I watched Solo section of Oashisu by PearsonWidrig DanceTheatre.Dance as body. Wow, he was an amazing body moving through space in this spacious museum, with nice shiny wood floors. Oh, but there were three huge paintings on the wall. Blueish smears, redish smears, yellowish. Hmm, but what was he doing? Reacting to their hugeness. Maybe, maybe not. Was it improvised, maybe maybe not. Was it a human body, or just any old body flinging itself around? I don't quite understand this kind of acrobatics, but it is out there and it is astonishing. I wonder if when people watch my solo of me contacting with the air, they get this same sort of disembodied experience? I know some people said it made them nervous. I didn't like that.
I guess I've never been partial to dancing without a name. Without a personal attachment to whatever it is that is coming out of the body. I guess I also happen to love paintings and colors and just kept thinking how I didn't feel this movement was honoring the colors I saw painted before me. But perhaps I am wrong. Maybe he was the paint brush, with the polished strokes that at once seem improvised and flung, but are flung with such precision, each time the leg flips around the spine upside down, that one feels its pure essence of form itself. Maybe the art is in the execution, not the connection. Maybe that is the point. The dancer as the tool. Sharp, linear, but highly flexible on one end.
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