An MFA Project (2007)
I believe that there is something at the heart of creativity that defies our use of language. Dance is an especially difficult art form to speak about because of its ephemeral and non-verbal nature. The daily work of any artist involves the making of an impossibly large number of decisions: which color to use, which note, which word, or which gesture. Many of these decisions are made with the artist’s intuition or instinct, not necessarily with the logical or fully conscious parts of the mind. It is inside of this murky territory that so many choreographers work on a daily basis, yet cannot articulate the experience in words. As choreographer Susan Rethorst wrote, “It’s not a well-lit activity, decisions happen in the semi darkness” (Rethorst). This leads me to wonder if it is even possible to thoroughly and exactly describe the creative process of dance making. However, I think the attempt to document this entire process is beneficial in helping an artist to understand his or her own methods, preferences, and interests. Shedding more light into that “semi darkness” may lead to the kind of self-discovery that can deepen the process and resultant work, giving one a greater awareness of the very act of creating. This paper represents my attempt to delve into my own process, and to map my growth and development as a choreographer.
Background
For most of my choreographic career, I have focused on a style known as “music visualization.” My movement choices, overall concepts, and structures were all closely linked to the music I chose. Development or transformation happened as musical themes developed; the dance reached a climax as the music did also. This style allowed me to spend a great deal of time alone in the studio preparing for a piece, developing movement phrases and spatial structures which all fit the music. I always entered any rehearsal ready with material, predetermined and in a nearly finished state. Problem-solving and spontaneous changes were, of course, part of the rehearsal process with dancers, but the overall structure and material of a dance were already prescribed. This left little room for more intuitive ways of working.
By creating in this same style and with the same methodology, I continued to create work that was somewhat superficial and increasingly unsatisfying. I felt that I had more complex ideas and concepts but did not have the choreographic skills to bring them to fruition. Knowing that I relied so heavily on music, I decided I needed to break this habit and branch out into new territory. I had attempted this a few times by using less structured and more atmospheric music as a “background,” but had not explored nearly far enough. I wanted to discover new ways to relate movement and music that were more complex.
I have also found that the movement I create is very shape specific, and it has been difficult to teach dancers to move in the same way, or to have the specificity of both shape and dynamic quality. I find the phrases I create to be convoluted in many respects, playing between the flow and weight of movement and the very specific and difficult body shapes required. I suspect that due to chronic injuries, I have developed a way of moving that is highly idiosyncratic and therefore hard for others to accurately imitate or learn. I decided to try to avoid these kinds of phrases during the work on my project, as they characterize my habitual way of working (alone in the studio). While I realized that placing myself in entirely new territory was frightening, I believed it would also provide the necessary opportunity to grow as a choreographer and artist.
In recent years during my creative process, I have often found myself making decisions without necessarily knowing the reason(s) behind them. Even if a decision is the “right” one or the outcome is good, I often lack a conscious understanding of my own process. Following this instinct is certainly one aspect of any creative process, but I wished to understand more. It is often months after a piece is completed that reflection or feedback and conversation with others allows me to see the logical progress of my choices. If an internal logic is present after all, why could I not see it during the process? Perhaps I cannot see the logic because it is an inherent part of my psyche, and is therefore invisible to me. I have been (and still am) interested in finding a way to explore this problem, so that during the choreographic process I am more conscious of my decisions. During my project I sought to make myself answer questions and make connections sooner in the process. I wanted to break old habits and find new methodologies. I wanted to take the interesting, under-developed, unexplored ideas (movement or conceptual) and draw them out of one finished piece and make them the foundation of a new investigation.
Part One: Of the Transcendent Unknown
“’AUM’ is a word that represents to our ears that sound of the energy of the universe … AUM. The birth, the coming into being, and the dissolution that cycles back. AUM is called the ‘four-element syllable.’ AUM -- and what is the fourth element? The silence out of which AUM arises, and back into which it goes, and which underlies it. My life is the AUM, but there is a silence underlying it, too. That is what we would call the immortal.” -- Joseph Campbell
“Of the Transcendent Unknown” was a concept driven dance. In it, I explored the meaning and power of ritual in human society, and depicted a journey of spiritual and social survival. The layers of meaning built into the movement of the choreography were derived from images, both visual and aural. Throughout the process of working on this dance, I let both the music and visual imagery influence the movement vocabulary and structure.
Beginning in the Spring Quarter of 2006, I gathered a group of dancers to begin working on developing movement material for the first piece of my MFA project. I knew I wanted to work with a large group of dancers. What can a large group of bodies do? How does one organize them in space and time? What rhythmic or visual development can so many bodies achieve? Some of the images and movement ideas I knew I wanted to play with I needed to see on a large group of dancers. I did not know how else to explore these ideas until I tried them and actually saw them on a large group.
