Critique of Pure Movement

Although at least two of the essays are looking at international trends, this is an entirely local issue. And despite containing many theoretical references, it is not concerned with theory. Critique of pure movement is about the here and now. And here and now, this issue is looking for suspension, and a new reflexive process. It’s also a request of the local dance scene to stop and take a look at itself, and at what we have become accustomed to, and what we take for granted.

This isn’t to say that the Israeli dance scene isn’t made of pondering members and critical thinkers, and it’s also not to say that there are no works that reflect on the situation, of course there are. But it is to say that overall, the Israeli dance world doesn’t take a good, hard look at itself. The local dance world is looking too closely, too narrowly at the picture, and whilst it may find many beautiful and interesting moments in it, it doesn’t possess the ability of seeing things through a broader perspective, and contemplate the bigger picture. We have lost that ability.

As written by Ido Feder in the opening essay, which also lays the foundation for the rest of the articles in this issue (Cross-Genres, On the “Disappearance of Signs from the Dance Empire”), and almost contradictory to the familiar claim of the universality of dance and body, Israeli dance is lagging far behind current European and global trends. Dance trends that are considered dated never even got here, or are not considered locally to be dance trends. As a result, many choreographers have based themselves elsewhere, and are more rewarded for their work – both financially and artistically.
 
It’s been a long time that the Israeli dance scene is shaded by Batsheva Dance Company, serving as a monopoly of public opinion of how dance ‘should’ be. The Batsheva way of dancing can be excellent and sometimes not so, but it can no longer be considered as the only way.

Although only two articles in this issue discuss Batsheva (partially), generally speaking, we wish to say from the outset, that Batsheva is only one possible way of creating dance and it sits alongside mane other ways that are being marginalized daily in terms of our historical, financial and cultural contexts. This is a pivotal and general statement, because its structure could then be implemented and examined in other artistic and social contexts.

It’s not coincidental that the Batsheva way became the Israeli consensus.
The Israeli ‘obvious’, or what we could term as ‘consensus’, isn’t born out of a constant evolution of communally agreed notions. The Israeli consensus isn’t drawn from the ground up, but is rather enforced from top down, by an institution, deciding for the people what is ‘good’ and ‘right’, as well as the boundaries of the ‘possible’ and the ‘allowed’, thus demarcating our conceptual limits. Very much the same way racist practices or basic human-rights violation became an everyday occurrence, and are naturally and easily justified by the all-prevailing timeless language of intimidation and self-victimization. The very process that brought the Israeli society right back to the most primitive state in human history, when notions of doubt and hesitancy were in themselves achievements, celebrated publicly in town squares. Whilst the alternative for a hierarchical and power-hungry society is one that is founded on the idea of an ongoing cultural discourse over its fundamental values, and not one that’s merely relying on easily digested slogans and catchphrases, however such a culture isn’t readily available here, now. The Israeli public has long agreed to narrow down its participation in all decision making processes, even those deciding its future fate, and dwindle it down to a passive presence that purely revalidates what has already been decided for it. Similarly, the structure of a Batsheva piece allows the audience to stick with the same predetermined and easily digested position, already decided for it, a mere replica of its passive place within the political paradigm. All that’s left to do is reassert that paradigm with roaring claps for the monumental, hierarchical, larger-than-life and larger-that-it sublime spectacle.

That’s not to say that that was Ohad Naharin’s artistic intentions, or that of the rest of the company’s makers, and you could probably be certain that them themselves wouldn’t have chose to be a part of such a monopoly over public opinion. The broader Israeli audience identifies dance almost entirely with Batsheva. This wrong perception of the dance world de-contextualizes Ohad Naharin and Sharon Eyal’s work, in a way that’s detrimental to the work itself. For example, Eyal’s recent works can be viewed as a relevant and harsh criticism of fascist processes taking place in our culture, but such reading stands in contradiction with the dominancy of Batsheva – in itself representing ‘power’. And from here on it’s almost obvious that works such as “Hofesh’s Work” be viewed as a representation of fascism, not a criticism of it. As mentioned before, one can argue that such a position is detrimental to both the makers of the work, as well as the work itself, since the context in which it is viewed, is laden with meanings they never intended.

