Disappeared impulse givers

Disappeared impulse givers

Sonatas and Interludes” – the title of the performance comes from those John Cage compositions for which he quickly became famous. He used a sophisticated and precisely specified preparation scheme to create new and at the same time reproducible sounds on the piano with the help of screws, bolts, rubber, felt or plastic elements. These compositions, created between 1946 and 1948, have so far only been associated with the name Cage. Almost no one knows that he also worked with various dancers and choreographers who contributed significantly to this development.

Lenio Kaklea explained at the beginning of her performance that she initially had no pleasure in interpreting a Cage work. After all, his name was so well known that it no longer needed a special stage presence to draw attention to this work. It was only when she discovered during her research that it was four women who had a direct influence on Cage’s work during this particular creative period that a pleasurable opportunity opened up for her to devote herself to this subject.

Cage had been experimenting with preparing a piano since 1938. But it was only between 1946 and 48 that he created his work “Sonatas and Interludes”, which is considered a milestone in music history. In 1942, the dancer Syvilla Fort asked him to compose a piece for a performance. As the stage was very small, Cage could only compose for a piano and not, as originally intended, a piece for extended ensemble with percussion. In order to give the music “Bacchanal” an African touch and above all to bring the rhythm to the fore, he began to prepare it. He also created original compositions for Pearl Primus and Valerie Bettie in 1942 – “Our spring will come” for Primus and “And the earth shall bear again” for Bettie. In 1944 he created “Suite of four dances” for Hanya Holm.

Lenio Kaklea focussed her work on these four dancers and gradually – by taking off different pieces of clothing from a motorbike outfit – also showed different, choreographic approaches. In doing so, she referred to such in her movement repertoire that can be seen in short, historical film footage of the dancers.

Like a special movement by Syvilla Fort, in which she lifts one leg while walking and makes a circular movement with it before putting it back on the floor. Pearl Primus developed a sequence of movements in which she dropped to the floor in rapid succession, only to immediately spring back up smoothly. Walking, almost waddling, with legs outstretched without bending the knees is found in film footage by Valerie Bettis. Without directly adopting the choreographies, the individual parts nevertheless receive a very special, concise visualisation through a processing of the historical material.

22 LenioKaklea Sonatas and Interludes c MarcDomage 09 web

“Lenio Kaklea” (Photo: Marc Domage)

The fact that the female part of Cage’s work has been completely forgotten, that the dancers have been in his shadow from the beginning, is also shown by Kaklea with a very reduced and yet strongly expressive performance with Orlando Bass. The two walk across the stage as a couple, but always in such a way that the man comes to stand in front of the woman in such a way that you can hardly see her, if at all. No matter how they stop, Bass covers Kaklea with his figure as far as possible. Several times she tries to catch a glimpse of the audience from her position behind him. This covering game continues until, when Bass is back at the instrument, she finally makes herself small under the piano to finally leave the stage altogether.

On the one hand, Kaklea succeeds in making the different personalities of the four women perceptible, but also their own dancing part. But she also clearly shows their disappearance and the sole position of Cage as an important composer. She makes it clear that to this day the evaluation of his innovations is centred exclusively on his person. With her intelligent, subtle and at the same time highly aesthetic choreography, however, she succeeds in creating a change of perspective that encourages us to take a much closer look at the invisible women surrounding Cage. This page offers a little insight. https://sites.northwestern.edu/cageanddance/jcchoreo/

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Brutal Romanticism

Brutal Romanticism

Shortly before the pandemic, Florentine Holzinger presented her piece “Dance. A Sylphidic Reverie in Stunts.” at the TQW. Beatrice Cordua, the German prima ballerina who was the first to dance naked under John Neumeier’s choreography in “Sacre de Printemps”, was also present. Now, 3 years after Holzinger’s premiere, the production was performed again at the Volkstheater as part of the<a href=”https://www.european-cultural-news.com/de/?s=tanzquartier&amp;et_pb_searchform_submit=et_search_proccess&amp;et_pb_include_posts=yes&amp;et_pb_include_pages=yes” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”> Impuls-Tanz-Festival</a>. And once again Cordua was on stage, naked – like all her other young colleagues, who were asked by the former prima ballerina to take off their clothes as well.

