ChingChi Yu and Carol Kueffer in "Veil of Water." Photo by Aileen Kim.
From Blog Director Jill Randall:
Both Melissa Hudson Bell and I got to experience the "Undercurrents" performance a few weeks ago, a shared weekend with choreographers ChingChi Yu and Carol Kueffer. Melissa reflects on the first half of the program, and I share here about the second half. Together we reflect on a rich program with 6 pieces.
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"Undercurrents"
By Melissa Hudson Bell
I have just finished reading the book The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. In it, the main character makes an attempt at taking her own life and ends up in a place suspended between life and death. From here, with the help of her beloved childhood librarian, she selects books from the library shelf that transport her into wildly varied versions of her own life which, she is told, all exist simultaneously. In one life she is a glaciologist confronting polar bears, in another she’s a former Olympic swimmer in recovery, in yet another she exists as a happily wed mother living a small-town life with her hunk of a husband. She stays in each life just long enough to get a sense of what is happening and what is expected of her, and to come to terms with how the choices she has made have affected those around her, be it neighbors, siblings, lovers, or friends. In each, naturally, she comes to realize something about what is essential in her, and about what there is that is left to live for.
It is no doubt because I have been immersed in this text for the past week that I delighted in the dance show “Undercurrents,” as a sampling of simultaneous and seemingly disparate worlds one could inhabit. Designed as a showcase of shorter works by Carol Kueffer and ChingChi Yu, “Undercurrents” created small glimpses into movement universes, each with their own affect, cadence, and character. The program opened with a woman (Taylor Bazile), clad in athleisure wear, venturing out on a fitness journey. Imagine a Peloton commercial come to life and you’ve about got it. She dramatizes overcoming minor setbacks in the pursuit of movement that challenges and fulfills her. The narrative was linear - dancer laces up, warms up, branches out, stumbles, recovers, figures out what she needs to thrive, embodies her best self, self-actualizes, hooray! BUT, if seen with the fresh eyes of someone being dropped for the first time into this world, the dancer brought enough youthful freshness and earnest embodiment of physical experimentation to render the piece enjoyable. It was a pleasure to watch Bazile navigate the space, to articulate her struggle, to lean vigorously into the shapes and contours of what her body could accomplish.
From there, the audience is dropped into an entirely different, more formalistic and somewhat mischievous duet entitled “Veil of Water,” performed by choreographer ChingChi Yu and collaborator Carol Kueffer. The duet had a cat and mouse quality to it, and a fairly rich unfolding of movement. The dancers seemed to tease and cajole one another subtly, concealing and revealing, folding and unfolding, advancing and retreating in playful harmony. I would imagine from the way the movement unfurled, that these two have danced and trained together somewhat extensively over the years. Their movement was beautifully aligned, despite their distinct characters. It was a lovely example of a duet where both individuals perform the same general steps, occupy the same general space, but somehow let their individuality shine.
The next piece was another abrupt departure from the last, this time dropping the viewer into a dystopian landscape with ghoulish creatures whose movement vocabulary was idiosyncratic, whose mannerisms were somewhat feral, and whose relationality was tense even to the point of violence. “Convergence” by ChingChi Yu - danced by Chi Chi Chang, Johnny Cox, SanSan Kwan, and Catalina O’Connor - was set to music that was eerie and dissonant, creating a world that invoked images of apocalyptic scavenging. The dancers’ angular movement and vocalizations made them seem both predator and prey in unpredictable surroundings. They moved largely as a pack, climbing over and amongst each other with an air of aggressive hyper vigilance and of a fierce, if not ferocious, need to survive.
Left to right: SanSan Kwan, Chi Chi Chang, Johnny Cox, and Catalina O’Connor in "Convergence" by ChingChi Yu.
In subsequent pieces we continued to jump to entirely new times and places. A particular favorite was an amusing fish-out-of-water character piece by Kueffer, clad in a retro one piece open-water swimsuit and extremely large fins that was entitled “The Swim.” The program had a lot of heart but not a lot of fuss. It eschewed the trappings of fancy lights, projections, sets, or grandiose stage design and instead allowed the viewer to imaginatively fill in the blanks. Each piece was short and distinct enough that, bolstered by the external frame of Haig’s library adventures, this viewer resisted any traps of longing for something that wasn’t there and instead mused at what it would be to inhabit the represented world, and its associate, singular sort of life. Who would I be in that seaside moment of flipper flapping tomfoolery? How would I survive among the critters crawling in the night? What would it take for me to get out of my own head enough to joyfully thrive in movement? And, finally, what undercurrents might connect seemingly disparate environs, temporalities, or embodied states in a manner that could remind us of our interlocked, and yet not already written, fates.
