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Truth or Consequences

Los Angeles-based Heidi Duckler, dubbed “Queen of Site-Specific Dance,” and whose Heidi Duckler Dance is celebrating 40 years of transforming spaces through the power of contemporary movement—kudos!—has stepped aside as artistic director, handing the reigns to associate artistic director, Raymond Ejiofor. That said—and it’s saying a lot—as part of its acclaimed series, “Truth or Consequences,” which presents transdisciplinary performances, HDD’s first salon of the year, “Close to the Ground,” was held on February 15 on the rooftop of the legendary 1927 Bendix Building, home to the company’s studio.

Performance

Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground”

Place

Heidi Duckler Studio, Los Angeles, CA, February 15, 2024

Words

Victoria Looseleaf

Jasmine Albuquerque in “When I Close My Eyes, I Don’t See Darkness, I See Rubble: My Eulogy to Matriarchal Rage, Part I,” as part of Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground.” Photograph by Heather Seybolt

 Produced by Duckler and Ejiofor, and curated by dancer/choreographer Jasmine Albuquerque (who performed with Duckler decades ago), the dances, according to the press notes, were held in conjunction with the Chinese Year of the Wood Snake”—acknowledged as a symbol of renewal and transformation—and invited viewers to “reflect on our ability to adapt.” 

In the case of this concert, one was not only asked to adapt to chilly evening temperatures while taking in both terrific views of the city and Albuquerque’s evocative outdoor work-in-progress, “When I Close My Eyes, I Don’t See Darkness, I See Rubble: My Eulogy to Matriarchal Rage, Part I,” but also to consider a pair of vastly different numbers: Maija Knapp’s “Ouroboros” was performed in the studio’s foyer, and Beatrice Gosse’s “[F64.0, F64.9],” was staged in the long narrow hallway, and had some unintended moments. 

But more on that later, and bravo to the Albuquerque family, which Kitty McNamee, the Godmother of Contemporary Dance, recently dubbed, “a family of unicorns!” Seriously, for those unfamiliar with this artistic dynasty, here’s the skinny: Jasmine and her mother, the brilliant light and space/land artist Lita Albuquerque, who is at long last being lauded world-wide for her monumental works, including her latest creation, “Turbulence,” which can be seen at Frieze Los Angeles this week—have often worked together, while Isabel Albuquerque, also a frequent collaborator, has lately been hailed for her headless female sculptures that reclaim the female nude. 

The Albuquerques were also seen as part of the Salon in a short film, “The Arrival,” directed by Justin Tyler Close. Shot in the ruins of their home a few weeks after the Woolsey Fires of 2018 had decimated it, the traumatic event coincided with the birth of Jasmine’s first child, Adé, who is also Lita’s first grandson. With choreography by Nina McNeely and Jasmine Albuquerque, and music by Lo Fang, the film is a portrait of survival, family and art, and has a direct connection to Jasmine’s latest dance, the aforementioned, “When I Close My Eyes, I Don’t See Darkness, I See Rubble: My Eulogy to Matriarchal Rage, Part I.” 

Jasmine Albuquerque in “When I Close My Eyes, I Don’t See Darkness, I See Rubble: My Eulogy to Matriarchal Rage, Part I,” as part of Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground.” Photograph by Heather Seybolt

Jasmine Albuquerque in “When I Close My Eyes, I Don’t See Darkness, I See Rubble: My Eulogy to Matriarchal Rage, Part I,” as part of Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground.” Photograph by Heather Seybolt

Also influenced by L.A.’s latest devastating fires and suffering from a bout of PTSD, Jasmine set her work to a potpourri of music, including Cucina Povera and Aphex Twin. Featuring the choreographer, Malachi, Nandi Zulu (Albuquerque’s sister-in-law), Danny Dolan and Lucy McRae, the dance was a ribald, let-it-all-hang-out kind of number.

Literally, as Albuquerque’s costume, designed by McRae, featured a plethora of brightly colored, polyethylene-type, well, entrails. As birth was also part of the theme, three figures, totally clad in gray unitards with matching head masks and somewhat resembling Siths, alighted on the scene, with two of the performers—Dolan and Malachi—sporting noticeably, albeit faux, pregnant bellies. 

Approaching “Twilight Zone” territory, South African-born Zulu shed her mask and latex bodysuit, revealing shorts, a top and strings of beads, and delivered a fiercely original poem ripped from the pages of her own life: Recounting her pregnancy, she exclaimed that when her “water broke, labor pains began,” adding that “the scar’s as pretty as a snake. It’s my body.”

And so it was. The score, now disco-esque, accompanied the pregnant pair, oh, so alien-like—butting their bulges together before unzipping and shedding their garb to await the arrival of Albuquerque.

Talk about an entrance: With her long blonde hair flying, this terpsichorean goddess unleashed spins, leaps and furtive steps before the male duo hoisted her skyward, her “Wizard of Oz”-meets astronaut—type-oversized-shoeboots completing a picture of someone comfortable in her own skin, while simultaneously emitting—at least to this reviewer—an existential vibe. 

Ah, but Albuquerque was actually able to phone home: In this case, she called her mother, Lita! Whether this was planned or merely of the moment, it upped the delightful, if peculiar, antics of the performance. And then, into the pleather-like universe came McRae, also adorned in extra-terrestrial-like apparel, before the quintet of performers became one of the weirder conga lines on record, their unison moves including angsty, near head-clutching arm gyrations.

Annalise Gheling, Danny Axley, Augustine Perez and Courtney Scarr in Maija Knapp’s “Ouroboros” in Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground.” Photograph by Heather Seybolt

Annalise Gheling, Danny Axley, Augustine Perez and Courtney Scarr in Maija Knapp’s “Ouroboros” in Heidi Duckler’s “Truth or Consequences: Close to the Ground.” Photograph by Heather Seybolt

And topping things off: McRae play-bombarded Albuquerque with a sack of rice, then unleashed it into the air and onto the gal whose font of ideas never fails to entice. Indeed, ours is not to ask “why,” but “why not,” as this wild romp could have been an end-of-the-world scenario, but one literally giving birth among the ruins to a new species, a colony of artmakers ready to take on any and everything. That, in essence, is Planet Albuquerque, the metaphors—birth, death, rebirth—readily apparent.

Also part of that universe, Maija Knapp’s “Ouroboros” (an ancient symbol depicting a snake or dragon eating its own tail), opened the event. Featuring four dancers—Annalise Gheling, Danny Axley, Augustine Perez and Courtney Scarr—all dressed in white body-hugging shorts and tops, rhythmically moved on a lit-from-below table. 

Meant to create a kind of conveyor belt of humans, this knock-kneed coven of hipsters sported kitty-cat whiskers on their faces, and assumed thrusting and off-center stances as if at a Purity Ball gone awry. Keilan Stafford, meanwhile, garbed in black as a “Cabaret”-type emcee (but more demented), gyrated on the floor, the entire ensemble grooving to a mix of compositions by Arian Rad and others. 

Completing the program: trans artist Beatrice Gosse’s “[F64.0, F64.9],” a number referring to their gender surgery. Clad only in a hospital gown, thong and pushing a gurney, Gosse ended up on the movable bed, the work proving too graphic for some, as adults whisked away their children, while a man fell ill and an ambulance was summoned.  

That said, the event, which also included a talkback with artists, had quite a large turnout, always heartening in the dance world, as this reviewer eagerly awaits Part II of Albuquerque’s epic-in-the-making work. And whether she’s dealing with rubble, matriarchal rage or the state of our world, Jasmine Albuquerque, who gave birth to another son last September, remains a singular artist of the highest order.

Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and Linked In, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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