The Arts in New York City
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!
That’s the line so effortlessly said by Ethan Hawke who played the insane but relatable character of Ivanov in Chekov’s first play. It stuck to me. And it stuck to me well.
I can’t even begin to describe this feeling of amazement and engagement that swept through me while watching this play. It has been a while since I actually watched something of the sort. I was so used to watching media from the comfort of my home with a remote in hand. But there was something different…the engagement of actor and audience, even though there wasn’t supposed to be one. Not to sound pretentious or anything but the “connection” that actors and directors strive for was present, especially within Ethan Hawke.
Believability. Strength. Commitment. Right from the first scene, I could see Hawke’s true talent. Behind the tall set, there was a chair in which actors on deck could wait. Many of the actors just sat on the couch with anticipation. However, Hawke “fell asleep” and tuned into that crazy but sympathetic character that is reminiscent of his recent performance in Sinister. So captivating and enrapturing was Hawke’s performance that I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. In the scene before he breaks down in front of the doctor (Who in my opinion I wanted to punch in the face because he thought he was so correct and pompous with his knowledge.) His eyes, along with his visual saliva and spit episodes, told me everything and his dynamics within his tone of voice kept me trembling and engaged in his train of thought.
While listening to what Ivanov was ranting about, I couldn’t help but have a moment of Déjà vu. I kept saying to myself, “This guy is crazy. A bitch. A loner. A loser. How could one do that?” However, at the same time, I realized that he was describing a lot of people, like myself.
In the midst of midterm week, I was almost frightened to see my own character and personality come to life on stage, especially with Hawke’s skills. He began to speak of his failures in life, along with these overwhelming feelings that forced you to become paralyzed within life. I definitely knew the feeling. When school, work, love life (if there is one), just start collapsing on your shoulders that you slip to the point of almost surrender, wanting to just die to relieve all this stress. (Yes, I know this confession is dark, but this play brought it out of me.) And when people continuously nag you about your life and disappointments, you just yell…WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? And that’s what Hawke did. So true to this feeling of failure and paralysis did he portray this performance. Although at times I called him crazy, I couldn’t blame him because I knew what it was like. (Although not to the point of adultery) He was human and that was it. So simple but complex did Chekov explore the aspect of human error.
Along with this analytic first half, one other thing that got my attention was the way in which actors chose the delivery of their lines. While reading the synopsis of the play, I was very surprised to find all these comedic undertones. From all the context, it seemed as though Ivanov was a very strict and stern play about failure and such. At first, I thought I was watching a completely different play from hearing all of this laughter but I soon got the jest of the comical play. (The obnoxious laugh of the man in the upper deck was a clue.)
Even though many of the actors and actresses couldn’t match Hawke’s energy and emotion, I enjoyed the psychological aspect of the play. It brings up the idea of sanity, which is normal and human.
The Basic Facts: “Caripito Village” is a watercolour painting on paper by Rainey Bennett (1907 – 1998), an American painter. It is in El Museo del Barrio.
Description: The painting is of medium size, a little bigger than the front cover of a textbook. Its subject is a small village, near a river of sorts. A rectangular cluster of huts, slightly towards my left. A dirt road coming down from the left of the painting and past the middle, until it is cloaked by trees and underbrush. A woman with a conical hat – a witch’s hat, almost – walks down the road. Past the plant life is a small, vibrant river or lake, seemingly uninhabited. A little isle is in it, not far from the banks. A pregnant woman, naked, stands on the shores of the isle, gazing at the town. Her hut is behind her.
The colours are bold, bleeding, and inky blues, more blues, blacks, and greens. The village and a tree have some browns, and the road is sunset yellow and amber. The “witch” wears a dark cayenne-coloured dress. The colours are simultaneously soft – due to the brushstrokes and the bleeding nature of watercolours – and vibrant. Bennett’s painting reminds me of an East Asian ink painting, with its slender brushstrokes and forms.
À mon avis*: I hated the painting for its deception at first, but as I kept writing I fell in love.
