The Demise of Le Groupe Dance Lab: The End of An Era, Part 2

By Michael Crabb

Ottawa’s Le Groupe Dance Lab, for more than twenty years a vital incubator of dance creativity under the artistic direction of Peter Boneham, closed permanently last summer. In making its decision, Le Groupe’s board of directors pinpointed, among many factors, the difficulty of evolving from a founder-led organization to one with new artistic leadership.

Le Groupe Dance Lab had initiated a plan that theoretically would provide for a smooth transition but, as Michael Crabb explains in the second installment of his account of the company’s demise, a concatenation of intricately entwined events conspired to bring Le Groupe down.

More...
Tony Chong, having served a three-year apprenticeship as Le Groupe Dance Lab’s associate director, formally took over the company’s leadership on July 1st, 2008, with Peter Boneham retaining a close involvement as senior artistic advisor. Boneham continued to teach and serve as a “monitor” for visiting choreographers as requested but Chong assumed the responsibility for artistic planning and daily operations. The circumstances in which Chong began his new job, however, were less than auspicious.

On the financial front things had been looking bleak since the spring. A major cash-flow crunch that could have triggered layoffs was only averted by board intervention. Board members covered a bridging loan until the grant money finally arrived. The departure of general manager Anthony Pan that summer meant Chong began his first season without a senior administrator; but then Chong himself, with what can only be judged the most inopportune timing, was initially absent in Toronto, creating Bloodletting and Other Pleasant Things for Dancemakers.

Boneham kept the artistic side running more or less normally but in an atmosphere of uncertainty. Lainie Towell, an independent Ottawa dance artist who began working in Le Groupe’s office four years earlier, was, by 2008, occupying a fulltime position as director of communications. “Without a manager there were a lot of areas where we just didn’t know what was going on,” Towell recalls. “There was definitely a problem.” Eventually, a respected former manager of Le Groupe, Marlene Alt, was brought in on a part-time basis to try to figure out the finances. Meanwhile, the City of Ottawa, in one of its recurrent threats to economize by slashing arts funding, precipitated even greater worries.

It may sound merely technical but in terms of Le Groupe’s financial management there was a chronic problem with the timing of the city’s grant. The city’s fiscal year matches the calendar year. Le Groupe’s was July 1st to June 30th. Laura Cyr, Cultural Planner – Funding for the City of Ottawa, explains that some years earlier Le Groupe had forgotten to apply for an annual grant. From then on it meant that Le Groupe’s current grant, in terms of the city’s budget, was posted retroactively to the company’s previous fiscal year. For example, because of this six-month accounting discrepancy, Le Groupe applied the city’s 2008 grant of $125,000 to its 2007/08 fiscal year. It was thus unable, given the vicissitudes of city budgeting and recurrent threats of cuts to the arts, to draw up a current operating budget with a dependable estimate of the city’s subvention. With yet another arts funding cut looming, Le Groupe’s board of directors was understandably anxious.

The Ontario Arts Council’s annual contribution, despite modest increases in 2007 and 2008, had been declining for almost a decade – from $96,350 in 1999 to $75,750 in 2006. The Canada Council’s grant remained fairly stable throughout this period, ranging from $205,000 to $210,000.

The board was thus seriously concerned about Le Groupe’s financial situation and was looking to cut costs. The roster of dancers was reduced from six to five. Normand Vandal, Le Groupe’s longtime resident designer – a title that hardly comprehended the range of his activities – was peremptorily let go with only the reassurance that he might be re-engaged as needed on short-term contracts. Boneham was outraged. Vandal was his partner – and he was not well. Le Groupe’s decision could not have come at a worse moment for Boneham.

The termination of Vandal’s fulltime contract may also have been connected to Chong’s desire as the new artistic director to do things differently. Why would he necessarily accept the need for a resident designer? Like the board, Chong was seeking increased flexibility in terms of contracting needed services. Whatever the rationale, however, the decision was unlikely to sweeten relations between Boneham and his successor.

Chong was also mulling various ideas about how to heighten Le Groupe’s visibility. “People had a hard time understanding what we did. It made it difficult to raise private funds.” Chong was prepared to change the mandate if necessary, perhaps even remove Le Groupe to another city with a more developed dance culture. “All the talent had to be brought in,” he explained. “We could have had a more flexible structure.”

Chong was also aware that Le Groupe was at risk of becoming the victim of its own success and of Boneham’s proselytizing. You can copyright choreography but you can’t patent a process. Boneham so conclusively proved the value of the model he conceived – of creating opportunities for choreographers to explore and experiment – that it had spawned if not copies then certainly variations of Le Groupe’s approach in the form of creative residencies.

Chong’s ideas never went anywhere because in early December 2008 he resigned. Le Groupe had become too big a headache and his personal ambitions lay elsewhere. Chong’s decision may have been hastened by the board’s decision to cut the 2008/09 season short, ending it in late January 2009 with the scheduled residency of Toronto choreographer Susanna Hood. It was almost certainly influenced by his belief that any meaningful change would take many years. “I just saw the futility of it,” says Chong.

Boneham, needless to say, was not about to see “his baby” go down the drain; nor could he apprehend that his own desire to remain involved, even if only as a teacher and occasional monitor, might be an impediment to preventing that very calamity. Although, at age seventy-four, he did not want the burden of leadership, Boneham’s personal connection to Le Groupe was part of his identity.

Peter Boneham is a passionate man of single-minded vision; a formidably strong personality. He is also a volatile person who elicits strong and not always positive reactions. Even those who revere him acknowledge that at times Boneham can, as one described it “be very scary”, say dreadful things and then return to his more typical generous self without comprehending the hurt he has inflicted. With Chong gone and the finances uncertain, the issue of Boneham’s continuing place with Le Groupe made the task of finding someone else willing to take over the reins all the more problematic.

For Boneham the solution was obvious. In a proposal he submitted to the board, Boneham would return as interim artistic director in a collaborative arrangement with Tedd Robinson’s own company, 10 Gates Dancing. The board, however, had a counter proposal to consider, submitted by one of its stalwart volunteer supporters, Anika Houle. The board’s acceptance of hers over his, as it struggled to decide the best way forward, was tantamount to a rejection of Le Groupe’s founding genius. At least Boneham saw it that way and made it a war between himself and Houle. In the end both lost and Le Groupe perished.

Montréal-born Anika Houle entered the life of Le Groupe as a beneficent “fairy godmother” – Boneham, she says, dubbed her thus – bearing smiles, cookies and encouragement. Houle, forty, is married to a French diplomat. For some two decades she lived outside Canada, studying, travelling the world and “reinventing” herself, as she explains, in each location. She is a lover of dance and trained in both ballet and modern, but as an amateuse not a professional. Houle describes herself as a designer and event co-coordinator, and through her personal interests, travels and husband’s profession, she is well connected in international diplomatic and cultural circles. With her husband ensconced as cultural attaché at the French Embassy in Ottawa, she decided to take Le Groupe under her wing and help it any way she could.

Before Chong’s resignation and the board’s drastic decision to cut short the season, most people viewed Houle as a benign presence and emphatically positive spirit. Once the board announced in January that it had accepted Houle’s proposal to act, in effect, as interim artistic director (there is still some dispute about what her exact title was to be), stabilizing the organization and implementing Chong’s plans for the 2009/10 season while Le Groupe sought a new artistic leader, there was general bewilderment.

