Libido[1] is the first work produced by Dance Works Rotterdam under its new artistic director André Gingras. It premièred at JuliDans 2010 festival in Amsterdam and is now in Dance Works Rotterdam international repertory. The program notes briefly describe it as "a document of human sexuality which traces the different desires, experiences, behaviours and habits" and "addresses our basic animal instincts, our aggression, our need and our desire to prove we exist and will continue to do so"[2].
The Canadian Dave St. Pierre, often referred to as the "pornographic son of Pina Bausch", raises our expectations with the first scene when the audience entering the auditorium is presented with an exciting view of two naked dancers, gagged with small speakers playing the words 'I love Dave St. Pierre' and motionless, as if mere props. Once the audience take their place St. Pierre introduces himself as the choreographer and describes the few props on an almost empty stage - a table, a mattress, fake blood, water, a male dancer and a female dancer. We get the hint that dancers (here as well as in general) are treated as mere objects, compliant and ready to do anything in the name of their inferior to the choreographer's profession. Here our anticipation for something shocking amplifies. The male dancer is ordered to lie on the mattress while the female dancer, given cutlery, a container with fake blood and a stocking mask, mounts him while cutting a piece of his body in a carnous fit. The insect-like contracted movements of the female dancer (I call them spidery) call to mind an image of the black widow spider, which in turn plays on the stereotype of the man-eater woman. The following image makes even stronger references to the 'lustful woman'. The male dancer is pulled by his hair to perform a cunnilingus while she keeps on shaking his head and the whole body rhythmically until he brakes off in spasms screaming, tossing and throwing himself in fake blood around the stage. The female dancer rather ignorant of the male's state moves to side of the stage, masturbates and spurts water from the previously introduced plastic bottle, as if St. Pierre was reminding us "we are only pretending here, this is my fantasy, it's all about me". He justifies this reading in the following scene, where he instructs the male to kneel in the front centre of the stage with his face down to the floor thus exposing to the audience his rare end only covered with a candy thong. Later on, during the feedback section, when asked why, St. Pierre answers bluntly: "Because I'm gay". Whether or not the case, is not relevant in this analysis. Instead, I would suggest, St. Pierre diverts our attention away from all the male-female only relation images, pointing out there is more to human sexuality than the heterosexual, and often vulgar, representations in the pop culture.
He then examines the male dancer's body on the table, asking him to contrive impossible figures until the dancer drops exhausted. The scene tells us that personality (the face) is not important and today is all about the appearance and the perfect body, intimacy becomes exclusive and there is no place for imperfection. Consecutively, after relegating the male to the side of the stage with a rabbit mask on, he presents the female to audience, praising her athletic shape, her pointe feet and her breasts. All in the manner of a bargaining dealer. Body for sale? Prostitution? Pimping? Sex loaded advertising? The images are countless. I would like to pay some more attention to the rabbit mask now. My finding might come across as a little bit far fetched in the light of the transfiguration theory I will soon proceed to, however these two make a connection in the popular culture - a small hint St. Pierre and Gingras perhaps wanted us to notice.
Transfiguration is a subject taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a fictional school - unfortunately (they also teach D.A.D.A - Defence Against the Dark Arts), which is the setting for the Harry Potter film and book series. The author J.K.Rowling explains, that while "with a charm you add properties to something, with a transfiguration you change its nature completely; the molecular structure alters" [3], she ads that "transfiguration is a very hard work - you have to get it exactly right, it is scientific" [4]. In practice the students learn how, among other useful skills, to give a human rabbit's ears. There is a parallel between the aforementioned skill as being part of the art of transfiguration and the reading of the rabbit mask in a show which can only be understood through the theory of transfiguration. I will expound on it further after a brief summary of the rest of the show. For now I only wish to point the reader's attention to this subtle allegory of wizardry.
