Beamish and Bouder in the Joyce's Ballet Festival

Sterling Baca. Photo: Jade Young

The Joyce is on to something with its Ballet Festival, in which six companies share the theater for two weeks in the previously sleepy ballet month of August. It's a bit like many of the other summer festivals with dance, like the Fringe, DanceNow, River2River, in that variety is key, but it's all grounded in the lexicon of ballet. Another distinguishing feature is the inclusion of many outstanding dancers who are moonlighting from ABT, NYCB, or other large troupes.

I caught two companies in the first week. Josh Beamish's move: thecompany began its program with the choreographer performing solo in the first part of Pierced, to music by David Lang. Beamish is more muscular than most male ballet dancers, particularly his legs, and this gives his movement the sense of being slightly arduous and rooted, notably when he suspends on relevé and drops his weight solidly. There's tension within his body that emanates drama. The second part of the piece featured ABT's Luciana Paris and Sterling Baca, who, with a sleek fluidity and eagerness, embodied Beamish's style best among the men. 

Of the women, Stephanie Williams, an Aussie who distinguished herself in ABT's recent Met season, was especially luminous; she danced Stay with Dimitri Kleioris (a magnetic fellow  Australian who will appear in Flesh and Bone on Starz network). Williams is the kind of dancer who may not knock you out at first, but eventually you notice her ability to adapt to any style, as well as her remarkable strength as seen in a devilish backbend with the front leg extended, steadied by him. Their duet had tender moments—embraces, a swift leap onto his shoulder, she supporting his full weight while leaning against her. 

The program served as a kind of primer of Beamish's movement, beginning with a solo packed with contained energy, building through a duet in which a dialogue seemed to be taking place along with an urgency and strong directional pulls, followed by the more romantic Stay. It culminated in the premiere of Surface Properties, an ambitious dance for 10 with busy, witty video by Matt Keegan, and Janie Taylor's sleek black and mint costumes. The groupings and duets moved with an adrenalized, urban feel; exit and entrance walks were done with a louche, street-wise attitude. Roman Zhurbin is ABT's reigning character dancer, so good at acting that it's easy to forget he's a terrific dancer; he partnered with Isadora Loyola in a charming duet section in front of a pong-like video, which distracted slightly. Zhong-Jing Fang led a "femme" section with verve, and Baca looked in the zone during the finale.

Ashley Bouder is one of the fleetest, most athletic dancers at NYCB, but she can be cast in roles that skew cute. In her own vehicle, the Ashley Bouder Project, performing with fellow NYCB dancers, she immediately defied that image, with gratifying results. Adriana Pierce's Unsaid is a duet for Bouder and Preston Chamblee; they sport chic, sheer overcoats designed by Reid and Harriet. The coats, along with lit squares (Jimmy Lawlor) and spatial arrangements connote interior and exterior, intimacy and emotional distance, to music by Grieg played live. Pierce, a dancer with Miami City Ballet, makes expressive phrases, building upon a pirouette, to preparation, to a double pirouette, increasing in intensity. Best of all, there was no cute in sight.

In Passing is a filmed ballet, something we've seen in Pontus Lidberg's work, and in ambitious projects such as NY Export: Opus Jazz. While we don't have the pleasures and risks of live performance, Andrea Schermoly's direction takes us to varied locations—a theater house, a tunnel, a chic bedroom, a studio being painted. Jumpy cuts and fast-motion alter time, sometimes to comical effect. The setting moves from dreamy to impatient, tracking the moves of Bouder, Amar Ramasar, Indiana Woodward, and Antonio Carmena. It's a different, intriguing way of experiencing ballet and one person's aesthetic, and the quality of the recording, and the way it entirely filled the screen, was appreciated.

Amar Ramasar and Ashley Bouder in Rouge et Noir. Photo: Alexis Ziemsk

Beamish contributed Rouge et Noir, once again a larger-scale production with six dancers set in front of an abstract, colorful painted backdrop by Mark Howard. This, plus Shostakovich's spiky score, and the sculptural, luxuriant key duet with Bouder and Ramasar evoked some of Balanchine's modernist moves. Slender corps dancers Sebastian Villarini-Velez and Peter Walker added their own interpretations to the style, though Alexa Maxwell and Woodward were given less to do, with one awkwardly holding a skirt train in the final scene without using it. (The otherwise fine costumes—leotards with wispy cutouts in color schemes keying off of the mural, including, yes, rouge et noir—were designed by B Michael.) 

