If you missed it, you missed it for this year. And, according to my friends (hardly impartial, but that doesn't matter) you missed a wonderful spectacle. Never mind Matt sliding down silk 30 feet in the air, upside down, without a net; never mind Tawanda, dressed as a gull, leaping tall boulders at a single bound; never mind assorted dancers tumbling on rickety-looking aluminum-pipe huts. You missed seeing us bird-watchers peak. We moved in unison with each other AND THE BAND. Had you been at rehearsals, you would know what a triumph is was. We were fantastic!
I would say come back next year to see us even better, but although we will all be better and better in every way, there's no way of knowing that we'll be doing the same things.
My money is on change, because this is, as anyone who participated in it will tell you, an evolving work.
That's it for me for now. I have a photography show in Kingfield to get ready for.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Trust me
At a recent outdoor concert by a Cuban hip-hop group, my friend turned to me and said: "This is quite a spectacle to watch." He was referring to the dance component of the concert -- the hip grinds, the slips and slides, the hand gestures. Anyone who has watched MTV or TV dance competitions has become accustomed to seeing this kind of movement. It's part of our everyday world now. Like the way sports are ubiquitous in the media, dance has started to find a place in the mainstream.
And yet, and yet ... I wonder how many people have actually been to a live dance performance on a stage or, in the case of this blog, at a quarry? And how many of us think: Dance? Dance? I don't get dance.
My answer? Yes, you do. Understanding dance is as easy as watching a Cuban hip-hop singer gyrate onstage. You get it. She's sexy. She's groovin'. She feels the music. It makes sense because you're familiar with what she's doing. You've seen it on TV. Or maybe you've even done it at home. (Don't worry; your secret is safe with me.)
"The more you go to dance, the more you see," said Alison Chase, choreographer for Q2: Habitat, which opens this evening and runs through tomorrow at the Settlement Quarry in Stonington. I asked her how she'd like people to "understand" dance -- what skills do they need to "get" it?
"Trust your own responses," she said.
OK, great start. But there's more you can do ahead of time.
For instance: You're at a quarry. The title of the piece is Habitat. There's gotta be a clue in there somewhere.
Also, you can spend a few moments reading other blog entries on this site, OR check out Emily Burnham's recent story in the Bangor Daily News.
The point is: You don't have to go in cold. Or you can. You don't have to think about it beforehand. Or you can. You don't have to know the entire history of dance. Or any of it. But it's also OK if you know all of it.
Follow Chase's advice. You'll get it. Pay attention to whatever draws your eye rather than what you think you should be looking at. You'll feel something. Trust me. Then trust yourself.
And yet, and yet ... I wonder how many people have actually been to a live dance performance on a stage or, in the case of this blog, at a quarry? And how many of us think: Dance? Dance? I don't get dance.
My answer? Yes, you do. Understanding dance is as easy as watching a Cuban hip-hop singer gyrate onstage. You get it. She's sexy. She's groovin'. She feels the music. It makes sense because you're familiar with what she's doing. You've seen it on TV. Or maybe you've even done it at home. (Don't worry; your secret is safe with me.)
"The more you go to dance, the more you see," said Alison Chase, choreographer for Q2: Habitat, which opens this evening and runs through tomorrow at the Settlement Quarry in Stonington. I asked her how she'd like people to "understand" dance -- what skills do they need to "get" it?
"Trust your own responses," she said.
OK, great start. But there's more you can do ahead of time.
For instance: You're at a quarry. The title of the piece is Habitat. There's gotta be a clue in there somewhere.
Also, you can spend a few moments reading other blog entries on this site, OR check out Emily Burnham's recent story in the Bangor Daily News.
The point is: You don't have to go in cold. Or you can. You don't have to think about it beforehand. Or you can. You don't have to know the entire history of dance. Or any of it. But it's also OK if you know all of it.
Follow Chase's advice. You'll get it. Pay attention to whatever draws your eye rather than what you think you should be looking at. You'll feel something. Trust me. Then trust yourself.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
neither rain...
