Dana Casperson is articulate in every way. Verbally, physically, and I can only guess, emotionally. The following are my thoughts about today's master class and discussion later with James Sewell.
Dana generates movement from her hips. Teeny-tiny, she is larger than life when she dances. She tells us to think of the body like a snake. A snake cannot move without bringing its whole self along. As dancers we can think of our bodies in the same way. Any gesture contains the potential to become a full-body experience/expression. As classical ballet practicioners, we tend to isolate movements. They are always living, just often internally. Here, today, it's like she's telling us to show the work.
She tells us to think of approaching points on a three-dimensional grid. One can approach with any part of the body. Here's the thing though, how can you get from point A to point B intelligently, without it being a non sequitur? What is the priority, the imperative, and what must be abandoned out of necessity?
"Leave something behind", she tells us. Move like a wave that simultaneously regenerates even as it breaks/arrives. I am reminded of a lotus flower, simultaneously blossoming and seeding, cause and effect existing simultaneously.
My brain fries. A part of me wants to physically experience this stuff, and I must admit, a part of me simply, complexly, wants to watch. I want to write, to experience this work from the inside of my own brain, grasping what precious little I can in two hours. It'll be interesting to see what lingers.
I wrestle between my brain and my instincts, a hyper, encapsulated experience.
Ultimately dance is about the expression of the spirit.
It's important to allow the head to fulfill the chain of events promised by the body.
I close my eyes and imagine myself in my grid. I sense my backspace and all the possibility. This gives me hope, in my dancing and in my life in general. I think this grid of possibility can apply to all we approach as humans. Adding focus, we follow the head. And for me, (I sense this with Dana too), I follow the heart and its sincere pursuit, to wherever it may quietly lead, often with surprising results.
I knew nothing about this co., until this week and what I googled.
Europe loves the co. Or some of Europe, and I am liking what I am experiencing in classes. Attention is cultivated about the inner intention and outward expresson of movement. Some exercises exemplified the co.'s training in and through ballet. Through by means of progressions into modern dance elements of release and extreme oppositions of limbs and spirals. Thus dynamics play an integral role in the expressions of movement for clarity of intention, identification of space and time, and the projection of story, character or other abstraction. I wholly appreciate the underlying generosity in the dancers who have taught, and I look forward to seeing these techniques and expressions in the choreography with the company.
Thank you.
Comment by Robert Haarman — 3/14/2007 @ 2:43 pm
Unlike Dana Casperson, I am not so good with words. But since most people seem to be reading rather than writing on this blog (c’mon, you lurkers! I want to hear what you think! Anything!) then I will try.
Dana is goddess with language, with movement. I first met her many years ago when we both were auditioning for companies in New York. She arrived calmly, remove her back brace and took a place at the barre. After not much small talk, the class began. “I won’t make it past the barre” she whispered. “Of course you will!” I replied, oggling her feet, her 180 degree extensions with envy. I was dark-haired, olive-skinned, with haphazard ballet technique and short. She was fair, white-haired, impeccibly-trained and short. Who do you think got cut after plies?
Dana picked up her bag, her brace and said “Told you” and left.
Fast-forward almost ten years later: I am fleeing New York, where I lived and danced and buried my husband, David. I am in Frankfurt, among many other European cities, looking for a new job, looking to find another identity other than “widow” or “strong waif.”
I am taking class, hoping William Forsythe will come in, as promised, to look at me. I’ve been here 2 days and keep running into him after class, in rehearsals, on the phone, in meetings, everywhere but in the room I am dancing in, it seems.
In the dressing room I sit between Dana and another company member who makes rude comments about my leopard patterned chiffon ballet skirt and jokes in disbelief about my brief, tragic marriage (Dana had asked about my wedding ring). Finally Dana (little Dana, newish to the company, compared to this unruly veteran who we think was on drugs, the slob) said “That’s enough!”
She explained to me that Bill rarely watches class. I am to hang out, continue taking class and maybe he’ll invite me to join in the rehearsals. Except that the company is frantically putting together 2 casts of “In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated” and other works to take on tour in a few days and I don’t even know if I want to do this kind of work. So I watch.
Bill climbs up on what looks to be a lifeguard tower and begins to direct. Later, he is working closely with a dancer on a solo taken off video while eight or so other groups of dancers are working on parts of a new ballet all over the massive room (about the equivalent of four large HCA studios). Bill is like a school teacher, somehow able to focus on one dancer while catching some problem a group 20 feet away might be having, while also assuring the newest dancer, Victoria Mazzerelli, that she can take her time learning the new role. (She’s frustrated. He can feel her panic from all the way downstage of where she’s working.)
Dana is dancing alongside the woman I am staying with, the wife of a friend of my friend who has sent me here. That night my hostess and I babysit Bill’s son. As a former nanny, I am afraid I am going to wind up as hired help rather than being considered for a dance job! But Bill is gracious and welcomes me into his home, offers me dinner. I won’t even sit down, much less eat in front of him and his wife Tracy. We talk briefly about a mutual friend, Leslie Carothers, whom he holds in high esteem from his Joffrey days. I don’t mention that I know her through my dead husband, just that she is an impossible idol. His 9-year old (?) son is almost as tall as I am and we leave shortly after I say I will see the company perform in Basil, Switzerland in a few days.
