The entire affair was creepily ritualistic. The dancers wore simple white shirts and slacks for both works, which one dancer described afterwards as “Nurse Ratched chic.” There were little towels folded at the side of each platform, where the dancers removed their shoes before mounting barefoot onto their personal stages. It was as if they were stepping onto tatami mats, especially for the grounded “Group” dance. There was no music for either work, and no announcement before the dancers seriously went about their tasks, which, when added to the institutional white outfits and the choreographed shoe placements, cut the pretty floral milieu with strong cult vibes. Uninformed pedestrians were confused as hell. The incongruity was wonderful.
Though the juxtaposition with the giant impressionist flower cutouts was unusual, the works of Trisha Brown are no strangers to the urban wild. In fact, “Group Primary Accumulation” premiered at the Sunken Plaza of the McGraw-Hill Building, some twenty blocks down and across town, on May 16, 1975. And my family’s next stop was the Museum of Modern Art, where my sons delighted in a 16mm black and white film of a man walking down the side of a building on Wooster Street in Soho, suspended by mountaineering cables—a recording of a Trisha Brown Company performance from 1970. (Coincidentally, Trisha Brown’s only other works at MoMA are a series of geometric “Locus” drawings in the archives.) This projection faced off against Gordon Matta-Clark’s massive Bingo sculpture (1974), which reassembled pieces of abandoned buildings in uncanny ways.
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