In Montgomery Park, or Opulance limbs and mouths move not in expression of an inward motivating spirit, but as prompted by a mandated simultaneity, the regimented coherence of the performance piece as aesthetic whole. The dual or multiple voices can only speak in harmony, in unison, in time with a metronome that functions like an organ regulating the aesthetic with a mechanical precision that replaces the heart's figurative emotive function.

Where there is surface there is language -- on the face, on the page, on the white wall that differentiates inside from outside -- and depth of feeling is signaled yet absent. Longing appears only as an afterimage, conjuring the faint memory of a past in which emotion was possible. Then, longing is directed toward defunct signs which remind us that longing has left us. The dancer in an apron is replicated in her partner and then the breathing woman becomes an archetype or reproducible typeface. Her choreographed imitation of a swimmer in turbulent waters and beatific soundtrack point to spirit -- that of the real sublimity of the ocean feebly represented here by video projection and of the real God we have historically evoked in our song -- and thus sad desperation is only in the observer's struggle for it. The surface is bland and featureless but still we are given the tools to recognize and borrow a depth of feeling from elsewhere. I feel that I am encouraged to ask, then, "where do I get my feelings from"? Or perhaps the even more discomfiting "where should I get my feelings from"?

Bio:
Miriam Atkin has spent many years hiding in institutions of higher learning and is now trying to use her degrees in English, Philosophy, and Art Writing in order to learn how to shmooze. She is grateful to Aynsley Vandenbroucke and Mathew Pokoik for the lovely weekend getaway and welcome break from this noisome task.