But the most memorable moments are of Bouder on relevé, being held or spun by Ramasar, in various poses and levels of tension and repose. It was a quenching dose of ballet by some of the art's top dancers, and alongside the two other works, notably by young women, showed a conceptual curiosity that also refreshed.

Stanley Whitney Gets a New York Museum Show, Finally

My Tina Turner, 2013. Oil on linen, 60"x60", collection of Emily Todd
Courtesy the artist and team gallery

The Studio Museum in Harlem has given Stanley Whitney his first New York museum show, a welcome—if belated—gesture for this 69-year-old painter, who has been egregiously overlooked until recent years. Apart from a 2012 show at team gallery, the current museum show (curated by Thelma Golden) and another gallery show at Karma, I'd not seen it before. The exhibition is subtitled Dance the Orange, and indeed the raucous, exuberant colors sing and dance off the walls of the cool museum on these hot days. 

Untitled, 2014, black gouache on Fabriano paper, 11"x15". Courtesy the artist and team gallery

In an informative interview with the Brooklyn Rail, Whitney discusses his training and some influences, which include Barnett Newman, Donald Judd, Philip Guston, Alma Thomas, an Etruscan museum (stacked things), Egypt (density). His work may seem to be entirely about color—certainly a full topic—but when you look at his black and white gouaches, the importance of structure, rhythm, and negative space emerge. These take on different functions in the color compositions—a bit like reading a typed script versus watching great actors inhabit the roles.

Untitled, 2014, gouache on paper, 21-7/8"x30-3/8". Courtesy the artist and team gallery

Then there are his color gouaches. Absent are the lattice frameworks of the black and whites, but here one color may flow horizontally and vertically, aggregating in a larger geometric form which takes on a life of its own. Colors advance and recede and seem to converse with one another. It feels like a busy, teeming community, full of life.

The Blue, 2012. Oil on linen, 20"x20". Courtesy the artist and team gallery

In his oil canvases, the cacophony seems to have resolved itself into balance, with an underlying harmony—like musical notes on a staff. In My Tina Turner, the edges are smoothed, some of the color panels as creamy and dense as blocks of butter. The rough and jostling characteristics have grown up and become adults. In other paintings, the hues are cooler and more serene, and sometimes the brushstrokes are left textured, letting the canvas show through. His paintings are certainly among the most gratifying color abstractions being produced today. Through October 25.

It ain't easy being a Mets fan, but it is amazin'

Flores thinking he was on the trading block.

Every Mets fan knows all too well feeling despondent, questioning the sanity of a commitment to a team that, when winning .500, it's a great day. There are the bright moments too, which is generally what keeps us tuned in, rather than contemplating which bridge to jump from. Ups, downs, it's all part of the life cycle of a season. But this week, catalyzed by the trade deadline on Friday, really surpassed it all, plumbing new emotional lows and highs. And in the end, it reinforced the richness that comes with fandom.

Wilmer Flores

Flores after hitting walk-off homer Friday night.

Talk about an emotional wringer. The trade of Flores + Zack Wheeler for Carlos Gomez fell through, reportedly because the Mets medical staff doubted the health of CG's hip. Rumors flew during Wed's game, while Flores was on the field. He was overcome with emotion, wiping away tears, thinking about potentially leaving the team, the only organization for which he's played in his eight-year career. The fans cheered what they assumed was his last at-bat. No trade, false farewells. Collins gave him off Thursday (poor guy was probably exhausted), and he played last night in the nail-biter extra-inning game versus the Nats, driving in the winning run (and the only other Met run) and garnering ovations with each defensive play as well. 

It was the best and worst of times for Flores, but on the bright side, being named in a trade means you have great value. And it made fans appreciate a guy who comes off as a bit laconic, who has been somewhat undervalued all season, shuttling between second and short.

