JACK, Brooklyn, NY (viewed virtually).
December 6 and 7th, 2024.
Concert dance has arguably grappled with a “niche” dynamic: various forces driving it to be something that an all-too-small community can fully appreciate (and thus continue to support). Such a dynamic might be most alive in communities such as New York City’s “downtown” dance scene. Manhattan-based Inclined Dance Project certainly exists within that community.
The company’s inQUAD project, at version 6.0 in 2024, strives to support four emerging female-identifying dancemakers each year — through community-building, space to create and present, and other forms of practical support (such as professional materials of their work). Version 6.0 certainly reflected some of the common qualities of “downtown dance” (intentional abstraction, self-reference, the purposefully aesthetically grating, for example).
At the same time, elements such as humor and elegant integration of athleticism illuminated how abstract postmodern dance can remain true to itself and be a little softer and more welcoming for a greater range of potential audience members (again, longer-term supporters).
Maggie Joy and Corrine Lohner’s I’m not like that but my friend is set the tone for that abstract postmodern styling made a bit more accessible. The dancers (Joy and Lohner) begin by hiding in sheets, infusing something playfully zany. Movement shifted into something both athletic and smooth, even with seemingly stage combat-inspired vocabulary. Call-and-response, and moving through each other’s negative space, built further layers to their moving relationship.
A meta element, arguably with a dash of self-deprecation, slowly built in those opening sections. They stretched and acted like they were introducing themselves at an audition. They switched quickly, interrupting – and then ultimately talking over – each other. Audible laughter signaled that the audience was eating it up. Speaking of vocalization, it’s always enjoyable to hear dancers use their voices. Speech is an arguably underused capacity, and under-practiced skill, in dance.
They wished “peace, love and happiness!” for audience members, both immersing them and adding a delightfully cheesy element. The goofy atmosphere continued, though athleticism also emerged. Acrobatic-style feats had it feeling almost like a So You Think-style pulling out all the stops at the last minute. I wondered if that was (or could be) more meta commentary on dance as an art form and dance in wider culture.
A soulful and expansive solo then brought something softer and more contemplative to the atmosphere. They again wrapped up in sheets, but this time applied something more caring to the action. Here in this space, both the goofy and tender were available…and valid.
With stories of dissection in school science class, concurrent with movement, then movement to an operatic score, there was a lot at hand that felt a bit random and abstruse – which I could see losing some audience members. Yet pacing might have prevented that; they didn’t dwell too long in one section (which I see happening often with modern and postmodern dance).
With self-deprecating humor, they didn’t take themselves too seriously – which might have also helped win audience members over (who continued laughing along at appropriate points). The last section felt even more “downtown.” Speech and pulsing techno beats, with tenacious movement to match, brought the energy up to end the piece with a bang. It remained both dynamic and humble, never claiming a high seriousness beyond itself. I think that allowed me to enjoy all that it had to offer.
Then came Fog (work in progress) Chapter study of grief., from Kristen Klein in collaboration with the performers (Amy Campbell, Maria Gardner and Shannon McGee): also with a lot that felt “downtown,” and a highly satisfying aesthetic and atmosphere. The movement slowly built as duet partners moved through clean patterns. Like Joy/Lohner, Klein employed voice – but uniquely, concurrent with escalating athleticism.
The duet partners also had divergent (both strong) movement qualities, but those qualities somehow came together cohesively. That unity was a foundation for the weight-sharing and counterbalancing that came into play later: elements that added something intriguing kinetically and in the relationship between these two figures (was that a moment of tension that we just saw?, I said to myself here and there).
Nothing more than two dancers in spotlight, and their electronica accompaniment, brought all this to chew on: a reminder how with intention and thoughtful craft, that’s very much possible. Speech also did come in later, with dancers describing themselves. With the action shifting back into something more traditionally concert dance, I contemplated the significance of that self-sharing in the context of concert dance: the implications for dance as an art form, and for dance artists.
The end offered sweet and caring interactions – though also inflections of tension. Embodying elements of both, the dancers orbited each other – and then lights down. They would continue, as would them in relation to each other.
After an intermission came Katie LeHoty’s enticing Bathe in Your Being. Though certainly not without abstraction, it felt more like a traditional concert dance piece than the prior pieces. From unison to non-unison, locomotive to gestural movement, LeHoty’s vocabulary kept the multiplicity of the program thus far humming along…all in a mysterious atmosphere and uncertain mood. The dancers seemed to be searching and reaching for something, sometimes divergently and sometimes together.
Restlessness emerged from that feeling of continuous search, of resistance to stasis. The dancers embodied it through supple flow of limbs and spine, through accent and relationship to space. Voice emerged as a compelling tool in this work as well; “let’s see your everything is ok face,” dancers noted. Frank Sinatra’s “When You’re Smiling” played, and they smiled, then…not quite smiled. It was as if they had to wear a mask of dishonest happiness.
Such discontent rose further with an electronica score and the evolution of sharp gestures and body percussion. A sinewy solo in dim lighting shifted the mood and focus – as all choreographers thus far had done well – into something more contemplative.
As with the prior two pieces, meaning could be elusive. Yet sometimes the search for meaning, or the sitting in its absence and simply enjoying the sensory gifts at hand, can be what truly entrances. An ending trio slightly softened in intensity, yet continued, as the lights faded. The search for meaning, in ourselves and those who search with us, indeed persists.
Claire Louise Goldes’ THIS HAS BEEN THIS closed the program, continuing many of the approaches of the program thus far – yet also infusing something a bit edgier and bolder. Red lighting began such a feel, illuminating an accruing number of dancers. Movement, heavy into the floor and through the body, steadily built. They leaned into each other for support, reflecting the yearning in the score’s voice. It felt like an enduring sadness.
With the ensemble growing in number, however, that bold and bracing quality entered. Movement became more accented, expansive, and tenacious. The dancers were strong but also liquid, rock-solid and sinewy. After a relatively lengthy athletic section, they curled as if taking a rest – which would be well-deserved. They explored movement partnering with each other and with the stage floor.
“In heaven” sang the score…perhaps the physical and emotional attunement at hand was its own kind of heaven. These signposts were there for the observant viewer’s reading, yet abstruse mystery still hung in the air. By this point, audience members had maybe released into sensory experience and appreciation of the uncertainty at hand. I know that I’d been there for much of, if not the whole, time.
At the very least, on offer were kinetic explorations and risk-taking to entice and satisfy. As with prior pieces, section shifts – marked by changes in movement, score, and/or general atmosphere – also didn’t allow the action to get stale. Something a bit more agitated and convulsive rounded out the last section. That begged the question of if that’s what we want to leave audience members with.
Yet, perhaps the answer is yes, we do – because maybe we could all use practice facing uncertainty with a bit more grace. At the same time, at the end here there was also an element of hope rising in the subtle lifting of dancers’ bodies as they moved, and in the score. Maybe in uncertainty there is also hope.
With the piece concluding and the program wrapping up, I chewed on such weighty questions – and also remembered that it doesn’t have to be accessibility or abstraction. We have so many options apart from that strict binary. Thank you, Inclined Dance Project and all involved collaborators, for shining a light on some of those alternate ways of creating, of sharing, of being.
By Kathryn Boland of Dance Informa.
Share this:
