Although this whole situation was funny to me back then, I now see it as an actual life experience that raises one of the aspects of dance criticism that I find the most troubling. On the one hand, I agree that a background in dance can be hugely beneficial when seeing a performance. Studying such material in classes like our own enables us to perhaps approach a piece from different perspectives. Yet, my experience above showed me a sort of reckless power and authority derived from such knowledge, which ultimately stifled some other potentially valid interpretations. I find it difficult to balance all of this; someone with absolutely no background in dance may have something remarkable to say about a performance, but I fear that my natural inclination is to listen more to the experienced critic, whether or not my initial reaction matched his or hers. My own personal bias compels me to legitimize some, while dismissing others, and I wonder how prevalent this is in the dance world in general.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
A Criticism of Criticism
I remember some years ago, my high school funded a trip for a small number of students to go see a ballet production downtown. Many of my fellow classmates decided to, as churlish high school students are wont to do, repeatedly claim that they had no grasp on whatever artistic or profound meaning of the piece that surely must have been behind it. As the only member of the trip with any background in dance, I was quickly established as the sole authority on the subject. I gave a rather vague assessment that was mostly based on the program notes, and yet my friends were convinced that my years of experience validated my half-hearted opinion. I quickly took advantage of my newfound power and began making completely outlandish claims, and, to my happy surprise, instead of questioning me, the others tried to make sense of my nonsense. They disregarded whatever opinions they might have previously formed and were extremely hesitant to share any of their own experience after that.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
This is a post from Katastrophe, who is having trouble accessing the "New Post" link, so DanceProf is putting it on the site for her:
No one can deny that movement is a language of its own sort, used to express a myriad of emotions, events, and concepts. It is no surprise then that movement, like so many other forms of communication, was originally a method of narration. Storytelling has remained an integral core of dance-making throughout history. In the ballet world, for example, narrative ballets such as “Le Sylphide” and “Sleeping Beauty” are akin to childhood stories in our culture like “Hansel and Gretel” or “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”: classic, familiar, and fantastical. However, as the art form of dance has evolved beyond the “necessary” tethers of a plot, I cannot help but wonder if there is any place in our society for such dances other than pure nostalgia. I will not deny that story dances are still accepted and enjoyed in our culture today; not only are major companies such as the New York City Ballet still performing the classical narrative ballets, but popular television shows such as So You Think You Can Dance offer pieces in various styles that, more often than not, display some sort of narrative. It seems to me that such dances are rather easy to comprehend, and thus appeal to the mass public, but hold no substantial value beyond evoking pleasing and wistful responses. Movement as an art should no longer require a story in order to be appealing: as Doris Humphrey states in her article “New Dance”, “They [her works] are a cohesive form in the way that symphony is and need neither music nor story as crutches to support them.” In order for dance to continue progressing, do we need to shed our narrative roots in favor of the more deep, complex, and rich?
And, incidentally, Lila just posted a link to this article on her Facebook, which seems relevant! (And, even if it's not, it's still a really interesting read!)
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