It's taken me a bit to gather my thoughts. And honestly I still aren't quite sure what to say or more so how to say it. Kind of like that "tip-of-the-tongue" feeling where all the ideas bunch up to the front of your mouth just as you are trying to only get the one, singular idea you want to say out. As you begin to say what you thought you wanted to say you end up just babbling on, hoping by pouring out everything you got will amass to something you wanted to say. However, you then look down at the mess of words you've made and frown because nothing makes sense. In a sense that is what I feel like writing this blog post, so bare with me and I ask in advance for your patience as I also try to understand my own thoughts.
So, I saw some art tonight. Art that was refreshing yet aged in story, time-lapses of mothers neglecting children, stereotypes, and sci-fi films placed on repeat; art that was amazing yet a little repulsive at the time speaking to the possibilities of the human mind and what we can create when we are given the power, the resources, the bodies; and I saw art that was arguably art at all. However, never in my life have I seen such a influential culmination of work in which you could see the literal and figurative voice of each choreographer in there piece; there entire body of creation a synthesis of some of the most vulnerable moments in human existence: the ability to let your guard down, sharing your story, fighting for identity, and relying on others.
Oscar Wilde writes in his book The Life of Dorian Grey that an artist should never put too much of oneself into a painting, because then what do they have left of themselves and what power then does the public have over the artist. However, in this moment, today, there was nothing more poignant and sharper art then that of which is personal. It is perhaps, the one place that is the most safe for us artist, because although, over and over again, we can try to explain our experiences or our identity only we can truly understand what that means and what it feels like.
I could sit here and write a proper dance review about the Paris Opera Show, fit for a historical periodical or dance pedagogy canon, but I do not think this show belongs in such an environment and if anything this show taught me that dance more and more as a history and future movement cannot be written down. From the first interactive piece-characters called "Furies" walking and crawling in the grand foyer, Rotonda, and grand staircase under gods and goddesses of vocal performance in gaudy gold gilded costumes- to the last Chrystal Pite piece- a symphony of bodies moving in poly-unision to Max Richter- I knew at that moment that dance no longer had a place in the textbooks.
See, it had me thinking...it is one thing to explain dance to someone and record it for future use or, shall I risk saying, analysis. However, it is completely different and quite dangerous when we create "notable dance". And what I mean by that is dance that can be written down. Dance is a physical form just as writing is a written form. You pass down the tradition by doing what it is meant to do and for the purposes of dance pedagogy we have turned to writing rather than experiencing.
I am not saying dance notation has not done marvels for the work, but to hear some dance critics and artist scrutinize the work of Perez or Pite, because their work cannot be notated and explained in a brochure or when I here people saying that Thierree's and Shechter's work wasn't art because the steps didn't have names, patterns weren't recognized or it wasn't presentational is hurting the art form and the natural evolution of dance pedagogy.
So if there is one thought I can wrap my head around after tonight's performance is that there is no better way to create art then to ignore the endgame, to not worry about how long a creation will last in history or the impact it will have after its viewers go home, but to only worry about the moment which is present. That is where the magic happens and unlike many things it never can be recreated or manufactred.
