HQ Review: “IN TWO” by Brendan Fernandes at The Pulitzer Arts Foundation
The Pulitzer Arts Foundation is a building that seems to emphasize its empty spaces; holding the weight of its own openness with thick concrete and large stretches of glass. It is an austere, contemplative space, with natural light fracturing and reflecting from a pool in the center of the building, sending wavy lines onto the gray ceilings, walls, and floors. The building was constructed in 2001 by Japanese architect Tadao Ando, known for his minimalist approach. I describe the space at some length here because it served as an important element and the context for In Two, a dance performance choreographed by Brendan Fernandes. In it, four dancers (Sergio Camacho, Xenia Mansour, Christopher Salango, and Carly Vanderheyden) responded to the most recent exhibit in a series of interweaving duets. But the dancers’ relationship to the building was just as remarkable as, and amplified by, their connection to the art and other bodies within the walls.
The exhibit, which remains at the Pulitzer until February 2nd, features Scott Burton, an American sculptor, artist, and performer who took a special interest in public space, functional objects, people, and how all three might interact. The Pulitzer’s website describes Burton’s performance and sculptural works as looking to “express identity and explore social dynamics, such as intimacy, distance, collectivity, and isolation.” The exhibit, the website continues, “will also shed light on Burton’s important contributions to conceptual art, public art, and queer art, as well as his roles as a curator and art critic.” Burton also performed alongside his sculptures, performances which Fernandes references in theme, costuming, and movement.
In the beginning, the audience was scattered around the main section of the Pulitzer, the most open space of the building which is cut through by an outdoor courtyard comprised of a water feature and large gray rock. This outdoor enclave is surrounded by glass so one can see straight across to the other side of the building if standing in the right spot. This is where I was when, through the many panes of glass, a row of eight feet appeared, moving slowly in single file and clad in matching black shoes and blue jeans. From my vantage point, I saw the dancers only from the knees down and moved with some other members of the audience to get a better look. The dancers held one hand on a hip and the other from an outstretched arm above them, dangling from the wrist. They flicked their lifted hands several times as they casually moved between audience members before scattering to different locations. From then on the dance was a game of call-and-response. The performers seemed to always be looking for one another, catching eyes from across the room, then moving towards each other and initiating various levels of physical contact.
The moments of connection between the dancers were, at times, tentative and careful, employing angular but simple shapes and brief moments of full-body leans. In other moments they were injected with sudden tenderness or suggestive movements; messier and more risky. In between interactions, the performers intermittently leaned against walls, lounged on chairs, draped down a staircase, perched on the large gray rock outside, or obscured themselves behind a giant blush-colored curtain suspended from the ceiling. The slowness and nonchalance of their movements made the audience visibly unsure at first: where to stand, how much to move, who to look at? There was no music, just the sounds made by the dancer’s bodies: squeaking shoes, the occasional pounding fist on a chest, like a heartbeat, and clanking steps on the metal grate that ran through the concrete floor.
Brendan Fernandes’ described In Two in the program notes as “an ongoing exploration of queer camouflage, visibility, and embodiment.” The performance had a tableaux-like quality: offering the audience a series of images strung together loosely during the hour-long performance.
The children in the audience seemed the most comfortable with this particular kind of play on invisibility and agency. So much so that they often stood incredibly close to the performers, even running between two dancers locked in an intense stare, the space between them only an arm’s length at most. Two children wandered outside to the water feature where a dancer was stretched out on the large rock and sat next to him for a while. A young boy dropped down in the middle of the large museum space, cross-legged and appearing tired. No one seemed to mind. This irreverence and casual behavior around such valuable pieces of art lands directly within the spirit of Scott Burton’s remarkable work – which so often blurred the lines between functional accessibility and conceptual sculpture. There was a similar shift in the adult members of the audience as the performance went on. Some began to lean on the walls of the gallery or rest their arms and chins on the railing of the stairs. Not the typical way for adults to behave in such a serious place as an art museum. This newfound nonchalance mimicked the dancer’s attitude toward the space. Our relationship with this imposing building was being transformed by the performance. Even the way we were continually searching for the performers as they moved in great crossing pathways through the crowd mirrored the dancer’s constant search for one another.
In the end, the dancers gathered briefly behind a table sculpture that glowed with fluorescent orange light from within (a piece called Onyx Table by Burton). They paused for only a moment together before walking away in the same single-file line until they were out of view once more.
In Two will be performed again on November 8th and 9th, and January 17th and 18th at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation. Admittance is free. See the Pulitzer website for more information.
Photos by Virginia Harold