Thoughts from the Mass Spectacle of 2/12

This past Saturday was a blast. With the help of exactly 39 others, I realized my first mass dance for a large group based on the 1930′s notation score I’ve been researching.
I’ll be sharing more pictures and video as I get them processed. Much of the information for the participants was stored at the quickly-created website for the event.
Now I’m thinking about the next event, scheduled for March 5, reflecting on what happened Saturday. I would like to reuse some of the same strategies. Such as, having an organized system for how people would move in the space, having leaders who know the system, using DIY web and graphic design to communicate something about the event, and also to intentionally obscure exactly who and what is behind the event, which for me has to do with my emerging opinions about how to do historical research.
While I want to obscure some elements, other things just need to be clearer, earlier, to facilitate such a big spectacle, than they were for this German mass dance event. Thus, I will be making more decisions ahead of time and clarifying my own expectations for the volunteers – particularly the core of people that are donating large amounts of time. Also, the German dance event was closely based on a definite score for movement – the 1930′s dance notation score. What type of scores could keep more options open? So that the ultimate performance could be highly organized, yet also indefinite and dependent on the actions of each leader?
Whereas the Feb 12 movement choir took place in the sheltered space of the OSU campus and treated the participants as the only audience, the March 5 event should take place in a public space – the location obviously needs to be kept secret until much closer to the event.

waltz notes

I’m listening over and over again to the recording I finally received from the record archive, trying to figure out where the dance steps go in the music, and how to find the musical markers the dancers so need to help them find their place in the dance. The template of the notation score meshes nicely with the recording in a way no other track of this ‘Faust Waltz’ has, and solves some problems that I was having with putting this dance together. But it creates new ones. This dance, a movement-choir waltz by Albrecht Knust, seems to have a really simplistic relationship to the music. The dancers move exactly in accordance with rhythmic changes. This generally should make the puzzle of the score easier to solve. However, the dance notation score is riddled with repeats. Repeats within repeats too, and lots of second and third endings for repeated sections; and all in a form of proto-notation which looks just different enough from the modern to make my head spin. But when I put the dance with the music, there is a whole vague middle section that doesn’t mesh as clearly.

Incidentally, it is the section that focuses most on formation changes; the steps the dancers do are way less important than where they do them as they travel through the space, forming spirals, giant spinning pinwheels that expand and contract, squares, little circles, and y-shapes. This section is the most important to me as far as why movement choirs were special, and different from dances for the stage, not only because of their social and cultural position, but at the choreographic level. This will allow me to talk about how it may have felt to be inside the dances.

The dance is bracketed at beginning and end by more complicated dance steps, in place. Apparently these are what I have lots of practice reading in notation; these are the types of things Laban notation adapted to make readable, and that common practice in dance notation focuses on today. But the group movements are foreign. It is the difference between focusing on dance at the level of the individual body and dance at the level of the group.

The real thoughts I wanted to jot down today though, were about my process with this vague section of the score. The process of aligning and realigning movement and music phrases was getting me nowhere. I realized I am right inside of a border space of dance notation and reconstruction practice. This dance is ephemeral, and it is gone. I have this trace, the score, to work with. This is how it has always been. As I approach the dance, I put my finger on something. I figure out a step, or a musical connection and the dance seems present again. Then, one of these holes appears, and the dance has slipped through my fingers again. The original dance has left the building.

The other day, one of the dancers suggested that in the places where there are holes, the throngs we are inviting to do this score with us should do a disco pose, or something like it. She was really on to something. I realized that since I’ve committed to bringing this dance forward with live bodies, they must have some group consensus about what it is that they are doing, at times down to the musical measure. The dance must make some kind of sense for them in space and time.

I could research more, dig into Knust’s multi-volume, three-language Dictionary of Kinetography Laban as well as other things in the archives to try to decode more of the symbols I still don’t get. I could spend my time, geek out, and dig deeper. But I have been digging for several years now. Isn’t that due diligence? Now I have these dancers, standing in front of me, ready for anything. And really, if I continue digging, I will find infinite places where there is no there, there – where the “original” again slips through my fingers.

This is, of course, one of my axes to grind; how lost past performances are is seriously contested territory for many in my field. They are very lost, people. And who tells the story of history affects what is said. Here is such a lovely opening, where I can get between the sure presence offered by the score and the confusion created by the score. What seems to be a finite dance, which can be determined down to the second, now seems to have infinite holes. To get the chance to create infinite spaces inside apparently tiny holes. . . this is what reconstruction feels like to me.

