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This past weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing the documentary Gerhard Richter Painting and choreographer John Jasperse's new work Canyon at the Wexner Center for the Arts. Both artists share a suspicion of language. Gerhard Richter was visibly uncomfortable during moments of the documentary, telling the filmmaker Corinna Belz that being watched and talking while working was worse than being in the hospital. And John Jasperse in interview after interview, review after review, shares that he has a conflict with dance, and how language and image is used to describe it and convey meaning.
I found this curious and validating. Watching both works reminded me of when I was younger, witnessing a work of art. I would watch and try to discern the meaning of it. It must mean something. In fact, I think that is what attracted me to writing about dance - the pursuit of definition offered by the precision of language.
I've since given up writing about dance in the way of reviews and criticism, this desire to find the meaning of someone else's art through language having dried up. But it's something else. Art itself is the meaning. As Richter suggested during a moment in the documentary, words can only describe those things created with words. Words cannot contain the meaning of the painting. Painting is its own form of thinking. Dancing is its own form of thinking. Words trail behind the meaning of both.
And to be honest, watching them work I, too, wanted to cast off language and drop into the rhythm of making and being, making and being made by way of paint or movement. But words are how I remember things, functioning a bit like a photograph or a postcard. So below are some notes from both the documentary and the dance. I share them as things I want to remember from the experience of watching both men work, and watching other artists work beside them.
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Gerhard Richter Painting
/ his face and smile, and the thought "I've seen Gerhard Richter's face and smile in action..."
\ the long, patient brushstrokes he took with that lemon yellow paint
/ how his assistant talked about once you love something you have to hate it... how he thinks Richter does this with his paintings
\ the way Richter looked like an orchestra conductor from the back as he moved his long tool down the entire expanse of the canvas... his back bent forward, knees rolling inwards and elbows jutting out - a very specific posture
/ the way his wife called the office, and Richter sat there as his assistant answered and said, "Can he call you back later?"
\ The feeling that he was trying to get inside the paint, inside the canvas
/ His daughter and the way she held the white coffee cup to her face as she sipped and looked at his white painting
\ His request to leave the museum after a Q&A at one of his openings... seeing his tolerance for the public erode in seconds
/ knowing Richter is shy
\ seeing him almost cry
/ hearing him say, "Man, this is fun..." about painting after he found that surprise yellow paint underneath a top layer of white paint
\ watching him take his time and leave the unfinished painting for another day
Canyon
/ finding lostness... elegant stumbles
\ little orange flags, almost like the ones found on the side of a mailbox but not really... more like ones found at a soccer game
/ the way performer Lindsay Clark or Kennis Hawkins {I don't know which woman it was!} rolled her brown eyes as she rolled her head back and up... eyes heavy in the weight of the skull, caught in the repercussions of roll
\ the feeling of watching a dance from above, sensing height and length more than width and depth
/ female body as canyon, male body as flag
\ male body as canyon, female body as flag
/ back of the knee as a place to rest the head
\ recognizing layers of movement and layers of emotion happening simultaneously in each performer
/ the performers seemed to not know each other as well when they were not engaged in dancing... the elegant stumbles and weight shifts turned them inwards in an alienating way
\ that moment I was reminded of the way Miranda July dances in her last film
/ the little girl with a flag solo against the back wall
\ the lemon yellow shirt turned mustard yellow with sweat
/ a silky shadow duet between the men, Burr Johnson and John Sorensen Jolink
\ the discreet feeling of "I want to dance as beautifully as she..."
/ the caress-of-a-face hand gesture, repeated over and over again
\ how it was so satisfying to see the women get small in their movements, swivel hips and lie down at the end of the dance
/ how it was also satisfying to see the men keep dancing
\ how I don't know why and don't want to know why
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