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Apprehending the Fugitive Art Form
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Apprehending the Fugitive Art Form
Linda Nutter, Ph.D., CMA
Before I stepped inside his studio for the first time, the only thing I knew about Terry Rosenberg was that he drew and painted dancers as they danced. As I entered his world and encountered two wall-sized paintings, I knew something else about him: that he understood the essence of dance and dancing in a clear and intimate way. As I stood beside him and looked through his drawings, I began to suspect that I was most probably in the presence of someone who possessed what I refer to as a "natural" phenomenological perspective. Within the first five minutes of interviewing him, I was sure of it. As time passed and I learned more about Rosenberg and his work, my analysis of what he does deepened yet again. Not only does he see dance through a phenomenological lens, but his practice and process of drawing dancers is actually a process of doing phenomenology.
Rosenberg draws dancers as they dance, but he does not merely draw dancers dancing. He draws dancers in the process of becoming the dance. His work communicates an intrinsic knowledge of the body--its manner of shaping itself to the environment, its spatial tensions, and its dynamic potential. Rosenberg has developed a mode of sensing/rendering the dance in a way that reflects its essential characteristics. It was natural that I should think immediately about phenomenology when I first viewed Rosenberg's work. As an analytical approach, "pure" phenomenology has long been allied with the desire to elucidate the nature and inherent structures of particular experiences, something that is clearly on Rosenberg's agenda.
As a movement analyst and ex-choreographer, I was startled at first by what I saw in Rosenberg's work. I had expected to see typical dance imagery, i.e., dancers doing things. Instead, I was confronted with the depiction of actual movement. Rosenberg doesn't draw dancers in the corporeal manner of his artistic ancestors. For a non-dancer, he has an uncanny ability to see inside the dance and capture the core constitutive elements of movement. Dance (not the dancer) explodes off the paper or canvas. Although I am sometimes aware of dancerly figures that advance out of the moving swirl before retreating back into the action of the drawing, they are not central to my experience of the work. I am captivated not by images of dancers doing things, but by the portrayal of a complex, dynamic, and symbolic life force.
Maxine Sheets-Johnstone was the first to write formally about phenomenology and dance. In her endeavor to describe how dance appears, she developed the term "forcetimespace," indicating that the dance, or the "form-in-the-making," appears as the dancers' will evolves dynamically in ecstatic time and space. Writing years later, her colleague Sondra Horton Fraleigh writes, "When I close my eyes and try to picture a dance&is it forcetimespace that appears? How can forcetimespace appear? Forcetimespace is an abstraction until it is concretely manifested, until it is embodied. No, I do not see forcetimespace; I see the reality of dance in its corporealness, its lived concreteness. I cannot visualize a dance without visualizing a dancer. I can see embodied human motion, but I cannot see forcetimespace."
This example, drawn from the writing of two professional dance theorists, begs the question, "How exactly does dance appear?" What is it that we are looking at? Can we actually see an abstraction? One's ability to "see" is very personal. It is based upon many factors: our culture, our upbringing, our education, our current context, our embodied physicality, etc. Perhaps we should not say "ability to see." Perhaps it would be more correct to say "one's proclivities toward seeing." Perhaps the two dance writers are, perhaps, arguing semantics, but I do not believe this is true. I believe that when these two writers view a dance, they see very different things. Fraleigh sees dancers involved in action that can be symbolic. Sheets-Johnstone describes her experience of seeing the dancers, but of also actually seeing the symbolic abstraction created by the moving bodies. And it seems that Rosenberg does as well. The interesting thing about Rosenberg is not that he can see it this way, but that he can draw it. In his work, one clearly sees the unity of dancer and dance. One sees the dancer not as a still life, but as the center of a chaotic, soaring, complex weave of movement that reflects or explains something of life's most basic impulses. Operating below the surface and informing his work is a deep knowledge of what phenomenologists would call the "lived body."
