Posts Tagged ‘aesthetics’

Interruption Culture

Friday, May 28th, 2010

It seems that the internet is changing the internal structure of our brains making us more prone to surface skimming of information and less likely to do deep investigative reading. I remember back in college when the internet was far less exciting than it is now I would use it for email and not much more. Research and information came through books, magazines, and news papers. Now that has shifted dramatically and I have found my own powers of concentration affected.

The question of good and bad seems far less relevant to me than the question of useful or not useful. In an evolutionary feedback loop our brains are changing as the result of cultural developments and then culture in turn changes. Art that requires sustained viewing, think film, plays, musicals, dance, and so forth, have been shifting in style for decades towards a more visually active format.

It turns out that this evolution towards a fast visual style actually has a scientific name, 1/f. in jargon it is called pink noise. In the Wired article about how the internet is changing our brains, the analogy is given that we use the internet more like hunter-gatherers of information, following tracks and picking up little bits of information here and there. Pink noise, it turns out is more than just a formula for interesting visual effects, but can be found in “many features of our natural and artifactual surroundings. Track the pulsings of a quasar, the beatings of a heart, the flow of the tides, the bunchings and thinnings of traffic, or the gyrations of the stock market, and the data points will graph out as pink noise. Much recent evidence from reaction-time experiments suggests that we think, focus and refocus our minds, all at the speed of pink.”

Perhaps then the internet is not so much changing our minds away from a particular stage of evolution, but rather that technology has caught up with how our brains naturally think. Perhaps sustained concentration, while an interesting historical anomaly, is nothing more than that. We developed a technology, writing, which, until very recently, was forced to be linear. Now that it is non-linear, we are able to use our brains in a more natural state.

One thing I have noticed in myself is a lack of concern with memorization. Why expend a huge amount of effort memorizing facts when it can be recalled quickly through search?

As this relates to design, these new studies are quite interesting. Obviously there is a degree of sustained concentration that is necessary for lighting a show. We have a limited amount of tech time compressed into a few long days in which to work. If we are unable to concentrate for the duration of our ten out of twelves, we will never get the piece finished. But after that minimum ability, it looks like these effects are actually useful.

While stated within a pejorative context, the Wired article does mention that “[c]ertain cognitive skills are strengthened by our use of computers and the Net. These tend to involve more primitive mental functions, such as hand-eye coordination, reflex response, and the processing of visual cues.” The processing of visual cues is the meat of the lighting designer’s work. We are presented with a stage and have very little time until the next cue during which we must analyze the situation for any problems of composition, make the necessary changes, and record those changes. On a slow show we have a few minutes, but on a fast one like a musical, perhaps only a few seconds.

Combine this with the New York Times article on pink noise and a very interesting pattern emerges. The modulations in tempo which make for visually compelling work also have relatively short durations for any one visual, aural, or other piece of information. This ability to rapidly process visual cues has become built in to the very fabric of society from where we learn information through research (the internet) to where we go for relaxation from that work (film, plays, etc).

One need only compare the pacing of a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical to a Michael Bey film to see that there has been a fundamental shift in how we, as a culture and a people, process information. At a more basic level, look at the simple experience of navigating the streets of a 21st century city. We have many people we must avoid bumping into, traffic signs to pay attention to, cars and other vehicles to observe, signs to look out for in order to reach our destination. All of these visual things demanding our attention have sound cues associated with them as well. Then there is advertising, the random crazy person, birds and other small animals, our own chaotic thoughts, and more. In that context, the ability to rapidly process visual and other information is not some abstract effect of a new technology per se, but a necessary skill set to survive in our contemporary world.

Aesthetics and technology change in harmonious co-evolution. While the chicken or the egg discussion might be interesting to some, I find the simultaneous unfolding of human culture to be inherently interesting. I am less interested in whether one particular effect of culture is “good” or “bad” based on value structures which presuppose a culture fundamentally different than the one we live in. What I am interested in is how we relate to the culture we find ourselves in. As artists, how deeply can we tune into the cultural frequencies flying past us and manifest works of beauty which at once reflect and transcend that world.

We are by definition a product of culture. We are written by our culture. At the same time we are free agents who may act in predictable or unpredictable ways. Those actions further change culture in one or more ways. Like a kind of cultural butterfly effect we may never know until well after the fact which actions caused a profound rupture in the flow of history. So we must strive to do our best with the tools available to us and make the world into a more perfect vision.