I chose a cast of dancers that I felt not only had great performance skills, but also good creative skills, an eye for choreography, and an intelligent way of working in rehearsal. The cast consisted of Amy Campbell (junior), Noelle Chun (graduate student), Jeffrey Fouch (graduate student), Elizabeth Goodrich (junior), Jennifer S. Howard (senior), Sarah Lehman (junior), Sydnie Liggett (junior), Gregory Mack (graduate student), Ashley Mathus (junior), Maggie Page (alumna), Anna Reed (graduate student), and Yu Xiao (graduate student). All of the dancers were exceptional in their commitment to explore new ground with me, and to truly embody the essence of the piece.
We played with a few ideas I had which were simply movement exploration: crouching over and moving quickly and without bouncing, a line of dancers closely connected on the floor, changing group formations, wave-like undulations. I generated movement phrases that had no specific aim. The dancers and I explored the phrases through practice, often changing things that did not seem to work. I had not picked any music, or even necessarily a specific kind of music. My focus was initially craft or pure movement, not a conceptual idea about the piece.
I found that as I continued to work in this way, I did not really “progress.” The movement we developed was not interesting or evocative enough on its own to give me any specific ideas about the piece, or to start putting together a structure that made any kind of logical sense. This was a source of some vexation, and I felt that I should be able to discover from the movement itself how the piece should develop. However, I decided that the only way to proceed was to choose a piece of music, thus giving myself a musical structure around which to work. At first, these ideas seemed like a return to my habit of always working closely with music. However, this process was actually new. I was determined to continue working with the movement already generated without music, and to not represent the music visually in the dance.
Before choosing music, I wanted to develop an aesthetic goal for the piece. During the summer, I became interested in the similarities between Baroque European and ancient Asian court dances. Without actually wanting to “borrow” movement from either of these techniques, I did want to include a sense of the aesthetics or dynamics in the piece. I intended this combination of aesthetic styles to be merely an impetus for the dance: a source of generative ideas, rather than a specific statement. I felt that this allowed me to create a clear concept for the piece, apart from musical form
or structure.
I have studied Baroque dance styles for a number of years, and began researching different kinds of traditional Japanese dance techniques. Both forms have a similar attitude about control of the body. Each movement a dancer makes is extremely calculated and exact, has a specific musicality, and is often symbolic of an abstract idea or image. I was also struck by the similar traditions of covering the dancer’s face—in Europe with a white mask and in Japan with make-up. In traditional Japanese dance and theater, such as Kabuki, the performers cover their faces with white make-up, and then have specific facial characteristics painted on to depict the type of character they are portraying (Japanese Dance). In Baroque dance, performers used to wear white masks, depicting a calm and neutral expression, difficult to distinguish from actual flesh under tallow candlelight and from great distances (Hilton 395). This similarity led me to play with the idea of having the dancers wear white masks or white make-up.
I thought the use of white face make-up would be a strong or very specific theatrical statement to make, and I questioned using it. Other than the two aesthetics I was investigating, it also brought up vivid images of clowns or mimes. The make-up would clearly give the dancers a kind of uniformity, and I equated this to masking their identities, or removing their individuality, making them “anonymous” or not human. After thinking on it further, I felt that the white faces set the dancers up as archetypal, and that this was an important aspect of both European and Japanese dance. The visual image of the white faces led me to develop a concept of the piece that was about tradition and ritual. Broad ideas about mythology began to focus my vision of the dance.
Having decided on this combination of aesthetic styles, I decided to find appropriate music. I had watched the Kronos Quartet play Black Angels: 13 Images from the Dark Lands by George Crumb, and was taken with the combination of Asian sounds, Baroque or Romantic quotations, and other symbolic imagery. According to Crumb’s notes on the piece, the work “draws from an arsenal of sounds including shouting, chanting, whistling, whispering, gongs, maracas, and crystal glasses…. There are several allusions to tonal music: a quotation from Schubert’s ‘Death of the Maiden’ quartet; an original Sarabanda; the sustained B-major tonality of God-music; and several references to the Latin sequence, Dies Irae (Day of Wrath).” This combination of symbolism, Western musical quotations, and Asian influences seemed perfect for my emerging dance. Having chosen Black Angels I began to wrestle with how the movement we had developed could fit with it.
Black Angels is broken down into 3 major sections, and 13 specific “images.” The structure is:
I. Departure
Threnody I: Night of the Electric Insects
Sounds of Bones and Flutes
Lost Bells
Devil-music
Danse Macabre
II. Absence
Pavana Lachrymae
Threnody II: Black Angels!
