Journal

zoe | juniper Apr 25, 2008

by Tania Kupczak

Clicking static (or is it static clicking) starts the show. A smattering of flakes fall from the top, and I discern the layers of white with surprising ease. It's a blizzard, but an amiable blizzard. Through the thick, I see a regurgitated figure appear stage left, transferred, and then re-transferred so as not to be recognized, as a third-generation VHS copy-of-a-copy. Dancer? Check. Virile and unusual? Double-check. White stag or human? Yes. Digital projection or human? I convince myself, it is certainly human, and I feel more human having asked. I believe s(he) is human until--she moves. Wait. Is she human or a human raised by feral white stags? Boxes of white placed with people in them. Or the other way around ”¦? She moves as an atypical phenomenon. Untamed and flicked. There's virtuosity in tension. A state of (human?) experience is reached--visceral, primeval, my own yearning to move is ripe. White girls on a white lake--the arch of the foot, strong, rotated, lever that turn-out, wing it.Exact it, point it, levitate it, work it, but don't break it. A corps of dancers is defined, and so is a core. Quartet? No. Quintet. Piercing drive of the orchestration has stopped my pacemaker-- oh this one has ease of movement, ease of effort. Perfect execution passe to momentum hurl. Ballet investigation? This part is chewy. 'Fully extended' is actualized. I grapple with marrying technique and line with life and substance. Contention with momentum and shape and all relationship of every aspect of movement is actualized in that one, polyamorously and harmoniously. They've found the way. Golden light. Stark blackness. Then stark appearance--with color. I could experience her experience all day, and want to see what she is seeing. This one's focus is stark and sharply open as the severe, rear, multicolor entrails. Is she the only one or are there other colored tendriled people. Being that languid and easy requires he-man strength and she brings it. S(he)(it)? flys. They rest on each other, and it's more than landmarks for them. There are more. And then there's layered sleet progressing closer. Another progression of driving beat and drone catapults this one from a deep-second into frontal saut-de-basque like it's yer job. Violent skips. There's romanticism in the desperate, smart execution. Somehow I can feel expulsion of breath despite the driving, thunderous blare. A lot of sleet, floor slides and further soaring. Sleeting and sunny in the same instance.

- Jim Kent

Plus, a word find puzzle:

zoe_word.jpg

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