Contrary to the Cartesian conception of a dualistic split between mind and body, the lived body concept does not involve a floating mind somehow affixed to a concrete and objective body. Those interested in the phenomenology of the body describe phenomena as they are experienced from within the subjective body. The lived body is experienced as a whole person, a seamless unity of mind and body. In this way, the body is not said to "house" the soul, and the soul is not said to "animate" the body. Experience is reflected in the unified mind/body, not simultaneously in a mind and a body. Rosenberg acknowledges his alliance with this perspective when he talks about the dancers he draws. What he is "ideally and definitely" trying to do is hook into the essence of a person's existence at a particular moment in time. In drawing them, he attempts to capture a "combination of their dynamic, what they are muscularly, physically, structurally doing, their spirit and color, their attitude and how they do it&everything about how they appear to me. They bring up responses in me that form a kind of union with them&I know from the beginning that it's impossible to take the equivalent of a photographic click and get all that information&but I'm still trying to absolutely express what they do as clearly as I possibly canto capture that living primal essence."
The union with the dancer that Rosenberg pursues speaks to one of dance's most important features. As a constructed illustration of embodied humanity, dance reminds us not only of our ability to express ourselves, but also of our ability to connect to and assimilate the expression of others. In doing so, we expand our boundaries and understanding of each other and, ultimately, the range and accuracy of our perception of meanings. For Rosenberg, the union that he usually feels with the dancers he draws is founded on a type of sympathy he experiences with them, a kinesthetic resonance that evolves as he clears the way to really be able to see and pay attention to them. For him, this sympathy is grounded in the knowledge that both he and the dancer exist in absolute flux, in a state of living and dying at the same time.
From the constantly unfolding evolution of the dance, Rosenberg snatches images, phrases, patterns and rhythms and weaves them together to create a semblance of the dance that is mysterious, oddly logical, and almost always reflective of his conception of time. Like the existentialists, he thinks of time in its ecstatic sense. In the lived-body experience of our internal consciousness, the past, present and future are a unity. In Sheets-Johnstone's words, "Man does not have a past since he is his past in the mode of not being it; he is always already present. He does not have a present, but is his present in the mode of not being fixed in the instant: his present is a flight which projects him into his future. Finally, he does not have a future since he is his future in the mode of not being it; his future is not yet, but is outlined upon the present out of which he moves toward the future as a goal. Man comprises temporality within himself, for he is such an ekstatic being: he is always at a distance from himself, always in flight." Rosenberg concentrates his energies on capturing this flight.
Dancers, their moods, and their bodies have always interested artists. Most art that takes dance as its subject portrays not movement or choreography, but dancers and bodies. Dancers posing, dancers reclining, dancers leaping, etc. Claiming that this type of work depicts the movement or overall thrust of a dance is akin to claiming that publicity photos of famous actors capture the drama and action of the play they advertise. As representations of the art of "dance," we have drawings, paintings, photographs and sculptures that reveal the dancers' line, the dancers' costume, the play of light on the planes and curves of a torso or arm, the dancer contemplating the performance, the heft of a thigh, the bones of a foot, the theatrical and romantic nature of the working process, and the inner sanctum of the studio. We have great photographs that immortalize dancers, arresting them at some climactic moment of action--Baryshnikov in mid-air, Graham just seconds before an eloquent fall into the floor, Parsons or Ezralow diving head-first through the camera's frame, Humphrey poised breathlessly at the top of the arc. Like those captured by the more traditional art forms, the moments recorded on film are not dance or movement phrases. They are moments of action severed from the context of the dance, moments forever preserved, viewed, and interpreted within a vacuum. Traditionally, when dancers are drawn or photographed in motion, the resulting image only hints at what might have come before or after the liminal moment. The viewer interested in the "ongoingness" of the phrase must fill in the action in their mind's eye. Movement is indicated but not captured.
Although Rosenberg often says that what he draws are moments, in fact he capture phrases, and in many cases, much more. His work conveys the sensual cadence and pattern of the dance as it unfolds. The overall impression is not a chronicling of frozen moments, but of a layered, unified past, present and future.
Drawing movement is not an easy task. It involves the depiction of a vital dynamic through-line as it is lived and formed by dancers in the moment. Those who talk about the difficulty of the task often bandy about one of the most cherished dance clich￩s. Dance, they say, is ephemeral and fleeting, a fugitive art form, forever on the run from dissection, description and depiction. Viewed from this perspective, dance remains mysterious, impenetrable and impossible to capture. Rosenberg, apparently, doesn't see it that way. After twenty years of honing his techniques, he manages to penetrate the dance experience and do that impossible thing: he captures the essence of a truly great dance-watching experienceone in which the viewer suspends reflection and joins the dancer in a lived-body sense.
