Serious Play, Curious Investigation

 

haffner

 

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.


brainstorm – the osu forsythe workshop

I’ve never brainstormed this publicly before.  I feel naked.  But here’s my thought process about the last three months or so in which I’ve taken part in many events that were part of a nebulous workshop experience that shared William Forsythe’s process and ideas with about 26-27 undergraduate and graduate students in the Dance Department at Ohio State.  

William Forsythe has been incredibly generous with his ideas.  We watched improvisation technologies and spent time on our own, trying the ideas on in the studio.  We watched Forsythe’s solo and read Choreographic Objects.  We read, talked, danced, and wrote about how these inputs made us feel and compelled us to move.  We spent six weeks in Meghan Durham’s technique class together, and four weeks with Nik Haffner, choreographer, teacher and former dancer with the Forsythe company.  We also helped with the installation of Monster Partitur for the Wexner center and attended events around the symposium.

This amounts to one of the largest, deepest arcs of learning of my life so far.   Just the amount of time spent, and the combination of head space and kinesthetic response, and the constant allowance for play between the two that was allowed.  Yes, it was a chance to stay with a group of people while doing work of the body and mind and whatever it is that is both, or is more than both, when you start to use both together.

I’m not sure right now what the goal of the workshop was.  ”Forsythe Workshop” would sound as if the goal was to dance like Forsythe dancers, to get the style by the end.  And in general, there were stylistic things we all learned.  The very first exercise we did with Nik (after some fun, brain twisting drawing games) was Floor Brushing, in which  you play with the feet on the floor, envisioning them as a japanese calligrapher’s brush, an articulate instrument.  We practiced, developed, articulation of this foot-to-floor relationship with many, many possibilities for points of contact with the floor.  We practiced involving and including the spine in the movement, and sensing our body’s weight as we moved in and out of the floor.  We really paid attention to these feet.  Like ballet dancers do.  And already, stylistically, we looked a little, tiny bit more like forsythe dancers.

Also, in practicing some others of the specific improvisation technologies, we tried on some of the gestures and ways of moving specific to the forsythe style. .  These were problems to be solved with movement (I think my choice to describe the technologies that way is a reference to Scott DeLahunta’s talk during the Forsythe Symposium this week.).  Solving these problems gave me access to other stylistic features I see in Forsythe dancers.  Crazy-articulate upper arms, spine, feet, hips – a full range of body movement.  Particularly more than you ever see anyone do with their upper arms.  Lots of sequencing though adjacent parts of the body, or shifting points of initiation throughout the body.


What Does Knowing Feel Like?

Like Michael, I feel unprepared to post right now.  The events surrounding the release of Synchronous Objects have left me feeling like an imbecilic imposter here in an academic setting.  What can I possibly say?  All these smart people talking at me, and I start to feel so dumb.  

I also feel a pleasurable pull, an extension beyond my understanding into areas where I am groping.  This is partcularly applicable to Alva Noe and Scott DeLahunta’s presentations.  I feel a bit disoriented, unable to understand what I’ve seen, heard, and where I am in relationship to it.  A bit of trauma, of scrambling to understand what has just happened to me, what it could mean.  And the fear of never finding my footing, of never thinking a coherent thought again, or of never being able to think a thought that might be important to someone, might somehow be considered research.


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