Author: Edna Normand

This afternoon, in the spirit of Chanukah, I journeyed to the Jewish Museum on the corner of 92^nd street and 5^th avenue. Although the museum generally charges a $12 admission fee (unless you are a Macaulay student), it is free for all visitors on Saturdays.

The first floor was dedicated to a Man Ray exhibit and, consequentially, I never got to the other floors. Man Ray, born Emmanuel Radnitzky, was an artist in every sense of the word. He painted, sculpted, wrote, photographed, and filmed. The exhibit included a filmed, biographical interview with Ray. “I’m a free man,” he said, referring to his ability to make whichever type of art he wanted to make whenever he felt like making it. The film was displayed last, and so I saw it after I viewed his wide variety of work. It was a touching conclusion. The other pieces included Obstruction, a dangling network of wooden coat hangers, as well as various self-portraits. Obstruction stood out because it was the only piece that was suspended from the ceiling. It cast an intricate shadow upon the white wall behind it. In fact, many of Ray’s pieces emphasized the beauty of shadows.

Perhaps Ray was symbolizing his shadowed roots; he changed his name and hid his Russian-Jewish identity throughout most of his life.  Although Ray was forced to flee from Paris during World War II, he avoided his roots and attempted to remain anonymous. At some point during his persecution, Ray began to confront his past and to symbolically work with primary colors. He painted the famous La fortune, which is now permanently displayed on the fourth floor of the Whitney Museum.

The exhibit seemed to be organized chronologically. Ray’s different “eras,” and therefore his different approaches to his background, were assembled in their own rooms. My favorite room included what I believe was work from a humorous era; he “airbrushed paintings to make them look like photographs and exposed objects on light-sensitive paper to create cameraless ‘rayographs.’” *

“Alias Man Ray: The Art of Reinvention” is a fascinating exhibit, but one that requires time and attention. I recommend it to painters, photographers, scuplters, and filmmakers alike, since all of those art forms are present. Just don’t expect to have time to look at the rest of the museum!

* Source of quote: http://www.thejewishmuseum.org/exhibitions/manray

My first encounter with the annual Fall for Dance festival was surprisingly pleasurable, to say the least. The performance was put together by twenty dance companies and consisted of four performing groups.

The first piece was an Australian ballet called “Le Spectre de la rose.” Initially performed in 1911, the piece depicted a girl dancing with a “spirit of the rose” in her dream. The costumes demanded more of my attention than the movements; the girl was wearing a gorgeous, poufy dress and the male spirit was wearing a tight, rose-like outfit. Although the girl’s dress was pretty, it hid much of her feet and consequently made her look as if she was barely dancing. The spirit’s wide leaps and turns complimented his bright clothes. Collectively, the couple managed to reveal the story line; the girl was in a flowing, dream-like state and the spirit took charge of her dream.

The second dance, called “Snow,” premiered in Taiwan during 2007. During Sang Jijia’s performance, I discovered that the curators of the festival had not bothered to make sure that the entire stage was visible from all parts of the auditorium. I was sitting on the far right, and I was therefore only able to view half of the performance. Occasionally, I was able to see parts of Jijia’s flailing arms and legs, but not his entire body. The half that I managed to glimpse was barely impressive; although powerful at first, both the falling and the background music grew repetitious and mundane.

As much as I disliked “Snow,” “The Dying Swan” made up for it twenty times over. Originally danced in St. Petersburg in 1907, this Russian ballet planted a new, deep respect for classical dance inside of me. Firstly, there were actual musicians on stage with Diana Vishneva, the ballerina.  These musicians played beautifully, complimenting the dancer’s movements with their expressions. Vishneva wore a gorgeous dress, which, unlike the dress in “Le Spectre de la Rose,” actually showed off her feet. She stayed on her toes for the entire performance, creating tiny and truly swan-like movements.

Alvin Ailey, the main performing group, rounded off the festival with an unforgettable line-up. Originally performed in NYC during 1960, “Revelations” was split into three sections: “Pilgrim of Sorrow,” “Take Me To The Water,” and “Move, Members, Move”. The last section was best engraved into my memory; the women wore cheerful, old-fashioned, yellow dresses and the men wore old-fashioned suits. The women used chairs as an aid throughout the performance, which added symmetry to their already dazzling, organized appearance. Together, they clapped, waved, and spun with unheard-of vigor. If that wasn’t enough, they tricked their audience at the end of their performance, repeating their last song. They made the crowd part of their show and, consequently, received a much-deserved standing ovation.

The four performing groups were drastically different, and I enjoyed the chance to view such variety in a short amount of time. The sequence of performances was well planned, and, aside from the technical carelessness displayed during “Snow,” it was a fabulous introduction to dance. I strongly recommend the festival to my fellow dance novices.