The ambivalence of the brushstrokes – their decisiveness and fragility – is stunning. The paradox is part of the painting’s beauty; the vivid colours further add to it. But there are also the details: the stick fence hidden in the bottom left bushes, the sparse cotton ball clouds, the pregnant woman longingly looking over the village… I could write stories about this place, stories about rain and desperation and mythical narwhals and that fungi-yellow Asian tree and each of the women and voodoo and the story of the fence. For every two houses there is a story. The painting’s beauty wooed me, but ‘twas the serenading of the expectant stories made me fall in love.
Now why did I hate the painting at first? For misleading the viewer.
“Caripito Village” is not a traditional Western painting; it seems to be influenced by East Asian art. The painting depicts a Caribbean village in an unrealistic manner. The village looks nice, quaint, lush. It’s probably not. Bennett depicts the natural beauty and truth, but not the social economic or emotional realities. The artist does her subject injustice by begetting its problems. Or is that my responsibility? I wonder. Maybe she’s just being an artist, and I’m the one who should enjoy the illusion while knowing the truth.
*À mon avis – French – in my opinion
In his interpretation of Chekhov’s Ivanov at the Classic Stage Company, director Austin Pendleton draws the audience into the dark, emotional story of modern Russian Hamlet Nikolai Ivanov through his use of movement, colors, lighting, and the careful development of flawed, complex characters and relationships. The play reflects Chekhov’s original writing in its ability to […]
The second piece of art that I selected is called Supervivencia (Survival), 1910.
This work by Juan Ramón Bonilla (Costa Rica), and featured at El Museo del Barrio, is a bronze sculpture, the only of which I recall encountering at the exhibit. It is approximately two-and-a-half feet in height and over a foot in greatest width. The sculpture itself is of several different people –quite possibly intended to comprise a family—huddled together around a central seemingly messianic figure. Of the eight characters represented in this work of art, there appears to be a significant diversity of age—spanning from young children to mature adults with a few adolescent stages in-between. While not explicitly stated, it seems as though these people cling to one another as well as this elevated central character for a sense of protection or at least comfort from an oppressing force. Moreover, this sculpture adds to that effect by not clearly delineating where one person ends and another begins; this artistic decision forces one to realize the unity of those in the sculpture.
While not enormous in size, this work is profound in meaning. Initially, I was struck by this work’s simplistic yet powerful design; as one who has little experience with assiduous analyzation of sculptures, I was amazed at how impactful such a simple design could be visually. Once my amazement with the medium itself was overcome, I noticed how nonspecific both the title and the work itself are as far as irrefutable meaning; with a title meaning simply survival, my imagination immediately sprang into action to try to figure out what exactly was intended by this model. Was it trying to show Darwinism in action and say that only the powerful have the means to overcome adversity while the poorly adapted for survival cling to their side? Or, alternatively, was it trying to say that by clinging to a higher power (represented by the Christ-like figure in the center who rises above everyone else) we all have the means for survival? Or, was it trying to say that we are all one entity (displayed by the numerous physical connections present in the work) that are interdependent on one another for survival, despite the fact that certain individuals may have advantages over others? Ultimately, I resolved to accept sort of a consolidation of these ideas into one significant idea. Certain individuals are certainly more suited for survival than others. However, there is little meaning in life if we purely attempt to survive on our own, isolated from the many necessary connections required of human society. This realization often comes about as a result of turning to a higher power, forcing us to realize that we are not the epitome of creation and must therefore help those around us if we wish to receive support from that (or whom) which has power over us.
The first piece of art that I selected is called A Blue Hole, Jamaica (Un Agujero Azul, Jamaica), 1866.
This work by Fritz George Melbye (Elsinore, Denmark 1826—Shanghai, China 1896) is made by oil on canvas and was located in El Museo del Barrio. It is a landscape painting of—as the name suggests—of the Blue Hole Mineral Spring located just outside the city of Negril in Jamaica. It is a painting, honestly, of underwhelming proportions and in fact is dwarfed by many of the other larger more ostentatious pictures in the area. Its measurements are Height: 76.2 cm (30 in.), Width: 111.76 cm (44 in.) and as is typical of landscapes it is rectangular in shape. The color palette consists of many greens and blues to represent nature, contrasted with the transition towards light as the picture moves upward to the sky. The features of the landscape that stand out do so as a result of this stark contrast. Ultimately, I believe this results in the waterfall garnering primary attention with one’s eyes at last straying to the periphery to view the man on horseback accompanied by an attendant and the beauty of the rest of the natural world (including the impeccable foliage and the divine sky).
