Shen Wei #3

The order in which I've posted these reflections on Shen Wei's "Re-" series might be confusing--their presentation at ADF was also out of sequential order.  This reflection is about "Re-(Part II)", which was presented last on the ADF program.

Shen Wei, a visual artist as well as a choreographer, is masterful at creating striking visual images in his dances.  Re- (Part II), created in response to the choreographer’s travels in Angkor Wat, Cambodia, seems to be organized primarily through a collection of isolated images, rather than any narrative through-line or specific statement about culture, as in Re- (Part III).  Set against a backdrop dominated by a series of projected images—the detail of a carved wooden door, the chaos of branches and leaves from the jungle, an ancient tree, its roots spilling over the stone wall—the movement remains suggestive but abstract, swift flashes of illusion from these familiar bodies.

 

Line of dancers, linked, in the arch and swirl

of bold spirals, hewn from wood, from stone.

A syncopated swoop, a fluid calligraphy

Tracing the boundaries between line and curve.

 

Dappled with the soft pattern of light through leaves,

The women flit, swarm, vine, twist and creep,

A tangle of limbs.

 

In the harsh lighting, she is all ribs and legs and shadows.

Sinewy, contorted, like the roots of the ancient tree.

Other bodies spill forward in a slow melt and stretch,

Sinking headless, hardly human,

still sculptures glowing white and hard,

Nearly blinding in their brilliance.

Shen Wei Dance Arts (#2)

This is the third section of the Re- dance.

Shen Wei’s Re-(Part III) opens powerfully, as an army of dancers dressed in green marches forwards and backwards with a swinging gait. With no set, and no wings to cover the side lights, this cohesive, unified group emerges as the central focus. Duets break from the marching lines to push into and against each other, teetering at the edge of balance. The dancers press farther—fighting? supporting?—until collapse is inevitable. Both dancers are needed to create and sustain these human bridges, and still they fall—a rather pessimistic image to begin the newest section of Shen Wei’s acclaimed Re-series. Subtitled “The New Silk Road,” Re-(Part III) is inspired by Mr. Shen’s travels between Beijing, China, and New York City—a vision of Eastern and Western culture.

With that perspective in mind, I find it difficult not to attribute characteristics and values associated with each culture to the two main sections of this work. In the opening of the dance, I see both the dependence on others and the mandated unity associated with Chinese culture. As Re-(Part III) continues, the armies of dancers return, dividing into two groups marching in opposition, passing through and around each other. The dancer in the middle of each group begins to stray from the measured rhythm, scrambling, rejecting the lock step of the rest of the pod. All the while, however, the dancer remains with the group, switching directions in time with the rest. The music becomes more repetitive, even threatening, as the marchers begin to spin, fold into each other and apart, like the motion of the sea, the tide—inevitably turning, engulfing. A desperate duet begins, trapped in the midst of a group at the back of the stage. Maintaining the back and forth motion of the surrounding dancers, a man catches and lifts a woman, swinging her through the group. They seem to be searching for a way out, but cannot break free of the motion, the influence of the others. These dancers are breaking out of the mold, yet staying just inside the lines.

What is Mr. Shen suggesting here? Is this a cynical view of the collective mentality of China, the one-for-all focus of Communist culture/politics? What does it mean that the non-conforming dancers always fit themselves back into the unified group, even as others take their place in resisting? What of the collapsing bridges at the beginning? Is this way of life confining, unsustainable? Unreliable and yet unyieldingly inevitable?

After a slow, reaching, searching solo—a transitional moment—the company returns, this time in short shorts, tank tops, and long socks. To loud music with an overwhelming pulse, the almost punk-ish dancers (Americans, this time?) gyrate, hop, spin, and collapse. Each dancer is in his or her own space, own world. Halfway through, I notice that all their eyes are closed, which adds an intriguing layer of blindness to their individuality. Blind to each other, to others’ movements and condition, each dancer is gradually consumed in a cycle of spinning and collapsing. Then, however, in the most hopeful note of the entire dance, the dancers reach out for each other, find partners and then larger groups. Still sightless, the dancers grope their way into odd, creative balances and supports, until finally, the whole group is connected. At the end, even the die-hard individuals have created cohesion—if non-traditional—among the group.

Shen Wei Dance Arts (#1)

Shen Wei Dance Arts performed at ADF June 18-20. The company presented all three parts of the Re- series--three dances inspired by the choreographer's travels. I've written about each dance; here's section 1.

Re- (Part I)

The stage lights fade up slowly, a sky of clouds and light on the backdrop, a mandala onstage composed of shards of colored paper. The bits of paper do not seem sharp, however, but soft, delicate—petals, perhaps, or drops of water.

The eight dancers enter the world of the dance, moving mostly in unison or in small groups, shuffling with soft knees across the stage. Their feet disrupt small puffs of paper, like silt on an ocean floor. The dancers move, too, as if through water; slow and smooth, they stretch and flow, spiral and reach. The movement has a strong circularity—familiar from Shen Wei’s other work and other contemporary choreographers—but the motions are exaggerated, pushed beyond a “normal” sense of rotation and balance. The dancers’ joints have a spongy quality, a sinking and rebounding that borders on collapse. At any point, it seems, the joints could just give way, but they spring back.

Re- (Part I), inspired by the choreographer’s travels in Tibet, has a meditative, Eastern aesthetic. With a low center of gravity and a sense of suspension, the movement resembles tai chi and other martial arts forms. Graceful and placid, the dancers show no emotion in their faces, or really, in their bodies; they seem as composed as Tibetan monks. Both men and women wear the same costumes and perform the same roles—there is no contact, no partnering in this dance. All in this world are equal, all part of the group.

The mandala is blurred, scrambled, as the dance continues. The paper marks the dancers’ bodies where they’ve made contact with the floor, sticking to knees, hips, the outside of an arm, before raining off as their movement continues. Although the precision of the mandala—often a symbolic representation of the cosmos—is disrupted by the movement, the dancers maintain a sense of order, alternating between dancing in the middle and anchoring the stage at all four corners. And, too, they seem to exude a quiet joy at the colorful disorder, the elements mixing into a glorious confetti.

The dance has a wonderful feeling of timelessness. The energy and flow of the work is constant, almost inevitable, as if it could—and will—continue forever under this subtly changing sky. The dance ends with a surge of the dancers into the center of the stage, the center of the mandala, and then out again. The dancers sink into a crouch, but this seems a temporary pause in the momentum of this world; surely the dance continues its steady, calm progression as soon as the curtain comes down.