The Mischief of a Renegade Dance Notator
Posted: December 20, 2009 Filed under: dance notation, pocket dance scores | Tags: brian ferneyhough, dance, laban dance notation, Reconstruction, trevor wishart Leave a comment »Impossible Scores: The Mischief of a Renegade Dance Notator
A process of generating movement with creative Laban dance notation scores repurposes this system of movement description while challenging its traditional use as a tool for documentation and preservation of choreographic works. This paper describes my work with creating, dancing and disseminating scores that convey indeterminate choreographic ideas. I discuss the initial inquiry, sketches, subsequent challenges, final product, and proposed next steps with attention to the conceptual aspects. I draw from firsthand experience; my own thoughts, discussions and studio practice as well as writings from music, dance, and cultural theorists support and situate the work.
This project arose as an idiosyncratic response to several factors. I was inspired by salient facts about the history of dance notation and perceived attitudes among dancers about the system. Experiences reading and writing dance notation and a personal interest in destabilizing the predominant, positivist approach to dance reconstruction found in my field were also factors that led to this particular investigation.
Dance notation has historically had a mysterious polarizing effect in the culture of Western concert dance. Practitioners who feel that notation of dance legitimizes, proliferates, and supports the work of dance argue with those who view notation as a reductive activity that eviscerates dancing of its ephemeral essence. Many students in my dance department resist the required coursework in Laban studies, as they would mathematics classes—only more vehemently. Students are offended by the static appearance and reductive nature of structured notation.
Moreover, dancers in the pro-notation camp have responded to predominant anti-notation sentiment with defensiveness about their practice that seems to deepen the divide. Notators discuss among themselves the benefits of their practice with a sense of being misunderstood and underappreciated. In a discussion of the demise of Feuillet notation, Ann Hutchinson Guest sides with Angiolini in criticizing Noverre, with his strong sentiments of opposition to that system (Dance Notation 66-67).
Dance notation is also the site of conveyance of power within the field of dance. Hutchinson Guest links the fall of Feuillet’s popularity to the ascendancy in dance among the uneducated, here with a tone of lament:
Thus the traditions of dance literacy were broken and dance moved again into the still present oral-visual tradition. Dancers were trained and choreographic works were handed on and dancers were trained merely by being told what to do. Books were no longer connected with the physical activity of dancing, and the advantages of written dance were totally lost.However the benefits of written dance are not to be assumed. Activities of dance preservation and reconstruction spark lively discussions of the location of original dance and issues of ownership and copyright (Cohen, 1-18). The relationship of Feuillet’s work to the increase of nationalistic identity France is an example the use of dance writing to exert political control (Louppe 82).
Dance practice is also characterized by constant, intentional change in methods of making, performing and seeing dancing. Systems of movement notation fit the dance styles they describe (Marion 139 – 147), and thus rapidly adapt or are thrown out for new ones (Hutchinson Guest, Dance Notation 78-116). Laban notation is a highly comprehensive, rational system of movement notation in which the space, time and body aspects of movement are most aptly recorded (Hutchinson Guest Labanotation 11). Imagery and process driven choreographic methods are prominent in contemporary dance as exemplified by William Forsythe and the Gaga technique method of Batsheva. Dances in which the motivations are more determined than their results call for new systems of notation.
Despite the decreasing utility and popularity of Laban dance notation, I am not ready to give up its use. The system is comprehensive and deterministic, but it is also emergent. Rudolf Laban left it open to be developed by other users (Hutchinson Guest Dance Notation 87). In Laban theory classes at the Ohio State University, I have found that working with Laban notation deepens and enriches my understanding of meovement, adding layers of conceptual complexity that I feel, rather than reducing the experience. In particular, I developed a curiosity about my own attempts to literally read mistakes in written Labanotation. In a respectful spirit of repurposing and recoupment I decided to explore the ways I could adapt and undermine Labanotation towards my own interests.
Initial research
Brian Ferneyhough is a composer who writes musical scores so intricate as to be impossible for the performer to accomplish. I wasn’t able to determine what difference this complicated notation made in the sound of his music. I found it important to look for a specific effect Ferneyhough’s use of notation had on the outcome of the music that set it apart from traditionally notated music. I looked for critical writing on him to help me make sense of this work. This led me to contemporary composer and writer Trevor Wishart’s theory of musical gesture (126-129).
To paraphrase this theory, Wishart backgrounds his critical analysis of music and its notation with a short history of the written word in Western thought, beginning with the work of Plato. He also draws on the Marxist theory of praxis to call for a theory of sound based not on the written symbols of what he describes as the “scribal culture”, but on the “musical gesture” (Wishart 45-70). He discusses the dialogue between musical notation, instrument technology and Western music common practice, and uses the term “lattice” to describe music notation – it is a system of recording time and abstracted pitch. Wishart discusses Ferneyhough’s scores with ambiguity as to whether Ferneyhough subverts or enhances the performance of musical gesture.
Parallels can be drawn between dance and music and their respective traditions of practice and notation. Labanotation, though it can describe elements of movement such as relationships between body parts, or anatomical motivation, focuses primarily on directional motivation of movement, omitting information about the inner and outer stimulus for movement and the muscular response to that stimulus (Hutchinson Guest, Labanotation, 12) Overall, the impression is of a critique of ossification in Western music and political control through, and the loss of a purpose for the music itself. While dance has not progressed in service of its notation system, analogies can be drawn between instrument technology and dance style. Style in dance (my own definition) is the result of specific technologies in dance practice, which can place limits on choreographic outcome.
Still unsure of the mechanics of my proposed scores, I began to sketch dance phrases and try to perform them. I used several approaches; I could write movements that were logically or anatomically incorrect. I could include symbols for images in my notation to create physical relationships to images. I could also, like Ferneyhough, write logically sound scores that would be so physically intricate as to create the opportunity for the performer to enter a state of attention that in itself would be a compelling movement expression. As a way of addressing choreography and techniques driven by specific states of attention, such as that of Meg Stuart or Ohad Naharin, I could use relationship signs and symbols creatively to notate these states of attention.
Challenges
My sketches revealed practical and theoretical problems. Some had to do with the intricate and comprehensive quality of Laban notation, and other problems arose out of my own conditioning as a dancer. Conceptual problems arose as to how these dances addressed issues of power and how they would be conveyed to an audience.
The first challenge I came up against was the great amount of detail that can be described using Labanotation. Almost any physically possible movement I could conceive of is describable using structured movement description. In addition, motif description already allows for open-ended scores, which can be solved with consideration of individual process. I was immediately forced to refine my process to focus on highly intricate notation and physically or logically impossible tasks, as well as motif description of poetic images rather than spatial, temporal, and anatomical information.
In the writing of illogical scores I thought of the score as notation poetry – however the comparison to poetry breaks down in that notation symbols do not convey meaning visually as words do, (even when the syntax of the words is illogical). Movement notation must be reassembled into movement to give access to the meaning of the movement. Louppe describes Fuillet’s notation system using Rousseau’s terminology: “. . . we can say that the language of Feuillet is a ‘geometer’s tongue,’ not a ‘poet’s tongue’” (82). And the dances I was creating, once reassembled, were not necessarily things of beauty, as you can see in this silly video:
In addition, my intent to transgress rules of Labanotation was undermined by my own rudimentary understanding of this amazingly complex system.
My attempts to create scores based on visual beauty brought me to similar challenges. Was I creating an object or a dance? I find a well-written, hand-drawn notation score to be a thing of beauty, but even some of the most beautiful notation scores are written on graph paper that shows their utilitarian purpose. I became interested in repurposing dance notation as visual art and considered whether pencil drawings or Labanwriter symbols, refined in Photoshop, would be more appropriate. Here I came up against a conflict between formalism and attention to fuction. The scores I created out of primarily aesthetic concerns left out direction symbols (also the primary unit for describing movement in the Laban system) and were written in motif to give a more spacious, sinewy design. But they seemed without much content. The best feature of these “aesthetic scores” is that they address dancers’ complaints about the ugliness of the blocky, modernist direction symbols.
At this point it seemed the illogical and anatomically impossible scores were potentially the most generative of ideas. Attempts to describe my process led to the question, “aren’t you just writing bad code?” It seemed that writing something illogical with a system based on logic might just cause the system to fade away, and create a piece of nonsense. It became apparent that I would need to be judicious in the scores, attempting to break only one or two rules of the system at a time and keeping the scores as tidy as possible outside of that.
I was challenged by my own dancing, which while keeping me generally safe from accidents and injury, also serve to limit possibilities of movement open to me. I approached the scores with as much determination to accomplish what was written as I could muster, but my body’s self-protective mechanisms took over at times. I was also concerned not to further the rationality and abstraction of the system of notation that I was attempting to repurpose and undermine.
As I worked I could not quite imagine the purpose of these scores. While the project called for bodily application to bring it to its completion, nothing that I generated particularly merited stage performance without further development. I thought the scores had potential to address the story of the power structure in dance, and to further destabilize the idea of notation as a tool for fixing dance, preserving “original” works, and making present the “aura” of individual choreographers through fetishizing of their work through scores (Thomas, Helen 129). I would have to refine my idea of the final product and audience for these scores or the dances they created.
Generative Experiments
In order to address the challenges, I conceived of two separate ways of packaging and conceiving of the scores, and separated the types of scores I was creating by method. I rehearsed in order to develop a sense of play within rigorous compliance to the scores.
I found the scores provided parameters that pushed beyond my own techniques. Fuillet’s notation may have done the same for French dance (loupe 90 – 91). The most appropriate mode for developing movement based on illogical scores would require a development of a technique of honest and rigorous exploration of what was written. In this sense I count these scores as useful compositional tools.
The scores were interesting in that they have reliable and repeatable aspects, therefore they retain the structural support to for solving abstract or multi-level choreographic problems. While improvisation is an extremely useful tool for cultivating awareness and exploring unknown movement, the results can be as unreliable as the situation of the improvisor, which contributes to the exploration. However, since the scores are not performable in an exactly reliable way in space and time as such, there is an aspect to them which must be created with each performance, a usage of dance notation which Jeschke calls for (Jeschke 4).
