Wet Spots: The Story Project by Christine Suarez

Wet Spots: The Story Project
Eco-Cottages Venice Beach, CA
May 30-31, 2008

Conceived and Directed by Christine Suarez
Choreography by Suarez in collaboration with the performers Caitlin Brewer, Kai Hazelwood, Bonnie Lavin, Pat Payne, April Rose, Waewdao Sirisook, Lailye Weidman and Meg Wolfe
Original Music and Sound Score by Joel Stein
Lighting Design by Tony Mulanix
Costume Design by Doug Spesert
Music performed by Rachel Sexton (cello) and Alison Spieth (viola)
Orgasmic Tours led by Rebecca Lowman, Mark Rizzo and Cari Ann Shim Sham

A smattering of finely curled pubic hair lie outside the confines of a moist, wine berry lace panty, scantily covering what appears to be a vagina. So subtle in its wetness, one really has to commit to looking closely to see for sure if it is actually wet. Yes, I confirm. The vagina is wet! -This is the publicity image used to sell Wet Spots: The Story Project, a contemporary dance installation/site specific performance at the Eco-Cottages in Venice, CA.

Christine Suarez, creator/director/choreographer, presents various ‘orgasmic portraits’, vignettes if you will, in the tiny spaces inside and between the cottages. From the pubic hair on the PR photo to the eco(logy)(nomy)-ness of the bohemian Venice city cottages, this seminal work by Suarez challenges convention and provides a clear frame for her taboo content: the female orgasm.

According to Suarez it’s really quite simple. Clitoral/Vaginal pleasure is not too difficult to master, especially if you have the right training. Unfortunately, in Western culture the female orgasm has been subjugated by and through a convoluted history of Victorian education that has shamed young women into believing the consequences of pleasure would result in the unbearable burden of being an unwed mother, a self-pleasuring heathen, or dare I say someone who selfishly thinks of her own pleasure before her man’s. Cross-cultural mediated representations of the vagina are unimaginably complex, wrapped in so many metaphorical purities that any mention, exposing, touching or auto-eroticization of one is wrought with immediate guilt. Boys get to gyrate anything left and right growing up and it is considered cool with the other boys, even with dads. I am not sure I know many moms that sit their daughters down with vibrators (or fingers) and say, “now honey, you want to put the tip in just like so, then draw the shaft up close to the head of your happy hood…now twiddle.” Just fucking sad, if you will. I am not sure many young women know it is even possible to have such unabashedly wicked pleasure between their legs. Imagine if Barbie had that type of hooded knob. There could be a button to push that would release (after some time) a sugary crème to flow down one leg, or into her wine berry lace panty.

(This next sentence is in no way related to the previous)

I just brushed against my penis a second ago…probably the reason why this review is taking so disastrously long. But that is neither here nor there.

So what are we about to see? I heard there are no masturbatory acts. That’s unfortunate.

We are introduced to Mark Rizzo, our tour guide for the performance. And of course he has to be cute.

I can’t but wonder if he is a mo. Everyone’s gay in my world…they all just don’t know it yet.

He lays out the game plan and rules. I am told to leave my pretentious Starbucks coffee behind.

He’s not gay.

Other than that his humor gets us all on board, and from everyone’s expression (there are 5 of us) I can tell the group is fresh and hip, eager for some clitoral investigation.

The first cottage is quaint, painted in baby blue and white, and accented with red furniture. It is described by Saskia Vogel as a “modern take on your first generation Hungarian grandmother’s summer cottage in Montauk.” … Oh, and also includes state of the art stainless steel kitchen appliances.

We are told to take a seat.

Beside me sits Sara Wolf, long time dance critique of the LA weekly, who is vigorously taking notes during the performance.

I feel a little intimidated. Should I be taking notes, I say to myself. I grip my seat. Or maybe better yet, I am flexing my butt. I feel that I need to pay close attention to everything so that I will remember all of the fussy details when I go home to write about the work. Five minutes have passed and I don’t think I have blinked at all. I am not sure I am cut out for this dance writing stuff. I feel the pressure.