Tempus fugit and all that. Today was the rehearsal before the dress rehearsal before the performance. By the time we community members (bird-watchers) arrived, the sky was getting very dark. As we took our places, Whitney pointed out that she is not local, and wanted to know what locals did or knew about lightning. I answered (being more local than she, having lived her 13 years, but still definitely from away) that really, locals or semi-locals didn't have a bead on lightning.
We all concluded that the cars present (two, I think) and the truck (one, but big) would suffice to keep us safe. Especially since the tower was taller than we are. We just planned to stay off the tower. Also no one was flying a kite with a key on it.
As we stood thinking things over I heard a drop of rain splat on my pink hat. It was followed by many more, and we all fled to the dryness of the truck. We stood and sat inside. Wendee took a nap with her head on her backpack. Stephanie ate an energy bar; Emily snacked on mustardy pretzels. I drank some water and sweated, in a friendly way. The rain, visible beyond the open back of the truck, seemed to be coming down in sheets. It didn't last long, and out we went.
And we ran through pieces of the performance. Nigel's band played and we counted. And counted. We did what we do, then did it again. And we weren't the only ones. The porcupines and the gulls did their thing. Carol mimed being a truck (you had to be there). Much of the cast had been at the quarry since 12 or 1 pm. We (bird-watchers) arrived at 3.
Even with time out for rain, we got a lot accomplished. We smoothed out some of what we do; we fixed entrances and exits, and checked out one short cut that I think we would need crampons and carabiners to use.
Tomorrow is a dress rehearsal. I'm not sure whether I'm wearing my new pants from the Turnstyle so they are not new at all, or some pants I've had for, I think, 27 years. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing sneakers.
It's coming together. I expect to see you through my binoculars, sitting on the edge of the quarry, watching us. We certainly will be worth watching.
We all concluded that the cars present (two, I think) and the truck (one, but big) would suffice to keep us safe. Especially since the tower was taller than we are. We just planned to stay off the tower. Also no one was flying a kite with a key on it.
As we stood thinking things over I heard a drop of rain splat on my pink hat. It was followed by many more, and we all fled to the dryness of the truck. We stood and sat inside. Wendee took a nap with her head on her backpack. Stephanie ate an energy bar; Emily snacked on mustardy pretzels. I drank some water and sweated, in a friendly way. The rain, visible beyond the open back of the truck, seemed to be coming down in sheets. It didn't last long, and out we went.
And we ran through pieces of the performance. Nigel's band played and we counted. And counted. We did what we do, then did it again. And we weren't the only ones. The porcupines and the gulls did their thing. Carol mimed being a truck (you had to be there). Much of the cast had been at the quarry since 12 or 1 pm. We (bird-watchers) arrived at 3.
Even with time out for rain, we got a lot accomplished. We smoothed out some of what we do; we fixed entrances and exits, and checked out one short cut that I think we would need crampons and carabiners to use.
Tomorrow is a dress rehearsal. I'm not sure whether I'm wearing my new pants from the Turnstyle so they are not new at all, or some pants I've had for, I think, 27 years. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing sneakers.
It's coming together. I expect to see you through my binoculars, sitting on the edge of the quarry, watching us. We certainly will be worth watching.
Monday, August 3, 2009
About the time
The blog I wrote today was posted at about 3:40 pm--the times on the blog are out of joint.
staggering through
Porcupines examine a truck.
Mia has a conversation with a gull.
Mary and Jessica take five
Carol and Alison watch.
Backhoe with background.
Alison gathers the troops for the stagger-through.Maybe I'd better explain. A stagger-through (and I've only ever heard Alison use the term) is like a run-through, only not quite so smooth. A run-through of a show, ideally, starts with the opening scene and goes until the end, without stopping. Right. Except there's almost always a reason to stop--people forget their lines, the blocking isn't working, people are standing where there's no light, or where there's a dead spot on the stage, and no one can hear them.
