Her sweater is so orange, I thought, captured by the bright neon attire of Sara Hess, an actress at Theater HORA. The hoodie emanated a glowing orange hue as a result of the strongly diffused light of the stage. Her unfocused gaze to the audience perplexed me as I tried to understand why she was squinting at the audience with a confused expression. Little did I realize that I was witnessing the work of Theater HORA and noted Jérôme Bel.

A collaboration between Jérôme Bel and Theater HORA, “Disabled Theater” is considered the quintessential model of a real and controversial theatrical performance. Theater HORA is a company known to believe in the abilities of disabilities. By this belief, it emphasizes the strengths and peculiarities of a person’s disability and looks to enhance a performance given these differences. Jérôme Bel, on the other hand, is notorious for his strong approaches to controversial materials.

The partnership of these two different artistic entities, created a highly applaudable performance. “Disabled Theater” was and still is one of the greatest theatrical performances ever melded from contemporary settings. As a performance where the actors played themselves, the show is bound to reach a cleverness hardly surpassable. Bel’s script to the play is aimed to resemble a realistic representation of a character. What better way to learn about a person than with an interview? This setting, however, is not conducted as an usual form of interview, but rather an international collective interview. The international factor, one of the most interesting elements of the play, is given by the difference in languages of both actors and director and audience. Jérôme Bel, a French artist, Theater HORA, a German company, and the audience, from New York, all differed in linguistic comprehension. An interpreter is then necessary to allow the performance to unravel and demonstrate the irrelevance of a language barrier in the portrayal of a particular message or issue.

Because of this collection of responses through one interview, Jérôme Bel created a panel-like stage with a stage for performance in front of the carefully positioned chairs. Each scene is played by a question asked by the Jérôme and then translated through the interpreter. The actors, then, take turns in exhibiting their responses, from quiet gazes to carefree dances. The most interesting aspect of these presentation, is not only the genuine realism with which all actors performed their roles, but rather the background responses which they may have unknowingly released during their colleague’s segments. Oftentimes, in fact, I found myself smiling at the quirky relationship between Julia Hausermann and Remo Beuggert, whom were sitting next to each other and bobbing their heads to the rhythm of Damian Bright’s dance. Touched by the abilities of these disabilities, I left New York Live Arts with a different perception of privilege as a factor not determined by physique or mentality, but rather by talent and strength as I was able to witness things that even I could never do, no matter how ‘privileged’.

As a consequence, Jérôme Bel’s piece leaves matter with a controversial theme. What is to happen to the performers post-“Disabled Theater”? Apparentely, notorious for his artistic talent, Jérôme Bel is also known to be capable of moving onto future artistic projects without much of an affectionate adieau. His superficial parting from a project can then be seen as a perplexing issue as these actors have exposed their disabled essences to a wide audience and are then abandoned once the performances end. However, I believe things will turn out well. As performers, the actors have clearly developed a strong sense of fellowship toward one another and I am confident the bond goes beyond the simple pretentious acts of a play. Supporters of the touching movements started by “Disabled Theater” will also, hopefully, engage in a realistic solution to the rehabilitation of the actor’s routines in the world. Although, Jérôme Bel may view it as a mere artistic venture, “Disabled Theater” should otherwise be considered a movement which gained recognition among a variety of artistic fanatics. And a movement will always cause change.

Keith Merlin Anne Ilagan (Blog B)

Black and white, I thought, except for the bright sneakers. “Cesena” by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker was a rendition of the typical contrasts of life; between white and black, life and death, enlightenment and despair. The piece started with a dimly lit setting used to evoke effort in the squinting audience. As the steps repeated themselves and the vocals started sounding like chants, the performance started taking the form of a religious ritual. What struck as rather interesting was the use of a well-rehearsed rhythm to choreograph the rustling steps. The randomness of those very steps emphasized the idea of a flawless synchronization of timing among dancers.

What added to the confusion I felt towards the piece was the large white circles outlined by a chalky type of sand. This shape I assumed to be a sort of boundary, or perhaps an outline relevant to the whole performance, but as the performers stepped over the circle, the outline faded and wore away and dimmed against the black pavement. An idea that occurred was that perhaps the circle was a symbolic representation of life and how the struggles and calamities of an individual’s lifespan can cause it to wear and damage, but yet still exist and guide – as sometimes the dancers would go back to the outline of the circle and perform along its circumference. With such in mind, the performance became even more spiritual as the people stepped in and out of the boundary: falling, crawling, dragging, running, or plainly walking.

The irony to the circle of life, however, was given by such subtle repetition of crosses through the show. Performers would be lifted and carried around as crosses, they would walk and run with arms sprawled open in an embrace-like manner. The crosses were not the only religious givens in “Cesena”. The very antique chant-like vocalists aimed to highlight the rituals of Catholicism during the older Gregorian era. These hymns were a laudable performance of all dancers whose fluid movements were equaled by well synchronized harmonies.