The performance begins with a solo by Lailye Weidman… Sitting with her back to us in a gorgeous red antique birdcage chair, (yes, it really is all of these things) she looks at us through a hand held mirror that is fixed to the cage. We see only her eye, as it blinks nervously. Her head, leading with the top of her forehead, circles a number of times. Her eye keeps contact with the mirror, which in turn, keeps contact with us.

A few questions arise.

Is she challenging the male gaze? She is aware that we are looking at her, yet she is doing everything she can to keep us vexed on the parts of her body she wants us to look at; mainly her eye.

Is this isolation about notions of being trapped, lonely, shame and what it means to be unsuccessfully wet? She does not seem to be getting off. Perhaps this notion of being on display is meant to theorize the female orgasm as a scrutinized, minstrel-like pornography that appeals only to a paying patron-type…as only whores and skanks touch themselves or talk about their privacies?

The sound of birds ruffling their wings repeats in between ambient sounds, projecting out of a hidden sound system. The lights above the couch are warming my senses.

She continues to play with her focus, now inching the cage around its axis. It makes a wonderful clinking sound, like a chain on an old bicycle or like an old fashion kaleidoscope. She brushes her fingers across the metal bars of the cage, which also creates a distinct sound that conjures a plethora of memories. She is no bird, though her short cropped hair and ornate white dress could be read as a deliberate personification of some sorts. She stares at us with intensity, fixating on our position in the room.

I question my position in the room. I am nervous that the work will dissolve into a pity party for this sad woman who can’t have an orgasm, as though I am being asked to watch this woman who has a history of being subjugated, chained to her repressed desires as a woman, unable to achieve self-sexual liberation. Or, am I not asked to do anything but watch this androgynous beauty waft her odorous armpits in my face? Or, am I to think about all of the orgasms I have had as a man and wonder, what’s the effin deal? I am not sure. But then I tell myself to shut the fuck up and pay attention to something other than my neurosis.

This is foreplay: the longing, looking, voyeuristic and playful twiddling of the delicates. She steps out of the cage with specific toe-ography, gently finding the floor. She slowly approaches us. Her hands float around the frame of my face and shoulders as if to size me up. She ceases to lose eye contact with me until she moves to the person sitting next to me. These gestures seem improvised and specific to each of our postures. There is an intense sensual feeling of seduction, as she remains focused on keeping eye contact with her voyeurs. She moves on to the next until she has had an intimate experience with all of us. This closeness sets up a successfully clear relationship we are to have with the performers, space and concepts: What, where and who performs intimacy, voyeurism, permission, confrontation and private/public display. These are all ideas that are set up in this first solo. A type of active and passive looking allows for a conversation to permeate from performer to audience member, even though we are not ‘speaking’ back.

At the conclusion of the first solo, we are asked to move to the kitchen where we are introduced to Suarez. She sets a timer and music begins.

This solo can be best described as: Kitchen finger pointing. Right index finger up up up up. fist. Intense expression, focus, gaze out. Open explodes release contain control balance subtle shifts of weight. Small use of space. Frontal. Frontal. Rhythmical, giving direction, sucking finger, masturbating men, red dress, pregnant, timer, timing, perfect, music with a house acid jazz beat, intense focus. Red lipstick. Baby-blue-kitchen. Pink water. Nook. Sitting sideways. Warm. Warm. Buzzer. Hot. Stop.

We are led to the second cottage and are greeted by two female musicians: Rachel Sexton and Allison Spieth, (with musical score by Joel Stein). We see the domesticity of a queer couple, or what we assume is a partnership per se, calm and quiet, home on Friday night. The fireplace is burning, and Meg Wolfe warms her feet. Bonnie Levin prepares tea in the kitchen and pulls out a few pieces of bread to be toasted. Wolfe seems to be restless, as she anxiously sits and stands, moving from one room to the next. In fact she seems bored. We see the two women engage in a non-interactive duet; Modern dance moves that float and poke, carve and shift in the tiny space available. It is more a dance of negative space as two musicians and six spectators occupy most of the available dancing space. We are encouraged by the tour gu(y)id to walk about the space, from room to room. I always welcome permission to do things like this, as one never knows how far he/she can challenge the confines of the performance space. I suppose I can sit in the bathtub if I want, or even on the bed…

...but then I think, what if I get in trouble and Meg Wolfe has to secretly tell me that she is about to dance in the bed and I have to move? How embarrassing!

