But I began to wonder when I saw a couple of policemen back stage. I’d never seen that before. Well, it turned out that they were actually security people who were supposed to keep the police out, because the Director of Hunter College anticipated something of this nature. So sure enough, they issued a warrant for my arrest at the hotel the next day for indecent exposure. But I wasn’t there.

AM: You were warned?

AH: Yeah, I was. And as a result of that I didn’t go back to New York for years, and it affected my reputation. At the time I had a group and we were touring but nobody would touch me. For years and years it was all they talked about even though it was one score amongst ten different scores, yet that’s all they ever talked about, so we stopped touring. But that was good, because then I could really focus on rituals, and ceremonies, and working with people and their issues, and AIDS and healing, and racial conflict. It gave me an opportunity to be completely liberated from any expectations. It was a disaster that turned into a blessing.

AM: So Anna, I know that you have changed Parades with the time, the setting. How is this particular context shaping the score for you and this particular moment in time?

AH: The theme––and this may sound a little Pollyannish––but the theme for me is peace. Peace with yourself, with your naked body, unadorned, unmasked--be real--and peace with each other. You are part of something bigger than yourself. I’ve incorporated into the score the shooting and the stomping and the anger and the rebellion of the Occupation Movement, and then a final Planetary Dance, which is hopeful. It has a sense of “if we can be one voice, this is what we would ask for.” Ultimately, as a grandmother and a great grandmother, if I leave any legacy at all to my children and their children, it’s an awareness of how to take responsibility to create peace in their lives and the lives of others. I feel that Occupy was an outcry by our young people to deal with the corruption, to deal with the 1% because it’s going to destroy us all, and it’s going to destroy the planet. Occupy was a very brave thing to do, and I feel bad that it hasn’t gotten the full support it needed to grow, and develop and cultivate its clarity.

AM: Do you think it still might? AH: Oh yeah, I do.

Ann Murphy is Assistant Professor and Chair of the Mills College Dance Department and a long-time Bay Area dance critic and writer currently writing for the Bay Area News Group. She has written for the East Bay Express, the New York Times, the SF Chronicle, the Oakland Tribune, Dance Magazine, among other publications, and launched In Dance at the now-defunct Bay Area Dance Coalition and Young Dancer at Dance Magazine.
  

Review: Diablo Ballet delivers a stunning 'Pavane,' stumbles through
premiere of 'Swingin' Holiday'
By Ann Murphy, Correspondent San Jose Mercury News
Posted: ContraCostaTimes.com

Each time a 20th-century dance giant dies, fear runs through the dance world's collective veins. With another genius gone, where will the new crop of movement masters come from, and can dance survive without such legendary talent? It is a question that has been haunting the dance world for decades.

Friday night at the Dean Lesher Center for the Arts in Walnut Creek that question hounded Diablo Ballet's opening program of its 2012-13 season. In an evening filled with talented and passionate dancers, the company mounted work that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. Dance has endured, but the issues of legacy and revitalization haven't gone away.

The production of "The Moor's Pavane" threw the problem into sharp relief. The late Jose Limon's almost Kabuki-like depiction of the Othello story is a masterpiece of modern dance from 1949 and Diablo Ballet brought it to life with stunning depth. But the dizzy premieres bookending "Moor" seemed to have been intended for another program or a different company altogether.

In "Moor," two couples, Othello and Desdemona (The Moor and The Moor's Wife), Iago and Emilia (His Friend and His Friend's Wife), perform a taut, elegantly formulated web of decorum, corruption and desire costumed in sumptuous Renaissance garb. Every step, each gesture and every foot of stage space seem sculpted with narrative, holding visual and metaphysical importance and shaped by a fate that is still en route. The stately music by 17th-century composer Henry Purcell only ratchets up dramatic tension.

It was thrilling to watch how Robert Dekkers as the calculating and homoerotic Iago performed with some of the same slithery elegance that dancer Lucas Hoving brought to the role he originated in 1949, and how Derek Sakakura embodied the credulous Othello with power if not quite the willfulness of Jose Limon. Maria Basile was a nuanced Emilia; and Desdemona, Othello's wife, was captured by Heather Cooper with the soft innocence that makes her the prey in a quiet, evil conspiracy. Both women are on loan from sjDANCEco.

