Experiencing “CENSUS”: Let me count the ways…

It started with a smile—not something one expects with a dance performance—

And the joy—oh yes! of being barefoot, all of us, in this gracious and welcoming space—(shoes not allowed) beamed ceiling, gloss parquet, relaxed seating, and three persons, three performers, sitting and smiling…as if in conversation.

Or not…the words are simple, complex, puzzling—the classifications of animal groups—“pride of lions, stream of trout”—all human inventions of the mind. Why? Are we driven to name the beasts, to count, to corral—to subdue?

Now Will’s dance, and his vocal repetition of “a brief history of numbers”— these swift and simple motions, positions of arms, torso, feet—rudimentary, minimal, evocative. As we watch, we are gently unhinged from time…Will’s form slides from Egyptian pose to modern slouch, and beyond, at the speed of thought—

Numbers? We are brought to the beginning of culture, the dawn of the mind, the first elements of perception. But in creating this basic thought form not found in the animal world, have we lost part of our soul?
The intensity deepens…

Three persons, three performers, three forms with their backs to us, shapes, unknown…are they creating these bird whistles, moans, cries, animal sounds—I peer at their shadows on the wall—their shadow lips are moving, yes.

Will’s body shakes as if his gut is trying to heave out of his belly—I’ve seen this motion—deep emotion, unbearable grief—and then a terrible sound from his throat, a moan, a human howl…now joined by Mallory’s voice. Her cry is wolf--wild and free—can our cries be like that? Ever? Can we rise to this freedom?

Her voice slips in and out of human form, and yes, it is also the highest form of music, while Chris spits out a fierce rush of white sound—cicadas?—or is it a pure force of nature—jarring our deepest senses…and yet familiar…

Who are these people? Will Rawls, crouching and crawling in contortions no human body was meant to do, endlessly—do I see a subtle geometry in his angular motions across the floor—like Escher’s interlocking lizards? No? It is mesmerizing and highly upsetting to watch…

Mallory’s voice is a deep-throated Middle Eastern wail—Chris’s guitar, a high vibration that becomes the air in the room…
If sounds could be grains of sand… this must be the vast and formless desert—the place we fear—

Will’s earthbound convulsions slowly evolve off the floor into staggers, lurches, impossible backbends, WILL SOMEONE PLEASE SHOW HIM HOW TO STAND? NOW!

Never happens. The dance ends.

Oh… I was expecting a heroic finish where he learns to stretch and glide, and fill his lungs, breathe, etc, and we expand along with him, joyously… But we’ve seen that plot before, haven’t we?

This is different.

The last thing I remember was that cry from my soul—stand up, we are not meant to bend under the weight of the sky…and this is what I carry away—

POSTSCRIPT:

More joy—sharing this journey with beautiful travelers—for it was indeed a trip through time and space…

Edith, in the next seat, luminous with red hair—introduced by her companion as “a pioneer in modern dance along with Merce Cunningham”—“and she’s 91 years old”, he adds in awed tones:

--“Do you remember forty years ago in Greenwich Village when Meredith Monk was just starting out?” (Yes, I did, I lived there then) “Well, tonight reminded me of Meredith’s performances, but MALLORY SINGS MUCH BETTER! (Mallory is awesome. Sometimes you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, it just IS)

“And do you know how hard it is do those rapid abdominal contractions that Will did—very difficult even to do one—for several minutes without stopping?” (Don’t tell me, I remember those modern dance classes)

Two sweet and spunky white ladies traveled from Boston for this premiere–stopped to talk after the show… One, when asked, declared modestly that she had never seen anything like this performance—
The other lady, as it turns out, was Will Rawls’ mother—

Her take: --“Coming up from the primordial ooze, at the dawn of time…” Her insight: that the “darkness” brought out in tonight’s performance, with the audience present—was “revelatory” …given what she referred to as Will’s “past 6 months of trials”…”He gave his all tonight and held nothing back!” (So true. Breathtakingly true.)

And my journey—waking up the next morning still feeling that my being had been stretched in many directions—by the vision of our primordial past as a race unlike any before us—the quirks of our collective brain—and the burdens we share as a species, perhaps the result of this insane mind of ours…

We in the audience agreed that this performance/work/ever-changing collaboration (for it will be different with every repetition!) is uniquely 21st century…these young artists have the ability to work with sound and motion as both abstract, and intimately personal, both at the same time, in a way I have not seen before. The effect can disorient the mind, dissolving old patterns and revealing what is deeper—gloriously—isn’t this what art is for?

I like this feeling.

Notes on the reviewer:

Vivian (“Firebird”) is a poet, photographer, Physician Assistant, and Phoenician. Her blog (please visit!) is firebirdlanding.blogspot.com. She also wrote reviews (on Amazon.com) of The Orpheus Obsession by Dakota Lane, and Original Faith by Paul Maurice Martin (love these books).