Rudolf Laban, who was arguably the most influential twentieth-century movement theorist, writes from a phenomenological sensibility. Rosenberg captures the elusive dynamic through-line that Laban called Effort. In his seminal work in identifying the salient features of a movement experience, Laban believed that it was the Effort qualities that gave a person's movement its character and animation. These Effort qualities are a result of the mover's inner attitude (conscious or unconscious) toward the motion factors of Weight, Space, Time and Flow. Within the Laban framework, these qualities are described and experienced from a lived-body perspective. Weight, for example, is delineated not simply as a matter of mass or weight, but as the experience of moving one's body in a way that either resists or fights the effects of gravity on the body, or yields to gravity and accepts it.
The motion factor of Space is observed and experienced not as a quantitative measurement of inches, feet and yards, but as a continuum in which the mover attends to the Space in a constricted, focused and withholding manner, or in a multi-focused, flexible, accepting manner. Time Effort does not focus on the deconstruction of chronological time into seconds or beats. It describes the mover's inner lived attitude toward the passage of time and is described on a continuum from urgent to a more luxurious and indulgent sensing of the passage of time. Flow Effort describes the progression of the movement as either Bound or Free.
The expressive body-mind produces many combinations of Effort qualities. The performance of two Effort components at once (such as Light Weight and Bound Flow) comprises an Effort State. Three components performed at once (such as Strong Weight, Quick Time and Free Flow) make an Effort Drive. In all, there are 72 different Effort combinations. Any short phrase of movement (either crafted dance movement or everyday movement) is a complicated network of changing effort qualities and combinations. Humans have the capacity to comprehend the nature of the qualities and to recognize the rhythms and structures of each other's sequences.
Rosenberg has a real understanding of Effort. "By trying to draw out these built-up gestures over time, you get this exposure to someone's internal desire or their own motivation. You can read it in the dynamics, the velocity of the brush stroke, how one thing crosses over another, and how you see it spatially in pictorial space." Although he often says that he "draws what he sees" and that he is "simply trying to draw the movement," it would probably be more accurate to say that he draws what he feels or experiences. Embodied in his sensitive renderings is not only the dancer(s) appearing before him, but Rosenberg himself. His physical ability to embody and reflect the dancers' Effort life is what sets him apart from others who use dance and dancers as their subject. He is able to capture the layered rhythms of the movement because he is able to open his body to receive the sense data. What we see on his canvas is not an interpretation of the movement as seen through his eyes, but a kind of channeling of the dancers' energies through his own body, out through his hand, and into the work.
Many of us have what could be referred to as our "Effort repertoire." As we age, we lose our child-like ability to respond openly and appropriately to stimuli and begin to cultivate a set of responses that somehow defines us. These responses are always both emotional/mental and physical. To draw a very broad and generalized example, we can imagine a hyper-stimulated type of person who is mostly expressive/responsive through combinations of Quick Time, Direct Space, and Free Flow. (Although the other Effort elements may appear briefly in transition or recuperation.) Another person may define him or herself as more "easygoing" and that could be reflected in a persona that is loaded on the Effort front with movement that revolves around Sustained Time, Free Flow, and Indirect Space combinations. Although change is always available to us through conscious work in modalities ranging from psychotherapy to bodywork and yoga, most of us believe that "we are who we are" and accept the physical and emotional restrictions of our choice. With the passage of time, it becomes more and more difficult to step outside of our repertoire and expose ourselves to a different manner of feeling/responding/acting. One would imagine, therefore, that when someone such as Rosenberg viewed dance, what would impress itself on him and then be translated to the canvas would be the qualities with which he himself was most conversant. This does not seem to be the case. A viewing of his works shows a wide range of Effort sensitivity. Within the lines, smudges, and patches of color there exists a deep well of potentiality: gentle and delicate meandering, slow persistent perseverance, measured cautious withholding, forceful energetic driven pounding--the interpretive possibilities are endless. Of course, all of this gets greatly complicated when one tries to draw more than one dancer at a time.
