New Dance Writing – Festival Edition
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#interview
“I’m the queen of slowness” Layla Leiman chats to Sonia Radebe about Ngizwise When she made Ngizwise, Sonia Radebe was the only female dancer in Moving Into Dance Mophatong (MIDM), and had been for many years. “I had quite a few challenges,” she says in an interview ahead of the work’s showing at Dance Umbrella 2015, “because I thought: am I expected to do more acrobatic movements because I am working with men? I said no, I will work however the piece wants me to work. That doesn’t make me any less of a choreographer or daring choreographer.” This honesty and personal conviction is perhaps a part of what informed Radebe’s decision to leave MIDM after 10 years and go independent at the end of last year. Since then she has been busy in studio “really trying to find my artistic voice. I think that’s where it should start from. Before I can say ‘jump high’, I think firstly I need to learn what jumping means, and see if I can jump, and only then ask others to jump.”
Street beat, see reports on Page 3 Pananai perform at the Street Beat Platform. Pic by John Hogg
Ngizwise, which was created in collaboration with Canadian choreographer Jennifer Dallas, foreshadowed, and perhaps influenced, her current reflective attitude. “The creation process entailed lots of discussions between [ourselves] and the dancers. We spoke about our backgrounds, we shared our personal histories and the country’s history … it was an important space for us to share, to say ‘hey, this is what has happened.” Some of these stories – sad, good, funny, and shocking – Radebe admits have been heard before. But this makes them no less important. “We can’t just delete and do away with them. They’re scars and memories that have history and we carry them with us each and every day.” Ngizwise, which is isiZulu for “let me have a taste of that”, also translates as “help me listen.” Radebe explains that this is “like when you’ve heard something and you’re perplexed by what it means.” This notion of processing and reflecting on the past is at the core of the work, but it was only through making it that she realised this was the case. “I allow the work to speak to me and then in the creation process that’s when I hear what it is trying to say.” The choreography followed a similarly immersive and experimental trajectory. It was clear to Radebe and Dallas that whatever movement language they created had to be authentic to the cast and had to display their abilities. “The last thing that we wanted to see was the dancers suffering on stage, or feeling uncomfortable with what they’re doing.” As a result, the work has a lot of humour and laughter in it, singing, but also ritualistic and slow movements. “I’m not scared of slowness as a performer, whether witnessing it or doing it. In terms of the piece, most of the sections were so beautiful in such a way that it felt wrong to disrupt and rush them.” This understanding and appreciation of slowness is a quality she came to appreciate from MIDM founder, Sylvia Glasser. “If you move too fast, you don’t breathe. We love sweating as dancers, but sometimes the sweat doesn’t mean that you’re actually working,” she jokes. “So I’m the queen of slowness.”
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By way of example, Radebe cites a duet where the dancers move crates from each other’s heads without using their arms: “It’s really lovely to see how the bodies move together and try to find ways to assist each other. I think our bodies tell a lot of stories that you don’t need words to explain. This section gives me the ability to really appreciate how the body moves, not without technique, but for the sake of it being a body. It was quite challenging for the guys. It’s actually more tiring than being fast.”
“I need to learn what jumping means” Another significant scene in Ngizwise is the ritualistic wrapping of six metres of isiShwe-Shwe fabric around one of the dancer’s heads. This pays tribute to women and the role that they play in society. She also wanted to show an alternate portrayal of masculinity, one which is soft and caring; feminine without being effeminate. This followed on from discussions the cast had around a skirt, depicted in one of the images Dallas and herself wanted to have on stage. “Some of the guys were quite reluctant because they felt like ‘why a skirt in 2015, you know I’m not gay’. So I actually gave them a task to research the skirt in black tradition. You know, Xhosas have always worn skirts, so have the Masai, so it’s not what we think it is. After this they were quite open to it, and after a while they didn’t want to take them off. You move differently in a skirt, it’s like there’s another performer on stage with you, so you can’t avoid that. In fact, some of the choreography was actually created from the skirts, and how we interact and move in them.” Radebe’s hope is that Ngizwise will spark conversations for the audience. “It’s through talking about our history that we will be able to make sense of it and move forward.” – Ngizwise will show at the John Kani Theatre on the 14th and 15th of March. Ngizwise is choreographed by Sonia Radebe and Jennifer Dallas. Pic by Val Adamson
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Mamela Nyamza’s new work reflects the artist’s inner turmoil, writes Stefanie Jason “Sies! Ga! Mcim! Nxa,” dancer Mamela Nyamza repeats as she sucks on her teeth while her tongue smacks her palate. These are the colloquial utterances often used when mouths are turned down, sometimes – depending on the severity of the action preceding the slanderous expressions - “Sies! Ga! Mcim! Nxa!” might even be uttered with projectile saliva or a slap to the face. As Nyamza grates these words over and over – the only rhythms to her body’s moves - the audience can hear the sound of her shame. And in that moment – as she spins around in a forest of pot plants on the Dance Factory’s stage landing, with these words trailing after her – Nyamza proclaims, Wena, Mamela! (You, Mamela!)”; confirming that this disgust is directed at herself. This is internal conflict. For a large part of “Wena Mamela”, the Gugulethu-born Nyamza carries a puppet, designed by Janni Younge, on her back, tied to her body. So when she has her back towards the theatre audience, there’s another figure staring back at us, creating the illusion of two people on stage.