Sarabanda de la Muerte Oscura
Lost Bells (Echo)
III. Return
God-music
Ancient Voices
Ancient Voices (Echo)
Threnody III: Night of the Electric Insects (--Sarabanda de la Muerte Oscura Echo)
(Black Angels)
As I studied the score, I realized how exact and specific Crumb’s musical structure is. It is rather like a Jenga puzzle, and to remove or alter any one image would bring the entire structure toppling down. I drew up my own diagram of the images, which can be most easily recognized as a bilaterally symmetric arc. The images are listed chronologically from left to right along the arc. At the beginning, end, and apex are the 3 Threnody sections. The piece is book-ended, beginning and ending with the same musical image, though not the same actual music. The sections directly opposite each other are conceptually linked, although some are not as explicit in their relationship. There are several anchor points whose conceptual similarity contributes to an overall feeling of symmetry. “Devil-music” and “God-music” are one of these pairings. Also the middle Threnody, “Black Angels!” (from which the title is clearly derived) is sandwiched in between two ancient European dance forms—the “Pavana Lachrymae” and “Sarabanda.” I was influenced by the atmosphere of the music, and the imagery it called to my own mind. I allowed the music, and Crumb’s labels, to influence the kind of material I created, or the way in which I manipulated the material we already had. The bent-over crouching took on an aspect of prayer, and the circular arm movements became insect wings. I felt throughout this process that there was some particular idea that I wanted to get across with the movement, and some aspect of that idea was also part of the music. What, specifically, that message or idea was, I could not quite grasp. Slowly, and by allowing the musical imagery and movement imagery to influence and play off of each other, I began to formulate the overall concept of the piece. Ultimately, the dance oscillated between being driven by or supported by the music.
The music was difficult for the dancers to get used to at first, and they could not easily follow the rhythms and found few recognizable “counts.” I began to string together the different movement phrases or ideas that the dancers and I had generated. As we started to shape the movement material with certain musical images, I felt the need to pare down, changing the material from dance “phrases” to extremely simple movements, often used in repetition. “It is better,” Daniel Nagrin told his choreography students, “to squeeze all you can out of a little than to create a panorama of constantly new dance phrases. The constant addition of new movement material often gives the impression of a secret narration. Better to exhaust the richness, the juice and the possibilities of a phrase before adding another and another” (Nagrin 63). Occasionally I used the numerological ideas of the music to make decisions about the dance. For example, the numbers 7 and 13 were prominent in the music, and were therefore used to determine the amount of repetition in steps or gestures. However, the logic behind some decisions was not always clear to me. I was merely using standard techniques of craft or coming up with purely practical solutions to various problems. Eventually the motivation to create and play began to dry up, and I found myself facing a mental block as to what should happen when or where.
I decided to try some new techniques that I had never used before in order to generate material. I wanted to use movement that the dancers created, to see what kind of qualities and ideas they could bring to the piece. I broke them up into pairs, and gave them one question each on a slip of paper. The questions were not especially relevant to the piece or the process, but were merely intended to evoke colorful responses from the dancers. Some examples of these questions are “What are you most afraid of?”, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”, and “How would you live your life as a frog?” The dancers were instructed to ask the question to their partners, and then observe their partners closely as they answered verbally. Afterward, they dispersed and created a “movement profile” of their partners’ responses. In this way, I hoped to get the dancers to formulate movement in their own styles, but to make choices they may not have thought about because they were basing their study on someone else’s movement or personality. The studies proved effective, yielding some interesting movements and gestures. I had the dancers take this one step further, and work with their original partners to condense their two studies into one single phrase. Everyone then learned the phrases, creating a familiar body of material to work with.
Out of these phrases, I picked specific gestures, movements, or ideas that were interesting to me, or which I felt had something relevant to do with my still un-solidified ideas. I found the whole experiment rather fruitful, and the movement the dancers created gave me fresh material with which to play and new ideas for the concept of the piece. For example, a gesture of wiping the mouth with the back of the hand, created by Sydnie and Jeff, gave me the idea to have the dancers remove the white make-up at the end of the piece with that gesture. As I thought about this more, I felt that it could portray some kind of transformation or self-realization.
Looking at the phrases created by myself and by the dancers, I continued to try paring everything down to its most essential idea. Phrases were torn apart and broken up. One movement or gesture would be removed from a whole phrase to be used elsewhere or alone. This led to simple—perhaps too simple—movements. The focus of the piece became less about the specific vocabulary, but about the effect of so many bodies performing one basic thing in various ways. This use of simple repetition seemed to speak to my concept of portraying ritual, and the mass of bodies moving together appeared as a close-knit community. Having given the dancers an overall image to consider and very simple and limited movement possibilities, I gave them the option to perform the movement(s) in whatever direction, speed, kinesphere, or timing they desired. The opening sequence of arm circles combined with the occasional shifting of the body placement and facing, was a “structured improvisation” in this way. I use the term “improvisation” here to mean that the dancers determined their choices within a very confined set of parameters—I acted more as designer or director, setting the limitations but not dictating the outcome. The dancers chose the speed and intensity with which they performed the arm movement, and when and in what direction or facing they would move to when shifting. I was interested in creating the impression of a swarm of flying creatures, based somewhat on the musical image “Night of the Electric Insects,” and I found that allowing the dancers some agency worked well. The ever-changing nature of their decisions kept this opening simple gesture chaotic.