It was known that Boneham had offered to fill the breach. Why would the board put its trust in a woman who, however well meaning, had no apparent credibility in the Canadian dance community? For Boneham, who had previously considered Houle an amiable dilettante, she became a dangerous threat. His life’s work and his own continuing association with Le Groupe appeared to be in jeopardy. It was almost inevitable that his relations with Houle would soon disintegrate into outright hostility, on his part at least. Houle insists she had great sympathy for Boneham and tried to maintain a positive, non-adversarial attitude.

Boneham began badgering. Why had the board not launched an immediate search for a new director? Why was he, the founder – or for that matter anyone else of artistic stature – not being consulted?

Houle says she understands the emotional source of Boneham’s enmity but, with the board’s endorsement, was doing what was necessary to stabilize the organization at the financial and managerial level. There was no point putting out a call for a new artistic director, so she reasoned with board concurrence, unless there was a salary in place and the promise, going forward, of sound management.

Predictably, accounts of what happened over the ensuing months vary according to whom one asks. By raising his battle flag, Boneham had essentially asked the dance community to choose sides. You were either for his cause to save Le Groupe from the clutches of an ambitious but unqualified interloper or against one of the most senior and respected figures in Canadian dance. What Boneham did not comprehend was that there was a grey area in which people who certainly did not want to hurt him or diminish his achievement also felt it was time for Le Groupe to move beyond him. Their concern, however, was whether Houle was the right person to chart that course.

Houle claims to have consulted widely. She made overtures to Yvonne Coutts – not as a potential artistic director but as someone who might be interested in teaching and perhaps monitoring when, all being well, Le Groupe resumed operations in September 2009. Coutts came away unclear of Houle’s intentions.

Houle believed she had put together what she calls “an exquisite season” that only needed the support of government funders to be activated. There was no rush to advertise for an artistic director since with the appropriate line-up of choreographers, dancers, teachers and monitors and her own custodial supervision, Le Groupe would be on a solid footing. The only problem was that the funders were not so confident.

By the time these pressing issues were coming to a tipping point, Boneham had insisted that Le Groupe make clear that he was no longer associated with the organization. A suitable amendment to the website was duly made – and the locks to Le Groupe were changed.

Boneham, who felt humiliated to arrive at Arts Court and be denied access to his old office without advance permission, says he merely wanted to retrieve personal archival material that he intended to donate to the National Archives. Houle says there was some confusion over what rightfully belonged to Boneham and what was Le Groupe’s. The non-relationship had become toxic.

Boneham, by his own admission, had meanwhile orchestrated a write-in campaign from reputable figures in the dance community to protest the course the board and Houle were taking.

Houle still believed her plan could succeed and in late May put out the call for a new general manager. “The position works closely with the Artistic Director and reports to the Board of Directors,” read the posting. But what artistic director? Houle? The posting was perplexing to those still trying to fathom what was really happening at Le Groupe; a manager more important than an artistic director?

Then, as John Manwaring explains, the funding imploded. While the Canada Council remained stalwartly supportive, the Ontario Arts Council delivered what from Le Groupe’s perspective was a double whammy. Not only would the grant for 2009/10 be smaller but, because the organization had not fulfilled the terms of its 2008/09 grant, there would be a claw-back to account for the foreshortened season. The City of Ottawa’s 2009 grant – the threatened across-the-board reduction in arts funding had not materialized – was also reduced by almost fifty per cent. “They’d already stated they were only functioning for six months,” says Laura Cyr, “and the jury acted accordingly.”

Even if the funding had come through, Houle was discovering that some of the artists planned for the 2009/10 season were unwilling to cross the her-or-me line in the sand drawn by Boneham. In a contest of loyalties, Houle was inevitably proving the loser; but then so was Le Groupe. It is not hard to understand why a wearied board of directors, assailed by Boneham and without adequate financial resources, finally decided that effecting a transition of leadership was “too difficult”.

The question inevitably remains. Why did Le Groupe Dance Lab succumb? Can fingers be pointed specifically? Government funders? The board? Anika Houle? Peter Boneham?

There is no simple or conclusive answer. As with most seismic events it was a combination of things. Yet, beyond the predictable dismay of those with close personal attachments to Le Groupe, was it really that seismic?

Admittedly the midsummer closure notice came at a time when most people’s attention was elsewhere. Yet, given the purported value of Le Groupe, it is perhaps worth asking why the dance community – so far as it functions as a community in a country as large, diverse and regionalized as Canada – did not try to save the organization.

There were a few newspaper articles, quite a lot of tears among those closest to the action; then it was almost as if nothing had happened. The world moves on.

As Boneham, who turns seventy-five on November 7th, reflected in the aftermath of Le Groupe’s closure, with perhaps more explanatory resonance than he understood: “Maybe everything has its lifetime.”~


Michael Crabb is a Toronto-based writer, broadcaster and lecturer. He was a CBC Radio producer and on-air host from 1981 through 2000, and is still heard on the Toronto program "Here & Now". He has written about dance for thirty-five years.

IN THE STUDIO | EN STUDIO: José Navas

Interview by/Entrevue de Megan Andrews
Translation by/Traduction de Marie Claire Forté
Photos of José Navas and company by/Photos de José Navas et compagnie de Valerie Simmons

Le français suit l'anglais.


Born in Venezuela in 1965, José Navas has been based in Québec since 1991. After having proven himself a talented and charismatic soloist on the international scene, he created a repertoire of striking group pieces. The creator of nearly thirty works as an independent choreographer or as the artistic director of Compagnie Flak (among them "Sterile Fields" (1996), "One Night Only 3/3" (1998), "Perfume de Gardenias" (2000), "Solo with Cello" (2001), "Adela, mi amor" (2004) and "Anatomies" (2006)), he now focusses his artistic research on the essence and purity of movement. Abstraction, sobriety, intensity and depth are the words that he chooses to characterize his current work.

More...

You’ve said your formal training continues to have a strong influence on your work. Having studied with Merce Cunningham, would you say his choreographic approach also influenced you and if so, how? How have you reflected on his passing last summer?

Yes, I studied at the Merce Cunningham Studio for three years and had the opportunity to learn from Merce directly.

Yes, of course Merce’s choreographic approach has influenced me profoundly, and in relation both to vocabulary and to process. In terms of vocabulary, my movement continues to reflect my formal training, so there is still lots of balletic gesture and formal movement derived directly from Cunningham technique. In terms of process, Merce and John Cage relied heavily on chance, and used various devices, such as the “I Ching” (Book of Changes), to channel chance so as to dictate the choice and order of movement and music. I don’t rely on chance quite as fully as that, but I derive from Merce a sense that the initial choices in creation need not be meditated and that there is a beautiful, creative richness that comes from allowing a role for chance. So at the outset of structuring a piece, in the early stages, I will toss up scraps of paper, each representing a phrase, and use the random order of the phrases as a starting point. Later on, I’ll make adjustments, so – unlike much of Merce’s work – I won’t stay faithful to the random order. But I use it to begin, rather than a sense that I can somehow think through a formal structure at the start. And there is also chance in the sense that when I create what I call an anchor phrase, and invite the dancers to create complementary material around it, I am not controlling the material they make, and we are allowing the chance of their reaction to my phrase to have play. Again, I intervene in the process of chance by accepting some such created phrases and rejecting others, but I do sense the influence of Merce here.

I’ve reflected a great deal on Merce’s passing, alone and with friends and members of my community. It was a shock to lose such a pillar of dance, and the same year as Pina Bausch. The shock was in realizing that people we had sort of assumed would always be making dance could, indeed, disappear. But admiration too of course for such a full life and so much creativity, right to the end.