Zack Wheeler
Poor Zack. Not only is he recuperating from Tommy John surgery, he is getting batted around as trade bait like a shuttlecock. Honestly, he has never seemed to fit in well with New York, but he's a very good pitcher who would slot back into the new crack staff as a great 4th or 5th starter. So he was presumably at home (wherever that is) rehabbing, dangling in the wind. I read that he called Mets management to say that he wanted to stay a Met. Aww.

Yoenis Cespedes
After all the potential names flew—Tulowitzky foremost, aside from CarGo2, this was one I didn't hear. But he is supposedly excellent with the bat and defensively, immediately leading both within the team now. Alderson had to shut out all the rumors and criticisms all week and focus on sealing this deal, which sounds like a perfect fit.

David Wright
Like a unicorn, Wright showed up in the dugout this week, after his solitary exile in California, rehabbing his back. The first to high-five a hitter after a big hit, his energy has always been irreplaceable, even if he looked more like a coach than a player (presumably he will be a terrific manager when he hangs up his cleats). Talk of him playing a minor league game next week is almost too good to be true. Footage crept out of him doing "baseball activities." Hallelujah (with breath held).

Juan Uribe
Getting Uribe, a competent third baseman, to me felt like admitting that Wright might not play this season. It seems more to be an insurance policy. Also, the guy is all in during his at-bats, and hit a homer in his first game. Plus, Clubhouse Presence.

Jenrry Mejia
I don't even know what to say about his getting suspended for an entire season's worth of games for testing positive for PEDs not a month after returning to the team after serving a 50-game penalty. Can anyone be that stupid?

Tyler Clippard

Tyler Clippard

Okay, the guy still looks more like an A than a Met—hair, weird glasses, his low body fat—but the idiotic situation of Mejia makes this acquisition all the better. Also, Familia has been failing lately, whether from fatigue, under or overuse, or mental torture from his pal Mejia. 

In the end, the games
Extra innings, blown saves after long rain delays. Walk-off wins. Not scoring any runs for long stretches. Then scoring a ton. Coming within one game of the Nats only to lose a few. Playing some of the best teams. Taking perfect games into late innings. 

You couldn't ask for more emotion packed into a week of baseball. It's been insane, but amazing. The amazin's! Now hang on for the second half of the season.

Bowery Summer Art Walk

Half Bowl, from the Available Light series, 2012.

Sarah Charlesworth's (1947—2013) work gained prominence in the late 70s and early 80s as part of the awkwardly named "pictures generation," when it fit into the prevailing zeitgeist with its sleek, polished feel and deeper questions about the nature of perception and imagery. It feels greatly in opposition to many trends in the air today, for example the work of Albert Oehlen; both artists' work is on view the New Museum.

Sarah Charlesworth: Doubleworld is broken into several groupings, each one as breathtaking as the previous—the "0 + 1" white on white series, in which the most subtle shadows and shadings reveal the subjects; "Stills," a riveting, disturbing series of falling figures taken from news photographs; "Objects of Desire," icons that either refer to desirability, or which are themselves desirable things, on brilliantly hued backgrounds or in diptychs; and "Available Light," a group of aqua-hued images which play with reflection and perception. One of that series, Half Bowl, shows a handsome silver bowl with water, in which the rear wall's reflection is mirrored. Everything looks so perfect—the palette, the object, the diffuse light—and yet the imagery on the water's surface is not real. Through Sep 20.

Untitled (2009—11)

Albert Oehlen: Home and Garden features a number of large canvases by the German artist (born 1954) showing his muddy palette and layered imagery of genres that can vary from geometric, pixellated, figurative, consumerist, and pop culture. The largest ones, from the early 2000s, are the opposite of beautiful, and often feel deliberately messy. More recent works show Oehlen breathing more space into his canvases, and using a more pleasing palette and generally lighter wispy touch, while continuing to mix in numbers and letters into his queries about the nature of painting. Through Sep 15.

Leonor Antunes installation. 

Leonor Antunes

The ground floor gallery at the New Museum, located behind the coffee bar, sometimes feels like an afterthought, but sculptor Leonor Antunes' installation, I Stand Like a Mirror Before You, is one of the more intriguing shows I've seen in that space. 

This Portuguese artist has lined the floor with geometric cork panels, giving an immediate soft feel to your step. She has created mesh curtain-like panels from gold metal links, black rubber, and leather roping. Freestanding panels are formed from wavy plexiglas. The entire installation feels burnished, textured, and strangest of all, functional. Through Sep 6.