Until rehearsal starts today, I will be standing in some of these holes. I will patch them with disco steps, or something else. Often, reconstructors find the most believable looking patch they can, so that you can’t tell the hole has been patched. All I am thinking is that it would be fun to use very colorful patches. Patches that aren’t put together very well, that might fall off, that look garish, or embarrassing, or that look fun, or are inviting, drawing attention to themselves, and their function as patches. Or perhaps I could do a little of both, so that no one is sure what is going on.

One criticism against this is approach is that I’m short-circuiting the research process out of laziness. Some will argue that I’m smokescreening; they will say that I am using theory to cover my own failure to be thorough. Well, if they want to know the exact repeat structure of this “Walzer”, be my guest.  The score is in the online collection of the Centre National de la Danse . Plus we have it here at Ohio State. I will share my research path with you. I am tired from my looking right now, and I want to do some making. I am looking for the answers to my questions, which is really the only thing anyone can do.


Space Tension – More Here

Dec 1 – I plant my feet on the ground and commit towards forward with my upper body. Forwardness. The farthest place in front of me. Then farther. My feet stay planted. New direction. Side low. Then diagonal towards my left and forward. This is hard work, and very pleasurable. My body is pulling as far as it can against itself, and my energy filling and then exiting the tips of my fingers. I imagine I am defining the space around me, and connecting to the space. I am hooking into strange forces which are invisible and crisscross the space around me, and which keep me standing even at impossible angles. This is an antidote to sensing my weight and going with the flow, and it is a new way of moving to me. I’m inspired by Laban’s Space Harmony, which I haven’t studied, but I’ve heard of it. And seen a lot of pictures. It looks much more physical, more direct than the dancing I’ve learned to do here in sense-your-weight land.

I was going to study Laban’s theories of Space more deeply to understand this. I’ve got a pile of books on the shelf, waiting. But, I’ve changed my mind. Doing this is what I want. Why take the roundabout way through the theory books and the gatekeepers when dancing is where I want to end up? At least for now, I will do, and if I don’t get it all right, that’s okay with me.

From what I can tell, when you study Space Harmony officially, you do scales:

This heady stuff gets you a good deal of credit with certain people if you know how to do it. That doesn’t mean that it is necessarily valuable to me, nor does it automatically make it worthless. But I know that the photos above, they leave me cold. Not nearly so extreme as this:

Which is why, for now, I am not going to learn the theory of space harmony through and through. I’m really working on working. On going, myself or with other people, into the studio and doing things, making things.

I don’t always bring my video camera so I’m jotting things down here, so perhaps later I can make it all into something more organized.


Proust was a Neuroscientist

I’ve been doing a lot of reading.  Because I think of myself as some kind of creative artist, I think while reading about my aesthetic values and what I’d like to create.  I think about the themes and ideas presented in the books and then try to imagine performances that will “express” them.  Then I usually decide these ideas are uninspired and discard them.  I find this process to be depressing and unproductive.  Why not begin making things by making instead of starting with an idea I’ve read and then translating into performance?

Jonah Lehrer’s Proust Was a Neuroscientist helped me to come up with this question about my practice.  As I’ve mentioned many times in this blog, I don’t actually do a lot of creating in dance or performance anymore.  I write some, and analyze dances, and do coursework, and did a little reconstruction, but I think there has to be more with my involvement in dance.

So while reading this book, I found myself interested in the idea that writers, chefs, and composers could all know things about reality that are kinds of knowledge we usually credit to science.  I thought “yes” and then, since dance is my medium “I should make a dance about dancers knowing things without needing hard science to prove it” –and then I thought “BLAH!”   No one needs me to make a dance like that.  It’s been said quite nicely with words here in Lehrer’s book.  What’s more I suspect the characters profiled in this book are so inspiring because they deeply explored what they were drawn to, rather than writing or composing to illustrate the latest philosophical idea.

I need to develop a practice that helps me make things from a different, less “propositional” (to use Johnson’s terminology) place.   This takes time, and a sense of risk.  I have known this, in a sense for too long without pursuing it.  It is time to make things or get off the pot!  Maybe it will help if I stop whining about how busy grad school and parenthood and work are and just go into the studio, or out into the yard, or the woods or pick up the video camera, and make something.

Does it seem like I’m eschewing rigorous thought and research in the creative process?  I feel a little that I am, and I’d hate to do that.  It is good to study structures of ideas and organize and synthesize them.  I have found thematic footholds in the work of Rudolf Laban this year like I never before, because I read and read and read, and thought about his theories, and compared them to other theories.