Once you’ve created the core movement material, you talk about a process of refining, organizing, inverting and opening up. Specifically, how do you work in this phase; do you proceed intuitively or do you use specific methods or formal procedures and can you give an example of what you might do with a given movement phrase or set of phrases?

I wouldn’t say it’s an intuitive process, and when I think about your question I realize that it’s quite formal. Much of this process takes place on paper, at home, rather than in the studio with the dancers. Part of that comes from the need to be frugal with studio time: every hour of rehearsal time with the dancers is counted and precious, so I literally can’t afford to be too intuitive by spending a long time with the dancers in the studio without knowing what I want to do. So at home I look at all the phrases I have and I decide how long a segment I need here, or there, and look at source material that I could use. And looking at the phrases on paper – I have names or numbers for each – I know that I’ll need a contrast from a phrase of one feeling to another. In terms of refining or inverting, as I’ve said, I create an anchor phrase, call it phrase 1, and then the dancers will create complementary phrases around it: 1a, 1b, 1c, etc. At some point, phrase 1 itself will be eliminated, and we’ll be left with 1a, 1b and 1c, each of which is the same length as phrase 1 and each of which will have similar movements, at moments, because each fits with the initial phrase. And I work with those. But it’s pretty much all worked out in my notebook at home, so when I show up to the studio, it’s to execute with the dancers.


You use the phrase “pure abstraction” to describe your work. Some would argue that the human body can never be purely abstract. It is always a human body, a human being, and can’t help but carry both personal and cultural meanings implicitly. How do you understand “pure abstraction” with respect to this perspective and in regard to your own work?

I find it frustrating when people think that by abstraction, artists including myself suppose that the elements we use are entirely devoid of meaning, resonance, or emotion, as if to be abstract something has to be cold or meaningless or dead. I don’t claim that the human body itself is purely abstract. I’m referring to my movement, and what I mean by that is just that the movement isn’t telling a story or representing anything but itself. But I’m always fully conscious that putting movement, which per se doesn’t narrate or represent anything, onto human bodies changes it. Doing so allows that movement to touch people, although the reactions or emotions experienced vary a great deal from person to person. I think the beauty of creating purely abstract dance movement is that the body itself carries so much meaning, and we connect to that meaning through movement that is itself abstract. Unquestionably my work would be entirely different if robots were performing it, and that’s not what I do. So I don’t see the body’s implicit personal and cultural meanings as a problem for my project of abstraction, but rather as a crucial element.



If solo work, as you say, keeps your dancer’s self alive, what is the nature of your relationship to the group work you make and to the dancers with whom you work?

My solo work is personal; it’s my body as an instrument, and me as a performer. My relationship to the group work and to the dancers is that of an architect towards his building or an engineer towards her designs. I see the dancers as an extension of my mind and my body; they become my body, executing my ideas. They give flesh and bone to the movement impulses that enter my head or that I do in the studio for them. And they do it with youth and beautiful technique, so nowadays they can fulfill my ideas in a way that I no longer can. As a soloist, I adapt my work to my own limitations. The dancers for the group work can carry out my ideas with fewer limitations.


I recently attended a visual art show in which the artist noted that other people had titled her works. I’m curious about how titles for dances arise, particularly for formalist work such as yours, without narrative or thematic content per se. How, generally, do you come up with titles for your works? How, specifically, did you arrive at the titles for your current works,“S” and “Villanelle”?

Earlier titles for my pieces used to be things I thought might provoke reflection on the part of the audience, make them wonder where the title came from, how it related to the piece – "One Night Only"; "Perfume de Gardenias"; "Adela, mi amor". And sometimes they were things that I could connect to a personal experience or to a text I knew. With the more recent titles, I have begun with a working title and then it has stuck. I am leaning now towards titles that are much less evocative and that really just evoke the work, itself abstract. It’s easier to convince people that the work really is abstract, really isn’t about anything, when there isn’t a figurative title attached to it! So "Portable Dances" referred to a three-part piece, in which the order of the pieces could be changed, and one or two performed without the other. They were also literally more portable than earlier works because of the absence of set or other staging. "Anatomies" came about because I was really exploring anatomy books and investigating the body deeply at that time, and the plural in the title also captures, I think, the five parts of the piece. "S" was a working title I came up with because I was working a lot with silence as well as with music by Erik Satie. And "Villanelle" has a slightly fuller story: I was inspired in part by a poem by Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”, which is written in the form of the villanelle, a tightly structured form with repeated lines.



Having performed solo works to critical acclaim early in your career, how does it feel to return to the form as a more mature artist? What kinds of impulses or reflections does your accumulated experience generate inside the solo creation process?

It’s a funny question: I think I have developed as a choreographer, and so I come back to choreographing solos with a sharpened craft, in the same way that my group choreography is maturing too. But in terms of performing, and here’s why I said the question is funny, I don’t actually feel that I am now a more mature artist, and what I mean is that I actually have the feeling of carrying on right where I left off as a solo performer. I think that those solo performances early in my career showed a mature artistry, and I think it would be unfaithful to those early performances to frame my path as a soloist as a progression from immaturity to maturity. I think you’re born with the capacity to be a solo performer – or not.


If you plan to continue making and performing work as you get older, how do you expect it might change? Do you see a time when you will choose not to perform any longer?

In terms of keeping on making and performing work, I suspect the change in the kinds of material I make for myself and for the group dancers will intensify. Ten years ago, I think the vocabulary and material I made for a group piece and a solo for myself was similar. Already at this point, with "S" and "Miniatures", my solo show from last year, you can sense the difference: the company dancers in "S" can do things that I no longer can, and the new solo, "Villanelle", requires a focus and intensity as a performer that they just might not yet have, although its technical demands may be less.

I honestly don’t know. I’d love to dance as a soloist until I’m a hundred. But I’m open that some day I’ll just decide to stop dance entirely. Who knows? I always want to be an artist who creates things, but I don’t know for sure that I want always to be doing solos and creating group work. I’m enjoying doing this and have the feeling I’ll enjoy doing it until the end of my days, but who knows. I’m open to the possibility that life may change.~


Né au Venezuela en 1965, José Navas est établi au Québec depuis 1991. Après avoir été reconnu sur la scène internationale comme un soliste talentueux et charismatique, il crée un répertoire remarquable de pièces de groupe. Auteur d’une trentaine de créations comme chorégraphe indépendant ou comme directeur artistique de Compagnie Flak, y compris « Sterile Fields » (1996), « One Night Only 3/3 » (1998), « Perfume de Gardenias » (2000), « Solo with Cello » (2001), « Adela, mi amor » (2004) et « Anatomies » (2006), il consacre sa recherche artistique à l’essence et à la pureté de mouvement. Abstraction, sobriété, intensité et profondeur sont les mots qu’il emploie pour parler de ses présentes créations.


Vous avez dit que votre travail est encore très influencé par votre formation technique. Vous avez étudié avec Merce Cunningham ; diriez-vous que son approche chorégraphique vous a aussi influencé et si oui, comment ? Quelles sont vos réactions et réflexions à la suite de son décès l’été dernier ?

Oui, j’ai étudié au Merce Cunningham Studio pendant trois ans et j’ai eu l’occasion d’apprendre directement de Merce.