Also worth a visit:

Detail of a watercolor by Andrew Forge.

JJ Peet, CLOWNNEWS. 

Andrew Forge at Betty Cuningham Gallery
In this show of 10 paintings and 10 works on paper, Forge's (British, 1923—2002) graceful palette and eye for detail work with his vocabulary of dots and lines to form absorbing abstractions. 15 Rivington, through Aug 4.

JJ Peet, MAGiCSTANCE at On Stellar Rays
Peet's assemblages are small in size but have great impact. Rough-hewn ceramics, found objects, photographic, and other elements are mixed in satisfying formations, with dollops of color and pattern adding thrilling flair. 1 Rivington, through July 31.

All photos: Susan Yung

Books on Planes

I didn't intentionally read the fascinating historical account of The Wright Brothers (David McCullough) and the novel In the Unlikely Event (Judy Blume) back to back; it was chance. But it was also kismet—these two books revolving around flight couldn't be more different, and yet a part of a continuous arc. 

McCullough's book, about the Wrights' development of the airplane, sounds pretty dry, what with its charmless title and treatment of a subject that has received a lot of coverage over the last century. But the author alights on just enough facts and tidbits of physics to move things along, rather than bog them down, which can happen in inventor biographies. He gets at the Ohio natives' curiosity, creativity, courage, and ability to work tirelessly, and without saying these traits defined some ideal American spirit, does just that. 

He follows their lives from their Dayton bicycle shop, where they designed and built bikes and then flying machines, to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where much of the testing and development took place in relatively inhospitable conditions. A considerable time was spent abroad, primarily in France after being spurned by the US authorities, testing machines to seal a government purchase. There, Wilbur in particular evolved into an international figure, developing a taste for bespoke suits. Finally the US government came to appreciate their inventions, and they won the success they deserved. Apparently their dogged pursuit of copyright infringements helped them claim due credit for their work, and allowed them to be known widely as the inventors of flight. This litigiousness seems as much a part of American business as good old invention. Nonetheless, the book is a reminder of the incorrigible spirit of mechanical invention of a century ago.  


Blume's novel, on the other hand, is based around a series of plane crashes at Newark Airport in Elizabeth, NJ, in the early 1950s. Despite the Korean War, which loomed in the distant background, she paints a time of relative innocence in the northeast, primarily by noting lyrics of pop songs of the first half of the century. Into the midst of this typical middle to upper class suburban enclave crash three planes within a span of a few years. 

Blume structures the book by leading chapters with quotes from newspaper articles; one of the main characters is a journalist who, by default, became the chronicler of the strange time. Another organizing device Blume used is to title anecdotal sections by their subjects' names. While a bit rudimentary, it helps keep the list of players straight for the reader.

The crashes couldn't help but affect the people in the surrounding area. One young woman, an anorexic, channels one of the crash victim's thoughts and actions. A young man becomes a hero for rescuing several people. Whether by coincidence or cause and effect, the events shake up complacent relationships and induce life changes. The wide-ranging trauma seemed to catalyze the development of nascent personality traits. It explores the experience of flying from a consumer's point of view at a time when flight was becoming commonplace. And without directly stating it, the book questions the entire act of these giant metal machines defying gravity and launching into the air, carrying us. It was a comedown of sorts from the dizzying effect of the Wright brothers' story, which is nonetheless one of the great tales in American history. 

Epic Faile and Lots of Kicks

Foosball table installation with posters by, uh... oh, FAILE!. Photo: Susan Yung

Besides earning a reputation as "the shoe museum"—with its current The Rise of Sneaker Culture show and recent Killer Heels exhibition—the Brooklyn Museum is also forging a path in showcasing exciting young artists such as its current show of work by the collective FAILE, as well as its recent overview of Kehinde Wiley, among others. 

