2015年1月27日 星期二

觀看《乾花》的方式



原刊《立場新聞》
https://www.thestandnews.com/art/%E8%A7%80%E7%9C%8B-%E4%B9%BE%E8%8A%B1-%E7%9A%84%E6%96%B9%E5%BC%8F/
 
也許本文題為「觀看徐奕婕的方式」會更合適,因為它不會集中討論《乾花》作為舞台作品的種種;但以單一例子說一個人,結果必定以偏蓋全,所以還是以作品為起點好了。

徐奕婕在今年19日發表她的新舞蹈創作,以《乾花》命名,問她概念由來,她說自己身為女性、從事含表演性質的工作,感覺自己「需要年輕、美麗」,於是她開始探索乾花作為一個意像與紅顏老去的關係。如果套用約翰˙伯格(John Berger)在《觀看的方式》(Ways of Seeing)中提出的論點,這位在香港長大的二十代女性如何觀看自己?

先看作品的宣傳圖像:


本圖未能顯示的是配圖的文案:「究竟愛美是女人的天性?還是愛美仍然是男性的『第二性』?」。她提出這問題是否因為意識到自己與男性凝視的關係?照片中的徐奕婕造型無疑是一位花之精靈(elf),令人想起芭比娃娃類玩偶或電玩中的女性,她們代表純潔、美麗、脆弱,必須由男性保護,是男性的英雄感和佔有慾的投射對象。徐的化裝同樣是「清純系」的裸裝色調,她閉上眼睛,大量展示皮膚,以害羞勾引。她沒有以目光迎接凝視,但她面上的微笑讓她以物化的順從成為了男性眼中的美麗──而鮮花,往往是男性對可慾求的女性的形容。

演出舉行的葵青劇院黑盒劇場,觀眾席全部拆掉,中間放置了類似動物園欄柵的紅色裝置,欄柵內是一個透明箱子,人在其中便仿佛藥水中的標本,白色的長條是一幅布,兩端在近天花板處結起來,具類似吊床功能,能承載舞者身體。
(攝影:S.y.Choy

演出從頭到尾,徐奕婕沒有超出欄柵範圍。一開始她把自己倒掛在透明箱內;中段她推倒箱的四壁,衝開了屏障,卻被壓在其中一片之下;末段她站到欄柵之上,在窄面上行走,最後她回到圈內,以胚胎之姿蜷伏在布中。她鼓勵觀眾在場內走動,找尋觀看的角度,但無論我身處甚麼位置,我無法改變與徐的「觀者-被觀者」關係,因為她堅實地讓自己成為接受觀看的客體。在我看的一場,徐沒有直望觀眾,沒有以視線奪回關係中的主導性;她貼身而近乎皮膚色的衣服帶著裸體的暗示,給予觀眾觀看赤裸的權力。我可以主動走進欄柵範圍內,但徐沒有走出去。她沒有主動改變我們以物理位置建立的關係,讓我們掌握與她保持安全距離的決定權,以高高在上的漠然看著她不願以色相自恃的掙扎。

伯格認為:「女性的社會風度說明了她是如何對待自己,以及界定出別人該如何對待她。」「別人眼中的她,取代了她對自己的感覺。」(約翰˙伯格:《觀看的方式》,吳莉君譯[第二版)。麥田出版,20108月,頁5657)如果想擺脫桎梏,拒絕範式,我們需要檢視自我與範式的關係。當內化了的價值觀是主體構成的依據時,所謂反抗也不過撒嬌吧。我不是認為徐奕婕或《乾花》不好,事實上作為被商業影像餵養著長大的一代,她詰問如何在他人的價值中找尋自己,很難得。我想提出的,其實是如果我們要變得更勇敢,在今天的香港,有甚麼力量可以依恃。
 



2015年1月20日 星期二

Dance democratization

dance journal/hk Feb 2015 issue
https://thestandnews.com/art/dance-democratization/



“Democracy” is Hong Kong’s keyword of the year 2014. “Democracy” is a fragile word because it dies with attempts on its own definition. It is also a slippery word because it invites imagination and interpretation of all sorts. To me, one can almost place “democracy” and “dance” in the same cognitive bucket, the former being an idea and the latter being its expression. If democracy absolves standard of practice from one single source of authority, if it requires courage to openness and admission of differences to propagate, I propose that “dance democratization” has been diligently put into action in two works shown during i-Dance (HK) 2014 in December.

