Body Talks (Mind, Bodies & Thoughts)

The Blumenfeld Experience

Trying not to waste a thought; but if I’m not doing it tonight, I know it’ll drag until it’s gone!?

So here it is – a quick post about photography or, shall I say, a short list of my first impressions on the exhibited work, at Somerset House, from a Master that is Erwin Blumenfeld:

– I loved the exhibition. Very rich to the point of overabundance but such an education for anyone interested in the medium or with an eye.

– Blumenfeld’s photos made Vogue’s covers (iconic). Not the other way round.

– Behind the glamour hides authenticity and humility. Not once I had to question his motives. His “mission” could be seen as being basic for the artists of today but it takes some guts to make simplicity your sole angle and to stick to it.

– Behind the simplicity of his work’s set, poses, ideas lies subtle points about gender, the female body (and its image), the representation of men in photography, aesthetic & the visual manipulation of the (female) body.

– Even if Blumenfeld’s work has fantasized the 50’s, it shows how complex of an era they were.

– I need to immerse myself back into the 50’s…

– Blumenfeld’s relation to Beauty is intimate. The idealized image of women seems to be the result of his personal relation with his muses. Blumenfeld is a woman’s lover.

– Blumenfeld’s words are inspiring.

– Blumenfeld’s self-depiction of being an amateur photographer has given me hope.

– I can see how his work has influenced the like of Helmut Newton and Herb Ritts.

– His early work is very Cocteau-esque.

– Erwin Blumenfeld might have become a new hero of mine.

Baile! Baile! Ballet!

Fun is not really what comes to mind when I think about Ballet. Aesthetic, grace, control, technical, structure, allure, pattern are words that I’ll associate to the form generally. So is it surprising then my first ever Ballet class gave me so much joy? Yes…But no.

Let’s be honest: within the first few minutes of the class’s begining, I was totally out of my depth. Struggling with counting and the order in which port-de-bras and plie were coming one after the other. Half of the time, my head was slightly bent towards the trained feet of the class mate in front of me, trying to grasp a basic understanding for each task thrown at us in one blink!?

In case I haven’t made myself 180% clear, it was a tough class! And a tough one to choose when never having done Ballet before. Indeed it was tough…And liberating at the same time, therefore I found it Fun.

As a self-trained dancer, I’ve always struggled greatly with technical contemporary dance classes. They often gave me a starting point to explore my own moving style but I was never being able to engage fully with the process behind the delivery. I also have an issue with the way its teaching creates limitations within the dancer’s body by confining the engine within a world of patterns, lines, linearity. I see dance – or shall I say the act of dancing? – as much a communication’s medium that can serves the composer’s purpose(s) as an art itself which can (ab-)use and/or canonize the body. Contemporary dance, to me, is then rather frustrating as it doesn’t seem to allow this kind of versatility unless you relegate technique back to the bowels of the Earth*.

In that sense, I should have been terrified by the idea of starting Ballet. Instead I was very eager to find myself in a structured position. I wasn’t worried about looking good. Neither I was worried about getting it absolutely right. All I cared about was whether I’d be able to go through the “ordeal”. Surprisingly my body didn’t fight it. In fact, it adapted itself much better than I’d have imagined. Of course, my port-de-bras was asymetrical and my plie a bit of a zig-zag style! But how these imprefections could matter when my physicality was given a lease of life within the strict conventions of such an old form?

I have no idea what learning Ballet will bring to my practice, let alone to my process when making performances. Perhaps, at this stage the point is elsewhere and all I should care about is the experience, not the end result. At least, for now.

* Directly borrowed from M. Bulgakov’s Notebook.

Donc Je Suis Malheureux?

Came across, this morning, a quote from French symbolist poet, Jules Laforgue. Borrowed by Gertrude Stein – or maybe the publisher – it cleverly introduces the reader to the atmopshere of Three Lives, before having reached the novel’s first line. I didn’t pay much attention to the quote at first although I thought there’s something beautiful about it. After reading a few pages, I went back to the quote and it hasn’t left my mind since then.

