September 21, 2013 · Print This Article
The following interview was published originally inÂ The Expo Register,Â a print daily created by What’s the T?Â Dana Bassett with ACRE and Bad at Sports. “The vibrant, hand printed Register, designed by Chicago artist Clay Hickson of Tan & Loose Press, will highlight special events during the fair including reviews of special exhibitions and trends at the exposition.”Â The paper is available for free in assorted newspaper boxes at EXPO, and can be downloaded here, on the Bad at Sports blog, by clicking on our front page banner. You can also read Saturday’s editionÂ here.
Under the eaves of Navy Pier, four artists install four iterations of domestic space. These spaces â€” a bedroom, kitchen, living room, and studio â€”Â are envisioned expressly as artist domiciles, fittingly embedded in the commercial throng and hype of a contemporary art fair. Fitting, I suggest, because they are interdependent while nevertheless at odds. The aroma, mess and casual experimentation of a kitchen is a far cry from the professional white sea of gallery cubicles. Yet of course they are interconnected; the artist must sleep somewhere, just as he or she must also engage a commercial market. This juxtaposition manifests like a dream; it is hard to know if the domestic space is dreaming that it is in an exposition hall, or if the exposition hall is dreaming that it harbors domesticity. Emphasizing this surreal tension HOME reminds fair-goers of the quotidian world behind the otherwise sharp and prestigious kingdom of commerce. In the following interview I was able to discuss the project with curator Tricia van Eck and its participating artists, Lise Haller Baggesen, Sabina Ott, John Preus and Jane Jerardi.
Caroline Picard: I wanted to ask you about your definition of “home” first â€” I feel like it’s a theme that you have been working with for some time with your project at 6018North.
Tricia van Eck: Home, for me, is simply where I am for any length of time. I have a loose definition of home and often call the place where I work, home. This is fortuitous since 6018North is a home â€” a dilapidated mansion in Chicagoâ€™s Edgewater neighborhood â€” turned into an experimental art space.
Since art is often made in oneâ€™s home â€” thought about in the tub, worked on in the studio, written about in the office, discussed at the dinner table, and then shipped off to be shown elsewhere â€” what if art was presented in the home where it was made? What if everyoneâ€™s home became an art space?
I believe people are yearning for unique, inclusive experiences and 6018North provides this experiential space and platform to connect with others through art. We encourage artists to take risks and to develop projects (often communally) that challenge what art is, who it is for, how and where it is made, and where it is shown. We encourage artists to think about audiences as if they were guests in the space (their home for the time being). My favorite experiences at 6018North are when the space is buzzing like a good party, where people are talking, meeting, laughing.
CP: Has your understanding of domestic places in your own day-to-day, non-art life changed as a result of these recent curatorial practices?Â
TVE: 6018Northâ€™s events almost always involve food and conversation to provide time to connect, talk, and discuss the art on view, as you might if in someoneâ€™s home. 6018North also hosts conversational dinners for more in depth conversations related to its exhibitions or various concerns facing artists. In college, I lived in a cooperative vegetarian house and some of our conversations over dinner with friends and strangers alike, radically altered my thinking and worldview. This is the power of art and ideas shared in comfortable settings. If change begins within, it often occurs in homes, where we feel safe and secure enough to challenge ourselves.
CP: What made you want to do a series of “homes” at a place like EXPO?