As a main point, to which I was confused, De Keersmaeker looked to integrate religion in the aspects of life and death and tie the entire show together with a performance comparable to the dramatic events of life. Oftentimes, she would highlight movements with clear contrasts in meaning, from the running of a shunned performer, to the matching dance pieces by partners; De Keersmaeker aimed to make contrasts a major theme to her performance, perhaps to emphasis how life itself is a huge contrast, between good and bad, right and wrong, light and dark.

Keith Merlin Anne Ilagan (Blog B)

Photographs are a reflection of light. An image will portray what light will allow it to portray, whether it be a really bright landscape or a dark setting. Oftentimes, an interesting photograph is comprised of a balanced mixture of both. Such applies to André Kertész’s pictorial Feeding The Ducks (1924). As an appropriate focus to his image,the photographer captured the white contrast of the ducks against the less purified hues of the setting and the woman. As part of the discussion, one can assume that the woman is the focus of the pictorial, or could have been. Such hypothesis is not particularly far-fetched as she is in the literal center of the picture. However, by means of contrast and the famous Rule of Thirds, Kertész converted the possible highlight on the female to a spotlight on the ducks.

As stated by the classical Rule of thirds, otherwise known as the Golden Ratio, the ducks have been placed in what is foretold to be lower right side of the spacial distribution. This high contrast,brightness, and sharpness with which the ducks are portrayed further emphasize the attention on the animals rather than everything else.

Despite the origin of the picture to be in black and white format, the disposition of light plays important roles in this particular image. An example to the ever-present importance of setting and landscape if the difference in sharpness of the tree’s shadows. While one is a mix of blurred outlines, the other is a clear visual of angles.

In a similar manner I plan to create my pictorial. Although lacking the experience, my intentions are centered on a spot of focus, any point at all whose meaning can be interpreted in an infinite amount of possibilities. Such spot will be the focused area of my photograph and abide by the Golden Ratio. Because the setting can be so unpredictable, I would hope the contrast which my subjects will bring to be one that is satisfactory in either color of black and white setting. Sounding like a follower of Kertész’s photograph, I will admit to the similarity in concept, except I will not have ducks. Not intentionally at least.

Keith Merlin Anne Ilagan (Blog B)

As a fortunate coincidence, the past Thursday we were able to shadow the peculiar dance rehearsal which noted choreographer John Jasperse held in a dance studio at the Thomas Hunter Hall. The reason why peculiar is an appropriate word to describe such experience relies on the fact that John himself was creating something unusual. During the rehearsal he described his dance and choreography to be centered around random details which in turn dictated the purpose of the performance. His randomized organization brought the dance to a level of improvisation with which he tampered and played to create the extraordinary spacial show we were able to witness.

“I divided the body in thirteen sections,” he said, introducing his concept of improvisation. As he developed his idea of pure chance, he exposed themes which I was not able to witness watching Stuart and Simon rehearse. An example would be the concept of a spiral he exposed in his first segment of the rehearsal. Although very explicit and evident, the concept seemed surreal to my mind during the performance. The ability to introduce any theme in a performance and mold intricate movements from that central theme, requires extensive knowledge and skill as well as a visionary imagination capable of creating wonder within the mind. The more surprising aspect of the first segment was the ability to portray the ‘spiral’ theme in connection to improvisation. Using Roman lettering and the physical sections of the body, John was able to dissect the movements into spirals to the left or spirals to the right in particular areas of the body. The impressive concept of improvisation was even more visible as both Stuart and Simon followed the same pattern of movements, but in different settings and positions.

As the rehearsal progressed, John introduced a new and more dynamic performance. This rehearsed bit was filled with excessive thumping sounds either given by purposely passion or the exhaustion of the dancers. Either option emphasized the importance and difficulty of the dance and once again, despite Simon’s and Stuart’s different positions, the performance melded into a unified progress of moves. While sometimes the dancers differed in orientation and position, John corrected their movements into a synchronized concept of emergence.

As he explained his wish to idealize a concept of emergence, John expressed some doubt – the kind of doubt only rehearsals can thoroughly bring forth. He saw some confusion in his intent in showing emergence as a central theme, but yet recognized that it was perhaps due to the improvisation necessary in the dance. Truthfully, the goal of emergence, as opposed to being a central theme of the dances, was instead a repetition of motifs throughout the performance. Whereas a logical goal of emergence would be a final unified set of movements, John used bits and pieces of Stuart’s and Simon’s movements to mold together at different times of the dance. In such way he portrayed his motif of emergence, which made the rehearsal even more pleasant to admire.

Keith (Blog B)

After countless loops around the puzzling galleries of the Museum of Modern Art, a pattern began to emerge. The emphasis of human beauty in its truest form seemed to be often represented through nudity. A concept which often causes a few perverse snickers, nudity is in fact a reflection of human beauty in its deepest medium. The human body, deprived of all artificial enhancements and distractions is a template for many artists and its perception often twists into different views. Through the reading previously assigned by John Berger and Sylva Barnett, the idea of replication being a depreciating activity became a constant warning. In an attempt to not replicate, I chose the works of two different artists viewing a similar, if not identical, idea: nudity.

