The sum of zero

Dancer-choreographer Kathy Wasik's fantasia on the number Zero--in a two-piece evening by the same name at Triskelion Arts--sent me on a search for fun facts about the ubiquitous and useful numerical oval.

Did you know, for instance, that a null pointer is a pointer in a computer program that does not point to any object or function? Or that in classical music, 0 is very rarely used as a number for a composition: Anton Bruckner wrote a Symphony No. 0 in D minor and a Symphony No. 00; Alfred Schnittke also wrote a Symphony No. 0? Or that in lattice theory, 0 may denote the bottom element of a bounded lattice? [Thank you, Wikipedia!] What the dickens is lattice theory? Will this be on the test?

From childhood, I've loved individual numbers (and letters) as symbols and entities with something very much akin to their own personalities and force. An instinctual Kabbalist type thing, I guess. I appreciate Wasik's idea of communing with Zero--surely the most buoyant, elusive and intriguing of numerical personalities--throughout her solo, Zero. The piece has its moments of visual pleasure and of whimsy, but I can't say I got it or took away much from the willowy, resilient Wasik's dancing--a long, dream-like performance in which her movements might be a bit too lovely and technically-controlled to speak up for her and her presumably visionary intentions.

On the other hand, Learning to Fall--Wasik's mysterious solo for beautiful Cara Liguori--is a much more cunning study. It uses the power of silence, chiaroscuro lighting (by Andy Dickerson) and carefully selected movement to focus attention. We zoom in on the exacting way Liguori readjusts one wrist with her other hand. She takes her time. She appears as one eternally suspended, touching her face, her hand or her shoulder while her mind seems to dwell elsewhere. Even the dance's ending seems to float in front of us, never landing.

Zero continues tonight and tomorrow night at 8pm at Triskelion Arts, 118 N. 11th Street (3rd Fl. R), Williamsburg, near Bedford Avenue L station

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We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. (Japanese Proverb)

Sideways gaze

Nude with Skeleton

by Anne Bogart, Anne's Blog/SEE SITI Extended Ensemble, April 2010

This is your brain on books

Next Big Thing - Literary Scholars Turn to Science

by Patricia Cohen, The New York Times, March 31, 2010

Rave on, dancers!

Question for choreographer Faye Driscoll:

What on earth did you do to your dancers to get them this way?

Now, hold on: That is not a hostile question.

In fact, I think it's a question a lot of envious choreographers might want to get answered, because Driscoll's effectiveness in her new piece, There is so much mad in me, is almost totally due to the blasted-open vulnerability and bravery of her nine performers.

Let's name them, right off the bat: Lindsay Clark, Lily Gold, Michael Helland, Jenny MaryTai Liu, Tony Orrico, Jacob Slominski, Adaku Utah, Jesse Zaritt and Nikki Zialcita.

These guys are astonishingly good, and each gets pushed forward in ways that bring out his or her breathtaking power.  Each one seems capable of a full course of possibilities--from delicate sparks of thought and expression flickering across their faces to full-tilt rage, and even the rage comes in 47 varieties. Doubt me on that last one, and I'll tell you to just watch one of Slominski's characters brutally intimidate his colleagues--and at least one audience member, too--and see what secrets his subsequent facial and bodily movements reveal not only about his perverse pleasure in instilling fear but also his childish petulance and repressed hysteria.

The work--charging through 75 minutes in which you never relax enough to worry about the time--is a seamless collage of intense scenarios depicting extreme, mind-pounding, mind-blowing experiences. Sounds like fun? Well, don't trust elation; it quickly turns to terror. And nobody does "quickly" like Driscoll and her crew. This rapid slippage and the ambiguity of just about everything you're seeing reach out past that so-called fourth wall and wreak havoc with your own body-mind continuum.

How do you really feel about the disturbing things you're watching? Not the funny moments--of which there are a goodly amount--but the exploitation, the oppression, the violence? You'll be sitting with that. Yes. This is one of those dances that examines you every bit as much as you examine it. I wish it wide presentation throughout America.

There is so much mad in me runs through Saturday evening with 7:30pm shows at Dance Theater Workshop. Last night's show was sold out. Best of luck. Click here for tickets to one of this season's top premieres and performances.

All thumbs

Is There a Future for Arts Criticism?

by A. O. Scott, The New York Times, March 31, 2010