Stuart Allen at the Crocker Art Museum
by Meredith Goldsmith
Art critic, San Francisco, CA
It is rare that photography looks like magic anymore, but at Stuart Allen's Dance Lines strangers are asking each other, "How did he
do that?" This series of black and white photographs traces the movements
of dancers across the space of the museum's Grand Ballroom—a spectacular
Victorian-era chamber replete with blooming columns, intricately carved
layers of molding, and a floor with various colors of hardwood set in
elaborate geometric patterns. Allen uses long exposures, sometimes lasting
20 or 30 seconds, so that when the dancers, equipped with battery-powered
bright light suits the artist designed and fashioned himself, cross the
frame, the "light-line" is captured, the dancers rendered invisible,
and the architecture is recorded as the stage.
At first, it is startling to see such evidence of life as the light-document,
yet such absence of personage. But having the human subject removed from
the photograph makes the actual subject clearer: Allen is interested in
movements across spaces during a period of time. He removes the limitations
of the dancers' bodies, extending their presence across the composition,
and exploits the mechanics of the camera, recording a length of time and
actions in one single shot.
The eye is easily led to animate the hurried, temporal lines. Polka is a scribbled crown that hits all four corners of a woven square in the
elaborate wood floor. Waltz looks like curling cake icing, and Ballet (Saut de Basque) is a line of synchronized light-lassoes.
Other pieces have more flat-looking repeated patterns like methodical
brush strokes or handwriting practice, like the chain of cursive S's in African (Senegalese) or the consecutive Z's in Samba. Tango (Argentine) shows an arching chain of rectangles against
the geometry of the hardwood floors. "Oh, I can see where they come
together," I overhear one viewer say to another. A closer look at
this piece reveals illuminated scuff marks on the floor—evidence
of Victorian balls gone-by. It is an obvious jump to recognize the Dance
Lines in this historical setting as ghosts. Yet the images do communicate
an essence that is authentic, and they are aesthetically interesting enough
to keep you looking long enough to relate to that common urge to dance
exuberantly.
When this dance-democratic feeling hits you, it is easy to forget that
Allen works with highly trained dancers who move and hit every mark precisely;
this series is not the product of spontaneity. Allen studied dancers,
dance styles and the traditional sequences within those styles for an
extended period of time to determine which movements would leave the most
interesting "light lines." He had originally intended to complete
this series in a darkened studio, but found the Crocker's Grand Ballroom
provided an opportunity to add another layer of meaning to his study.
At this show, the viewer experiences, in his or her own time, the Dance
Lines, which took many moments to create, but all exist at the same
moment in each work. And this collection of moments exists in a space
where countless people created their own dance lines for more than a century.
The viewer contemplates his or her place in this history of movements
in this space as he/she walks by one of the mirrors in the ballroom, and
sees a snapshot of his/her visit to the exhibition reflected.
- Originally published in Artweek.
No part of this essay maybe reproduced or reprinted without the permission
of the author.
photos from this series: click
here
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