Saburo Teshigawara
honed his choreography for his own body over many years and his style
is certainly unique; it would not transfer easily to any other dancer.
After opening Bones In Pages by sitting at a table covered
with jagged shards of glass, he then slithered bonelessly about the
stage with incredible fluidity. The movement defied the skeletal structure
of the body as Teshigawara thrashed about, moving between the poles
of robotic, repeated gestures and the long lines familiar in contemporary
dance.
It was Teshigawara’s concept of “dancing on air”
that had inspired the light, gliding passages in this dance. The movement
– derived from the arms circling in towards the centre of the
body, head down and legs turned in – was introspective. Fluttering
fingers, jabbing elbows and collapsing knees were combined with the
act of reaching out, only to fold in again to begin another phrase.
A dazzling moment occurred when he circled repeatedly with a crow fluttering
on his arm. However, although at first exciting, the dancing became
repetitive and earthbound with few dynamic shifts or spatial changes.
In a sense, he outlined the choreography in the first ten minutes; the
rest of it had few surprises for the audience.
Despite the lack of choreographic development, Bones continued
to tantalise the audience with various theatrical devices that suggested
deeper meanings. Set in an installation of books with yellowed pages
on one side and a sea of shoes on the other, the staging was both enigmatic
and evocative. Throw in a live crow pecking around in the two foreground
acrylic rooms with antique chairs, and the piece is wide open to multiple
interpretations.
Metaphors were plentiful. Was the crow a representation of the dancer?
Did the yellowed books and discarded shoes represent death and the passing
of time? Was the black-clad dancer part of a Japanese anime clip that
delved into the dark side of the soul? Images, not answers, abound in
this piece that was extraordinary for its dancing and challenging in
its concept.
Variation in the choreography came in the form of Kei Miyata, a long-time
collaborator and co-director of KARAS. A co-founder of the company in
1985, she and Teshigawara set out to find a new form of beauty in Japanese
dance, which was moving between two extremes, classical ballet and the
slow-paced intensity of butoh. Teshigawara and Miyata’s creativity
eschews categories and incorporates broad conceptual frameworks that
include visual design, music and movement.
In Bones, bathed in a golden light centred at the back of
the stage, Miyata danced lyrically in a short solo among books arranged
neatly on the floor. Her dance enabled a transition from the right side
of the stage, dominated by the intellectual sphere of books, to the
left side, denoting spirituality and creativity as the rows of discarded
shoes reminded one of shoes left outside the door of a temple or a public
place.
She disappeared in a short blackout, giving way to another dancer,
Rihoko Sato, choreographic assistant at KARAS. Sato launched into an
extraordinary dance among the discarded shoes. The style was unique
and personal, incorporating balletic lines into physical convulsions.
Her dance ended with her aggressively throwing some of the shoes against
the scrim at the front of the stage. This paralleled Teshigawara, who
had also thrown things around in parts of his choreography – books,
and then pages of books that fluttered like the crow.
Despite tantalising the audience with various images suggesting deeper
meanings, ultimately, the intentions of the choreographers remained
unclear. Although the staging had a surreal beauty and individual performances
were interesting within a limited choreographic range, overall it did
not engage or satisfy most of the audience – the applause was
muted rather than enthusiastic.
Personally, I believe a performance should engage us on many levels
– that is the enchantment of the theatre. Unless programme notes
explain otherwise, the answers to onstage enigmas should lie within
the performance and be transposed and translated via our own memories
and experiences, rather than in the post-show talk. Either way, I was
disappointed when a friend who had gone for the talk told me that the
crow was meant to be nothing more than a very clever friend.
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"Despite tantalising the audience with various images that suggested
deeper meanings, the intentions of the choreographers remained unclear."
Credits
Choreography, Installation, Lighting and Costume Design:
Saburo Teshigawara
Music Compilation: Saburo Teshigawara, Kei Miyata
Dancers: Saburo Teshigawara, Kei Miyata, Rihoko Sato
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