Dance and Life Lessons in a Night at BAM

Inspiration … why, and from where, does it come? Although I do like to think it can be found in encounters with the arts—whether visual, literary, or in performance—I feel that often it can come from contact with certain people—either from their advice, or demonstrative example. And when I experience both such opportunities in a single night, I feel that could be blog-worthy.




Neil is my father’s college roommate. He is a very successful production manager, who currently works for the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM). Occasionally, he invites me and my roommates to see a show at BAM—if he has tickets available, and thinks the show is particularly good. Having seen and produced theater, dance, music, and other events for years in America and abroad, Neil has experienced shows of varying quality and maintains little tolerance for crap. But that doesn’t always mean he doesn’t mind being bored by a show—just so long as it is well-produced. Still, he likes to invite us to performances that we may find worthwhile.

So, Tim and I met at BAM’s Harvey Theater on a rainy night (it always seems to rain when we go there) to see the opening of the modern dance piece, Haze, performed by the Beijing Dance Theater. Dance, I’ll admit, is really not my thing. I do admire the dancers’ grace, physical strength and control, and their daunting endurance. And I certainly respect dance as an art form, and wholeheartedly support my 10-year-old sister’s burgeoning ballet career. But, I’d prefer to see a play, honestly.

For example, the last major dance performance I saw was a production of Romeo and Juliet by the New York City Ballet. Unlike modern dance pieces, it had a well-known plot and distinct characters, as well as the grace, beauty, and music of a major ballet. And yet, I couldn’t help wanting to hear Shakespeare’s words so badly in every scene. The whole story was glamorously present—but it just wasn’t the play.

“Just because I offer you tickets, doesn’t mean you have to say ‘yes’,” Neil reminded us when we met him before the show. True—and if we’d been busy that night, we would have turned him down. But we were free, and Tim and I do like seen new artistic productions, talking with Neil, and hobnobbing at exclusive after-show receptions.

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We found our seats in the balcony. The tall chairs there were higher in each row going back, creating the sense that the balcony is more steeply raked than it is—and inducing a touch of vertigo. Although we took a liking to the chairs (Tim hopes to acquire some for our living room when Neil remodels the theater), we suddenly realized how good our seats had been on previous trips to BAM.

The stage was modestly set—but unusually so: rather than a traditional performance surface, like a vinyl marley floor, the stage was filled with a large rectangle of a mattress-like material, that was evidently bouncy and spongy when danced upon. The properties of this surface made the next hour intriguing: just how would the dancers incorporate and interact with this material—a foundation springier and less solid than a regular stage? The dancing, it turns out, was not aerial in nature—this was no trampoline they were on. Rather, a softer-than-normal surface allowed more falling and interaction with the ground than a typical dance piece (I guess.) But of course, the floor also promoted much hopping, bouncing, and running by the members of the ensemble as they demonstrated their concept of “haze.”

This concept included modern concerns (like the smog of Chinese cities), as well as natural conditions (like fog and smoke—billowing from smoldering embers upstage). The penetration of light through this fog, and the dancer’s interaction with it, occupied much of the initial action. The music—melodic strings over droning repetitive electronic (?) rhythms—maintained the pace of the show. And the dancers, of course, were very committed, beautiful, and inspiring in the use of their very bodies as a medium. Haze, as a concept, certainly includes numerous themes worthy of artistic exploration: blurred boundaries and definitions, or even the distortion of memory and perception. What it all meant when the entire ensemble filled the stage, and stood motionless as snowflakes drifted down on them for minutes? I don’t know yet, but it was beautiful.

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Afterward, we met Neil at the reception hosted by the China Institute. Over wine and egg rolls, Neil talked with us about life and art. Producing the festivals, series, and seasons at BAM—while running and maintaining their spaces (and even designing and overseeing the construction of future venues)—fills Neil’s time pretty well. And yet, he still manages to hit the gym regularly, see several shows each week not at BAM, occasionally fly to Europe for a single night, and find some time to be with his wife (that is, if she’s programmed in his BlackBerry.) A busy and demanding life, yes, but he seems incredibly happy. And that’s because he loves what he does—and finally does what he always wanted to do. Tim and I assumed all this, but it’s more effective to hear it from the man himself. Neil also emphasized (for my benefit more than Tim’s) both the need to live every day to its fullest, and to just do more of whatever it is that I love to do so I may become as good as I want to—and know I can—be. Do more, see more, work more … and you’ll do better and be happy and successful. I’ve found it easy to dismiss this kind of advice before when abstracted—and even when I have living examples (and persistent supporters) in my own family.  But maybe hearing it this umpteenth time, though, will make an impact. I hope so, because as we all know, I’ve tried nothing, and I’m all out of ideas.