Depending on what room you are standing/sitting in, you get a different perspective of the activity. I am currently in the kitchen and need to move, as I am not sure what Levin's choreography has to do with her role in the dance and I am a bit uncomfortable. The movement is neither gestural nor site specific. It is kind of dancee like site specific dancee when one does modern dance moves in a really cool space for the sake of doing modern dance moves in a really cool space. I am a bit nervous for her. Wolfe engages in similar modern dancing, which is nice to look at and I am happy to see them both suspending so beautifully, but I am not sure it’s necessary.

My critical lens is starting to overwhelm my senses.

Perhaps this particular movement vocabulary is merely reflecting the filling of time, as this partnership seems to be about routine things and the space between the two. This relationship is less about the female orgasm and more about the romance and passion that is missing. They both remember the sexually fervent connection they once had. Sad. I move into the bedroom to hear a voice-over interview of Meg speaking about her memories of orgasms. With no one to talk to as adolescents about sexual exploration and experimentation, these women seem to share a common experience with each other, or at least it seems an overall theme of the evening so far.

Replay of the last thing I just saw.
Two. Couple.
Distance. A p a r t
Kitchen, Living, Bed, Bath and Beyond the spaces between seem like gaps in an already divided dome, roam, there is little room.
Rustic browns, greens, tans and sands… exposed beams, seams of terry cloth and corduroy line the drapes, scapes of painted misty something(s) rather.
This is the masculine cottage.
A brunette
Plays the viola.
And another the cello.
Kitchen sits. We sit. We sit.
Fireplace. Toaster. Stove. Drove.
She drove her modern dance movements into the floor.
Modern dance that twists and floats.
They are older. Like 40 and 50 Older.
Older than the last two.

Elbow, fingertips, luscious hips and glossy lips,
These lipsticks, dykes, lady lovers, covers…
Meg plays with the sheets.
Sheets folded. Perfect better perfect
Undo.
perfect better Perfect. folded Sheets she sleeps but not really
Redo
The bed is made and thought is had
Staring out the window, ponder lights, cheap tech trick, flood lights outside lights the inside.
The inside
Shadows of blinds on the face and breast, lace and nest of the bedroom place…
She’s alone
And she’s alone together
Bathtub. sensual in the bathtub.
Swaying back, waning, remembering
Cold feet, water, wet, water pet her vagina running water hot running water
Water heating, the water is boiling but not really. Timing is off.
Toast is burning but not really.

Sound score of remembering orgasm.
Distinct Talking, remembering talking, remembering voices, instructions, waiting pause.

Stillness.

Sheets Comfort Sleep
Again
Tomorrow.
Again
Tomorrow.

We move to a space between cottage 2 and cottage 3 to find a hot tub. We are instructed to put a pair of headphones on.

We listen to the sounds of wind up dolls and baby goo goo and gah gahs. Mr. Rizzo pulls back the translucent curtain framing the tub, exposing two seemingly topless women sitting facing us. Cat Brewer and Waewdao Sirisook, with faces glowing as only steam can do, stare convincingly with deadpan faces and draw us into the tub with them. They begin to signal with their arms as air-traffic controllers direct 747s, elbows bending and extending, forearms and hands motion toward and away from us. Confident and poised, these women seem patient at first with little expression. They are business like. Their gestures begin to vary as finger pointing and signaling evolves into erratic directions given to someone who is clueless. Moments of exhilaration emerge only to dissolve into disappointment. This game continues as we surreptitiously hear from behind us the vibrating women from cottage one. Whether or not this is planned, it offers at terrific second layer to our laughing dolls in the headphones. The women in the tub demonstrate the necessity to inform their partner how to offer clitoral pleasure. It is hard not to assume that men are the butts of this joke…but I would like to remain neutral on the subject. Ha! There could be women out there who don’t know how to give another woman pleasure. Surely everyone is a novice first go around.