At this point the "romantic" part starts - as Dave St. Pierre informs us. It is a rather lengthy and monotonous part where the dancers pretend to have sex, without any special effects so to say, sometimes tenderly, sometime fiercely, to spice up a little she spits at him and so forth. The only element which looks significant is the ballerina pointe at almost all time - even more allusions? This time to the notion of dance being utterly sexual? We could wonder for ever. And we - the audience - do. During this part my thoughts wander away from the performance, near and far (what's for dinner) until something happens. It is the monotony of the scene that eventually makes us realise: this is not working any more. The overexposure to the image of sex, or perhaps the ideas we are imprinted with by our early environment: school as institution where the images are conceived (wizardry at Hogwarts rings a bell), games, advertising, quest for beauty, body objectified - all that makes us indifferent. Paradoxically, this is the moment which takes away the first feelings of shock and, for some people, disgust and let us think and re-think it precisely because of being familiar, even boring. Only the flexibility of the dancer's athletic bodies, and that obstinate pointe, remind us it is a dance show, and that we are probably supposed to read it in one way or other.
While the "romantic" section goes on on the mattress at back-centre of the stage St. Pierre asks the audience for questions and thoughts. He also tells us that this is a good moment to leave should anyone feel offended, and after satisfying some of the audience's curiosity on the erection issues, firmly reiterates his request to leave or otherwise his show will fail. Nobody leaves despite the awkwardness of this not very well acted direction. This was the only part of the performance that I found unbearable and, to be frank, boring - boring for real, unlike the constructive boredom of the romantic scene. I will leave it here and proceed to describe the ending.
The music resumes, the female dancer cries. Male dancer and choreographer spill volumes of water on her and the table, after which they start pushing and pulling her body, turning around the desk as if tossing a piece meat over a butchers' counter. When the lights go off, the door to the backstage opens shedding a passage of red light towards the audience. The choreographer, who undressed in the meantime, lies down on the floor masturbating in the red glow, until out from the audience comes down Andre Gingras announcing his new piece and presenting his props: the objects and the dancers.
The ending perhaps not being too exciting, and lacking a sharp and crisp or sexy punch line, makes a logical structure: circular and open-ended (I guess there are more options). Now, all this seems a bit too straightforward. The first critical thought that comes to mind is that one can not just simply show something in order to make a point about it. The whole spectacle is a bare imitation of human sexual behaviours, although loaded with analogies, meanings, images. But is it then a mere glorification of animal impulses, a documentary about lust with erased comments? In order to get insight into these questions Graham McFee's notion of transfiguration comes helpful.
The British Graham McFee, who is a professor of philosophy at the University of Brighton and the California State University Fullerton, in his essay on the philosophical aesthetics of dance, titled Dance, explains how the ordinary becomes extraordinary and meaningful through the understanding of transfiguration. On the example of a road-sweeper, McFee shows that when the "graceful sweeping movement is incorporated into a dance, with a literal choreographer even retaining the broom [...] that sequence of movement is no longer mere sweeping: it has become dance" and calls it "the transfiguration of the 'ordinary' activity into dance" (McFee 548). The implications of such transfiguration are threefold. Firstly, recognizing sweeping as dancing "ascribes artistic properties to that movement" and "renders it more strongly meaning-bearing". Secondly, it "brings with it kinds of understanding not available for the mere sweeping". And last but no least, transfiguration lends a dance work an artistic value for "any argument made about its status is at the same time an argument for its value" (549).
In regard to Libido, I would like to emphasise the notion of "understanding" - the kind which is not available for watching an ordinary erotic scene - which the audience is initially made to believe to be watching at the beginning of the "romantic" part of the performance. This kind of understanding comes only after the boredom of yet another naked image wades of, forcing us to make something out of it. The same way we come to understand a painting or a sculpture - not at the first glance but after a long stare or perhaps even returning to it. This way of looking at static art works has earned them much more recognition and approval than the art of dance can enjoy - they are there and we can take our time to examine and understand them or return if we still can not feel them quite right (as for some readers this is synonymous with understanding, I would not like to leave them out). Dance works on the other hand can not even be experienced as a whole at once - they evolve every moment only to perish somewhere at the bottom of our memory. St. Pierre and Gingras give us the opportunity to stop and examine without actually stopping the show or trying to recapitulate or summarise their ideas. It is precisely that special moment when we get bored that can turn out to be the key to understanding and seeing beyond mere swiving.
To conclude and perhaps refute one of the most frequent criticism of St. Pierre, and generally of art containing nudity, that they ineffectively try to be shocking, I answer - Was it supposed to be shocking? After all, we have seen all this before, right? (perhaps not on stage, yet still) But can we be shocked? Are we able to feel anything or all that is left from our sensitivity to intimacy is mockery and black comedy? Andre Gingras style of raw aesthetics and physicality brings up ethical and spiritual matters in social context. And aside from the fact that with Libido Gingras clearly makes an important political statement regarding his vision of the Dance Works Rotterdam's mission and the direction of contemporary dance in general, the important issue he and St. Pierre address in this performance through the transfiguration of (not so) ordinary activity is: Do we still care?