The issues of purpose and audience for the scores resulted in several different iterations of the actual documents. I solved this problem with one project which will move towards a greater sense of refinement in the object of the score itself, and which is not necessarily designed for utilitarian purposes, and one product that is a cheaply reproduced pamphlet designed to emphasize the use of mechanical reproduction and focus on dissemination of the score.
Helen Thomas considers that scores may be a way of cheaply reproducing dance on a mass scale, with the implications of mass distribution discussed by Benjamin (Thomas 130):
One might generalize by saying: the technique of reproduction detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition. By making many reproductions it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence. And in permitting the reproduction to meet the beholder or listener in his own particular situation, it reactivates the object reproduced. These processes lead to a tremendous shattering of tradition, which is the obverse of the contemporary crisis and renewal of mankind (Benjamin 74).One iteration works with the idea of creating an aura for an original handmade art object in the form of a screenprint of handwritten notation on fine paper, presented on the white space of a gallery wall. This brings the visual aspect of the symbols forward, but sets up a double bind in which the dance becomes identified with the score and loses its embodiment, as well as heightening the sense of the artists’ hand, and thus, aura. The other iteration is a pamphlet inexpensively Xeroxed on newsprint. Newsprint uniquely conveys the greytones of the pencil drawing, but the graph paper lines are retained. This method highlights inexpensive mechanical reproduction as inspired by Benjamin. This form of reproduction and dissemination are appropriate for my agenda for dance experience and notation. The irony in this expression is the dearth of actual audience members who could make heads or tails of the scores within.
Next Steps in the Process
The results of the process to this point were rough drafts in terms of both the dance phrases and physical scores. The next step in the process would be refining the scores themselves with a focus on clarity of grammar for the sections that do hold to the rules of labanotation. Further iterations might drop the use of notation of imagery through made-up symbols due to the lack of any real need for notation of these movement motivations (words seem to work fine for the practitioners of Gaga, and Forsythe’s improvisation technologies make use of words, video and animation very clearly.) The aesthetic score could benefit from further development of its visual appeal. I would also like to explore scores designed around aesthetics but that use structured description. These concepts could also be further developed in a course integrating composition and Laban theory. As a whole, the pamphlet of scores would need more detailed notes on performance of the scores, as well as references to direct non-readers of Laban notation to resources for deciphering the scores.
Conclusion
Writing these scores was a cathartic exercise in focused mischief. The scores were interesting in that they have repeatable aspects. Therefore, they retain structural support for a process of solving abstract or multi-level choreographic problems. While improvisation is an extremely useful tool for cultivating awareness and exploring unknown movement, the results can be as unreliable as the situation of the improvisor and extremely fleeting. However, since the scores are not performable in an exactly reliable way in space and time as such, aspects of them must be created anew with each performance, and become “texts of performative knowledge” (Jeschke 1). The project allowed me to take aspects of Laban notation that I consider valuable and (at least for a time) throw away the rest. While the end results were rough, the process of inquiry led to a pragmatic methodology for examining issues of political power in systems of dance notation.
Works Cited
Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Visual Culture: The Reader. Ed. Evans, Jessica and Hall, Stuart. London: Stuart Hall, 1936. 72–79.
Cohen, Selma Jeanne. Next Week, Swan Lake. Middletown: Wesleyan, 1982.
Hutchinson Guest, Ann. “Historical Development.” Dance Notation: The Process of Recording Movement on Paper. London: Dance Books, 1984.
—. Labanotation: The System of Analyzing and Recording Movement. 4th ed. New York: Routledge, 2005.
Jeschke, Claudia. “Notation Systems as Texts of Performative Knowledge.” Dance Research Journal 31.1 (1999): 4-7.
Louppe, Laurence. “Feuillet’s Thinking.” Traces of Dance: Drawings and Notations of Choreographers. Paris: Editions Dis Voir 1994: 81–90.
Marion, Sheila. “Toward a New Paradigm for Exploring Dance Notation.” International Council of Kinetography Laban Proceedings of the Twentieth Biennial Conference. Hong Kong: ICKL, 1997.
Thomas, Helen. “Reproducing the Dance: In Search of the Aura?” Preservation Politics: Dance Revived, Reconstructed, Remade. University of Surrey, Roehampton, Nov 8-9, 1997.
Wishart, Trevor. On Sonic Art. New York: Routledge, 1996.
About Dance Studies, From the Dark Side
Posted: November 11, 2009 Filed under: interesting | Tags: dance, luc tuymans, OSU dance, wexner center 2 Comments »I have to admit I am slightly suspicious about the push in dance studies to proclaim the territory of knowledge specific to dance. How is this not just a way to justify dance as an academic specialization, thereby proclaiming the need for more Departments of Dance, more Administrators of Dance, and more lines of funding for Dance? I am questioning whether this push to demarcate dance serves knowledge –or power structures.
I am really crossing over to the dark side today.
Asking this question has the effect of shooting my own self in the foot. As a scholar in dance, I am supposed to want funding to justify academic activity in dance. Plus I would like to have money for groceries. I would like to have a job. The practical side of me says, yes, you need to be clear about what dance does and what dance knows so that someone will pay you to work in, and write about, dance.