The internal battle made external
“Of course you wear a puppet in the front,” Nyamza says sarcastically in a recording of a post-mortem on ‘Wena Mamela”, posted on Youtube. “Wearing it the other way around, [shows my] many personalities. Because I wear many hats. I’m Mamela, I’m a mother, I’m an artist, I’m a lesbian.” So as Nyamza, spins around, alternating between her puppet alter ego and award-winning choreographer or neither, or fusing the two, to create a mesh of all personalities, we are physically shown her binaries and interweaving stories. Nyamza refers to the puppet as her “baggage”. “This is my colonised body, because this is Mamela,” she says touching her chest. “But my colonised or Christian name is ‘Miranda’. I am Nyamza Miranda Mamela. So this is my identity. I have this body, which has many other bodies.” For Nyamza, these contrasts presented themselves from early on. She trained in classical ballet at Zama Dance School in the Cape Town township, where she was born and raised, and was later awarded a scholarship to the renowned Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre in New York. Being exposed to different cultures, artistic influences and seasons - as a travelling artist, such as herself - nurtures an interestingly layered personality. In tracing our biological evolution of our inner conflict, Edward O Wilson, a US theorist, wrote for the New York Times: “[Man’s] eternal conflict is not God’s test of humanity. It is not a machination of Satan. It is just the way things worked out... We will find a way eventually to live with our inborn turmoil, and perhaps find pleasure in viewing it as a primary source of our creativity.”
#Artist Q & A
Certainly for Nyamza, conflict has proved the source of creativity for Wena Mamela, which was created in 2014 by the award-winning choreographer-dancer in residency in Germany.
“we are physically shown her binaries, and interweaving stories.” At the conclusion Nyamza stripped down to her bikini. Pic by John Hogg
“The origin of this piece was triggered by my sense of guilt: as an artist and a single parent, I am often away from my teenage son,” said Nyamza in an interview with Robyn Sassen. From Wena Mamela’s informal start, we witness this relatable inner struggle subtly manifest on the stage. In one final interlude Nyamza’s body moves in the low light projected from one side of the stage. Sandy, muddy, earthy-coloured
limbs and their clinging shadows flow like water at first and then later, as if stuck to herself, she moves jarringly – like a dancer wrestling with herself. Her facial reactions demonstrate this fight: smiling, angry, tongue out, confusion. It’s awkward, but also bold, and her body’s contortions and movements just phenomenal. The audience laugh and probably wince too.