Oui, bien sûr que l’approche chorégraphique de Merce m’a profondément influencé, autant le vocabulaire que le processus. Pour le vocabulaire, mon mouvement continu à refléter ma formation, alors j’emploie encore plusieurs gestes balletiques et formels directement dérivés de la technique Cunnigham. Pour le processus, Merce et John Cage faisaient énormément appel au hasard ; ils recourraient à différents outils comme le « Yi King » (Classique des changements) pour canaliser le hasard afin de dicter le choix et l’ordre des mouvements et de la musique. Le hasard ne prend pas une telle importance dans mon processus, mais de Merce, j’en tire qu’il n’est pas nécessaire de calculer les choix initiaux en création et que de laisser la place au hasard donne lieu à une belle richesse créative. Ainsi, dans les débuts, lorsque je commence à structurer une pièce, je vais lancer des bouts de papier en l’air. Chacun représente un enchaînement et j’emploie l’ordre aléatoire des enchaînements comme point de départ. Plus tard, je le retravaille, à la différence d’une grande partie du travail de Merce, je ne reste pas fidèle à cet ordre aléatoire. Je commence par cela plutôt que de m’en remettre à l’idée que je pourrais pressentir une structure formelle au départ. Le hasard est en quelque sorte présent lorsque je crée ce que je nomme un enchaînement source, et que j’invite les danseurs à créer du matériel complémentaire. Je ne dicte pas le matériel qu’ils créent et nous valorisons ainsi le hasard de leur réaction à mon enchaînement. Encore, j’interviens dans le processus du hasard en acceptant certains enchaînements et en délaissant d’autres, mais là, je sens l’influence de Merce.

J’ai beaucoup réfléchi au décès de Merce, seul et avec des amis et des collègues de ma communauté. C’était un choc de perdre une pierre angulaire de la danse, la même année que Pina Bausch. Réaliser que nous tenions pour acquis, en quelque sorte, que certaines personnes aillent toujours créer de la danse, mais qu’en effet, elles peuvent s’éteindre : voilà le choc. Mais il y a aussi une admiration à une vie tellement remplie et à tant de créativité, jusqu’à la toute fin.



Une fois que vous avez créé le mouvement de base, vous parlez d’un processus de peaufinage, d’organisation, d’inversion et de déploiement. Comment, précisément, travaillez-vous ? Procédez-vous intuitivement ou employez-vous des méthodes ou des procédures formelles particulières ? Pouvez-vous donner un exemple de votre travail sur un enchaînement ou une série d’enchaînements ?

Je ne dirais pas que c’est un processus intuitif et en pensant à votre question, je me rends compte que c’est surtout formel. Une grande partie du processus se déroule sur papier, à la maison, plutôt qu’en studio avec les danseurs. C’est en partie pour être économe avec le temps de studio ; chaque heure de répétition avec les interprètes est comptée, précieuse. Je ne peux pas, littéralement, être intuitif très longtemps avec les danseurs en studio sans savoir ce que je veux. À la maison, je regarde tous les enchaînements et je décide la longueur du segment ici, où là, et je regarde le matériel dont je peux me servir. Regarder les enchaînements sur papier – je leur donne un nom ou un numéro – me permet de voir que j’ai besoin d’un contraste entre un enchaînement d’une tonalité et un autre. Pour peaufiner ou inverser, comme je l’ai dit, je crée un enchaînement source, soit l’enchaînement 1, et les danseurs créent les enchaînements complémentaires : 1a, 1b, 1c, etc. À un moment donné, nous éliminons l’enchaînement 1 et il nous reste 1a, 1b et 1c, chacun de la même durée que l’enchaînement 1 et chacun avec des mouvements semblables, par moment, puisque chacun découle de la même source. Et je travaille avec ceux-là. Mais c’est surtout réglé dans mon cahier de travail à la maison, alors quand je me présente en studio, c’est pour l’exécuter avec les danseurs.


Vous employez l’expression « abstraction pure » pour décrire votre travail. Certains diraient que le corps humain ne peut être purement abstrait. C’est toujours un corps humain, un être humain, et il ne peut s’empêcher d’être porteur implicite de sens personnel et culturel. Comment entendez-vous « l’abstraction pure » en relation à cette perspective et par rapport à votre propre travail ?

Je trouve cela frustrant quand les personnes croient que par l’abstraction, les artistes, moi compris, présument que les éléments que nous employons sont entièrement vides de sens, de résonance ou d’émotion, comme si l’abstraction doit être froide et vide de sens ou mort. Je ne dis pas que le corps humain est purement abstrait. Je parle de mon mouvement, et je veux simplement dire que le mouvement ne raconte pas une histoire et ne représente rien d’autre que lui-même. Mais je suis entièrement conscient qu’un mouvement qui, proprement, ne raconte pas une histoire ou n’est pas une représentation change lorsqu’il est sur un corps humain. Cela permet au mouvement de toucher les gens, bien que les réactions ou émotions qu’il suscite varient beaucoup selon le spectateur. Selon moi, la beauté de la danse purement abstraite est que le corps est tellement porteur de sens que nous accédons au sens par l’entremise du mouvement lui-même abstrait. Il va sans dire que mon travail serait entièrement autre s’il était présenté par des robots, et ce n’est pas le cas. Je ne perçois pas les sens personnel et culturel implicites du corps comme obstacles dans mon projet d’abstraction, mais plutôt comme élément crucial.



Si le travail solo, comme vous le dites, donne vie au danseur qui vous habite, quelle est la nature de votre relation aux créations de groupe et à vos interprètes ?

Mon travail solo est personnel ; mon corps est l’instrument, je suis l’interprète. Ma relation aux créations de groupe et aux danseurs est celle d’un architecte envers son édifice ou une ingénieure envers ses conceptions. Je vois mes interprètes comme une prolongation de mon esprit et de mon corps ; ils deviennent mon corps, exécutant mes idées. Ils donnent de la chair et des os aux impulsions de mouvement qui traversent mon esprit ou que je leur présente en studio. Et ils le font avec la jeunesse et la beauté de leur technique, alors de ces jours-ci, ils peuvent donner corps à mes idées d’une façon que je ne peux plus le faire. En tant que soliste, j’adapte mon travail à mes limites. Les danseurs des pièces de groupe peuvent réaliser mes idées avec moins de limites.


J’ai récemment été à une exposition d’arts visuels où l’artiste avait noté que les titres de ses œuvres avaient été attribués par d’autres. Je suis curieuse de l’émergence des titres pour la danse, particulièrement pour le travail formaliste comme le tien, sans récit ou contenu thématique explicite. Comment, en général, trouvez-vous des titres pour vos pièces ? En particulier, comment avez-vous choisi les titres pour vos dernières créations, « S » et « Villanelle » ?

Avant, je choisissais des titres pour provoquer une réflexion chez le spectateur, pour qu’il songe à l’origine du titre, au rapport entre le titre et l’œuvre : « One Night Only », « Perfume de Gardenias », « Adela, mi amor ». Il s’agissait parfois de choses liées à une expérience personnelle ou un texte. Avec les derniers titres, je commence par un titre provisoire et il reste. Je penche beaucoup plus vers des titres moins évocateurs, qui renvoient uniquement au travail, lui-même abstrait. C’est plus facile de convaincre les gens que le travail est proprement abstrait, qu’il ne porte sur rien, quand il ne porte pas de titre figuratif ! Alors, « Portable Dances » désigne une pièce en trois volets, dans laquelle l’ordre des volets peut changer ou un ou deux des volets peuvent être présentés sans l’autre. Ils étaient littéralement plus portables que mes créations antérieures par l’absence de décors et de scénographie. Le titre « Anatomies » s’est révélé parce que j’étais en profonde exploration des livres d’anatomie et du corps à l’époque, et le pluriel du titre désigne aussi, je crois, les cinq sections de la pièce. J’ai pensé à « S » comme titre provisoire puisque je travaillais beaucoup en silence et avec la musique d’Érik Satie. L’histoire de « Villanelle » est plus profonde ; je me suis inspiré, en partie, d’un poème de Dylan Thomas « Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night », qui est écrit dans la forme villanelle, une forme très structurée avec des vers répétés.



