We skirted the rain and danced in dizzyingly humid heat for the last time yesterday at Rainey Park. As with each of these park shows, I got to see the dance through a new lens, where the spatial proximity of the dancers and the remove of the several family picnics in the park resulted in an oddly shortened depth within a large field. The optics of the experience aren’t really the point, of course, but rather that I learn new things every week about this work –how it would best be staged to communicate what I’ve intended, how some views will obfuscate those intentions, and always how I anticipate the viewing experience to be altogether new again when performed inside at Green Space.
My work has for the past several years in one way or another been concerned with the perspective of the audience. Not only how to give them a particular view, but also how to tap into their entirely unpredictable responses and use those to fulfill the piece. Putting Find Me in Here outside in the parks to be viewed by seated audiences and passersby alike, I first notice the parts of the piece that fall short because the audience is not “captive.” I do not expect that those who are seated will remain so throughout and I expect even less that passers who stop will pause for long. In this way a traditional theatrical audience is different. Of course they are not actually captive in their seats, but the understanding is there that they have committed to seeing this performance. And particularly with contemporary and/or experimental and/or small-theatre work, there is more and more the knowledge that one’s role may include more than simply sitting docile and quiet. Which means there’s a level of commitment both in time and in participation that makes much of my work possible. I am counting on the audience being there so that we can examine the viewer/viewee relationship, so that I can play in the delicious zone of uncertainty that is how the audience sees the performers and vice versa.
Find Me in Here 