Although more than 60 years old, "The Moor's Pavane" is timeless as well as timely in its account of how politics, power and sex lace together to cause tragedy. Its ability to communicate something complex with compressed simplicity is a supreme example of the power of dance.

By contrast, Vicente Nebrada's premiere of "Lento a Tempo e Appassionato," which opened the program, was a demonstration of dance as a series of well-executed athletic tricks meant to denote passion. The program closer, the premiere of "A Swingin' Holiday" by Sean Kelly, with the Diablo Ballet Swing Orchestra in the pit, showed the desperation of an art form that returns to the Lindy, zoot suits and mashups of Christmas music with almost zombielike insistence.

Nebrada made hash of Alexander Scriabin's three piano etudes as the lovely dancers Hiromi Yamazaki and David Fonnegra, with the estimable Roy Bogas on piano, spun and entwined and punched each accent in a histrionic depiction of male-female love worthy of the over-the-top emoting of early silent films. Isadora Duncan performed a dance of simple gravity in 1923 to some of the same Scriabin etudes, but Nebrada seems as in the dark about that past as Kelly seems blind to the fact that Michael Smuin fully captured the '40s Broadway dance shtick decades ago.

For ages, dance commentators have noted that without an effective written scoring system, dance remains dependent on one generation passing down information to the next. But Youtube is quickly giving young choreographers access to dance archives that no other generation has had. Film clips can't replace the transmission between artists, but they put more history at young artists' finger tips. It is in their interest to use them. We will all benefit.

diablo ballet
Presents works by Vicente Nebrada, Jose Limon and Sean Kelly Page 1 of 2

26/11/2012 09:19 AM

http://www.contracostatimes.com/ci_22017922/review-diablo-ballet-delivers-stunning-pavane-stumbles-through?IADID=S
When: 8 p.m. Nov. 17
Where: Lesher Center for the Arts, Walnut Creek Tickets: $36, $52, 925-943-7469, www.leshercenter.org

Page 2 of 2

26/11/2012 09:19 AM 

The DNA of Dance

Open publication - Free publishing - More ann murphy

Vegetarians Take Heart!

Vegetarians take heart-- Ashley  Trottier and Jochelle Perena have cooked up an hilarious and unsettling dish in their first joint production called Minced Meat staged in the shoebox theater space Temescal Arts Friday, Oct 21, 2011. Eating the revolting pinky-grey cocktail sausages  was optional.

If you arrived with an appetite, though, the production's barmaid, the comically déclassé, Lacey Carter, offered up cocktail sausages and  two buck Chuck, all with a dissolute air that suggested she might have spat in the drinks and let the dogs roll on the ground moments earlier.

Chowing down a plate of baby wieners and lousy wine helped implicate the audience in a raw night that was above all passionately curious about women and men as forms of meat, with our distinct, and distinctly bizarre, fleshy parts, and the relationship between our various forms of hunger. Most pointedly, the choreographers were interested in the vast swamp of carnal longings that either oozes from our bodies, or lurks in psychic closets. The id, as hulking beast, surfaced from the swamp and crept from its hiding place at almost every turn.

The dancers (the majority Mills College grads and current students, undergrad and grad both), despite little rehearsal time, danced with the collective intelligence of bodies that know each other and how to move as one, rather than a pickup company, which they were. (Disclaimer: I know many of the performers.) When the slip-clad Perena forced her way into a party scene, like an awkward but unstoppable backwoods child, the ensemble performed a familiar self-absorbed beauty queen meets mean-girl routine.While it was Perena who symbolized primal urges and barely-restrained civility, it was the group of men and women engaged in their social drama who had all the problems. What were they to do with this outlier force?

Katherine McGinity, for one, posed 40's pin-up style, while Elizabeth Morales' cocktail hauteur suggested that, when the moment was right, she would be in the closet with the apt available body in a heartbeat. Perena's raw presence unmasked the truth of the partyers' brittle preenings which were, in fact, far less about civilized engagement than about stylized expressions of barely contained insecurity and almost aggressive longing. When, as though by a spell, that longing was unleashed, everyone began hilariously gnawing and sucking on everyone else, tottering between the acceptable and raw transgression.