We may become distracted and interrupted along the way, but perhaps those breaks will give us just the pause we need to make an unexpected leap from one piece of information to another. The butterfly flaps its wings and the membrane shivers.

Abstract Realism

Friday, May 7th, 2010

There is an assumed dichotomy, when discussing works of art, between abstract pieces and realistic works. Realistic might be substituted for naturalistic, but the basic dichotomy reigns. I have discussed abstract minimalism quite a lot in this space. The counterpoint to abstract minimalism is not realism or naturalism but abstract realism.

Art, by it’s very nature, demands of the creator that choices be made. An object, event, idea, image, plot, and so forth are all framed. The frame might be literal in the sense of a classical painting, or it may be metaphoric through the use of language. In all cases a human experience is reified and placed within a frame. Art is the abstraction of reality.

To understand how fundamental abstraction is to art we should look, not to those considered abstract like Mondrian or Beckett, but to those considered realists like Ibsen or Caravaggio. In understanding the abstraction inherent in naturalistic works, this will lead us to a deeper understanding of and appreciation for those works more traditionally considered abstract. Even photography, by the nature of framing an image, abstracts our experience of reality before we even get to issues of color or focus. Walker Evans, about as naturalistic a photographer as has ever shot a roll of film, is highly abstract. Not so much in what he includes exactly, but with regards to what lies outside the frame. Through his images we have a limited understanding of a particular view of reality. A deep and rich understanding of that piece of the real, but a piece nonetheless.

Ibsen is a fantastic example of linguistic framing. He takes a story and distills it into the formalism of the three act play. Life is abstracted from the glorious non-linear mess that it is into a tight and controlled sequence of events. Act 1, Introduction. We, the audience, are shown the major players, ideas, and themes that will run their course throughout the play. Act 2, Conflict. We see the characters, ideas, and themes evolve and come into conflict. Act 3, Resolution. The conflict comes to an end perhaps through some transformation of the people, ideas, and themes. This may all sound familiar.

Should we choose to abstract this structure further we would do well to look back at Hegel and his dialectic. His thesis, anti-thesis, synthesis follows the same rhythmic pattern as the three act “well made” play. Once we understand that structure we can apply our understanding to any work and see that the distinction between realist and abstract work is a surface distinction at best. Good works that exist as temporal art (music, theater, opera, dance) all share this rhythmic structure. The form may be infinitely varied but the underlying structure is the same.

In the visual realm, rhythmic structure is replaced with proportion. When I looked at minimalism earlier I used Mondrian as an example. His work throughout his career was an exploration of proportion, though the form was multi-varied. Rothko is a painter whose work is focused on proportion almost to the exclusion of anything else.

The rigor needed for minimalism points to the necessary abstraction in any work of art. It is impossible to include everything in a work of art. Reality is the only experience that is not abstract.

Mondrian, or Rothko, are wonderful examples of the formalism of proportion exercises. We can look to Caravaggio, a so called realist, to better understand the formal structure of proportion. At the time he was active, his work was derided for the realistic style he employed, especially with regards to the painting of religious figures. While his realism is indeed impressive, and arguably unparalleled in the history of painting, it is at the more abstracted level that his works take on their true power. His sense of proportion, in terms of color, composition, and contrast, are impeccable.

As close to reality as some of Caravaggio’s works get, they are the product of clear and decisive choices at every level. From general composition, to the finer details of relative value between figures, to the color palette, we are looking at an abstracted space. Foreground and background, or depth of field to return to the world of photography, play a critical role in solidifying a well proportioned image.

Working as a lighting designer for live performance, I am concerned with both the rhythmic structure of the temporal work and issues of proportion. Foreground and background play a critical role, as do relative light and darkness, color, and other issues of contrast. At the same time, I must deal with these issues over time as the stage picture constantly changes. Temporal Rhythmic Proportion is a synthesis of the structures of temporal art and static art. It is the basis of what we do as visual artists for live performance. Navigating the ever shifting compositional needs through time is the primary concern of the lighting designer.

As naturalistic as a work might be, we are moving through an abstracted space bounded by abstracted time. From Beckett to Ibsen we navigate an abstraction of reality. Fundamentally understanding abstract space allows us to do so with full efficacy and powerful results.

Recessionary Aesthetics; Money, Minimalism, and Art – Or, it’s the performer stupid

Monday, December 14th, 2009

I am currently working on two shows that, for budgetary reasons, have pulled back on the design elements and are working within a minimalist framework. It has long surprised me that smaller theater and opera companies will often spend a significant percentage of their budget on scenery (or costumes) and skimp on a lot of the other elements of the show. Dance learned years ago that when working with limited means the first thing to go should be the elaborate scenery, followed by fancy costumes. The whole purpose of live performance is to experience the performers.