In Basil, the company performed “Steptext,” “Middle” and another work. I was struck by the variety of nationalities, body types, and the proficiency with with they could dance in socks, slippers and pointe shoes. I kept trying to picture myself in that costume, saying those words, hitting that part of Thom Willem’s music that goes “boinggggOw” while people digesting weinershnitzel watched.
I couldn’t.
At that time, my soul was still broken from David’s death. I needed lyrical narrative in which to dance. I craved something familiar to soothe me, a step with a french name to tell me the ending of the story would have love, an embrace. I was in no shape to be brave.
Comment by Sally Rousse — 3/14/2007 @ 10:20 pm
I’m sorry, Sally, but who is it who can’t write beautifully? Certainly not you. At 6:53 in the morning (and still dark, blasted daylight savings), that was not what I was prepared for.
Penny, you wished you could watch the class; well, I was watching and wished I could take instead. Watching wasn’t doing it for me. Dana’s words weren’t making so much sense to this observer. For example, the emphasis on “decoration” and “decorative” as pejorative terms. I’m not sure quite what was meant by that–what’s defined as decorative, in this style. I don’t trust the essentialism implied, though–the idea that this way of moving is somehow more pure, more animal.
Actually, the movement reminds me of Fosse–that same torsion and tension, that same level of perverse detail. (A brief primer: classical ballet is very detailed–each muscle active–and controlled, but in classical ballet the overall effect is openness. Here, the details tend to be at sharp angles–kinks might be a good word.) This is really a compliment, because I like Fosse and I find that I like to look at this motion as well. Its complexity interests me, and its potential for expression of thought and emotion. But, like Fosse, this is a mannered style. It doesn’t resemble people in the street–or, despite what Dana said, my pet cat.
Comment by Lightsey — 3/15/2007 @ 6:03 am
I’ve just returned from tonight’s performance of William Forsythe: Chamber Works. I had never seen “Berio Suite” or “The The” but saw “N.N.N.N.” and “Quintet” (pretty much my favorite Forsythe piece of all time) at B.A.M. in 2005.
First of all, the McGuire Theater looked amazing. Two huge walls (made of rubber, I heard) and a giant backdrop/cyclorama were installed by the technicians. This made for lighting only from the top and front and much more depth to the stage than I’ve ever seen before. Like Cynthia Hopkins and Anna Teresa de Keersmaker, the Forsythe company transfomed the space and created another world. I expect Emio Greco will do the same when he comes in May.
The curtain opened on Dana, improvising a solo to the music of “Berio Suite”. How is it possible for the human body to move like that? Like a snake, a ferret, a lion. And endless stamina. And joy.
All the dancers were unique and astonishing: Jone San Martin is what jazz musicians might call a “monster.” She’s ferocious and completely engaged. I had only seen her previously on video (the Scandinavian documentary done some dozen years ago on Bill and the company). She was in the original cast of “Quintet” in 1993.
I was especially keen to see Ander Zabala perform “N.N.N.N.” since he taught the Contact/Improvisation class yesterday. His class was well-paced for the various levels of dancers (almost 30 of us). I was grateful to feel my upper thorasic opened up by the partnered breathing and chest/shoulder sourced leading. It built well upon Dana’s class the day before, which also worked from the shoulders and hips. Ander is a natural, sweet dancing energy whom everyone adored. He never stopped smiling in the 2-hour class. He was one of four males in the playful “N.N.N.N.” whose reactive contact went from the playful to the nearly lethal. It’s the kind of movement I did in my solo in James’s “Moving Works.” All the men — Cyril Baldy, Fabrice Mazliah, Amancio Gonzalez — dance with generosity and attention to detail. When they partner, they often have incredibly difficult transitions to accomplish on their own. I saw Fabrice do some kind of 360 degree penche with a twist and end up catching Dana in some other unbelievable move in “Berio Suite.” There are no frontal, walking port de bras for these guys. I end up looking at the men partnering the women just as much as the women being partnered by the men. It’s not that they’re side-by-side. They have completely unique tasks. And the do them swiftly, articulately, and with complete follow-through of every vertebrae.
This program differs vastly from the ones I’ve seen of Frankfurt Ballet in the past in that there is no music by Thom Willem; there are no patterns, big casts (”Artifact”) and no dramatic sets pieces or costumes (”Enemy,” “One FLat Thing reproduced”).
I am so glad they are here. I hope their success now creates a case to bring the entire company in the future, as expensive an ordeal as that might be.
Comment by Sally Rousse — 3/15/2007 @ 11:42 pm
There is nothing better than getting out on the dance floor with a new pair of jazz shoes and putting on a show. I still get such a thrill from each and every performance.
Comment by Rita — 4/29/2008 @ 2:08 pm