The Storchi Theatre in Modena is a late nineteenth century theatre
with a nice simmetrical façade. It is a beautiful evening and people are
gathering together to see Dada Masilo’s adaptation of Giselle
(2017), a work on changing the symmetries of gender relations. The
poster of the performance shows Masilo as Giselle in a high kick with
her flex foot in front of a red dressed dancer with a whisk in one of
her hands. Masilo’s kick is emblematic of her version as it exemplifies
her intention to focus on the wilis’ viciousness, their strength and
deadly power.
The story of the ballet Giselle
(1841) is the quintessential Romantic story of love and loss. The
countrygirl Giselle falls in love with Albrecht who hides his noble
origin and his noble fiancée. When Giselle discovers the truth thanks to
Hilarion, her would-be lover, she goes mad in an epic dramatic scene
and dies only to be born again as a wili, a nightly spirit destined to
kill those who enter her realm in the forest. However, Giselle loves
Albrecht after all, and decides to save him from death when he ventures
into the forest to pray at her tomb.
Poster Giselle, photo Rosella Simonari.
Masilo’s Giselle is the fruit of numerous changes. Firstly, her
Giselle is not as fragile and shy as the classic one. One example is when she rejects Hilarion (Tshepo
Zasekhaya)’s flowers. Secondly, there is the style through which the
choreography is organised: contemporary, mingled with classical and
African. It is an explosive mix of energy that give shape to
vibrant ensemble phrases, Masilo’s best achievements, lyrical duets,
especially between Giselle and Albrecht (a stunning Lwando Dutyulwa),
and piercing solos. Third, there is the fundamental story twist in the
second part of the work: Giselle’s revenge against Albrecht.
Masilo works on characters and narrative in response to today’s society, its injustice, violence and discrimination. She has decided to set her work in rural South Africa and has drawn elements from its culture and tradition. The revised role of Myrtha, the queen of the wilis, is compelling and revealing, in this sense. Powerfully danced by a male dancer, Llewellyn Mnguni, dressed as the other wilis, Myrtha is a Sangoma, a South African healer, who confers a sacred tinge to the role. Mnguni has long light-coloured braided hair, and holds a hairy stick, a sort of whisk, which is traditionally used in ceremonies and which enters into a visual dynamics with his often whisked hair. His movements are curved and dense with his rear end off-axis. Other South African elements include the funeral hymn chanted after Giselle’s death at the end of act I, “go to heaven my heart, for there is no peace on this earth”, highlighted by a slow paced procession of the members of her community.
Dada Masilo and the other wilis in Giselle, photo Stella Olivier.
The queer element is also implemented by the presence of male wilis among the female group. Masilo has already dealt with homosexuality in her Swan Lake (2010), but here it is as if the theme is inserted underground in a kind of implicit statement whch make it discerete and consistent at the same time. Male, female, neither, both, whatever...gender fluidity seems to be one possible answer.
For the revenge theme, Masilo has pushed the “original narrative”, highlighting the wilis’ “vicious, dangerous” character. A chromatic anticipation can be discerned in the choice of deep red instead of ghostly white for the wilis and Myrtha’ costumes, “I wanted the Wilis to look like they had been drenched in blood”, affirms Masilo, recalling in this the connection that sometimes is made between wilis and vampires. Designed by Songezo Mcilizeli and Nonofo Olekeng, the costumes consist of a patterned sleevles top, a below the knee wide skirt and short layers of tulle sewed at the back. This contrasts with the vitreous green lights by Suzette le Sueur that appear with the wilis’ arrival.
When Albrecht arrives in this uncanny place, he briefly dances with red-dressed Giselle, but the tone is rather different from the pas de deux they interepreted before. In this case, Giselle is angry and pushes him away. It is the beginning of the end, Albrecht dances with three wilis a beautiful pas de quatre where they remain grouped together and he stands apart either to the front or the back. Soon he suffers from acute fits, and is then surrounded by the wilis, until Giselle kills him with a long whip. His body lies down lifeless, while the wilis move from right to left (he is on the left) throwing white dust in the air. Giselle is the last, lights go down and she leaves him there, alone. Revenge has been accomplished and a perverse justice given to all those women who have been wronged by men. The often percussive music by Philip Miller and William Kentridge’s rural-inspired drawings which at times is projected at the back, complete this choreography, profoundly thought-provoking in style, interpreters and narrative.