<img class=”size-full wp-image-46156″ src=”https://www.european-cultural-news.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/22-florentinaholzinger-tanz-c-evawuerdinger-01.jpg” alt=”” width=”1200″ height=”801″ /> DANCE. A sylph-like reverie in stunts (Photo: © Eva Würdinger)

At the beginning and at the end, the audience witnessed a working process at the barre, which is common in classical ballet. The only difference was that Cordua expertly commented on the movements and constantly praised her small group. Between the opening and closing scenes, however, there was a dramaturgical development introduced by the figure of a contemporary witch, dressed only in a leather jacket and riding a hoover.

Holzinger left the footsteps of romantic ballet – including an interactive audience interlude – and not only performed acrobatic numbers at lofty heights on motorbikes suspended from ropes. She formed her ensemble into a witchy group that was ultimately about pure survival including murder and manslaughter. Parallel to the wild hustle and bustle, a young woman was pierced in the back of the stage – made visible by life projections – so that she could then be fixed by carabiners, pulled up into the air by her own body weight, her own flesh. The embodiment of a contemporary sylph was – due to the subtitle of the production – obvious.

“All our lives we try to rise from the ground” – Cordua explained to her students as part of the graceful ballet exercises. This aspiration was given a whole new dimension by the female stunt on display. This statement was directly related to the destructive intervention on the body of the pierced woman, who then dangled on ropes in front of the audience. The brutality that was shown here is probably just as painful in a more subtle form in pointe dancing. In all those practice sessions in which the foot and leg muscles have to be painstakingly accustomed to walking on their toes, tripping, dancing and jumping. What is ultimately supposed to look floating can only be achieved by painful trimming of the body.

<img class=”size-full wp-image-46164″ src=”https://www.european-cultural-news.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/22-florentinaholzinger-tanz-c-evawuerdinger-04.jpg” alt=”” width=”1200″ height=”801″ /> DANCE. A sylph-like reverie in stunts (Photo: © Eva Würdinger)

In an interview, excerpts of which can be read in the programme, Holzinger stated that it was important for her to be able to really trust her own body as a strength and weapon. Strength and power was also what she demanded of herself and her dancers and performers. And not only physically, but also mentally. The fact that she had the women who stood on stage with her and herself appear as witches – as much as this was in the context of ballet and opera pieces of the 19th century – also allows this choice to be questioned. After all, it serves clichés that send shivers down the spines not only of emancipated women.

But other questions also arise in the context of the performance. Art producers always bear responsibility. Not only for themselves, but above all for their ensemble and ultimately for the audience. It can be assumed that all those who performed with Florentine Holzinger in this production did so on a voluntary basis. But where does voluntariness begin when, especially in the usually precarious employment field of contemporary dance, every participation in a show is seen as a chance to be able to finance oneself for the coming months? It is to be hoped that the strengthening of the female body image, indeed the empowerment that comes with this choreography for the ensemble, is sustainable and has an effect beyond the stage performances.

Standing ovations made it clear that Holzinger had fully met the taste of the audience.

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Memories in a row

Memories in a row

Those who expected a scandalous performance or an emotional rollercoaster, as the Belgian has often been known to do, were proved wrong. Scattered Moments” turned out to be a cleverly made replica with countless quotations from previous works, highly aesthetic and intelligently conceived. Right at the beginning, Wim launches into a solo performance in which he talks about an early engagement in Helena, in the state of Montana, which took place in a “county jail”. At the end of the performance, hats flew onto the stage in excitement – a gesture the ensemble was unfamiliar with.

Wim has just finished his story when Saïd Gharbi appears, the blind dancer who has been his friend and collaborator since the beginning of his work with Ultima Vez. Suddenly Saïd throws him a white brick. In his very first work with Ultima Vez, “What the body does not remember”, there are many white bricks that play a central role in this choreography. The white brick, now placed next to Vandekeybus at the edge of the stage, forms the opening of a contextual bracket. It contains not only props from past productions, such as the aforementioned stone, but also film and video clips, as well as choreography quotations from productions of the past decades. Even Saïd’s white shirt, which he talks about with his friend on stage at the beginning, appears in several earlier productions.