Notes
[1] See trailer on http://vimeo.com/14974236
[2] See Dance Works Rotterdam website for full description: http://www.danceworksrotterdam.nl/eng/repertory/libido.php
[3] Simpson, Anne. "Face to Face with J K Rowling: Casting a spell over young minds," The Herald, 7 Dec. 1998. Accio-quote.18 Oct.2010.
<http://www.accio-quote.org/articles/1998/1298-herald-simpson.html>
[4] Fry, Stephen, interviewer: J.K. Rowling at the Royal Albert Hall, 26 June 2003. Accio-quote.18 Oct.2010.
<http://www.accio-quote.org/articles/2003/0626-alberthall-fry.htm>
Works Cited
McFee, Brian. "Dance". The Routledge Companion to Aesthetics. London-New York: Routledge, 2001, pp. 545-556.
He then examines the male dancer's body on the table, asking him to contrive impossible figures until the dancer drops exhausted. The scene tells us that personality (the face) is not important and today is all about the appearance and the perfect body, intimacy becomes exclusive and there is no place for imperfection. Consecutively, after relegating the male to the side of the stage with a rabbit mask on, he presents the female to audience, praising her athletic shape, her pointe feet and her breasts. All in the manner of a bargaining dealer. Body for sale? Prostitution? Pimping? Sex loaded advertising? The images are countless. I would like to pay some more attention to the rabbit mask now. My finding might come across as a little bit far fetched in the light of the transfiguration theory I will soon proceed to, however these two make a connection in the popular culture - a small hint St. Pierre and Gingras perhaps wanted us to notice.
Transfiguration is a subject taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a fictional school - unfortunately (they also teach D.A.D.A - Defence Against the Dark Arts), which is the setting for the Harry Potter film and book series. The author J.K.Rowling explains, that while "with a charm you add properties to something, with a transfiguration you change its nature completely; the molecular structure alters" [3], she ads that "transfiguration is a very hard work - you have to get it exactly right, it is scientific" [4]. In practice the students learn how, among other useful skills, to give a human rabbit's ears. There is a parallel between the aforementioned skill as being part of the art of transfiguration and the reading of the rabbit mask in a show which can only be understood through the theory of transfiguration. I will expound on it further after a brief summary of the rest of the show. For now I only wish to point the reader's attention to this subtle allegory of wizardry.
At this point the "romantic" part starts - as Dave St. Pierre informs us. It is a rather lengthy and monotonous part where the dancers pretend to have sex, without any special effects so to say, sometimes tenderly, sometime fiercely, to spice up a little she spits at him and so forth. The only element which looks significant is the ballerina pointe at almost all time - even more allusions? This time to the notion of dance being utterly sexual? We could wonder for ever. And we - the audience - do. During this part my thoughts wander away from the performance, near and far (what's for dinner) until something happens. It is the monotony of the scene that eventually makes us realise: this is not working any more. The overexposure to the image of sex, or perhaps the ideas we are imprinted with by our early environment: school as institution where the images are conceived (wizardry at Hogwarts rings a bell), games, advertising, quest for beauty, body objectified - all that makes us indifferent. Paradoxically, this is the moment which takes away the first feelings of shock and, for some people, disgust and let us think and re-think it precisely because of being familiar, even boring. Only the flexibility of the dancer's athletic bodies, and that obstinate pointe, remind us it is a dance show, and that we are probably supposed to read it in one way or other.
While the "romantic" section goes on on the mattress at back-centre of the stage St. Pierre asks the audience for questions and thoughts. He also tells us that this is a good moment to leave should anyone feel offended, and after satisfying some of the audience's curiosity on the erection issues, firmly reiterates his request to leave or otherwise his show will fail. Nobody leaves despite the awkwardness of this not very well acted direction. This was the only part of the performance that I found unbearable and, to be frank, boring - boring for real, unlike the constructive boredom of the romantic scene. I will leave it here and proceed to describe the ending.