Raffaella Giordano in CELESTE appunti per natura, photo by Andrea Macchia.
Round arms, slow-paced steps, torquise, yellow and
blu dress-shaped surface. These are some of the snapshots we are left
with after watching CELESTE appunti per natura [CELESTE notes
for nature], the solo choreographed and danced by Raffaella Giordano,
co-director of Sosta Palmizi.
Sosta Palmizi is one of the historic contemporary
dance companies in Italy. It had its debut in 1985 with Il
Cortile [The Courtyard] and, as Ambra Senatore has noted, it
emerged as “a turning point phenomenon” in Italian dance history.
CELESTE appunti per natura throws an imaginary lasso to Il
Cortile because its music is composed by the same musician, Arturo
Annecchino.
Created in 2017, the choreography was presented
at the Mecenate Theatre in Arezzo (near Florence) on Sunday March
17th as the last performance of a series titled “Invito di Sosta"
(XI Edition) [Sosta Invitation] that took place from October 2018 to March 2019. A
“closing for an opening”, affirmed Giorgio Rossi, co-director of
Sosta Palmizi together with Giordano. The auspice refers to the
Company’s intention to organise a new calendar of performances for
the autumn, but also and mainly it refers to the solo itself which represents the
opening towards a rich microcosm of steps,
gestures and images. For instance, when Giordano knees down placing
her hands and head on the stage floor, or when she puts the wooden
log characterised by two holes (one of the three props) behind her
neck, recalling perhaps medieval tortures like pillory, it is a
moment, but a really striking
one.
And then there is silence, the
grades of silence alternated with music and
sounds (these last ones by Lorenzo Brusci). Giordano often shows her
back to the audience and covers her face with her hands, until she
wears a mask made of paper, a simple page with three holes, two for
her eyes, one for her mouth. As she explains in the after performance
talk, she has worked a lot on invisibility, on the sense of drawing
away in order to leave room for something else: a gesture, a calm
rhythm, the moving body, the crossing of space.
CELESTE appunti per natura is in part based on an unusual
book, The Hill of Summer (1969) by J. A. Baker, an almost unknown writer
who “only talks about and describes nature”. Giordano follows
the author’s intention to remove himself from the text in order
to let nature emerge. The dancer choreographer’s reiterated gesture
of covering her face appears curious and intimate at the same time.
And in today’s intemperate world of facebook (the book of faces, we
could say), this gesture becomes dense and offers a different gaze, a
gaze focused on details and embodied identities where faces are just
one component among many, not social media’ directive.
Last but not least, her dress, the movement of her dress and inside her dress.
Painted by Gianmaria Sposito, it has a round neck, long slightly
puffed sleeves and a bell-shaped skirt with side slits. It glows,
gets compressed and expanded during the choreographic path,
interacting with Giordano’s bare feet and emphasising the posistion of
her hands, often joined or placed on the fabric. It is a microcosm
within the microcosm, another “service to the action”, the careful attention
Giordano has for her work.
Black Flags is a large installation William Forsythe created in 2014 for one of his projects called Choreographic Objects. Forsythe has been revolutionising the language of dance since the late 1980s, with his radical deconstructive approach to ballet, and, in 2005 he pushed his creative drive further by asking himself questions like, “is it possible for choreography to generate autonomous expressions of its principles, a choreographic object, without the body?” (Forsythe, no date). The result were the Choreographic Objects, a series of challenging installations which could differ in size, material and structure.
Black Flags is one of them, is huge and it consists of two robotic arms holding and moving two black flags. The big dark fabric of each flag moves sometimes in unison with the other, sometimes according to a different direction or angle, “there is a distribution of forces which is really unique” says Forsythe, praising the “beauty and precision” (Forsythe, 2017) of these objects. The noise of the robots in action is the only ‘music’ in the piece.
