[Author's Note: I wasn't necessarily going to post this review, but I received some positive feedback from Kim Tritt, professor of dance, which prompted me to share (because why not, really?). The review appeared in slightly different form in the Nov. 13 issue of the Wooster Voice.]
This year's “Stage Door” fall dance concert is doubtless one of the most compelling showcases for student work to be presented this semester. The intimacy of dance “in the round” immerses the audience fully in each piece, and even under such intense scrutiny (or perhaps because of it) the concert succeeds wildly.
Each of the ten pieces was created by a different student choreographer (all of them under the direction of Kim Tritt, professor of dance), and the breadth of these assembled creations is one of the great joys of “Stage Door.” The sequencing highlights profound contrasts in mood, rhythm, and form in such a way that each successive piece is its own revelation—not a single one of them feels stale or derivative.
The first set, for instance, takes leaps of nearly bipolar extremes in three successive standout numbers. The instantly grabbing “Maniacal Somnolence” unfolds at a frenetic pace that reinforces its sense of mischief and surprise. It's followed by “Full Circle,” a beautifully focused piece that plays out like a celebration of sisterhood, and one that knows the compositional value of blank space. This gives way to the starkly dramatic “Interference”; taking its cues from traditional ballet, “Interference” is as tense and fretful as the Prokofiev music to which it's set. The cumulative effect of these contrasts is disorienting in the best sense of the word—there are no safe assumptions about what any dance holds.
One of the most distinctive aspects of this year's “Stage Door,” however, is also the glue that holds these disparate numbers together as a concerted whole. In the way “Stage Door” has long spotlighted a broad range of student talent, composition major Paul Winchester '11 is featured as prominently as anyone during the performance, creating free-form piano improvisations between each dance number. This serves not only a practical purpose, giving time to set up the next piece, but adds a crucial sense of continuity and reflection as Paul draws on the musical themes that accompanied the previous dance.
In addition to his improvisations, Paul also performs an original composition for the delicately nightmarish “Woven,” perhaps the strongest overall achievement on the program. The music, in perfect tandem with Kaitlin Yankello's wonderfully restrained choreography, builds to a breathtaking climax followed by a chilling coda. Quite simply, “Woven” is superb.
Equally noteworthy is the aptly titled “Animation Play,” which unfolds in the lobby during intermission. “Animation Play” boasts taut, theatrical performances from each of the three dancers that emphasize the piece's cartoonish humor. It's a very entertaining play on the dancing space itself and a suitably lighthearted divider between the two longer sets.
Each half of the program ends in similar territory, with a large-scale number that reminds me of contemporary Broadway. These, “Write Me a Tragedy” and “Not Juliet,” might be faulted for lacking the focused intensity or subtlety of the most memorable dances, but their placement effectively lends a sense of unity and balance to the concert. These are also ample reminders that there really is something for all tastes at “Stage Door.” As an exhibit for student music, lighting design, and dance, “Stage Door” is highly recommended.
The “Stage Door” fall dance concert will be presented Friday and Saturday at 8:15 in Freedlander Theatre.
Showing posts with label 2009. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2009. Show all posts
2009/04/14
Wooster Senior I.S. Art Presentations
[Author's Note: The following review will appear in Friday's edition of the Wooster Voice.]
As I write this, I'm sitting on someone's senior I.S.—a piece of it, at least. Alexandra Cotter's “Collages: Exploration of Furniture Design Using Found Objects” is one of three senior exhibits currently on display at Ebert Art Gallery. The space is, as always, like none other on campus—a room abuzz with ideas, speaking through the breathtaking achievements of the featured student artists.
Cotter's furniture, constructed entirely of discarded materials, is beautiful both in concept and execution. Each of the five sets emphasizes the role of chance in art, the interaction between deliberate intent and serendipity. Relics of the materials in their past lives lend the furniture many of its most striking qualities.
“Each piece I incorporated into the collage has its own story,” she writes in her abstract. “All of these smaller stories are pieced together to create a new entity, which I find fascinating.”
Evidence of these stories are everywhere, in patterns which might connote lamps or crates reincarnated as stools or tables, raising countless questions about the way commercial or functional cues inform our understanding of art, or the way our interaction with materials shapes their destinies.
While “Collages” necessarily blends with the gallery itself, stepping into Dana Bustamante's “Imagorium for 'the Prince'” is like stepping into another world. Bustamante drew on the traditional imagorium, a Mouridiyya Senegalese space for images and objects both secular and sacred, and a single photograph of this “Prince,” a homeless man in Lamu, Kenya, whom Bustamante encountered during her study there. With almost fugal imitation, her iconic portrait of the man in profile is transposed seamlessly onto nearly every corner of the exhibit and explored in countless variations of medium, style, and implication.
More than an intense reflection on a single character, however, the Imagorium is a panorama of life, vibrantly captured, as Bustamante witnessed it in Kenya and Tanzania. The exhibit manages to be a testament to both the individual and the collective, and the fact that the two are not at war here contributes to the Imagorium's intended spiritual resonance.
