As the solemn marching pulse of the second movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 swelled with largeness and emotion, Vangeline slowly rotated her upper torso to face the audience and then rotated back. She became a Greek sculpture—seen in profile, then in three quarter view, full frontal, and then the reverse—like the phases of the moon. That was the sum of her movement for those nine minutes. But in that time, Vangeline had slowed her own breathing and internal processes to enter a state of deep concentration, and in doing so, we in the audience slowed down with her and shifted into Butoh time.
To the sounds of birdsong, “The Blue Danube” waltz, helicopter oscillations, and electronic sound composed by Michael Shannon, Vangeline again locked our attention as she gradually raised her arms sidewards and then fully overhead. She appeared like a scaly water creature arisen from the deep as the ends of her draped stole emerged from the water. Her hands, hidden inside the glistening fabric, began to flick as they moved toward her face. Removing the golden mask, she released it to the water.
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