The main reason that I selected this painting, however, was the clear resemblance that I believe it exhibited to another of my favorite paintings, A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mount Rosalie by Albert Bierstadt.
Not only do the two possess a very similar palette of colors—focusing on the greens while transitioning to light towards the center of the painting—but both clearly portray a transition to beautiful, heavenly white light as they transition towards the sky. Additionally, they both intend to show the majestic grandeur of nature by comparing a few, seemingly insignificant humans to the immense wilderness that abounds; while Biersadt’s landscape is much larger in size, the scale of human representation to nature is very similar in both. As I looked even more closely, I realized that both of these paintings were in fact created in the same year, 1866, by artists of Western European origin—Bierstadt from Germany and Melbye from Denmark—who each were born and passed away within a few years of each other. The similarities stop there, however, as one attempted to portray the Rocky Mountains while the other was focused on accurately depicting Jamaica’s natural beauty.
Melbye’s painting, I believe, is seemingly traditional and straightforward without any real attempt to push the boundaries of representationalism; it is fairly obvious that he attempts solely to show Jamaica for what it is and no more. However, I believe that Melbye was very successful in doing so because ultimately, though its likes have been done numerous times before, this work of art was still beautiful and well-crafted. This is not the type of art work which strives to revolutionize the world through profound meaning but rather to simplify the world through orderly perfection; it seemingly aims not for the brain but rather the heart and hopes, but does so extraordinarily well. In the end, I believe that it is necessary and sublime because in a world full of violence and corruption, oftentimes we require some agreeable art.
Velvet. Velvet everywhere. The Metropolitan Opera House was magnificent—two deep red symmetric staircases curved upward towards the performance hall, a massive chandelier shimmered, dominating the scene, and everyone was dressed in what seemed to be their finest clothes, as if they had been bought especially for this occasion. Though I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer size of the Opera House, I enjoyed dressing up red-carpet style (finally an occasion to wear a dress!). We made our way to our seats (the last row!) and settled in. Just as the crowd was as loud as it could be, the chandeliers began to rise. Silence. Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore began!
The performance was perfect. Even though I was too far away to see facial expressions, I heard every single note. Seeing the performers, or even understanding Italian, wasn’t even necessary because I could feel the powerful emotions, whether joy, despair, or humor, just by listening. I can’t even choose which character was my favorite because they all sang so beautifully and passionately.
One of my favorite scenes took place before Adina fell in love with Nemorino, when Adina was teasing Nemorino while he was chasing her. The performers looked like they were having a lot of fun on stage, which made the opera even more fun and enjoyable for me. I also liked how the main opera singers wore distinctive colors so that they could stand out from the crowd of characters—Adina wore red, Nemorino wore green, Belcore wore blue, and Dulcamara wore yellow.
Prior to seeing L’Elisir d’Amore, Professor Minter showed us a different version of the performance from last year. The performers stood in place and didn’t interact at all. I was afraid that the opera was going to be two and a half hours of staring at the same three stationary characters, but I’m happy to say that I was wrong. The performers did a wonderful job of captivating the audience by constantly moving and interacting with each other.
Overall, my opera experience was very pleasant. L’Elisir d’Amore was perfect to see as my first opera because it was lively and enchanting. I recommend it to anyone seeking to enjoy their evening in New York City. And of course, I couldn’t resist taking a few snapshots with the beautiful chandelier!