The spa duets conclude in exhaustion and the women resort to turning on the jets instead of continuing with the hand signaling. Perhaps they achieved a state of euphoria and the jets represent a stream of orgasmic pleasure. Or, the jets represent a much better time to be had then dealing with an inexperienced mouth down below. In any event, this short sketch is a necessary and humorous diversion from the more serious tone of the last piece.

Aside 1: Choreographically each gesture seems tied to the next, and the women, not always in unison, have variations that differ from each other. They are well rehearsed. The vocabulary seems mechanical at first, and off the cuff at other times. The more erratic and improvised moments represent one's need to aggressively instruct a partner who doesn’t know what he/she is doing.

Aside 2: The women in my group seem to laugh far more than me(n). Clearly they can relate more to this subject.

We are invited into the bedroom of the third and final cottage. We are instructed to stand against the wall. On top of the bed is a woman, Kai Hazelwood, covered in a sheet, head to toe. She is on her side. The curvature of her body is detailed by the melting of a thin high thread count sheet; it drops and falls into every crevice of her neck, thighs and negative space in and around her limbs. Her breath is visible.

We hear a voice-over of a woman retelling the story of her first sexual experience. Humorous in her rendition, this voice-over paints a very visually stimulating image; a fat and juicy nine-inch cock, football player type who likes to play rough and take charge…pins me down and slaps me a little. Bends me over and plows the….

This isn’t about me, you say?

We see movement under the sheets. Soon April Rose hilariously comes out of the closest as only an orgasm fairy can do, and stands on top of the bed above Hazelwood. She begins to convulse, performing an erratic series of gestures as though she is on a table at a club induced with ecstasy. Hazelwood's forearm and fist penetrate under Rose’s dress and out the front of her abdomen like a scene from Alien, acting as the energy and power of the orgasm she conjures from the memory of her first 9-incher. The phallic forearm dances a jig, beating and swirling (because jigs swirl) and rendering Rose into an ecstatic state. Rose soon begins tracing the voiceover narrative with her own voice. The story all of a sudden becomes very personal and real…and eventually climaxes.

I am wet.

We are instructed to exit the room with some final words by our orgasm expert.

This is the only moment in the program that I find particularly problematic. Pat Payne, playing a motherly, friend-type orgasm expert, is positioned in the kitchen, making gingerbread persons. She informs us that she is there to answer questions, or to ask us if we have any insight into our own pleasure seeking vices that we might like to share. She shares some advice and wisdom…which is nice. But her overzealous and over-animated character seems trite and forced. Though friendly, she is over-acting in a valley girl southern black diva sort of way. These two archetypes seem to contradict each other, which I can't imagine is intentional on Suarez' part, and becomes tiresome. I have no doubt about the skill of Payne, however the choice for this sexpert to be a ‘character' is an unfortunate choice.

Recommendations. I want to see a real expert who is prepared to answer questions. I want to see a gingerbread clitoris or instructional video with a vagina and a vibrator. I want the fantasy to be transcending into reality; that this is a serious subject. If it is necessary to cast someone in this role, the character should be played cool and matter of fact.

These are just my thoughts.

Thanks for reading.

If you want to keep reading…


…As in, the cutting room floor.
The provocative publicity image used to sell Wet Spots, I heard through the 405 vine, was offensive to a few dance community members who seem to feel that the woman’s orgasm has no place in the dance place. This is neither hearsay nor speculation y’all. An email was sent to the artist. Brilliant! Perhaps the person who is upset about the woman’s orgasm being a topic of conversation feels the male orgasm is more important, as it has been a staple metaphor of the male gaze for centuries where the female dancing body has been eroticized and objectified, an expense paid for a wet cock here and there.
A wet panty…forget about it. Let’s brand an O on your chest Christine, for "Oh no you didn't."!!! Way to go!!! Bravo I say for getting some peoples panties in a bunch, pun definitely intended.
................
Now, if I were a WeHo queen I might use words like gag, barf or please! –to describe my reactions to the work. If I were a WeHo queen you might hear me mutter whatever or seriously? as in like, you have to be kidding me. Or maybe if I were a WeHo queen I might not have gone at all.
If I were a WeHo queen…but I’m not. I’m a Silver Lake queen. It’s different over here.
.................
As many of you know, I love vagina. I love all vaginas big and small, hairy and nubile, tight and torn. My many many many girlfriends talk to me all the time about theirs. From boyfriends to husbands to fingers and vibrators, I know what goes inside of them…and I know what makes them wet. Sometimes it’s the corner edge of a sofa or the vibrating head of a shower. Sometimes it’s the vigorous rubbing together of ones legs on a hot humid day. Should I go on?
Men are privileged to get off any time they want. Sex is over when men finish. It’s the same between gay men too…when the first one finishes, it’s over, unless there is some sort of fetish involved, which I would know nothing about.
..................
My asshole is wet.