Après avoir présenté des œuvres solos acclamées en début de carrière, comment vous sentez-vous de revenir à la forme comme artiste plus mature ? Quels genres d’impulsions et de réflexions votre expérience cumulée génère-t-elle dans le processus de création solo ?

C’est une drôle de question. Je crois avoir grandi comme chorégraphe, alors je reviens au solo avec une meilleure maîtrise chorégraphique, qui s’applique tout autant à mes créations de groupe. Mais pour l’interprétation, c’est pour cela que la question me semble drôle ; je ne sens pas, dans les faits, que je suis un artiste plus mature. Je veux dire que j’ai l’impression de continuer d’où j’étais rendu comme interprète solo. Je pense que mes spectacles solos en début de carrière faisaient preuve de maturité artistique, et je pense que ce serait infidèle à ces premiers spectacles de désigner mon parcours de soliste comme une progression de l’immaturité à la maturité. Je pense qu’on est né avec la capacité d’être interprète soliste – ou non.


Si vous planifiez de continuer à créer et à interpréter en vieillissant, comment pensez-vous que cela va changer ? Entrevoyez-vous un moment où vous délaisseriez l’interprétation ?

Pour continuer à créer et à interpréter, j’ai l’impression que les différences dans la nature du matériel que je crée pour moi et pour les groupes vont s’intensifier. Il y a dix ans, le vocabulaire et le matériel que je créais pour une pièce de groupe et pour un solo étaient semblables. Déjà, maintenant, avec « S » et « Miniatures », mon solo de l’an passé, on peut voir la différence. Les danseurs de la compagnie dans « S » peuvent faire des choses que je ne peux plus faire, et le nouveau solo, « Villanelle », exige une concentration et une intensité d’interprétation qu’ils n’ont peut être pas encore, même si les exigences techniques sont moindres.

Honnêtement, je ne le sais pas. J’aimerais danser comme soliste jusqu’à l’âge de cent ans. Mais peut-être un jour, je vais simplement décider d’arrêter la danse complètement. Qui sait ? Je veux toujours être un artiste en création, mais je ne suis pas certain que je voudrais toujours créer des solos et des pièces de groupe. J’y prends plaisir actuellement et j’ai le sentiment que j’y prendrais plaisir jusqu’à la fin de mes jours, mais qui sait ? Je demeure ouvert à la possibilité que la vie puisse changer.~



*A bilingual photo essay on Navas’ creative process for "S" and "Villanelle" appears in the November 2009 issue of The Dance Current.

José Navas/Compagnie Flak presents "S" and "Villanelle" from November 25th through 28th at Centre Pierre-Péladeau, Montréal. | José Navas/Compagnie Flak presente
« S » et « Villanelle » du 25 au 28 novembre au Centre Pierre-Péladeau, Montreal.

Learn more | Pour en savoir plus >>
www.flak.org

ASTUCES POUR PROFESSEURS : Préparation d’un spectacle des fêtes

De Katharine Harris à l’École nationale de ballet du Canada
Traduction de Marie Claire Forté

Alors que le mercure tombe, de nombreux studios de danse planifient leur spectacle annuel des fêtes. Pour l’élève, c’est l’occasion de se présenter devant sa famille et ses amis, ainsi que la culmination de son travail depuis le début de l’automne. Bien que le plaisir d’un spectacle découle en partie de sa nature imprévisible, il est judicieux de bien se préparer afin que les événements se déroulent dans le calme, autant que possible. Voici quelques conseils.

More...

1. Soyez aussi inclusif que possible. Lorsque vous pensez à des thèmes, discutez-en avec l’équipe du studio, demandez-leur des suggestions et partagez les idées. Cela permet à tout le monde de se sentir concerné, et aide à créer une ambiance effervescente. Souvenez-vous qu’un spectacle des fêtes demande beaucoup de travail ; assurez-vous que l’équipe, les élèves et les parents se sentent engagés.

2. Une fois que vous et vos collègues décidez du thème, faites appel aux comités de parents. Ils peuvent vous aider pour la coordination de détails, comme les costumes, la logistique, la promotion du spectacle ou la supervision en coulisse.

3. Préparez un plan de match écrit pour le spectacle. Commencez par les grandes lignes et allez ensuite dans le détail, du thème du spectacle aux particularités des costumes et à la logistique en coulisse. Si vous l’écrivez, il sera clair et ainsi plus facile à communiquer aux autres.

4. Le lieu de présentation est spécial ; prenez-en soin. Si le spectacle est à l’extérieur de votre studio de répétition habituel, parlez-en à vos élèves. Expliquez-leur le respect qu’exige une salle de spectacle. Si le spectacle est dans votre studio, collaborez avec vos élèves pour le transformer. Vous pouvez le faire avec des accessoires comme des rideaux ou des gradins, mais cela peut être aussi une simple question d’approche. Si tout le monde aborde le lieu différemment, il sera transformé.

5. Le jour du spectacle, l’excitation sera à son comble. Cela fait partie du plaisir des fêtes, mais c’est bien d’avoir des personnes dans les alentours qui peuvent participer au plaisir sans le laisser déraper. Assurez-vous d’avoir des personnes en arrière-scène pour gérer l’énergie des élèves.

6. Pour les écoles qui présentent plusieurs spectacles, rappelez-vous que chaque spectacle est unique. Chaque présentation doit être traitée avec la même considération que la première. Chacun devrait prendre le temps de se concentrer et de se rappeler que même s’il connaît le travail, le public le voit pour la première fois.

7. Un dernier conseil facile à suivre : demandez à tout le monde de prendre soin de leurs possessions : costumes, souliers, maquillage et autres accessoires. Après chaque spectacle, rangez les objets comme il le faut afin que tout soit prêt pour le prochain spectacle.

For the English version of this article, see The Dance Current October 2009 print issue. | Pour la version anglais de cette rubrique, voyez The Dance Current October 2009 édition imprimé.

Pour en savoir plus | Learn more >>
www.nbs-enb.ca

HEALTHY DANCER: Daal with Autumn Vegetables

Protein: meeting the body's needs
By Nathan Payne

Animal protein delivers all of the essential amino acids our body needs, whereas proteins from vegetable sources are generally missing one or two of the essential amino acids. (An exception is the grain quinoa, which happens to contain all eight essential amino acids.) For those following a vegetarian or vegan diet, eating a variety of foods and combining food items such as legumes with grains or nuts and seeds will ensure that you are meeting your body’s protein needs.

Try this recipe for Daal with Autumn Vegetables: a vegetarian dish with a strong protein component and a punch of flavour.

More...

Daal with Autumn Vegetables

2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup onion, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground pepper
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chili pepper flakes
2 cardamom pods
2-3 tablespoons of chat masala
2 bay leaves
2 cups butternut squash (1/4 inch cubes)
3 cups Brussels sprouts (washed and quartered)
1 can whole tomatoes
4 cups vegetable stock (plus 2 cups water)
1 cup lentils
1 cup brown rice

In a large saucepan, sauté onion, season with salt, and add all the spices (chat masala can be incorporated or sprinkled on top of the final dish). Add the chopped squash and Brussels sprouts, and cook on medium for 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Pour in the can of whole tomatoes along with 4 cups of vegetable stock and 2 cups of water. Add the rice and lentils, bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove lid and simmer for an additional 20 minutes or until lentils and rice are tender.

