Crosslight

Stories From The Beach, Stories From The Stage

La Chapelle Scènes Contemporaines bustles with the warmth of a full house for opening night of The Beach and Other Stories, and the welcome is reciprocated throughout the evening.

Presented as part of Montreal’s contemporary dance institution Danse-Cité’s 42nd season, and with provocative programming ongoing throughout the coming months, it is clear that the dynamite team of Bulgarian-born Montreal-based Maria Kefirova and the live arts multi-disciplinarian Michael Martini is also the perfect pairing of gesture and text, philosophy and practice.

The stage, roped off into a rectangular performance space, features set pieces of a workaday office — a desk, a tablet, a lamp, a folder. This particular folder, though, contains the heart and soul of the show: two dozen or so large, glossy prints of candid, urban colour photographs.

Kefirova reveals each photo with some form of singular physical engagement, gliding one across her torso, another over her arm, then casting each one straight out to her audience, away from herself, in a slowly crystallizing snowflake that takes over centre-stage.

These photos are collected again throughout the performance while Kefirova speaks softly into a microphone, illuminating each image with untethered first-person narratives that engage and implicate the audience. And the audience adores her brand of storytelling.

“I am weaving a corporeal reality out of a fictional narrative.” Maria Kefirova photographed by Vanessa Fortin.

For a show in a dance series, text is surprisingly indelible to the composition of The Beach and Other Stories. Kefirova maintains a velvety consistency in her vocal tone that has the enraptured crowd bursting into delighted giggles whenever she inserts a plot twist, some unexpected profanity, or deadpans a sense of absurdity.

The Beach and Other Stories concludes with the pay-off of fully embodied choreography and ecstatic engagement with the space. After challenging the room to listen and interpret a narrative for the majority of the runtime, to watch and feel what dance does is certainly well earned. The work ultimately finds a niche for itself in Montreal’s long-standing tradition of avant-garde living arts.

“I am weaving a corporeal reality out of a fictional narrative,” Kefirova says, “searching to bring multidimensionality to a photographical archive from the 90s in post-communist Bulgaria. Body and text are short-circuiting the suggestive power of the images, recasting imaginary worlds, and writing alternative histories.”

Below, the playwright Michael Martini answers a few of our critic’s questions about his process, his motivations, and his chemistry with Kefirova.

Michael Martini photographed by Félix Bonnevie.

What does dance as a medium do for you as an artist that other modes of performance do not?

Martini: I think the contemporary dance community in Montreal is quite singular in how mutually supportive the artists are of each other. There’s no nitpicking with form, and a strong will to centre the artist’s agency in creation processes and productions.

As a playwright who doesn’t see characters or dialogue as a given in text to begin with, I feel very liberated working on non-theatre performances. In dance and performance art, I feel there’s generally a perspective on text as a tool or an object valued as a sort of counterweight to abstraction, rather than an all-ruling container.

The artist onstage is the artist onstage first, maybe doing some shapeshifting into characters, but not a character at the mercy of a text first.

What is your favourite thing about Maria Kefirova as a performer?

Martini: Maria’s performance is full of humour, mystery, and a nice overlap between the rough and the elegant. It’s a work full of secret little nuggets if you listen and watch closely — and let Maria cast her spell on you.

What drew you most to this project?

Martini: Maria and I met on a literally scorching hot road trip to perform at Summerworks in Toronto last year, as a sort of Montreal delegation. We connected well — over a shared occasional craving for liver, especially — and Maria invited me some weeks later to participate in writing exercises for her new artistic concepts.

In just a few sessions, the two of us wrote in a sort of ping-pong style over photographs she had brought in of Bulgaria in the 90s, and before we knew it, we had a body of text that seemed to Maria enough to anchor a new creation.

Working with Maria is inspiring. She is incisive, while remaining mysterious. It’s hard to know her next move, and she manages a balance of secret-keeping and generosity in her process that I’m thankful to be in proximity to.◼︎

The Danse-Cité series continues in May, 2024, with Taiwanese-Canadian interdisciplinary dance artist Nien Tzu Weng’s production, 光影 光陰 (Guāngyǐng guāngyīn).

Cover image: Vanessa Fortin

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At Street Level: FRGMNT’s Superheroes Cry Too

An old critic’s axiom says that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. In other words, it’s an absurd and seemingly irreconcilable exercise. Nonetheless, we do write about music, we do dance about architecture, and we dance, too, about lots of other matters of modern concern. The subject of a work of dance is often elusive and diffuse. But dance is nonetheless the operative mode proper to addressing life’s irreconcilable absurdities.