Those who have seen much of Vandekeybus will also recognise much in this production. Like that recording by Carlo Verano, a German variety artist who was friends with the all-round artist. “Immer das Selbe gelogen” was a tribute that Wim dedicated to Carlo and in which the then 89-year-old made a singing appearance in bed. That the evening is nevertheless not a flat stringing together of quotations is thanks to the strong choreographic dynamics, which go hand in hand with equally strong musical recordings and allow the various scenes to flow seamlessly into one another. The music alternates between popular hits like “There is a hole in the bucket” by Harry Belafonte and Odetta, but also lesser-known ones, but is always characterised by clear rhythms.

The dance vocabulary features acrobatic floor numbers as well as those jumping cascades for which Vandekeybus is so well known. The weightlessness that becomes comprehensible for seconds in the process is something he has also captured in his films. It can also be seen in many film stills in which his dancers float freely in the air. Again and again he resorts to this stylistic element, but it never appears singularly, but mostly in a rapid sequence, performed by his ensemble one after the other in short intervals. Including Wim Vandekeybus himself, there are 23 people dancing on stage this evening. And each of them is recognisable in their individuality.

Alexandros Anastasiadis, Laura Aris Álvarez, Borna Babić, Maureen Bator, Tim Bogaerts, Damien Chapelle, Pieter Desmet, Saïd Gharbi, Rob Hayden, Germán Jauregui Allue, Luke Jessop, Kit King, Maria Kolegova, Anna Karenina Lambrechts, Anabel Lopez, Tanja Marin Friðjónsdóttir, Lieve Meeussen, Yassin Mrabtifi, Magdalena Oettl, Eddie Oroyan, Aymara Samira Parola, and Mufutau Yusuf perform solo, but also frequently in groups of 2 or 3.

What can be seen is incessant kicking and pushing, holding and catching each other, which in many moments has aggressive and brutal features. But also the choreography from “Inspite of Wishing and Wanting”, in which individuals repeatedly step out of the group and perform dream dances, while the ensemble at the edge of the stage has assumed sleeping gestures. The gliding across the floor in different variations is strongly reminiscent of movements in figure skating, which reinforces the somnambulistic situation.

One interview scene takes on a particularly humorous note, as it is not Wim Vandekeybus who is being interviewed, but the “journalist” does not seem to notice. After all, some cleverly placed statements are dropped in this interview. In them, the historically important work that Wim created with his group over the decades is highlighted. A self-congratulation that isn’t one because of the setting, but still doesn’t miss its mark. Nevertheless, there is no getting around the fact that the Belgian choreographer wrote dance history and he knows it.

Towards the end, Saïd hurls “I have come to sell you your last words” at Wim. They are also from an early production, but in this context they get a different twist.

With “Scattered memories”, Wim Vandekeybus created a bulging cornucopia from which one memory after another pours over the stage. Memories that tell of joy and permanent work as well as of family happiness with children, but also of anxiety, dreams, old age and farewells. Nothing, however, suggests that the production is one with which Vandekeybus wants to say goodbye. He presents himself too vital with Ultima Vez and arouses curiosity about what is still to be seen in the years to come. Ad multos annos!

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Animalistic and cool calculation

Animalistic and cool calculation

In the work, shown at the Impuls Dance Festival at the Volkstheater in Vienna, Vandekeybus’ choreography and that of the visual artist de Sagazan intertwine in a completely harmonious, even organic way. The music and sound by electro-acoustic composer and sound designer Charo Calvo support the dark, animalistic, often violent nature of the action, right down to the surprising use of silence – which makes dramaturgical sense in one scene.

22 WimVandekeybus UltimaVez Hands do not touch your precious Me c DannyWillems 10 Hands do not touch (Photo: Danny Willems)

Erwin Jans, the dramaturge of the production, explains in his contribution to the programme booklet that Charo Calvo suggested the myths about the Sumerian goddess Inanna and the hymns and devotions of her high priestess Enheduanna as a possible starting point for the performance. These myths are about the duality of man – his bright, radiant side and his dark side, which leads him to the underworld.