The music resumes, the female dancer cries. Male dancer and choreographer spill volumes of water on her and the table, after which they start pushing and pulling her body, turning around the desk as if tossing a piece meat over a butchers' counter. When the lights go off, the door to the backstage opens shedding a passage of red light towards the audience. The choreographer, who undressed in the meantime, lies down on the floor masturbating in the red glow, until out from the audience comes down Andre Gingras announcing his new piece and presenting his props: the objects and the dancers.
The ending perhaps not being too exciting, and lacking a sharp and crisp or sexy punch line, makes a logical structure: circular and open-ended (I guess there are more options). Now, all this seems a bit too straightforward. The first critical thought that comes to mind is that one can not just simply show something in order to make a point about it. The whole spectacle is a bare imitation of human sexual behaviours, although loaded with analogies, meanings, images. But is it then a mere glorification of animal impulses, a documentary about lust with erased comments? In order to get insight into these questions Graham McFee's notion of transfiguration comes helpful.
The British Graham McFee, who is a professor of philosophy at the University of Brighton and the California State University Fullerton, in his essay on the philosophical aesthetics of dance, titled Dance, explains how the ordinary becomes extraordinary and meaningful through the understanding of transfiguration. On the example of a road-sweeper, McFee shows that when the "graceful sweeping movement is incorporated into a dance, with a literal choreographer even retaining the broom [...] that sequence of movement is no longer mere sweeping: it has become dance" and calls it "the transfiguration of the 'ordinary' activity into dance" (McFee 548). The implications of such transfiguration are threefold. Firstly, recognizing sweeping as dancing "ascribes artistic properties to that movement" and "renders it more strongly meaning-bearing". Secondly, it "brings with it kinds of understanding not available for the mere sweeping". And last but no least, transfiguration lends a dance work an artistic value for "any argument made about its status is at the same time an argument for its value" (549).
In regard to Libido, I would like to emphasise the notion of "understanding" - the kind which is not available for watching an ordinary erotic scene - which the audience is initially made to believe to be watching at the beginning of the "romantic" part of the performance. This kind of understanding comes only after the boredom of yet another naked image wades of, forcing us to make something out of it. The same way we come to understand a painting or a sculpture - not at the first glance but after a long stare or perhaps even returning to it. This way of looking at static art works has earned them much more recognition and approval than the art of dance can enjoy - they are there and we can take our time to examine and understand them or return if we still can not feel them quite right (as for some readers this is synonymous with understanding, I would not like to leave them out). Dance works on the other hand can not even be experienced as a whole at once - they evolve every moment only to perish somewhere at the bottom of our memory. St. Pierre and Gingras give us the opportunity to stop and examine without actually stopping the show or trying to recapitulate or summarise their ideas. It is precisely that special moment when we get bored that can turn out to be the key to understanding and seeing beyond mere swiving.
To conclude and perhaps refute one of the most frequent criticism of St. Pierre, and generally of art containing nudity, that they ineffectively try to be shocking, I answer - Was it supposed to be shocking? After all, we have seen all this before, right? (perhaps not on stage, yet still) But can we be shocked? Are we able to feel anything or all that is left from our sensitivity to intimacy is mockery and black comedy? Andre Gingras style of raw aesthetics and physicality brings up ethical and spiritual matters in social context. And aside from the fact that with Libido Gingras clearly makes an important political statement regarding his vision of the Dance Works Rotterdam's mission and the direction of contemporary dance in general, the important issue he and St. Pierre address in this performance through the transfiguration of (not so) ordinary activity is: Do we still care?
Notes
[1] See trailer on http://vimeo.com/14974236
[2] See Dance Works Rotterdam website for full description: http://www.danceworksrotterdam.nl/eng/repertory/libido.php
[3] Simpson, Anne. "Face to Face with J K Rowling: Casting a spell over young minds," The Herald, 7 Dec. 1998. Accio-quote.18 Oct.2010.
<http://www.accio-quote.org/articles/1998/1298-herald-simpson.html>
[4] Fry, Stephen, interviewer: J.K. Rowling at the Royal Albert Hall, 26 June 2003. Accio-quote.18 Oct.2010.
<http://www.accio-quote.org/articles/2003/0626-alberthall-fry.htm>
Works Cited
McFee, Brian. "Dance". The Routledge Companion to Aesthetics. London-New York: Routledge, 2001, pp. 545-556.