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Dec.1st, 2010 Hello friends of NY2Dance, Thank you for your support and for joining us for our 10th Anniversary season in New York, DC and Mexico City. If you missed it this year, please, below read a review by Prof. Christian Davenport who has been watching the the company grow for the last 10 years as well as links to wonderful the Washington Post review and the Widening I as well as dance View Times. She dreams her dances and dances her dreams. By Prof. Christian Davenport (www.christiandavenport.com) If as Nejla Yatkin says “she dreams her dances and dances her dreams”, then don’t awaken me for I am having a glorious experience. For ten years, I have watched Nejla and NY2Dance create, perform, transfix, transform, provoke and inspire. For ten years, I have wondered where they were going and looked forward to them taking me there. At the 10th anniversary performance, I was not disappointed. They have come a long, long way and it was well worth the journey. Indeed, I cannot wait to see where they go next. That is, however, for another review. For now, we have a decade to discuss. As a choreographer and dancer, Nejla Yatkin is many things: she is at once a visionary, a striking beauty, a devastating intellect, a passionate being and a harsh critic – of both herself, her work as well as her art form. All these are manifest within her choreography and creative expression (NY2Dance). The evening that represented the culmination of ten years worth of creating and performing dance but also rehearsing, reading, fundraising, advertising, traveling, writing grants, surviving and repeating was nothing less than masterful. It was revealing on multiple levels, which is to be expected when such a decent amount of time is covered. There was something from the beginning of her work – a beautiful solo called “For People with Wings”; there was something from several years ago – a group piece called “Journey to the One, a Tango”; and, there was something from about a year ago – another group piece called “Wallstories.” Each involves a journey of sorts. Each piece takes the viewer from one place to another. There is no straightforward path from A to B, however. Yatkin’s storytelling is far more complex than that. Indeed, she takes the viewer on an incomparable ride of emotion, physicality and spirituality. They are nothing less than mini-epics in the tradition of Homer, Dostoevsky, Garcia-Marquez and Slick Rick. Each does so in a different way, which is discussed below. . For People with Wings – her signature piece, created 10-11 years earlier is something of a justification of modern dance in and of itself. It is like the first third of the film What Dreams May Come or the middle part of The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. The experience is like breathing in air – necessary, immediate, enjoyed. It is simultaneously transcendent, something above humanity, something to which we should inspire to and something that is at the same time elementally human. She is there before us essentially bare with nothing but a black skirt and small top. The skirt is no simple prop, however, for it is as layered as the piece – one after the other as waves against the shore. At different moments one layer is over her face; at a turn, another is cast over a shoulder; at another, a layer lingers in space seemingly left by the body but only to catch up with it. The stage is barren, covered only with a selected amount of black feathers. Have they fallen off her as some dark angel? Is she collecting them? We do not know – at least, not initially. This is a constant pattern within Yaktin’s work – as a viewer, one is at once clear on what is taking place but the meaning is ever-open, ever-(re)interpretable, ever-reflective but not in an unsettling way. Very quickly one is drawn to wonder what the being is that is before us but strangely one is also accepting that it is not important that this be known. In Yatkin we trust. Are we watching a falling from grace, a delightful last moment, a reflective moment, a preparation or just some moment? We are clear that we are in the presence of something noble, something lovely but the identity is not clear. With a somewhat dramatic twist we are given some greater clarity with regard to what is taking place when the being that we have watched falls to the ground in a pool of black fabric that is the skirt. Transformation is afoot. Yatkin’s ever-enveloping/encompassing skirt falls away, as a memory, a life lived and she rises. This is no forceful ejection but a slow, melancholy, thoughtful progression from one being, one place, to another. The angle of the progression cuts diagonally across the stage. As with everything else, there is intention, clarity, purpose. One knows where Yatkin is going from the lighting, artfully placed by Marciel Greene. One knows that she will end up at the rear of the stage toward the right (stage left) but nevertheless the viewer cannot take their eyes off the emerging being. There is a lifetime in that progression, despite its only taking a few minutes. Every movement is evocative, gesture upon gesture, hands rise and fall. The viewer then realizes that she is doing all of this with just the upper body. The lower part is constrained until the very end when the being is freed. In that moment, all is released. She steps out of the skirt and all that it represents and triumphantly Yatkin walks away. Ready for the next stage – whatever that might be: life, death, another performance. One gets a strong sense of departure. Not with remorse but there is clearly a definitive break. And in that moment of passage, there is a release. Although For People with Wings captures the journey of one being, one reflection and one moment, Journey to the One, A Tango seems to capture the journey of several beings, several reflections and several moments. It is possible that these experiences are the remembrances of one person – the one from which the piece emerges and later returns (Yatkin). Perhaps, the remembrances are the experiences of many people. Again, the viewer is not clear on this point and again it does not matter. It can be one of these or both simultaneously. As for the journey itself, it begins with five women: Lisa Keskitalo, Karina Lesko, Jaqlin Medlock, Emily Schoen and Jessica Weiss. The unevenness of the number of