There’s nothing polite or subtle about Gavin Krastin’s work. Last year at the National Arts Festival he invited us into an icy chapel to feast off a banquet laid out on his body. Krastin’s interests lie in the permeability and politics of boundaries – of the body and how it is represented, of theatre conventions, gender, and space – within the larger South African socio-political context. His new work, On Seeing Red premiered at the Dance Umbrella last week. Layla Leiman: Does your new work at Dance Umbrella 2015, On seeing red, continue on from previous works or take off in a new direction? Gavin Krastin: The work certainly continues to look at rituals, cultural performance and myth-making. In particular, themes surrounding dystopian existence are overriding factors in the work, as with “Discharge” (2012) (in collaboration with Alan Parker and Rat Western). Also in this work are images strongly associated with celebration and the marking of particular times, which is a theme that was explored in my work last year “#omnomnom”. All of these works as well as “Rough Musick” (2013) were inspired by a questioning of land, ownership, displacement and colonisation. But stylistically I am also playing with something different with regards to theatre and performance. The body has always figured prominently in your work. What interests you in the body, and your body as a performer, as site? The body is both time and space (it lives and occupies), it is also incredibly fragile yet absolutely resilient, so as an artist operating in a time-based medium it is really the ultimate choice of instrument for me. It is also irreplaceable and its productions
ephemeral when present in live performance. I think the body is relatable and yet contentious and highly politicised and to be in a body is an incredibly treacherous feat to endure. My own body is also often a starting point or point of departure in my work – being conscious and critical of my body as white, male, androgynous, homosexual, and ‘other’. In this work you interrogate the tension between theatrical forms and their limitations. Can you please tell us more about this? Cabaret is the product of a particular time, and a particular context and in a way serves a specific function. Transgressing the boundaries of an art form exposes these limitations. On seeing red looks a lot at fantasy and art/performance forms such as cabaret, burlesque, surrealism, drag and fairy tales (Disney) and how in turning to fantasy these forms distract from the reality from which they have arisen. In deconstructing these forms, this escapist tendency is highlighted and the dystopian realities that these fantasies work to conceal are made visible. – first published on Between 10 and 5: The Creative Showcase.
The pulse of Street Beat by Layla Leiman When I entered the Wits Theatre the Street Beat programme, a new addition to this year’s Dance Umbrella festival, had already started and the Soweto Junxtion crew where already on, shimmying and jiving across the stage in matching newsprint dungarees and patent leather red shoes to cheers and whistles by an almost capacity crowd. I found a seat, intending to stay for just a few routines before heading backstage, but after each performance I found myself saying “just one more” until the event ended.
Jiva Jozi Perfect Storm Pantsula pic by John Hogg
When the Street met the Stage Nondumiso Msimanga reports on the new Street Beat Platform It seems the youth of the country are steering us into a new cultural revolution. The New School in dance is in hip hop (as in music), pantsula and iSbhujwa. iSbhujwa was cultivated in the democratic era with the development of new kwaito dances that celebrate the ability of being “young, gifted and black”, to use the famous jazz phrase. But Street Dance is no longer only for black youth or the “street”. It is a style in collaboration with the latest of hip hop and pantsula that brings stories of what it means to be South African today. At the Dance Umbrella’s inaugural Street Beat festival, the Wits Theatre was packed with young and old, ranging from six to 60. It was a hesitant start, though. There were forgotten words and moves. As the dancers struggled to thrill the audience – who applauded timidly at the end of the first two pieces – it seemed that Street Beat might have been a failed experiment.
“Men whistled, women ululated, girls shouted “Ayi ayi ayi” and children jumped about on the floor” Street Beat is the brainchild of Matthews “Oupa” Manamela, a dancer turned co-ordinator. It is a forum that replaces the Stepping Stones segment of Dance Umbrella. Where Stepping Stones was a free-for-all platform for all types of community dance groups to test their pieces in front of an audience, Street Beat is specifically conceived to bring about bringing these street dance forms onto the stage for the paying theatre audience. “One of my objectives was to create pieces that can be performed for theatre,” Manamela says passionately, his faith in the potential of this venture unshaken. He was prepared for some false starts, knowing that “with some (groups) it will be difficult to shift into the theatre”. Sibusiso Douglas, a dancer with Vilacosta, articulates the same sentiment regarding bridging the gap between the
streets to the stage. He says: “Asikhonanga ukusebenzisa i-prop e-stage”, meaning that they did not get a chance to rehearse with the props on the stage.
“It was a picture of South Africa expressing its joy” From Struggle to Success was the second pantsula piece of the day, following an untitled performance by Soweto Junxion. The applause at the end of the pantsula dances was rivalled only by the cacophony of sounds during the performances. Men whistled, women ululated, girls shouted “Ayi ayi ayi” and children jumped about on the floor, wanting to join in. It was a picture of South Africa expressing its joy. A member of the audience, Raffi Gabeyan, had a wide smile when he said “the creativity of the choreography… they are using props that we are used to everyday and it is very South African.” Gestures of reading newspapers and shaking heads, looking at the time and waiting for taxis, begging and sweeping, hands on breaking backs as the wheels of time turning were made visible to the rhythm of crates spinning on whitegloved fingers. After the interval, Manamela’s idea truly danced. The hip hop dance by Mpho Ramogase and Siyabonga Ndaba and iSbujwa choreography of Mpho Ramarou took the best elements of Street Dance’s technical prowess and sheer entertainment value to a new height with their quirky integration of theatrical storytelling. Manamela was particularly proud of the two groups’ growth during the process of mentorship that challenged their usual two-minute routine in the creation of 10-minute works. “You went through a journey of an interesting hip hop piece,” he says, adding: “iSbhujwa had everything you want in Afrofusion dance!” Not only was it “a great experience”, as many dancers said, but Ramogase says this could be the turning point the country’s youth have been waiting for. “We depend on competitions to make money so this is a stepping stone to a career.”
