When I heard that we would be up close and personal to the dancers for this performance, I figured, “Hey, front row seats! Awesome.” And then I heard that there would be a lot of nudity. I will not lie – I’m not prude by any means, but watching naked people a few feet from my face for some two hours? Yeah, really not my ideal way to spend Friday night.
As for the front row seats – well, we got them! And so did everyone else, it turns out. The stage – simple, unadorned – was set in the middle of the performance space a few feet off the floor, with chairs and additional floor seats on all four sides. The first thing I saw after stepping into the theater was a lone, nude woman sitting on one end of the platform, plucking on a bass guitar. Her notes were slow, deliberate, seemingly filler background music as the audience filed into the theater. But the longer I watched her, the longer I listened – notes were repeated, little phrases were played over and over again as the seats filled. In retrospect, it was clear that her notes were setting the atmosphere for the performance: melancholy, defiant, thematic. And with a dash of chaotic thrown in for good measure.
I had no reaction to what was happening on stage for at least the first fifteen minutes. The nudity turned out to be the least of my concerns – I honestly had no idea what to even think of the performance itself. What I was watching and what I normally imagine when I think of “dance” did not match up. In various states of undress, four women twirled and jumped and stomped their way across the stage. There was no fluidity in their movement, no unison; it seemed as though each woman was in her own world, dancing on her own platform. But between spins, the women would walk up to the edge of the platform, staring directly into the eyes of someone in the audience, arm reaching out… and once, twice, an audience member would meet that hand, before the woman would turn her body away and dance across the stage again. It was during these moments that meaning finally came to me. These women were not simply lost in their minds; they wanted their performance to be seen by the audience. They wanted their message to be heard, to be recognized.
And recognized they were. All four women eventually stripped themselves bare and danced with more passion than before, while the live band played in the background – “Accept me for what I am, accept me for what I do.” And their faces – the biggest change to me – were now smiling and joyful. Instead of avoiding each other’s eyes when they crossed paths, the women would now give each reassuring expressions before dashing away. I realized then that the nudity in this piece served a particularly powerful purpose in exposing the dancers in their purest, most basic form, and it was the best medium in which to spread their message. Spradlin’s statement was clear: people – and especially today’s women in particular – want to be accepted and loved just as who they are, instead of conforming to what society deems attractive and desirable.
This, at least, was the first part. The second was similar in ways, but also entirely different. The mood was much more somber, the choreography more chaotic. There were repeated elements, such as each women throwing her head back while being lifted by two others – but the feeling that this move evoked was much different than when it was done in the first part. Instead of being a release of passion and joy, it was an expression of anguish and despair. And this anguish was further explored by Spradlin; her dancers convulsed and twisted and shook on the floor. The women had all changed into dresses, which they again stripped themselves of – but this time, they were shaking on their feet, and not exactly dancing, while undressing.
It was as though the women’s clothes were shackles that they were itching to be free of. But even after they stood completely nude in front of the audience once more, they backtracked and dressed themselves once again. These women wanted to be bare, but something had stopped them – perhaps, society’s expectations to keep its women modest in appearance and subservient in nature.
The performance ended as abruptly as it had begun, and it left an odd taste in my mouth. There was no definitive conclusion, and I was left wanting more. But perhaps Spradlin had done this deliberately; instead of providing her audience with closure, she wished for each individual to find it for themselves. From beginning to end, RoseAnne Spradlin’s “beginning of something“ was certainly different and non-traditional – and for sure, it was the beginning of something new in the ever-evolving world of dance.