Melissa Hudson Bell is a dance nerd - she likes to think about, discuss, and create dance in a variety of forms. She has an MFA in Experimental Choreography and a PhD in Critical Dance Studies, and has written about dance for numerous publications. When not engaged in dance-related endeavors, she runs an Oakland-based media production company with her husband, and channels all her creative and logistic might into mothering her three amazing kids. When she needs restoration, she heads to the ocean.
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"Undercurrents," Part Two
By Jill Randall
Watching "Undercurrents" on March 9, 2024, my experience begins by going through a catalog of dance memories.
I have known Carol for 25 years now. Her class was one of the first ones I took in the San Francisco Bay Area in the summer of 1998. Her physicality then - and as seen in "Undercurrents" now - is about full expansion through the limbs, a whole bodied presence and “yes” to the dancing moment, and fluid level changes up and down and in and out of the floor.
Sitting in Western Sky Studio, I am reminded of Carol performing here about 20 years ago in Sima Belmar’s project "Palimpsest," with a commanding solo. I love the embodied memories contained within a space.
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Carol Kueffer in "The Swim."
Kueffer’s first piece is a solo entitled “The Swim,” performed by Carol herself. I know that Carol is a swimmer, and this solo is a delightful exploration weaving together two of Carol’s physical languages.
“The Swim” begins with the sound of waves. Carol moves quickly, interspersing suspended actions. Is she in the water, or is she the water? I am thinking of the porousness of water - and of water qualities - into and around the body.
Carol’s costume is a one piece swimsuit (tank top/shorts). As the second section shifts into music by Southside Aces, Carol puts on socks and flippers. Her movement is now stable and weighted. Her agility while dancing in flippers is impressive.
As the third section begins, someone throws onto the stage an even larger and longer set of flippers. (Maybe they are for scuba diving or water skiing?) The largeness leads to exaggeration and humor - big steps, lunges, and jumps.
The final section brings back the sound of the waves. Carol’s movement is now about freedom and lightness from the limitations.
“The Swim” leads me to reflect on the questions: When do we feel grounded? Bound? Free?
Lisa Bush Finn, Robin Nasatir, and Laura Marlin in "Open Hands."
Carol’s second piece is a revival of a 1989 piece, now entitled “Open Hands.” There are two distinct sections with two casts, who do not intertwine within the choreography. The two sections are cast with age specific groupings. Section one has dancers in their 50s and 60s; section two has dancers who appear to be in their 20s and 30s. Violist Linda Green wonderfully fills the space with iconic pieces by Bach and Debussy.
Section one (Lisa Bush Finn, Laura Marlin, and Robin Nasatir) fluidly transforms from unison moments to two dancers partnering to trio connections. Partners lean; connections are gentle and easeful. The vocabulary is sweeping, twisting, circling, and swirling. I appreciated the eye contact and connections. The dancers exit with a smile.
Section two (with Rosika Dater-Merton, Clairey Evangelho, and Anna Gichan) shifts the tempo and tone. With increased speed and playfulness, the trio is rolling, leaping, and jumping back. The partner work is about points of connection, leaning, and holding. Section two is reminiscent of my first experience with Carol back in 1998 - that is, the fluid level changes in and out of the floor.
“Open Hands” offers moving images: openness to participation in an intimate, small group; to eye contact; and to connection.
Anna Gichan (courtesy of AXIS Dance Company), Rosika Dater-Merton, and Clairey Evangelho in "Open Hands."
The show concludes with a second duet on the bill with Carol Kueffer and ChingChi Yu, this one choreographed by Carol. “After You” highlights their friendship and rapport. There is comfort and ease in their partnering and sharing the stage. The duet includes walking patterns, body taps, and playful gestures. “After You” is a great example of Kueffer’s sense of musicality. Like “Open Hands,” the choreography seamlessly weaves between unison, symmetrical/mirror image phrases, partnering, and dancers performing separate phrases. I love the kaleidoscopic shifting of the phrasework.
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Reflecting back on all three of Carol’s works, I appreciate the clarity of the movement, which I think really comes from the musicality in each dance. This clarity is seen through extending arms out into space, locomotor movement sweeping the stage, and gestures with fists and fingers pointing and percussive accents. We journey through water, being in community, and friendship/partnership. I take away from the experience feelings of presence, connection, and a bit of tenderness. I appreciated each dancer's full commitment and generosity offered to the audience. That is always a gift.
Jill Randall is the founder of Life as a Modern Dancer and also writes for a variety of publications, including Stance on Dance and Dance Teacher. She is the artistic director of Shawl-Anderson Dance Center in the SF Bay Area and an adjunct assistant professor at Saint Mary’s College of California.