dancers well captures the basic dynamics represented in the work itself: competition, playfulness, curiousity, community, selfishness – its all there, at one time or another. Are the women different sides of Yatkin or are they actually five different women? We do not know. Again, we do not need to for all intents and purposes, they are one and the same. Adorned in flowing dresses, the women move in/through/around each other – a pack divided as well as unified by the one prop – a bouquet of flowers (love itself perhaps), that is tossed, grabbed, thrown, coveted, nurtured and discarded between them. The women individually and in tandem move with love. At different points the different women each engage in a solo, highlighting the uniqueness of the diverse manifestations of Yatkin/womanhood/love. While an attribute is highlighted the remaining support each other or just next to each other. Following each isolation, there is a moment of synchronicity followed by another isolation – so it moves, the pack eats its own, then comes together. There is no hatred in the group. They only seem to want their time with love. This is only disrupted by the introduction of men (alphabetically – Corey Campbell, Ahmaud Culver, Michael Garber and Seiji Gammage) who strut on stage just as the women go through one last exchange of love. Grabbing the flower from the women, distributing them among themselves and offering their “love”, the women discard them in different ways and depart. Left on their own, the men discard love (ripping them and tossing them to the air) and then seemingly as in some tango of male solidarity (mano y mano perhaps), they move with, against, to each other. At times sultry, at times sad, at times reflective, the men physically debate love, friendship, fellowship and partnership. Not left alone, however, Yatkin brings the women back into the picture and in a passionate pairing different couples are formed (male-female, female-female and male-male). They leave embracing, revealing a threesome of Culver, Lesko and Schoen). . The threesome is part ménage a trois and part dyadic pairing. They all occupy the stage together but sometimes they move off together with one to the side and sometimes they are all dancing around one another. The complexities of divided love have never been so well communicated. The confusion, the longing, the heartache, the hatred – repeat, are deftly given light. The dancers themselves are each strong in their own right but the different pairings and artful solos show the different strengths. Culver is an amazingly elongated and yet powerful mover. Lesko is a vision of passion and delicacy. Schoen is a powerfully grounded voluptuous being that comes to life in sparks. The pairings are combinations of the individual characteristics but the sums are clearly more than the parts. One has the sense of each person and can understand why both are desired. The viewer knows that there can only be one dyad/pairing/couple however but it is not clear until the end who. At the pieces end, Culver and Lesko walk off, having found each other and Schoen moves alone. At once you feel the solace of companionship and the pain of isolation. Although ending with the isolation of Schoen, Yatkin brings back the couple to reveal that all is not well. Through a flashing of visual pictures where the “happy” couple reveal of progression of emotions, Culver is left cringing from a beating. Now alone again, Culver reaches out to the returning Schoen. Now we are left with two. Culver and Schoen dance like the dance of reacquaintance, of found love, of the delight that one finds moving with someone – not identically but in parallel. The two are strong yet giving, revealing but withdrawn, caring but not overwhelmingly so. Love is aware of itself on the stage during this piece and when they depart you have felt it. As Culver and Schoen leave, Yatkin returns – the one. She moves to the far end and in silence moves throughout the stage. The movements are of reflection (there are many things being thought about by the character), deep soulfulness (there is deep sadness but forgive the turn of phrase there is something in the way she moves), some feistiness (signifying that she will not) and then something you just cannot know. Variants of the same movements are repeated to different music. Each time, they are more powerful, more revealing. Yatkin has transformed again, taking us from reflection, to sadness, to resurrection. Her ending brings all the dancers back around her mirroring her harried/frantic/explosive movements at the end. Seemingly coming out of her spell, she sees the others (either as apparitions, memories or something else) and in that state of awareness – with all things returning to her, she walks off, the lights fade on the memories continuing the gesture. The evening ended with Wallstories about the collapse of the Berlin wall and end of the Cold War. Within this work, you see how far Yatkin has come. The same layers are still present: there are amazing solos and melodic group sections but these are joined by video footage, individual interviews/testimonials of people’s experiences with the wall, unfamiliar warpings of the familiar Pink Floyd album – The Wall and a wall that serves as an important character in the whole piece. The 11-part Wallstories defies simple description or examination. Indeed, I encourage others to dissect this piece and reflect on it for some time to come. It is again epic in its scope, farreaching in its ambition and successful in its objectives: one finishes the work with that satisfaction you achieve at climbing to a great height and looking back over the landscape, knowing that you have gone all that way. The piece begins with a wall being erected (literally you see the images), physically you see a wall of dancers and hear a funny little diddy about its creation. The piece ends with the wall coming down – not just the physical wall but mental ones as well. Four sections still reside within me, ever being turned like a lookinglass. First, there is “Christian’s Memories”. We are shown a being (Garber) of rich complexity – enjoying the freedom of movement, playing with the parts of his body/space in a way that evokes not childhood but exploration. Slowly that space/body is constrained by the impingement of the other dancers. The removal of Garber’s freedom is slow but definitive. The