If Perena was the collective id, Trottier, who next appeared, embodied a poignant nightmare version of the psychologically imprisoned woman, like Coppelia's mechanical doll with a predilection for cutting and pain pills. Wearing a pink baby-doll negligee, she performed sorrowful, furious repetitions of fragmentary movement rife with vulgar sexual gestures that themselves were bursting with displaced anger, sorrow, and imploded passion. It was a potent etude of distorted desire through movement that was wonderfully fractured and comically lewd. Trying to break out of her mechanized state she expressed the limits placed not only on the modern female body but also on the sensuality of the contemporary self.

The female chorus that included Morales, McGinity, Magee Page-Stokes, An Hoang, Prudence Amsden and Judene Small, had meaty little starlet cameos (Gretchen Jude was responsible for the smart, irony-rich music mix), while the men had their own tropes, notably a table dance and a chair dance, in which they tried to use objects to bridge the myriad existential gaps in their path. As familiar as these clowning motifs were they were surprising and hilarious. The acrobatic chair play, particularly, and the men’s blend of unity and competition, brought pathos to this stunning first production. Brian Quackenbush's acting chops were especially fierce as he led his team, which included Lucas Buckman and Mario Gonzales, through their self-made trials. It was an ensemble act of awkward risk and dexterity that gave the post-modern struggle a comic, true-clown tenderness. 

This fledgling troupe deserves plenty of exposure and support. They blend an array of dance forms and performance styles into something far more delectable than any mince I've ever eaten.

























 

Oh Onegin at SFB

As the curtain fell Friday night at San Francisco Ballet's premiere of John Cranko's 1965 evening-long "Onegin," elegant Vitor Luiz looked spent, and petite Maria Kochetkova gasped for breath as her shoulders curved forward. Moments earlier, they had shot across the stage and spun through space like dervishes lost in the centripetal force of ruined love. Now Kochetkova and Luiz gazed out at us, exhausted. The audience leapt to its feet in a roar of approval. "Onegin" was a home run.



While not everything about this ambitious, nearly 50-year-old work is a success, Friday's production of "Onegin" gripped the audience tightly, because it is a modernist dance arrayed like 19th-century fairy tale ballet, rife with social context yet rich with the competing forces of individual desire. It is one of those iconic stories about passion and morality that has legs, because its themes never grow stale.

Then there is the dancing. The group action starts out heavy on the pantomime and the presentational, and even seems trite at first, but then grows more heated with every scene. The pendulumlike trajectories that begin to build and the almost impossible physics of the catapulting movement dazzle us. Before long, we are deeply committed to the core cast of characters and their story.

At its heart, Onegin is a dramatic quartet between two sisters and two male friends and evolves into a cat's cradle between the bookish Tatiana, danced Friday with transcendent
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and translucent purpose by Kochetkova, and her sister Olga, captured with coquettish clarity by Clara Blanco; Olga's boyfriend, the passionate Lensky, impeccably embodied by Gennadi Nedvigin, and Lensky's bored city friend, the aristocrat Onegin, danced with nuanced depth and hauteur by Ruiz.

Onegin, stuck among what he regards as the unsophisticated country gentry, trifles with Tatiana, and she falls hard. At a ball later, embarrassed and annoyed by Tatiana's evident passion, he punishes her innocence by dancing with flirty Olga, not only confusing Tatiana but inflaming his friend Lensky, who is overtaken by jealousy and humiliation. A challenge, a duel and a senseless death aren't far away.

As the ballet moves inward toward the duel, which takes place upstage in a seemingly distant place, it narrows to a series of dangerous trios. Narrowing further, the ballet culminates with a duet between a mature Tatiana, now married to a loving Prince Gremin and a mother, and a spiritually washed-up Onegin, a doomed version of the lovers' duet that Tatiana imagined earlier in the night when she was still an innocent girl.

Movements and motifs we saw earlier are echoed but transformed, and each time these messages worm deeper into our skin. This is the power of "Onegin": the movement itself, not the story line, becomes the potent messenger for the contortions of heart and mind.

