Behind the Scenes with Taylor 2
A collective gasp reverberated throughout the recital hall after our dance instructor delivered the exciting news: she had been able to obtain permission for our class of six to watch the dress rehearsal of Taylor 2, a world-renowned modern dance company. Before his death, legendary choreographer Paul Taylor formed the company to facilitate accessibility to his works and movement style. On the afternoon of the inaugural performance of the Myrtle Woldson Performing Arts Center’s first fall season, our class snuck into the dark Coughlin Theater. Pencil scribbles and keyboard clacks betrayed our earnest note taking. Dancers dressed like they were about to visit the Arctic pranced and rolled about the stage, preparing their bodies for movement in an extremely individualized ritual. The technical director recited cues to the light board operator in an incomprehensible tongue. Another lady sat attentively nearby, notepad in hand, waiting for the clock to strike 2:30 for the rehearsal to begin. She noticed my friends and I whispering to one another, trying to figure out what her title was. She turned and and stated, “I’m the Director.” We exchanged a glance. A quick Google search produced her bio, which was sprinkled with big dance company names. If someone looked at a scan of our dance-loving brains at that moment, our amygdalas would have been lit up with joy and fascination.
Moments later when the rehearsal commenced, my brain scan would have probably looked similar. The stage became a playground and the dancers zig-zagged and snaked about, constantly switching positions with one another. Formations changed at the blink of an eye as circles unfolded into lines or vice-versa. Torsos held firmly in place seemed to float over gliding feet. The occasional angular lean with rounded arms added sharpness amidst the chaos. The music and dancing quickened, contributing to an overall sense of delightful confusion. Pedestrian bent limbs and raised shoulders mingled strangely with balletic beating of the legs and a classical score. A simple revelation hit: modern dance is not ballet.
The energy from the beginning of the piece suddenly pooled at the dancers’ fingertips and could not seem to reach into space. The fatigue of travel, sightseeing, and teaching was evident in each drop of sweat that flew from the glistening foreheads onstage. A confident blare of recorded clarinets and trumpets pushed the dancers on. Another realization took hold: the expectation of professional dancers always being perfect in both rehearsal and performance must be abandoned. The music’s formulaic structure elevated the performance with a stately flair. Eventually, the orchestral melody was replaced with the sound of dancers’ gasping breaths, signaling the end of the dance. In between pieces, we giggled at the dancers engaging in onstage shenanigans, rolling all over the floor and laughing with each other during a short break.
The second piece was a sharp departure from the previous one, with Argentinian influenced, forceful movements, sultry hip sways and lots of attitude. Three male dancers in a triangular formation paralyzed us all with a single simultaneous snap of their fingers. Next, a pair began a duet, dancing while attached at the forehead. I leaned over to my classmate and whispered, “why didn’t I think of that?” As the female dancers stomped furiously in their heels, it seemed as though they were typing out a series of Morse code messages in a frenzy. The sonority of the dancers’ breath, which is unique to modern dance, served as an additional accent to the steps. Throughout the piece, the technical director calling cues and the lights slowly changing to accommodate her directions added to the wondrous din.
Next came an interesting meditation on sexuality in the form of dance, which has been historically ignorant of LGBTQ experiences. Two women tangoed across my dilated pupils, a foreign sight. The next section challenged my expectations as well. It consisted of two male dancers collapsing over each other, grinding their hips together, and doing impressive lifts. One man standing upright held the other upside down by his waist, the face of the upright man between the other’s legs. They then proceeded to cartwheel over each other. The other company members then met them onstage and they all clumped together in a human knot of sorts, then swayed their hips seductively. At intermission, I was not surprised to read in the program that Taylor tackled “some of society’s thorniest issues. While he often propelled his dancers through space for the sheer beauty of it, he more frequently used them to comment on such profound issues as [...] sexuality [...] His repertoire of 147 works covers a breathtaking range of topics, but recurring themes include [...] love and sexuality in all gender combinations.” It seems that Mr. Taylor was a man ahead of his time. His work is one of the finest examples of using dance to promote contemplation and perhaps even social change, a very Jesuit idea that happens to align with my own artistic goals.
Two unforgettable hours later, I emerged from the auditorium sleepy but still in awe of what had transpired. During my five-minute walk home, I felt so lucky to live so close to a performing arts center. I may not have this opportunity for the rest of my life, so I plan to continue to soak up as much of it as I can.
