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notes from the otherworld

TBA 2011: Zoe | Juniper

The Seattle dance company’s A Crack In Everything Exposed made an indelible impression on multidisciplinary artist and Culturephile correspondent Kat Seale. She describes the surreal scene.

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Photo: Juniper Shuey

Adorned with white paper booties, I stepped into the alternative world of the Zoe/ Juniper installation: a world brimming beauty, juxtaposed with momentous fits of passion and pain. Upon entering, a man is seated at a white table, his hairless body covered in a paste of white, his chest gilded metallic silver. He’s playing “five-finger fillet” with a large spike, hammering it between his splayed fingers, each strike of the rhythm an implied risk. He misses, and a glimmering red bead of blood gathers on his finger, standing out as a visceral variation of the minimalist composition of the room.

The narrow walls are lined with white paper, projections, and strands of red yarn. An ornate arabesque silver platter sits to the man’s left containing a foreign substance that resembles translucent spheres of egg yolk. Accompanied by strains of minimalist cello, a row of performers forms a straight line in front of the man with the spike, patiently waiting for a turn to play. Slowly, each takes a turn with the knife game while our main character looks on blankly. As each member of the entourage moves forward in line, the tempo of movement becomes more rapid, until all patience is exhausted and the once-orderly group begins violently pushing and shoving each other in an attempt to arrogate the spike.

Shaking off his distant stare, the main character grips the left hand of the girl who has managed to acquire the spike. He slowly places it on the table and she begins to play. With clandestine glances, company members quickly consume several of the yolk-like spheres. Gradually, we notice that an area to the rear of the room is partitioned by clear plastic, which is embellished with red contour drawings of a body in motion. Two men sitting on white chairs don masks of soft white and pink fur and begin violently barking at each other in a battle of dominance, yellow gel streaming rabidly down their chins. Behind this growling display, our once-main figure gracefully dances, creating a sense of peace and serenity adjacent to a violent rage—a recurring motif that will translate over to the main performance. The intensity of the cello increases, then suddenly stops. Everyone is frozen in time; thrust into the vicissitudes of the environment. Quiet comes over the audience as the once-beastly men cross paths and the original knife-player exits.

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Tags: Dance, TBA, surreal, contemporary, tba2011

eye want candy

TBA 2011: Miwa Matreyek’s Silhouette Sorcery

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Once Miwa Matreyek steps behind a screen, her shadow self awakes and traverses sparkling other-worlds. If you missed her at The Works last Tuesday, feast your eyes on this video:

Not exactly sure how it’s done? Neither were we.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: Film, Animation, video, TBA, contemporary, tba2011

for the birds

TBA 2011: Whispering Pines

Moulton and Hallett go exploring…but end up back at square one.

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Cynthia rolls out of bed in the morning into a comical Pee-Wee’s Playhouse-style virtual environment full of bric-a-brac and birdhouses, little knowing that her life’s about to permanently change. As she goes about her daily routine—which includes exercise on a yoga ball and an exaggeratedly luxurious bath—silly singing spirit guides emerge, eventually coaxing her to climb to the top of a giant redwood tree, plumb the depths of the cosmos, and return to her own world with a new sense of purpose.

The visual vocabulary remains absurd and lighthearted throughout: the universe is a default purple star-field Macintosh screen-saver, onscreen “props” respond to Cynthia’s hands with a “click and drag” motion, and each item in the backdrop looks deliberately foreshortened and fake. However, the philosophical challenge posed by “Butterfly,” a Feist-like singer in tye dye, is all too real: how will Cynthia push beyond her mundane day-to-day existence and self-actualize?

The profundity of this premise buoys the whimsy to a point, but starts to deflate when we realize that Cynthia’s big epiphany is shaping up to be, “I should totally feed more birds.” After all that adventure, we find we’ve only actually travelled a few strip-mall yards from the Pottery Barn to the Garden Center.