If it is nearly impossible to capture just one dancer in flight, how then would one draw a group? Take Nascimento #15, a charcoal and pastel of the Parsons Dance Company (1994). As in many of Rosenberg's drawings, there is a constant question in my mind as to whether I am looking at one dancer drawn through time, or at a number of dancers drawn nearly simultaneously. Does it matter? The action seems to move from upstage right to downstage left in a gentle slashing, whirling and spiraling manner. The phrase seems to reach its dynamic climax as a lone figure appears to emerge out of the group and revolve into a one-legged balancing point facing downstage right. At the same time, ghostly figures seem to lift the mover back around and into the evolving group, ready, perhaps, to begin another circuit. Although I am unfamiliar with this dance, the drawing speaks to me of cycles and of an incessant ambivalence concerning the repetition of patternsboth good and bad. The drawing, of course, is completely abstract and each time I view it, my perspective shifts slightly.
So how does Rosenberg achieve all this? It might be tempting to answer this question through a formal or syntactical analysis of the drawings and paintings themselves. This would involve analyzing his use of the two-dimensional space, light, line, shape, brushstrokes, color palette, surface, etc. Rosenberg could be videotaped and a movement analyst could examine the correlation of his movements to those of the dancers before him. Alternatively, the analyst could look at the tools that Rosenberg has developed to aid his drawing process, the challenge of making the tools work as an extension of his body, or the effect that they have on his touch. I suspect, however, that these analyses, while fruitful in their own right, would not really get to the heart of why Rosenberg can draw dance in the way he does. His work succeeds in conveying the subtle and ever-changing spatial, dynamic and humanistic rhythms not only by what he is able to do with charcoal or paint, but by how he is able to hold himself open to actually see and experience the movement event.
As is true of all the arts, dance can never be fully defined or analyzed by one aesthetic perspective or point of view. Viewers experience and appreciate dance as a multiplicity of levels of significance. They see and value different aspects of the total dance phenomenon. These aspects may include formal or syntactical properties such as structure or technique; the symbolic transformation of human feelings into movement; the experience of dance as the lived movement-in-time-and-space; and the embodiment of a sense of the historical or cultural epoch in which the dance work was created. Analytical traditions and systems within the field of aesthetics address the various levels of artistic significance. (As is typical of human nature, practitioners of a particular method usually feel justified in claiming that theirs is the one true way to approach a work of art.) The method that examines lived movement-in-time-and-space is phenomenology. Although he claims no formal training in the method, either in general or as it is applied to dance, Rosenberg's work and working process clearly exemplify the phenomenological method. Understanding phenomenology sheds light on how Rosenberg manages to get inside the dance to the degree that he does.
Phenomenology is the term used by philosopher Edmund Husserl (1859-1938) to describe a method of inquiry used to produce in-depth, descriptive accounts of all forms of consciousness and immediate experience. Husserl was originally interested in developing a method by which "phenomena" could be examined and scrutinized to reveal their "essential and necessary" characteristics. This examination would then yield information that was scientifically verifiable. As he conceived it, a phenomenological examination would focus on experience as it occurred, not on theories or hypotheses about the experience. Husserl sought a perfect or "apodictic" knowledge about the phenomena being examined. His goal was to provide science and philosophy with a method by which the natural sciences, religion, the social sciences, art, virtually anything, could be examined. Through that examination, a kind of truth about the phenomena would be revealed.
Rosenberg, too, seems to be in search of the "truth" behind each dance event he experiences. He describes his process as a way of drawing out the essence of the dance and getting at an intimate naturehuman nature. Although he is not a professional phenomenologist or dance theorist, Rosenberg contributes to both fields through his drawings, paintings, and thoughtful interviews concerning his process. By casting Rosenberg in the role of dance researcher or theorist, we can begin to examine his affinity with the phenomenological method. We can imagine him not as an artist who creates art with dance as its subject, but as a writer who uses the phenomenological method to describe the dance as it unfolds before him in present time.
In a 2001 interview with Richard Kendall, Rosenberg discusses the challenge of readying himself to receive what the dancers before him have to present. He says, "When I actually do the work I really just try to open myself up to that which I'm drawing, and try to put everything else that I know or I've learned or heard behind me. When I'm drawing movement I have to leave everything behind to be able to keep up with that kind of activity&it presents a lot of challenges for me to leave my own personal baggage behind. What I think my work should look like or mean, or what people are going to think, or what I think&I am simply trying to draw the movement. And that is a wildly complex thing to do. So it made me realize that all those thoughts that come into my head clearly must be left behind on this trip."