This is all out of order.

Is there a formula for site specific dance that enables craft and vision to persevere over the obstacle of dancing in a cool space for no reason, look at how cool I am, trite type of choreography? I have often wondered what makes site-specific dance resonate with someone who finds problematic the work of those who want to dance in/on non-traditional dance spaces, as they often lack substance or sustainability. We are not in the Judson era, dance anywhere and all places, with challenging contemporary notions of modernism, are we? Or are we? Is everything an experiment these days? What constitutes an experiment and what makes it work? So what makes Wet Spots successful?

Mental notes

IN/EX Dance Project at The Open Space, Downtown Los Angeles

Sunday May 18, 2008

Cramped and panting in LA’s newest hot spot dance venue, The Open Space downtown, I sit pitching my spine forward among a sea of 125 other sweaty bodies, hand held fans in masses, all in anticipation of In/Ex Dance Project’s premiere work, Sightlines, Pick-up Lines and Other Cliches. Lead by choreographers Julia Ferguson, Sarri Sanchez, Ally Voye, Eva Wilder, and Maya Zellman, this ambitious work delivers high velocity and well-trained dancers, sweaty and slippery limbs, tender relationships and hyper-physical partnering. Effort on the table…I am impressed. Yet still, I have questions.

Kudos to the PR team for plugging the hell out of this show: It is packed to the brim and there is great energy buzzing about the space, not to mention the who’s who of LA dance community choreographers, dancers, and ambassadors of dance in attendance this evening.

The audience is situated on two sides of the performance space, divided by five over-sized, floor to rafter block-like panels. They are obtrusive, and it is clear they will be moving during the performance (the wheels suggest so). There is a significant gap between two of the panels, which creates a window into the world of the other half of the audience. I am fond already of the possibility of the ways in which these props will frame the space and the dance, as well as the split audience. The venue is so intimate that one cannot help but watch how others will respond to the work. They seem as bubbly and anxious over there as we are on my side of the space.

So my pre-performance questions begin.

Regardless of the content and quality of the dance/ing, will these props be used successfully?

Given the size of the props, will the maneuvering of them distract from the work, or will the choreography of the walls be as significant to the work as the dancing?

Will this dance be about framing and un-framing? Should I worry about this?

Is the audience truly granted choice in what to look at, as the promotional postcard suggests? Is this work, then, about power of gaze, control and audience authorship? How is this different from other live dance performances without physical framing devices? Should I calm down already?

My brain won’t quit. Are these too many questions before the dance has even begun?

At this point I am not sure I want to watch dancing walls. I am not sure I want to be watched. I am distracted by a hot Clark Kent-type guy across the way who is wearing a white fitted t-shirt and black rimmed reading glasses. Damn sightlines! So fear and panic brush the surface of my skin.

I digress.

The work opens with two dancers head-locked in a symmetrical tangle, shoulder to shoulder (imagine Siamese twins conjoined trapezius to trapezius with top of heads pointing down to the floor, backs exposed to the ceiling). Dialogue begins when each dancer asks the other a series of questions, from casual to personal but incredibly awkward. They introduce themselves to each other only to end up in a provocative wrestling match, measuring friendship compatibility both with words and gesture. The partnering is messy, but successful, as it reflects the nature of fumbled first meetings. There is also a feeling of competition and possible conflict. This establishes a humorous vibe, yet it is subtly aggressive. The speaking, on the other hand, can use some work. My worst fear of witnessing performers who dance and speak is that it will be delivered with an over-articulated performative tone, which, in my opinion, is the result of wanting to be heard while breathless (from dancing). However, they are not out of breath from dancing yet, so something else is happening: forced dialogue. I am suddenly uncomfortable.