Modern dance developed within a rather poor environment even for the arts. Scenery and, to a lesser extent, costumes were largely eliminated in favor of spending money on performers and, by extension, lighting. You can do any show without scenery and without costumes, but you can’t do it in the dark. As the saying goes, “If you can’t see them you can’t hear them.” One quickly begins questioning what exactly that means. Seeing the performer does not necessarily mean a spotlight on their face. If you are working on a noir piece revealing the actor in shadow and half light may be the most effective means of hearing what they are saying in a given moment. Yet the underlying logic is true. If the audience can not see the performance they will fast lose interest.

It is interesting that theater and opera companies will often sacrifice the actual performances in order to have scenery and costumes when, in the end, the audience comes for the performers. Both of the shows I am currently doing in a minimal style have made sacrifices in order to directly improve the performances and thus the audience’s experience of the piece. In one case a rather pricey scenic element was cut to hire a dialect coach. In the other case singers salaries were increased with, what would have been, the scenic budget. In both instances a choice was made in favor of the performance over the packaging. In both these cases the lighting budget is tiny (as it should be) but I will make it work overtime.

Don’t get me wrong. I am incredibly vocal about the utility of good design. I firmly believe in the value that visual storytelling brings to a work. I have seen shows whose success was largely through the design ideas alone. But no slick piece of stagecraft will make up for a poor performance. One of the great things about lighting is that it has the capacity to work scenically as well as a means of illumination. Through the use of standard American theatrical lighting instruments whole worlds can be created with variations of color, texture, shape, and angle. Interiors and exteriors can be created not to mention the more obvious qualities like time of day.

I see a lot of companies cutting back their programming or doing smaller shows in order to make up the funding gaps they are experiencing under the current economy. Sadly this is precisely the wrong direction to go. Audiences come to the theater to see shows. By reducing the programming you are reducing your audience base and risk pushing them away more permanently. Instead the most logical thing to do is revision the way in which performance is seen. Exploring minimalist approaches to design is certainly one way to do this. Cut the scenic, costume, and lighting budgets and do the five actor play you really want. Cut all the fancy drops and hire that amazing singer.

It is common in New York, and with many European companies, to forgo design altogether. No set, rehearsal clothes, and worklights. While this is often too bold a choice for most directors it is a way of producing work that focuses first on the performance.

Before these ideas get tossed to the side as the ravings of a post-modernist, keep in mind that Shakespeare operated in much the same fashion. The scenery for his plays was minimal to non-existent, the lighting was daylight (and perhaps a few effects), while the costumes were a hodge podge of items the company would carry around with it. Roman characters might be wearing Elizabethan clothes and brandishing Greek weaponry and all this in simple daylight on a more or less bare stage. The focus, once again, was on the performance.

Far from cutting back on performance, when times are tough, it is exactly the performance that needs to be focused on. Additional rehearsal times, dialect coaching, higher performer salaries (to both allow them to relax and focus on the work as well as garnering a higher quality performer) are what the money should be spent on. An audience should leave the theater thinking fondly on the performance. If they leave remembering the scenery or lighting, with no resonance to the story, we have done something wrong.

At the rate of economic “recovery” we are experiencing these are issues companies will be dealing with for the foreseeable future. If live performance is not to be totally overwhelmed by mass consumer culture something must be done to keep performance alive and growing.

How will you respond?

From the Archives: Risk and Failure – Seven Deadly Sins

Monday, November 9th, 2009

Note: This piece was originally written in 2006. There has been minor editing to fix some grammar.

Risk is something we must always engage with when creating art. There is no foreknowledge of the efficacy of the project. Collaborative art necessitates a strong and deep trust in the work of one’s collaborators. Sometimes these are people you know well while other times they are people you have met quite recently. Often some combination of these two elements occurs in the same production. Regardless, one must place a total trust in the work of your collaborators. The energy is created through this combination of danger and excitement.

When I worked on Seven Deadly Sins we had no idea until the show was over if it would work. There were so many pieces to fit together with the Orchestra, Opera singers, cabaret dancers, blacksmiths, acrobats, fire dancers, etc. etc. The stage was a ninety foot long by four foot wide catwalk with small end stages on either side. The audience sat arena style sandwiching the runway. We had seating for somewhere around 700 people and it quickly became evident to me that the other side of the audience would become a primary visual element of the overall experience.