From the first routine by Soweto Junxtion to the last by Exit Dance Crew, I was captivated by the virtuoso moves, the swag and sartorial flair, the music and the energy filling the theatre. Each piece was titled and themed. In The Soul Collector by the Smangory Dance Crew, Satan and his crew of zombie workers harvested sinners’ souls, while the Supreme I Dance Crew told the coming-of-age tale of the outcast who becomes the hero in Dance Semester. Not all the pieces were quite so literal. Decked out all in black with stark white gloves and socks, the Vilacosta crew’s From Struggle to Success embodied the ‘Pantsula for life’ credo, where dancing is both an escape from and expression of township experiences. The desire for social mobility marked almost all of the performances. Like Pantsula, hip-hop dance was born on the streets, and the Creed Dance Crew took it upon themselves to educate us on the growth and merits of this dance form in their routine entitled The Rise of the Assassin Creed. When I asked Creed what makes their dance style unique, I was schooled again. “Because we are the original founders of a new style called Vocal Buckness,” said Blayze, one of the two lead choreographers, adding: “it’s intense, it’s got energy – we dance from within”. I wanted to know how within the strict choreography of the group they also found expression as individual dancers. “First of all,” MGL tells me, “we try to be as united as possible”. This means synchronising movements, and facial expressions too. “For me,” MGL continues, “hip-hop is emancipation of self”. He goes on to explain that they try and incorporate each dancer’s character into the choreography so that the routines are easier for everyone to execute. It’s one for all and all for one in the Creed crew. An iSbhujwa crew, The Tribe, reiterated this sentiment, saying that they’d rather die than not dance together. For them, being part of the crew means belonging and being able to create and tell stories. “We want to tell a story physically, that’s why we’re dancers and why we were born with this,” they said. iSbhujwa dance is inspired by Pantsula and hip-hop, and, like these, is hugely tied to dress styles emerging from street and township culture. Ironically, it was performing on stage at The Dance Umbrella that The Tribe felt they could communicate themselves and their story best. At home in Soweto, audiences apparently don’t always understand what they‘re trying to do. I don’t really know what to make of this, as it sort of turns street dance on its head. But I’m no authority on the scene, just a new fan.
– first published in The Sunday Independent, March 8, 2015.
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#upcoming
A double serving of gender themes By Same Mdluli A double bill programme at the Dance Umbrella presented a conversation between two very different yet equally compelling performances: ‘fight, flight, feather, f***ers’ and The Architecture of Tears. Each performance spoke about gender but their strength was in how they took the audience through this journey using intelligent choreography in exploring the tensions of this on stage. The content of the two pieces also tackled the emotional struggles of forming an identity.
“it questioned whether there will ever come a time when society, not just South African society, can live in genderless communities”
Nelisiwe Xaba in her new work Fremde Tänze (Foreign Dances) is at the Dance Factory on 14 March at 20:15 and 15 March at 14:30.
This was eloquently portrayed in The Architecture of Tears, the first show presented in the programme. Choreographed by Ananda Fuchs and performed by FO8’s duo Grant van Ster and Shaun Oelf with dancer/musician Thabisa Dinga, The Architecture of Tears combined visual projected images of magnified tears, carefully selected music and riveting dance to form a lyrical narration of tender moments, painful falls, and sometimes-sudden jerks of rejection. The visuals were inspired by a study of ‘100 Tears Photographed Through A Standard Light Microscope’ conducted by Rose-Lynn Fisher in 2013. Although it made the piece visually appealing, sometimes such relationships between mediums require careful attention to detail for them to make sense to the audience and the work. Nonetheless its ending was rewarding concluding on a celebratory note about acceptance and embracing oneself. In contrast ‘fight, flight, feather, f***ers’ addressed the hard facades used in identity-formation. Choreographed by Sunny Boy Motau and Rachel Erdos and performed by the MIDM (Moving Into Dance Mophatong) company this piece was more concerned with the ‘psychology and physicality of masculinity’. It was an energetic performance. Lighting formed a key component in revealing and concealing: the piece began with a play between light and a silhouette. As the figure becomes more visible to the audience, he is suddenly joined by three other figures, wearing suits and masks that give them a strange animal-cum-human character resembling the haunting figures in contemporary artist Jane Alexander’s Butcher Boys. The four then battle through a confrontation, negotiating the various ideas of masculinity, which it seems are sometimes driven by the ego, insecurities, and fear.