TVE: I love the expressions: â€œmake yourself at homeâ€ and â€œmi casa es su casaâ€. At the recent Venice Biennale, I loved the feeling within the Pelham Project, and HOME draws from Michalene Thomasâ€™s popular apartment/bar space at Art Basel. I also like democratizing the experience of VIP rooms at Art Fairs where collectors can relax their eyes and get free coffee, champagne, or ice cream. For HOME I invited four artists whom together have created an amazing artistsâ€™ home with generous and experiential rooms â€” an artistsâ€™ studio, kitchen, living room, and bedroom to offer “an artists’ home.” Lise Haller Baggesen has recreated her artistsâ€™ studio replete with disco balls, glitter, and glam, while John Preus and Dilettante Studiosâ€™ kitchen, built from reclaimed cabinetry, hosts performances, talks, and discussions curated by Laura Shaeffer from SHOP. Sabina Ottâ€˜s chill-out living room offers Expo attendees a captivating space to relax while Jane Jerardiâ€™s performative bedroom presents a dreamy moment of longing. As a home within an Art Fair, whose intent is to sell artwork, the artists and I are experimenting with how to challenge and commingle ideas of capitalism and mercantilism with generosity and hospitality through art, food, drink, performances and conversations. We want HOME to offer a unique but comfortable way to experience art within the Fair but yet not pretend to remove ourselves from its contradictions of exclusion and inclusion, since these ideas are also intrinsic to our homes, which both separate and unite, as does the art world.
CP: What is your definition of home? Or how do you think about domestic space?
Lise Haller Baggesen: The Studio is the home where the buffalo roam, where the deer and the antelope play and where Iggy Pop just wanna be your dog. The highway to hell runs through it as does the stairway to heaven. What I mean to say is that the studio is a “home” in a larger sense that the strictly domestic, or that it is a home to the undomesticated self. Since I am a very domesticated person, I am a wife and mother of two, it has always been very important for me to have a studio space that is separated (by at least a mile) from my actual home. I have to go to that place to get to that place.
Sabina Ott: Home, to me, Â is a site of rest but mostly a place to build connections with family, friends, neighbors.Â I am interested in spaces that are many spaces all at once â€” a home that becomes a community hall, that becomes an artwork, that becomes a nest.
John Preus: It is more an idea than a place.Â A destination, a return, a longing, a loss, the place to which we are reconciled and always in the process of losing.Â My interest in it is tied to my life with a family, and how that life clashes with, or bumps up against, or augments my life as an artist.Â Much of the work on the theme ofÂ homeÂ started in graduate school when I had young children and was not home very much to see them, and the tension I felt around that condition.Â Having children made me much more acutely aware of temporality because children grow and change so fast, and each moment is so tremendously beautiful (and mind-numbingly banal) in its own way.Â Emotional extremes are exaggerated, and your sense of self is eviscerated and forced through the matrix of this other being that needs you but doesn’t care at all about you as a subject.Â The reality that I am at once creating the idea of home for someone else starts to overlap with my own conception of it.Â The title,Â HomemakerÂ is really interesting because it is so literal and narrative at the same time.
I think of domestic life as the private arena within which we confront our thrownness.Â We did not choose our life in most ways, but we can choose how we live at home, at least until we live with others, and then we are in a mini- political petri dish.
Jane Jerardi: A lot of my recent work has been dealing with displacement and longing, so the issue of home gets right at the heart of these ideas. Â I think of home as not having to do Â necessarily with a specific place, but with a certain familiarity and sense of comfort built up over time through everyday ritual as well as a community of people and relationships cultivated over time, and perhaps, even, a state of being. Â In some ways, I think the body is the ultimate home and a way to be ‘at home with ourselves’ and as a deep, resonate place for connection and groundedness.
CP: What does it mean to you to fabricate and embed such a place (or installation) in a commercial art fair?
LHB: The artfair is the epitome of artwork as Product, whereas the studio represents the artwork as Process, or put differently the glamour of the artwork as a luxury commodity vs. the makeshift glam attitude of actual art making. I am more interested in the latter, so I am hoping that our installation can work as a respite from the commercial rush of the fair and be a reminder that art comes from somewhere and is going somewhere, outside of the ever-present “contemporary” that seems to be the event-horizon of the current art market.
CP: How does your installation at EXPO respond to your idea of domestic space?