The diversity of the work she displays, from patterned cloths and photographic collages to paintings and simple sketches, reveals the full spectrum of her processing her experience and the range of possibility that emerges from a single spark—an apt expression of the non-definitiveness of art.
Adrienne B. Livingston's “Clusters & Constellations: Music and Mixed Media” takes on another wholly distinct style set and visual language, at once sparse and provocative. In her abstract, she proclaims, “I believe that people's lives are political lives,” and she draws on the words of some of the sharpest and most unsparing musicians and poets as the framework for her examination of contemporary society.
Livingston's images are as big and bold as the lines with which they're paired. Ani DiFranco's snarling “My country 'tis of thee / to take shots at each other on primetime TV” is captured in a graffiti-like piece incorporating an angry Muslim face, the McDonald's “i'm lovin' it” slogan, and drooping, blood-red flowers. Next to it, DiFranco's “Just remember you were there / you were always there” is simply and memorably rendered as an elephant.
Each piece is mounted on formations of overlapping black circles, suggesting clouds or, ingeniously, LPs, reinforcing the centrality of pop culture to the language we use to render modern times.
All three exhibits are endlessly thought-provoking and transformative. Wooster students, particularly those who don't often get to see peers' artwork, owe themselves this experience.
As I write this, I'm sitting on someone's senior I.S.—a piece of it, at least. Alexandra Cotter's “Collages: Exploration of Furniture Design Using Found Objects” is one of three senior exhibits currently on display at Ebert Art Gallery. The space is, as always, like none other on campus—a room abuzz with ideas, speaking through the breathtaking achievements of the featured student artists.
Cotter's furniture, constructed entirely of discarded materials, is beautiful both in concept and execution. Each of the five sets emphasizes the role of chance in art, the interaction between deliberate intent and serendipity. Relics of the materials in their past lives lend the furniture many of its most striking qualities.
“Each piece I incorporated into the collage has its own story,” she writes in her abstract. “All of these smaller stories are pieced together to create a new entity, which I find fascinating.”
Evidence of these stories are everywhere, in patterns which might connote lamps or crates reincarnated as stools or tables, raising countless questions about the way commercial or functional cues inform our understanding of art, or the way our interaction with materials shapes their destinies.
While “Collages” necessarily blends with the gallery itself, stepping into Dana Bustamante's “Imagorium for 'the Prince'” is like stepping into another world. Bustamante drew on the traditional imagorium, a Mouridiyya Senegalese space for images and objects both secular and sacred, and a single photograph of this “Prince,” a homeless man in Lamu, Kenya, whom Bustamante encountered during her study there. With almost fugal imitation, her iconic portrait of the man in profile is transposed seamlessly onto nearly every corner of the exhibit and explored in countless variations of medium, style, and implication.
More than an intense reflection on a single character, however, the Imagorium is a panorama of life, vibrantly captured, as Bustamante witnessed it in Kenya and Tanzania. The exhibit manages to be a testament to both the individual and the collective, and the fact that the two are not at war here contributes to the Imagorium's intended spiritual resonance.
The diversity of the work she displays, from patterned cloths and photographic collages to paintings and simple sketches, reveals the full spectrum of her processing her experience and the range of possibility that emerges from a single spark—an apt expression of the non-definitiveness of art.
Adrienne B. Livingston's “Clusters & Constellations: Music and Mixed Media” takes on another wholly distinct style set and visual language, at once sparse and provocative. In her abstract, she proclaims, “I believe that people's lives are political lives,” and she draws on the words of some of the sharpest and most unsparing musicians and poets as the framework for her examination of contemporary society.
Livingston's images are as big and bold as the lines with which they're paired. Ani DiFranco's snarling “My country 'tis of thee / to take shots at each other on primetime TV” is captured in a graffiti-like piece incorporating an angry Muslim face, the McDonald's “i'm lovin' it” slogan, and drooping, blood-red flowers. Next to it, DiFranco's “Just remember you were there / you were always there” is simply and memorably rendered as an elephant.
Each piece is mounted on formations of overlapping black circles, suggesting clouds or, ingeniously, LPs, reinforcing the centrality of pop culture to the language we use to render modern times.
All three exhibits are endlessly thought-provoking and transformative. Wooster students, particularly those who don't often get to see peers' artwork, owe themselves this experience.
2009/02/10
Susan Wallin & Peter Mowrey, "An Evening of American Art Song"
[Author's Note: This review of a faculty recital from Friday will definitely be appearing in this week's Voice. I'm decently pleased with both the way this one turned out and the ease with which I wrote it—I think I'm developing something of the habit behind journalism.]
“An Evening of American Art Song,” presented in Scheide Music Center February 6 by soprano Susan Wallin and accompanist Peter Mowrey, was an evening of rare musical delights, beginning and ending with a voice one would be privileged to hear anywhere, be it Gault Recital Hall or Carnegie Hall. Wallin is fundamentally an extraordinary singer and performer, armed with a beautiful coloratura, impressive range, and dramatic sensitivity—all of which were on full display throughout the rich and varied program.