The first object I chose during my visit to El Museo Del Barrio was Leopoldo Maler’s Witness to Silence (Testigo al silencio). The artist is from Argentina and the object was made in the year 1990. At a first glance, Witness to Silence captures one’s attention by its sheer size. It is a large (nearly reaching up to one’s knees) silver human head made of cast steel and located on the exhibit floor. Its gender is unknown, but it appears to be a man’s head because of the sharp features of the nose and thick eyebrows. The head is tilted at a 45-degree angle. There is no detail in the eyes, leaving the observer unable to determine a facial expression or any emotion. The most striking characteristic of Witness to Silence is a set of glowing neon bars around the lips, similar to the mouth bars in Hannibal Lecter’s restraint mask. However, they are directly connected to the area above and below the lips, caging them behind bars.
Witness to Silence first captured my attention because of its position. Unlike other exhibits, which were hanging on the walls or at least at level with the viewer, Witness to Silence was placed directly on the floor. The head’s tilt made it seem like it was staring straight at the viewer, which I thought was a clever method of connecting the viewer to the art piece. What I found most compelling about Witness to Silence was its powerful symbolism—there was a lot more to the object than just the object itself. For me, it symbolized the oppression of a totalitarian government, which was particularly depicted in the neon bars surrounding the lips. I thought the caged lips implied the suppression of speech that was considered inconvenient or illicit. Witness to Silence told a story of severe penalty (in this case, the impalement of bars around one’s lips) for those who voiced their opinions or refused to comply with the control of a regime. It seemed as though the artist was stressing how immoral this method of torture and punishment was, especially because the bars stood out as they glowed neon. Witness to Silence stood out to me because it was created to make a stand on a certain topic, rather than appear beautiful. I liked it because it wasn’t just a simple piece of decoration meant to attract viewers—it told the story of a significant and controversial point in human history.
New York is a gridlocked city; it is not only congested, brimming, jammed, it is architecturally confined to its grid of streets and blocks. New …
New York is a gridlocked city; it is not only congested, brimming, jammed, it is architecturally confined to its grid of streets and blocks. New …
New York is a gridlocked city; it is not only congested, brimming, jammed, it is architecturally confined to its grid of streets and blocks. New York is a mirror; the glass, metal, and marble of the buildings reflects sky and sidewalk in a visual symbol of the ability of the city to represent the Zeitgeist. […]
L’elisir d’amore was by far my favorite performance that we have attended thus far. The primary reason for this is that it was entertaining—providing all of the action and intrigue of a well-crafted musical, despite my own personal assumption that as an opera it would put me to sleep. Much of the entertainment value came from the fact that the opera was humorous; with Dulcamara as the supposedly all-knowing charlatan who fools the naïve townspeople in numerous scenes and ultimately cons himself into believing the wondrous merits of his elixir, this story legitimately had me laughing out loud.
Additionally, many of the potential hindrances to my enjoyment that I foresaw prior to actually attending the performance proved insignificant at the performance itself. I expected—given that our seats were literally as far away from the stage as possible—that it would be difficult to hear the performers. However, the acoustics in the Metropolitan Opera were such that the clarity with which I was able to hear everything that occurred was remarkable. Moreover, I was afraid that the language barrier would serve to limit the extent to which I would be able to appreciate the story that was unfurling. On the contrary, though, by glancing at the monitor displaying the translation quickly before each line I was able to understand fully that which occurred without breaking my focus on the opera itself.
The next factor that allowed me to thoroughly appreciate this performance was the superb execution by the performers coupled with the scenery which in my opinion was extremely effective in setting the proper mood for the story. Matthew Polenzani, portraying the protagonist, Nemorino, not only had the powerful, emotional voice expected of anyone in the lead role of a major production but was precise in his every note and action throughout the performance. Moreover, Anna Netrebko (though I personally believe has a voice more suited for Giannetta given that it did not seem youthful enough to portray Adina) was flawless in her performance and therefore deserves similar praise. Despite this, the show was clearly stolen by Erwin Schrott as Dulcamara, who provided the aforementioned jolt of humor with the thunderous, authoritative voice required of his role. The setting, while seemingly evincing a feeling of one-dimensionality according to many in the class, in my opinion provided a significant feeling of depth, utilizing the available space as well as I think was feasible.