JJ: The installation at the EXPO of ‘Nocturne’ deals with the idea of the body as an archive of memory and as a home or container for somatic experience. Â In the work, the virtual body moves and responds to a real body â€” either the body of the viewer or of a performer (during the two scheduled performances). Â It gets at the idea of everyday choreographies and rituals that create a sense of intimacy and connection â€” and a sense of home. Â While of course alluding to the bedroom and sleep â€” which Â we spend a lot of time doing in domestic space â€” the work also relates to dreams and virtual spaces. Â I also think sometimes of home as a place where I can slow down, and this particular work shifts a sense of time to a slower one, inviting the viewer to also slow down, in a hopefully meditative, relaxing way.
LHB: My installation at EXPO plays with the idea of the studio as “the space where your voices can live”. Â Or in other words, the space where your different influences can confluence and mingle and interfere with each other in a new set of relations. In that way it operates as a sourdough, rather than an archive. Of course, this being an artwork, it doesn’t pretend to work as an actual studio, but as a model of a studio, a mise-en-scene.
SO: Tricia has been calling my room â€œThe Chill Room.â€ I have taken a kind of chant and tweaked it and used it as the sound accompanied by almostÂ psychedelic imagery designed to transport the participant to an unfamilar place outside of measured time. It is a relaxing place that, through the repetition of the video, almost hypnotizes those resting on the faux fur covered bean bag chairs.Â There are three fish bowls on mirrors â€” the fish simply swim in circles and reflect the liminality I hope theÂ visitors feel. It serves as the living room in this quartet of rooms, where there are many people relaxing and the conversation can be Â especially unguarded, especially intimate, because of the dream – like atmosphere. I am fascinated by the affect of objects and spaces- especially those that combine multiple functions and references. I am not interested in reflecting how we already experience domestic space, but making a site of different associations and experiences outside ofÂ what we already know.Â I hope the room is a respite and a counterpoint to the art fair experience, and I am hoping that the dreamy quality of the space will almost suspend of time. Perhaps people will find that they have been dreaming and chattingÂ in this room for hours, perhaps just a few minutes.
JP: EXPO is in a way the polar opposite of a domestic space, and any attempt to make it domestic becomes sort of absurd.Â The idea of creating a pseudo-domestic space within an exhibition hall strikes me as a longing to somehow conflate the private and the public.Â It’s something like wanting to have sex in public, that the intensely personal and subjective act requires an audience to consummate it, so to speak.Â I’m interested in the phenomenon that homes look increasingly like stage sets that nobody lives in, and become glorified storage space for furniture that is never used, combined with an opposing interest in main street, in making public life feel more homey. Â The point of contact is the liminal zone, the place where the public and private lives of a community intersect through socioeconomic interdependencies. Our interest in the home is maybe something like our interest in nature-it becomes active on the occasion of loss.Â We are homeless.
JJ: While an art fair may be the ultimate place for securing artworks that might decorate or become the accouterment for a domestic space, and our expression of home might indeed be the ‘things’ we consume, I also believe ‘home’ to be something completely intangible. Â In this way, this installation emphasizes everyday ritual and embodiment as a part of our experience. Â While all art operates on an experiential level, I hope this work emphasizes a resonance between the experience of the installation and the viewer.
SO: I hope the room is a respite and a counterpoint to the art fair experience, and I am hoping that the dreamy quality of the space will almost suspend of time. Perhaps people will find that they have been dreaming and chattingÂ in this room for hours, perhaps just a few minutes.
JP: The frenetic beating heart of EXPO is the spectacle, consumerism, the ambitious energy to outdo each other, to be noticed, to be visible and relevant, all of the opposite qualities from being at home. Maybe EXPO HOME is a way to interject some small degree of homeliness into that environment, and a small gesture of resistance to the market aspect of the whole affair.Â It is also a way to think about the varied art economies.