As a general rule of thumb, a lighting designer tries to keep the light on the stage and off the audience. Of course rules, as we all know, were made to be broken. So rather than try and hide this very present and potentially massive audience, I chose to make them a feature of the evening. Large colored floodlights were pointed at the seating areas in an attempt to light our audience in various colors and thus take them, literally, on the emotional journey of the opera.

These discussions with my director, Roy Rallo, were quite difficult. Given that we did not have an audience, there was no way to test out this effect prior to the opening. As a result I had to convince someone, who I had never worked with before, that the primary storytelling device we would have with the lighting was an effect we could not test prior to the show opening. Essentially he had to trust me that this was the right course of action to take. I confidently told him it was and silently prayed that I was right.

The final effect was greater than I had anticipated. We were fortunate enough to have a filled to capacity house, so the effect was to be the best it could be. And it worked brilliantly. The faces of the audience were clearly visible from across the space and not only did their personal emotional reactions show but the group looked wonderful in the shifting light. There was an immersive quality to the experience that in some significant way derived from the environmental quality of the lighting.

Had we gone with a traditional lighting style, keeping the lights out of the audience, the effect of the piece would not have been so strong. The shifting backgrounds and the degree of contrast with the fire that we achieved would not have been possible. Without that risk of failure, the best aspect of the lighting for that show would never have been. Without risking failure we can never achieve greatness.

From the Archives: Is Stanley McCandless German? OR The Rediscovery of Shadow in Contemporary Culture

Monday, November 2nd, 2009

Note: This post originally appeared in July of 2006. It has been slightly edited to account for grammatical errors.

Theoretically the whole acting area might be lighted with one powerful instrument directing its beams to the stage from a distance, at an angle which would light up the face of the actor somewhat as the rays from the sun make objects visible on a sunny day.
Stanley McCandless, A method for Lighting the Stage

During his time a single light that could cover an entire stage was nothing but theory yet now such technology is commonplace. The film industry has found a need to brightly illuminate large areas in a color identical to daylight such that the camera does not pick up the difference between the sun and the artificial lighting in the photography. Because of that need the HMI Fresnel was born. HMI is a kind of lamp that operates much like a fluorescent or neon in that there is a glass container with chemicals in it that gets flooded with electricity and lets off (very bright) light. Although originally designed for film these lights have found their way into theaters initially through European opera houses.

The difference between an HMI and a traditional incandescent lamp is like comparing watercolor to oil paint. One can achieve the same range of colors, perhaps, but the actual quality of the medium is quite different. By using these large lighting instruments one can achieve effects that are quite simply impossible with ‘area lighting.’ One of the biggest issues is shadows. Often in American theater productions one sees a stage floor covered with lots and lots of tiny shadows. These are the result of lots and lots of tiny little lights focused into lots and lots of little areas. This is common in so called ‘naturalism’ and yet it is about as unnatural as one can get. When we walk out into the sun at 4:30 in the afternoon we see a single shadow cast from a single source of light. Perhaps two shadows if we are near a building with a reflective glass wall. But nowhere, unless we are in an artificial environment, do we have twenty-three or more shadows one sees on a typical American stage floor.

I am not arguing for an aesthetic that knows only deep shadow. If everything were like that, it would get as boring as unchanging shadowless light. A deeper appreciation for shadow could greatly enhance the beauty and dynamism of the American stage. In some ways this is a political stance. I never watch TV unless I am on an airplane, but when I have the chance one of my favorite things to watch is Fox News. Their lighting designer must be one of the most brilliant propagandists alive. Watch one of their cable news shows some time it is fascinating. All the anchors are lit so evenly that there is not a single shadow to be found. They represent the ‘truth.’ They are ‘fair and balanced.’ Then they have their Conservative guests on camera who have slight shadows. Nothing big, but just enough to differentiate them from the hosts. Finally you have anyone other than a conservative wingnut. They always, ALWAYS, have a shadow underneath their chin. Minor issue right? Who cares? Indeed. No one cared in 1962 when Nixon and Kennedy debated on television. Appearance in front of a camera means nothing. Nothing at all.

Shadows indicate secrets. Subconsciously we know this somewhere. It is an accepted part of our culture. Shadow = untruth. Or at least half truth. We can not believe the shadowed figure as much as our fair and balanced hosts. They have nothing to hide, so we must trust them. I do not believe this was always the case. For shadow means something else entirely. It means Mystery. Sometimes a divine mystery one is rightly in awe of. One need only look at the paintings of Rembrandt or Caravaggio or El Greco to see a strong Western tradition that appreciates the beauty of the shadow.