But seriously, folks... Night Bender, 2015. Acrylic and silkscreen ink on canvas. Photo: Susan Yung

In FAILE: Savage/Sacred Young Minds (through October 4), the team takes what could be perceived as cliché emblems of youth culture—arcade games, day-glo colors, muscle cars, skateboards—and combines them deftly in room installations, sculptural environments, and satisfying paintings. The team's work became prominent when a major pastel-hued installation was installed in the Koch Theater mezzanine as part of New York City Ballet's art initiative in 2013. In an eerily similar vein as Wiley's recent saint-like portraits and stained glass windows, FAILE occupies the Brooklyn Museum's rotunda with a chapel-like, decaying edifice sheltering contemporary prayer wheels and a statuary. It's clearly an effective way to acknowledge the past on new terms.

FAILE's Temple installed in Lisbon. 
Photo: Jonathan Dorado

In case you forgot whose art you were looking 

at—FAILE. Photo: Jonathan Dorado

If for nothing else (although that's not the case here) FAILE deserves credit for the sheer volume of subject matter they've either quoted from or created to collage together as the collective of mass neon wallpaper, as well as in the paintings on view. All told, it's a restless graphic tableau of ideas, trends, patterns, and harmonic palettes.

If the day-glo arcade, with pinball machines, video games, and foosball tables, becomes too claustrophobic or teen-boy for you, move on to the next room, with its soothing classically-derived sculpture. Take a look at the wall of paintings, with their trompe l'oeuil torn away strips, and layered memories of Americana. And even if the artists obsessively brand everything with the collective's name, like an adolescent's notebook doodles, the serious ways in which it's done have impact—in wrought iron gates, mosaics, tucked away in paintings, or blaring in propaganda style, wall-to-wall posters. 

Evoking Roy Lichtenstein...

Photo: Susan Yung

No doubt The Rise of Sneaker Culture (also through Oct 4) will garner more attention and young visitors, but I have to confess indifference for the genre. Maybe it's because it's primarily a male pursuit whose main publicity engine is the NBA. (There are several "altars" to Nike's Air Jordan line amid the many giant-sized samples.) Or maybe it's because touring the show feels somewhat like shopping. 

However, amid the mall store style exhibition design, there are cases with examples of early women's shoes. Certain late-20th century models ring bells, such as a relative of my first Adidas sneakers (cheerleading shoes!) and the ubiquitous puffy Reeboks for aerobics. Although where were the canvas Tretorns that were the standard wear for at least a decade?

Releasing tomorrow at Jimmy Jazz 

But the majority trace the arc of men's sneakers as individual NBA players—mainly Michael Jordan—had shoes and entire lines custom-designed. Bling and decorative elements were added to others, and technology was applied, such as sole cushioning (even retro technology, like the recent rise of knits in sneakers). There is also the implication of the rise of hip-hop culture's importance in society, with sneakers as the most elemental statement. 

After seeing the BMA show, try hopping on the subway and strolling down Brooklyn's Fulton Mall to get a similar broad survey of the latest footwear. Just make sure you look at feet on the street in addition to Jimmy Jazz and the numerous other footwear purveyors to take in the full context of fashion.

One final observation on an artist whose influence was felt in both the FAILE and sneaker exhibitions: Roy Lichtenstein, whose primary colors outlined with black can be seen in a pair of Nikes, and the general style of FAILE's paintings, which quote pop culture and cartoon techniques. He might be proud to see the extended reach of his high-low work. 

National Ballet of China Shows Its Breadth

Yu Xuejiao and cast. Photo: Stephanie Berger 

A question recurs with regularity—why do we watch ballet? Is it for story, classical form, innovation of the genre, or musical elucidation? In the case of National Ballet of China's The Peony Pavilion, at the Koch as part of the Lincoln Center Festival, it seems to be for at least the first three reasons, which also makes the two-hour ballet a confusing mix.

This production, with adaptation and direction by Li Liuyi and choreography by Fei Bo, premiered in 2008 as a highly reduced version of what can be a 20-hour opus. We are grateful for the savings of 18 hours, but in the course of trimming it, the fragments and threads left to tell a complicated, layered tale aren't adequate. But what lingers in the memory are the striking sets and scenography by Michael Simon. A suspended square platform that raises, tilts, and transforms into a mirror. A giant fallen tree, massive crumpled peonies. Snake-like brushstrokes—ink black and neon—on the cyc. Emi Wada's gorgeous costumes—notably featuring wide-legged jumpsuits for the women, and scarf-hem dresses—are appealingly chic, although frequently obscure the expressiveness of the dancers' legs. 

