Filling in the gaps 08/08/2013 - 11:06pm

Editorial
Some things I prefer to appreciate from afar. Lampreys, for instance. Wide-legged trousers. Spoiled bananas. And sadly, dance typically features in this category too. Still, I was determined to be brave. I steeled myself, shoved some Craisins into my mouth, and stalked off into the night to find the Southern. A lively if small crowd lingers in the lobby. Many thin agile frames in leotards and other clinging materials dot the hall. All I want is the bathroom. I run into a beautiful dancer in the bathroom who wants to know if I just saw her perform. Disappointed to hear a no, she explains that she filled in last minute for an injured co-star. She admitted to making up most of her moves and wanted to know if it seemed obvious, knowing her co-stars would lie to her. I smile and tell her she looks far too poised to be obviously improvising on-stage. But then again, is improvising with poise still improvising, or does it just become doing? Too tired to figure out if that made sense. Filing into the house, I look up and see the teen heartthrob from a performance earlier that night sporting a volunteer shirt. Yes, the same actor I ran away from before since he made me feel nervous about two hours ago. Hilarious, Fringe Gods, hilarious. The theater’s house is stunning in a haunting sort of way. Artfully crumbling walls and plaster, graying bricks and edging, together frame a beautiful stage of unusual depth. I am utterly in love with this space. The folks behind me loudly compare notes and observations of Fringe dance shows thus far. Again, everybody at the Fringe seems to know somebody that knows the person next to you. Anyways, lights went out and thus began Fixed In One Long Gaze. The initial performer was exquisite--beautiful control and engrossing concentration that drew in the audience. Transfixed as I was, the appearance of the perfect ghost behind her frame, awesomely in-sync, garnered a nod in the dark. Since I do not really understand dance itself, I will instead discuss moments. The next key moment I remember was the perfect usage of the deep stage to present perfect reflections of the same figure, separated by the gilded proscenium like a mirror’s edge. Now, intellectually, I know the show intends to represent the story of Narcissus and Echo, that the silent beauty of bodies in turn leaning ever-so-slowly and falling, only to drag themselves across the floor and stand once more, is related to that storyline. Being a literary person, however, I did struggle with the complete lack of verbal context. Even the sounds confused in combination with the dance, at least in my brain. I could etch out an impressive soundscape with my eyes but, other than that, struggled with delineating what was happening or how I should feel or what bodies were doing where and when. The piece was certainly beautiful and definitely made me respect dancers and their craft. I just feel awful that I am far too ignorant to offer constructive or meaningful feedback on this one. And therefore, as someone not versed in dance, I wonder: what is it like for a dancer to see a dance performance? What is the compelling point of connection in a dance piece? A story, a movement, an emotion, a line? I have not the foggiest. How does good dance stay with a person? Is it an emotion or a movement or a thought that stays in your mind? And what happened with me? I like the show but was simply so exhausted that the repetition made me nod off a few times--a reflection on me, not the piece itself.
Headshot of Lisa Hu
Lisa Hu
Filling in the gaps: Musings from a mind bustling with questions amidst the chaotic shenanigans of the Fringe: Who hardcore Fringes when? How are we products of our environments? Do these shows interact with one another? Does it matter?