Shining faces

The bamboo dish drainer I had been fond of for quite some time finally gave in and had to retire. Having been not so happy with the fact that the tray for the dish drainer tends to stain the counter, I decided to take advantage of this situation and see what it's like to dry dishes without a drainer. First I placed them on a dry towel on a kitchen counter since I saw my German friends do that in Berlin. This method worked for a day or so, but I realized that the odor of wet towel reverted and permeated the dishes. No more towel method. So if down is no good, what about up? I simply placed the dishes with their open sides up on the counter and hoped that they would be dry. No more odor. However, the dishes didn't dry in one day. It usually took about two to three days for an any given dish to be dry. Wow, I thought, this is a very primitive way of drying dishes. The ultimate method of natural dryer. My appreciation for a dry dish increased triple since it meant that I can put it away or use it. I've also started minimizing the number of dishes I use every day. Having been inspired by the solid blue dish drainers which dried countless dishes day after day at CESTA, I finally purchased a simple small dish drainer with a tray. About twenty minutes after I piled up the wet dishes, they were completely dry showing their beautiful shining faces without a drop of tears.

What an incredible invention.

CESTA (3)

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IMG_4006

The performance and two site-specific performance studies ended yesterday. Today is the reflection day. The two site-specific studies were both extremely fruitful. The power of the place was so strong entering into my mind and body, it almost didn't matter what I was 'doing'. The invisible part of the dance was definitely resonating with the place and time. The final performance inside the theatre was a hard one. Making the installation with the three magic mirrors and red elastic cord was a big challenge. The theatre was split between the new and the old part. I chose the old part to create an environment. The performance itself felt hurried and unsatisfying compared to the site-studies where I could have an unlimited time and the environment determined what I do, how I do, and when the piece is going to end. However, the context, the time, and the place for the final piece was artificially pre-determined, leaving a very narrow window to play with. Perhaps many improvisors feel this pressure of 'having to do' something without the genuine impulse. This pressure is less when the environment is so strong and helping you make decisions. When in the theatre, the environment is created beforehand and the surprises and the unexpected events have to be caused either externally or internally. In this case, the theatre space was not completely neutral. It had peculiar energy and atmosphere. But in the twirl of making the structure, completing the installation, sound, and lights, the open space started getting closed and closed, leaving very small room for unexpected happenings. The attempt of bringing in the memory of two sites into the theatre was, most of the time, perhaps not so successful. What I was finding out was what triggers these pieces of memories from distant places.

CESTA (2)

The week is going very very fast. For the first few days, I walked around CESTA, both the new and the old town of Tabor to sense/feel/experience the place. On Monday, I somewhat conceived a performance and studies based on my observation. It's still freezing here. Despite the cold weather, I decided that one of my sites will be in/on the water. I'm really curious about this current and what my body experiences there. The other site will be the gate that leads to the old town. Final performance will be in the theatre. It's such a short time I'm doing all this. It's an extreme challenge, but I'll just have to what I can do since last night in my restless sleep I was realizing that this is all for me to grow. That's the most important.

CESTA (1)

Prague train station

I arrived at Tabor Friday evening. I'm going to spend this coming week at this place called CESTA (Cultural Exchange Station in Tabor) for the artist residency. This town is about 3-4 hours away from Prague with the airport bus and the express train. The train was a typical European style  one with small

separate compartments with six seats inside each. My three compartment mates were an older gentleman with a cane who kept staring at me, a middle-aged guy with a beer and a crossword puzzle, and a Hispanic woman who was deep asleep. About half an hour later, I noticed that the landscape started shifting. Vast field of green began to extend. It seemed that I was going into the deep countryside.  The train went on. I wondered if my compartmates were commuting from the outskirts of Prague to the city to work. So maybe this is like the Marc train from Baltimore to DC...but two of them still didn't get off when I did at Tabor, which was almost two hours later. I wanted to strike a conversation, but they seemed to be all engrossed into individual activities and judging from the train station experience, I wasn't certain if I could communicate with them. A vendor with a name tag came around to sell snacks and drinks including liquor. The Hispanic woman woke up, bought a beer and started drinking it. The older gentleman bought a candy bar. It started feeling more like a trip now. I felt a bit nostalgic remembering long-distance train on the countryside, Japan. Finally, after about 19 hours since I left Baltimore, I arrived at Tabor.