I believe that this idea of a highly structured “improvisation” with such simplistic movement led to the feeling I had that there were no dance “phrases.” It was not until fully four or five minutes into the piece that the dancers performed a series of specific steps in a specific order and with prescribed timing and facings (during “Danse Macabre”). I recall being struck by that moment, and wondering why it felt that the piece unexpectedly shifted into “the big dance phrase.” Though the dancers had, of course, been “dancing” throughout, they had not yet performed any kind of phrase work or movement that had specific internal structure. I am still curious about this, and interested in the idea of phrase development versus overall structural development.
As most of the piece took shape, I found the music extremely challenging because the 13 specific “images” when taken alone are not long (the longest being “God-music” at just over three minutes). I found that by the time I had begun to develop a specific idea for a certain section, the music had moved on to the next and often very different image. I needed to figure out how to continue the movement ideas and develop them, without making it feel that they were cut short or un-developed because the music had changed. I did not want to explicitly match the musical qualities I heard (“music visualization” in the traditional sense) but wanted to lay a specific dance idea over the music. I was concerned that the music would overwhelm the movement altogether. To solve this problem, I attempted to make the movement transitions between sections slower than the musical transitions. Only a few dancers would begin the movement for the new section of music, leaving the others to continue what they were already doing. Eventually all the dancers would transition into the new image in this manner. This “dove-tailing” of one idea to the next helped to break up the sectional or episodic nature of the dance. However, I believe this idea could have been further realized and developed in the piece.
Once the entire structure of the piece was finished, I found that nearly every section involved unison group movement. While pouring over this draft I felt that unison was the correct choice, but I could have used it more carefully. Daniel Nagrin wrote that “… unison dance is not a spontaneous activity, but rather a recurrence or a ritual…. The more people that are dancing on stage, the more effective is the use of simpler steps. And in unison, there can be a prolonged repetition of a simple phrase that is highly impressive” (Nagrin 97-98). To observe a large number of people participating in the same activity does recall ritualistic practices to me, which is the main reason I chose to use it so predominantly (though this decision may have been semi-conscious during the initial steps of the process). Only one section, “Sarabanda” involved a distinct solo figure. In order for this solo to not seem out of place, I decided to try to break up the unison sections by having one dancer perform different movement, use different timing, or simply freeze and not move at all. While I liked the separation of one or two dancers during each section, the overall piece still emphasized unison movement. I think I could have broken up the structure more and singled out more dancers in more extreme ways. This problem was a lack of my own choreographic skill, available time, and a lack of willingness to un-do or mess up what I had already created.
The large group of dancers was also primarily used in a confined spatial formation. In only one section, “Devil-music,” did the dancers break out into the stage space. However, the back and forward patterns of their running made it seem that they could not go anywhere. They could not really break out into the space; it was already filled. The use of space or spacing in the piece is odd because the dancers took up so much of the stage when all were standing close together. This changed the observer’s perception of the stage space. Their body movements were so confined and specific that they did not really travel. Emphasis was on body shape and dynamic, rather than on locomotion, making it appear as though they did not move around in the space very much, even though they did. I instructed the dancers to pull themselves as far into the corners of the stage space as possible, even if it meant several of them were standing in the wings at times. Though they were often confined together as a group, their formations were not specific or recognizable. There was no geometry or symmetry to the spatial shape. This “clump” seemed important to me. I wanted to avoid the clean patterns of my earlier choreography. The randomness of the groupings also gave me more possibilities for changing spatial patterns or directions within the larger whole. This represented some aspect of community, and had little organization. The close proximity of the dancers did help to portray the idea of a communal (if disorganized) group, often relying on one another to survive: a major theme of the piece.