Sello Pesa once again creates an outside installation work called Simunye: We are One. It will be performed in the Newtown Precinct on March 12 and 13 from 18:30.
and March 15 at 15:00 at the John Kani, Market Theatre, is a collaboration between South African Sonia Radebe and Canadian Jennifer Dallas.
Veteran choreographer Tossie van Tonder makes a comeback with a new work called Chthonia. Focusing on van Tonder’s 32 year long archive, her life will be given full expression through this work which embodies the strength and emotion that this ageing female dancer expresses. It will be performed on March 12 and 13 from 8pm at the John Kani Theatre
Dance Umbrella’s final programme takes place at the MOAD Gallery on Sunday March 15 from 19:00. Called Negotiating Spaces, seven choreographers will negotiate their way around the space assigned to them within the gallery
Nelisiwe Xaba will be working with the theme of “Exotic Dance” in her new work Fremde Tänze (Foreign Dances). Created in residency at the Julius-HansSpiegel-Zentrum in Freiburg, Germany, the focus on this work is investigating the forgotten aspect of German and West-European “Modern” dance. Fremde Tänze is at the Dance Factory on 14 March at 20:15 and 15 March at 14:30.
Face to Face conversations after performances: the popular Face-to-Face interviews where a few selected choreographers, will discuss the various aspects and creative processes of their staged works, after a performance. Audiences will be invited to join in the conversations: Tossie Van Tonder in conversation with Adrienne Sichel: March 13 Nelisiwe Xaba in conversation with Mary Corrigall: March 14
Ngizwise, which will be presented on March 14 at 19:00
As a female audience member it would be pretentious to claim to fully understand what ideas about masculinity are pertinent to today. Yet what ‘fight, flight, feather, f***ers’ does is create a space where, although at times uneasy, the viewer is allowed into the debate about what makes masculinity a challenging subject not only to men but also to women. It does this through encounters and symbols of manhood but it also presents those conflicted struggles of belonging, acceptance and validation where, even in a pack or collective, there is no room for individuality and self-assurance. At times masculinity is portrayed as vulnerability, which starts to raise interesting questions about accepted ideas of gender in society. This is because vulnerability is often associated with femininity and women and so there is a sense of emasculation implied. Perhaps this is where the feathers come in; while they gave the piece a playful feel, they also softened the harsh movements of the dancers being shoved and thrown on stage. The piece ended with a magical rain of white feathers descending from the sky onto the four figures, now intertwined in synchronic motion beneath an angelic spotlight.
Ananda Fuch’s Architecture of Tears dealt with the emotional baggage attached to gender. Pic by John Hogg
Both pieces demonstrated that there is indeed space for everyone be to who they are and want to be. This double bill delivered a double serving of responses and reactions to accepted ideas of gender but more importantly it questioned whether there will ever come a time when society, not just South African society, can live in genderless communities, and why such an idea would be necessary to imagine in the first place.
Other Highlights:
Credits: Editor : Mary Corrigall Production Manager: Benjamin Keuffel Designer: Adéle Prins, www.prinsdesign.co.za Contributors: Same Mdluli, Nondumiso Msimanga, Layla Leiman, Stefanie Jason. Photographs: John Hogg Acknowledgements: This publication would not be possible without the support of the Goethe-Institut or Dance Forum and the individuals driving the promotion of these institutions; Benjamin Keuffel and Georgina Thomson. Thanks to all the dancers and choreographers who provide the inspiration for the content.
Errata: In the second edition of The Dance Umbrella Gazette, we erroneously suggested that Constanza Macras’s On Fire: The Invention of Tradition was created in collaboration with dancers from the Moving Into Dance Mophatong, this was incorrect. We apologise for the error.
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