Kaspar (2)

The more we get into the material, the more we realize how deep this issue digs in and how wide it extends. We started getting into the physical/vocal work. They can get hot easily, but can they get others hot without getting hot themselves?

A sense of displacement

I had an opportunity to see Peter van Heerden for the second time. He is a South African performance artist. When you hear that, you might be expecting certain appearance of this person. What makes him unique is that he is a white Afrikaans who grew up through apartheid. His continuing research surrounding white masculinity has been also leading to larger issues the African society faces. In some dvd footage and the live performance of his recent work, "Ubuntu" (see his interview with city paper http://www2.citypaper.com/arts/story.asp?id=19344) his voice screamed and whispered through striking imageries executed with sheer physicality, exposing the violence and his vulnerable self in the society.Although, this might not be exactly what he is focusing, I felt a strong sense of displacement, which is at the core of my own work.

According to Merriam-Webster dictionary, 'to displace' means:

1. a : to remove from the usual or proper place; specifically : to expel or force to flee from home or homeland <displaced persons> b : to remove from an office, status, or job c obsolete : to drive out : banish

2

a : to move physically out of position <a floating object displaces water> b : to take the place of (as in a chemical reaction)

a : to remove from the usual or proper place; specifically : to expel or force to flee from home or homeland <displaced persons>  b : to remove from an office, status, or job  c obsolete : to drive out : banish2a : to move physically out of position <a floating object displaces water> b : to take the place of (as in a chemical reaction)

It seems that 'displacement' involves 1) external force; 2) one is moved from one place to another. In this sense, neither Peter nor I fit this definition. But this sense of 'displacement' comes from the feeling that I was displaced from the 'proper' place and I don't know where this 'proper' place is. Or I could say, I displaced myself from my homeland to another place because I was already feeling a sense of 'displacement'. And in this new place (relatively speaking), I still feel 'out of place' - displaced.

Perhaps 'displacement' for me isn't really a political or physical matter but more of an existential one of 'not fitting'. Or perhaps maybe I feel a sense of 'displaced' farther away from 'self'.

Kaspar (1)

The Ensemble Theatre Lab class to explore Peter Handke's "Kaspar" started on Thursday. Fourteen young courageous student actors started this process with me. This is an extremely challenging material to deal with. However, despite my concerns, the students responded to the materials with deep, honest thoughts and feelings. I can't wait to see how this journey with them will proceed from here.

faceless behind the register

I was shopping at a health food store the other day and a friend of mine happened to have been standing on the same line at the cash register. We both heard our casher make a request to go to the bathroom to another employee who passed by her. The line behind us was long. After he said ok, about 5-10 minutes passed and there was no sign that she could go.  My friend started asking her questions. "Can you not go to the bathroom?" "I've been asking for some time, but haven't been able to yet." "Why?" She kept punching in codes and numbers. Still no sign of a person, a savior to let her go to the bathroom. When we went outside of the store, we saw another employee who seemed more authoritative and asked him why she could not go to the bathroom. His answer was blunt. "We cannot make our customers wait." My friend didn't budge."If I have to wait that long, I would pee in my pants." "I understand your concern, but she is fine. Someone is going to come to take her place." "I'm just saying that she was waiting for a long time - noone came. You should let her go." "I appreciate your concern, but I have to disagree. We do let people go to the bathroom. She just has to wait so that we can serve the customers."  He was clearly abiding by the cooperation rule, not the humanity rule. We left him, feeling unresolved. To save her from trouble, my friend had to make sure to let him know that she didn't come to us for rescue but we asked her about this situation. This incident reminded me of the film, "Food", in which how capitalism that we thrive on is harming us in the end. But that was about big cooperations.  This is a health food store, which is supposed to be advocating the holistic view on life and respect for humanity. I imagined. What if she goes to the bathroom and we wait? If she had gone to the bathroom with the agreement of all the customers at her register, what would have happened? She, who was faceless up to this point, would have become a memorable person. We would have had an opportunity to talk to her as a person. A connection would have  been born between us  and her, and possibly amongst us. What if, there is a ridiculous rule that every time a casher goes to the bathroom, someone on her line has to sing a song instead of complaining?  To celebrate being a human? To thank her for reminding us that she is not a machine and neither are we? To thank the store for making the waiting process unique and enjoyable?

