The National Theatre of Chaillot in Paris presents a double bill encompassing the oldest and newest solo creation by legendary choreographer Carolyn Carlson.Carlson created her landmark solo, “Density 21.5,” in 1973 when Rolf Liebermann, then director of the Paris Opera, asked her to contribute to an evening honoring composer Edgar Varèse. The seven-minute piece took her two months to create. It is set to Varèse’s composition for the flute (written in 1936, revised in 1946), which he named after the instrument’s density of platinum - 21.5 grams per cubic centimeter.Inspired by Friedrich Nietzsche’s philosophical novel Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883 – 1891), it is the part ‘The Seven Seals’ which is most echoed in Carlson’s dance piece; the Persian prophet, Zarathustra, celebrates “bird-wisdom”: “every body a dancer, all spirit a bird […] Fling yourself about, out, back, weightless bird! Sing! Speak no more!”Premiered last June, this is the first revival cast by Albanian dancer Isida Micani, who joined the Carolyn Carlson Company in 2005. Micani steps as a mythological woman-bird, perching downstage, she glides along in silence, as if floating at sea, extending her arms upwards and pointing to the sky, charming us like the mythical bird of Halcyon. When flutist Timon Nicolas, downstage right, wails the two-fold melody of Varèse’s composition - modal and atonal - a polyphonic continuity is created and embodied by Micani as she invokes animal energy by transforming into a bird. Despite her rigorous interpretation, she misses out on the sparkling sensuality Carlson's lithe frame exuded when she once occupied the same role. When Carlson was commissioned by the Pompidou Centre to write prose on a painter, she chose Mark Rothko’s “Untitled (Black, Red over Black on Red)” (1964). This culminated in her book Dialogue with Rothko (2012). A year later Carlson adapted it into a solo piece of the same name, a visually poetic journey that takes us into the world of the most radical painter of chromatic abstraction. The stage unveils a set designed by Rémi Nicolas comprising two white, gigantic square panels resembling the empty, white canvases in the sterile, solitary space of the artist’s studio. Downstage left is Jean-Paul Dessy playing a hypnotic composition on cello.Posterior to the audience, in a white dress with open back exposing her corporeal hieroglyphs, Carlson illuminates the space. At 72, her aura reflects a mature artistry similar to the power expressed by late-period Kazuo Ono. Carlson stares at the tabula rasa placed upstage center, walks slowly towards it and bends her upper torso sideways. Gradually, her long and lean arms recall artist’s paintbrushes, drawing rectangular forms in the air.There are moments of frustration, of thinking, and of dreaming. Constantly wandering about, Carlson travels across the stage/artist’s studio in a Kabuki-like, onnagata’s walk; by restraining her lower body, her flowing gait which accompanies almost heel-to-toe small steps, carries her torso bent forward at the waist, whilst facing the ground, recalling the significant, meditative, geometrical walk in Samuel Beckett’s “Quad” (1981).A prerecorded, spoken text - fragments from Carlson’s book - pierces the soundscape: “An artwork does not signify, it says everything”, “What is the sound of black and red?”, “Black is looking into eternity”, “This is it, this is it”.Her body erect, swirling, whilst her arms form geometric shapes as if stepping into an imaginary dance duet with Rothko, evokes his “Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea” (1944).In Rothko’s “Untitled (Black, Red over Black on Red),” the red blocks appear on a flat surface, yet weightless as if floating against a solid background, creating the illusion of infinite depth. Carlson’s response to this is a rectangular piece of white canvas-like cloth, roughly the width of her body and the length of her arms when they are extended, that appears as a leitmotiv throughout the piece. It is used as a prop that she embraces, unrolls, sits on, and then flattens onto her body; she dances with it, carries it on her back and floats it in the air.When she exits the stage, the cellist keeps on playing alone. The audience is left staring onto those empty canvases, which now project their inner thoughts. Rothko’s attempt to fill man’s spiritual void may be compared to Carlson’s; she's spoken over the years, about the solitude and joy in creating solos both introspective and emancipatory. In his recently published personal account of his father’s legacy, Mark Rothko: From the Inside Out (2015), Christopher Rothko writes, “Specifically, he always painted alone. Always.”Carlson comes back on stage, clad in black dress exposing her red trousers underneath, holding the piece of canvas-like cloth, now painted red on one side and black on reverse. She carries it on her back unrolled, turning her arms into wings. Her silhouette forms a cross, looking like a bird mid-flight, before dropping it onto the floor, stepping on it and dragging it with her feet as she slowly walks from upstage left to downstage left. Gazing at the audience, her body seems solid and floating. Embodying the tensions, illusions and dreams that her choreography evoked, she becomes the painting.Until February 7, 2016 at Théâtre National de Chaillot (salle Maurice Béjart), Paris then touring: March 12-13, 2016 at Théâtre de Grasse, Grasse, France; March 16, 2016 at The Forum, Fréjus, France; and, March 19, 2016 at Pessac en scènes, Pessac, France.
↧