My constructive feeback: Conversational dialogue requires great practice. Keep it casual and practice often with all kinds of text. Try saying something 50 different ways. Unless you are playing a character, be yourself. In this case, it was trying too hard to be something it didn’t need to be.

But I applaud the effort, and who wouldn’t want to keep watching Arletta Anderson and Meredith Cortez Flores dance.

This brings up some more questions.

Why are we speaking in dance these days? Are we tired of modern dances that require more effort to reel audiences into an ephemeral practice?

Will the content in this work be so deep that speaking is necessary?

Are we relying on our words to make more clear the difficult ideas we are grappling with?

Shouldn’t we take as many classes in performance speaking that we do in dancing…or do we take our voice box for granted because we use it everyday? In which case, I say, use it in performance the way you use in your every day life and the speaking and relationships created will be much more clear.


The dance continues with an introduction of the rest of the performers. A quite handsome cast, I am eager to meet these people. They are whispering while walking, yet I am not sure why, and each grab a part of the walls. Suddenly the space is transformed with one continuous wall of panels dividing the space in two with audience on both sides. At this point there are no sightlines exposing the other audience members. Thankfully I can no longer see Clark Kent.

This suggests: two worlds, two performances.

Is the other audience enjoying a completely different performance than what I am seeing? This is a fantastic idea.

Would there be laughter over there when we are crying over here? Either way, one can’t help but wonder whether or not we will get to see what is happening on the other side.

Our side is treated to a delightful solo performed by Alexie Agdeppa; powerful and precise, indulgent and patient. She is captivating to watch, fearless when looking at the audience. The choreography is fresh; contemporary class vocabulary at times, gestural at other moments. Unfortunately, it soon becomes a duet. Nguyen Nguyen enters, whom I find to be such a lovely dancer, sensitive and strong, supple and well connected to the floor. But as many of you know, (or will soon discover) I loathe man/woman dancing that marginalizes women further into their already tight representation in performance. I loathe man/woman partnering that asks of its male dancer to be more masculine, which is both homophobic and oppressive sexism (I am aware that this is not your intention...but nonetheless). This duet, though passionate in its intent, falls victim to the traditional man hand on woman’s neck, woman thrown to the ground, man gazes at woman from behind, woman tossed in the air, woman beating man’s chest to be heard, woman supported on man’s shoulder-type of choreography. It is intense, super physical, and actually quite successful at times in its inventiveness and often contact improvisation-like quality. It is not hurried or trite. It is, however, an unfortunate gendered pairing that so many choreographers make. And, I know, there are moments in this duet when the woman is supporting the man and the woman tosses the man…however it’s just not the same. That simple. It’s just not the same. And this particular duet is not about the critique of man/woman partnering in dance. Therefore it inadvertently perpetuates the representation. Agdeppa lost a great deal of her power, and rather than continue from her solo as an independent and strong woman, she is quickly pinned into a woman seen only in relation to a man. As a result, Nguyen’s dancing seems to lose its sensitivity and his energy was directed more towards manipulating and throwing his partner around.

My suggestions.

Challenge what we already know of this partnering/pairing. If it is a heterosexual relationship, rethink the gaze and the penetration. Can’t it just be super physical contact with a clear equality and democratic construction?

Why is it that every time a man and woman dance together it has a romantic subtext or overbearing overtone???

This question is not directed at the choreographer of this particular dance, but a larger question I find present in my work with Liz Casebolt and the work of other artists I admire. I think it is something we should all try to think about…because the equivalent questions about race and class come up too.

