1. Transparency 2. Choreographic intention refined
1. Occasionally, when rehearsal space can't be found in Manhattan, the five of us trek out to Brooklyn Arts Exchange, which is a lovely friendly, community-centered space with bright studios and clean floors. Sara, at the front desk, is so so so helpful, and tonight, she let us all meet in the multi-purpose room at 8pm, 30 minutes before our studio slot, to fold fundraising letters and talk...
I felt I needed to get permission from these dancers to "define" them in our printed fundraising material as the token representatives of each of their religious or spiritual traditions. Do they feel they represent these broad traditions? I needed to be totally transparent about my intentions, especially as fundraising materials begin to get distributed, and email marketing campaigns begin.
2. Through this project, I am wholly committed in validating the role of religious involvement and/or spiritual practice in one's mortal journey. I am curious about religious worldviews generally, and in discovering the parallels or intersections within these belief systems. Yet, the deeper we wade into issues of religious/spiritual involvement as a cast, the more committed I am becoming in validating the individual experiences of these dancers. In spite of representing Judaism, Mormonism, Buddhism, etc, and in spite of my total commitment to validating these major religious and spiritual traditions, I'm realizing that dance comes alive through the individual experiences of the dancers.
If I seek to create a shared human-to-human experience through dance, in which audience members come to understand themselves in and through the embodied experience of the performers they are witnessing on stage, as they live the tenets, practice the rituals, as they question, as they believe. So, now the task becomes more personal, the stakes are raised, the need for vulnerability and transparency becomes more pressing and more necessary, from everyone involved.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Performance Intentions
I’ve been thinking about performance intentions and honesty, and wanted to relate an experience from this weekend, and invite readers to share their own experiences.
*What are our goals when we step out on stage?
*How do those goals affect the audience’s viewing experience as they sit, witnessing, from a darkened house?
This weekend, I performed in my friend Rebecca Jennejohn’s concert, Rush Reflecting at Dance New Amsterdam (www.jennejohndance.com). It was a lovely concert – her first self-produced concert in NYC – and all the elements came together very smoothly. The concert came at an unusually stressful time for me personally, with fundraising for Foundations in full swing, rehearsals beginning again after the holiday break, and university interviews beginning next week.
I am 34 years old; while I generally thrill to witness “mature” dancers weave life experiences into a nuanced performance, I was feeling anything but “nuanced” prior to our opening on Friday night. Doubts about my stamina, and insecurity about my age put me in a place where I was thinking about ME and how others would perceive ME while I was on stage. In one rep piece, the part I was dancing involved several high battements, and man, I really wanted these battements to look good. I thought about my turnout and extension throughout the entire performance.
After Friday’s performance, my friend, a gifted actress and singer said honestly that she felt disconnected from the performance in which the excellent demonstration of technique only added to the division between Her, the “non-dancer,” and Me, the “dancer.”
Our conversation reminded me that, dancer or non-dancer, people go to the theater to be moved. Or educated, or enlightened, or challenged or validated… Whatever the emotion, we want to feel a shared human experience with those on stage. This kind of unique experience comes through the craft, and also through the performance intent of those on stage. When a performance becomes solely about the demonstration of technique (through either the intent of the choreographer or the intent of the performer), the inequality, rather than the equality, between audience and performer is emphasized. A high battement, or singing a high “C,” –when technique is showcased solely as an end in and of itself, the few meters between stage space and audience space suddenly becomes a great chasm separating our realms of human experience and understanding.
Saturday’s performance, then, became an experiment in performance intent. It’s an experiment I’ve conducted countless times over the past ten or twelve years, and involves putting the audience’s experience at the forefront of my intention as a performer. Seeking to communicate our sameness through my performance, rather than our difference. Allowing the demonstration of technique to be a means to an end, rather than the end in and of itself. Without soliciting any audience feedback, I received specific notes commenting on my performance, and the effect it had on several audience members.
Ironically, as we “forget” ourselves onstage - our egos, our insecurities, our awesomeness, our fears – and direct our intention outward, our audience, too, is reminded of their humanity and are led to the very place they were unknowingly seeking when they sat down in that darkened theater.
We’ve all had experiences like this on stage, and I’d love to get your thoughts about performance intentions and audience connection.
*What constitutes a “successful” performance experience for you?
*How do you evaluate your performance when you step off the stage?
*Does simply being “present” and internally aware of your movement experience translate into a shared human experience with those watching?
*What pre-performance rituals have helped you prepare to connect with audience?
*What are our goals when we step out on stage?
*How do those goals affect the audience’s viewing experience as they sit, witnessing, from a darkened house?
This weekend, I performed in my friend Rebecca Jennejohn’s concert, Rush Reflecting at Dance New Amsterdam (www.jennejohndance.com). It was a lovely concert – her first self-produced concert in NYC – and all the elements came together very smoothly. The concert came at an unusually stressful time for me personally, with fundraising for Foundations in full swing, rehearsals beginning again after the holiday break, and university interviews beginning next week.
I am 34 years old; while I generally thrill to witness “mature” dancers weave life experiences into a nuanced performance, I was feeling anything but “nuanced” prior to our opening on Friday night. Doubts about my stamina, and insecurity about my age put me in a place where I was thinking about ME and how others would perceive ME while I was on stage. In one rep piece, the part I was dancing involved several high battements, and man, I really wanted these battements to look good. I thought about my turnout and extension throughout the entire performance.
After Friday’s performance, my friend, a gifted actress and singer said honestly that she felt disconnected from the performance in which the excellent demonstration of technique only added to the division between Her, the “non-dancer,” and Me, the “dancer.”
Our conversation reminded me that, dancer or non-dancer, people go to the theater to be moved. Or educated, or enlightened, or challenged or validated… Whatever the emotion, we want to feel a shared human experience with those on stage. This kind of unique experience comes through the craft, and also through the performance intent of those on stage. When a performance becomes solely about the demonstration of technique (through either the intent of the choreographer or the intent of the performer), the inequality, rather than the equality, between audience and performer is emphasized. A high battement, or singing a high “C,” –when technique is showcased solely as an end in and of itself, the few meters between stage space and audience space suddenly becomes a great chasm separating our realms of human experience and understanding.
Saturday’s performance, then, became an experiment in performance intent. It’s an experiment I’ve conducted countless times over the past ten or twelve years, and involves putting the audience’s experience at the forefront of my intention as a performer. Seeking to communicate our sameness through my performance, rather than our difference. Allowing the demonstration of technique to be a means to an end, rather than the end in and of itself. Without soliciting any audience feedback, I received specific notes commenting on my performance, and the effect it had on several audience members.
Ironically, as we “forget” ourselves onstage - our egos, our insecurities, our awesomeness, our fears – and direct our intention outward, our audience, too, is reminded of their humanity and are led to the very place they were unknowingly seeking when they sat down in that darkened theater.
We’ve all had experiences like this on stage, and I’d love to get your thoughts about performance intentions and audience connection.
*What constitutes a “successful” performance experience for you?
*How do you evaluate your performance when you step off the stage?
*Does simply being “present” and internally aware of your movement experience translate into a shared human experience with those watching?
*What pre-performance rituals have helped you prepare to connect with audience?
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