Remove bay leaves before serving and garnish with a bit of plain yogurt if so desired.

Note: This dish will thicken over time. Simply add more water to return it to a soup-like consistency.

The Demise of Le Groupe Dance Lab: The End of An Era, Part 1

By Michael Crabb

For those not watchful of events at Ottawa’s Le Groupe Dance Lab, the July 31st announcement that it would be closing its doors forever came as a stunning shock.

For more than twenty years – ever since Artistic Director Peter Boneham reinvented his performing company, Le Groupe de la Place Royale, to become a centre for contemporary dance research, experimentation and development – the Lab had been a vital incubator of dance creativity in Canada and beyond. In the late 1980s, as he surveyed the Canadian dance scene, Boneham detected a crucial need for choreographers to explore and hone their craft in a supportive environment, free of the distracting pressure to produce a finished work.

More...

Le Groupe – with rented headquarters at Arts Court in Ottawa’s Sandy Hill district – offered visiting choreographers a resident corps of dancers, technical, design and production support and, most importantly, the outside eye of an experienced mentor, or “monitor”. There were also public showings during which choreographers could engage audiences in constructive conversation – feedback sessions intended to help decipher the sometimes problematic gap between artistic intent and how it is perceived.

In 1988 Boneham’s idea was not entirely novel. Dance workshops and choreographic intensives had been around for years, mostly operating in compressed timeframes, simultaneously involving several choreographers and often without the benefit of monitorial oversight. What was unique and visionary about Boneham’s project was the creation of a permanent, integrated institution where choreographers could be individually nurtured over the course of several weeks in what came to be known as a “process”.

Boneham’s initial assessment of the situation proved accurate and his solution successful. “Peter was definitely ahead of his time,” says Yvonne Coutts, an Ottawa-based dancer, teacher and choreographer whose association with Le Groupe began when it was still a performing company.

Le Groupe Dance Lab became a seemingly indispensable resource, not only for emerging choreographers but for those more seasoned, such as former artistic director of Winnipeg’s Contemporary Dancers Tedd Robinson, seeking creative revitalization.

“I had a great job,” says Robinson, “but nobody was telling me the things I needed to hear. Peter, on the other hand, does not hold back. He told me I had an innate theatrical sense but that my vocabulary sucked. He made a lot of sense.”

It was not only choreographers who benefited. Although their schedule was onerous, Le Groupe’s dancers had two invaluable benefits. They took daily class with a tough but inspirational teacher – Boneham himself – and worked creatively with a wide range of choreographers. For dancers who were often in the developmental phase of their careers it was an extraordinary experience – a crash course in endurance and versatility – and if they felt a strong urge to choreograph there was also the possibility of undertaking a “process”.

As a senior officer at one of our major public granting agencies recently remarked: “It’s rare in contemporary dance to open an applicant’s file nowadays and not find a connection to Le Groupe somewhere along the way.”

Even last fall, when Le Groupe was in the midst of a serious financial crisis and trying to adjust to new leadership, the work in the studio continued at its usual intensity with visiting choreographers from Canada, France and The Netherlands.

So why did it all unravel?

That July 31st announcement included a prepared statement from Le Groupe’s long-serving – and, one suspects, long-suffering – board chair, University of Ottawa law professor John Manwaring. “Many factors, financial and otherwise, have led to this extremely difficult decision,” Manwaring stated. “It is always difficult to move from a founder-led organization to one with new artistic leadership and while Le Groupe Dance Lab tried determinedly to do this, in the end the transition proved too difficult.”

The choice of words “too difficult” is telling. One might have expected something more emphatic, such as “impossible”. “Too difficult” suggests that perhaps, in other circumstances, there might have been a solution. And, since this was a decision made by Le Groupe’s legal trustees, its board of directors, it also hints at the understandable exhaustion – even exasperation – of those four public-spirited volunteers who had, for so many years, done their best to keep the company afloat.

Few would argue Professor Manwaring’s contention that moving beyond a founder-led organization is difficult. Canadian dance history is littered with examples, from the Royal Winnipeg Ballet in the early 1950s to Toronto Dance Theatre thirty years later.

Choreographer-driven companies present particularly intractable problems since they are essentially founded to serve as platforms for a specific creative vision. When that creative vision appears to dim or loses the confidence of audiences – or the peer-assessment juries that decide who gets public funding – there is no clear way forward. It is no secret, for example, that the Anna Wyman Dance Theatre, Desrosiers Dance Theatre and Danny Grossman Dance Company – albeit in the latter case specifically in its form as a performing organization – suffered the painful death of slow, progressive cuts.

Although it was not strictly a single choreographer-founded company, a similar fate might have overtaken Le Groupe de la Place Royale had it not successfully convinced the funding agencies to support its refashioned mandate – one not only designed to serve the needs of the dance community but tailor-made for a then fifty-four-year-old director/choreographer seeking to redefine his role as a contributing artist.

Peter Boneham was part of Le Groupe de la Place Royale from the start. Its roots lie in the heady cultural milieu of early 1960s Montréal. Québécoise artists Jeanne Renaud and Françoise Riopelle, with a shared aesthetic forged by their youthful involvement with the modernist automatistes, launched Le Groupe de Danse Moderne de Montréal. Vincent Warren, then a principal dancer with Les Grands Ballets Canadiens, was intrigued by the fledgling troupe’s intellectually rigorous avant-garde experimentation and introduced fellow Grands Ballets member Peter Boneham to Renaud and Riopelle.

Boneham and Warren, both ballet-trained Americans, had become friends in New York City before either joined Les Grands Ballets. Boneham agreed to dance with Renaud in a piece called “Rideau” at Montréal’s Expressions 65. The two quickly became artistic compadres in launching Le Groupe de la Place Royale. Dance was intentionally excluded from the title because of its founders’ cross-disciplinary, collaborative intentions. Although Winnipeg’s Contemporary Dancers proudly claims its status as Canada’s oldest modern dance company, in 1966 Le Groupe was the first to receive a Canada Council grant.

Renaud was gone within five years but Le Groupe continued under the direction of Boneham and company charter member Jean-Pierre Perreault. Perreault, thirteen years younger than Boneham, began as a dancer, learning as he went along, and by 1972 had begun to choreograph. Le Groupe became known for its boldly innovative approach to dance making, particularly the use of mixed media and new technology.

By the mid-1970s, however, Boneham and Perreault had grown restive. Le Groupe was struggling financially and it seemed that the Québec government was favouring the rival Groupe Nouvelle Aire. Boneham – an English speaker with less than functional French – thought it was time to get out. Initially he proposed moving the company to Toronto because it seemed to be “a happening place”. Perreault demurred. Finally, having sounded out the Canada Council, they agreed on Ottawa. Le Groupe moved its company and school there in 1977.

Perreault, meanwhile, was becoming a choreographer of note. It gradually became clear that his ambitions could not be accommodated in Ottawa or within the company. “Le Groupe didn’t suit his artistic needs,” says Boneham. Perreault formally resigned as co-artistic director in 1981. Dancer and choreographer Michael Montanaro, now chair of the contemporary dance department at Montréal’s Concordia University, served as Boneham’s associate director until 1985.