Another side says, “what is it all for?” This side of me would rather exit stage left and grow my own radishes while dancing naked in the moonlight in my garden than to participate in this circling of the wagons.
I should give some context–several events have brought me to this state. First of all, I am taking a Ph.D. level class at the moment. It is the most idea-heavy dance class I have taken thus far and has involved discussion of extensive readings on the history of analysis of movement. I’ve never been one to argue that we need to just stop thinking about what it means and just dance, but this class is threatening to push me over the edge. I am suddenly remembering my experience with the Forsythe Symposium last year – that of being overwhelmed with conceptual thinking, feeling unable to keep up and synthesize, and starved for sensory experience and information, which feels so much more real to me personally.
There is also the fact that I personally miss performing, and creative activity in general. I have whined enough about this and will leave it at that for now, and add that this is getting better. I’ve got some things in the cooker.
Then there was something Norah Zuniga-Shaw mentioned in her presentation of Synchronous Objects to my PhD class the other day. She told an anecdote of a presentation of her research to a group of musicologists, whose initial reaction was to wonder why the dancers in “One Flat Thing Reproduced” were not dancing to the music. To me, this, and other exposure I have to the field of musicology, causes me to think of that field as a closed, antiquated, self-referential academic dinosaur. Is this really the direction that dance wants to go?
I also had a talk this morning with someone who attended the discussion at the Wexner last night between painter Luc Tuymans and curator TJ Clark. The discussion apparently turned to the idea of painting as a site of knowledge in itself. From the sounds of it Clark credited Tuymans with reinvigorating painting after the postmodern breakdown of the form. I am fine with the idea of using and reusing a form for the layers of information it can then convey. I do not hold with any evolutionary ideas that say we must always push to the next form, new forms, and thus discard painting. But something about the story makes me wonder if these two had other motivations to justify painting as a valid and living art form?
I am suspicious of the academic need to maintain existing forms for the sake of power structures. I would rather see dance as a tradition die off than to have it be preserved in formaldehyde.
In my flair for the dramatic, I may be setting up an unecessary dialectic again. Is it really vitality and creativity vs. academic specificity, or can I reframe this as a both/and situation?
Embodied Meaning and Freedom in Dance Class
Posted: July 24, 2009 Filed under: pedagogy | Tags: ballet, critical pedagogy, dance, lived body, mark johnson, meaning of the body, modern dance, OSU dance, pedagogy of the oppressed, philosophy 1 Comment »I’m wrapping up my first quick round of teaching for the summer. Friere’s Pedagogy of the Opressed, Johnson’s Meaning of the Body, and Dixon-Gottschild’s Black Dancing Body are sinking in, challenging the way I see my students and myself.
Friere posited that the student-as-object model is oppressive and that true learning, and freedom, happen in relationship. After reading Friere, I was primed to think about Johnson’s embodied meaning in terms of the classroom. In Johnson’s view, babies make sense of their world holistically, beginning with their experiences, which are wrapped up in the experiences of their caregivers. Babies begin by experiencing themselves, their caregivers, and their environment as one, and then slowly differentiate. Furthermore, humans are all “big babies”; our perception of experience still arises holistically.
Friere’s ideas about learning and Johnson’s about perception are related; Friere proposes deconstruction of the the subject/object relationship, and Johnson declares that the subject-acting-on-object model of meaning-making is secondary to that which arises viscerally. These arguments support a class structure that is relational, egalitarian, and open-ended.
On July 3 I blogged this quote and some notes from Dixon-Gottschild’s Black Dancing Body:
“Figuratively speaking, dancers as a group are a subjugated “race” – destabilized as a matter of course, as a prerequisite inherent to the field.” –Brenda Dixon Gottschild, The Black Dancing Body. p. 10-11
This, plus the entire description of a dance class . . . hit very close to home for me. I spent ten of my formative years engaging in serious dance training that fits her description . . . I have chosen not to walk away from this tradition, but I feel squeamish about demanding the same “destabilization” from my own students that my teachers asked of me. And yet, I want the training I offer to “work”, and often so do my students.
In the beginning jazz and modern dance classes I just finished teaching, I pretty much followed the traditions I’ve inherited, ones much like those described by Dixon-Gottschild. I stood in the front of the room. Wherever I was standing became the front. I performed movement for my students which they were expected to imitate and perform for me. I then scrutinized their performance and gave specific critical feedback on their performances to help them imitate me more closely. No one talked; even when I asked questions they were generally treated as rhetorical.
I am aware that the way I teach right now structures a classroom where students are very much passive objects to be acted on by me, the active subject. The model I currently follow is very effective in creating the ability to do certain movements in certain personality and physical types – those who are kinesthetic, visual learners, and are passive enough to submit to whatever the teacher says to do, and who have cooperative bodies. It is a very defined outcome available to a small number of people. I love western dance techniques, and believe this training does work in a sense, but maybe the outcomes and beneficiaries are too limited. Dance can be meaningful in many ways to many different people.