I’m not sure why it’s resonated so strongly but its ambiguity is fascinating me. Laforgue’s quote is very simple, easy to understand but yet very complex. Depending on one’s mood, the time of day, the season or the type of weather, it can be interpreted in different ways. Not as witty as Oscar Wilde’s, there’s something quite light-hearted about it, ironic even. despite declaring officially his unhappy state, the author seems to celebrate it. It is poignant. As poignant as reverse optimism can unexpectedly be!

It was sunny today and I was feeling quite inspired by the place I was having a coffee in. Still the quote’s meaning gave me something to reflect on: was that nostalgia? Was that acceptance? I don’t really know but I like the fact it gave me hope. After all, ce n’est pas ma faute ni celle de la vie…

Worries of the Day

The closer you get to that point of feeling ready to make work again, the scarier it gets, I find…And today, is no exception. Some Soul music is on in the background with dozens of questions running through my veins:

– Where do I start? How do I start?

– What will it be about? Is it about the process? Is it about the end result? Is it about research on a long-term project? Is it about getting back on a saddle?

– Is it personal? Does it have to be personal? Do I want to make it personal? Do I have issues to address?

– What do I want from the piece? Do I want it to be a piece or some work in progress? Do I need to worry about that just yet?

– Can this new work be challenging to me: in its process, duration or execution?

– Can its approach remain organic all the way through?

– Can I find the right balance between reading, thinking & making?

– Can I find the right balance between planning & making?

– Will I be able to control the pressure?

– Is it too early to think about the practicalities?

– What about the audience? What about my relationship to them? Will it be (again) about spectatorship?

– Theatricality or live Physicality?

– Am i already putting barriers before even starting? Do I have reasons to worry?

Maybe worrying is a good thing. Maybe it’s a (good) sign I know the kind of relationship I’ve got with my work, and with my practice in general. Maybe, it’s a (good) sign I’d like to take my practice/work to a next level?

Maybe I shall keep these questions as a premilinary point of reference to go back to when I’ll face my first researching day on this new project.

Dress(es)

Presumably there’s nothing wrong buying a dress. After all, it could be for any occasions and mine was perfectly understandable: I’m a performer; I love Burlesque; I have a (current) fixation on dresses. So What’s the problem? Or – shall I say – why do I have a problem with wearing dresses?

Well, I didn’t. It seemed to have happened suddenly last weekend when I decided to check a few dresses I keep seeing in that shop on Oxford Street. I was very excited with the idea of trying on these dresses, thinking there’s something to do with them. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm died as soon as I tried the first one on. I felt so awkward – just to put it mildly – to the point of freaking out!

Nearly a week has passed and I still can’t get over the fact I was denied the right to wear a dress. Who denied me that right? That’s the question I’m still trying to answer. What is certain is that feeling awkward in a dress started to make me wonder about my relation with my body but also with my masculinity: Was that the reason why I freaked out? Because I felt totally out of place, looking more manly than I actually am? Was I worried about not being in tune with my (performing) body anymore? Or was that simply the fact I went for the obvious? Choosing a dress that doesn’t give any room for ambiguity of gender or physical diversity?

What concerned me, besides the shallow fact that I truly looked awful – and perhaps more awful than any FDQ wannabe – is the social archetypes our society is still living on. Maybe shall I say: the social archetypes our (western) society is going back to? Perhaps that’s just my interpretation, amidst an uncontrollable moment of panic, but it seems that dresses are meant, and only meant, for women. And for a sole purpose of feeling sexy. Therefore, as a man wearing a dress – regardless his sexual orientation – the logic is he’s becoming womanly. What does it leave me to work with then if I only see a dress as a clothing item, dissociated from its gender connotation? What else does it say if I decide to ignore the dress’s sociological representation?

As I keep thinking over and over about these particular dresses and how they failed to tame my masculinity, I’ve started to regret the experience. Maybe I went to the wrong place? Maybe I chose the wrong item? After all not all dresses are designed to create the obvious stereotypes you can associate to femininity. Maybe I was too presomptuous thinking I would look “cool” in a dress just because I’m interested in defying my own gender?

And now, I’m stuck!…(tbc)