the end?

It's over. Of course, we've thought that before. After Cableman, what could follow?
This time it was Q2: Habitat. We tread the granite for the last time on Sunday--the last time for Q2, anyway. The breeze was fresh, and for a moment I thought I would really sail, flying over the edge, buoyed by my astroturf sail, but it was not to be. Still, the breeze was wonderful after some performances in mug and heat, and one during which we had a brief shower. We huddled under our turf and the audience waited under their jackets until we continued. Carefully, because wet stone is slippery.
The end of a run is always a mixed event. Sad to see it end, but already looking to the next thing, the dancers are leaving, the community members are finally doing some gardening, and everything is back to normal. Sort of. See ya.

Q2: Habitat--A Synopsis

The porcupines are in the garden—which only becomes a problem when the “garden” is one belonging to us. The heron is in the cove—which only becomes a problem when he is eating our bait, or in the way of our kayaks. The excavator is noisily building new homes—which only becomes a problem when it is In My Own Backyard. And the people need homes—which only becomes a problem when we use more resources than we need, crowding others out of “our” habitat.

Q2: Habitat takes us through the evolutionary habitation of this beautiful place we call home on the Down East coast of Maine. Where once the magnificent mother porcupine Quilla and her babies roamed freely, and the Heron ruled his watery kingdom, now they find themselves surrounded, trapped, and pushed away by our human needs and uses for these same places. There are a lot of us striving for our own piece of this “turf,” and our uses for this turf end up competing and conflicting with those around us: animals, golfers, truck drivers, insects, dream home owners, contractors, fish, vacationers, conservationists and more.

Q2: Habitat takes our existing struggle for co-habitation one step further, imagining ways we might all become aware of and make room for other creatures’ needs for habitat. The Primordials are giant backpack puppets conceived and constructed by Mia Kanazawa and Mark Kindschi, and animated by dancers Mark Fucik, Christopher Grant, and Matt Kent under Alison Chase’s choreography. They represent fog and wind, our planet’s elemental forces, larger than us and capable of creating transformation. In Q2: Habitat they appear at a devastating juncture—Quilla and the Heron have been trapped and seemingly vanquished—to transform the inhabitants’ understanding of the need to share habitat. With the help of Rick Weed’s primal excavator, they push back the humans from their overexpansion of turf, freeing Quilla and reviving the Heron. This opens up a celebration for all, in which the humans recognize their sprawl and ultimately create a more compact form of living in relationship to our wild friends and habitat.

opening night and another one

Ah, two performances under our collective belts. Opening night Tuesday was like magic--all those separate parts came together and made a work. We community members did our best to be professional--no waving to friends in the audience, not too much mugging and, best of all, we hit all our marks and made all our cues. Needless to say, so did everyone else.
It's funny about an event that you are working toward. Time becomes elastic--sometimes it's so far in the future you think it will never come, and then suddenly, there it is! And that's how it was/is with Q2:Habitat. Our first community rehearsal was before July 4th. It might have been June 26. Performance seemed a long way off, and even last week, it was only the future. Now it's half in the past.

Today we changed the bows slightly, but kept the performance as it was when it opened. When we dance off at the end, it's with a sense of pride and also, frankly, relief--hot, hard work on granite provides ample opportunity for injuries. So far, so good. And it's a real charge to come out into the quarry and see the edges lined with people, some in chairs, some on blankets, some sitting with their legs dangling over the edge. When you come, wear shoes rather than flip-flops. It's a good walk up. See you.

Q2 in Rehearsal!

For MORE PICTURES check out Flickr.

not so fast

Q2: Habitat is NOT CANCELLED tonight. Blame computer error, human error--just don't blame me, and come see it. We are READY.

ready, set, got!

Well, not exactly. I just checked and tonight's opening show is cancelled because of weather. bummer. Still, having tried to dance at the quarry after a heavy rain a couple of years ago, turns out I'm all for safetly. Moab and the slippery rock bike trail notwithstanding, moving around on non-level granite is very tricky. Onward.
We had a real dress run-through yesterday, and are SO ready. Music, excavator, dancers, bird-watchers, the heron, the porcupines (big and small), the gulls are all up for it. Naturally there were some changes before the run-through, but, having worked with Alison and Mia for several weeks, no one was surprised. And it all works. You'll have to come and see it tomorrow.