It’s almost impossible to see this piece without comparing it to a local work, Erin Leddy’s My Mind Is Like An Open Meadow. Both are one-woman shows with contemporary original scores. Both performers sport shapeless blue housedresses and generic graying lady-wigs. But where Leddy takes audiences to unusually honest and personal places, Shana Moulton (“Cynthia”) seems to skim the surface. Even the topics of infirmity, death, and self-sacrifice are translated into such goofy iconography, that they’re effectively trivialized. If this is the intention—bravo. Winking dismissiveness is certainly a contemporary tradition, despite the fact that it’s not this reviewer’s preference.

We can’t deny that this journey is comical, innovative, and idiosyncratic. It’s a showcase of cool digital tricks and techniques, and a forum for some sweet-sounding songs, both pop and opera. But if, like Cynthia, you’re seeking meaningful answers—then you’ll need to look further.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: Theater, Review, performance, TBA, contemporary, tba2011

collective review

TBA 2011: Jesse Sugarmann

Sometimes Nothing (everything) Happens

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Oh, you guys. I blew it.

For those of us (lunatics) who try to see everything at these cluster**** smorgasbords, there are always at least two festivals. The first is the ideal one, the one we see in our mind’s eye, when every event we intend to catch has been laid out neatly on paper and, because things like nerves, exhaustion, afternoon drinking binges and the like do not exist on paper, seems totally doable.

The second is the actual, where all of those things and their like exist with a vengeance, and prevent us from even approaching the ideal.

And, so: I didn’t make it to the Jesse Sugarmann performances. In my ideal festival, see, I managed to be in two places at once.

Well, whatever. What’s done is done. I don’t get to see that slo-mo walrus ballet of minivans and mattresses. The actual has to live in the ideal.

But.

Last night I was in only one place, and it was grand (ideal and actual): Barry Sanders’ writing class at PNCA. Barry is marvelous. His students are marvelous. I just tried to keep up.

We spent awhile workshopping some of the writing about tba they’ve been doing. And, as luck would have it, some of them chose to write about Sugarmann. And how:

“Negative space between the stacks of mattresses shrinks and you’re almost sure that something is going to happen. One of the vans is going to slip off and topple to the ground. One of the mattresses is going to burst. It is going to be violent, you’re sure. You want it to happen because if it doesn’t, you won’t be satisfied.” – Rebecca

“The beads trickle along the folds and angles of my positioned self; I am enjoying my sweat now. The lifeless chunks of sheet metal slowly move toward the sky in the escalating moment.” – Travis

“I too share this type of admiration for the car & yet, I am the first to admit the lunacy of the attraction as well. Those old cars, some with ridiculously useless twelve cylinder engines, others with quirky hand tooled bodies, the types of cars in which you don’t care if they break down daily, because you’ve given them a name.” -Jeremy

I wouldn’t have said it that way. I wouldn’t have said it better.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: Art, galleries, contemporary, tba2011

third I

TBA 2011: Namasya

Shantala Shivalingappa’s dream-weaving, described.

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Photo: Nicholas Boudier

First
In flowing white blouse and trousers, she awakes to the moaning flute and whispering rain. She arises, and follows her own arms as they bend like wisps of wheat, sometimes pointing her finger as though acknowledging a new discovery from a long way off. A startle, a self-embrace. Sparkly harps and chimes. A light from heaven, a skyward gaze. Then searching, digging, uncovering. She’s found something. A blooming lotus in a pond? She lifts it up and sets it into sudden birdlike flight, her hands releasing from a petaled moudra and fluttering free. (Maybe it’s Stravinsky’s firebird. It’s familiar, it’s pastoral, but it’s not of this world.) The light progresses: dawn, noon, dusk.

Second
She lies down for a dream, and as she melts into the blackness a larger specter of self emerges on a screen: not a girl but a woman—a traditional Indian woman in violet and crimson, forehead bearing the bindi (marriage, the third eye). Though rendered in slow motion, her movements are traditional too: fluid arms, coy eyes, head almost sassy in its horizontal oscillations, back and forth, as if detached from the body. This mature character knows what she’s got and where she comes from.