My piece in the show directly references Mike Kelley’s piece,Â More Love Hours Than Can Ever Be Repaid.Â It is partially a tribute to what is for me a really affective piece, but I like it for all of the wrong reasons.Â He sees the gift economy as manipulative, leading eventually to an incremental and collective sense of shame and indebtedness.Â The fact that the love hours can’t be repaid for him is because we don’t know what we owe in return for a hand-made doll.Â Money creates at least the potential for a clean slate, a perfect exchange, but does not generally account for all of the forms of cost offsets that we all engage in, to avoid taking full account.Â The thing about a gift is that it is often something that you would not have paid good money for.Â You receive it with gratitude as a gesture of friendship, or obligation, but you might rather have the money if you were to look at it pragmatically.Â The market determines value through supply/demandâ€¦as the theory goes, while love-hours are a social economy.
For my project, over 30 artists, builders and friends have agreed to collaborate with me.Â I designed a kitchen, and suggested conflating cabinets and vitrines-kitchen as exhibition-and they are all building the cabinets, whatever that means to them.Â So it will be a hodgepodge, collective kitchen that we will try to unify in some way on site. Â Maybe they all agreed to work for no money because they like me and enjoy working with me, or being involved with my projects? Maybe it’s because EXPO is sort of a big deal to put on your resume?Â Â Maybe they hope their piece will sell and they might make a little money?Â Some are young artists and happy to have so many eyes on their work. Or, maybe they like the idea that the project forms a temporary community, and considers the social and political possibilities of temporary action communities? So, in terms of exchange, they are getting something-cultural capital, money, associative capitalâ€¦ and I am getting something-labor.Â But whether or not the exchange is even is yet to be seen. Â The surplus of the exchange is the emotional remainder, somewhere along the spectrum from gratitude to resentment.Â Â Every single one of the people involved has some spoken/unspoken expectations, or wishes for the show, (myself included) and how their work might be received in it.Â They are all contributing Love Hours, in exchange for exposure, fun, associative capital, communitarian good will â€¦ As artist David Wolf put it, the makers of the cabinets are all like one of the stuffed animals, and the kitchen becomes the afghan.Â But the major difference is that I don’t intend it as a critique as much as a kind of revelation.Â I intend it as a big happy love fest in a place where that will probably be considered uncool.Â The 2nd, and not yet articulated part of this project is to consider whether the debts have been discharged, and how, and why, which will hopefully include the added complication of money.
Guest Post by Jane Jerardi
Miguel Gutierrez comes to the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago this weekend with one of his newest works,Â And lose the name of action.Â The evening-length piece features a striking cast of note-worthy performersÂ â€“Â MichelleÂ BoulÃ©, Hilary Clark, Luke George, Miguel Gutierrez, K.J. Holmes, and Ishmael Houston-Jones. Inspired by JÃ¸rgen Lethâ€™s filmÂ The Perfect Human, the elusive logic of dance improvisation, philosophical quandaries about the brain, and the 19th century spiritualist movement, the piece draws connections between the analytical and the unexplainable, grappling with the limits of language and the ever-present spectre of death. It features music by Neal Medlyn, lighting design by Lenore Doxsee, and film/text by Boru O’Brien O’Connell.
Often cited as a provocative voice in the contemporary dance and performance scene, Gutierrez — like many in his generation — works across mediums.Â His poems appear as published performance texts and he designs solo performance works as well as projects with collections of performers and collaborators under the moniker the â€˜Powerful People.â€™Â Â A Guggenheim Fellow, his work has appeared as such venues as the Festival Dâ€™Automne in Paris; the TBA Festival/PICA in Portland, OR; the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, MN; UNAM in Mexico City, and ImPulsTanz in Vienna, among others. Equally admired as a teacher, he has built a following for his improvisation/choreography classes as well as his â€˜DEEP Aerobicsâ€™ workouts. In mid-January, I met Miguel Gutierrez at the Abrons Arts Center amidst the first weekend of theÂ American Realness FestivalÂ â€“ an annual festival of contemporary dance and performance in New York. We chatted in a quiet spot near the dressing rooms about his upcoming engagement at the MCA â€“ including the powerhouse cast performing, the ghost hunt they went on during a residency to build the work, and the limits of language when it comes to dance.Â Here are some excerpts from our conversationâ€¦
Abrons Arts Center, New York, NY, January 13, 2013
Jane Jerardi: Maybe first we should start first with you just talking a bit about the genesis of the project youâ€™ll be performing at the MCA, And lose the name of action?