So, Saturday was to be a stagger through. There were only a couple of gliches. One of them has to do with the time-space continuum. Lately there have been, not one, but two programs on BBC America having to do with time travel (make that three, if you add Primeval, in which prehistoric and from-the-futures monsters come through a whole in time into the 21st century)--Dr. Who and Torchwood. In each case, time is slightly askew. A run-through is a little like that.
Us bird-watchers (in the theatrical sense) know pretty much what we are doing. What we don't know is WHERE or WHEN. Of, for that matter, just what preceeds and follows what we do. Or where we go when we are done.
Oh, you say, of course you know. Let me remind you, a quarry is not like a proscenium stage. There are a zillion possible entrances and exits. And Q2: Habitat, a spectacle with seagulls, trucks, giant porcupines and steel-drum (pan) band isn't exactly Giselle. It isn't even Swan Lake, despite the presence of feathered dancers. In fact, it isn't like anything else.
We go to our temporary spots and discover that the music doesn't last long enough. Alison, Mia and Nigel fix that. We change spots and find out that we have become invisible--our clothes have merged into the background. We think through our wardrobes at home--what else could we wear? And some of us discover that the music is hard to distinguish. When, exactly, do we begin? And how long do we hold that? The answer is a tough one--practice.
We try again (so much for staggering through). This time it is better--at least for us. And so it goes.
Remember the blind men and the elephant? Being a performer is a little like that--at the beginning you focus on what you are doing, and the rest is peripheral.
Saturday, it began to make sense. We got to see the why of the seagulls and the porcupiines. I don't think I'll tell you that bit--you can find out for yourself. Meanwhile, I'm practicing looking for the confusing fall warblers, which ought to be around any week now. See you in the quarry. This weekend.
Stunned in the Sun
Saturday, August 1 was surprising: the fog and gray lifted, and a full summer sun beat down on the granite flat top of our quarry stage. This was the first day all components of the new show OHA is producing, Quarryography 2: Habitat, were together: the professional dance ensemble, the community ensemble, the heavy equipment operators, the steel pan band. Together, they were working out a completely new and surprising "story at the quarry:" one full of drama and suspense (what will happen in the encounter between the excavator, in residence to build someone's "dream home" on site, and the Big Mama Porcupine and her babies?); 
surprise (how does Rick's excavator always become so anthropomorphic?); and humor (dream house as jungle gym). It's all happening, it's all in process--and you can become part of that process when you attend the work-in-development productions this weekend, August 7-9, at the Settlement Quarry. Advance tickets are necessary and parking is very limited. You can buy your tix online, and download a map, at http://www.operahousearts.org/; or call 207-367-2788 and order from our box office.
surprise (how does Rick's excavator always become so anthropomorphic?); and humor (dream house as jungle gym). It's all happening, it's all in process--and you can become part of that process when you attend the work-in-development productions this weekend, August 7-9, at the Settlement Quarry. Advance tickets are necessary and parking is very limited. You can buy your tix online, and download a map, at http://www.operahousearts.org/; or call 207-367-2788 and order from our box office.
Well, you can dance
Switching gears now, kids, because, while I'm not done thinking about Shakespeare, I'm moving on to dance for a while. Last week, the giant choreographer Merce Cunningham died at 90 -- if you don't know him, read the comprehensive New York Times obituary by Alastair Macaulay.
Cunningham's death got me thinking about form in dance. A few year back, Anna Kisselgoff -- another great dance writer -- reprimanded me for reading too much story into a dance work. It's about form and movement, she said, not about your silly story-making. (That's a paraphrase.)
But I'm as devoted to narrative as Kisselgoff and Cunningham are devoted to form. So I was thrilled to hear Q2: Habitat choreographer Alison Chase, at the Stonington Opera House in Maine, describe her two Quarryography works as "narrative spectacles."
For more background on the two-year Quarryography diptych, spend some time surfing the Story at the Quarry blog. More succinctly: Chase is working on her second major site-specific choreography at the Settlement Quarry on Deer Isle. She includes professional dancers, some of whom are from her time with the famous dance troupe Pilobolus, of which she was a co-founder. Many others come from the community.
