Sustained through the evening was this sense of gentle travel from the physical space of the theater to a saturated, painterly space, but one where images had scent, sweat, duration, and an odd muted form of speech. Amy Sue Rosen and Derek Bernstein, a choreographer and painter respectively, have been collaborating since 1983. Over the course of the dance, the fluid in the tubing becomes blood-red, snaking its way across the floor. The piece progresses simply. For a while, Sally Bomer, David Parker and Kristi Spessard gently toe the stage.
Events come into place.
Spessard is lifted horizontally and placed on the floor. The dancers take crawl positions, resting on elbows and shins, paying minute, unison attention to the placement of their palms on their cheeks. It's an ecstasy, an exhaustion and a nonchalance all in one, shaded by particular manners of smiling. The same strange balance is in their manner throughout, and it's this that is most engaging to me. There's a sense of wanting coupled with a lack of urgency.