Myths are characterised by the fact that they reveal universal psychological and social phenomena in such a way that they are timeless and can be interpreted in many ways. This is exactly what is reflected in this joint work with the Vandekeybus ensemble “Ultima Vez”. If one sees the piece without any prior knowledge or mythological references, it quickly becomes clear that it is a narrative that illuminates interpersonal encounters that always repeat themselves in this or a similar way. But it also looks into those dark, spiritual abysses of the human being into which each and every one of us can slide. The play tells of a personal process of transformation, which, however, spreads to an entire society and changes it drastically. Last but not least, the content can also be interpreted as a simple story of jealousy with a perfidious plan.

22 WimVandekeybus UltimaVez Hands do not touch your precious Me c DannyWillems 11 Hands do not touch (Photo: Danny Willems)

No matter how you interpret it, “Hands do not touch your precious me” is worth seeing both in terms of the dance work and that of the visual artist Olivier de Sagazan. On stage there is a permanent coming and going, a condensation and disentanglement of dancers who react to each other in an artistic way and manage to express many different emotions with physical means. Countless lifting movements, but also many synchronised dance sequences at breathtaking speed are so aesthetic that one cannot get enough of them.

Olivier de Sagazan, at the beginning still on stage as an ethereal elf in a white wale dress as Lieve Meeussen’s partner, transforms in the course of the play not only into animal-human hybrid beings. Towards the end, he acts as a woman with a bloody open belly, the sight of which associates violence and pain. With a lot of clay and just as much theatrical blood, his animalistic behaviour gradually draws all the other dancers into his parallel underworld. The way de Sagazan transforms himself is not only amusing, but also highly spectacular in parts. When his fake hair burns on his head for minutes and continues to glow for a long time afterwards, the audience holds its breath. Open fire on stages still holds a fright moment. Whereby with the duration of this fire scene, one can no longer speak of just a moment.

Only Vandekeybus himself, who repeatedly captures scenes with a live camera, which are projected as a still image large on a white surface on stage, does not allow himself to be caught up in this violent-grotesque scenery. As it turns out at the end, he unexpectedly proves to be an emotionless string-puller and becomes the big winner of the story. Not only has he brought to his side the woman who initially ignored him. He has also risen to become the head of a society that now – in complete contrast to the beginning – gathers around his big table in the same way and pays homage to him in a subservient manner.

On the one hand, it is the intelligent interweaving of the different artistic disciplines that fascinates. On the other hand, it is the dramaturgical pull and the individual as well as collective dance performances that distinguish this production and at the same time reveal Vandekeybus’ choreographic signature. Impulstanz is showing a second production by the multi-artist Vandekeybus this season. “Scattered memories” – a retrospective of 35 years of work with Ultima Vez.

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What do you really need to know about the creation of a work of art?

What do you really need to know about the creation of a work of art?

[A few decades ago – I don’t know if it’s still the case today – you learned a lot in art history courses. Especially styles and their geographical distribution. You studied buildings, paintings and sculptures and made comparisons. And if you had already enjoyed lectures on iconography, then you were also able to interpret the message of individual works of art that was hidden from the layman. When one had finished 8-plus-x semesters and was allowed to put an academic title in front of one’s name, one suddenly found oneself often in the embarrassment of being able to give only the most rudimentary biographical information about artists. There was almost no space devoted to them in studies; if there was, then one acquired them oneself or read up on them in acute need. For works of art themselves, however, there was and still is an unwritten law: if they are good, they do not need biographical supplements.

Jan Lauwers, Belgian theatre director who originally studied painting at the Academy of Arts in Ghent, sets many scents in the direction of artwork creation and its biographical background with his new play “All The Good”. It was presented as part of the Impuls Dance Festival at the Volkstheater in Vienna. With the Needcompany, co-founded by his wife Grace Ellen Barkey and himself, he offered the Impulstanz audience at the Volkstheater insights into the genesis of a special work of art. In doing so, he did not focus on an iconographic approach and its philosophical background. Quite the opposite. The only tentative progress of the development of the object, equipped with blown glass drops from a Palestinian glassblower, only forms the background for a vividly told family story that gets completely out of kilter at the end of the performance. And it also forms the background to a very subtle indictment of Israel. An indictment, however, in which there are no victors and vanquished, only losers.

