Two nights before I saw the third and final instalment of DanceX, presented by the Australian Ballet, a juvenile Bar-tailed Godwit set the world record for continuous flight, flying 13,560km (8,435 miles) from Alaska to Tasmania.[note]Graham Readfearn, ‘Bar-tailed godwit sets world record with 13,560km continuous flight from Alaska to southern Australia’, The Guardian, October 27, 2022, https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/oct/27/bar-tailed-godwit-sets-world-record-with-13560km-continuous-flight-from-alaska-to-southern-australia, accessed October 30, 2022.[/note] Satellite tag number 234684 completed their marathon voyage in 11 days. By shrinking their internal organs to make room for fat stores, Bar-tailed Godwits are astonishing.
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Performance
DanceX Part Three: Australian Dance Theatre: “The Third” Chunky Move: “AB_TA_Response” The Australian Ballet: Alice Topp “Solstice” and Lucas Jervies “Imposter” Marrugeku: “Gudirr Gudirr”
Place
Playhouse, Arts Centre, Melbourne, October 29, 2022
Words
Gracia Haby
Dalisa Pigram in Marrugeku's “Gudirr Guddirr.” Photograph by Rainee Lantry
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In Yawaru language, this migratory bird has another name, and one that suits them beautifully: Gunwayi. In Broome, the Gunwayi, as Dalisa Pigram explained, is a calling bird that tells you that the tide is turning, if you know how to listen. When fishing, and in life: failure to heed their warning is to drown. When fishing, and in life: take only what you need; don’t be greedy.
Marrugeku, led by co-artistic directors, choreographer and dancer Pigram and director and dramaturg Rachael Swain, presented “Gudirr Gudirr” at DanceX Part Three at the Playhouse, Arts Centre Melbourne. Not unlike the shorebirds’ migration, “Gudirr Gudirr” has been performed extensively since its premiere in 2013 as part of Dance Massive. However this work derived its name from parallels that Marrugeku’s concept and cultural advisor Patrick Dodson saw between the bird and the devastating effect of colonisation today.[note]See “Annual Report of the Chief Protector of Aborigines for Year ending 30th June, 1928,” for example, https://aiatsis.gov.au/sites/default/files/docs/digitised_collections/remove/73719.pdf, accessed October 30, 2022.[/note] As Dodson described, “The Guwayi bird flies very low across the intertidal area to warn people out on the reef that the tide is coming in. . . .The Guwayi bird does not tell lies. . . .The warning sign from the Guwayi bird can go one of two ways. We are either going to drown because we are not reading the signs of our disempowerment, or we will hear the warnings and we will take steps.”
Dalisa Pigram in Marrugeku's “Gudirr Gudirr.” Photograph by Rainee Langtry
As the sounds of the Guwayi bird filled the theatre, “Gudirr Gudirr” called “to a community facing massive industrialisation on traditional lands, loss of language and major gaps between Indigenous and non-Indigenous wellbeing.”[note]“Gudirr Gudirr” synopsis, Marrugeku, https://www.marrugeku.com.au/productions/gudirr-gudirr/, accessed October 30, 2022.[/note] Behind Pigram, words from a 1928 historical report are projected upon a screen, but it is historical by date of publication only. This isn’t about a racist past; this is ongoing. This is now. Typified by Pigram’s powerful narration to “the time is now.” Yawaru language needed to find a word for ‘suicide.’[note]“Suicide was unknown to Aboriginal people prior to invasion. Appalling living conditions and past traumas have led to a suicide rate that by far exceeds that of non-Aboriginal people.” ‘Aboriginal suicide rates’, Creative Spirits, https://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/people/aboriginal-suicide-rates, accessed October 30, 2022.[/note]
Drawing upon her Asian-Indigenous identity, Pigram’s journey to keep language alive through her community work was also within every fibre of the performance that received a standing ovation on opening night. Dodson sees Pigram, too, as “that bird, signalling that if we don’t get our act together to pass on that knowledge we could soon lose it.”