Both artists are world-renown and praised by even the most passionate art critics and are subject to many in-depth analyses of their works, these two masterpieces being part of such group. The first artist is known under the name Henri Rousseau. The French Post-Impressionist painter brushed a canvas known to everybody as The Dream (1910). This expansive image features two persons, perhaps both women, and uses their distinctions to create an obvious theme of contrast throughout the work. A surely unique form of art, The Dream is an interpretation of all types of beauties, both hidden and exposed. The woman in the immediate vicinity, with her cascading long hair, supple bosom, and clean curves poses an obvious comparison to the more hidden being standing in the back. This human is of questionable gender, although the skirt will imply the feminine characteristics of a woman.Her hair is puffed and short, her bosom is covered by a wind instrument and her curves are masked by the vibrant colors of her skirt. Rousseau in his depiction of these two women molded a comparison and appreciation for both aspects of femininity: from the obvious sensual attraction to the appeal of talents and skill (as the instrument and skirt infer). Through Sylva Barnett’s advice on artistic texts, I sat on the bench before this masterpiece and just observed. The countless details which will be hard to include in one concise analysis made the work even more admirable and less likely to be subject to replication.  The Dream, appropriately named, advertises the idea of infinite details that, like in a dream, can be forgotten once absent.

As a companion to Rousseau’s masterpiece, I chose a different approach to nudity showcased in a gallery only a few steps away from The Dream. This canvas by Pablo Picasso is titled Les Demoiselles d’Avignon (1907). A work advertising the presence of five nude women, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon approaches beauty in a less singular way, but rather in a collection of different perceptions of a woman’s body. All subjects of the painting are nude and their features are jagged in nature. The absence of any delicacy removes the typical appreciation of a beautiful human body and focuses audiences on the facial features and the rough curvatures of those seemingly voluptuous ladies. The presence of such distinct pattern, the one featuring five naked women, aids the viewer in identifying other details. Unlike Rousseau’s painting, Picasso’s depiction makes it easy for all to spot any other small additions to art, in this case the centerpiece consisting of a variety of plainly colored fruits. In this work, John Berger’s scorn at replication becomes a true message. These five women had all reasons to look alike and to be portrayed in such manner, but through Picasso’s careful attention to originality, these possibly alike ladies turned into five completely different nude entities. The ability to make each woman stand out is not only a praise to a deserving painter, but an acknowledgement to the concept that these very women, in fact, were thoroughly different, not just in appearance but in essence as well.

As often defined through extensive discussions and argumentative conversations, art presents itself in rather convoluted forms. The continuous contrast between what some perceive as art and others argue to be otherwise becomes a central characteristic in both Ways of Seeing, by John Berger, and A Short Guide to Writing About Art, by Sylva Barnet.

Ways of Seeing presents within itself countless confusions about the perception of art. An attempt to perhaps enlighten audiences into different perspectives about the subject, John Berger illustrates art as an exclusive medium for upper class as well as a depreciated entrance for lower society into what the world labels as such. Cynically analyzing the quasi-snobby existence in the elite world, Berger does not fail to disgrace the invention of mechanical reproductions which permit poorer individuals an easy access to unattainable artifacts. His view on the preservation of the meaning of art heavily leans towards the lack of digital presence in art itself. He suggests that the definition of this powerful entity is demented and misunderstood by means such as cameras and other digitalized equipment. Although against such modern attack on tradition, Berger yet seems to disdain the exclusive environment in which art is preserved. By providing an animate involvement in the exhibition of art, the author gives audiences a more aware relevance for such treasure. I myself will not snap pictures of art as Berger will probably haunt me with the idea that I will deform the value of something far too important to be meaningless.

Sylva Barnet is nonetheless relevant in the campaign to enhance art in its truest form. As an instructor on writing about art, as her book A Short Guide to Writing About Art implies, Barnet provides guidelines to inexperienced writers and art fanatics on how to approach these timeless masterpieces. Her guide informs readers with simplistic views on artistic concepts. “Art is what artists do,” she quotes, highlighting the opinion that art is universal. She enriches her audience by creating an awareness for the existence of art in anything an artist or his audience label as worthy. This overactive advice for art analysis is often titled ‘critical thinking’, an idea to which everyone is already acquainted. Besides the usual writing tips of an expert, Barnet conveys a coherent structure for the composition of a successful essay on art. In doing so, she willingly releases a routine capable of turning simple writers into careful art analysts.

Provided with powerful instructions on the meaning of art and how to approach it, visits to popular and crowded museums such as MoMA will become more than a superficial tour adorned in endless collections of mystified images. These visits will aim to not deteriorate the meaning of art but instead provide myself with non-superficial critiques on the treasures of New York City.