Third
Bongo drums and guitar set a contemporary casual, almost Latin vacation mood as she reappears in a flowing black dress, swooping and swaying, deeply bending her knees so her legs open wide. Passionate, sudden flurries punctuate her samba sway. She cradles her face, outstretches her arms, swirls like a Turkish dervish, tastes her hand. Change, flow, dynamism, drama, all in their feminine form, ensconced in a big black swirling skirt. Room to move—yet, heavy.

Fourth
Another traditional sequence haunts the screens. The music has darkened and the forms have multiplied. Now two screens fixate on bits of slo-mo movement, zeroing in on close-ups of stomping feet, gestures of head and hand. Stops them, reverses them, doubles and repeats them. Examines the Indian woman from every angle while the music drones on, repetitive and trancelike.

Fifth
Now there are only drums. There is only a sharp slice of white light, and she’s crouched low, ninja-like, creeping across it. No naivete now. Calculated catlike maneuvers in the dark, in a black pantsuit. At any moment, this soldier of fortune might draw a weapon and strike.

Sixth
Now even the drums fall silent. She begins to dance a regular rhythm in the perfect silence, creating an anticipatable cadence, an imaginable song, with her body. The music resumes, hearkening back to the first crimson Indian dream. She gazes at her hand like a mirror, twists sharply away, looks again, then lets the mirror fall, gracefully letting go. Turning over objects in her hand, then stepping forward, parting curtains in the still air.

Seventh
She crouches with her back is to us, letting the lights lend her silhouette a silver lining. The music drones and her “snake arms” slither sensually. She curls up, covers her eyes, and retreats back into the dream darkness from which she sprang.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: Dance, contemporary, tba2011, India

atmosphere

Preview: Hauschka at Holocene

“Life is extremely boring if you don’t keep testing limits.”

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Ladies and gentlemen, meet Hauschka, an innovative German ambient composer who sometimes custom-fits his piano hammers with tiny tambourines. Here, the scarf-swathed, blue-eyed maestro explains his overarching musical philosophy, as well as his growing affection for a certain windup toy duck. Let Hauschka’s string section and snowdrifts momentarily sweep away your Monday woes—and if you feel so inclined, catch him tomorrow at Holocene.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: MoCC, music, video, modern, contemporary,

Review: Short Plays
By Nameless Playwrights

Georgia Perry reports:
John A. Donnelly’s senior romance Aged Meet makes the grade.

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Lipitor jokes? Check.
Neil Simon-esque puns? Check.

The target audience for the Fertile Ground Festival ’s Short Plays by Nameless Playwrights , an evening of ten-minute plays by eight 60+ writers, seemed to be largely just that—60+. But one play stood out as a piece that transcends generations, as sturdy as the highest-grade titanium hip.

Aged Meet by John A. Donnelly, about two seniors having a coffee date after finding each other on “MeetASenior.com.” It could have been corny—but in Donnelly’s treatment, it came off clever, fast-moving, and charming. Actors Scott Malcolm and Sue Ellen Christensen were absorbing and quickly made me forget that it was a reading, not an actual staged play. They delivered their lines with care and sharp wit, ensuring each line got the attention it deserved. As the play went on, their chemistry grew.
Some highlights:

“Do you always insult perfect strangers? Not that I’m perfect, of course.”

“I have no current lover, but my deceased husband visits me every week or so to discuss this or that.”

“I’m drawn to you, like a moth who can’t breed.”

“This hip isn’t original equipment.”

“I didn’t say you’re a Looney Toon – you’re more a Merrie Melody.”

After a while the oldie quips matter less than the trepidation that comes with forging a new relationship with a stranger—and any generation can relate to that feeling. John Donnelly is brave to meld the contemporary idea of Internet dating with over-the-hill characters, but his risk pays off. At first, I was shaking my head at his corny references, but as the play went on I was beaming – watching something unfold before me that was honest, and human, and surprisingly universal. By halfway through I was rooting for it, and the ending didn’t let me down. Well done, Mr. Donnelly. “Nameless” or not, you deserve a place in the playwrights’ pantheon.