Who makes dance? What qualifies a dance-maker? CURE by Irish dance artist Fearghus Ó Conchúir is an one-hour performance made up of six parts, each created by an individual who may possess dance background, or may not. Ó Conchúir stitches these parts together – seamlessly, without sacrificing any trace of the creator’s distinctive touch. One can easily tell one part from another because they are so different, yet they exist peacefully alongside one another like fetuses sharing the womb. If choreography is about the placement of the body in the space and each of us manifests our existence through this vessel named “body”, it is just natural that everyone has his version of choreography. If dance-making is about epitomizing the body as a medium of communication, this is what the performance is about.

“What does it take to recover” is the question behind the CURE concept. The dance-makers investigated the emotions they went through when they fell, and how they picked themselves up. Ó Conchúir, the interpreter of these emotions, demonstrates his powerful expressiveness with his intense concentration. He thinks before he moves, he moves what he thinks. The “dance” is Ó Conchúir’s meticulous control of his muscles and joints. The “movements” are everything that proves his presence, from his breathing to his jetés. The contemplation and the honesty are what draw the audiences to him. In the first part of the performance, Ó Conchúir moves around in a square box of light by the left side of the stage. His manner is carefree, his shifts jumpy. It is a sad view to watch him swing his long limbs in his grey tracksuit: it is as if you see a child playing happily inside a cell, not knowing he has been deprived of a world much bigger than this. In another part, Ó Conchúir sits on the floor at the center of a circle of chairs. He slowly pushes the chairs away from him with his legs. The noise of the legs of the chairs scratching the floor is the muted scream of Ó Conchúir’s, whose over-stretched chin muscles fail to make any sound. In yet another part, the naked Ó Conchúir kneels on a piece of silky fabric. With ritual-like dedication he flexes and relaxes his muscles, sweat rolls down as he breathes in and out to fuel his seemingly subtle movements. Finally, he lays face-down on the fabric, allowing the sweat to stain the piece, leaving marks of his existence.


If democracy is about the respect for participation, Tian Gebing’s first-ever choreography, Non-Fat-Thug-Waste, is a nice experiment of the cross-breeding of a dancer-maker. Tian is the founder of Zhi Laohu (The Paper Tiger), a theatre group based in Beijing known for its subversiveness. Trained as a stage director, Tian just knows enough about stage performance for him to denounce the reliance on the script, or verbal delivery. His choreography is to place two powerful bodies, those of Gong Zhonghui’s and Wang Yanan’s, into the space and interact with time, that is, to move, either in connection to or against the verbal instructions given by Tian. Both Gong and Wang are seasoned dancers, but in very different ways. Throughout the performance, the skinny Gong repeatedly throws herself to the floor or dashes from one end of the stage to the other, hardly catching her breath. Wang, plump and sexy as a Dunhuang dancer, elegantly moves her wrists and fingers and head, making a step only once in a while. The “dance” actually takes place on her face: her facial expression changes from a smile to a frown then to a sob then to a scream while her fingers twist and her wrist joints rotate. She makes up her share of the “moves” towards the end of the performance when she ties the end of her braid to a wire hanging from the roof. Then she slowly walks away from the wire until it pulls her braid so hard that you can see her hair standing on ends on her scalp. She talks, she laughs, she cries while she walks, in silence. When she cannot go any further without tearing a piece off her scalp, she all of a sudden regains her composure, releases her braid and stands still.

To me Tian has no doubt made a dance. He has demonstrated his ability to identify the power in two bodies and through them deliver his contemplation on the nature of performance: What is it? Who decides what happens on the stage? What makes an audience listen? He doesn’t design movements, he probably cannot. But he respects movements and the bodies that make them, and more importantly, he believes in the instantaneous expression by the powerful bodies he has identified. He creates the space for honesty to flow, from the performers to the audiences.


Postmodern dance-makers have been expanding the possibility of stage representations by working with artists across of art forms and applying multi-media elements such installations, sound, video, computer applications, and other you-name-it. In these two performances we see “multi-media” being an adjective of the dancer-makers’ background instead of the accumulation of stage techniques that take attention away from the body. If democratization embraces openness, it invites challenges and new ways of doing. The aesthetic lies in the forte of one’s urge to communicate, in how the dance-makers and their interpreters together devote their utmost attention and “training” to the body as the ultimate medium of manifestation.

In 2014 we practiced the choreography of placing our bodies where they should be for causes we believe in. We witnessed the power of the body’s presence in the space. We saw actions growing into movements. We saw dance.




In review are:
CURE in the i-Dance 2014 “Solo & Improvisation” series, Dec 12, 2014 at the Studio Theatre, Hong Kong Cultural Center; Non-Fat-Thug-Waste in the i-Dance 2014 “New Dance Platform” series, Dec 19, 2014 at the Black Box Theatre, Kwai Tsing Theatre.