perspectives

There are three ways to get to my workplace from my house: car, bicycle, and on foot. I try to alternate these three means to change the perspective. It is quite amazing how each means not only changes your physical relationship with the environment but also the psychological one as well. The bourgeoisie of the car makes a marked contrast with the workman's vehicle, the bicycle. This  simple device operated by man power gives you a feel of a vehicle, but in a sense, is the most restrictive of all three. On foot, the most vulnerable of all three, gives you the richest journey with most freedom. When you walk, you intimate the ground with every step. You engage with the environment through your whole body. You feel the weight of life you put on your self on the shoulders - what you put in the bag, what the thought process in doing so,  why you put so much in it (affect the energy consumption), etc. As you continue to walk, you develop and go through the whole process of 'lightening and grounding'. I can't wait to try this experiment on other pathways.

perspectives

There are three ways to get to my workplace from my house: car, bicycle, and on foot. I try to alternate these three means to change the perspective. It is quite amazing how each means not only changes your physical relationship with the environment but also the psychological one as well. The bourgeoisie of the car makes a marked contrast with the workman's vehicle, the bicycle. This  simple device operated by man power gives you a feel of a vehicle, but in a sense, is the most restrictive of all three. On foot, the most vulnerable of all three, gives you the richest journey with most freedom. When you walk, you intimate the ground with every step. You engage with the environment through your whole body. You feel the weight of life you put on your self on the shoulders - what you put in the bag, what the thought process in doing so,  why you put so much in it (affect the energy consumption), etc. As you continue to walk, you develop and go through the whole process of 'lightening and grounding'. I can't wait to try this experiment on other pathways.

weight of form

I just got back from a week of rehearsals and performances of an English Noh Play, "Crazy Jane". Along with the play, two short dance pieces were presented each night and I was given one piece to dance on Friday night. It has been five years since I participated in an intensive training of Noh, so naturally, I felt rusty and under-prepared, which I had expected. What I didn't expect was the revelations I had while I practiced the dance being in half-panic state.

The most potent moment visited me when I was rehearsing by myself in the studio a day before the performance. At that point, I had the sequence memorized and had a pretty good idea of how the song matched the dance. (In Noh dance, movements and singing are in a close relationship to each other. If you don't know the song well, you can't dance well.) I wanted to reach the place where I can actually feel and dance the dance.

As I worked on my dance in an empty quiet space, my body started remembering the power that resided in every aspect of noh. Because I was re-learning the form, so to speak, this time I was starting to understand more about the reasons for various details - why jo-ha-kyu, why small steps, what happens when you restrain, why arms move in certain sequences and why all these things are important to make the dance work. I also began to realize when all elements are executed, strong energy starts circulating through one's body and connecting with the energy of the universe. Through extreme minimalism, this energy becomes distilled to the purest primal state and gets transmitted to the audience. As I kept dancing, I began to feel this energy inside my body, moving it to the next step, and the next step. The air around me started shifting and I started being in contact with the invisibles. (perhaps this is the reason why contact between the performers is minimal in noh?)