Miguel Gutierrez: Sure.Â I think Iâ€™m going to paint my nails as we do this [pulls out two shades of blue metallic nail polish] if thatâ€™s okay with you.
JJ: Sure.Â Talk about mind and bodyâ€¦!
MG: It feels like the right question to paint your nails toâ€¦Â Well, the piece really came out of a couple of things.Â In some ways it was an extension of Last Meadow [Gutierrezâ€™s previous piece], which is unusual for me, because usually when I finish a piece I want to change gears.Â But, by the time we got around to finishing Last Meadow, I realized I was only beginning to understand what I was doing.Â Towards the end of the project, I was introduced to this book The Meaning of the Body, by Mark Johnson, which calls for getting rid of the mind/body split, once and for all.Â Itâ€™s beautifully stated, but reading it as a dancer, there was a moment where I thought, â€œThis seems fairly obvious.â€Â For a person who has any kind of relationship to somatics, you of course recognize that the mind and body are connected; that perception is an embodied practice, and that all contexts are experienced through a sort of corporeal interaction. I thought to myself, This sounds like a contact improv class. And I thought, why is this new? I think it was that initial indignation that led to the piece. I felt like why isnâ€™t this something that is known? Â The second impulse for the work, was my dad.Â My dad had a series of neurological problems in 2008.Â He had a series of blood clots in his brain that were note properly diagnosed for several years. He had stroke-type things and then seizures, which then progressed during my research for And lose the name of action.
JJ: That sounds scary.
MG: Aside from the fact that it sucked, I think a couple of things came out of it. Here was a person I knew in a certain way, and suddenly he was changing. It sounds sort of basic, a basic experience of change. I say basic, but it was a quite radical. Suddenly, I was subjected to doctors telling me, This is whatâ€™s happening, This is what’s not happening â€“ but no one knows whatâ€™s happening. Everyone is guessing.Â You start to see that that the way we constitute a sense of self and reality are deeply subjective. And, out of your control. Youâ€™re in the hospital with your dad and thereâ€™s nothing you can do, aside from being present.Â At the time I was thinking, â€œWhat is it that I can offer here? As a dancer? As a person with some naÃ¯ve study of somatic practices?â€ I can be present.Â I can be an emotional support. I can be resonate and present in a way that is specific to what I do. It felt clear, but I felt very conscious that I donâ€™t share a language with these doctors.Â I canâ€™t assume they know of specific somatic practices or say, â€œHey, have you heard of the Feldenkrais Method?â€ or â€œDo you know about Body Mind Centering?â€
JJ: You realize how marginalized some of these movement practices are.
MG: Absolutely. I mean marginalized isnâ€™t even the word.Â Theyâ€™re invisible. I started to see how when people talk about brain, they are talking about mind. Lots of words are being used interchangeably.Â Thereâ€™s a lot of lack clarity in definition between disciplines.Â How is it that we have the same vocabulary but we arenâ€™t using words in the same way?Â I started to examine the value system around my teaching and practice.Â What is valuable about an improvisational performance practice?Â It is a kind of knowledge and a way of knowing, but quite different than other modes of knowing.Â And I though about Why am I so invested in this â€˜unknowing knowingâ€™? Â Why am I so mistrustful of alleged truths? That was all the stuff that led me into And lose the name of action. Then, I started thinking about ghosts and the paranormal. What about an immaterial body?Â What about a discipline of study that doesnâ€™t even presume that the body has to be tangible anymore? When we had our first residency we went on our first ghost hunt.
JJ: Tell me about that.