It’s one thing to want to change the way a thing is done in your culture, and quite another to actually change it. There is a good amount of risk involved. (I notice the same thing in the way I parent. My philosophy tells me to do things differently than my parents did, but in the moment of truth, I often send my own experience forward, because it is known.)
Still, as I pile on the ten-week sessions of technique classes, with different students each time, I can’t help but feel a little sad for the way I hardly know them, and I just deliver these skills to them. Many don’t even learn much of those for one reason or another. I need to redefine a classroom that works, and the relationship between me and the students. There is so much possibility for what could happen. I’d like to experience a dance class in which people relate to each other first and students feel they have a voice. I’d like to help students experience what I have in terms of discovery that arises out of their own embodied experience. I’d like for humor and laughter to have a part in the process without feeling that I, as the teacher have to entertain and tell jokes.
I’m not sure what I’ll do differently this next round of classes, how I’ll think differently of my students. I’m afraid of the arguments that can be levelled against teaching-as-an-experiment in freedom. Classes may seem unplanned, indefinite. Students may hate the class or resent that they’re asked to be active when they have already been conditioned to be passive. We are after all in a culture of oppression. They may stare at me sullenly. Nothing might happen.
(In some sense, isn’t that always the fear? In everything? That if I don’t do it, it won’t happen? Ha ha.)
Mark Johnson’s “The Meaning of the Body”
Posted: July 23, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: abstract impressionism, albright-knox, clyfford still, dance, developmental psychology, mark johnson, modernism, neuroscience, philosophy Leave a comment »I just finally read this big, long book. Mark Johnson’s ‘theory of embodied meaning’ confirmed my experience of art and argued against unhelpful dichotomies between body and mind, feeling and thought, emotion and reason. Without calling it that, I already ascribed to the embodied theory of meaning, which is why I am so attracted to dance. Mark Johnson’s arguments in support of this theory come from philosophy, developmental psychology and neuroscience.
A watershed point in my own history with embodied meaning in art was experiencing the Clyfford Still room at the Albright Knox in Buffalo. These paintings have their own room because that was one of the stipulations of the artist; that they would never be shown alongside the work of other artists, and never be bought or sold. I had developed a relationship with other abstract impressionist painting there over the course of my childhood through trips with the Brownies, school or family, but maybe because they have their own room I had missed the Still paintings until one day when I was there alone, and about seventeen. (Perhaps, in the Alva Noe sense, I only noticed this room at this stage in my development because it was then that I was able to see it)
The paintings are massive with jagged shapes streaking through them from top to bottom or corner. They felt so craggy, so much like my teen-angstful inner landscape. I was impressed that Still resisted the interpretation of his work, and felt that I understood his intention. I felt I used these paintings well by sitting in front of them and noticing them, and noticing myself and the flow of my thoughts with them. I returned there often and sat with them. I thought about that they were important to me at a gut level, and would not have been so if they had a determinate, defined meaning, such as “this painting is about the loss of my mother because of war”.
Previously, I described this experience in terms of feelings, delimiting it to the subjective and taking away some of its power and importance to me. Reflecting on the experience in light of Johnson’s theories, however, I would describe it as an experience of embodied knowledge. The paintings are ripe with meaning. They have massive weight, which feels like the importance of a thing. They reference minerals, the slow passage of time, which, for a teenager, is also about deferral of gratification. They are about conflict, and tension, and permanance, and glacial flow.
This way of talking about an art experience may be very elementary for visual artists or philosophers, and might come as no surprise to dance insiders, but it is new, and freeing for me. I came to these painting with little specialized knowledge of painting and its history. All I had was a history of contact with abstract paintings and the knowledge that the artist resisted interpretation and commercialization. I was relatively unschooled, and yet I found I could access knowledge in these paintings. This is very encouraging to me, positioned as I am in the small, specialized world of post-postmodern dance.
My deep discouragement with this moment in dance is that it seems to have gone in the direction of only speaking to one’s peers, and also maybe your mom, who comes to shows out of love. On the other hand, there are the forms of dance that convey determinate meaning through movement, and come across as trite or impotent. But reading about the embodied theory of meaning reminded me of dance’s best capability, which is to speak to the knowledge of the gut, which does not need an MFA to know things.
Dance Class Politics
Posted: July 3, 2009 Filed under: pedagogy | Tags: brenda dixon gottschild, dance, physical practice, the black dancing body Leave a comment »“Figuratively speaking, dancers as a group are a subjugated “race” – destabilized as a matter of course, as a prerequisite inherent to the field.” –Brenda Dixon Gottschild, The Black Dancing Body. p. 10-11
This, plus the entire description of a dance class in the first chapter of The Black Dancing Body, hit very close to home for me. I spent ten of my formative years engaging in serious dance training that fits her decsription of class structure. I have chosen not to walk away from this tradition, but I feel squeamish about demanding the same “destabilization” from my own students that my teachers asked of me. And yet, I want the training I offer to “work”, and often so do my students.
.
