Through navigation of space and distance, dancers manipulate the audience’s conception of choreography and focal points. José Limón made express use of such manipulation in his composition of dance, specific themes running through his work across variant forms. Each unique performance featured groups, individuals, and pairs in alternating patterns, each offering distinctive advantages towards maneuvering set boundaries of space on stage.
Usage of the group appears to be a core element of Limón’s orchestration – appearing numerous times in each of the three sets, normally in the form of a circle. The group will often first appear on stage with linked arms, focusing attention towards a wide, central space completely closed off to any other spaces available on stage. One’s eye is thereby constricted, drawn solely to this space they occupy. The group will then navigate distance within themselves by repetitively opening and closing the circle, at some times drawing near in a tightly bound huddle and at others widening to optimal distance while still linking hands. Occasionally, the performers will break their bonds, radiating outwards towards the edges of the stage while maintaining a circular shape. By doing so, they fill the space they had neglected to address earlier and opening possibility for expectant audiences. Groups are intermittently used to offer contrast to space between pairs, weaving in and out of immobile pairs or going so far as to separate the pair entirely. At other points in performance, groups leap across stage, maintaining a linear shape and moving close to the front edge of the stage. Thereby, they effectively block off the audience’s vision to the rest of the stage, creating an illusion of intimacy or perhaps even overbearing proximity.
Individual dancers appear to have more difficulty taking command of the space they are nearly swallowed in on stage. Oftentimes, the performer will begin slowly, hesitant to venture into the unknown. They offer the audience uncertainty, fear on their behalf. As the lone dancer begins to shift into leaps and bounds, the viewer’s heart soars with their exploration of heights, breaking with the expectancy that they will stay nearer to the ground and move primarily horizontally. As the dancer discovers heights, she suddenly allows the audience to recognize the three-dimensional possibility of movement offered by a stage, not simply movement across or through depth. When a singular dancer is left on stage without companions, he is responsible for the audience’s dimensional perception. Oftentimes, the dancer will halt in place, dancing slowly and slightly, drawing the eye towards that one point, closing off possibility before exploding in a flurry of movement.
In analysis of space or distance, the pair is an interesting unit to observe. In many instances, each partner begins the dance in diagonally opposed corners, slowly drawing nearer to one another until their distance is closed. At other times, a sole dancer might be joined by his partner after dancing alone for a short time. In latter cases, the dancer is being asked to navigate previously unoccupied space with a partner. The partner offers new variables to his environment, new problems to find solutions to. Partners vie for space between each other, occasionally competing for space or occupying the same space via lifting or deep embrace. Their navigation of distance is emblematic of their relationship as dancers and as possible lovers. In romantic pairs, the female dancer might dance away from an embrace, only to be pursued by her male partner seeking to pull her closer to him. Such a display of affection only tugs on the heartstrings due to the creation of space between the two prior to his pursuit. Without distance, there is no drama, only bland narrative.