We nixed the false eyelashes and, sadly, stiletto heels. It's hard to be glamorous in a quarry, as the Stonington quarry workers found out a hundred years ago. It's possible they didn't even try. We, however, are doing what we can to: amuse, enchant, astound, suprise and impress. Check it out. I'm pretty sure we'll succeed. See ya .

It's getting close, all day at the quarry

There's just no way to take pictures and spin around holding a piece of turf behind you like Superman (behind me, that is). In fact, pictures are out as we spend hours and hours at the quarry. It's fun, it's exhausting, it's dehydrating. The things we do for ART.
Although opening night (day, evening) is on Tuesday, Alison and Mia are still looking with that expression on their faces that says, "What if?" Indeed. What if. What if instead of making a shape like a star we didn't. What if we did something else, that required several people to attempt their first grapevine--this is a grapevine that steps back first, if you want to try it at home. It's one of the few things there doesn't need to be an advisory on, but for the most part, what the dancers do should most emphatically be labeled, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

We have done a run-through of sorts with the music and Rick Weed's excavator. All raise hands who think it might be hard to stand next to the excavator and hear the music of the pans. Some of us are counting like mad. Others are more relaxed, going with the flow. I'm not telling which I am. You'll never guess.

Q2 is amazing, though. Even from the prospect of a community member down in the quarrry rather than up on the edge, where you will be, there's a vastness and a remarkable surprising-ness that overtakes the sensations of heat and weariness we sometimes feel. Watching the gulls go picking their way along a series of rocks, or the baby porcupines (back, I think, by popular demand) scuttling and rolling along is enchanting. I still don't have a sense of what the whole will seem like from the audience, but, no doubt, you will. And now I have to go. Dress rhearsal tomorrow. My clothes are clean. My brights are almost bright enough. I remember what I have to do. False eyelashes? Whatdya think?

Flying

Ignoring the incredible gymnastics performed by the dancers on and off and around and under and through the huts, I'm going out on a limb here, and saying that seeing Felix fly was more than any of us expected. When he finished, everyone applauded.

Each rehearsal becomes more compicated and more dense. At Saturday's rehearsal there was the band, the flying, the backhoe, Quilla, the Primordials, the dancers and the community people. There was a lot to watch. And a lot to do.
Fortunately, for those of us in the quarry, it was cloudy and damp. Not a great day for sailing (see below) but fine for being in the quarry in July. As expected, the quarry is bigger than a breadbox. We all had to trot from side to side flying the turf behind us like a sail. The first try is fine; the second time is a little tiring. By the third or fourth effort, back and forth seems very far indeed. And there's all that stuff to think about. The turf has to sail--so you have to create some wind under it. That means jogging, or trotting, or running or whatever you call it. And of course with one's arms extended over one's head and slightly behind the vertical, there's a lot of posture to think about. You'll see.

Everyone in the fog

Sometimes, the quarry is like a Greek island in the summer--it's very white, the sky looks unbelievably blue, and it's hot. Very hot. Even on sunny but frigid winter days, if you pick your place, you can lounge in the sun. Wednesday was not like that. It was cool and foggy. Nice weather for dancing. Nice weather for wearing a piece of astro turf like a cape. And very nice weather for listening to the pan band.
One of the most interesting things about working with Alison is how non-linear it all is, at least in the formative stages. She has an idea, she has these willling bodies, and she gets to try to match them up. Most of the time, as you know if you have seen Quarryography or Pilobolus, the results are spectacular. There's no indication of the trial and error process, but that's what we had on Wednesday.

We shlepped that turf back and forth, putting it down, picking it up, rolling, unrolling, laying it out again. We put it here (too far), there (in the way of Rick and the backhoe), and then there (too close to Quilla). And we counted. Sixteen steps. Four counts to unroll. Eight counts to emote on the turf. Roll it up again. Move it. It was a nice cool day for shlepping.

This was the first rehearsal for the community members with the band. There they were, set up under a cabana tent, playing. Improvising longer vamps. Slowing it down and speeding it up. It's all good. And it all changes.

We didn't get to costumes, but I got to thinking that when I wear a hat and sweep that turf around, it pushed the hat right across my face, so I'm looking into the top of the hat. Probably not a good idea, what with the hardness of granite and the slippery ness of loose pebbles.

