Pointed Toes, Pointed Message
I regard myself as extremely lucky to have grown up surrounded by friends in the performing arts. I found myself at plays, rehearsals, musicals, and recitals, always impressed by the talent of young people like myself. During lunch at school, my friends would compete to see who could point their toes the most, eager to attain the perfect form. Meanwhile, I found myself at a disconnect with their passion, with my big toe barely being able to bend, let alone arch my entire foot. I liked science and books, respected our differences, and accepted the fact that I would never really understand their passion.
Sitting at the top of Zellerbach Hall, unsure what to expect from the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, I patiently waited for the show to begin. When the dancers began performing Deep, I was immediately fixated on their pointed toes. Their form was refined and sharp, indicative of the thousands of hours spent practicing their craft.
Needless to say, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I have been impressed countless times, but never had I experienced the chills and emotions I felt throughout the performances of Tuesday night. I find it very hard to articulate my appreciation for the choreography, dancers, and music.
A significant aspect of each performance was the integration of lighting. During Walking Mad, lights were used to make shadows on the wall, which the performers used to their advantage. Music choice was also wonderfully executed, as its ability to pair with the performers and enhance the experience was quite evident in the last performance, Revelations.
Perhaps one of the most intriguing concept behind performance art is deciphering its meaning for yourself. For example, Brontez Purnell’s performance art on March 8th left me absolutely clueless regarding the meaning of his performance. Shirtless and with only items poured out of a backpack, he performed to the audience at the UC Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, leaving me to ponder his intentions.
When asked how he constructed his piece, he responded it was “while drunk in San Francisco”. What seemed to have no tangible meaning to me is just as much art as the Alvin Ailey show. However, the emotions evoked is what I believe defines art.
As I try to derive meaning from two hours of beautiful performances, I feel as though understanding the roots and origins of this dance theater is pertinent to understanding what is being portrayed. Alvin Ailey was born in Rogers, Texas, the rural south, which later inspired his most famous works. He founded the Alvin Ailey American Dance Center in 1969, with the goal of enriching the American modern dance heritage and preserving the uniqueness of the African-American cultural experience.
Ailey was nothing short of a remarkable man, especially as a pioneer of programs promoting arts in education, especially those benefiting underserved communities. I believe what makes Ailey’s work so unique is his integration of multiple styles of dance, including ballet, modern dance, jazz, and African dance.
When asked what he looked for in a dancer, Alvin Ailey answered, “a long, unbroken leg line and deftly articulated legs and feet combined with a dramatically expressive upper torso” (Alvin Ailey: A Life In Dance, 124). This is exactly what is notable in his theater’s dancers; not just pointed feet, but the expression of a pointed message.
Not all art has a pointed message, however, leaving the spectator to deliberate and interpret the work for themselves.
Within a sequence of slides being shown in this class, one slide seemed to pop off of the screen. Perhaps it was the grand, rectangle, cement work of art, with a main focal point being the intersection of dozens of lines spanning the work, directly in the center. Jay DeFeo’s The Rose immediately demands attention of any spectator, even the STEM major taking her first art class at UC Berkeley, who cannot even begin to understand how this work was created. With a two-dimensional projection lacking any sense of accurate dimension evoking such a response, I could only imagine standing in front of The Rose in person. Does this work have a pointed message?
Something I find that even more powerful than the grandeur of The Rose, is the juxtaposition of the appearance of the work and the title. Instantly, one would associate a rose with beauty, being delicate, and being natural from the earth. However, upon actually looking at this work, one would immediately think of concrete, which is often the enemy of nature’s beauty.
As she started this work in 1958, Jay DeFeo originally called it Deathrose, perhaps due to its lack of color and therefore, sense of life. I cannot help but find a strong connection with the Beats movement, as the post-war climate, where war is very much grim, just as The Rose can initially be seen as. However, this movement found beauty in this post-war time, just as this work is beautiful as a whole.
As if more than a ton of thick paint layered and chiseled away repeatedly for almost eight years wasn’t intriguing enough, the story of what happened after this work was finished tops its creation. Bruce Conner was able to document the entire Bekins crew that struggled to remove the massive piece from DeFeo’s apartment in San Francisco. After watching Conner’s film, The White Rose, I would imagine he thoroughly enjoyed watching and documenting this feat. Author Martha Sherrill describes that The Rose “was hauled into the San Francisco Art Institute in 1969, to a room with a slightly hollow, institutional feel, an impersonal place of long tables, brushed aluminium chairs, ungracious light, and sensible flooring”.
It is extremely hard to believe that this work of art was largely disregarded, the background for office meetings, and forgotten to other pieces of art. I find this baffling that a work as huge and loud was silent and ignored by the public for so long. How could something that will be so hard for me to forget be so easy for society of this time? For 20 years, longer than I have been alive, The Rose was out of sight and out of mind, until people finally recognized its immense beauty.
I find myself pondering The Rose’s sense of counterculture, as its size, weight, and thickness was odd and rare. Simultaneously, Alvin Ailey’s style of performance is countercultural in ways that might not be as blatant as a massive cement rose. Straying from the social norm in the world of art allows for myriad ways and techniques to do so. While one may watch the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and quickly derive the message behind each performance, one may stare at Jay DeFeo’s The Rose for hours before deriving meaning. This is the beauty of art.