Response to Pedagogy of the Oppressed
Posted: June 9, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: contact improvisation, dance, freire, pedagogy of the oppressed 4 Comments »I have finally engaged in a timely reading of Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I feel a sense of urgency to reconcile my work, intellectual, and personal life to Freire’s ideas. Some recent pedagogical experiences, such as being a student in an experimental class, teaching tap, and participating in workshop about critical pedagogy, provide demonstrations of my education worldview up to now. In the spirit of Freire’s unfinished human living in an unfinished reality, I reexamine these ideas. This is personal for me – Freire’s themes of Subject/Object and human connectivity are challenging to me in terms of creative practice, parenting, and my roles as student and teacher.
In this post I attempt to look beyond my “circle of certainty” to map relationships between Friere’s ideas and mine. These relationships are particularly important to me regarding aetheism and my own spiritual sensibility. I hold these in tension and circumvent agreement/disagreement in favor of reframing in terms of a mobile relationship.
My trajectory to and through this book was quite. . . interesting. I read it because issues in an experimental class led me to question existing educational practices. Reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed was a commitment I made to honor my inner curiosity about why school is the way it is. From secondhand experiences, I assumed I’d find the book easy to agree with and get some practical and theoretical basis for my pedagogical interests. Upon reading I found Freire’s rationale for his theory of pedagogy more challenging than I expected. Oppression, a state which plagues those on the giving and receiving end with an animalistic life, is an entirely human problem in Freire’s view. Therefore, his solution is totally human as well. I was irritated enough to want to quit reading. What kind of hubris can say that something as large as oppression could be created and solved merely by people? What kind of thoughtful person can deny the fact of something, at least a force, that lies above, beyond, or outside the reach of human power?
Of course, the totality of my reaction to Freire’s rationale belies my sense of completion, of certainty, which is hubris as well. I agree with Freire’s concept that people are uncompleted beings. I chose to keep reading and postpone the reckoning of my faith to Freire’s (and I do consider his position to be one of faith).
Circling the idea, I’d like to consider more closely the class through which I even came to read this book. In New Ground II class at OSU in dance, six graduate students and faculty Norah Zuniga shaw have been exploring creative practice as research along with other ideas we chose to pursue along the way. It is quite hard to exactly put my finger on what the class really is because it depends on the contributions and interests of each member from week to week. One of the challenges for me in this class was the “emergent syllabus” As the quarter started, I was up to my ears in work, and perceived this term “emergent syllabus” to mean “whatever Norah wants to pile on us at that moment whether we like it or not”. Looking back, this idea did not come from Norah, who made it clear she valued our process, and that the class would develop from our leadings. I had brought this sense of obligation to the class myself.
Perhaps I wanted to be a passive student. I’m used to it — especially having come up in classical ballet. To me the syllabus has always explained what I have to do, and also what the teacher is obligated to do to me. Though I enjoyed class discussions, I also wanted to be told what to do. I found myself wondering what our interesting but meandering discussions were really producing.
I don’t know what we were produced, but in the process of this class, and in reading Freire, I think a profound shift has happened for me personally. It almost seems laughable now – why would I not just take this open syllabus and run with it from the beginning? I came to the course already assuming that people really learn actively, and that learning can’t be imposed on someone from the outside. I’ve dabbled in some John Holt and the world of unschooling. And I did have a sense that I was too conditioned to try to switch over to that way – I seem need the structures provided by a classroom setting and an authority figure, even if they’re not the best. But suddenly I’ve gone from not understanding or really seeing this passivity in myself to awareness of it.
Another way to characterize the shift would be from viewing the class as disorganized and thinking that Norah wasn’t doing her job, to consider it a necessary mess. It was a bit messy, but things which involve numbers of personally responsible adults in relationship are that way. I would like to be able to put my finger on what about the experience of this class is primarily responsible for the shift. Actually, the realization that I had been given responsibility for my learning happened just before I read Freire, as I was sitting in a pub over a La Fin du Monde talking about the class, the book I hadn’t read yet, and my thoughts about it all. I suddenly thought about my actions in the class, the awkward moments when people looked to Norah for directions; “what do you want us to do?”. I realized that those moments may have felt that awkward because Norah was looking back at us, waiting for us to take her at her word, and develop for ourselves and the group whatever it was that we wanted to do.
Or maybe I’m wrong. I’d like to discuss it with the six of them.
It is painful. What next? I have no idea. I am unfinished, after all. I’d like to focus on the idea that it is through relationship that we become more fully human, particularly in situations where it would be easy for me to stand in the place of subject and treat others as objects – my child, my elective class students. I’d also like to hold this awareness of my own opression in mind and take on the project of wriggling out of it. Perhaps Freire would call this my “liberation”.
But the word liberation brings up such baggage for me. Returning to the theme of oppression and spirituality, how can I authentically position myself in terms of Freire’s liberation while invocating what is so real to me about the spiritual world, the world of personal power outside of the human? How can I reconcile active liberation with powerlessness? Maybe the answer is in finding an expentancy that liberation will occur, and in actively creating space in which it may occur while simultaneously holding in my mind that nothing, nothing at all of import, can occur solely as a result human power? I cringe a little when Freire speaks of the revolution, but I do believe in the revolution too, and long for it. Who, in their heart of hearts, or when they fall in love, could not believe in the revolution?