All that turfing is beginning to make some interesting shapes. I'll leave it to you to check them out. Oh--no pix. It was foggy enough that they look blurry.

All together now

Saturday was the first rehearsal with the dancers and the community together. It was most definitely NOT the Jets and the Sharks. We played well with others.
We (the community) got to do more with turf, wrapping it around ourselves, moving with it, moving on it, and trying to learn to flip it onto ourselves--think bullfighting, and particularly, Veronica. Success was mostly at hand, although turf is not as forgiving as you might think. Rather than being able to recline on grassy hillsides, we are constantly reminded that astroturf is not grass, being rougher and less organic. In short, it itches. And the greensward which we create for ourselves will be resting on granite, when we are not resting on granite ourselves. Think about kneeling without ever letting your knees hit the ground.
We all crammed into the huts, driving the dancers higher and higher, as we crowded the desirable real estate on the ground floor.

We also got to work with somewhat remodeled Primordials--their arms are free swinging now.
Being in Q2 is a little like being one of the blind men and the elephant (did I say that last year?). We see little parts, have "learned" the ending, but snuggled into the turf as we are, we miss some of what goes on right in front of us.
Next rehearsal we get to try everything with the music, in the quarry. It's hard to remember that the gym and the field behind the elementary school are much smaller than the space we will be moving in. What is a small trot today will be a real haul .

Here is a confusion of huts and dancers and community members. And a picture of Wendee and Tawanda, holding it all together.

Playing with props

Remember these guys? They're back. (seagulls, if you don't)

Most of this week the cast of dancers and puppets has been working while the rest of you are doing whatever it is that you do. For the dancers and puppeteers that means that however hot it is, or rainy, or damp, they are focussed on the coming production, and, as is usual with an Alison Chase/Mia Kanazawa production, learning to use large props and move in gymnastic and dangerous ways.


Here are some picutures of"Primodials," in an early incarnation. Here they have sticks attached to what would be their hands--like Thai shadow puppets. These pictures are from Thursday, July 15; by Saturday, July 17, they had lost the sticks managing the arms. Now the arms flow more. and appear longer. The puppets are about 15 feet tall, and are managed here by two dancers, not unusually tall themselves. It's a balancing act, not letting the puppets get too far out of plumb, or the wind and gravity can take over.

While the boys were playing with (BIG) toys, some of the women were warming up so they could climb on the huts.

From left to right, Jade Curtis, Stephanie Fungsong and Jessica Bend do plies in 2nd position. Pretty grounded, you might think.

And then, here they are in the air.

Stay tuned.

House and grounds

At Saturday's rehearsal we got to play with lots of props, none of which behaved as one would expect.
Unloading the huts from the car and van was a wonderful spectator sport. Although they are not heavy, and can be handled pretty easily by one or two people, they are awkward, and stable in some directions, but not others. It's a little like moving a section of monkey bars (Oh, sorry, if you didn't grow up in New York City, "jungle gym"). Getting them into the building was the beginning.

Mia unloads a hut from her car

A section of astro-turf is a pretty innocent thing until you try to wear it like a cape (pretty hot), wrap yourself in it, or snap it down on the ground, unrolled, in a single motion. We tried various ways of putting our hands on the edges, sometimes crossing our wrists, somtimes tucking our fingers under the edge. Of course none of this virtuoso finger work willl show, unless something terribe happens and one of us manages to mash our fingers between the dowels...It's all in the wrist, it turns out. A little like bull fighting without the blood.


Mark untangles the huts on the van

We rolled them, we unrolled them, we walked with them wrapped around our bodies and flying behind us. Sometimes it was easy; othertimes it would have been just as easy to use sod.

Then of course we stood on our own patch of turf

and did whatever we would do in our own back yards. We attempted swimming, fly fishing, yoga, dancing, sewing--you'll see. Some activities are more visible than others. And of course we don't yet know what the music will sound like. It's all like an exercise in maybe. But it is fun.

then he gets to wrestle

We tried out the binoculars and then tried to remember what it was we had done as birdwatcher the week before. Fortunaely the group memory (better in some group members than others) reconstructed what we had done. Then, of course, we changed it.