viewer is caught when Garber is caught only made aware of the impending unfreedom a few second before. Caught, Garber does what we would all do. He seeks freedom. He is not successful – at least, not initially. With an amazing use of light or rather it’s well-timed decay and release the dancers reveal the potential explosiveness of the constrained being. Second, there is “The Government, Mother Russia, My Mother, Your Mother.” This section was just perfection personified. In the front of the work, the ever-compelling Culver dances a solo that is one of searching and exploration – for grounding, for oneself. At the same time, many of Culver’s movements are being mirrored by Campbell who is joined by four women: Lisa Keskitalo, Jaqlin Medlock, Emily Schoen and Jessica Weiss. The five reveal the complexity of Yatkin’s work. In some movements, Campbell (who has seemingly dived full force into the character) is alone in a mirrored solo, backgrounded by the women who appear as a third force in the piece. Here, he is moving and engaging. In other movements, Campbell is surrounded/engulfed by the women who appear as the blanket, cloud/fog, overbearing puppet-master that mother’s occasionally become. Here, he is a doll, a plaything, an object rocked to Floyd’s “Mother.” The balancing act is masterful as it moves back and forth. At one point, there is a break and Campbell joins Culver, Garber and Gammage who have just seemingly appeared on stage. He is literally and metaphorically carried away. At another point, there are eight dancers (four on the ground, four above them) who mirror each other’s movements. The movements of the individuals on the ground are not the same as that above them but they are close. It is as if one were looking at a mountain (in real time/space) and seeing a reflection in a rippling pool of water. Yatkin continuously juxtaposes perspective, constantly bringing into view the difference between mother and child. The ending, with the mother on the child’s back, arms extended as yet another manifestation of the wall being created and Floyd asking “mother did it need to be so high,” is just perfect. “The Role of my Father” is third series of images that stays with me as one of the best anti-war treatises I have seen performed. The work begins with individual men (Campbell, Culver, Garber and Gammage) fighting with each other dyadically. One by one, the aggressor dies and is placed in a pile. Soldiers do not die, however, they are bred as the piles are brought back to life. The theme of resurrection and continued generations being sacrificed to war repeat. The men constantly beat each other, dive on each other, lean on each other; the movements are stoccato, staggered, militant, heated, athletic. At the end, the men try to run (completing a task) but collapse, in death. Some woman (perhaps their mothers or a mother or women in general) run on stage and bring them back to life: dusting them off, standing them up to again salute – only to begin running again. The men keep falling and the women keep picking them up. It doesn’t end until the fade. Even then it does not end. I still see them running in my mind’s eye. I read about them running every day. My fourth highlight concerns Jessica Weiss and her incredibly moving section on the wall, being held by three men (Campbell, Culver, Gammage). In “Grandmother’s Gaze” the audience is told of a woman’s story. The story is one of separation – her family was divided by the wall and what she had come to understand as reality was constantly being challenged by her grandmother who told her about another world – a world without a wall. While Weiss moves through space – sometimes as voyeur and sometimes as explorer, the whole company (minus Yatkin – physically) becomes a wall. They carry Weiss, they lift her, they push her, they support her, they catch her. Weiss and the viewer are thus joined in the reflection. At one point, Weiss is up against the wall (in all senses) but her shadow is cast along three quarters of the wall in the back of the piece. The image is striking for the shadow is human-like but yet beyond this. The image is haunting, moving in parts and a still blackness in others. Weiss is clearly a woman (supported by shadowy figures of men) but is transformed by the lighting into some other-worldy creature that traverses space. My fifth and final highlight is “The Wall & I”. This piece is memorable not only because it involves Yatkin’s only physical presence in the piece but also because of her mirror/shadow – Lisa Keskitalo. Prompted by Yatkin’s voice reflecting about her own experiences with the wall, Yatkin stands in a spotlight in the audience and Keskitalo moves into a spotlight on stage. They both do the same movements and one is caught watching one or the other or trying to see both at the same time, moving their head to the side. The effect is spellbinding. The viewer is made one with sentiment but divided at the same time. The mirror seems like another wall. Another object that gets in the way of being whole. Perhaps Keskitalo is Yatkin’s East Berlin doppleganger. Perhaps Keskitalo is Yatkin’s dream. Perhaps Yatkin is Keskitalo’s. Mirrors in mirrors, reflection upon reflection. This is Yatkin’s brilliance. You are never quite sure where you are but you are clearly made aware that you are a thinking, breathing, sensate being. One is brought to consciousness with/within a Yatkin piece. One is brought to the point of awareness but then not told what to do. That is left up to us. Links to reviews: Washington Post: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/11/14/AR2010111403298.html The Widening I: http://wideningthei.wordpress.com/2010/11/16/1043 Dance View Times: http://www.danceviewtimes.com/2010/11/special-audience-special-treat.html Reviews in Dance Magazine and New York Art Times Journal are coming out in January and February 2011 . Please, help us continue to create, inspire and bring our dances to communities that can’t afford it. Dance is such an intimate art form and brings people together, unites different cultures and encourages dialogue. Make a Tax deductible donation at www.ny2dance.com. Donate and make our programs possible. Thank you. With gratitude, Nejla   This e-mail was sent from NY2Dance Immediate removal with ® Secure. To forward this e-mail to a friend or colleague, . 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