But until this happens, the events – accompanied by live music by Maarten Seghers and three other musicians – intensify in a dramatic way. The parents Jan and Grace Ellen are put to the test by the relationship actions of their children Romy Louise and Victor Lauwers. There is the realisation that art actions today, no matter how shockingly intended, are neither shocking nor original. A coitus scene that takes place coram publico subsequently turns into a nightmarish event of a traumatised former Israeli combat soldier.

The women, Grace Ellen, Romy Louise and Inge (Victor’s partner) press the gas pedal with their feminist interpretations when it comes to new ways of looking at historical works of art, but also current art productions. Nevertheless, they all give the impression of not being able to consistently defend themselves against male dominance. Grace Ellen is abruptly interrupted by her husband while she is talking about her artistic work. Romy Louise defends her partner Elik to the hilt against her mother’s questions. She knows that Elik killed as a former Israeli soldier, but she does not want to hear any more about it and is happy to leave these events in the unspoken past. Inge Van Bruystegem only steps out of the role of studio handler when she talks about the life of Artemisia Gentileschi. That Renaissance painter who was abused by her teacher and wrote art history with her self-portraits. The fact that the painter was given thumbscrews to check her incriminating testimony, but that nothing else happened to her tormentor afterwards, is an injustice that Elke wants to make drastically clear to everyone. To do so, she even takes the risk of inciting Victor to commit a repeat offence. A sensitive young man who, however, completely refuses to do so.

The unrestricted ruler of the family events, however, is Jan Lauwers, who has his alter ego portrayed on stage by Benoit Gob. Although Lauwers initially explains the scenery and introduces all those involved, he then always remains in the background observing and hardly intervening. In between, works of art are shown again and again, and Jan briefly lectures about them. Then there is dancing and singing – Maarten Seghers demonstrates both his beautiful bass and melodious tenor in two performances. Again and again, the ensemble is annoyed that the electric drive for the glass-fronted work of art doesn’t work properly. For a change, a fox bites off the head of a pigeon in the best Dada manner and again and again a rat pushes itself to the front of the stage to present its view of things in a know-it-all manner.

One scene replaces the next, costumes are changed and after the revelation that the artist Jan Lauwers abstains sexually so as not to disturb the energetic flow of creation for his glass artwork, there is a real crack in the family-friendly woodwork. The banal fact of sexual abstinence completely upsets the family structure. This is followed by a story of infidelity that has happened, is happening and will happen countless times on this earth in an almost identical constellation.

Thus, one has completely distanced oneself from the current production of art, but also from the historical considerations of various works of art. Now there is arguing, reproaches are made, now one is deeply offended and no longer sure whether a harmonious family life will ever come about after this argument. It is now the fullness of life with all its distortions that comes to the fore.

All questions of art theory are blown away. The audience can ask themselves these questions after the performance. What remains is the realisation that a work of art lives from narratives. Of those that arise ad hoc through association, but also of those that are reported about it. If the object rotating on its own axis with its blue-turquoise glass drops were in a museum, then nothing at all would indicate its genesis in the midst of a family tragicomedy. Then the unwritten law would come true that a good work of art does not need biographical attachments to be good.

The intelligent show opens more questions than answers. It covers more than it shows – leaves the audience in the dark as to which statements are to be taken truthfully and which follow purely a theatrical dramaturgy. The only thing that seems certain is an eternal cycle. A cycle that is actually stopped by a never-ending run around the art object by all the ensemble members. Props are picked up, dragged along, dropped again, only to be picked up again by others. The eternally human – the doing – remains as the constant of a creative process. A production like something out of a picture book: clever, funny, profound, varied and entertaining. And a production you can watch several times!
 
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The Jungle Book – reimagined

The Jungle Book – reimagined

Who doesn’t know the story of the foundling Mowgli, who grows up among animals in the Indian jungle? That story by Rudyard Kipling, which was filmed as an animated film at the Disney Studios?

