Choreography - Hannah Ayasse: December 2015

This 5 minute work is an exploration of the ways in which humans define themselves through the stories they tell about their lives. It is the result of one year of collecting stories from strangers at parties, in bars, cafes, and online and 3 months of following the stories to find choreography. Initially, I was trying to bring the stories to life through movement. I soon realized that it was not the content of the stories that was important, but the process of telling a story. I noticed patterns in the types of details respondents chose to include and in the ways that they formatted their stories (i.e. listing big life events, offering one specific anecdote, explaining their life philosophy). I began to understand how telling stories is a uniquely human habit and this dance was an effort to honor that. To honor the stories that strangers graciously offered me, to honor my dancers as owners of their own unique stories, and to honor the never-ending process of communicating what–, where–, why–, when–, and who– we all are.

Rehearsal Process

My rehearsal process was an amazing learning experience.

I learned that it is okay (and sometimes necessary) to change your idea or focus; that you must set goals but accept that the result may not look anything like that goal.

My initial idea was to explore the relationship between strangers and examine the depth of information that a person is willing to share with a stranger or anonymously. I envisioned a lot of partner work, gestural conversations, contact, and clear characters. I started towards that goal by using the stories and creating movement along with my dancers that communicated the stories. I thought I would use this movement as a base for character development and conversations between characters. I soon realized that I was thinking about these stories more as internal and personal experiences rather than things that connected two people. It was becoming more about the experience of telling a story rather than a conversation. Although I am conscious of this shift in retrospect, I am not sure how much I actually thought about it while in rehearsals. The hours in the studio were spent dancing, finding musicality, and paying attention to lines, angles, and details more than the concept of storytelling.

I learned that you must try 1,000 things that don't work before finding the 1 thing that does and that those first 1,000 things are no less valuable than the final product.

Looking through the videos from each rehearsal, there were so many structures and movement phrases that were tried out and dropped along the way. I loved this process and was grateful to have the time for experimentation. I think this process could be perpetual and while I am satisfied with the work I presented, I think it could have used double or triple the hours in rehearsal to come to a finish.

I learned how much you must rely on your dancers as creative agents and as able bodies.

My dancers brought so much of themselves to this process and piece I asked them to create movement, to make choreography their own, and to share their own stories within the piece. I realized that so many little things affect the way a work is made in performed; the time of day, the weather, the many other commitments and life experiences of the dancers. All of these things affect the energy in rehearsal and ultimately the final work. This was not something that I fully considered when scheduling and casting. I realized at the end of the process how much of the piece is really a reflection of the dancers as people and as movers. It is an interesting feeling of both owning a dance and letting it go.

Staging in the Theater

This was the first time I ever staged a dance in a theater with such technical resources and creative freedom. It was interesting to be one of 9 works and see the technical choices of others beside my own. I felt as though I had a very clear ideas of what I wanted going into the week of technical and dress rehearsals and did not have difficulties working with my lighting or costume designers to realize my vision. I was most excited by the opportunity to open the show after intermission. My music began with ambient sounds of people talking and the dancers entered from the audience. This was intended to give the impression of my dance growing out of intermission and existing in a very real-world setting... the dancers could be any of the audience members and the stories could have been any of the things they spoke about during the break. Overall, the addition of lights, costumes, and a professional sound system helped to finish and polish the dance very well.

Presenting to the Audience

Presenting my work to a public audience was both extremely nerve-wracking and incredibly satisfying. By the time opening night rolled around, I felt as though I had been so concentrated on all of the small details of the dance that it was difficult for me to see it as one cohesive work. I had difficulty being able to imagine how the audience would understand the dance because I could not possibly put myself in their shoes; I had seen too much for too long. I worried that the audience would not connect to the dance and that it was too late for me to do anything about it. As soon as I reflected upon my anxiety, however, I realized how beautiful it was that I no longer had control. My job was done... I had created something... and the way that the audience perceived it and the dancers danced it was no longer really up to me. It was frightening, liberating, and satisfying to let go and to realize that I had an opportunity to watch my work take on a life and responsibility of it's own.
Nonetheless, the audience received the piece well. I received positive feedback and felt at peace after opening night. The piece came to life three nights in a row and then was put to rest. One of the most beautiful things about dance is it's ephemerality.