October Culture Notebook

Here, culture highlights of the first part of a (good) crazy October in NYC.

From the last couple of Fall For Dance programs:

Dorrance Dance

• Dorrance Dance is an alpine gust of fresh air, not just in tap, but in the dance world. Choreographer/performer Michelle Dorrance pulls out individuals for solos, but in a diminution of the ego (the dominance of which can be alternately very appealing and a bore in many tap shows) can selectively highlight just the lower legs and feet a whole line of dancers. She places tap in more of a concert dance framework than the typical jam session throwdown. Women take the lead, rather than being marginalized. She has the potential to appeal to entire new segments of audience members.

Kyle Marshall in Mo(or)town/Redux

• Doug Elkins' adapted Mo(or)town/Redux, on the same program, made for an interesting contrast with the previous FFD's inclusion of ABT dancing The Moor's Pavane, by Jose Limon. Both have strong appeal: Limon's highly geometric, repeating quadrants underscore the rigidity of the court and the drastic consequences of broaching those constraints. Elkins lures us deeper from the outset with the music, Motown inspired tunes that immediately push emotional buttons. His Othello and Iago are far closer to guys we might know, and the movement is plush, powerful, dotted with hip-hop jargon, dynamic moves and lifts, and everyday noodling. The sheer pleasure and invention were reminders of Elkins' singular gifts in a city full of talent.

• Not entirely unrelated style-wise, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui's Faun, performed by the Royal Ballet's Rupert Pennefather and Zenaida Yanowsky, features the Belgian choreographer's snaky, rubbery, sometimes street-dancey vocabulary. But once the novelty of his unique movement wears off, it feels repetitive and somewhat limited. Perhaps it was the narrow emotional spectrum of this familiar romance. I wanted to  feel a bit more from these impressive dancers.   

The Rite of Spring by Martha Graham

• Just when you thought all the centenary-celebrating Rites of Spring were over, yet another one re-emerges: Martha Graham's, from 1984. Graham's vocabulary and theatrical emphasis are as appropriate to this Stravinsky score as you could hope for. The company members, in excellent fettle (10 women and nine men, whose challenging ensemble section showed their collective technical prowess), strode, jumped, and contracted their way through the iconic music. Xiaochuan Xie danced the Chosen One, achieving great pathos, youthful vulnerability, and strength, in contrast to the oak-solid shaman, played by Ben Schultz. The womens' wonderful costumes, by Pilar Limosner after Graham and Halston's originals, flattered as always. 

Suzanne McClelland, Internal Sensations (Rub), 2013 dry pigment, gesso, polymer and oil paint on linen, 49" x 59" 

And elsewhere:

• Suzanne McClelland at Team Gallery. Hurrah for Team Gallery, now representing Suzanne McClelland. The paintings in this show, titled Every Inch of My Love and up through Nov 17, may begin with words or stated concepts—symbols or representations of sensations, or objects (such as "ideal" men's measurements), or math. These letters or numbers can also detach from meaning to become marks on a canvas, interlopers in an abstract world of fascinating discrepancies, in which paint can drip sideways, down, or up. In a way, the works can sum up being human—with the gifts of cognition and speech—and the ability to abandon those brain activities in favor of a sumptuous visual experience.

• New York City Ballet's Contemporary Choreographers program. Alex Ratmansky's Namouna has memorable moments abound: smoking ballerinas, unfortunate bathing caps that render the dancers anonymous, the sprightly petite trio, Robert Fairchild's lost boy-becomes-man, and most of all, Sara Mearns' thunderous, daredevil solo. Rebecca Krohn danced the woman in white who captures Fairchild's heart. The slender Krohn is all line; with her cool demeanor, she sometimes coming across as an abstraction, even in Ratmansky's witty, often humorous ballet. Perhaps with time, this new principal will find the confidence to open her heart.

1993—So Near, So Far

 Daniel Joseph Martinez, Museum Tags: Second Movement (Overture) or Overture con Claque – Overture with Hired Audience Members 1993 Whitney Biennial, Whitney Museum of American Art, 1993. Metal and enamel on paint, 12 x 15 in (30.5 x 38.1 cm). Courtesy the artist and Simon Preston, New York 

How can 1993 be 20 years ago? Doesn't it seem like the stylistic differences between decades has slowed down, or is it just a side effect of getting old? Think about the difference between 1950 and 1970; 1960 and 1980; 1970 and 1990.... and then around the millennium, it seems to hit the brakes. Maybe it's because the electronic revolution had a one-generation "blast" effect; maybe because 9/11 just arrested everything... maybe there just isn't enough distance yet. 

In any case, the New Museum's NYC 1993: Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star (through May 26, 2013) focuses on that year, and on a number of artists who were included in that Whitney Biennial, which was among the most controversial in memory. (Remember Daniel Joseph Martinez's I Can't Ever Imagine Wanting To Be White buttons?) Activism was still extremely strong, riding on the previous decades' successive waves of civil, women's, and gay rights, and in reaction to the AIDS plague. But the early 90s also seemed to be a segue into a slicker, more commercial period: factory or guild-style production and large-scale photography gained prevalence, plus a move away from issue art. 

Curators Massimiliano Gioni, Gary Carrion-Murayari, Jenny Moore, and Margot Norton have chosen a multitude of artworks with a message. On a personal note, I worked at Ronald Feldman Gallery then, and was moved to see works by Ida Applebroog, Suzanne McClelland, Hannah Wilke, and Pepon Osorio included in 1993. They all have had a connection with Feldman, which generally speaking shows conceptual or thoughtful issue-oriented work, or art that's based on scientific research or experimentation.

 Ida Applebroog, Kathy W, 1992. Oil on canvas, 110 x 90".

 Courtesy the artist and Hauser & Wirth, New York. 

Photo: Dennis Cowley 

Included is one of Applebroog's Marginalia series, comprising small panels in shades of dried blood that form fractured portraits of odd characters, and Kathy W, one of the artist's tamer paintings, of a Santa surrounded by figures. McClelland's painting, Alright, Alright, Alright, is a fine example of how she works on many levels, playing with language, swooping abstract forms, and variegated surfaces. And Wilke's two photo self-portraits—one taken when healthy, the other after undergoing treatment for cancer—show the same indominitable spirit that powered her work til her early death, only in vastly differing states.

There are major installations by Felix Gonzales-Torres, Cady Noland, Jason Rhoades, and Pepon Osorio, the latter two with a predeliction for apparent chaos. The work of Gonzales-Torres, who died in 1996, elegantly bridges the wonkiness of 80s' conceptual work and the slickness of the late 20th century, often using mundane items to raise questions of consumerism, capitalism, ownership, and originality. Rhoades, who also died relatively young, made primarily abstract 3D works using found materials; these items had the added bonus of imbuing associated meaning to be accepted or discarded. Osorio is known for his elaborate installations, and here, The Scene of the Crime (Whose Crime?), is wedged into a corner, forcing the viewer closer to inspect the elaborate interior and police detritus. 

Janine Antoni shows a large installation of busts made of soap and chocolate. Like Gonzales-Torres, her work managed to encapsulate both issues and slickness in a way that very much represented the time. Robert Gober, Charles Ray, and Mike Kelley, conceptual pranksters with a slick side, could fall into this group. And Nari Ward's installation of abandoned strollers is at the annex on the Bowery.

Art will always be of its time and contain issues and statements. 1993 gives one pause for reflection on the swift passing of time, the compression of generations, and provides a quick stroll down Memory Lane.