This resonates with what I have  been striving for in my own work - maximum evocation with minimal stimuli. The work transcends what a performer does or who he is  (visibles) and rises into a large encompassing universe. But to achieve this, you need to perfect the form with precision. In a sense, it seems that the performer is 'borrowing' the form to reside in the spirit of the Noh character.

I  renewed my appreciation for the depth of this traditional art form and was glad to be able to 'feel' the form through the body rather than 'understand' it through the head.

sound of no sound

Issui Minegishi is a ichigenkin (one-string instrument) player from Japan. I met her in NY through my director friend. She mentioned how challenging it is to manipulate the one string to create music. One of the things she is focusing on right now is to listen to the silence after the sound is gone. It seems already minimalistic given that it is only one string which is producing sound, but she wants people to listen to the sound after the sound is gone. This ultimate minimalist approach resonated with me. In Japanese,  'ma' (the space between) is honored in every aspect of life. In studying ookawa (Noh hip-drum) a little, I learned that vocal calls and rhythm are much more important than the actual sound you make. Rhythm of course means the 'sound' part and 'no sound' part. Vocal calls fill in the 'no sound' part. And this 'no sound' part goes with the arm movements. Extremely acute sense of listening is required to listen to this 'ma'. Some also say that 'ma' is where the spirits reside. It seems like the portal to the eternal world. When you honor this space more than the 'filled' space, the sound is much fuller and the 'no sound' gets awaken, creating the equisite  harmony.

Beautiful garden

Recently, I saw Tarkovsky's "Sacrifice". As usual, I was drawn into this long movie with no effort. This movie, which was the last piece of work by him, is full of stories told by the characters. Not much happens through actions. One of the stories stood out for me. The protagnist starts talking about his sick mother who always sat by the window which looked down the garden. He tells his friend how much she enjoyed seeing the garden. Being a good son, he wanted to clearn it up for her birthday. While his mother was getting weaker and having to stay in her bed, he kept working on the garden, trimming the trees and mowing the grass. The garden was ready. Being extremely proud and excited, he sat by the window to look over the garden. With a painful look on his face, he confesses to his friend, " it was disgusting." Being changed through a man's hands, the garden has lost its wild nature.

Terayama Shuji and Peter Handke

I've been thinking about the world of "Kaspar" by Peter Handke which I'll be directing in Spring 2011. It is a very challenging play with plenty of room to search, discover, play, and get lost. The reason why I chose this play was because of the language. I have been always curious about the relationship between language and body, but my stay on a farm in Hakushu in 2007 summer, I've been more and more thinking about it. How does the body gets formed and conditioned by the language? "Kaspar" seemed to be a perfect material to explore this question. And why am I thinking of Shuji Terayama? Both Terayama and Handke held the revolting spirits high. Terayama tried to reconceive the meaning of theatre. He tried to bring the outside into the inside and drag the inside to the outside. Handke wrote an anti-play, "Kaspar" which has a meticulous structure, but violates the preconceived notion of a play. I'm horrified and ecstatic about working on this material. I'm not sure if there would be such a thing to 'do a justice to a play'.  But there seems to be  only one thing to do - can I drag this play out of the book and break open a new world with a new perspective? In doing that, can I keep facing myself truly?

0.1 decibel

Recently, I had lunch with Yoko. K whom I met through my workshop held in June. She is a singer/electronic musician based in Washignton, DC. It is not everyday that I meet a Japanese person here in Baltimore, especially a female working artist. It is also not so often that you sit with someone and just talk for a long time. She kindly shared not only her own thoughts about "Paraffin" but also her friend's whom she brought with her on that day. I was thrilled to hear that she felt invisible tension and power that was inexplicable. I shared with her some of my 'kodawari' (almost anal obsession about the details) which seemed to have caused that tension. Yoko told me about her 'kodawari' when recording music - she uses 0.1 decibel mixing instead of 0.2 even if other people tell her that it doesn't make a difference. I completely understood why she wanted to do that. It's amazing how the degree of such care directly shows on stage even if it might be a meticulous choice which makes a miniscule difference. As a performer, so much of what one does off-stage gets revealed on stage- how you have been handling props, costumes, how you have been relating to the space, other performers, how you have been listening, seeing, sensing, how you have been living every moment of your life. Yoko also shared that her friend had thought that my stance was very strict and no-nonsense, but my compassion was deep. I was shocked that both Yoko and her friend had not only experienced what was happening on stage, but also perceived what kind of preparation had been done to make it happen - how we had been working. I felt blessed to have witnesses like Yoko and her friend who could share with me such constructive feedback that made me reflect upon what's important for me. Thank you, Yoko-san!

