Choreo Notes
A Miami Dancer Takes on New York City…
and Finds There’s No Place Like Home

By Letty Bassart

In December I learned that I would be fortunate enough to inaugurate the Movement Research Exchange, an exchange between Tigertail Productions in Miami and Movement Research in New York. 

Prior to my departure I had attended what seemed like a million artist meetings in Spanish and in English describing their frustration and discontent with the Miami Art community.  Even I, a long-time lover of Miami, found myself wondering, would this be an exchange or the first step to moving out of town?  Are there simply more things happening in other places?  Was New York the place to be?  Either way, I was grateful to be going. 

As I arrive, I compose the following sentence: “I am a woman who finds herself tasting at the edge of ‘something’ as though it were a plump and sweetened cranberry resting on her tongue.”  I was completely able to identify what that ‘something’ might be.  My sternum throbbed from nerves, exhaustion, and the four flights of stairs it takes to get to the Movement Research studios. 

The Movement Research studio happens to be a magnificent space reminiscent of every film ever made about dance—a SoHo studio complete with high ceilings, huge windows, window seats, an aggregation of Danskos at the door, an expansive wooden floor, and yes, a corner radiator.  I cannot help but feel giddy. 

The first class in this studio is former Petronio dancer, Jeremy Nelson’s technique class.  His class is somehow characterized by his soft legs and piercing blue eyes.  During the course of the class, Jeremy asks, “If you have solved all of the mysteries of your body, why keep dancing? Is dancing about uncovering the body’s mysteries?  Does the body’s mystery go hand in hand with the curiosity that drives us to create new movement?  Is this one of the beauty’s of dance, a practice made new by the daily shifts in our physicality?

Jess Curtis is next. He enters the room with large hair, eyes, and sense of drama.  His broad smile, framed by two small hoop earrings, becomes the context for his exploration of the point of contact.  He spends an entire hour focusing on consensual counterbalance and the need to lean further into the point of contact.  I find this class oddly exhausting.  His five-day contact crash course involves continually changing partners throughout the class.  The week continued with explorations of speed, pressure, weight, etc.  Early on he mentioned a Zaporah interview in which she stated, “I don’t know where I am going, but I know exactly what I am doing.”  Throughout his class I find myself quietly echoing, I don’t know where this exchange will lead or what will happen, but I will relish every moment. 

Enter Sarah and Patrik.   They have just arrived from India.  Patrik’s fervor flows over his tiny round glasses to create movement that is unexpectedly enormous and inspiring.  Sarah’s thick curly hair is parted in the middle and gathered in a barrette on either side.  The exuberance of her hair matches her contagious enthusiasm.  For her, movement seems to flow freely and intuitively.  She moves quickly and continuously.  She fills each space with a sense of deference for musicians and her mentors, Murray Lewis, Nikolais, etc.  

Her class involves little discussion as she facilitates perpetual and instant decision-making, alone, in groups, in duets, etc.  Sarah’s gracious appreciation for dance makers is welcomed and familiar. 

The second week begins with Irene Dowd’s class.  On first impression, it is Irene’s voice that is most distinctive.  She explains this will be a class in which we develop a systematic way to prepare to be off balance.   The class moves slowly and progressively.  Irene introduces us to visceral spheres and begins to takes us on a journey through diagonals, pathways, bone structures, gestures, and yes, arabesques.  I am fascinated by this woman whose leadership in the community is through a series of movements that protect the movers’ body from injury.  My participation in this class feels historic in the best possible way.   

The last in my series of Movement Research classes is Tere O’Connors’ composition class.  Tere walks in with his newspaper, his knitting, his button down blue shirt, and his goatee.  Of all of the classes so far, it is this class that most closely echoes my own approach into the studio.  Perhaps this is because Tere considers himself to be auto-didactic and I bring with me a long list of other-than dance experiences.  For his class, movement is entered and described through a number of different lenses including history, space, architecture, visual art, etc.  Our conversations solidify my sense of composition.

In this class, I find myself naming my reveries.  My movement choices have become even clearer to me.  Tere introduces me to a process he calls “wrecking the dance.”  For me this conjures one of two images, the growth of a beautiful reef on something apparently lost and the ‘burning platform’ concept used in entrepreneurship that refers to saving that which is at the core of a flailing business.   Both continue to be powerful and thought provoking as I create new work. 

More than that, this idea of wrecking and discovery quickly makes me homesick.

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