How to Fly

The fluidity of flight is challenging to arrange. We took a new direction in Icarus last night. Taking out some of the longer holds, we worked on creating more ongoing movement. Now Icarus, played by Amanda Abrams, spends relatively little time on any particular partner. This scheme means that the audience's eye seldom settles in any one place for very long and the partnering becomes more cooperative: each supporting dancer must coordinate closely with the others to accomodate the successive lifts.

I worried a bit about how to show agency in Amanda's movement. Icarus, after all, gets caught up in the freedom of his flight, twirling with abandon. Yet his flight is not solo: he has his wings to support him. These wings are, in any case, an extension of his father's support and care. Daedalus is the mythic figure. A kind of human Hephaestus, he is so clever that he may do things that border on the supernatural. His genius keeps Icarus in the air, as our dancers support each other.

Daedalus is the myth, Icarus is the man. There is no mistake that pop culture embraced Icarus, half-remembered Daedalus as the dad flying next to him. Icarus has no special powers. He is just a guy like the rest of us: flawed, forgetful, moved by forces greater than himself--lusting after the sun more than is good for him.

Saturday, we will take another crack at the marriage dance. Maybe the last two weeks off will prove a boon. With fresh eyes and bodies, we may break through my resistance.

Come watch Human Landscape Dance at the Kennedy Center Millenium Stage on Wednesday Mar 23, 6pm, free. Next up, we perform at Dance Place in Washington DC with Anne-Marie Mulgrew and Dancers Co in the Washington DC/Philadelphia Exchange, the second performance of our exchange.

Photo by Bill Hebert.