Finally, I feel the atmosphere of the Metropolitan Opera itself supplemented my appreciation of this experience due to its beauty and seemingly aristocratic peopling. The venue itself, with several ostentatious yet elegant chandeliers
(as well as six ounce, five dollar coffees), forced me into a refined state of mind; while this may not seem beneficial, it allowed me to appreciate the show before the show which was the attitude and appearance of the opera-goers. All tuxedo-clad or showing off their most elegant dresses, these cosmopolites represent a class perfectly ‘suited’ for flanerie.
L’elisir d’amore was by far my favorite performance that we have attended thus far. The primary reason for this is that it was entertaining—providing all of the action and intrigue of a well-crafted musical, despite my own personal assumption that as an opera it would put me to sleep. Much of the entertainment value came from the fact that the opera was humorous; with Dulcamara as the supposedly all-knowing charlatan who fools the naïve townspeople in numerous scenes and ultimately cons himself into believing the wondrous merits of his elixir, this story legitimately had me laughing out loud.
Additionally, many of the potential hindrances to my enjoyment that I foresaw prior to actually attending the performance proved insignificant at the performance itself. I expected—given that our seats were literally as far away from the stage as possible—that it would be difficult to hear the performers. However, the acoustics in the Metropolitan Opera were such that the clarity with which I was able to hear everything that occurred was remarkable. Moreover, I was afraid that the language barrier would serve to limit the extent to which I would be able to appreciate the story that was unfurling. On the contrary, though, by glancing at the monitor displaying the translation quickly before each line I was able to understand fully that which occurred without breaking my focus on the opera itself.
The next factor that allowed me to thoroughly appreciate this performance was the superb execution by the performers coupled with the scenery which in my opinion was extremely effective in setting the proper mood for the story. Matthew Polenzani, portraying the protagonist, Nemorino, not only had the powerful, emotional voice expected of anyone in the lead role of a major production but was precise in his every note and action throughout the performance. Moreover, Anna Netrebko (though I personally believe has a voice more suited for Giannetta given that it did not seem youthful enough to portray Adina) was flawless in her performance and therefore deserves similar praise. Despite this, the show was clearly stolen by Erwin Schrott as Dulcamara, who provided the aforementioned jolt of humor with the thunderous, authoritative voice required of his role. The setting, while seemingly evincing a feeling of one-dimensionality according to many in the class, in my opinion provided a significant feeling of depth, utilizing the available space as well as I think was feasible.
Finally, I feel the atmosphere of the Metropolitan Opera itself supplemented my appreciation of this experience due to its beauty and seemingly aristocratic peopling. The venue itself, with several ostentatious yet elegant chandeliers
(as well as six ounce, five dollar coffees), forced me into a refined state of mind; while this may not seem beneficial, it allowed me to appreciate the show before the show which was the attitude and appearance of the opera-goers. All tuxedo-clad or showing off their most elegant dresses, these cosmopolites represent a class perfectly ‘suited’ for flanerie.
Salvador Riso, born and died in Columbia from 1768-1816, painted Abbot Antonio Jose de Cavanilles in 1801. This piece is an oil on canvas. This painting is of an actual person. Abbot Antonio Jose de Cavanilles was a botanical taxonomist in the 1800s. This piece is a side profile of the abbot looking off into the distance. With his right hand he was holding a pen and taking notes. With his left hand he was pointing to a diagram of a plant labeled Rizoa. The abbot was wearing all black and was in a rather dark room.
What caught my attention was the word Rizoa that was in the painting. As I was walking through the gallery, I saw it from the corner of my eye. Interestingly, the word Rizoa was one of the terms that I learned from my biology lecture a few days prior to my visit. Rizoa is a genus of plants in the taxonomic system. It was rather interesting to know that contributions to taxonomy also came from the Carribean. Normally, in class we simply learn about Carl Linnaeus and other European taxonomists. Abbot Antonio Jose de Cavanilles named Rizoa after his portraitist, Salvador Riso. This was considered a high honor. Salvador Riso was an artist for the Royal Botanical Expedition for the kingdom of Granada, a colonial territory consisting of modern day Columbia and parts of Venezuela. Salvador Riso was instructed to make a portrait of Abbot Antonio in honor of his many achievements in naming countless plants. Abbot Antonio contributed greatly to the understanding of flora in the West Indies and Latin America.