Ma Xiadong, Zhu Yan, and Yu Xuejiao in The Peony Pavillion. Photo: Stephanie Berger

In a sense, Fei Bo's choreography becomes a secondary element in the ballet. His main concern seems to be an elegant line and an array of primarily feminine, never ugly gestures. In many full-length works, ballet can be both the subject and the medium. Many productions include ballroom scenes or international pageants during which the performers dance as the activity at hand. At other moments, dance conveys emotion, becoming the primary language for expressing love, anguish, camaraderie, sadness. In Peony, we see some of the latter, but it is often using standard ballet-glam vocabulary—arabesques, split lifts, a coyly poised foot. In one passage, the man embraces a woman, enfolding their arms in escalating hugging gestures. Perhaps the most literal of such expressions, it moves from evocative to sappy with each repetition.

A scene of rowdy peasants is an example of the dance-as-subject-matter ilk. The (mostly) men carouse, act jaunty, and hack around, pulling the language toward descriptive rather than metaphorical, which soon follows when shadows—silver cloak clad men—waft around the periphery, setting a supernatural aura.

The Peony Pavilion. Photo: Stephanie Berger

In the final act, the wedding scene, the corps' women—wearing red scarf dresses and pointe shoes—step and lunge into forced arches, drawing their parallel palms toward their faces, as if kissing an invisible box. The move to me conveys revolution, inexorable change, collectivism, but not necessarily a romantic gesture. They repeat the step, traveling at length, joined by bare-chested men, as the four main characters weave in and out. The music crescendoes and the lighting blazes in warm hues. After the previous frenetic and confusing panoply of scenes, it's as if the director decided that the finale would be an audience pleaser even if it took all the bombast he could muster. 

Lu Di and Zhang Jian in Red Detachment. Photo: Stephanie Berger

The NBC's second program, The Red Detachment of Women, is stylistically coherent, with its own mime system and use of ballet in a strangely logical way. This 1964 ballet, choreographed by Li Chengxiang, Jiang Zuhui, and Wang Xixian is an ideological and surprisingly feminist statement, based on a previous film, produced in the People's Republic of China. As it has been performed through the decades, political systems have come and gone, while our perception of the ballet can be ironic, even kitschy—as it is perceived now—or instructive, as it must have felt in the 60s. Either way, from the reaction of the heavily Chinese audience at the Koch, it continues to stir feelings of patriotism. (An excerpt was recently performed at Fall for Dance.)

Photo: Stephanie Berger

The ballet follows the path of Qionghua, a peasant (I saw the excellent Lu Na in the role), from slavedom to leading a female military regiment (which is given the juiciest ballet sections). This parable for the country's course is not exactly subtle, nor is the entire ballet, which allows it to be understood quite clearly. Gestures such as raised fists, or a hand pressing down, plus a firm head nod read clearly as power and affirmation. Many of the dance sequences are performed with weapons, most memorably a stunning, endless rapid-fire stage crossing of split leaps by the company, rifles held as if sighting a target. 

Zhang Jian and company. Photo: Stephanie Berger

While ballet was largely banned during the 60s in China as a Western symbol of decadence, this work was permitted since it advanced approved values. Ballet—plus a little martial arts and arms-wielding—could be interpreted as a great physical achievement, a claim to patriotism, apart from its value as a nuanced interpretive art. Also, there are no traditional male/female duets, nor tutus or other emblems of Romanticism. The women wear either silk tops and pants (the "peasants" and bourgeoisie, or grey or blue army uniforms of shorts and tunics, with leg warmers and matching toe shoes, and a standard hair bob. The lithe dancers make convincing soldiers, devoid of Romantic ballet's typical female supplicating expressions and deferential body language. The pointe shoe and the arabesque remain as the form's torch bearers.

Ma Yunhong created the stage designs, from gloomy slave prison to utopian coconut grove, complete with a projected sunrise and blue sky. The music, credited to six composers, is anthemic, bombastic, and yes, patriotic. One wonders how some of the numerous elders in the audience felt while viewing fare on which they were raised. Indeed, a nearby man began talking toward the stage during a number, as if transported to another time and place. He was perhaps acting out what some felt, and others of us could only imagine.