I have not seen it live, but I felt a deep sense of uncanny bewilderment watching the video of this performance and I begun to think about the reasons why. The first thing that has come to my mind is the Italian ‘sbandieratori’, flag twirlers, artists who move flags in various directions and even throw them in the air in acrobatic compositions. It is not clear what their origin was, but nowadays, there are numerous Medieval-inspired spectacles which include the exhibition of the flag twirlers whose work can certainly be seen as a type of choreography. Here are a couple of examples, the first is a live recording of the sbandieratori from Lanciano, a town in the South of Italy, the second is a video portray of the sbandieratori from Acquapendente, a smaller town in the Centre of Italy:
Watching Forsythe’s flags and the flag twirlers one can notice the creepy (Forsythe used the term ‘creep’ himself, see Forsythe, 2017) calmness of the formers with respect to the upbeat of the latters, there is a connection in the dexterous flags manipulation, but a sharp difference in dynamics.
The bewilderment continues, there is something out of place in this installation, but I still do not know what it is. Then , the second association emerges, it is is with the Anarchists’ flag, which was black towards the end of the nineteenth century and beginning of the twentieth. First made popular by Louise Michel in France in the 1880s, it then recurred in other countries like the United States (afaq, 2008). According to Howard Ehrlich, the colour black was chosen for its association with various elements:
"Black is the shade of negation. The black flag is the negation of all flags. It is a negation of nationhood which puts the human race against itself and denies the unity of all humankind. Black is a mood of anger and outrage (…). Balck is also a colour of mourning. (…) Balck is also beautiful. It is a colour of determination, of resolve, of strength, a colour by which all others are clarified and defined. Black is the mysterious surrounding of germination, of fertility, the breeding ground of new life which always evolves, renews, refreshes, and reproduces itself in darkness" (Ehrlich, quoted in afaq, 2008).
I am getting there. This sense of bewilderment is connected with the idea of nation/group the flag incorporates. And I think of the United States flags planted on the moon in 1969 or, moving backwards, of the flag in Eugène Delacroix’s painting Liberty Leading the people (1830), where the allegory of the female form (Warner, 1985) representing the ideal of Liberty, guides a group of people through war (more specifically, the 1830 July Revolution). That same three-coloured flag would later became the French national flag.
Forsythe, talking about Black Flags, has affirmed that they worked hard “to de-anthropomorphise these robots in their actions and we’ve done everything we can to take away the idea of dominance or submission or purpose although it does creep in” (Forsythe, 2017). I am not sure I agree with this idea. Flags are highly overloaded symbols connected with human history, politics, culture and various other fields (there is also a field dedicated to them, it is called Vexillology, from the Latin word ‘vexillum’, flag) and they bear within themselves patterns of dominance and submission. Choosing flags for an installation without engaging with these patterns means to perpetrate them in some way. George Balanchine, for example, has choreographed two ballets devoted to flags, Stars and Stripes (1958) and Union Jack (1976), choosing a celebratory tone and “patriotic touches” (Balanchine Trust, no date).
Wlliam Pope.L’s Trinket, a 2008 installation, where a huge flag is being moved by large industrial fans and illuminated by several lights, is quite different in this sense. It looks like a United States flag but it is not as Pope.L has added a star, which is a small detail that disrupts the pattern. In a similar way, the title poses a sharp contrast to the majesty of the symbol the flag has, “when speaking of big things use small words” he says (Pope. L, 2015).
Christopher Knight summarises the work as follows:
"The egalitarian promise of the flag's symbolism is easily acknowledged, but what makes the sculpture great is its layered depth. More difficult to represent is the symbol's power, whose source is counterintuitive: The symbol is dynamic because its egalitarian promise has not been fulfilled" (Knight, 2015).
According to Pope.L the flag “is a space of disagreement and agreement” and this condenses the layered discourse on flag symbolism, especially for the use of the term ‘space’, as it recalls the geopolitical root of many conflicts.