MG: We went on this ghost hunt with paranormal investigatorsâ€“crazy ladies in Tallahassee, FLâ€¦Â which sounds funny, but are these â€˜paranormal investigatorsâ€™ wrong?Â For them, it is true.Â If they see a ghost or hear a voice, if theyâ€™re having that experience, then thatâ€™s their embodied truth.Â Thatâ€™s whatâ€™s going on here in this conversation of perception and truth. If I experience my father as my father even if heâ€™s in a coma, is he not my father? If I feel that this is blue [pointing to his nail polish] and this is a lighter blue than the other blue [pointing to another bottle of darker blue nail polish] and I have a certain feeling about it. Am I wrong? Because thereâ€™s actually no way for me to definitely know how blue this is.Â Â Itâ€™s all these kinds ofâ€¦
JJ: Big questions.Â Really big questions.
MG: So, yeah [laughing] thatâ€™s what the show is about.Â [Joking] Itâ€™s just about a couple small thingsâ€¦
JJ: So how did this all play out in your explorations in the studio?
MG: A lot of talking, a lot of improvisational explorationâ€¦ In the piece, the bodies are the proof of themselves.
Because of the way that the piece exists â€“ even though the audience is onstage, even though people are really close to us â€“ it feels like something is at a distance. I had originally thought it would be really great to make a piece that didnâ€™t involve bodies at all.Â I mean why do there have to be bodies?Â Itâ€™s so weird and silly â€“ why are there bodies on stage at this point in history?Â Canâ€™t we just goâ€¦
JJ: Totally virtual?
MG: Yeah â€“ not even virtual or holograms â€“ butâ€¦ there are people that are doing that â€“ work thatâ€™s about post-human bodies â€“ but, I am still invested in the interpersonal dynamics of being in the room with people. Thatâ€™s what keeps me interested in my work.
JJ: I think it goes back to the value thing.Â Whatâ€™s at the core of what you do?
MG: And where do you build knowledge? Where do you build a sense of how you understand things and how you perceptively locate yourself in the world? When I look at dance, I can understand it. What does that mean? Not one specific, concrete meaning.Â Rather, as Iâ€™m watching the dance, I am understanding it and grappling with comprehension.Â And that perceptual act becomes a way to construct meaning.Â That doesnâ€™t necessarily translate easily into language. I mean I like words. I can talk. But, dance actually offers another perceptual experience in time. I donâ€™t think this is exclusive to dance, either. Mark Johnson argues that reality is actually an aesthetic experience. He doesnâ€™t use this exact language â€“ but weâ€™re choreographing our way through our lives. And, that feels really powerful in relationship to what performance or a body in action can do. It doesnâ€™t always happen. Most of the time, dance is written about exclusively as a visual rendering but, thatâ€™s not the whole pictureâ€¦
Working with Deborah Hay was pretty instrumental for me.Â Something she would say is, â€œThe movement is just a costume for perception.â€Â And, I feel thatâ€™s really true. Thatâ€™s my experience of dancing actuallyâ€¦Â So much of what intrigues me about dancing is about contending with myself in the moment.Â And all the fucked-up-ness of that question.
JJ: â€œContending with things in the momentâ€ is the way that people talk often about improvisation. Youâ€™re working with a pretty incredible set of improvisers as collaborators performing in the work.Â I wondered if you wanted to talk a little bit about that?Â I mean itâ€™s a very diverse, powerhouse group of people.
MG: Yes.Â I wanted to have a group â€“ well first, that werenâ€™t all young 20-year olds.Â I wanted a diverse age range for this piece. Â I hadnâ€™t worked with a group of people who were older than me before.Â And, I wanted a group of improvisers who could own themselves in a very clear way. I wanted to work with people who seemed restless or curious.Â And, I feel like thatâ€™s pretty true of this group!
JJ: So, youâ€™re working with MichelleÂ BoulÃ©â€¦
MG: Hilary Clark, Luke George, KJ Holmes, and Ishmael Houston-Jones.Â At first, I was a little like â€“ oh my god, who am I to tell these people what to do? It really did feel that way.Â Which was great, because I wanted to be challenged directorially.