The dance was completed two weeks prior to the concert date, which was another goal for my process. I wanted to allow enough time before the performance to coach the dancers in dynamics, style, and details. I believe that I often neglect much of this refining process during the making of a piece, only to run out of time before I can broach it in rehearsals. Therefore, my ability to successfully prepare dancers for performance is somewhat limited, and something I wish to explore further. In an attempt to remedy this, I wanted the dancers to have an understanding of the visual imagery that influenced each section. To help them with this, I created a slide show of images and quotes which we reviewed and discussed. Many of the pictures I showed were images or references that came to my own mind throughout the creative process of the piece. For example, the musical temperament of “Lost Bells,” which conceptually represented the loss of mythology or ritual in a society, brought to my mind images of prayer. Coincidentally, the movement material we had developed prior to choosing the music also evoked this image. The wave-like undulations of the bodies also reminded me of the significance of water to both mythology and Asian art. I therefore showed the dancers both images of the prostration of the body in prayer, and traditional Japanese woodblock prints, such as Under the Wave at Kanagawa by Hokusai. Though only pertaining to a small segment of the whole dance, this is a good example of the associative imagery I used throughout. It is representative of how the movement, music, and my concept all influenced one another during the process. I felt that the discussion of the imagery with the dancers was successful, and helped solidify the concept, allowing them to find their own related meanings throughout the piece. While not every detail of the technique or the mechanics of the movement were perfect, their performance of the dance immensely improved during the weeks prior to the concert. I truly felt that they were able to portray the ideas behind the piece.
For the production elements of this dance, I chose simple costumes and designed my own lighting. With so many bodies on stage for the entire duration of the piece (no dancer ever left the stage) I believed simple costumes would help the strength of the visual images and keep the focus on the movement. I chose dark colors, gray and black, in contrast to the white face make-up. The pants were also vaguely reminiscent of Asian historical modes in dress. While the lighting was simple, I did choose to place one entire section of the piece in near darkness. The middle section, “Threnody II: Black Angels!” began with a blackout, followed by the slow fade up of a very dim light cue. My idea was to only see the dancers’ artificially white faces floating through the stage space. Conceptually, I felt that, though unusual, this choice represented a descent into dark unknown places and would make the audience quite literally search for the dancers in darkness. The effect worked, and I found the result very visually interesting. However, it did hurt the overall momentum of the piece and to some extent divided the whole into two large sections. I believe this lighting effect could more successfully be used as an opening light cue, rather than in the middle of a dance.
Evaluation
In hindsight I can see that there are many parts of the piece that are weak. Many transitions are often sloppy, awkward, or simply non-existent. While individual dancers were separated out from the large group throughout, it was minor and very brief. Therefore, when Anna Reed danced the short solo during the “Sarabanda” section, it still seems somewhat out of place. Why is one dancer no longer part of the group? She returns to the unison group rather quickly, which seems unconsidered conceptually. Why does she rejoin the group? How does the group react to her absence or her return? These are questions that I cannot satisfactorily answer. Therefore, in my opinion, the corresponding sections of the dance are somewhat unsuccessful and need further development or revision. The ending of the piece is also weak and does not have the visual strength of earlier sections. The dancers never arrive in a specific spatial formation, yet are no longer in the tight clump. If I were able to edit the piece, I would have the dancers arrive in a straight organized line, approximating the line in which they are lying during “God-music.” This may have established the final image and statement of the piece far better.
While the piece was not wholly successful in some instances, it largely represents a break from my former choreographic habits. It is a different and perhaps more developed and mature product than my previous choreographic works. Through the process of this piece I forged new personal ground in my choreographic habits and problem solving skills. New ways of generating movement material and new ways of development were discovered, if not fully explored. It is true that I feel like a novice with these new methods of working (e.g., generating and manipulating material, use of improvisation, use of musical structure, coaching), and need to further develop my ability to use them successfully. Overall, I feel that the piece was a success because it was able to portray my conceptual ideas through movement.
During the process of working on this piece, I received feedback from many different sources. The dancers, other peers, and faculty all saw the piece at various stages and offered suggestions. While not all the feedback was helpful to me during the process, it did cause me to critically evaluate the piece and my methodology. I may have been too precious with the movement material, and uncertain of my ability to deconstruct what I created and rebuild it, preventing me from exploring all of the feedback. However, many audience members described their concepts of the piece to me, and their interpretations clearly demonstrated that they understood the fundamental ideas. In my opinion, this is what makes any piece successful—not the evaluation of the choreography as “good” or “bad” but the communication with an audience.
After the production, I gathered more feedback from faculty members. I was challenged to re-examine my use of space, the manipulation of movement material, and my approach to process. I considered these issues in the formulation of my next piece, attempting to push myself further as a choreographer. Based on my experiences, I wanted to re-examine the use of unison movement, to clarify my intentions and vocabulary to the dancers throughout the entire process, and to be more spontaneous with structure and form in rehearsal. Furthermore, I wanted to challenge myself to deconstruct the vocabulary and structure in more extreme ways, and to use simple movement with complexity.
Part Two: Within the Interstice
“Once I’ve finished a novel, there are things that come out that I feel I need to explore further, or that I would like to find a different way of doing.”
