Metamorphoses

By: BRIAN MCCORMICK
Gay City News
02/21/2008
YaniraCastro+Company

Despite empty seats at every performance of Yanira Castro + Company at Dance Theater Workshop, it’ll be standing room only for her new evening-length work. A dance installation with an immersive visual and sound environment, “Center of Sleep” features a collapsible, mobile set, with mini-stages that open out and close again. There is no seating, and the audience will have to choose where to stand, when to move, and what, if anything, to do.

Castro’s artistic approach has as much to do with working with the physical possibilities of a space as it does with the body. She doesn’t create site-specific work per se, but spatial design is integral.

For Castro, that means an integrated design of dance, lighting, costumes, music, and space. Moreover, like installation artists, she is interested in influencing exactly how audiences and visitors experience her art.

In 2002, Castro presented the gorgeous “Cartography” at the grand Old American Can Factory in Brooklyn, featuring four duets in four separate locations - from basement to roof - representing each season.

In 2005, she used the Brooklyn Lyceum, a 4,000-square-foot former public bathhouse, for her masterpiece, “Beacon,” which placed audience members in Plexiglas enclosures - as jurors, prisoners, or powerless observers - of an existential horror in which we all shared responsibility or complicity. Cold and uncomfortable, the audience faced aggravations, but they seemed petty as the dancer Pamela Vail suffered before our shielded selves. Camus always comes to mind when I think of this work, as well as Passolini’s “Salo,” one of the films Castro researched in creating “Beacon.”

Her last site-based dance work, “(fetus)twin,” presented by The Chocolate Factory in 2006, consisted of two installations that highlighted the venue’s ground floor and basement performance spaces. A duet, followed by a solo during which audience members listened through headphones to a surgeon severing spinal nerves, “(fetus)twin” was about loss, said Castro, “losing a twin, a match, a sibling, a parent, a limb.”

In “Center of Sleep,” which will be performed by Peggy Cheng, Luke Miller, Heather Olson, and Joseph Poulson, Castro’s interest lies in the radical changes that occur to the body during sleep, gestation, and metamorphosis. In a studio showing, it felt as if those watching were inside the subconscious of a sleeping adolescent, or the genetic memories of a newborn baby starting to coalesce.

There are many transformations throughout the piece, physical and environmental, and many costume changes, adding to the fragmented aesthetic. The dancers begin naked, writhing, with their hands pinned behind their backs, like prisoners of a war, or pre-prehensile man. Then they eat soup, humming. They talk, sing, groom each other, watch each other, cluster, pair up, separate, and return. Actions and words spurt, repeat, jumbled, like in a dream. The primal messages penetrate.

The original music and sound design by Stephan Moore will use 13 localized speakers to add to the constantly shifting dynamic, surrounding and leading the action. The score will be performed live with musicians Michael Haleta and Scott Smallwood, with some interaction based on where people are standing.

“The music,” said Castro, “is the hormones of the work. It triggers the transformations.”

The work also features guest appearances that will undoubtedly trigger how some people perceive it, not to mention their hormones. It’s safe to say that “Center of Sleep” has one of the most beautiful, primal images you’re likely to see on any New York stage.


 

Comments:

  1. Azaro

    If you like your art safe, you’ll love Yanira Castro’s Center of Sleep. “No one will touch you” and “No one will ask anything of you,” states a card of “assurances” given each audience member before entering a performance space in which performers, often nude, and audience shift about for an hour among large-scale set piece. “You are safe,” says the card–as if years of truly transgressive yet thoughtfully presented non-traditional works hadn’t left audiences like those at DTW fully prepared to feel comfortable and be adventurous at the same time.

    Fake-transgressive is what Center of Sleep is. The piece seems designed to reframe our gaze again and again– by putting the dancers on pedestals, behind moving semi-reflective panels, and inside transparent structures– yet photography is forbidden, presumably because of the nudity. Trying to get a shot of the action will result in a staff member descending and asking for your camera, to erase the pictures. Yet c’mon– Vanessa Beecroft? Carolee Schneeman? Replicating images of nudity was part of the point of their work and lots of other work over the last fifty years—making nudity, and the shame and danger issues around it, a little tired by now, at least artistically. Are Castro and crew among the new puritans? Possibly. But nudity is hardly the reason why audience members at Center of Sleep would be inspired to start clicking. As citizens of the year 2008, they may feel uninhibited enough to get automatically interactive and try to amp their involvement in the interesting point of view Castro seems to be exploring. As denizens of an increasingly dazzling mediasphere, they may sense that random flashpops can up the sexy, immersive texture of the work’s visual direction (especially given all those reflective panels and the rush of flowing traffic). Simply as adults, they may naturally assume that nudity would be a non-issue among performers who have agreed to be that way among sixty hipsters who’ve paid their twenty bucks and checked their coats.

    Posting the pix to MySpace pages and be seen beyond the hipster gaze? Please. Contemporary movement-based work should be so lucky.

    “Do as you please,” the card also states. Again, please. After a while, dodging the videographers who are “officially” recording the evening, nudity and all, can make audience members feel distinctly un-safe, caught up in a system that is out of their control– dress extras, perhaps, in a future funding proposal.

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