Amazing fan

It is strange not to be rehearsing. Since the last performance of "Paraffin" ended, nothing productive has been done. Just barely updated the website and wrote a post-show report...that's about it. Somehow, the heat really gets in the way of the producvity. Based on the last year's success of 'non-AC' summer, I have assumed that I can conquer this summer with the same preparation - which has been proving me completely wrong so far. Finally, I crawled to the shop and bought a cheap fan (with 3 speeds and oscillation!), but was too lazy to assemble it until yesterday...Alas! I had forgotten how nice and effective and powerful this small machine is! A familiar sound. A familiar feel. Even the echo of the voice it creates when you speak to the fan is mezmerizing...now the only thing I need is the coiled mosquito-protection incense.

what we see, why we see

  On July 11th, I went to NY to see "Miroku" by Saburo Teshigawara. The dance was beautiful - his use of the body was amazing and the whole production was highly sophisticated with a well-thought out lighting which he also designed. I was mezmerized about what was happening on stage for the first 10 minutes. The lighting slowly shifted from one place to another. He was just standing and sensing the place where he was. The mystery drew me in. After this initial exploration, he kept dancing as if some outer force had possessed him. I did feel some sort of spirituality and a man's struggle. But somehow, I kept being disengaged. It was as if I were witnessing this whole journey that was happening in a white box on display. It could be because I was sitting rather far away from the stage. Stunning images were constantly created with dynamically changing lights. At one time, layers of blue light covered the whole white box and he looked like he was in a deep water. At another point, small negative spaces kept opening up on the wall and on the floor, creating portals to escape or enter. Sound generally supported the actions on stage and the simple costume was in line with the concept. He was such a virtuoso in his movements - connected with every bit of his body. But somehow, after seeing the performance, I felt a little unsatisfied. I had lost a sense of him and the place. It wasn't dangerous. Maybe I was searching for something else. Something beyond dance. Something beyond art. This question generates another very important question - what am I seeking in a performance? A life-changing experience? New perspective? Or assurance of existing value of mine? Sense of being alive? If a performance can evoke a new beginning of a long lasting search, that would be powerful.

Post-Paraffin

When I decided to do "Paraffin" at Baltimore Theatre Project again this year, I wasn't entirely certain why we should do it except for my gut feeling that it was not over for me yet. As a whole, I'm glad we did it. The work was exposed to a wider range of the audience. With the new cast, we matured over three performance experiences at different venues. And it made sense to complete it in the space we started.

My own process of creating, recreating, erasing, adding, subtracting, cutting, reshaping, was very intriguing in itself. The question 'why' and 'how' kept coming back to me. (The lighting designer Kel Millionie mentioned that my work is about 'why' and 'how' and not 'what'.) Also, another big question, 'which choice is more truthful?' - truthful to the piece, truthful to myself. Within the limit of keeping the structure, I think we were able to honor time and space and depth more this time.