Espada, done by Rolando Lopez Dirube in Cuba in 1976, is a teak wood plank stuck inside a marble base. Rolando Lopez Dirube was born in Cuba in 1928 and died in Puerto Rico in 1997. At first glance Espada looks like a giant disproportional popsicle. The long auburn teakwook plank extending farther in length than the perfectly cut rectangular marble base. The entire piece measured about five and a half feet from top to bottom. The marble base was perfectly cut from Dark Emperador marble which gave it a light brown and white randomly stripped pattern. The teakwood plank curved ever so slightly to the left and was a dark auburn color.
While walking in the exhibit, Espada caught my eye because it was the only exhibit in the room that wasn’t a painting. Upon closer inspection I found out that Espada means sword in Spanish. Immediately, I thought of the story of the sword in the stone, ironically which is what this exhibit was supposed to be. I wondered if this piece symbolized a distress call for a hero that would pull Cuba out of its troubles. In the story, the sword could only be pulled out of the stone buy the true king and quell the wars that would ensue if no heir to the throne was found. In reality it could mean that if something was not done, violence could break out in Cuba. After doing some research I discovered that in 1976, Cuba ratified it’s socialist constitution marking a historic change in government.
As a dancer, I must say that I was looking forward to this performance for quite some time. Although I am an avid hip-hop or street jazz dancer that occasionally tiptoes in ballroom, I was very excited to see a new style of dance, most notably a modern or contemporary piece!
As I walked into the BAM theatre, I must say that I was very pleased. It was a very different sight from the night before of extravagant city life at the Met. Here, in downtown Brooklyn, there was definitely a different vibe that exuded not only through the neighborhood, but through the crowd that entered. In addition to the more intimate mood placed upon the smaller venue with a smoke filled ambiance, the crowd was definitely not as dressed up or aristocratic as the night before. Instead of elite socialites, we had the “yuppies” with tattoos, eclectic hairstyles, and young urban working class that came out to enjoy the night. It was definitely a breathe of fresh air.
Now back to the good stuff – the movement, the art, the dance.
The rock and roll atmosphere set upon the venue by loud guitar strums and crazy acoustics threw me off a bit as the show began. At first, I couldn’t help but think if I was in the wrong place. But then the dancing began…
Right from the get go, I knew I was going to be in for an interesting night to say the least as I knew that all these types of dances were going to be different from what I was used to. The movement and style of these dancers were so crazy and hectic, but in a good way! This new profound movement of jittering and random motion almost felt tribal and rustic. The almost purging movement of hands reminded me of a sacrificing ceremony almost with a hint of jazz. I also appreciated the different shapes that the dance company offered to the audience. Usually in dance, judges and critics emphasize on lines but the choreographer did an amazing job in incorporating a different geometrical outlook.
Besides the actual movement, I thought that the musicality that the dancers were moving to was very similar to street styles. A lot of the movements accentuated the loud percussions and the way in which the strings were manipulated was illustrated through the fluid but staccato like accents. Overall, I thought the whole dance was quite enjoyable. Although different from the norm that I am used to, the crazy Dionysian art that exuberated through the opera house was something new and tantalizing. It wasn’t the ordinary modern or contemporary moves with fragile emotions. Instead, Political Mother went beyond that and gave us an emotion filled show.
Personally, throughout the show, I was wondering what the whole concept was all about. Not even in the small pamphlets could you find a small synopsis. I must admit that some type of information would have probably added to my appreciation for the show already. Instead, I was left wondering throughout the whole show, which at the same time could be a good thing. After all, art is subjective; the best part about it is that you can either take it for what it is, or simply interpret it into something more. I feel that for this performance, I was able to take it for what it was and truly appreciate the movement and ability of the dancers instead of understanding it.
Overall, I thought this energetic and eclectic piece was a wonderful production that made me look at the concept of dance in a whole new way. If you wanted something new besides the typical So You Think You Can Dance or Dancing With the Stars movement, then this would have definitely been something to watch. It’s full of crazy movements, energy, and sound that won’t disappoint.