Now there is “Jungle Book reimagined” by Akram Khan. The Austrian premiere took place as part of the Impulstanz festival at the Burgtheater. The British dancer and choreographer, whose family comes from Bangladesh, played Mowgli in an Indian dance performance as a young boy. This memory, but above all “the three profound lessons of the play”, as he calls it, made such a deep impression on him that now, after many years, he is staging a newly interpreted Jungle Book with his company. The main plot of the story remains more or less the same, but in his version “Mowgli” is a girl who is separated from her family due to an environmental disaster. She is portrayed tenderly and fragilely, but in the end strong and full of hope for her future, by Pui Yung Shum. Like her male role model, she too spends time among animals who take care of her, only to ultimately set out again in search of humans.

Many of Akram Khan’s productions deal with the disastrous state of our world. The confrontation with what has been and is still being destroyed on our earth is one of his central themes. And so his story also begins with a wild doomsday scenario. Rising waters, sinking, destroyed cities, people fleeing on rafts, all this becomes visible on stage through computer-animated drawings. Although they were originally planned only for reasons of economy and to minimise the environmental impact instead of a haptic stage set, Miriam Buether’s depictions contribute significantly to the success of the evening. Delicate and at the same time expressive, full of poetry and yet real, she created a world of memory and current events at the same time. Flying birds, singing whales, leaves falling to the ground – all of these set the action in changing environments without much reconstruction. The use of this technique on stage and in dance is not new, but it is used excessively here. So much so that at certain points one imagines oneself in London’s West End or in a Broadway production.

However, Khan’s Jungle Book – contrary to all dance conventions – does not do without language. Rather, it is just as central a component of the production as the visuals. The text, adapted to the present day, was written by Tariq Jordan. The voices of the individual characters, such as Bagheera the panther or Baloo the bear, come from the tape. The fascinating thing is that every single dance movement is carried and supported by these voices. This combination, through the use of individual movement patterns, reinforces the recognisability of the figures. The dialogues of the individual animals are repeatedly replaced by pure dance numbers, underpinned by a coherent sound. It is a joy to watch Holly Vallis as Bagheera sneaking lithely around Baloo or Mowgli. It’s just fun when Tom Davis-Dun mimes the “dancing bear” and gets completely out of hand. The fact that there is nothing to fear from the snake Kaa is also wonderfully solved and will appeal especially to young audiences.

The compositions show strong borrowings from the most diverse origins. Whether Philip Glass’ “Koyaanisqatsi – which he created for the film of the same name by Godfrey Reggio, or whether it is broad symphonic rock interpretations – as known from Vangelis, whether quotations from a Christian Kyrie Eleison or sounds like from a world music album – the English composer Jocelyn Pook drew from the full for her soundtrack. Her compositions are catchy and support the action in a highly emotional way, just like a good film score.

The fleet of animals looking after Mowgli is bathed in dramatic red, then again in cool blue through changing lighting. The movements of the monkeys, the panther and the bear imitate their gait or even boisterous behaviour. But when they want to behave like humans, they dance, as we know from contemporary productions. Mowgli herself remains an observer for long stretches, intervenes kauf. At her side is often the “monkey outcast”. He is danced frighteningly, unfathomably, but also full of empathy by Max Revell. Greta Thunberg’s “how dare you are!” – from her 2019 speech to the United Nations, but also mountains of cardboard boxes as distributed by online giants across the world to people addicted to consumption, are just two of several references to the problematics that seem to be sheerly overwhelming us at the moment.

Despite all the doomsday mood and gloomy outlook, Akram Khan hopes that his production will also be visited by children. To confront them with what we call “everyday life”, he thinks, is necessary. Above all, however, it is the three teachings mentioned earlier that are important to him to pass on. The teaching of the community of species, the interdependence of humans, animals and nature, and the importance of family and our human need to belong.

The choreographer has a knack for great productions. The spectacle created by his company and a large number of co-producers will, in all likelihood, conquer the world’s great stages. The fact that it will also inspire many people for contemporary dance who have not previously had an affinity for dance is a side effect that should not be underestimated.
 
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