HQ REVIEW: “Half Baked” presented by Big Plate Dance
Half Baked, produced by Big Plate Dance and performed at Greenfinch Theater & Dive, was a showcase of three works in progress by Abbi LeBaube with e-Gos, Josiah Gundersen, and Erin Morris with Steve Davis. The evening was a stripped-down performance in a space akin to a black box theater with no curtain, simple lighting, and a few rows of chairs ascending on three sides of the stage. The performance pieces were distinct; ranging in texture, style, and content, and each was immediately followed by a Q+A with the artists. These artist talkbacks were facilitated by Big Plate Dance Artistic Director Tayler Kinner who followed Liz Lerman’s Critical Response Process – a curated method of receiving and offering feedback to a work in progress.
The night opened with Abbi LeBaube’s piece, Sight Beyond the Ceiling; Lips are Moving. The piece started with a bang: Abbi moved with intensity and in sweeping, virtuosic movements which continued in a nearly uninterrupted flurry of high energy throughout the work. She was accompanied on stage by her musical collaborator e-Gos, perched in a corner of the stage, producing the pulsing, looping sound accompanying her movement. There was an urgency and a saturation to this piece, resulting at times in a frenetic visual and auditory tension. During the Q+A, Abbi described her approach to the work as being “explosive” and having the energy of a “rock concert.” During the performance she surrounded herself with three lamps which she turned on and eventually covered with red scarves producing a warm glow. Abbi interacted with the lamps at intervals, hugging the one furthest downstage before speaking: “ I can see her. Her lips are moving.” An especially memorable moment was Abbi inserting, as best she could, her body into one of the lamps. Her body became obscured by the large white lampshade, long blond hair emerged from the bottom while a single arm extended from the top, ringing a small bell. The audience responded by ringing their own bells (handed out with the programs upon entering the room). The moment brought to mind similarly uncanny images from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the coming-of-age story by Lewis Carroll of a girl who descends into a chaotic dream world of memory and imagination. Abbi’s engaging and colorful work, imbued with youthful energy and vivid imagery, brought to mind the opening of Carroll’s classic novel: “Alice started to her feet (...) and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.”
Josiah Gundersen wandered onto the performance space in silence, with a backpack slung over his shoulder, at the opening of his piece, ...appendage.... After seeming to notice the audience for the first time, he sat down and began reading aloud from a book taken from his bag: “A man saw a bird and wanted to paint it. The problem, if there was one, was simply a problem with the question. Why paint a bird? Why do anything at all?” During Josiah’s post-performance Q+A he shared that this was an excerpt of a poem, The Language of Birds, by Richard Siken. After reading a short passage aloud he seemed to gently nod off, the book slipping from his hands. Quiet descended in the room before he suddenly sprang to life again, rolling backward three times in quick succession and rising to his feet. His movements became animalistic – emulating flight or prowling on the ground on all fours. Throughout the piece music came and went, punctuated by long stretches of silence except for the sounds of breath and the occasional impact of Josiah’s body on the floor. He occasionally caught the eye of the audience; sometimes backing away from us like a caged animal and at other times seeming to invite our gaze. Small gestures repeated over and over again, habits, ticks, and rituals, as Josiah took his time exploring the capacity of his body to transform. In the end, he was on his knees, shirt hanging from his mouth, shaking his head like a dog with a bone before curling up on the ground. In the program notes, Josiah asks: “Is there a body that exists outside of these learned habits? Does this body belong to me, or is it merely a representation of the cultures it has been assimilated into?” The poem by Siken, read part at the top of the performance, goes on: “Who gets to measure the distance between experience and its representation? Who controls the lines of inquiry?”
Rutilated Quartz was next: Erin Morris and Steve Davis took the stage, awash in blue light. Steve sat behind a drum kit in the center of the stage and began to play as Erin moved around him. An improvisational call-and-response format unfolded between musician and dancer. The moment felt alive and risky as the performers practiced a sort of radical presence – with one another and their audience. At intervals Erin sat to the side, watching Steve play; then he would respond by leaning back to take in her dancing in the silence. The performance was balanced playfully but precariously on the connection between the two. Erin’s dancing was varied and seemed to be moving inside the stream of Steve’s sound, describing and responding to textures, rhythms, and shades. She turned and descended to the floor, undulated and extended her body in long lines, stepped and shimmied. In their Q+A, the artists spoke in turns about blurring the lines between vessel and conductor and about their approach to collaboration as a sharing of power. Instead of seeing one as a leader and the other as a follower, they described allowing one another their own “strong moments,” a practice of allowing each partner to emerge at certain moments and then to blend at others. There was a nonchalance to their performance practice: the work was playful but not simple and represented a picture of mutuality, partnership, and collaboration.
In line with the spirit of a show like Half Baked, Steve Davis offered some evocative encouragement to artists in the closing moments of the Q+A: do not force yourself to always do what you know. Invite discomfort. Welcome the not-knowing.
Photos provided by Big Plate Dance