Perhaps the answer lies in remapping my cosmology. If grace is in me while also surrounding me, my actions can dispense grace. If grace is only above me, my actions are irrelevant. I would also like to consider remapping my relationships. Are my relationships with teachers and students linear ones, in which information can be traced back along lines to an original source, or do I relate these as people in a messy web of connection?
I am aware that a traditional liberal argument against religion is that it functions as a tool of opression which keeps people complacent. This seems overly reductive. I love being a dancer because of the model movement gives for considering ideas as bodies in motion themselves. As a final image I’ll posit these consonant ideas as a contact improvisation exercise; two bodies lean together, then pull apart, sharing weight in gravity and time, transfering loads of potential energy into motion.
The Wii Choir Would Be Fun, Really. . .
Posted: April 28, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: dance, Max/MSP Jitter, Movement Choirs, Wii Leave a comment »To continue my thoughts about the appropriateness of reconstructing movement choirs using Wii as an interface, I will compare and contrast the two.
Movement choirs and Wii are designed to be experiential and performative. The amateur dancers of movement choirs were performing a communal identity that gave them back what they lost through the industrial revolution; their communities, “nature” and their physicality. Gamers using the Wii perform imagined identities of coordination, control and extreme athleticism. Both of these ways of performing provide the participants with coping systems in times of drastic cultural shifts (to industrialization in the case of the choir, and towards cyborgism and the digital revolution for Wii users. Both Wii and movement choirs provide expressions of physicality in disembodied modern culture.
The two differ in their relationship to the idea of the group, and to the compliance or defiance of the mainstream status quo. Movement choirs were designed to enact a lost pre-modern community, and could not be performed without the perfect cooperation of the entire group. Wii, on the other hand is designed to be consumed by an individual without regard for other actual people. Community, in the world of Wii, reduced to visual data with which the individual user interacts. Movement choirs were activist pieces through which participants demonstrated and advocated for a rooted, communal life. Though for a time they were adopted by the Nazis, who loved a spectacle, in the end the Nazi party and Laban and his ideas could not get along; movement choirs were neither about the industrial mass, nor the fascist mass. The average Wii use is apolitical and the actual movements of a Wii user playing a Nintendo-made game are passively. Unpacking these movements by examining their source, we see that a Wii user is performing movements designed for her by the corporation who took her money to sell her the experience. This relationship of tool to marketplace to performance is what makes technological artifacts so interesting to hack into, and to make things with.
Problems in Reconstructing a Movement Choir
Posted: April 26, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: albrecht knust, dance, Movement Choirs, Rudolf Laban, score, selma jeane cohen, sheila marion, Titan 5 Comments »When I get asked what I’m doing with dance at a dinner party, I usually say that I teach tap and ballet and take some classes – the real answer is just too long and involved. Here in the blog I can geek out and give the real answer to the question “what are you studying in graduate school?”.
I want to see what a movement choir of Rudolf Laban really looks like. Aspects of movement choirs and their notation make them extremely difficult to reconstruct from the notation score. The choirs have scores, but the scores are difficult to read. They’re not written in everyday notation (ha ha – “everyday” Labanotation!), but in a simpler form of the language that existed during its development. They also make use of Knust’s group notation, which applies symbols usually used on body parts to whole groups, allowing for description of choreography which prioritizes the logic of the mass. This group notation is so fascinating. Systems of movement description demonstrate the needs and preferences of the dance forms which created them. I would say they also demonstrate the cultures that created those dance forms. If this is true, the graphic, elaborate symbols of group notation as applied to Laban’s movement choirs show very clearly the importance of the human mass to movement choir practitioners, and possibly to modern humanity. The mass was industrialization and danger, it was also the way to salvation, through returning to true community organized not around buying and selling, but the simple bond of humanness. The amateur choristers wanted to break out from the oppressive mechanization, but to do it in a mass.
The notation of Titan, Laban’s movement choir from 1928 is so much more about these shifting and reforming geometric patterns than about individual body movement. A regular notation score has many symbols for each part of the body within the staff, but these scores are filled with symbols in the margins to show how the group interacts. Within the staff is relatively sparse, with a few steps, or broad movements of the arms and upper-body together. The contrast between what needed to be recorded to notate a movement choir, and what for a contemporary dance is so big that in notation we’ve had to add columns to the staff just to hold everything we want to say about the body. But no, what was important for a participant in a movement choir was staying in a rigorously exact relationship to the group. Movement choirs were idealism in action fueled by the belief that their performance could bring a return to man’s natural, pre-industrial state of grace.
So the scores are not written in the language or mood of a contemporary dance or Labanotation practitioner, but an archaic one. Resources do exist to read them such as chapters Ann Hutchinson Guest’s Advanced Notation Series, or Odette Blum’s writing on older forms of Notation in the Advanced Packet published by the DNB. Resources in the DNB Extension Archives held at Ohio State include Shrifftanz, the original treatise of Labanotation, and many papers of Albrect Knust designed to explain this group notation.