The Montreal collective FRGMNT’s latest performance, entitled Superheroes Cry Too, is an immersive work of art that addresses a number of ostensibly disparate themes: psychotherapy; structural restraint; cyclical nature; ubiquitous media. And the nonrepresentational qualities of movement—particularly the various styles of street dance the collective incorporates—are at once more suitable and also more immediate points of entry into otherwise complicated human conditions, and the more subtle everyday feelings they cultivate.

FRGMNT aims to “make the discussion around the communication of all kinds of difficult emotions fluid, open and empathetic,” their artistic statement explains, “and to normalize the respect of each other’s vulnerability.” There are no obvious markers of super-heroism on display, no capes or X-ray goggles, suggesting that we can seek to identify heroism in the quotidian. And while FRGMNT is an extremely hip collective of multi-talented hip hop artists, it is their vulnerable stance, a bold openness to be exposed and emotional, that ultimately endears Superheroes Cry Too to its audience.

FRGMNT consists of dancers Victoria ‘VicVersa’ Mackenzie, Ja James ‘Jigsaw’ Britton Johnson, Nubian Néné, Mukoma-K. ‘J. Style’ Nshinga, and the project’s co-directors, DJ and dancer Richard ‘Shash’U’ St-Aubin and choreographer Céline ‘ezzeC’ Richard-Robichon. And although the crew have known each other in intersecting circles since the early 2000s, they have come together in this configuration specifically for this work.

“It’s my first time being in this type of collective,” Shash’U tells me via telephone on the day before their premiere, “so I’m very excited about that.”

“Initially it was Victoria’s idea. She had this idea of bringing people together to work on a project, but also having the opportunity that we can develop and exchange different types of leadership. It was a cool exercise. It’s been a mix of all of our heads together.”

Superheroes Cry Too is presented at Ausgang Plaza in a series of loosely structured tableaus. The performers invite the audience to move about freely, obliterating the boundaries between spectator and stage. The narrator draws us into a story about a doctor-patient relationship while another dancer spins amidst a ceremonial circle of chrome handles, virtually hovering in mid-air. The dreamlike and aquatic electronic music and the dancer’s actions draw the audience from a claustrophobic wooden box to a circle of pink kitchen chairs, from one tableau to another, like chapters in a short story.

“We feel like it’s a whole experience,” Shash’U says. “It’s not really a Yellow Brick Road thing, it’s more like you’re in it and it’s a good vibe. For me, the meaning of the show is the experience that I’ve had through the collective itself. It’s essentially my experience with the collective expressed into a piece.”

FRGMNT’s members come from contrasting disciplines. “I really grew up in street dance,” Shash’U says, “so my styles were locking, popping, krump, and hip-hop. A lot of the dancers in this collective are very much familiar with hip hop. Néné is a pro at house dance. She also represents waacking, hip-hop, and house dance around the world. Ja I’ve known as a krumper and today he works with ebnfloh, which is mostly street dance. And Victoria worked with different crews. Everybody does have their experience in street dance and the stage. But to come together for this idea is very unique and also very unexpected.”

The collective also aims to break down the borders between institutional and more informal cultural traditions. “It’s different than going to a dance school and learning classical practices.” Shash’U says. “With something like Ballet, there’s a clearer structure in the way things are done, and that’s how they stay constant. For street dance, a lot of it is learned through human interaction. It’s very much a socially embedded type of thing. It’s hard to learn about street dance by sitting down and reading a book, or by following one way of doing things.”

There is a procedural quality to Superheroes Cry Too, an element of controlled chaos that exists between improvisation and highly choreographed movement. “All this is still a big process for us,” Shash’U explains. “A show is not really like a haircut. It’s never done, done. While you’re still getting it, you’re realizing this could be cool for next time, or that could be adjusted. This thing that we’re making makes us feel a certain way, and you just want to grow into that.”

It is ultimately the feeling that emerges between performer and spectator that makes Superheroes Cry Too so moving. There is no question that we can successfully dance about architecture, since dance is a powerful form of non-verbal communication, one which seeks to rationalize the irrational and grasp the unfathomable. “Because of the way it was taught to us, it has very much to do with communication skills,” Shash’U reminds me.

“The idea for me of street dance is sharing what they’ve learned, or wanting to showcase what they’ve learned to other people who understand. That’s the core of it. It’s the main reason why one B-boy thinks that they’re better than another B-boy. They believe in their passion, their art, their discipline. They think, I feel like I want to talk about this, I feel like I want to share this, and I want to show this to my friend who is going through the same things, and I want to have these conversations—but through dance. When it comes to us exercising our idea of art and discipline, the DNA of street dancing has to do with communication. You have no choice but to communicate.”◼︎

Superheroes Cry Too continues through December 11th at Ausgang Plaza.

@nichemtl

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