JJ: It seemed to make a lot of sense to me because youâ€™re dealing with a kind of big existential topic â€“ life and death, philosophical truths such as â€˜person-hoodâ€™ and â€˜being.â€™ It requires a certain maturity.
MG: Yes.Â It feels important that the audience is looking at people who have contended with things. I also think that I was going through something about casting in general. This thing that often happens in the dance field is people donâ€™t take into consideration the representational value of the bodies that are there.
JJ: Which is kind of saying, maybe the visual does matter.Â The way that we read bodies matters.
MG: Absolutely.Â Bodies come marked. But, it feels like often the problem with the visual rendering thing is that people ignore it in the most important aspects in some ways.Â Because they think â€œIâ€™m dealing with abstraction.â€ Or, something neutral. I know that when I first went into dance as an adult, I was excited about how it contrasted to theater, because I didnâ€™t feel like I could get type-cast in the same way. I didnâ€™t have to audition to fulfill just one thing. It wasnâ€™t like â€“ â€œOh, Iâ€™m that Latino kid.â€ So, itâ€™s funny to have come full circle and now become hyper-conscious about who is on the stage.Â But also, I think now more than ever â€“ the way artists work â€“ youâ€™d be hard-pressed to find a choreographer whose not working explicitly collaboratively with their dancers. Although, I sort of suspect thatâ€™s always been true.Â Thereâ€™s a real thought around how you have people involved in your process.
JJ: I wonder if we could talk about some of the other collaborators involved and, some of the sources because in a way you could think of sources as collaborators.
MG: Somewhere towards the beginning of the process I read Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen. I realized that writers give themselves permission to do so much.Â You really can go there.Â You can interrelate different things.Â A novel â€“ or that kind of novel letâ€™s say â€“ doesnâ€™t aspire to be minimalist. Certainly thereâ€™s editing. But it doesnâ€™t see reduction as the only compositional value to explore.Â As someone who has struggled with living in an aesthetic climate where minimalism is privileged above all else, Iâ€™m excited to encounter work that deals with interrelating or association. I started to realize that what we were making â€“ in a sense â€“ was a novel. For example, each dancer wears multiple costumes in the piece â€“ Iâ€™d never done that before.Â Or, even having people leave [the stage space].
JJ: By having people leave and re-enter there could suddenly be chapters.
MG: Yes, I really feel like the piece does unfold in that way.
JJ: Even though a lot of the piece comes from the idea of embodiment, youâ€™re also using text in the piece. Could you could talk a little bit about how the text figures into the work? What drew you to using text?
MG: The bulk of the text it written by Boru Oâ€™Brien Oâ€™Connell (who also collaborated to create video projections).Â Some of the text is an appropriation of George Berkeleyâ€™s writings.
Text is often used as the locator of meaning. And, if it exists in a performance â€“ thatâ€™s when weâ€™re like â€“ thereâ€™s the meaning!Â That definitely happens in this piece. But, it also functions as a texture. It functionsâ€¦almost like a kind of perfumeâ€¦.
JJ: Thatâ€™s a nice image.
MG: â€¦A kind of experience thatâ€™s not even exclusively about it being attached to understanding.
And lose the name of action appears at the MCA, Chicago January 31 â€“ February 3, 2013.Â For more information and tickets: http://www.mcachicago.org/performances/now/all/2013/884Â This performance is part of the IN>TIME Festival.Â http://www.in-time-performance.org/
Jane Jerardi is an artist working in the media of choreography, performance, and video installation.Â Currently based in Chicago, her work has been presented at such venues as Transformer and The Warehouse (Washington DC), Defibrillator (Chicago IL); Danspace Project at St. Markâ€™s Church and the LUMEN Festival for Video and Performance (New York), among others.Â She is one third of the cohort that runs Adult Contemporary, an alternative art space in Logan Square.Â She teaches at Columbia College, Chicago, where she is also on staff at the Dance Center.