The Fertile Ground Festival runs from Jan 20-30 at various venues. For other upcoming arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar!

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Tags: Theater, Review, festival, modern, contemporary

Review: Smarter Than Phones

Georgia Perry reports:
This promising Fertile Ground production kinda “phoned it in.”

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Okay, the first thing you need to know about Smarter Than Phones, an experimental theater piece put together by Fuse Theater and included in the Fertile Ground Festival, is that it’s guilty of false advertising. On paper it sounds awesome: A “fully staged world premiere” in which audience members are encouraged to bring laptops, smart phones, Furbies, et cetera, and “leave them on to interact with the show.”
The blurb on the Fertile Ground website promises audience members will watch their online alter-egos come to life and “see untruths unfold…to see yourself materialize on stage.” It also promises to “explore the confrontations between your friends who have never met in person – and maybe never will.” Did I attend hoping to see girls from my high school who are now married/pregnant/launching terrible upstart photography businesses, used as character fodder in a theater production? Yes, I did.

Maybe my expectations were out of line.

By “you” and “your friends,” they don’t mean you as in you, the reader, the audience member. They mean pictures of people (or things, in some instances) they found in a ten-minute Google image search, that they think are funny. While they ply the audience with free beer, the performers pull up images and deliver monologues about them (some scripted, some improvised).

Are some of the monologues really freaking good? Actually, YES. Sara Fay Goldman and Rusty Tennant especially seem to be masters of character work, and Goldman in particular was very convincing as a Jewish mother trying desperately to access a Facebook album, and as a ghetto girl wearing a skin-tight leopard dress and basically being hilarious.

Bottom line? I’d go see Goldman and Tennant act in a real theater production any day, but this show only had about 5 percent theater. Basically, Smarter Than Phones feels like the post-collegiate equivalent to being trapped in a nerd’s dorm room, listening to him or her talk incessantly about RPG’s and play “funny” (read: creepy) YouTube videos, while you silently scold yourself for thinking this would be a more fun way to spend Friday night than doing your calculus homework alone.

Lest you think I’m kidding, before the show started, they literally pulled up the website HotOrNot.com and encouraged audience members to make snarky comments about the people pictured—many of whom are likely dead now, because the website is that old. The free beer comes more from necessity than generosity, methinks.

The Fertile Ground Festival runs from Jan 20-30 at various venues. For other upcoming arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar!

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Tags: Theater, Review, festival, modern, contemporary

phile under: theater

Fertile Ground Speaks for Itself

Playwrights plug the upcoming festival with a few choice quotes, straight from their scripts.

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Photo by Gary Norman.

Here at the Culturephile blog, there’s always more art than we can cover. And something like the Fertile Ground Festival, a ten-day cornucopia of 70 performance works, could metaphorically plow us under if we took the old preview/review approach. So we decided to let the upcoming performances speak for themselves, by asking playwrights to pick a favorite line—a hilarious outburst, an absurd non-sequitur, or even a profound philosophical truth. Here’s what they said:


“What happens to the dreams of the dead?”
Immaterial Matters, by Steve Patterson

“You put your eye up to the glory hole, you’re going to get a poke in the eye.”
Death of the Party, by Sven Bonnichsen

“If you enjoy adaptations of the classics, you are sure to appreciate Undeath of a Salesman, a timely retelling of Arthur Miller’s great American tragedy featuring Willy Loman as a zombie.”
Spoused, by Mark Saunders

“I can chop down trees with one hand and no axe.”
Captured By Aliens (improvised line by actor)

“I have no qualms about hurting you. I want to know who you are, why you’re here, and why I have two mutilated corpses in the other room.”
Krueger, by Zack Calhoon

“Because the only thing stronger than gravity is the heart.”
That Was the River, This Is the Sea, by Claire Willett & Gilberto Martin del Campo

“Food can hear you. It hears what you’re thinking. A master chef will tell you, cuisine prepared by an angry man tastes different than food prepared by a man who’s at peace.”
Yarp?!, by Jeremy Benjamin