The recital began with a series of songs by the late-Romantic composer Amy Beach, whose lush, melodic style recalls Puccini or Bizet. Wallin showed a deft attention to both the passionate and the reflective, and the conviction behind her performance more than carried the most traditional set of the night.
She moved into more interesting and surprising musical territory with five contemporary songs by Ricky Ian Gordon in an art-Broadway vein reminiscent of Leonard Bernstein. Gordon's “Coyote” was perhaps the highlight of the entire evening. Wallin threw herself in to the bizarre lyrics with a finessed blend of comedy and pathos—when she proclaimed, “I'll scream until I turn that moon to wax,” you believed it.
She also proved herself superbly attuned to Americanness of Gordon's songs, subtly adapting her tone to suit their unique contours and cadences, whether in the melancholy humming of “Once I Was” or the frenzied ascent of “Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed).”
The second half of the program dived into delightfully murky twentieth-century waters with Norman Dello Joio's “Three Songs of Adieu.” Imbued with a dark urgency and extending to the edge of tonality, these offered Wallin ample opportunity to explore their contrasts—really hitting words like “pain,” or fading into an impressive softness at the end of “Farewell.”
Following these was Laurie Altman's jazz-like “reimagining” of eighteenth-century Italian songs. Here, Wallin's voice occasionally fell into a breathier timbre in her only significant misstep of the recital, but the thoughtful attention she lent the syncopations spotlighted the hybrid nature of the work and distinguished her interpretation.
The jazzier songs were proof of Peter Mowrey's exceptional contributions as well. From one composer to the next, he managed each stylistic set distinctly, and while his unshakeable facility at the piano hinted at his own abilities as a soloist, he remained a sensitive accompanist who aptly complemented, but never overpowered, the vocal performance.
The last song of the evening took a sharp turn into light opera (itself a Wooster legacy), specifically Victor Herbert's send-up of the operatic diva, “Art Is Calling for Me,” arranged by Wallin herself. With intermittent quotations from a number of famous operas, among them La Bohème and The Magic Flute, Wallin alluded to her own vast repertoire, and, though she nailed the high Fs from the famous Queen of the Night aria, she proved unafraid to occasionally tweak her ability level to suit the comedy—providing a fitting and lighthearted capstone to a recital of unflagging quality.
“An Evening of American Art Song,” presented in Scheide Music Center February 6 by soprano Susan Wallin and accompanist Peter Mowrey, was an evening of rare musical delights, beginning and ending with a voice one would be privileged to hear anywhere, be it Gault Recital Hall or Carnegie Hall. Wallin is fundamentally an extraordinary singer and performer, armed with a beautiful coloratura, impressive range, and dramatic sensitivity—all of which were on full display throughout the rich and varied program.
The recital began with a series of songs by the late-Romantic composer Amy Beach, whose lush, melodic style recalls Puccini or Bizet. Wallin showed a deft attention to both the passionate and the reflective, and the conviction behind her performance more than carried the most traditional set of the night.
She moved into more interesting and surprising musical territory with five contemporary songs by Ricky Ian Gordon in an art-Broadway vein reminiscent of Leonard Bernstein. Gordon's “Coyote” was perhaps the highlight of the entire evening. Wallin threw herself in to the bizarre lyrics with a finessed blend of comedy and pathos—when she proclaimed, “I'll scream until I turn that moon to wax,” you believed it.
She also proved herself superbly attuned to Americanness of Gordon's songs, subtly adapting her tone to suit their unique contours and cadences, whether in the melancholy humming of “Once I Was” or the frenzied ascent of “Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed).”
The second half of the program dived into delightfully murky twentieth-century waters with Norman Dello Joio's “Three Songs of Adieu.” Imbued with a dark urgency and extending to the edge of tonality, these offered Wallin ample opportunity to explore their contrasts—really hitting words like “pain,” or fading into an impressive softness at the end of “Farewell.”
Following these was Laurie Altman's jazz-like “reimagining” of eighteenth-century Italian songs. Here, Wallin's voice occasionally fell into a breathier timbre in her only significant misstep of the recital, but the thoughtful attention she lent the syncopations spotlighted the hybrid nature of the work and distinguished her interpretation.
The jazzier songs were proof of Peter Mowrey's exceptional contributions as well. From one composer to the next, he managed each stylistic set distinctly, and while his unshakeable facility at the piano hinted at his own abilities as a soloist, he remained a sensitive accompanist who aptly complemented, but never overpowered, the vocal performance.
The last song of the evening took a sharp turn into light opera (itself a Wooster legacy), specifically Victor Herbert's send-up of the operatic diva, “Art Is Calling for Me,” arranged by Wallin herself. With intermittent quotations from a number of famous operas, among them La Bohème and The Magic Flute, Wallin alluded to her own vast repertoire, and, though she nailed the high Fs from the famous Queen of the Night aria, she proved unafraid to occasionally tweak her ability level to suit the comedy—providing a fitting and lighthearted capstone to a recital of unflagging quality.
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