Le Groupe’s switch from being a touring performance troupe to a stay-put centre for creative development was not an overnight event but was formalized in 1988 with a new name and a new mandate. Whether one regards this as a completely fresh start or an evolution of Le Groupe de la Place Royale, Peter Boneham’s claims as a founding father are unassailable.

The issue then becomes how long the founder can continue to function and what happens when he can not. Although the fire in his belly was never dampened, Boneham’s health was sometimes a concern. And since Le Groupe was not dependent on Boneham to supply it with choreography, it could, as an institution with a clear mandate, reasonably look forward to surviving him – even if the mandate might require some fine tuning for the organization to remain useful and relevant.

Conversations about Le Groupe’s future, both within and without, had begun even in the 1990s. Robinson recalls Boneham asking him if he was interested in taking over at some point. Robinson, who had been Le Groupe’s resident guest artist after leaving Winnipeg in 1990, valued the organization highly and got on well with Boneham but was only interested in the mentoring part of the job. “I can teach if I have to,” says Robinson, “but I don’t enjoy it. It’s not my forte at all.” He identifies an important issue. Boneham was teacher, monitor and artistic director. Under the best conditions it would not be easy to find one person to fill all those roles.

The issue of transition came into clearer focus when the funding bodies Le Groupe depended on for almost ninety per cent of its income (in later years the annual budget was around $400,000) suggested it was time to act decisively.

The premature death of Jean-Pierre Perreault in December 2002 seems to have been a catalyst. Though long separated as colleagues, Boneham and Perreault still had a strong emotional bond. Those close to Boneham witnessed the profound impact of Perreault’s death. “It was devastating for Peter,” recalls Coutts.

Coutts, with as clear a knowledge as any of Le Groupe’s workings because of her former involvement as a dancer and choreographer, offered to help. Coutts could teach, she could monitor; she could even write grant applications. She saw Boneham’s acceptance of her offer as a sign that he acknowledged a need for a planned transition of leadership, but while it occupied his thoughts its exact form was not always clearly expressed.

Hiring extra help, of course, takes money and Le Groupe never had much of it. Cash-flow crunches were a cyclical occurrence that the organization somehow always managed to survive. Adding to the regular payroll would take special funding; and it was forthcoming, thanks to the Metcalf and Ontario Trillium Foundations, but it was specifically tied to implementing a transition of leadership.

Boneham, whose twin passions remain teaching and mentoring, certainly embraced the notion of a diminished role for himself but almost certainly never imagined withdrawing completely. The answer, as he saw it, was team leadership. Tony Chong now enters the story.

Originally from Vancouver, Chong moved as a young dancer to Montréal in 1984. There he became immersed in its vibrant dance scene. Chong performed with, among others, Compagnie Marie Chouinard, Carbon 14, José Navas’s Compagnie Flak and Perreault’s company. He danced in Germany’s Steptext Dance Project and with Belgium’s Ballets C. de la B.

Chong first connected with Le Groupe in 2003 as a visiting choreographer. Boneham was impressed. By late 2004 he’d convinced Chong to join Le Groupe as associate director, working alongside Coutts. “I’m not sure why I was specifically asked,” Chong reflects. “We had a shared idealism but maybe it was because I didn’t have an historical connection and came with a different aesthetic.”

Coutts was completely unprepared for Chong’s arrival in January, 2005. “It caught me quite off guard,” she explains; and probably left her feeling slighted. “I had committed a lot to Le Groupe. I’d developed the skill set to be artistic director.”

From Boneham’s viewpoint, the combination of Coutts and Chong was ideal. “Each had strengths and weaknesses and they kind of balanced out. I never saw Tony as artistic director on his own. He still wanted to be a choreographer.”

The team leadership concept, even if it could have been financed over the long term, was ill-fated. It was a sometimes tense ménage à trois that ended abruptly and unpleasantly in the winter of 2006. Coutts decided to bring in choreographer Ame Henderson, along with her own dramaturge/monitor.

Coutts says she felt Le Groupe needed to find new ways to meet the needs of the dance community, part of which involved bringing in “a different kind of outside eye”. Although for many choreographers a major attraction of Le Groupe was the opportunity to work with Boneham, other visiting choreographers had requested their own chosen monitor. According to Chong, Boneham was open to the need for the organization to evolve. “He knew it would need to change,” says Chong, “but Peter was also concerned about his legacy and his ideals.” For him, process and experimentation were the essence of Le Groupe, whereas visiting choreographers sometimes came to view a residency as a chance to produce a finished work. “At times it was almost becoming a production company,” observes Robinson. “That was not what Peter wanted.”

Henderson’s residency brought things to a head for Coutts. Henderson was inadvertently caught in a fomenting cauldron of conflicting ideas about how Le Groupe should function. “It was three weeks of hell trying to support her. I couldn’t understand what was going on. All I could see was this tightening of the grip.” Coutts decided the situation had become intolerable and quit– leaving Chong as sole heir apparent.

And so Chong’s apprenticeship continued until, on April 29th, 2008, Le Groupe’s board announced the passing of the torch with Chong’s official appointment as artistic director, effective July 1st.

Boneham – who by then had been honored with a Governor General’s Performing Arts Award for lifetime artistic achievement in 2005 and appointed a Member of the Order of Canada in April 2008 – would assume the position of senior artistic advisor. It was at this point that a concatenation of events, so intricately entwined that it’s hard to follow the threads, conspired to bring Le Groupe down.~

Read the rest of the story in "The End of an Era, Part 2" by Michael Crabb, posted in November 2009 (above).


Michael Crabb is a Toronto-based writer, broadcaster and lecturer. He was a CBC Radio producer and on-air host from 1981 through 2000, and is still heard on the Toronto program "Here & Now". He has written about dance for thirty-five years.

IN THE STUDIO: Jorden Morris and the RWB for Moulin Rouge - The Ballet

Interview by Megan Andrews
Photos by Bruce Monk








Amanda Green and Jorden Morris rehearsing for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet





After retiring as a principal dancer with Canada’s Royal Winnipeg Ballet (RWB), Jorden Morris began to explore choreography. His first ballet, The Three Musketeers, premiered in 1999. He has created numerous works since, including the transformation of the popular children’s television show The Toy Castle into an interactive live dance performance, and the Celtic-themed ballet Deverell. In 2006, the RWB presented the world premiere of Morris’s full-length ballet Peter Pan. The critically acclaimed work is the company’s biggest box office success to date, and toured Canada last year. Morris is also the associate director of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School.


As part of its seventieth anniversary season, Canada’s Royal Winnipeg Ballet premieres Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Jorden Morris from October 21st through 24th at Centennial Concert Hall, Winnipeg. A Canadian tour follows from November 2009 through April 2010.

More...
You’ve said that you consider music the soul of a ballet. Where do you begin in terms of making this fundamental choice?

After I have found a story and characters (this is for full length works), then I start the process of finding music that speaks to me for those scenes and characters. I spend anywhere from twelve to eighteen months finding music for my ballets. I try to find a composer, or group of composers that have great harmony and cohesiveness with their music. For Peter Pan I used primarily British composers that were writing music at the same time that J.M Barrie was writing the book. I like to think that perhaps Mr. Barrie heard some of that music while writing and therefore for me it creates a connection between the music and the story. For Moulin Rouge - The Ballet I explored the French composers from the time the Moulin Rouge was opening, Toulouse Lautrec was painting and the Eiffel Tower was being constructed. For the Tango and Gypsy scenes I found Quartetto Gelato and Astor Piazzola made a great fit with the mix.























