Blog #7 Ralph Lemon

I came. I saw. I nearly died.

The Ralph Lemon performance was like a fish out of water. The dancers were the fishes. Their bodies perpetually splashing painfully against the wooden stage. I spent moments suspended in disbelief, wondering when and if they would stop. Was their a purpose to their self-affliction? A method behind the madness? Perhaps they were imitating fishes. They flailed, flopped, and became somewhat free in their experiment. No longer were they bound by the confines of one same sea; Lemon attempted to abridge the gap between past, present and future, submerging himself in interdisciplinary dance. For what many refer to as a work of genius, quite frankly I was disappointed, I thought it was a load of horseshit. Please excuse the profanity, no euphemisms would express my contempt for this dance. I refuse to limit my criticism in an attempt to appreciate what I don’t really understand. At best this dance was nothing more than child’s play. A waste of time.

Thinking about this dance enrages me and I apologize if it shows in my writing. I feel a bit better knowing the dancers felt the same way. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I heard the mantra they kept in mind. “Fuck Ralph. Fuck Ralph. Fuck Ralph.”

I have nothing against Ralph Lemon and I deeply respect his works paying tribute to the civil rights movement, but I could not comprehend why he did what he did. There was no reason to put his dancers through complete exhaustion and potential injuries to get his point across. A few minutes would suffice, but 20 minutes! Just what the hell was he trying to prove.

Putting the dance aside for a moment, I felt more attached to the film presented before the performance, especially when Professor Katherine Profeta explained it in-depth. I was especially captivated by Walter and Edna. It added a whole new dimension to the performance, one that focused more on the emotional aspect of love than the physical one. The physical one was ridiculously interpreted during the dance…

Speaking of the unbearable dance (yeah, I’m writing about it again) did anyone besides me feel as If the dance ended abruptly? What I mean is that I did feel that it was overemphasized, but at the end I felt sadly detached. It was as if something was missing. With the lack of closure, my mind generated various scenarios of what I had just witnessed. I had imagined that the man was engaging in a ritual of sorts. One that clearly represented sexual intercourse Now this might be my mind wandering, but it does make sense.  The wearing and exhibition of the makeshift “sock” condom. The erratic movement of the male dancer versus the female dancer lying on the floor.  And what about how he yelled a satisfied “YES!” at the end of the performance.

But perhaps this is all in my head. Now that I think about it. I don’t hate this performance. Or the actors. Or Ralph Lemon for that matter.

I hate that I didn’t understand it until it was over.