Another artist, Roberto Longo, has created in 2014 a big sculpture of wood, steel and wax which recalls a partial United States flag, except for the fact that it is black and built as if it were a “sinking ship” (Longo, 2016). The erect (almost phallic) position of a flag hanging from its pole is deconstructed and reshaped according to a disturbing diagonal. Titled Untitled (Pequod) it recalls Ahab’s ship in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick (1851), a ship which in the end sank as did Ahab’s obsession with the white whale. “Moby Dick is like the genetic code of America” says Longo, in that the ship crew members came from different cultures but were led by white guys. And Ahab “has this incredible hubris which is very much like American hubris right now” (Longo, 2016).
Robert Longo, Untitled (Pequod).
Both Pope.L and Longo engage with the symbolism connected to flags, Fosythe does not. That is probably the cause of my bewilderment, I feel something important is missing. I appreciate Forsythe’s choice of two flags so that movement does not have a central focus, but two. However, this recalls the anthropomorphic image of two arms, even though the robots are placed on the floor and not attached to a unifying object. I also found the fabric moving through the air particularly interesting, with the three elements in this installation, interacting with each other: one is the robots, the second is the flags and “air is the third invisible player, you have to basically choreograph the air and the flags” (Forsythe, 2017). This aspect reminded me of two performances: Loïe Fuller’s Serpentine Dance (1891) and Martha Graham’s solo "Specter 1914" from Chronicle (1936). Fuller used metres of costume sewed together with two wands which were used to extend the length of her arms and amplify the volume of the moving fabric. Her body disappeared and was replaced by curves and spirals shaped by the costume. Here is an example danced not by Fuller but by one of her rivals and filmed by the Lumière brothers:
Graham’s solo is less high paced in fabric manipulation. The costume is made of a tight long-sleeved black top and a very long black skirt open at the back. At one point, the dancer begins to move the skirt from its laying down position upward, revealing its red inside colour (another version of the Anarchist flag was red and black). She repeats this gesture several times and, as in Fuller’s case, her figure seems to be reshaped by the moving fabric. Here is the solo danced by former Martha Graham Dance Company principal dancer, Katherine Crockett:
Flags, huge flags, moving flags, flags performing a choreography, flags as controversial symbols. Black Flags is a thought provoking work, a fascinating display of choreographic elements, with one missing point, a statement (of any kind) about flag symbolism, which I consider as the elephant in the room. As poet John Agard has written in his poem “Flag”:
What’s that fluttering in the breeze?
It’s just a piece of cloth
that brings a nation to its knees (Agard, 2004).
REFERENCES
afag, "Appendix - The Symbols of Anarchy", in Anarchist Writers, 11 October 2008, http://anarchism.pageabode.com/afaq/append2.html (accessed 16 March 2019).
John Agard, “Flag”, in Half-Caste and Other Poems (London: Hodder Children’s Books, 2004), consulted in The Poetry Archive, https://www.poetryarchive.org/poem/flag (accessed 16 March 2019).
The George Balanchine Trust, “Stars and Stripes”, balanchine.com, no date, http://balanchine.com/stars-and-stripes/ (accessed 16 March 2019).
William Forsythe, “Choreographic Objects – Essay”, no date, williamforsythe.com, https://www.williamforsythe.com/essay.html (accessed 15 March 2019).
William Forsythe, “William Forsythe: Choreographic Objects”, Gagosian, 23 October 2017, youtube video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgQYc5xJc5w (accessed 16 March 2019).
Christopher Knight, “William Pope.L sets the U.S. flag waving at the MOCA/Geffen”, Los Angeles Times, 24 March 2015, https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/la-et-cm-pope-l-moca-review-20150324-column.html (accessed 15 March 2019).
Robert Longo, “I Will Strike the Sun”, Out of Sync – Art in Focus, 18 May 2016, youtube video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-jZFOAw46I (accessed 15 March 2019).
William Pope.L, “William Pope.L: Trinket”, MOCA, 15 April 2015, youtube video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5wdIAtO4pU (accessed 15 March 2019).
Marina Warner, Monuments and Maidens – The Allegory of the Female Form (London: Picador, 1985).