Spellbeamed. Yes, I was definitely spellbeamed to another time and place. Why do I say that? Well, this performance was certainly very peculiar and bizarre, if those words could accurately describe what I saw and heard.
All I really knew going in to this performance was that this was an avant-garde type of performance. This perhaps was not the first of this kind of performance, but it was my first time experiencing such a strange production. I have never heard of such sounds and noises being made by anyone before. This being said, I actually enjoyed it to an extent. Granted there were dissonant moments, but there were also some cool things that the performers did.
I must say the whole thing did strike me as strange but at the same time I thought it was really interesting. In the first part, two women, Shayna Dunkelman and Zeena Parkins, were dressed in white coats and white gloves that made it seem like they were researchers or archeologists looking and examining the items in front of them. Some of the items in front of them were a brush, horsehair, and ribbon. Ms. Parkins proceeded to pass items to Ms. Dunkelman, who “played” each item on a harp laying on its side. I liked the different sounds each object made; the “artifacts” made interesting and unexpected sounds as they were “played” on the harp. While this was going on, a woman, Ms. Joan La Barbara, portraying the dead Walter Benjamin using a voice modifier, was reciting one of his essays. It was hard to understand what she was saying; I only heard bits and pieces like the words “bookkeeper” and “collector.” At times I found it difficult to focus on one woman, but all in all, I thought it was a really cool piece of work.
The performance then proceeded to the stage, where there were musicians from Ne(x)tworks Ensemble and JACK Quartet who played violins, trombone, and harp, just to name a few instruments. These players played both traditional notated music as well as music in the form of pictures. As pictures came up on the screen, each player interpreted them and produced different sounds. Some of the images were paper clips, coins, and a bus. They all were very expressive, intense, and powerful in their playing and movements as they played their music. I give them credit for being able to play in what others may call the “wrong way” because often times when one knows how to play the “right way” it makes it harder to play anyway else.
Some sounds that the musicians produced were dissonant; other sounds were really, really strange. At times I felt a bit overwhelmed by how many different sounds being made at once on stage, but there were also times where I felt I could enjoy the music. The part I really enjoyed was when I saw the piano player, Stephen Gosling, interpret into music a black dot that came on the screen. He played the piano with such power and intensity. I could barely see his hands. I thought that was amazing; I wished I could play like that. The part of the performance I found to be really strange and haunting were the noises coming from Ms. La Barbara’s voice. She seemed to be making sounds I never knew were humanly possible; I don’t know how she made them. Other noises that were produced sounded like when bombs drop in cartoons and the turbines of a plane. It felt so real; I felt like I should be on a plane and taking off.
The use of pictures as music during the performance was interesting. It actually got me thinking about how pictures could have been used as notes. Ancient civilizations, like Egypt, used pictures, hieroglyphics, as written language, why not use pictures as notes? It seems odd to do that now because we have become accustomed to seeing music as 5 lines with black round circles on them, but pictures could have been used as a representation of music; pictures could have been just as valid, perhaps not for use as musical notation now, but maybe it was back in ancient times.
Although many people did not like the performance, I enjoyed watching them play music in a different way. I do agree that it was weird, strange, peculiar, any other type of word along those lines that you could think of, but it was definitely interesting. I certainly don’t think I’ll be forgetting it anytime soon.
As difficult as it was to find the venue for “Political Mother,” the dance itself was even more difficult to interpret. “Political Mother, “created by Hofesh Shechter, could be understood in a multitude of different ways, from a hundred different perspectives. That is, I guess, what is so bewitching about dance. As opposed to a film or an opera, there is no clear-cut interpretation of this particular form of art, and one can perceive a dance in any way one wishes. Although “Political Mother” is as open to interpretation as any other dance, I’d like to suggest an interpretation that, for me, was able to cut through some of the ambiguity.