Although Husserl himself did not actually outline the way one was to go about performing a phenomenological analysis, he discussed and delineated many complex and technical principles. One of the first principles he deemed necessary so that "direct observation" of the phenomena could occur was known as "bracketing." This involves the "bracketing out" or "suspension" of any beliefs one has in specific theories, concepts, or symbols. This is what Rosenberg refers to when he speaks of "leaving his personal baggage behind." As he is working, Rosenberg attempts to bracket out (essentially ignore) anything he conceptually knows about choreography, dance, dancers, dance technique, dance theory, dance symbolism, dance mythology, etc. His goal is to allow the present dance to imprint upon him in as pure a way as possible. In a later interview, Rosenberg talked to me about trying to rid the process of his subjective control over the dance. This illustrates another major concern of Husserl's pure phenomenology.
In his work, Husserl believed he was reacting against what he viewed as rampant "subjectivity" in the research methods of his day. This subjective perspective colored the information that could be gathered about the world. His motto became "back to the things themselves." By suspending belief in theories, concepts and symbols in favor of what is directly observable, he strove for a kind of perfect observation. In his search for this pure empiricism based on the immediate perception of "things," he hoped to provide systematic descriptions of objects, free from the biased, subjective interpretations of the human viewer.
An imaginary example may help illustrate how this bracketing might occur within Rosenberg's actual process. One of the companies Rosenberg has drawn is the Mark Jarecke Dance group. As he readies himself and begins to draw, Rosenberg tries to suspend anything he knows about the choreographer, his group, or the individual dancers. If he knows that Jarecke is more interested in visual or spatial criteria and less interested in kinesthetic sensation or narrative, he suspends that in favor of what he actually experiences. He will not, for example, try to render the spatial patterning while ignoring emotive content&unless that is what he felt was truly present in the movement. Anything that the dancers might verbally reveal to him about their current physical condition, anything that Jarecke might have told him about the work he is about to see, and anything he might imagine about costumes, music or sets that are not part of the present session will be bracketed. Instead, Rosenberg tries to render what is immediately observable what he can actually see and kinesthetically experience.
In addition to suspending what he knows about dance, he also attempts to suspend what he knows about his own art. In discussing this, he says, "Part of this whole practice of drawing dancers in the moment is for me to get over my own preconceptions about what painting or drawing should be. It demands that I surrender my own ideas about how I draw lines, how I make shapes, how I make background, foreground, whatever&things start to blur when I'm really connected to the dance. I can sit and watch myself draw on video and I can see when I lose focuswhen I get too interested in what is happening on paper and I don't stay with the dancer. I can see it instantly. I can see myself pull out and go back into the formal drawing process. Intense focus is the best-case scenarioit yields the best and most interesting results. It is here that the process really begins to open up." He also tries to suspend all judgment about the work, while working, and all comparisons to other work. He must do this in terms of both the choreography and the drawing. In phenomenology, this thinking/experiencing process is called "pre-reflective." One tries to stay with the experience and not be pulled into "reflecting" about other issues.
The phenomenological reduction has at least two stages, the Transcendental Reduction and the Eidetic Reduction. Bracketing occurs in the first stage. This Transcendental Reduction (also termed the epoche) requires a change from ordinary perceiving to phenomenological perceiving. Ordinary perceiving is characterized by the "natural attitude." This natural attitude is the sum total of our preconceptions and predispositions toward somethingthe way we "expect" something to be or appear. What is needed is the suspension of the natural attitude; a move from perceiving something to examining how we perceive something. Suspension of the natural attitude is founded on the transcendental reduction.
The transcendental reduction is marked by a turning inward toward consciousness. Humans have the unique power to transcend our own consciousness and examine it. In thinking about how we think, we can engage the process of conscious activity. By turning inside and thinking about how one is thinking about something, Husserl felt that it was possible to suspend all preconceived views, ideas and assumptions about what an object might mean and instead concentrate on how the "something" is appearing before us. One can, in effect, choose to transcend how one usually thinks about something and open oneself to a more fully multi-dimensional experience. This suspension of the natural attitude allows one to more clearly focus on what is actually appearing to consciousness.