It is time to reclaim the beauty of shadows. Like Tanizaki did for Japanese culture with In Praise of Shadows, we must relearn the beauty and truth of shadow. They need not be things to fear so long as we know how to approach them. Batman after all, one of the greatest dark heros of modern mythology, hides in the shadows. We are afraid, as a culture, to look inside ourselves and stare at the void. We are much more content to turn on the television and be told about our fair and balanced world. But it is time for our art to show us that void. If we can not go there unaided, then our art, our cultural subconscious, must be brought to the surface of our attention. We must learn to stare out at the dark expanse of human consciousness and see possibility and potential. We must learn to live in praise of shadows.

The Aesthetics of Boredom

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

I have been having trouble writing recently and realized that a large part of this was due to boredom. I had been fighting this boredom strongly by struggling to find a topic of interest. A typical response. I would begin writing on a topic and quickly become bored with my words. What finally broke the flood gates of possibility was realizing that rather than fighting the sense of boredom I should embrace and explore it.

Boredom is a large and general feeling. What I am feeling is something specific. Aesthetic boredom.

In a way this now shifting relationship to boredom dovetails with my previously mentioned exploration of the color gray. Boredom, and its regular companion malaise, is a symptom of the post-modern condition. Having access to anything one might desire makes any decision fundamentally arbitrary. Once a decision has become arbitrary its force and impact in one’s life is radically diminished.

Aesthetic boredom works in a similar way to any other kind of boredom. As choices become arbitrary their value is gone. Living within a world where a candy bar and a five star meal are of equal weight would seem absurd. Yet this is the effect of aesthetic boredom. Pink, gray, blue, bright, dark, soft, or hard are all of equal value and thus become useless. Much of the problems I find in contemporary art stem from this. Anything is possible and as such there is no danger or risk. Without danger the essence of art becomes no more.

The only authentic response to boredom is not struggle but surrender. Rather than striving for the “right” choice one must rein in the very impulse to act. When all actions are equal the only event of any weight is intentional non-action. Thus the essence of boredom becomes radical non-action. The films of Jim Jarmusch are one vector along this potential.

An exploration of boredom immediately shows the inherent contradiction contained within it. Any exploration of boredom is an act and thus suffers from the very critique this manner of boredom sets upon the world. While at once self critiquing it also highlights the pervasive and unavoidable nature of boredom in contemporary western culture.

Like an exploration of the color gray shows us the many and varied possibilities contained in so simple a thing so too does an exploration of boredom show the vitality and possibility inherent in that mode of being. For boredom shows us an ever expanding palette of opportunities that is in fact confining while severe limitation gives us limitless potential.

I would like to avoid the word ennui here for a few reasons. First, are various connotations with 20th century discourse which I find largely misplaced. Second, is the etymological root of vexation which has a more active origin than I am interested in. Third, and finally, is the fact that boredom is an English word and as such has a more direct resonance in my experience.

Ennui takes on metaphysical characteristics well out of proportion to the mode of being I am experiencing here. Boredom has a plainness to it while ennui contains within it pretensions of an almost performative nature. Boredom is by definition strictly non-performative.

The non-performative nature of boredom begs the question how it may be presented in a performative medium. Is such an action even possible? What would it look like? What would it sound like? Or is it in fact an inherent contradiction to conceive of such a thing? If it is true that performative boredom is inherently contradictory then performance may well be the condition necessary to transform that mode of being into something else.

From the Archives: The Aesthetics of Control

Monday, October 19th, 2009

This piece was originally posted in January of 2008.

Beauty is a fateful gift of the essence of truth, and here truth means the disclosure of what keeps itself concealed. The beautiful is not what pleases, but what falls within that fateful gift of truth which comes to be when that which is eternally non-apparent and therefore invisible attains its most radiantly apparent appearance.
Martin Heidegger, What is called Thinking?

Heidegger’s concern with beauty here has its essence in Humanity’s relation to its own quest for self knowledge. The quest to understand the Self, that true and unwavering quest is itself the essence of Beauty. He calls this unique human essence Dasein, that which is concerned with its own being. Beauty then, is the clear and unadulterated understanding, or quest for that essence.