The show did feel very different performing it and listening to the responses. Design pretty much stayed the same - lighting, costumes, and music. The cast was half new (for this venue). What felt very different was the connection with the audience - tighter, closer, deeper, and more intimate. I tried to think why this was the case. First of all, we had some people who saw the show last year. So in viewing the show, they had more 'readiness'. So on most nights, there was a mixture of the second timer and the first timer, which created a certain dynamics. Secondly, it seemed that there were people from more diverse groups (age, occupation, cultural background). Two nights of Q & A were filled with inspiring and exciting questions which last 45 minutes to 1 hour. The audience' responses had more of a range this time. People found different stories, themes, actions, verbs, images, spirits, etc, etc. Of course, some people felt the need for more narrative (according to the audience' questionnaire), but most of them were just in it, yes, they were in it with us - that was how it felt. A simultaneous exploration of what was going on in every moment between the performers and the audience. Ten days later, I talked to some audience members and they seemed to be still resonating with what happened.

I'd like to thank those who came to witness this work, those who helped restore the show, those who helped present it, and those who performed it.

Although we got no review from the press, I'd like to share some of the audience responses here.

"Between life and death is Paraffin."

"Other worldly- unbelievable beauty."

"Evocative-fascinating-mysterious-primitive-unique-sensual-challenging."

"True beauty even when 'savage'."

"Beautiful, imaginative, terrifying, reaching for the heavens."

"Samuel Becket meets Artaud on the road - theatrical tour-de-force"

"Questioning the what-ifs about the human life cycle - how could it have been different? Dance is a challenging medium to ask questions like that - very thought provoking."

"A medictation on death - how death affects one's feelings on life"

"Timelsss..."

"People started on the floor and ended up in the air..."

"Evoked extreme feelings of loss and desire"

"Continuous search for light or love or acceptance - the show will definitely inspire conversation among its audiences."

"The most brilliant portrayals of the current state of imbalance in humanity I have ever seen."

Post-concert review of Dance Place

Still 1

Still 2

Thank you so much for coming to see the performance at Dance Place! The responses have been very positive and I'm learning a lot from them. It was a fantastic experience to collaborate with a choreographer Sharon Mansur whom I have known for almost 10 years and have wanted to collaborate. I look forward to further collaboration with her in the future. Sharon Mansur and Naoko Maeshiba perform at Dance Place

Monday, April 5, 2010; 6:00 PM

Sharon Mansur and Naoko Maeshiba are a natural fit to co-headline a performance: Each operates in an abstract realm where meaning is revealed by slow drip rather than steady stream. Both have movement styles that seem more rooted in individual impulse than in anything they learned from a technique class.

Their show at Dance Place on Saturday night opened with Mansur's "semblance," a work intended to be a reflection on women's identity issues. From one dancer's seizure-like collapse to the floor and another's repeated episodes of hyperventilation, it was clear the work's three main characters were struggling to cope with something. The supporting ensemble, sporting schoolgirl-like skirts and red canvas sneakers, represented conformity at its most stifling. However, those threads never came together to make a cohesive statement.

Mansur later performed an improvisational solo called "here/there . . . (for one)" that was a fine showcase for her light, delicate dancing but had an unsatisfying vagueness to it.

Maeshiba's works were more successful, existing in dreamscapes that managed to be strikingly beautiful yet somewhat disturbing. In "Paraffin," a dancer was surrounded by technicians in lab coats, and through a lighting trick involving an overhead projector, it appeared that her body was being covered in scribbles and graffiti. This and other scenes left a powerful emotional imprint by exposing the consequences of forgetting or disregarding someone's humanity.

"Face of Another" shows how smart and thorough a choreographer Maeshiba is, as it has no linear narrative and yet somehow builds to a riveting climax. Through a collage of fluid gesture and intentionally unsteady hobbling, Maeshiba takes a journey to make sense of herself and her place in the world. It's the kind of work that is so well-paced and so carefully crafted that the audience can comfortably get lost in it, completely entranced by the strange world she has created.

-- Sarah Halzack

Still 3

Still 4

RE: Best of Baltimore

Thank you so much for choosing "Paraffin" as the 'best dance performance' in City paper's Best of Baltimore! We are hoping to remount the show next year - if you haven't seen it or if you would like to see it again, stay tuned! http://www.citypaper.com/bob/story.asp?id=18844