If Rosenberg were a dance analyst/writer, stage one of the phenomenological reduction would take the form of quick, spontaneous, fearless writing about the dance experience. It would be a kind of stream-of-consciousness response that might also take the form of short poetry-like utterances. As noted, the analyst suspends or brackets out personal preferences, syntactical observations, and all thought about referential meaning, historical significance, or comparative analysis. The goal is to be fully present in the dance experience.
Stage two of the phenomenological reduction, the Eidetic Reduction, involves moving toward the object's essence (or "Eidos") so that essential structures and relationships are clarified. The purpose of this step is to discover the "essences" of the thing in questionHusserl believed that if one could extrapolate these essential and defining structures from the experience, one could gain a kind of truth or universal knowledge of it. During the Eidetic Reduction, the analyst examines the information acquired in the first step and looks for themes or motifs that may evolve or become apparent. Again, if Rosenberg were a dance writer, he would utilize these themes to construct an analysis of the dance that would, theoretically, convey a kind of "truth" about the work.
But Rosenberg is not technically a dance writer or analyst. His form requires a more immediate type of presentation. The remarkable thing about Rosenberg is that he seems to be able to perform both steps of the reduction simultaneously, in the moment, while creating. He doesn't give himself the luxury of time and reflection. While he could choose to videotape the dance and work from multiple viewings, he chooses instead to render the dance as it is happening. As if this in itself isn't enough, he also challenges himself to render those things that are essential and defining to the dance. Although I know that Rosenberg experiences the dances he draws from a distance, as an "outsider" if you will, his drawings often trick me into believing that he drew them as he himself danced the movement. There is an understanding of the dancers' sense of lived space that is clearly present in the work. The spatial scale of the drawing is somehow always in sync with the dynamic expression. There is a body logic at work and it draws the viewer's attention simultaneously inward toward their own body and outward toward connecting with other moving bodies. In attempting to elucidate his union with the dancers, to find the basis of some kind of primary relationship he has with them, he manages to nudge the audience of his paintings toward the same eventual goal.
It should be noted here that later students of the phenomenological tradition debate whether Husserl's transcendental epoche and reduction is even possible. We do have conceptions, attitudes and assumptions which color understanding. Philosophers such as Hans-Georg Gadamer and Martin Heidegger believed that attempting to suspend one's pre-understandings was, in essence, an attempt to suspend what is essentially one's own being-in-the-world. According to Heidegger, "there is no pure, external vantage point to which we can retreat in order to get a disinterested, presuppositionless angle on things." In essence, any act of interpretation is influenced by one's own pre-understandings and historical relativism. Still, at its best the phenomenological reduction is an effort to remove bias and preconceptions from consciousness that unduly affect our ability to experience something. It aims to describe through some direct route, not to analyze or theorize (at least not in the beginning), but first to describe the immediate contents of consciousness. To quote Sheets-Johnstone again, "In attempting to follow the phenomenological method, one sometimes discovers, within the total structure of the thing presented, new insight into the nature of its appearance." In the general scheme of things, it may not matter that pure phenomenology did not turn out to be the verifiable "science" that Husserl wished to outline. In my experience, even the slightest attempt to approach phenomena in this way yields fruitful results. This getting "back to the things themselves," getting to the thing about which knowledge speaks, is the primary goal. This is what Rosenberg is getting at. Not a rendering of what we know about bodies and relationships and how they are constituted in our society, but a rendering of the moment itself, which in turn teaches us about bodies and relationships and how they are constituted in our society.
In the current dance literature, there are very few phenomenological accounts of actual dances. Given his skill at performing the phenomenological reduction, if Rosenberg were a dance writer, he would be performing a much-needed service. Thankfully though, he is not an ivory tower academic. What he creates serves an audience of much wider appeal. He is not interested in becoming the scribe of western concert dance forms. What he wants to make are provocative and interesting images that spring from a historically new point of view. I recently asked Rosenberg if his way of seeing evolved out of his interest in dance, or if his interest in viewing/drawing dance came about through his way of seeing. He responded that his initial interest in this arena was in developing his ability to see and capture imagery as it was created in the present. Since he always believed that he could learn a lot from what he called "body-smart" movers, dance was an obvious choice.
Linda Nutter Ph.D., CMA trained as a dancer and choreographer before receiving her Ph.D. from New York University in Aesthetics and Dance Analysis. She is a Certified Laban Movement Analyst and teaches on the faculty of the Laban-Bartenieff Institute of Movement Studies in New York City. |
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