I just think I’ve swung a bit far in that direction lately.  I have spent so much time sitting, reading, typing, that I have shut down whole parts of my body.  Muscles have begun to atrophy.  I don’t know the state of my sacrum at all times anymore.  This is sad to me.  I’d like to get back on the horse, try to make things, and continue to be a scholar.  Look for more posts when I fall off the other side.


Dance, Sustainability, and Counterpoint

My friend Hannah used the Counterpoint Tool from Synchronous Objects as a way of framing related ideas.  This process of examining a web of ideas first in terms of one relationship, then another, then maybe several relationships at once, brings a holistic, open-ended and non-linear knowledge of what those ideas are.  The process is useful to me right now as I try to integrate my ideas about my creative research and right livelihood, as well as the political ramifications of Rudolf Laban and his career.

I’m sitting with some plain white paper and a pencil and trying to sketch the contrapuntal play of these ideas on the paper, but having difficulty mapping the ideas out for myself visually.  I seem to need my model to move, to be able choreograph them and thereby see how they play with each other.  Presently I have a series of triangles with a word, representing a chunk of concepts at the corners of each triangle.  From one triangle to another one or two of the words may stay the same.  The terms in the triangles are these:

sustainability, ascona, anna halprin, my creative process, rudolf laban, wendell berry, somatics, and dance reconstruction

I’d like for this model to be able to show how the triangles interelate, and how varying relationships between concepts can show different facets of each concept.   Despite my training in Labanotation, I can’t think of a visual representation for this inherently relational way of being with ideas.

Now, I will try something like the facebook friend wheel.  I’m placing the ideas around a wheel with an open center.  Any idea can connect to any other idea along the wheel.   The important thing is not to only draw a connection but to use the visual connection between two or more words to better understand the words and their relationship.  I’ve added a few words to fill out my wheel now, including the following:

physical training, freedom, emerson, thoreau, amateurism, mothering ballet, tap, labanotation, jazz, theater of the oppressed, mark johnson, maria montessori, john holt, friere, critical pedagogy, movement choirs, gender, husbandry/housewifery, working with joshua


Problems in Reconstructing a Movement Choir

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.


Progressivism, Fascism, and German Expressionist Dance?

I have been putting off writing this post for a long time.  A little bit of research into Rudolf Laban brought me to the uncomfortable place of having to decide what to do with his involvement in, and then rejection from the Nazi Party and Germany itself.  Study of Laban’s Life-Reform related practices, like the sun-worshiping, vegetarian, health-seeking community at Ascona, also reminded me of the American Progressive movement,  the ancestor of today’s Liberal movement.  How many “hippie” communities do I know here, today, that are trying to bring about the new society?

At this point, it became messy for me.  If Laban was linked to the Nazis, and also to today’s Liberals in his interests, why are todays liberals also not linked to Nazis? I’m certainly not comfortable making a direct leap from American liberalism to Fascism, like some others.  But I am having to change my story about my political ideas, at least a little.  Things aren’t so black-and-white.

This is the first time I have looked beyond the Nazis of the movies, who are always conveniently one-dimensional in their wickedness.  They torture, capture and kill.   Now I have an understanding of the Nazis that does explain why people were attracted to them.  They were seeking a new society, a cleaner, better, healthier, and happier society.  So was this larger-than-life hero of the dance world, Rudolf Laban.  So, when the Nazis decided that their cleaner, better, healthier society need not include certain people, Laban promptly kicked non-aryans out of his summer dance school.  Of course it’s evil, but in a more complicated way.  What if I were there, worshiping the sun with Laban, and Aryan?  What would I have done?

I don’t know what to do with all this, but it merits more research.  I’m blundering here, but hoping that anyone reading this post doesn’t hear me saying hippies are fascist.  There are too many heroes and villains in history.  I’d like to look more at Laban not as a hero, but as a human being with a complicated set of stories and desires.


Rudolf Laban was 30 too. . .

Biography of Laban, Wigman and Joos

Biography of Laban, Wigman and Joos

In 1910, Rudolf Laban was a 31-year-old widower with two children.  As Stated in The Makers of Modern Dance in Germany by Partsch-Bergsohn and Bergsohn, “He was still in a state of flux, seraching for a direction that would carry him forward.”

I love to collect stories of influential late bloomers.  It makes me feel at home.


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