-- Kazuo Ishiguro
After reflecting on the first piece, I began preparing for the second piece. The goal for this part of the project was to discover the issues of the first piece that needed to be explored further, and to try again with a new dance. Compositionally, these issues included another look at the movement vocabulary, a more specific use of space, and a more condensed structure. Again I wanted to attempt creating a dance that had an overall sense of development and progression, but to truly rely on only movement rather than musical structures or ideas. Conceptually, I wanted the new piece to relate to the ideas that generated the first, but I also wanted it to be unique. I decided that where the large group represented community or society, a smaller cast of dancers would allow for interpersonal interaction and individuality. Within the communal group, what interpersonal struggles arise? Though the community endures, how does the individual survive within the whole?
I wanted to portray a darkly humorous aspect of these ideas. I decided to use the competitive nature of people as a conceptual impetus for the piece. I found myself influenced by ideas of the Absurdist Theater movement and artists such as Samuel Beckett. Though superficially humorous, Absurdist plays bring out the dark underside of the human condition. The structure is usually circular and features repetitive actions, portraying the ineffectiveness of daily life. The futility of repeating the same actions mindlessly and expecting them to lead to a different outcome or progress seems both tragic and comical (Crabb).
I have also found it challenging to create humor through movement. There is a fine line between being laughed at and laughed with, and it is very challenging to include the audience in the “joke.” Though the outcome may be absurd, the process of creating is very serious. If a dance is not well crafted and developmentally sound, the humor will not translate to the audience. As Daniel Nagrin wrote, “The most hilarious comedies are about falling down, literally or metaphorically. If there were no troubles we would not need art; instead we would be satisfied with diversion and decoration” (Nagrin 52). I knew that whatever we created, the dancers would have to wholly believe the situation and commit to the movement. The imaginary world created in the dance would only be funny if the dancers really lived in it and believed in it.
I hoped to use dancers who had worked with me through the process and production of the first piece. In the end, I chose 5 dancers: Elizabeth Goodrich, Sarah Lehman, Gregory Mack, Ashley Mathus, and Erin Tisdale (alumna). All of these dancers (except one) had been in the previous piece, and all of them had worked with me before. This gave me a better understanding of the kind of artistry they would bring to the process including their movement, creative impulses, and performance skills. They also were able to collaborate with me during the process because they already knew how I worked and the kinds of ideas and dynamics I was interested in.
In preparation for rehearsals, I re-examined the movement vocabulary from the first piece by myself in the studio. I exhaustively repeated what few phrases there were, and tried to dismantle them. By taking them apart to look at the components, I found new possibilities and ideas. For example, a large circular gesture of both arms and one leg, which was part of a long phrase, was singled out. Some dancers performed it extremely slowly while other dancers performed it aggressively. This movement, which was fleeting in the first piece, became a prominent element of the second. The deconstructed movements of the first piece, when repeated with a different dynamic, kinesphere, or intention, were actually rather awkward and chunky. Where I used repetition to help myself gain a deeper knowledge of the movement, I also found that repetition, as a compositional device, was invaluable. The constant repetition of small phrases or individual movements perfectly captured the sense of “effort without progress” and humorous element I was trying to achieve.
While this exploration was generating ideas, I was concerned with the amount of time I had to produce the piece—about two months. Nothing definite had been set, and I had no specific images or ideas about structure. How should the piece begin? Where should the dancers be in space? Will repetition of movement still lead to overall development? I felt that I was yet again in a “creative drought,” unable to determine anything specific about the piece. Whereas in the last piece I needed new ways of generating movement, now I needed a new approach to structural development. Frustrated, I believed that if I could just find a beginning, I would be able to progress somehow. The assignment of Robert Ellis Dunn became my maxim: “Start somewhere and keep going” (Dunn).
In one long “workshop” rehearsal, I set the dancers in space, 2 against 3, and assigned them movement. In the moment, I changed facings, tempos, and gave them further directions. I continued to make decisions, somewhat arbitrarily and often based on a purely intuitive use of craft. This was a deviation from my usual choreographic process. In this manner, we generated a structure that was approximately six minutes in length. However, I felt that this portion of material did not necessarily contain the beginning of the piece. It was not until many weeks later that a clear beginning emerged. This was also unusual for me, as I tend to work chronologically through the structure (beginning with the opening images and working through to the end). In addition, having no musical structure upon which to base the piece was very different for me, but gave me the freedom to let the movement material transform more organically. There was no need to attempt to fit movement material into a predetermined structure or order.
By removing the intention and the context of the first piece from the movement vocabulary and dismantling it, the dancers were free to explore in the studio. The sense of fun and playfulness in rehearsal was helpful, creating an atmosphere conducive to exploration and experimentation. This was especially useful for transforming the vocabulary of the first piece into new material. For example, the vibratory hand gesture in the first piece was performed by the entire body and transposed to the floor, causing the dancers to appear as though they were having a tantrum. The sense of irreverence was one that I particularly encouraged in order to keep myself, and the dancers, from treating anything about the process preciously. Everything was open to being challenged, changed, or removed. Ideas we played with often did not work, and were discarded. Repetitions of step sequences were altered almost weekly, and any facings, groupings, directions, or timings were often changed. The awkward partnering material I chose to revisit from the first piece went through several revisions. At one point, the entire piece was turned sideways, altering the orientation of the dance toward the audience. While many of these changes were also discarded, the experimentation of them generated new ideas—things discovered only through the accidental nature of the exploration. In the end, this method of choreographing produced a more unusual and idiosyncratic movement vocabulary. Despite the fact that the movement came directly from the first piece, it was altered enough to convey the very different message of the second piece.