Costume sketch by Shannon Lovelace for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

As you’ve indicated, developing a score for a full-length work isn’t a simple matter of finding a single piece of the required length. How do you decide which selections you’ll use and how they fit together?

Initially I make a list of music for a scene that I think will work – then I listen to those selections over and over again until one of them sort of jumps out and says, “I’m the right music for this scene.” This process can take hours, days or weeks. Sometimes it speaks to me very clearly, and sometimes it’s a piece I’ve listened to twenty-five times before I hear something in the score I hadn’t heard before, and it just clicks. Occasionally, there is a piece that I like for a particular scene, but it doesn’t work well as a transition to the following scene. This is where the lengthy process of “weaving” the score takes place. I try to find a way for all the selections I’ve chosen to work together. I may change the order of the scenes slightly to accommodate the music, or I may re-think the characters’ action in a scene if the music is right and suggests I take a slight turn with the story. This is one of the most exciting times of the creation process, but also one of the most frustrating and exhausting times.





















Angela Galt sewing a costume for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

Once you have the music in place, how do you begin to develop the dance?

People often ask me if I choreograph the steps first and then find the music, or if I find the music and then choreograph the movement? For me the music is the most important thing after the initial idea. However, I start to envision choreography from day one of story and through music selection. I make notes for future reference and then pull those choreographic ideas into play at this point in the process. During the story/music process, I have an idea of what the dance will be like in each scene. For example: this will be her entrance solo, this a pas de deux, this a group corps section etc. So when I get in the studio with the dancers, I know what “type” of scene it is and what the dancing will be like to a point. I will work on my own to identify certain movements or series of steps for each character, as well as the “flavour” of big scene dances (lots of jumps and turns, or pattern work with canons) or pas de deux (lyrical, romantic, hostile etc.).





















Set construction for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

In terms of developing the movement material overall, and for specific characters, how would you describe your use of the established classical ballet vocabulary?

The classical vocabulary is such a great medium to work in, so I try to stay within that language. But I also develop derivative movements or a slightly different dialect for certain characters or sections. At times I will use more contemporary movements, and it’s always good to think outside the box.






















Thiago Dos Santos, Jorden Morris, Gael Lambiotte and Tristan Dobrowney in Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

Classical ballet has sometimes been seen as an art that features the female dancer, and that the male dancer is simply there to present and support the ballerina. What is your perspective on the balance between male and female dancers in a work?

I think that perception is a bit dated personally – as a choreographer, I look at what stories would make great ballets. (Cyrano would be great for a male dancer, Joan of Arc for a woman). I think historically there were more female-focussed works, but I hope in the future of this art form, we will create works that promote the balance.





















Jorden Morris, Gael Lambiotte and Tristan Dobrowney in Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

For Peter Pan and Moulin Rouge – The Ballet, you drew on an existing story or text as a primary source for the dance. Is this a common starting point for you? How is your process different when working with more abstract concepts, as compared to character and narrative?

For Moulin Rouge – The Ballet, I wrote an entirely new script. All I took from existing sources were historical facts and names; then I wrote a script and developed it with my dramaturge. It’s an exciting process, but creating new characters can be a challenge as well. When working on an abstract piece, I let the music dictate the source of movement and what I want it to say.
























Costume sketch by Shannon Lovelace for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Morris for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet

In the past, you adapted a children’s television show into a dance performance. Have you ever adapted dance for television or film? Do you have a dream project that you’d like to develop?

I have done several projects that take dance to television and film; it’s always an interesting process to combine these media. As long as I have the opportunity to create, this is my dream project. I would like to keep creating new ballets, and I would love to film Moulin Rouge – The Ballet. I think it would be a very successful ballet on film.


*A bilingual photo essay on Morris’ creative process for Moulin Rouge – The Ballet appears in the October 2009 issue of The Dance Current.

As part of its seventieth anniversary season, Canada’s Royal Winnipeg Ballet premieres Moulin Rouge – The Ballet by Jorden Morris from October 21st through 24th at Centennial Concert Hall, Winnipeg. A Canadian tour follows from November 2009 through April 2010.

Learn more >>
www.rwb.org

ASTUCES POUR PROFESSEURS : Costumes

De Katharine Harris à l’École nationale de ballet du Canada
Traduction de Marie Claire Forté


L’Hallowe’en approche à grands pas et nombreux sont les parents et enfants qui pensent aux costumes. Pour ceux qui dansent, toutefois, le port du costume n’est pas un privilège réservé à un seul jour de l’année. La préparation de costumes pour le spectacle d’une classe peut être laborieuse, alors voici quelques conseils pour un processus sans embûches.

More...

1. Évaluez votre classe. Tenez compte des types de corps, des convenances propres à l’âge et des questions culturelles possibles avant de planifier des costumes. Chaque danseur à une histoire de sa pire expérience avec un costume. Pour la plupart, c’est une anecdote drôle, mais pour certains, cela peut être traumatisant.

2. Mettez les parents à contribution. Vérifiez auprès du comité de parents pour voir si quelqu’un a une machine à coudre et collaborez pour un costume fait maison. C’est non seulement une option créative, mais elle peut aussi s’avérer très abordable.

3. Mettez les élèves à contribution. Prenez en considération les idées des élèves sur les costumes et les thèmes. C’est un bon moyen de les engager dans le processus.

4. Barbara de Kat, chef de l’atelier de costumes au National Ballet of Canada, offre un bon conseil pour le choix des tissus : « Rappelez-vous que le tissu danse aussi ». Les tissus légers et coulants rehaussent le mouvement.

5. Ne favorisez pas nécessairement les costumes amples. Le costume ajusté met en valeur le mouvement du danseur. Le vêtement ne devrait pas limiter le mouvement. Les jupes ne doivent pas dépasser le milieu du mollet et les pantalons doivent tomber juste en dessous de la cheville, pas plus bas.

6. Réduisez, revalorisez, recyclez. Goodwill, le Village des valeurs et l’Armée du salut et autres friperies sont de bons endroits pour trouver des costumes. Lorsque vous achetez du linge usager, demandez à vos élèves d’essayer les costumes et de faire de grands mouvements. Le vêtement devrait suivre le mouvement. Il faut parfois ajuster le costume. Si vous ou un parent n’êtes pas en mesure de le faire, un couturier peut vous aider pour une somme modique. Si vous cherchez des costumes pour toute une classe, choisissez un élément unifiant – une couleur, un chandail rayé ou un accessoire commun – pour assortir le groupe à peu de frais et d’effort.

7. Le coffre à costumes et le garde-robe à la maison sont aussi des sources abordables de costumes. Entreposez des costumes potentiels tout au long de l’année. Lorsque vous commencez la conception des costumes, demandez aux élèves de fouiller dans les coffres et les garde-robes pour des trésors.

8. Si vous optez pour l’achat de costumes, cherchez bien. Demandez conseil auprès des autres studios et professeurs de danse dans votre région. Autant que possible, achetez local. Vérifiez dans les pages jaunes pour les rubriques de magasins de costumes.

Avant tout, souvenez-vous que bien que les costumes fassent partie de l’expérience du spectacle, le public vient pour voir les danseurs ; ainsi, assurez-vous que votre classe se concentre sur la danse et non seulement leurs habits.

For the English version of this article, see The Dance Current October 2009 print issue. | Pour la version anglais de cette rubrique, voyez The Dance Current October 2009 édition imprimé.

Pour en savoir plus | Learn more >>
www.nbs-enb.ca