Opening night, the principals took Cranko's intentions and shot them to the moon. Kochetkova was an almost translucently dreamy girl who startles awake, seeing Onegin. Her whole body seems to open in response, her face absorbing the world she had previously ignored as she read, and she makes us feel the force of love at first sight.

We know Luiz, too--the defensively callous egotist who takes shelter from emotions in arrogance. Blanco's Olga lets us feel both the insouciance and the shallowness of the soubrette while Gennadi, an elegant version of ballet's man in the shadows, embodies wounded pride, making us feel the moral purpose of Lensky's emotions.

Cranko's craftsmanship is obvious throughout. It appears in such motifs as the innocent game of surprise that happens early on, when Lensky sneaks up on Olga, who is preening at a mirror. This evolves into a motif between Onegin and Tatiana, then is picked up by Gremin.

Leaps defy the courtly trajectories of ballet, whether it is the breathtaking ensemble jetes that course from diagonal to diagonal or Tatiania's enormous bounding into Onegin's arms, or her extreme penche arabesques or her rippling bourrees that suggest a fluttering heart.

Many moments in the ballet, motifs echo the ballet canon, from "Swan Lake" to "La Sylphide" and even "Apollo." Catching the quotes isn't what matters. What does is how Cranko deepens the meanings of the dance phrases this way and alerts us that he is both working within tradition and pushing its limits. He lights a path that contemporary choreographers could follow but rarely do.

Where 'Onegin" falters is in Santo Loquasto's murky dappled décor and costumes, especially in the opening act, where the walls looked like bad sponge painting and the pastel hues undermine the modernist rigor of the storyline. The geezer dance that launched Tatiana's birthday ball was embarrassingly out of tune, as well -- a bit of coyness that had no place here. The music was also disappointing. While the segments are by Tchaikovsky, they are not derived from the opera but a series of well-cobbled shorter works that includes segments of orchestral and piano pieces orchestrated by Kurt-Heinz Stoltze for Cranko. If you wait for Tchaikovsky's signature musical flowering, you will be disappointed.

But the flaws seem trivial when the full heft of the evening is felt. They keep the night from being perfect, but that, in the end, may be most fitting.

Smuin Feb 4 2010

Review: Bouncy 'Miss Cline' buoys a mixed program from Smuin Ballet

By Ann Murphy
Correspondent



With spring in the air, Smuin Ballet opened its winter run last weekend at Walnut Creek's Lesher Theatre in a program of light, well-executed work that ranged from the sultry to the insouciant. The newest and most cheerful dance came at the end of the program -- resident choreographer Amy Seiwert's cheeky medley, "Dear Miss Cline," set to songs by the pioneering country singer Patsy Cline.

This was a ballet of apparent nostalgia, with the women outfitted in Jo Ellen Arntz's 1950s-style red and white shirtwaist dresses, middie blouses, the occasional neck scarf and low-slung pants, while the men were suited up in cuffed, short-sleeve shirts and bland trousers. In other words, it had all the elements to be temperamentally fitting for Smuin Ballet, where dance and sentimentality are inseparable.

But Seiwert is not the dewy, he-man-she-woman romantic that Smuin was. In fact, valentines' themes of loss and longing are canny ways for the choreographer to push against stereotypes and cleverly encapsulate life as invariably modern, humane and wry.

Part of Seiwert's power comes from her dancing women, who are potent, flawed actors, even when the tales she has to tell are full of heartache or longing. This sharply distinguishes her work from the Americana of choreographers like Paul Taylor and Twyla Tharp, not to mention Smuin, who too often replicate the weary stereotypes of strong men and weak or shrill and hungry women.

As this polished cast so cheerfully showed, especially elegant Terez Dean and Christian Squires, pistol-packing Erin Yarbrough-Stewart and John Speed Orr, both the men and the women do plenty of pushing and pulling.

While keeping the allusions of '50s playfulness alive, all the members of the cast incised the air as though they were etching glass. Underscoring the work's fundamental optimism, designer Brian Jones created a space of elegantly simple floating window frames and clean, bright lighting.

Nestled in the middle of the program was a lugubrious meditation, "Stabat Mater," a 2002 work by Smuin dedicated to 9/11 in which the late choreographer tried to wrestle the national trauma to the ground.