Such a thing can only happen within a paralyzed dance scene that has ceased to reinvent itself, that shies away from a two-way interaction with the international dance world, and doesn’t provide critical institutions that can push the discourse forward by establishing an ongoing process of questioning and critical thinking.

Ohad Naharin. photo: Gadi Dagon

The Israeli dance scene lacks small-scale, conceptual dance, dance that responds to other disciplines and releases the purity of dance and movement, dance in which the body and dance itself are only secondary to the investigation of movement, a more ‘democratic’ dance.

It especially lacks the concept of ‘indie’ – makers who by choice place themselves outside of the establishment. Such a wave always begins from the ground up, but after a while it does reach the top, creating fundamental changes that could not have happened otherwise. As a term and as a working methodology, ‘indie’ revitalized music and cinema, and there’s no reason the dance world shouldn’t embrace it in the same way.
The problem inherent in the way things are now is of course ‘everybody’s fault’, the entire field on all its different players. Focusing on Batsheva is not to say that they are the source of the problem, but rather a good example for an institution that so easily perceived as the obvious choice, the consensus, in effect, helps stopping the renewal of the scene around it. Similar examples can be no doubt found in other disciplines, be it theatre, visual arts or cinema.

We need to stop for a minute, and reexamine prevalent notions and way power and position are currently delineated.
 
It could be that such a suspension will bring about some change, or none at all. But it is no doubt a necessary step in establishing a basis for a renewed dialogue between makers and audience, the makers between themselves, and between the state and its institutions and the independent dance makers.

Apart from Ido Feder’s article mentioned before, there are six more editorials; each one covers a critical examination of a different aspect of the work done by the various discourse agents operating within the arts.

Swedish theorist and choreographer Marten Spangberg speak with Ran Brown in our Present Personal editorial on his perception of critics and of the social and political contexts in relation to his own work. Spangberg is one of the most original and important voices in contemporary European dance, representing a genre of works filled with texts, quotes of seminal works and political statements. This is his first interview with an Israeli magazine, and a wonderful opportunity to get to know his work.
 
In the One-on-One editorial I interview Shir Hacham, who speaks openly on her thoughts about the Israeli dance world. Some of the topics she’s covering are the relationship between dance, text, and philosophy, Ohad Naharin’s position, her expectations of choreographers and her ’ideological anger” on the dance scene.
 
In our editorial Visual Correspondence artist Ruti Sela presents fourteen images out of her video work The Witness, taken form her exhibition ‘Moments. A History of Performance in 10 Acts”, shown in Germany. The exhibition is a part of French choreographer Boris Charmatz’ project titled “Dance Museum”, which sets out to examine the meeting of dance with a museum space. Through her physical presence at the exhibition and her interference with the exhibition space, Ruti Sela presents her version of that meeting point.

In our editorial Who Said What we are happy to feature guest writer Omri Herzog, a scholar researching sexuality and the body, as well as a book critic. Omri identifies a fundamental difficulty in writing on physical performance, and sets out to examine typical, and in his mind problematic ways key critics of printed and online media are handling this difficulty. Flies on The Wall sees Ran Brown and Lior Avizoor eavesdrop a summit between three artistic directors of performance arts festivals: Yair Vardi, Smadar Yaaron, and Omer Krieger. They’re talking about their guiding agendas, about the festival as a kind of political party, and the (questionably) alternative position their festival holds.

And finally, in Hillel’s, Hillel Kogan’s editorial, we can find a reflexive outlook on the scene from a maker’s point of view. In an issue rich with fairly radical writers, it’s interesting to read Kogan defining himself as a ‘classicist’, and examining the field with that approach. Sometimes his voice resonates together with all the others, while sometimes it doesn’t.

From Hebrew: Sivan Gabrielovich - Gal

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Rani Lavie is the editor of this issue of Maakaf, as well as the Artistic Director and Curator of Hanut31 Gallery and Theatre. Rani was born in 1978, studied History and Philosophy at Tel Aviv University, and Video and Cinema studies in Bezalel Academy of Arts.