Working in a gym, big as it may be, is still not like being in a quarry--the size alone is another prop, or element, or factor. It's really there. So, when we trot happily from one end of the gym to another, and are not tired, or too hot, it's misleading


The trick is to do it on granite, with tiny loose pebbles underfoot, and the sun beaming down. Ah, the joys of art!

We are all looking forward to trying it out for real. We'll see how it goes. So will you.







Alison shows us how it goes.

Tawanda alone

Maybe you remember a gull from last year's performance in the Settlement Quarry. Maybe you remember Tawanda dangling from a backhoe. The way I remember Tawanda is the first time I saw him. I don't know which incarnation of Quarryography it was, but it was early in Cableman's life. And Tawanda's. (not mine, though). Anyway, here is this small man leaping off edges of the quarry to land five or so feet below, in bare feet. I was sure he'd snap one of his valuable ankles, or worse. Apparently not.

So, he's performed in the quarry maybe three or four times. And given wonderful workshops, in which we all had to be cranes (harder than you think), or harvesters, or just dance. All in second with deeply bent knees.

He will be performing solo at the Stonington Opera House on Wednesday evening. Seven p.m,, for five dollars. You should be there. He has been studying dance as a grad student at Southern Methodist University--they have a great dance department. It has to be interesting to see what he's done.

And we have the next rehearsal for Q2: Habitat on Saturday. We will practice bird-watching in the gym. See you Wednesday.

Quilla returns

Wednesday was one of those days. It was beautiful--the sun was shining, it wasn't too hot, and Cape Rosier glowed in the light. Of course for the intrepid puppeteers pushing Quilla along on the grass, it might not have felt so idyllic.
As you probably remember from last year, Quilla is a giant porcupine. You might not have seen her as she is now, a skeleton. This way you get to see what makes her move. Galley slaves. In this case, from front to back, Scott Springer, Skip Harbour and Sarah Doremus are the forces that make her move.

It's pretty easy to watch, but very complicated to get Quilla moving. She has four legs, and wheels. And the legs and feet are jointed--she has knees. Walking Quilla from the inside looks a little like rowing, but upsidedown.

Mark was the one who gave the puppeteers directions on how to make her move. For Sarah, this was a first time--the other two did it last year, but that didn't make the ground any smoother.

Finally they moved onto a graveled space, and were able to really move out. Quilla looked fabulous, if a little slim.

Most porcupines aren't so large that three adults can fit inside, but then again, most don't have starring roles in a theatrical production that takes place in a quarry. And most porcupines don't share the limelight with a bunch of dancers and a back hoe. All that makes Quilla very special. Alison is explaining the story and telling Zephyr Martin, who will be performing with Quilla, to look her in the eye.

Meanwhile Mark made some minor adjustments to Quilla with a hammer.

This duck will not be performing int he quarry. Too cute.

first rehearsal

First, if you were expecting sparkling writing, let me refer you to the first two posts I wrote this morning on this subject. The first one Microsoft ate, explaining that it had to shut down unexpectedly. In the second, during a misguided attempt to arrange the photos in a more appealing layout, the whole thing disappeared. Anyway, I was unable to retrieve it. Here it is again, slightly different, and already old. The first rehearsal for community participants in Q2; Habitat, was yesterday morning. Statistically, I can assume you were not there, as only about 10 or 12 of use were (besides Alison and Mia). Most of the community participants came "from away"--Brooksville. Two of us were from Deer Isle, and one, Stonington. Where were you when we needed you?

As you may recall from the first post about Mia and Primordial Man (this is indeed a quiz), Mia talked about turf, and how everyone wants a piece of it, and we all have to share it.

She failed to mention how stiff turf is, and how hard it is to bend it to your will, especially if you have to get it up from the ground and around your body in one smooth movement--like a Veronica, but without the bull. Anyway, we practiced putting it on, taking it off, laying it out and moving in it. Alison demonstrated (pink sneakers) and then various groups practiced moving in a line, weaving and serpentining like Alan Arkin in "The In-Laws."

It was fun, and the pictures created by tubular beings moving in various sequences is one of those things that's a lot more than the sum of its parts.

It would appear that bird-watching is what Sue Bergen has wanted to do her entire life.

process

Mia says Primordial Man (and I'm not sure that's his name) looks quite different now. Here's how he gets to change. Long-suffering Mark puts the puppet on and staggers around a bit,
and Mia takes a look from a distance, to see what he might look like in the quarry, which is huge.