This extemporaneous way of working was very new for me, and very different from the first piece, which was highly structured. However, I eventually found it difficult to make large changes to the overall emerging structure. Each moment was directly related to the preceding one, and only possible because of what came before. This may have made the finished dance still look very “neat” and organized, but was a successful departure from my previous methods of achieving development. I believe that with a longer time to work on process I would be able to explore this deconstruction further, truly embracing the possibility of “destroying” and re-working the material or structure already created.
For this second piece, I wanted to use music played on toy piano because it created both a comical, even mechanical, sound as well as being haunting and unusual. At first, I paired two unrelated pieces of music together. The first was an electronic score using some toy piano sounds, and the second was the well-known first movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #14, arranged for toy piano and performed by Margaret Leng Tan. The dancers began to run the movement with the electronic score as accompaniment, though no movement specifically fit with any part of the score. Halfway into the rehearsal process, I questioned the need for both pieces of music, especially since they were so different and unrelated. I asked the dancers to perform the material exactly as it was, but to the Beethoven instead of the electronic score. I felt that the juxtaposition of the awkward and fidgety movement to the lyrical music was exactly right. I found that we had more than enough material, and the dance was actually too long for the music. Secretly, this was a wonderful outcome, as it allowed me to really attempt to edit the piece, something I had been interested in investigating. This led me to question what was absolutely necessary for the mechanics and artistry of the piece, and to eliminate anything extra.
It is curious that for the process of both dances I originally wanted to use two pieces of music for each dance. I had originally envisioned using both Black Angels and a string quartet arrangement of Spem In Alium by Thomas Tallis for “Of the Transcendent Unknown.” However, a combination of lack of time and a realization that the second piece of music was unnecessary for my artistic statement led me to reject the second piece of music before I ever used it during a rehearsal. The concept and imagery that was emerging out of the Black Angels score seemed complete by itself and did not need the additional piece of music. In fact, I believe the second piece of music would have weakened the translation of the concept. For “Within the Interstice” however, I began with the electronic music and then switched pieces. This seemed like a basic composition exercise, but proved to be very fruitful for the piece and for my developing methods of creating.
Throughout the rehearsal process, I worked closely with the dancers, explaining my ideas and imagery. We also spent time refining the movement during rehearsals, which produced far better results in performance. This was different from the process of the first dance where most of the “cleaning” happened just prior to performance. In fact, this was one of the issues I wanted to re-examine in the second process. Coaching throughout the second piece was a new way for me to work, and made the process more fulfilling as I felt an even greater connection to the dancers and their artistry. I have always believed that a choreographer must eventually hand over a dance to the performers, allowing them to embody it and add their own unique style and energy to it. According to Twyla Tharp, “To be a great choreographer (or teacher), you have to invest everything you have in your dancers. You have to be so devoted to them and to the finished creation that your dancers become your heroes” (Tharp 136). I felt that by including the dancers in my thoughts during the process and taking the time to carefully specify the movement, they were better prepared to take the dance further while maintaining the integrity of the choreography.
The costumes and lighting were, again, simple. To achieve a similar look as “Of the Transcendent Unknown” I costumed the dancers in the same spectrum of colors: variants of gray, black, and white. The dancers wore layers of costumes, such as pants under short skirts and sheer sleeves under a short top (the same tops worn in the first dance). This look had no specific connection with the concept of the piece other than that it was somewhat unusual, and also a farcical comment on “modern dance” costuming, especially clothing the one male dancer in a skirt. By putting the entire cast in the same costume, however, the dancers were also homogenized and gender, in particular, was negated. The lighting, which I again designed, was very stark with little color. The absurd nature of the piece allowed me to play with more dramatic lighting ideas. For example, the dancers begin in pools of light that were shuttered to make strange shapes on the stage floor, imitating the peculiar movement qualities of the piece. The last light cue in which the dancers return to these unusual pools of light especially enhanced the comedic intent of the dance.