When he takes up the issue of art it is most often through poetry. Or poetry as the essential in a poetic understanding of the world. But it is that larger poetic understand of the world that is key. When Keats claims that “‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all // Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” he is speaking here to that same essential mode of being, that poetic worldview. But is this “truth” the truth of the poem, or the Grecian Urn for which the poem was written. Or was the Urn itself a mere tool for which the poem may express some larger understanding of the world?

These questions are inherent to the making of art. Surely one can make a piece of art, be it a poem, a painting, photograph or piece of theater and be unthinking in that action. Such a work may even point to some aspect of truth. But such unthinking works rarely tend towards that poetic essence whereby some larger truth is found and some deeper understanding of the Self and its relation to the world is made manifest.

In Architecture of Authority, Richard Ross explores the poetic beauty of post-modern fascist architecture in contemporary culture. In this book he is exploring spaces that, rather than being pure in themselves and allowing the person experiencing them to create their own relation to the space, force a particular mode of relation onto the individual. Prisons, courtrooms and psych wards are explored, but so too are a Chelsea gallery and Montessori Preschool.

In fact, his work calls into question the very idea that fascism and control are mechanisms and tactics perpetrated by individuals at the upper echelons of power. Rather they are ubiquitous throughout culture and humans, at every level of culture and development, create spaces wherein the control and manipulation of their fellow being can occur.

Through his lens these spaces of torture and control, of confinement and terror, become at once beautiful and horrifying. It is as though he has seen the essential truth of the politics of control and captured it here in his book. But more than that, the aesthetics that underlie these spaces are the same design sense that one finds in Ikea furniture, or the structure of an Ikea store itself.

His work begs the question wherein does this Beauty lie? For to most of us, I would presume, a prison is not a beautiful space. Yet Ross captures some essential beauty in his photographs. It seems then that the beauty lies not so much in the thing itself but in Ross’ unique relationship to contemporary fascistic control. Beauty is that which is contained in the worldview of the observer, in the relationship and continual dialog between observer and observed.

The photograph is a visual representation of the relationship of the photographer to its subject. The beauty lies not so much in either of those, but rather in the energy created through this relatedness. For a worldview can not exist in a vacuum, it must, by its very nature have a world to resonate off of, to shape and be shaped by. So too can the world not fully exist in an existential sense without a viewer to complete the relationship. A world is a container and that container is empty without that which it contains.

The world, to return to Heidegger, conceals that which exists only in relation to the viewer, to the subject. But that which exists in the relationship between the viewer and the subject is in turn concealed by the subject’s own subjectivity. Just as the manner in which fundamental particles are measured in physics causes their very nature to change, so too does the subject’s subjective viewing of the world cause that which would be revealed to withdraw once more into concealment.

The world is a collaborative space. It takes the work of every man, woman, child, animal, plant and fungus to make it what it is. The aesthetics of control have pervaded our society so deeply that the same clean lines of the new chic apartment, or commercial play, are those same lines found in the jail cells of the Guantanamo detention facility. We have already bought in to the aesthetics of control. What we have not yet given up fully is our relatedness to that world.

Jardin aux Lilas Excerpt by Antony Tudor

Monday, September 7th, 2009

A few years ago I lit a production of Lilac Garden for New York Theater Ballet reconstructed by the late Sallie Wilson. I was given the following to help guide my lighting of the piece. It is written by Antony Tudor, choreographer for the ballet.

Wilson was rather exacting with her reconstructions and this was given to me as a means of most accurately addressing the lighting for this piece. In deference to the rigor with which we reconstructed the ballet, I am including Tudor’s words, unedited, with the inclusion of grammatical and spelling errors, as per the original.

I hope you enjoy.

“Jardin aux Lilas” is more often requested by companies for inclusion in their repertory than any of my other ballets, and is often asked for by groups with little experience and small resources in matters of technique, personal, or training. It must be supposed that, to a director, it must seem very practical in every way, but this is a misconception and a delusion. And the delusions seem to include that of regarding this piece as “romantic”, because there is a romanticism about the scenery with its overwhelming masses of lilacs, and of the predominantly blue lighting, for the dim light filtering through from the right off-stage area where we suppose the house to be is the only other color used.

Although the short story based on the idea of the “Droit du Seigneur” was abandoned, the situation remains a dramatic one, without the former melodrama, and the “dramatis personae” of the four principals are thrown into relief by the background of the young friends of Caroline with their easy sort of romanticism of the adolescents and teenagers.

The ballet is steeped in the conventions of the beginning of the twentieth century, when young girls of good families were trained in the good manners of young ladies of refinement, with the right social graces and an understanding that a girl remains a virgin until she is Married. Caroline’s young friend who makes his appearance unexpectedly, having unexpectedly, having played “french leave” from his Academy, has grown up with her as children together and they probably always assumed in their innocence that they would eventually be married with each other.