It's that community part that got me thinking about form. We all know professional dancers are trained. Presumably they can move in ways we find pleasing and thrilling. But Joe Fisherman onstage? I'm sorry; I'm thinking he's not going to be my Dancing-with-the-Stars dream guy.
I'm wrong. Chase filled me in: "Those community-and-professional dynamics allow a wider range so that you get a variety of gestural exploration. Because someone isn't a trained dancer doesn't mean they don't have a range of expression. We're always amazed at the power of simplicity. Once we get rolling, it's exciting to see the exchange between non-dancing adults and trained dancers."
In other words, she's not looking for a perfect plie out of Joe Fisherman. She's looking for an "individual expressive quality." And that information helps her shape the overall piece. She finds a dance move where it's least expected and then uses it. Ah, back to form.
That's perfect for Q2 because, as an event, it's happening in an unexpected place: a quarry. Which is where "narrative spectacle" comes in.
"It's about habitat, about who inhabits that space," said Carol Estey, production manager and the Opera House co-founder whose roots on the island go back to childhood. (She's in the picture here rehearsing with Chase.) The people who will "inhabit" the quarry at the sneak-preview-in-development Aug. 7 and 8, and then again in its premiere in 2010 are going to look a little like you and me -- except for those pro dancers in the group. And it's not just because Chase wants to see the unexpected. It's because she has a story to tell, and some of that story comes from the bodies of local residents.
"People have always wanted to perform," said Estey, who is a trained dancer. "People have always wanted to be in things. They realize now they can be, and they don't have to have as much skill as they have to have commitment and desire. They see the possibility."
posted with photos by Alicia Anstead on ShakeStonington.blogspot.com
Cunningham's death got me thinking about form in dance. A few year back, Anna Kisselgoff -- another great dance writer -- reprimanded me for reading too much story into a dance work. It's about form and movement, she said, not about your silly story-making. (That's a paraphrase.)
But I'm as devoted to narrative as Kisselgoff and Cunningham are devoted to form. So I was thrilled to hear Q2: Habitat choreographer Alison Chase, at the Stonington Opera House in Maine, describe her two Quarryography works as "narrative spectacles."
For more background on the two-year Quarryography diptych, spend some time surfing the Story at the Quarry blog. More succinctly: Chase is working on her second major site-specific choreography at the Settlement Quarry on Deer Isle. She includes professional dancers, some of whom are from her time with the famous dance troupe Pilobolus, of which she was a co-founder. Many others come from the community.
It's that community part that got me thinking about form. We all know professional dancers are trained. Presumably they can move in ways we find pleasing and thrilling. But Joe Fisherman onstage? I'm sorry; I'm thinking he's not going to be my Dancing-with-the-Stars dream guy.
I'm wrong. Chase filled me in: "Those community-and-professional dynamics allow a wider range so that you get a variety of gestural exploration. Because someone isn't a trained dancer doesn't mean they don't have a range of expression. We're always amazed at the power of simplicity. Once we get rolling, it's exciting to see the exchange between non-dancing adults and trained dancers."
In other words, she's not looking for a perfect plie out of Joe Fisherman. She's looking for an "individual expressive quality." And that information helps her shape the overall piece. She finds a dance move where it's least expected and then uses it. Ah, back to form.
That's perfect for Q2 because, as an event, it's happening in an unexpected place: a quarry. Which is where "narrative spectacle" comes in.
"It's about habitat, about who inhabits that space," said Carol Estey, production manager and the Opera House co-founder whose roots on the island go back to childhood. (She's in the picture here rehearsing with Chase.) The people who will "inhabit" the quarry at the sneak-preview-in-development Aug. 7 and 8, and then again in its premiere in 2010 are going to look a little like you and me -- except for those pro dancers in the group. And it's not just because Chase wants to see the unexpected. It's because she has a story to tell, and some of that story comes from the bodies of local residents.
"People have always wanted to perform," said Estey, who is a trained dancer. "People have always wanted to be in things. They realize now they can be, and they don't have to have as much skill as they have to have commitment and desire. They see the possibility."
posted with photos by Alicia Anstead on ShakeStonington.blogspot.com
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