Sheila Marion has also established that systems of Notation will tailor themselves to the stylistic aspects of the dances they represent. The system will convey only information deemed necessary while assuming that the reader will be knowledgeable in that style, and thus infer stylistic elements back into the movement upon reconstruction. The bodily movements in a movement choir are in whatever the style of dance is that was so popular in 1920′s Germany. At the time a huge amateur movement spread across the middle and working classes to learn and perform dances. The Shriftanz manual shows in it’s large-print, almost leaflet styling that the new Labanotation was designed to disseminate dance as quickly and easily as possible. Helen Priest Rogers, who studied with Laban in 1936 in Germany, explains how the scores were distributed across networks of amateur dance clubs to facilitate the new dance. These scores were written with expediency and ease of use in mind. I don’t have a bodily understanding of the style, though I know that Laban was seeking to develop a new dance form that emphasized mobility and defined space through the use of the body. Without a deep understanding of the style, I will have a more difficult, but not impossible time understanding what is indicated in these scores.
The movement choirs’ participatory nature also creates a problem. Reconstruction from the score of most dances calls for in depth study of the style, and the context of the dance, as well as detailed analysis of the score in order to accurately coach dancers to perform the movement in front of an audience. In a movement choir, especially at their beginnings, the performers were the audience. They have little or no dramatic content, and the movement is very simple. What they are about is the way they made the participants feel – particularly 1920′s German middle class participants reeling from a late and rapid industrialization. Imagination goes a long way, but the process of truly reconstructing a movement choir presents the problem of coaching performers in a more complex way than ordinary reconstruction.
Of course, all reconstruction of historic dance is problematic, as Selma Jeane Cohen demonstrates in Next Week, Swan Lake. We can never really know what a dance looked like, or in the case of a movement choir, what it looked and felt like, at its first performance. There is so much we can’t know, but I believe that highlights the importance of using what we do know, and bringing all available resources to bear on each reconstruction.
Reconstruction as a Cultural Product
Posted: April 26, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: cultural criticism, cultural materialism, dance, laban dance notation, raymond williams, score Leave a comment »Why reconstruct historic dances? What in the act of reconstruction from the labanotation score is creative and worthwhile? Should dance makers and the field in general embrace the problem of disappearance, and focus on the new? Is the lack of history in dance an asset that serves the form?
I’m thinking about how cultural materialism provides an argument for continued reconstruction of historic dance. As I understand it, Raymond Williams claimed that not only discourse, but also the actions and products of culture serve to demonstrate knowledge. Dance as reconstructed from the score uniquely contributes to this demonstration of knowledge in dance by offering a new, active, ephemeral product that relates the culture that originally produced the dance as well as the one which brought about the reconstruction. This contrasts and enriches the more abstracted, disembodied verbal discourse around dance which also serves to create new knowledge. In other words, dances and the scores produced to communicate them not only contribute to discourse, but parallel and extend the work of discourse. While a new dance demonstrates contemporary culture, reconstructions of historic dance make a dialogic statement through the juxtaposition of cultures, and through their self-conscious posture towards culture. This layered statement enriches and develops consciousness.
Thoughts in this post were inspired by this article.
Serious Play, Curious Investigation
Posted: April 14, 2009 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: accad, dance, improvisation technologies, laban dance notation, Laban Movement Analysis, Monster Partitur, physical practice, score, Scott DeLahunta Leave a comment »
The Forsythe workshop at Ohio State constitutes one of the deepest, broadest, and most pleasurable arcs of learning in my life so far. It was unique in its holistic combination of theory and practice. I found that the readings, viewings, discussions, and symposium fed my studio practice, which then informed further thoughts, writings and discussions about this work.
William Forsythe’s ideas and technique left their mark on my body, my conception of the study of dance technique, my approach to creative inquiry, and my perception of time.
At a young age I came to be interested in dismantling the structures that seemed to keep dance separate from the questioning in my heart. I have so identified with deconstruction as a reason and mode for making, and so stripped away at dance while trying to make dances, that it began to seem better not to make anything at all. In part, this pattern is what drew me to step outside of the making process and identify myself as a Labanotator rather than a creator. Something that irks me about the world of Labanotation is the sense notators sometimes convey of having secret knowledge that other dancers don’t, or can’t have. Perhaps I have been irritated by this because it is a strategy I’ve been using to help me hide from my disappointment with dance.
Engaging with the work of William Forsythe, with its beauty in the contrast of extreme complexity and deconstruction has given me a new sense of permission to build and make. Rather than throwing the dance baby out with the bathwater, Forsythe takes what is useful to him and regenerates, fragments, and regenerates again in a beautiful sort of alchemy. Though I admire Forsythe’s choreographic structures, and love the way his technique feels on my skin, I don’t want to make what he has made. Instead I want to imitate his posture of questioning and curiosity. At the heart, this workshop has inspired me to seek earnestly what my questions are starting now. I would like to continue to deconstruct dance when I need to, but also to not be afraid of building new and complex structures. I would like to learn to say, “I don’t know what dance is,” but not to give up on my body and its rich knowledge. I would like to build structures in symbol, movement, new media, or all three at once, and through these structures to continually engage in serious, playful investigation.



