Almost from the first beat of the performance, I felt the breath in my belly deepen and slow down. This is a typical response of mine to artistic expression, but I was watching a dance called Noise + Speed. The music was dissonant and the dancers’ staccato, angular movements reflected that. So, why was I feeling so relaxed? Noise and a fast and frenzied existence usually engender sensations I struggle to keep at bay. The dancers in front of me, however, were choosing a different response: they were allowing these sensations to penetrate them and to embody the dissonance they heard. How did that embodiment make them feel? Did they, too, feel relaxed, and was that feeling of relaxation communicating itself to me?

Hilary Easton + Company at MTA

When the spoken words were added, thoughts periodically erupted to resist and argue. But my thinking never got the chance to develop fully because my attention was continually brought back to the dance before me. The whole experience reminded me a lot of the basic meditation instruction to see your thoughts, let them go, and return to the breath. I’m usually not so successful at the meditation, though, and my thoughts often spin out of control. This experience was so much easier. It’s as though the dancers were doing all the hard work, acting as a bridge between my self and my experience to repeatedly bring me back to my senses!

The most challenging part of the piece for me, as Hilary mentioned in the Q & A, was the section on the Futurist Manifesto of Lust. I really didn’t want to listen to his words, but somehow the dance and music encouraged me to stay present and engaged. I didn’t feel much emotion, which really surprises me considering the subject matter. I’m not sure if I was tuning out or if something else was happening. I have no doubt that the entire company is as repelled by war and rape as I am, but I didn’t feel like there was an intention to pass judgment. It seemed to be an unsentimental exploration of some of the uglier aspects of human nature. And it begs the question, as with the noise and speed: What if we don’t recoil from upsetting and painful experiences? What if the next time I read about Darfur, in addition to my habitual, despairing thoughts, I allow myself to physically identify with the human condition both of the victims and the criminal perpetrators? What will happen to me?

Hilary mentioned how she was interested in the Futurist ideology and did a lot of research as she was choreographing the piece. I wonder how she was transformed from the beginning to the end of the endeavor? What differences do the dancers notice between simply hearing the words or listening to the music and then physically expressing it? Do they feel that the transformation that takes place in their minds and bodies as a result of the art (if such a transformation takes place) has the potential to be transferred to the minds and bodies of the audience receiving it?