Shake Up

Physically shaking is movement that implies a loss of control.  Sometimes it happens as a release, when we let loose.  Picture models in hair commercials, their glossy waves flouncing back and forth as they shake their head.  Other times, it is an internal physical response to resistance, like a body builder’s muscles shaking as he lifts the daunting weights above him one last time.  It is an abrupt change of physical state.

In the world of art, dance and performance there is an emotional shaking up that occurs - perhaps only for the people performing, hopefully for the audience members as well, sometimes for both. 

Art that shakes makes a person new and opens up a world of yet-to-be-contemplated possibilities and perspectives.  It takes hold of whatever notions we have.  It flips them around, turning them inside out, upside down, even erasing them completely.  Just as we can choose to shake our bodies, or feel them shake as an involuntary reaction, we can choose to be open and present for a performance to really effect us, or surprised by our unexpected, mind-blowing reaction to one. 

Some would argue the more memorable the performance, the more lasting its impact on the audience and its success in “shaking them up”. 

Flashing back in time to 1952, the performance art world will forever remember composer John Cage’s famous 4’33”.  A musical composition in three movements, the performer sits at a piano for four minutes and thirty three seconds without a finger ever touching a key.  Cage controversially forced his audience to think of music in a new way.  He legitimized natural sounds and noise in the moment amongst a crowd of people as worthy to be heard as and even called music.  At the same time, he presented music as something that did not have to be so tightly ordered, welcoming the unpredictable.  This performance was so utterly different.  It was bound, from the moment Cage conceived the idea, to shake up the audience.  Some would absolutely detest it, finding it a waste of time, others would appreciate it, and a few would further the idea in other art forms as Merce Cunningham did in dance.

Today, the world is inundated with artists striving to shake us up and get our attention.  It’s what gives the performance sphere a sense of adventure and competition.  It’s what makes art and performance exciting and worthwhile for people to participate in and see. 

I remember seeing my first Bunraku performance.  It was a theater piece, yet watching the movement of the three-foot human-like object manipulated so intricately by the three puppeteers (two for each hand, one for the feet and legs), had a profound effect on my view of dance.  Amidst the storyline and other action in the space, my eyes zoned in on these four bodies – three real, disguised in all black, one an illusion.  My mind was spinning.  I couldn’t help but see them as performing a dance of their own.  Their movement served a necessary purpose in the theatrical performance, but I was mesmerized by the beauty in the movement beyond its intended purpose.

Thus unraveled a string of “What If’s?”.  What would this look like if the puppet was eliminated and these three performers moved so closely and specifically?  What if we could see their facial expressions?  What if there were other dancers moving as the puppet was?  It’s when my naïve view of dance was shattered and I realized movement and dance were not so distinct.  Dance suddenly could be found in more than just a studio or stage, could be supplemental, even unintended.  I started to notice dance more and more – walking down the street in sifting corridors of people, in the uninhibited reactions of friends upon receiving good or bad news, in the “mundane” day-to-day movements reignited with my fresh outlook, a new set of eyes soaking it all in.