Set to Dvorak's "Stabat Mater" and danced with purpose and clarity by Susan Roemer and Joshua Reynolds, and with elegance by the company, "Stabat" alludes to the modernist ballets of Antony Tudor, which are at once grounded in the ordinary and weighted and tragic. But unlike Tudor, Smuin runs out of ideas midway and devolves into sentiment. With Reynolds as a ghost come to visit grieving Roemer, the work echoes Giselle, though twisted for an age of global terror.

And if "Stabat" is a nod to "Giselle" then "Eternal Idol" is a bow to a steamy Victoria Secret ad. In a work inspired by Auguste Rodin's sculpture of an amorous couple rising out of and pressed into a boulder, Smuin presents lovers, here the supple Robin Cornwell and elegant Joshua Reynolds, in beige unitards in a pas de deux of kitschy ardor. Relying on suggestive leg battements, basic turns and uneventful leaps -- all orgiastic exclamation points -- "Idol" is inarticulate enough to be right at home in a classy strip club.

By contrast, "Tango Palace" is the kind of ballet the late choreographer excelled at -- a sensual and occasionally comic homage to tango parlors via ballet that makes good use of Smuin's musical theater know-how. This is a dance that knows it is a show piece and sidesteps "Idol" tastelessness.

Smuin may miss the complex nature of tango leg entanglements -- they are a form of battle, not just of sex -- but artistic director Cecile Fushille has sharpened the dance's contours and made the eight-dance medley show off the sultry talent of the company, with a spotlight on Jonathan Mangosing and Mallory Welsh.

To Yvonne, 2010

January 30, 2010

Welcome to Yvonne Rainer

It is my great pleasure this afternoon to introduce you to Yvonne Rainer.

As many of you know, Yvonne grew up in the Bay Area and was one of the founders of the still-seismically important Judson Dance Theater, in New York City, where dance was subjected to revolutionary scrutiny from 1962 to 1964. She herself made history in 1965 with her now renowned No Manifesto, the famous document in which she said “no” to established dance and all its affectations and trappings. The following year she substantiated her ideas in movement with her work entitled The Mind Is A Muscle, notably the segment entitled Trio A, deconstructing and reconfiguring the physical language before you could say “Derrida.” She soon moved into filmmaking when the medium was still a solidly male domain, and in 1972 made her first feature-length work, “Lives of Performers.” She went on to make many more films meant, she says, “to confound in a certain way,” and always of political/feminist import and wit.

In talking about Merce Cunningham, Yvonne writes in her memoir Feelings Are Facts, “He just danced, and when he talked it was with a quiet earnestness that both soothed and exhilarated me….It was truly the beginning of a zeitgeist. You just “do it,” with the coordination of a pro and the innocence of an amateur.”

For over half a century, Yvonne has taken Merce’s ethos of “just do it” to extraordinary heights, as those of you who were here this morning had a chance to experience. Using such tools as task, game, speech and film in her dance, she moved decidedly closer not only to expression of authentic thought and feeling but also to embodiment of transparent authenticity.

In the 1970s she began her long and continued love affair with film and was only lured back to dance in 2001 by Mikhail Baryshnikov and the White Oak Dance Project, which commissioned After Many a Summer Dies the Swan and Trio A Pressured. Since the Yvonne has also choreographed a re-visioning of Agon by Balanchine called AG Indexical, with a little help from H.M. Her reinvisioning of Rite of Spring was presented at Documenta 12 and Performa 07.

Today she is a Distinguished Professor of Studio Art at UC Irvine in Performance and History of Experimental Film. She is the recipient of innumerable awards, including a MacArthur Foundation Award, the Wexner Prize and a Bessie.

In her poem “Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing,” Margaret Atwood writes that “nothing is more opaque than absolute transparency,” and this seems truly apt today. Yvonne demands that we flex our mind’s muscle in order to meet her in the clear land of deceptively simple and unadorned dance. Visionary choreographer have been called mother, goddess, high priestess and pioneer. With Yvonne, we can now add poet philosopher to the list.

Please welcome Yvonne Rainer.