Unfortunately the diminishing fortunes of her parents, having no longer the wealth that was formerly theirs have arranged a betrothal, with her consent, to Caroline with a very rich young man of considerable financial means. He has great ambition, is very successful and is accustomed to knowing what he wants and always getting it, and his marriage to Caroline will open doors to many of the old families who still wielded enormous influence. The fourth of the group of principals is the fashionable about-town woman with whom he has conducted a love relationship of long standing, and she also appears unexpectedly upon the scene through the side entrance. It is understandable that characters of this complexity cannot expect to be performed by young talented technicians whose sole education seems to have been acquired in the limited conversations of the ballet studios and dressing rooms. And they can be very limiting.

In this ballet I had the inestimable advantage of working is out with dancers with whom I had worked very much before, and we were able to understand each other and to be truly “simpatico” but all of whom were bringing adult minds with them.

They understood my approach and worried with it, but Rambert herself did not and after a few incidences when she tried to get my dancers to put more motion into it, to “feel with the emotions” or in other words to ham it up and turned it toward the melodrama that I was so studiously avoiding, then it became necessary to forbid her to attend any further rehearsals of this piece, and if she as much as poked her nose in the door than all action came to an immediate halt.

This ballet concerns itself with the hiding of emotions from public display, but still conveying through the performance the emotions that were being concealed. As is the case with the majority of my ballets the performers must recognize the existence of the audience’s presence and the fourth side of the stage in “Jardin aux Lilas” is as much overgrown with lilacs in the old part of a manor house garden as are painted scenery on stage, and the proscenium arch is not there in essence. And the audience are witnessing the action clandestinely.

The ballet continues a regular course of narrative choreography until the moment of Caroline’s swooning into her betrothed’s arms. The succeeding sleepwalking episode, which should be handled as though water divination was happening, and the succeeding sequence for the four principals should be looked upon as if the ballet until this moment were being regarded nostalgically from a period still forty years ahead. This is ended by the White girl beckoning that the carriage has arrived to take Caroline and her future husband into their new life far away, and the ballet ends with her young friend left alone and solitary in the deserted garden, and regretting that he will likely never see Caroline again and that this last time together was made impossible of any joys of being together by the constant interruptions by other people in the ballet. Now all of this of the past and the future is now present.

Musically it is necessary that Chanson’s guiding remarks shall be followed and also that the main theme whenever it returns shall also return to the “l’istesso tempo”, especially with the entrance of the orchestra after the original exposition by the solo violin.

The lighting should be as though moonlight was filtering through overhead branches and should be of various shades from blue spotlights to cover the whole dancing area of the stage.

Transformative Performance

Monday, August 24th, 2009

Last week I pulled on some low hanging fruit to make an argument about live performance and social change. While there has been some interesting dialog about that, the focus has largely been on the example used, Burning Man, rather than the larger question I was interested in: how can art, and performance in particular, serve as a vehicle for social change? That line of questioning largely got lost. It is worth our effort now to tease that idea out of the shadows and bring it center stage into the spotlight for closer exploration.

Let us review last week’s post:

We, the makers of the work, create this space and this experience for our audience and ourselves. But what happens next? What guarantee, if any, do we have that the ideas and transformations from within the work will in any way transition out to the real world and effect true social change?

While it is certainly true that the cause and effect relationship between art and action is rarely if ever clear and direct, it is significant to explore our motives for creating the art in the first place. If one is merely interested in creating diversions from daily life, and that is certainly the intent of many people, then we can stop the questioning now. If we are interested in works that spark the imagination, engage thinking and potentially transform, we must not only question our work and our motives, but seek to find ways of further enhancing the experience beyond the confines of the performance venue.

The Temporary Autonomous Zone of the performance creates a resonant chamber wherein new and potentially revolutionary ideas germinate. The performance itself must be transplanted into the fertile soil of society to truly take root. Such performances are rare, but possible.

Let us look at a recent example of a performance moving its ideas into the larger social world, How Theatre Failed America, by monologist Mike Daisey. His performed piece was accompanied by an essay along similar themes titled The Empty Spaces. The thrust of the work is how the focus in mainstream American theater has shifted from the work and the artists who create that work to the institutions themselves and the buildings that house those institutions. While I was unable to see the actual work performed, due to logistical circumstances beyond my control, I did read about the fallout around the internet including Mike’s blog wherein he engaged with several artistic directors and theater makers across the country in email, essay and blog comments. The resultant conversation, while it may not have effected immediate change, certainly shifted the dialogue around artist salaries and related topics.