And here's a picture of Mia in a crane-puppet-head. The mysteries are boundless. What prompts these particular images, and, of course, how do you translate the images into reality. Even though Mia and Mark have a history of making giant puppets, it's pretty remarkable. And, for those of you who have elected not to be in Q2: Habitat, but to watch it (most of you), you miss seeing how big these things are in person, so to speak. It's a trip.

Puppets

Hey! Now that the rains have come, I am back inside, leaving my garden to its own devices. Between the end of last year's Q2 Habitat and now, it seems that it faded from memory. I forgot about the giant porcupine, the backhoe, the hut people, the gulls, and even us (or me and others), the birdwatchers. The winter was consumed with another kind of dancing--this time indoors, on small stages--jazz, modern and something like what used to be called modern ballet. Anyway, we performed in places people could see our faces, and in the Cherryfield Elementary School (eat your hearts out, Broadway dancers) people could count the hairs on our heads if we had stood still long enough. That's so different from performing in the quarry there should be another name for one of those.

Here Mai is working on the head of a "Primordial." She thought that the features were too defined. The easy way, adding something outside the original face, is full of difficulties. She pointed out that anything loose could snag (either coming up or going down...) and that the weight of a puppet 15 feet tall is something to consider. Someone has to hold it up.

Mark is getting into the puppet harness. The puppet is largely pvc pipe and screening, but is still pretty scary, even bent over.

It's easy to forget, over the winter, how huge the quarry is. How big the performance space is, and what it must take to make an impact.

Mia Kanazawa and her husband Mark Kimchi have had that space in their minds all year. When I visited them and watched them work on a prototype "primordial." the size of the whole project came to life for me. The puppet is ominously large, and with its ghost-like face, pretty creepy. It seems not to have the innate joie de vivre that Cableman had (unless you saw him as an animated Golem, but that's your problem).

The casting call/first rehearsal for this year's Q2; Habitat is Saturday, and I'm very curious about what the call will be like--what we will see and do--and what the whole thing will be. Mia says it's all about turf. "We all want our piece of turf. We do; the animals do. It's all of a single piece, so we must find a way to share it. "

at last

I kept looking and looking for the Story at the Quarry blog, thinking I had missed it. Well, here we are, and not a moment too soon. Saturday 10-12 at the Island Community Center in Stonington is the first casting, and if you ever thought you might like to participate in a big spectacle, here's your chance. As usual, Mia and Alison will be there asking odd and interesting things of those who show up. I have already pretended to be a sea gull (you can look at last year's posts). In the more distant past I pretended to be a small scrunchy animal that moved fast, but hunched over. It might be more comfortable for a hamster than it was for me. Carol Estey also tried it.

I drove out to Harborside on Cape Rosier to see Mia Kanazawa and her husband Mark Kinchi work on the puppets. If you have not seen an Alison/Mia/Quarry production, well, shame on you--but you can't imagine the scale of the whole project. One year it was Cableman, 15 feet tall, dangling from a backhoe when he wasn't strolling along animated by brave puppeteers. Last year there were porcupines--two sizes--small and cute and giant and glad you didn't meet it on a dark night in an alley.

This year--well, have a look at what might be a prototype. Or it might be something that doesn't work, but that doesn't mean no one worked on it.

I just got a message from Blogger that it could not be contacted (then how did I hear from it?)
Anyway, it doesn't look as if the pictures will show up today. So I'll try tomorrow.

Meanwhile, think about Saturday. Alice

Granite Legs

The quarry was quiet, vast and a bit chilly as Mia, Alison and Nigel got their "granite legs" back today for the newest story from the quarry. Picking up some of the themes from last year - porcupines, hutters, bird watchers, seagulls and Quilla - and adding new - the Heron, purple loosestrife - the creative team has begun to populate the space and flesh out the action for this year's performance. Listening in on their conversation -"take the lid off the band," "density vs. white space," "travelling domesticity," "reordering of space," “we’ll need a little boulder arranging,” “if everyone brings a bucket of water," "primordials as acolytes," "acid-y green," and my favorite "a heron doesn't boogie" - I begin to imagine the warmer rocks, lively music, brightly colored structures and engaging performers awaiting us in August – not to mention the backhoe.