“We’re already in Hell; it’s the rage! Millions upon millions are flocking in, escaping secretly into their designer drugs – manufactured pharmaceuticals for manufactured conditions.”
Losing Ground in the Big City, by Don Teeters

“It’s just who you do, and for what reason, that changes. It’s the same game everywhere.”
Bridgetown, A Musical, by Karen Alexander-Brown

“I told him his choice was between me and artificial flavors and preservatives, and just look what the bastard picked!”
Food For Thought, by Rich Rubin

“If you want to stop and smell the roses it’s going to cost you $5.”
Stories: From the Streets, by Ann Singer from Lunacy Stageworks

“The words in my head are morphing, like the eternal is talking back: rescue the kernel of the sacred diurnal, go journal, journal, journal.”
Reality Lit, by Molly Tinsley

“I’d lit a bunch of fires and for some reason my parents thought I should go to a mental institution to ‘re-think things.’”
Galaxy Blink, by Francesca Sanders

“Believe it or not, it’s a beautiful summer day. The sun is still there, it’s just got some nasty ash blocking it.”
The Missing Pieces, by Nick Zagone

“Why you not come Viet Nam? We need teachers.”
Threads: The True Story of an Indiana Farm Girl in Viet Nam, by Tonya Jone Miller

“Why would anyone want to rape you?”
Hello My Name Is, by Jenni Miller

“The Elements Pack actually transfers you to a ‘sandbox’ alternative dimension. It allows you to observe, record, and interact with a past-like experience, but you will be unable to ‘save’ any changes.”
Maxima Vrugleplex, by Liz Argall and Brian Allard

“Watching Vivian was like watching grease spatter on a floor you were about to walk across: You knew every step would be slippery, especially the first one.”
Noir(ish): A New Breed of Detective Story, by Evan Guilford-Blake

“Listen, dogs fight all the time. ‘Cruelty’ is taking their nature away from them. Be like making it illegal for dogs to eat grass, barf on the carpet and eat it again.”
Bitch, by Sean Pomposello

“Growing up, my holy trinity was never The Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost. No, it was Bob Barker, Casey Kasem and Andy Rooney.”
Triskaidekaphilia (Just My Luck), by Jimmy Radosta

“You think I was looking forward to spending three months in Sri Lanka with a twenty-three-year-old, un-bankable cokehead with multiple diplomas from Betty Ford and AA?”
The A List, by Dalene Young

“‘Cause, you know, I get paid a helluva lot more than five measly dollars to play that game. And you know I have. Lots of times. With all the pie-faced, pious-assed, fascist aholes in Chicago who think they better than me and prove the opposite just ‘cause they is with me."
Street Corner Profit, by John Servilio

“I want your paws in my mouth.”
99 Ways To F*ck A Swan, by Kimberly Rosenstock

“They’re dropping Armageddon any minute and you’re standing there talking about teeth?!”
Sundowners, by Cassidy Barnes

“My relationship with Facebook has gotten complicated.”
Smarter Than Phones, by Sara Fay Goldman

“Jesus Christ, I was almost born in a glove compartment!”
David Saffert’s Birthday Bashstravaganza!, by David Saffert

“It’s lovely how my thoughts meander. It reminds me of a stream. Not a huge river or a bounding ocean, but a little teeny weeny brook sort of winding in and out of a forest.”
My Mind Is Like An Open Meadow, by Erin Leddy

“Snow only stays beautiful for what seems like a minute…then everything gets dirty and that’s what life’s all about.”
The Shadow Testament, by Susan Mach

“Maureen says civilization couldn’t possibly exist without clothing. ‘Imagine,’ she says, ‘greeting your guests at the door wearing nothing at all!’…‘I’ve done that,’ I say.”
All Together, by John Servilio

“Time is a dominatrix.”
Past :Perfect, by Ellen West

“And pianos don’t like the shore.”
Suburban Tribe, by Kate Mura

The Fertile Ground Festival runs from Jan 20-30 at various venues. For other upcoming arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar!

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Tags: Theater, comedy, drama, festival, modern, contemporary

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