An older example worth exploring is Rites of Spring by Stravinsky and Nijinsky. That work was so extreme, relative to what the status quo music and dance worlds could understand, that it quite literally sparked a riot in the audience. The revolutionary force of the performance was such that the audience could do nothing but react through physical violence.

I am not arguing that art must shock and devolve into riots in order to be effective. I am saying that true art must effect some kind of change if not outright transformation in the viewer. Simply reinforcing the values and opinions of the audience is not the role of art, particularly performance.

I hold performance up to such a high standard because of the liveness of it. There is a direct energetic channel created between viewer and performer that, unlike the plastic arts, is not mediated by materials but rather exists directly in the experience of the work. Because performance happens over time, unlike a painting or sculpture which happens instantaneously, the performer and audience are undertaking a journey together. Thus an idea or emotion is presented, expanded upon, negated, and otherwise radically transformed over the course of the journey.

This thinking has moved us deeper into the subject of our inquiry, but has not solved the fundamental problem at its core. The question remains how artists interested in effecting social change through their work might do so. We will continue to explore this idea as we move deeper into the possibilities inherent in performance.

Simplicity, Complexity and Sophistication

Monday, August 10th, 2009

Sitting in an airplane I was just reminded of an interesting conversation I had last week about lighting and music. I was fortunate enough to not only see, but meet, Sonic Youth when they played the Fox Oakland last Sunday. It was a great show. The music was superb and the members of the band who I met, very pleasant to talk to.

The lighting for the show was quite beautiful. There were a few basic elements used and recombined in very interesting ways. First there were four semi-transparent light boxes lit from the front and within. Then eight boxes with incandescent PARs in a 5×5 grid arranged in a semi-circle pointed at the audience. Next up were a half-dozen color changing strobes arranged similarly to the incandescents. Lastly was what I presume to be the house plot, a few dozen moving lights of different varieties.

The evolution of the elements over the course of the show was stunning. The light boxes changed color lit from both directions, thus providing us with an ever shifting color field. The strobes, also color changing, really punched the post-punk deconstructed sound of the band. The overhead lights did what they do best, atmosphere, texture, movement and color.

The real surprise of the show, from a lighting perspective were the incandescents. Not only was the color, clear incandescent light, an almost shocking experience within a rock setting, a medium typified by heavy saturated color, but the sophistication with which they were used was delightful and surprising.

Starting out they did some basic strobing and chase effects blasting the audience the way any good bank of PARs should do. As the show went on, it was revealed that each lamp was individually controlled. These lights morphed from blunt banks of light to clever geometric patterns to words to the organic feel of flames and clouds.

The end result was a lighting scheme sophisticated like the music. While never letting up its grounding as a punk influenced rock show, it revealed an intellectual and aesthetic sophistication akin to the music itself.

Talking with Lee Ranaldo after the show the subject of lighting came up and we discussed what their lighting designer was doing for the tour. Lee mentioned that he liked how simple the design was. I replied that while it used a few simple elements the actual design was quite sophisticated. This led to a brief conversation about the distinction between simplicity and complexity.

The simplicity of the lighting was of a similar nature to that of the band: four guitars, vocals and drums. Lee explained that it was the simplicity of the elements that he was responding to. I found it amazing how the seemingly simple, once one scratches the surface, fast becomes quite complex. Musically this is what Sonic Youth has done for years, taken a rather simple conventional structure and turned it into something amazingly dynamic and sophisticated. Well beyond what is often found in guitar based music.

Sophistication it seems does not derive from complexity. In fact it often arises out of simplicity. This is the essence of minimalism. Minimalism is not about eschewing elements for the sake of fewer things alone. Rather it is a matter of clearing out the noise to provide a clearer and cleaner signal.

Utilizing a few simple elements in profound and complex ways often displays a deeper understanding of the material than a solution that constantly cries out for more. Being comfortable with the material and one’s tools to the point that you can step back and allow the performance to emerge on its own terms takes a great degree of skill.

I am writing this from a window seat on an airplane flying west. Below me are clouds bathed in the warm glow of the slow setting sun. Perhaps as far an image, some might say, from the aesthetics of a rock show. And yet, the visual sophistication created with a single lighting source mirrors in some way the minimalist roots of post-punk Rock and Roll.


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