Zoe Wozniak and Zachary Lopez in Australian Dance Theatre's “The Third” by Daniel Riley. Photograph by Rainee Langtry
Keeping knowledge alive through place and embodiment was embedded in Australian Dance Theatre’s performance of Daniel Riley’s “The Third.” Every movement confirmed that with knowledge comes the passing on of knowledge, the transmitting of information that connects us. As Margo Neale, whose book Songlines: The Power and Promise inspired the idea of a third archive,[note]Daniel Riley in conversation with Andrew Westle, Delving Into Dance podcast, https://www.delvingintodance.com/podcast/daniel-riley2, accessed October 30, 2022.[/note] explained, “We’re still here . . . and it’s because of the way we live with the land. Despite the onslaught of colonialism, Indigenous values are so deeply-rooted and strong.”
Samara Merrick and Jake Mangakahia in “Solstice” by Alice Topp for the Australian Ballet. Photograph by Rainee Lantry
Chunky Move’s “AB_TA_Response,” commissioned by the Australian Ballet, (‘AB,’) with the ‘TA’ in reference to Antony Hamilton’s 2019 work, “Token Armies” moved the conversation from connection to place to how we respond to the built environment. Alice Topp’s “Solstice” and Lucas Jervies’s “Imposter” followed suit, but changed the direction once more. With the stage stripped bare, the emphasis was the performers, Samara Merrick and Jake Mangakahia, and in “Imposter”, a quartet of violinists Zoe Black, Sophia Kirsanova, Jenny Khafagi and Sulki Yu who pulled the limbs of Joseph Caley, Elijah Trevitt, Sharni Spencer, Jasmin Durham, Jill Ogai, Isobelle Dashwood et al. as if they were the most complex of puppets.
Sharni Spencer and Joseph Caley in “Imposter” by Lucas Jervies for the Australian Ballet. Photograph by Rainee Lantry
Working with the dancers, Topp’s “Solstice” became a conversation that melded the sun of the first part of the word ‘sol’ to the ‘stand still’ moment that happens twice a year to tender effect. Merrick and Mangakahia cast a glow on only that which was absolutely necessary, and moved as if the sun was in their limbs. A hemispheric shift in a handful of minutes. Open your heart, the repeated refrain.
Open your ears. Don’t miss the call. These stories, all, are to be shared.
Gracia Haby
Using an armoury of play and poetry as a lure, Gracia Haby is an artist besotted with paper. Her limited edition artists’ books, and other works hard to pin down, are often made collaboratively with fellow artist, Louise Jennison. Their work is in the collections of the National Gallery of Australia and state libraries throughout Australia to the Tate (UK). Gracia Haby is known to collage with words as well as paper.
While Kendrick Lamar performed “Humble,” during his Super Bowl halftime set and was surrounded by dancers clad in red, white and blue—and in the process assumed the formation of the American flag (choreographed by Charm La’Donna)—so, too, did Faye Driscoll use performers who created slews of shapes/sculptures in her astonishing work, “Weathering,” seen at REDCAT on February 8, the last of three sold-out performances.
Let’s start with the obvious, or maybe to some this notion will be highly disputable, even offensive. OK, then, let’s start with what kept repeating in my head as I walked out of UC Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall, synapses abuzz with the wonders of Twyla Tharp Dance’s 60th anniversary “Diamond Jubilee” program: My God, Twyla Tharp really is the most brilliantly inventive choreographer now alive on the planet.
In Maldonne, French filmmakers Leila KA and Josselin Carré pose eleven women side by side on a barren stage. They’re dressed in floral patterns that hearken to the 1950s. The camera zooms in to frame their faces—each woman is in a state of distress.
Today I have the immense privilege of speaking with Riley Lapham. Riley started dancing early in her home town of Wollongong, and by age 14, she had joined the Australian Ballet School. But from here, Riley's journey takes twists and turns. In her graduation year, Riley missed her final performance due to injury. But in a Center Stage-like moment, the then artistic director David McAllister offered her a contract with the company. In this brave and vulnerable conversation, Riley and I talk about what it's like to join a company while injured, and what it was like to deal with...
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