“Within the Interstice” has a truly circular structure in that it begins and ends in the same place. The dance is essentially a long loop; the dancers could theoretically perform the entire piece endlessly. This construct reflects the futility of the dancers’ struggles. In essence, their “temper tantrums” have gotten them nowhere. I believe that this structure successfully portrayed the idea of “effort without progress.” From the beginning, the dancers expressed their individuality through their interactions, differing from the sense of community so dominant in the first piece. The performers were perpetually focused on themselves, or their immediate partner, conveying a self-centeredness and unawareness of their environment. This was further enhanced by the lack of unison movement, further separating it from the first dance. Ironically, the piece also commented playfully on the stereotypes of “modern dance” choreography, partially influenced by feedback I received regarding “Of the Transcendent Unknown.”
The second piece relied less on an overall visual aesthetic, but found its strength in choreographic form and development. The constant changes in group formations and numbers were visually interesting enough to keep the piece surprising. While the groupings ultimately may have been “too neat,” it did prevent the dancers from ever being in complete unison until the very end. This was in direct contrast to the concept and execution of the first piece. The formations were arrived at organically through the movement, rather than with predetermined shapes or ideas. The whole spatial shape of the dance was almost a by-product of the movement exploration. The opportunities for one dancer to move, join a new partner, or be still simply arose as we worked. This approach to space and group form is a very different method for me, and one I found successful and fruitful.
Conclusion
Through constant reflection and evaluation of my process throughout this project I have learned a great deal about what comprises successful methodologies for my choreography. I realize that I am increasingly uninterested in the movement generated by my own body. Working in the studio alone in preparation for rehearsals has become less valuable to me as a choreographer. It is only with the dancers that I really discover the possibilities of structure, form, and interaction. These interest me more than movement invention. The questions I am interested in are not “What are the dancers doing?” but “Why, where, and how are they doing it?” I feel that the first piece of my project taught me new methods\ of generating movement collaboratively with the dancers, and then simplifying. My interest was not in personally creating movement, but rather in the manipulation of it. I believe that I need to learn how to do this more skillfully so that it supports the unique lexicon of each piece. I have just begun to develop an extemporaneous method of working in rehearsal to alter the spacing, timing, dynamics, and structure of material. Despite working “in the moment,” I was still able to achieve a clear idea and overall choreographic development and structure. Concerning myself with these issues has resulted in the generation of more satisfying and mature works.
I discovered how to match movement with music in a way that was not a visual representation of musical form but was instead a conceptual one. For both processes, I began with movement, rather than with music. This was a new approach for me, and initiated a richer dialogue between the music and the dance. Overall I was pleased with the results of both pieces, in that they strongly related to the music without imitating it.
I have found that my work tends to emphasize visual structure on a large scale. This has made lighting an important aspect of my creative process. As choreographer and lighting designer, I often visualize lighting possibilities as I work in rehearsal, mentally matching the movement with an appropriate visual atmosphere. I have found it very successful (as well as practical) to light my own pieces as it allows me to create an environment on stage in which to place the dance. The lighting is able to support the piece very powerfully because I know exactly what the intention of the piece is and where the important moments of development are.
Overall, I believe both components of my project were very successful. Both pieces represent a new style of dance for me, and a new method of creative working. I have discovered that a more spontaneous approach to daily rehearsal practice can yield tremendous possibilities that are impossible to predetermine. This project has taught me to approach the relationship between music and dance in new ways, not limiting my ideas by the music. Even changing the music during a process can be productive. I have found that strong communication with the dancers about concepts and movement allows for a more enriching rehearsal process and performance. Working collaboratively with the dancers in the generation of material is a valid and fruitful methodology. I have especially learned to have the courage to break apart movement, phrases, and structures to find new ideas and possibilities. Remembering that I can rebuild allows me more freedom to experiment. All of these issues have begun to permeate my creative habits. It is my desire to cultivate these new methods as I continue to choreograph, furthering my growth as a dance artist.
Works Cited
Campbell, Joseph. The Power of Myth. New York, NY: Anchor Books, 1988.
Crabb, Jerome P. “Theatre of the Absurd.” Theater Database Online. Retrieved March 27, 2007.
Dunn, Robert E. “Robert Ellis Dunn Remembered: Four Pieces by the Artist/Teacher.” Performing Arts Journal v. 19, n. 3 (1997): 14.
Hilton, Wendy. Dance and Music of Court and Theater. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1997.
Clark, Eric. “An Interview with Kazuo Ishiguro.” The Waterstone’s Magazine. Winter Issue, 1996.
Japanese Dance: Succession of a Kyomai Master. Dir. Nobuyuki Oka. Mico International, 2000. Accessed through OhioLink Digital Media Center.
Kronos Quartet. Black Angels. Audio recording. Nonesuch, 1990.
Nagrin, Daniel. Choreography and the Specific Image. Pittsburgh: U. of Pittsburgh Press, 2001.
Rethorst, Susan. “Dailiness.” Class handout. Graduate Composition, The Ohio State University, 2007.
Tharp, Twyla. The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 2003.
