The act of observation alters the thing observed
Ame Henderson The Company ContactThe seven performers enter leisurely, casually. Dressed in bright colours, stripes, jeans, they make a loose huddle stage right, slouched against the wall. The occasional whisper to one another, the occasional matter of fact glance at the audience. Eric Craven's music fills the huge cavernous space at the Fonderie Darling, the players are miniature and seemingly inconsequential in comparison to the booming sound. After a time, with minimum effort, they disperse; some exit, cross the stage to the other wall, retreat upstage to a rolling office chair or ladder. Their chosen destination seems cavalier and almost arbitrary.
My gaze circles the space, as if considering a painting, taking it in. Nothing much is happening, subtle shifts of bodies and weight, as in boats gently bobbing in quiet waters.
Ame Henderson's work plays with time; real life time, not showbiz time. Time to adjust and adapt to the next sequence, time to absorb deeply what is in front of us. There are no jolts or pizzazz. In fact there is a remarkable absence of accents, things are measured out evenly and simply.
A short woman walks toward the audience and lies down, almost touching the first row. She doesn't say anything, She does not introduce herself. She simply lies there. A man slides along a wall and to the floor, again and again. A woman, who does not fall herself, follows him closely. The action repeats and repeats with no resolution and no intent for resolution. Is this a relationship, or just a way to occupy space?
A shirt is pulled up, a shirt is pulled down.
There is a mysterious system at work. I sense the dancers are following an opaque structure; they have a persistent and regular trajectory (extend arm out here, climb ladder there, crawl along here, put bucket on head, etc.) All actions have an empirical feel; they are simply an order of movements with no "expression" imbued. I feel the dancers are skimming overtop meaning; we are in a regular world of doing, there is no magic, there is no great symbolism at work.
-A conversation whether a male performer is old school or new school.
-A short movement phrase is demonstrated, marked by some, danced with more energy by others.
-Two performers falteringly thanking us for coming. They hold notes in their hands, as if prompted by a far away custom, a strangely familiar act.
-A woman wearing long earrings shakes her head side to side repeatedly.
-A woman asks us if, because she is in her underwear, does she perhaps appear more fragile to us? Perhaps meaning that she might die soon?
These seemingly unrelated acts have a strange accumulation. The audience is immersed into some kind of invisible and intricate plan. I have to guess at the instructions, at the conditions I find myself sitting in. The room has become charged with an uncomfortable potential. Something is getting peeled back and shown raw. The dwellers of this space are without destiny, and it is almost painfully embarrassing to observe them onstage without purpose. They go about their business indifferently, generating a kind of perplexing eeriness.
A blond woman tilts her head, curves her whole spine deeply to the side, seemingly half-convinced she can bend at all. It appears to me that she is following a flat invisible plane in front of her, unseen and unknown to me, but somehow she creates a possible wall between us. It restricts her body, directing her along a dense surface, across the stage.
Near the end of the hour-length performance this sense of loose uncertainty builds intensity; Henderson's brilliant restraint eventually accumulates to a delirious freedom. Her dancers soar from their mysterious containment to a brief and subtle liberty. After an hour of restricted energy, a fall to the ground or a roll of the shoulders evokes a delicious release. The group comes running from the back, slides towards the audience, practically crashing into us. Absurdly, they play it over and over. They are seemingly delighted to have no obligations, their acts are weightless and exuberant.
In the absence of a cosmic purpose in the work of Ame Henderson, there is kind of understated glee that leaks out and speaks to endless possibility. In denying my expectations or preconception of what dance is, Manual for Incidence suggests (with a most exquisite mildness) an exuberant potential. I would name this potential a melancholic joy about human existence; that despite all the unknowns in the universe; here we are, with whatever passion we might happen to have, hovering about.
kg Guttman Montreal, July 2005
kg Guttman is a choreographer and performer in Montréal. She is currently pursuing a MFA in Open Media at Concordia University.