the gaze was great; who’s gaze? the audience, the audience after the show the audience to the ‘other place they could not see’ the audience looking at girls bodies objectified, and then dead, the girls who were not gazing at us, the curator of the walker gazing at sarah michelson (x200?), also great.

the posh ‘have you been swimming,’ the posh mickey, the posh theatre space, the posh cocktail dresses and loose/wet button downs, the posh audience members, the mad posh audience members, were great.

the interrogation of young ladies and their constructed selves via mickey[media], via an audience, via lindsay lohan and the long saddened mickey of the 1950s (see line about the woman below) was great

the post show was great

the women in the main walker hallway in a dress that revealed her belly button and she was gazing off and she was 70 after the show was great

the conversations since have been great.

oh yeah and the pause of their big posh dancing, then they slowly looked back, was great,

when the audience was tricked into looking away from the dancers because the lights went down and the dancers were hugging, because it was not worth looking through the dark to see two men hugging, was great.

oh yeah dancing, alright, but in the surroundings very great

how many senses do you use to see dance? how many senses do you use to eat? or have sex? or feel alive?
why restrict them to visual senses of movement? you have to go about 30 more steps here, but start with that, then sound, then taste, then your long term, short term memory, then your sense of irony.. .. . .. .. .. or economy.

Why would anyone, who is not a professional artist or critic, care to engage with a work that seems to have no relevance to their lived experience? What is in it for them?

We ask of our audiences, as Emily states:

“As in Michelson's piece, we (audiences, critics, presenters, performers, funders) need to assume that the artist is making the piece they intend to (whether they spend 1 year or 1 day on it; intentions, of course then, varying greatly). It is then that the piece can be critiqued, seen and interpreted (by all above populations) with respect. It is with this respect and knowledge then that audiences, critics etc. need not be frustrated with 'not getting it' or 'not liking it.' Instead, they can see their experience as a valid part of a work, it's viewing, and it's life - no not only valid, but crucial - and use their experience to critique, talk of, and engage with that same work.”

My god I couldn’t agree more. I wish people would do this with art. But the reality is that, in general, they don’t. We don’t ask this of other professions. We don’t ask the patient who is a victem of malpractice to try to respect the intentions of the doctor. If we go to a restaurant and the food is rotten, we complain, rather than engage with what the artist, or the cook, was trying to do. If the cook comes out and explains that he intended it that way and we should trust him then we leave the restaurant never to return. Which is what I’m afraid has already happened to contemporary art.

So again:

Why would anyone, who is not a professional artist or critic, care to engage with a work that seems to have no relevance to their lived experience? What is in it for them?

Respectfully
MO

On Sept. 20 John Rockwell reviewed "Breaking Ground, A Dance Charrette" in the NY Times It was a performance last weekend in Brooklyn involving 5 different choreographers, one outdoor public space and five days for each respective choreographer to create a 5-10 minute dance piece. I was at the same performance Rockwell was at.

In his review, after noting that he had received word from the publicist for "Breaking Ground" that though the performers would "welcome a dialogue on their discoveries," due to the experimental nature of the event that it "doesn't lend itself to traditional review" he stated "There are events in all disciplines all over town that are clearly works in progress. But to court enormous journalistic attention and then to flinch is not playing by the rules. So too late, guys: here comes your usual hardheaded, profoundly unsympathetic New York Times dance review."

While I completely agree that any public work of art is open to criticism, (hopefully, the kind of criticism I describe above), I do not understand this stance of 'critic vs. art maker,' or as MO and Terri suggest 'artist vs audience member'. We all obviously rely on each other. (The review he went on to write wasn't really criticism or a description of his experience, it very plainly and simply explained what happened. Somehow this made me think of Lightsey's comment that "the critical profession is seriously in trouble.")

As in Michelson's piece, we (audiences, critics, presenters, performers, funders) need to assume that the artist is making the piece they intend to (whether they spend 1 year or 1 day on it; intentions, of course then, varying greatly). It is then that the piece can be critiqued, seen and interpreted (by all above populations) with respect. It is with this respect and knowledge then that audiences, critics etc. need not be frustrated with 'not getting it' or 'not liking it.' Instead, they can see their experience as a valid part of a work, it's viewing, and it's life - no not only valid, but crucial - and use their experience to critique, talk of, and engage with that same work.

On a related subject, Gulgun writes that "like is not a relative term" for "Daylight"; MO goes on to rephrase "like" as "enjoy." I think there's a difference. Gulgun's talking about the multiplicity of viewpoints and paths through "Daylight"--or, as Judith Brin Ingber put it, the lack of a "queenly" view. Simply, there is no angle from which to definitively judge "Daylight"; this judgment is the "liking" Gulgun refers to (correct me if I'm wrong, Gulgun). The lack of a "correct" viewpoint disarms criticism, and this frustration may be what Joan Acocella is feeling. Read her review of Sarah Michelson's performance and you'll see that she's been stifled and doesn't like it one bit; the work's inherent resistance to judgment makes it, in her opinion, hostile to the audience and impervious to the critic.
Yet if the destruction of the illusion of the queenly view is all it takes to invalidate criticism, then the critical profession is in serious trouble. I say illusion because even when there is one correct way to look at what's on stage, everyone in the audience has a different experience. Critics need to cope with postmodernism and move on; this is what Tere O'Connor means, I think, in his attack on Acocella. So we are not the center of the universe; what now? How can we continue to be relevant?
This applies to audiences as well. So we can't see God's own view of the stage; we'll just have to live with what we can see. Not that I think Sarah Michelson's piece was unambiguously enjoyable. I liked it partly because I was in a playful mood at the time and because audience members around me were saying funny things. But let me suggest that unambiguously enjoyable might not be what Michelson is aiming for. Michelson's prepared for some of the audience to be frustrated. Along with critics and audiences, performers must get used to the destruction of old paradigms, which means that the performers no longer pretend they can control our reactions, our moods. No, MO, the emperor is not wearing any clothes, but at least the emperor knows that.

All this theoretical la-ti-da won't convince anyone who didn't enjoy the performance that it was a good performance. I liked it--and I mean that in the most personal and capricious sense. I appreciated that, while Michelson thwarted the usual theatrical expectations, she didn't then attempt to impose another order on us; Michelson let us be ourselves, without, I think, judging our paths through the experience. More than that, though, I enjoyed the movement. Like Vanessa, I was fascinated by all the effort on stage, by the gold chains on the women's dresses, by the swooping arms, the precise positions. If Michelson were a charlatan (as some seem to suggest), she wouldn't bother with all that.

As Vanessa, Gulgun, and Emily point out, "Daylight" animated the new Walker with movement and intention. Here's an experiment to try. Go back to the Walker tomorrow and look for the girls, the Mickeys, the women in gold chains, the giant portraits, the sweating men. You'll find them in corners, staring out or in windows, standing still or dancing quietly. The performance is still going on.

Lightsey