A quartet of women enter the space; Bethany Betzler, Sofia Klass, Sarita Louise Moore and Chris Leyva. They start speaking. A brush of fear and panic runs quickly into my throat. The same problems arise for me when the nature of these conversational questions are delivered in a forced manner. They are meant to be playful, yet it often sounds like they are whining, and in conjunction with the types of questions being asked, like “what color are my eyes” and “how come you never listen to me” create a problem for this group of women. I am sure that their intention is not to whine nor to seem superficial in their interests…but I have to wonder if it is their lack of experience speaking while dancing that I am responding to or the representation as women that they are framing for themselves. Are these really the questions this strong group of women want to be asking, and, if so, why do I need to see it? The quirky partnering, on the other hand, is fantastic. It is lively, humorous and often finds itself in a knot, twisting and arriving at unexpected places. A solo by Moore is particularly successful, as she tells the rest of her group that she wants to express her feelings through interpretive dance. Ordinarily this might seem campy, but the choreography is so specific with detail, three-dimensional in its complexity, and it is danced wonderfully, that humor and wit arise without problem.

So this brings up a similar question.

So far the dancing is well crafted and thoughtful. I am wondering why it asks the dancers to speak?

The dance continues with a reconfiguring of the panels, and spaces are created to reveal more audience. The two worlds, for a moment, become closer to one. Five dancers find themselves in between the panels, occupying the negative space. They proceed to create variations of a similar gestural theme, playing with intricate timings and count structures. The quintet may even be improvising these sequences of movements, which is great, considering they are unable to see each other due to the positioning of the panels. The dancing is well committed and the gesturing is highly impactful. There may or may not be meaning behind each gesture, which is fine. It is percussive with moments of refrain, and the angular and contorted, yet patient approach, seems to represent a well-oiled machine exhausting into eternity. They rotate and give each audience a different perspective, which is a nice touch.

A second group of five dancers enter to replace the current five and proceed where the first five left off. Their movements are more pedestrian in architecture; simple walking patterns coupled with unison moments and brief connections to the walls. Though not entirely rich in content, the movement phrase and this particular moment are well needed and is an example of a smart choreographic transition.

More questions.

So far, not much is happening with the panels. I heard that the performance is only 45 minutes long, so two thirds into the work I start to worry that the panel/framing idea has already peaked.

What happened to the framing of the audience idea I was so excited about earlier? Did I create that expectation?

Just as I create more questions, the whispering and panel-ography by the dancers continues to create another semi-permeable wall with gaps exposing activity on the other half of the stage. Agdeppa and Nguyen begin the duet I was privy to earlier, except now it is on the other side of the wall, and we are confronted with another solo, this time by Sofia Klass. It is here where we all realize that now we get to see what the other audience witnessed earlier when we saw the duet. Smart and mature, Klass dances with a feeling of sincerity, thoughtfulness and detail. The vocabulary is both…

Pause….I am running out of complimentary adjectives.

…well crafted and precise. The solo turns into a duet, and (maybe a trio, my memory...) with high-flying Cesar Garfiaz. Have I mentioned effortless? This coupling (and possible trio) has a gentle, yet determined quality that unfolds its risky and virtuoso balances and connections seamlessly.

The work ends with Anderson and Flores back in the center of the space, however the panels have thankfully moved to the sides.

Clark Kent is still engaged in the performance. So am I.

Rather than speaking, the two continue with their previous wrestling tango, however with new vocabulary and more complicated contact. Flores executes a series of Wacking dance club moves while Anderson continues with contemporary modern vocabulary, and remarkably the two start partnering their contrasting styles, finding unexpected moments of contact and negative space. The effort of this duet seems more apparent as their speed and energy is increased. The two, different and similar in their style and attack, listen intently to one another in order for their connections to work. This is a nice way to end the evening.

Final thoughts.

First of all, congratulations to IN/EX DP.

Whomever might be reading this post I would like to reiterate that these are not truths, only perceptions and opinions. I find myself deep in all of these same questions. It is only when we can pose questions that the theories inherent in what do become clearer and clearer.

One last suggestion: If you all continue with this work, which I hope you do, push the idea about how the configuration of the split audience views the work at different times. Play with the element of time and mood on both sides of the space, so that everything does not work so perfectly. I want to hear applause and laughter, talking during silence. I want to parallel process what it is I think is happening that I am not privileged to see, while considering what it is directly in front of me. What is the play between the worlds you are blocking and manipulating, framing and un-framing? Maybe there are two completely different performances, and it is by chance that you see one or the other.

Thanks

Joel