Sitting in the nosebleed seats, looking out into a theater hugged by a thin, transparent layer of fog, the dancers seemed a world away. As my mind wandered, I began to attempt at making connections between what was happening onstage and the title of the performance. The ranting dictator that yelled incoherently at the top of his lungs was frighteningly reminiscent of Hitler and the lights lining either side of the stage were eerily similar to the spotlights used to keep guard in concentration camps throughout Europe. A few scenes had 5 or 6 shabbily dressed dancers parading themselves in front of mostly still performers, dressed in the dark-green uniform of a Nazi officer and much of the music, aside from the electric guitar, reminded me of the Jewish songs played in every Holocaust movie I’ve ever seen. And that is exactly what I thought “Political Mother” was commenting on, the Holocaust; a political event (if it can be called that) which correlated with the events on stage. It seemed to me that the performance was a commentary on how the chaos following World War I and the dissemination of anti-Semitic propaganda throughout Germany led to the unspeakable tragedy that was the murder of 6 million Jews. In addition, the background of the dance’s creator supports this. Hofesh Shechter was born in Jerusalem in 1975. He is Jewish and has previously made Jewish-themed works such as “The Fools,” which is highly suggestive of Jewish life in the shtetl (the towns Jews were forced to live in during 19th century Russia), and “Ten Plagues,” which is self-explanatory.
Aside from this understanding of the dance, which kept running through my head over and over, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance. I know this sounds self-absorbed, but here are some of my thoughts:
Even though not being able to see the faces of the dancers bothered me at first, I soon realized how irrelevant their faces were in comparison with their movements.
After the first act, which concluded with the corpse of a suicidal samurai laying prone on the stage, and left me thoroughly confused, the performance only improved. I thought it was funny how after the samurai stabbed himself in the stomach, the only thought I had was, “Oh no, not another ‘Spellbeamed.’”
Often, I marveled at the ridiculous body control of the dancers. They switched seamlessly from harsh, tense movements to languid motions that made it seem as if they were gliding. I never thought movements like those were possible.
“Political Mother” lent me a short-lived appreciation for silence. After sitting through the blaring of an extremely loud, though well-played, electric guitar for about an hour and a half, once the dance ended, I couldn’t help but enjoy the silence that followed.
Political Mother. Quite an unusual name if you ask me. Then again, the entire performance was quite unusual. Upon entering the theater, you enter a dense cloud of smoke that spreads throughout the whole building. Your visibility is limited and it feels like you’re in a monster movie in the scene before the monster appears. The auditorium is somewhat dark and we take our seats.
The theater suddenly becomes pitch black and a single spot light appears. A samurai draws out his sword and the audience becomes silent and their attention is locked onto the lone samurai. Nobody could have predicted what was going to happen next. Seppuku, the Japanese ritual of suicide by disembowelment. The audience was transfixed upon the writhing samurai.
The stage went dark again and the music began to play. The music changed abruptly from a calm and serene tune to a rock hard score. Another spotlight turned on and this time there were two dancers on stage. With the music blaring, the audience anxiously awaited for the dancers to begin. The two dancers performed some rather unusual movements and the spotlight dimmed again.
When the spotlight turned on again there was a group of dancers. What was interesting about the way the group danced was the unpredictability of it. Usually performances have a strict rhythm and pattern of movement. However, this was different. At certain times the group would dance together. At specific moments a dancer or a few dancers would break apart from the group and perform their own movements. Amazingly both sets of dancing would seem inharmonious with each other but they would come together in the end both literally and figuratively.
The music was also done live by guitarists and drummers that were hidden in the darkness backstage. They would occasionally be brought to light by the spotlight and seen by the audience. The changes in music from a peaceful melody to a rock score and back constantly kept the audience hypnotized. Various dance moves were seen though out the entire performance, and one was even brought up in class by my professor.
The title of the performance was Political Mother. During the whole performance, the audience members were trying to connect the performance to the title. Out of the darkness came the words, “Where there is pressure, there is-” The audience anxiously awaited the final word as they were trying to figure it out themselves like a game of Wheel of Fortune. I admit I thought the word would be revolution.
The word turned out to be, “folkdance.” I certainly wasn’t expecting that. All in all, Political Mother was an excellent performance that grabbed your attention from the very beginning and held it until the end.
