Salmon Run: A Dance Exploration
I started work on “Salmon Run” because I wanted to explore dance at the level of the body. Flesh has inherent resonance. The simplest gestures, even stillness, register the most compelling element of our lives: their frailty. The certain end of our days gives them meaning. Dance, an art form that directly utilizes flesh as its medium, an art form, moreover, that is fleeting, a nightly phantom, has much to say on this score.
I would not use the familiar trappings of modern dance, the kicks and leaps that can make this such an exciting form to watch. I wanted to see what was minimally necessary to focus the audience’s attention to our bodies alone. I was concerned that heroic movement, by alluding to strenuous feats in general, would divert their attention. Similarly, the pace of the movement had to be gradual. Dynamism calls attention to itself. I wanted to call attention to the actor, not the act.
This pace also put my work within the context of nature. We have come to associate slowness with nature, the horse versus the car, the tranquil atmosphere of our carefully tended parks versus the rush of jobs and amusements. We tend to see nature as separate from our daily lives, a minor annoyance when it rains. It is easy from our relatively enclosed culture to imagine a domesticated world when, in fact, wildness resides in our blood and bones. We are as much products of the natural world as ever before, no matter that eggs may now be inseminated in test tubes or that we pee into porcelain. We cannot separate nature from ourselves.
As a nod to this kinship between ourselves and our world, I chose to set the dance in water. Submerged, we become just more errata suspended in the water’s folds—bodies within a body. Over the course of the dance, we rise from the water, but we never leave it.
The subject of this dance also places it in the context of nature. “Salmon Run” follows a pair of fish as they swim upstream to the riverbed in which they were born, spawn there, and then die. This narrative is, of course, a metaphor for our own scramble to sow our seeds before death. Taken broadly, it is everyone’s story.
We chose to document this with two male bodies. This was not a political decision, but one of circumstance. Alex Short was available when I started work. For some viewers, it may have raised the issue of same sex relationships. As one who believes that affection can and ought to transcend gender, I am happy to raise this issue. It is intended as a universal artwork, however, with roles that could be played by men or women interchangeably.
We began with exercises from Eiko’s “Delicious Movement” workshop. I am indebted to Eiko and Koma for these exercises, from which we launched our movement exploration. Eiko taught the students in her workshop to let our bodies guide our movement choices, rather than to try to embody an abstract concept. I have considered Eiko an invisible partner throughout this process.
We rehearsed and performed “Salmon Run” in the ODK Fountain on the University of Maryland campus. The choreography was set in the water, a collaborative effort born mostly of improvisation.
Over the course of the dance, we not only travel upstream, but upward in space. Our journey takes us from just below the surface of the water to, finally, high above it. This is the apogee of our journey, from which we sink back down.
Our costumes consist of burlap sacks tied around our waists. I chose these because their texture contrasts with the smooth surface of the water. This helps us to be seen and also suggests fish scales. Moreover, the rough material has a terrestrial quality that is otherwise absent from the tar-paved fountain.
We chose to perform at 5 pm because of the great potential for a change in light. While we rehearsed over the summer, 5 to 6 pm was the hour during which the glaring sun noticeably softened. Shadows lengthened and twilight would just settle in by the time we finished. We wanted to reflect the sky’s transformation with our own transformation from life into death.
We publicized little, deciding that we would rather perform for friends and colleagues than try to attract a large audience. This was an intimate piece, so we decided to keep attendance small. Thus we handed out invitations rather than writing press releases.
At the performance, it rained. Rain came and went at intervals, chopping up the water and forcing the audience to hide beneath umbrellas. This unpredictable weather, however, created an atmosphere of transformation at least as well as would sunlight.
The audience was at times light and at times heavy, usually in response to the rain. At one point there were nearly thirty people. Many came and went. They were mostly friends and students, and a few faculty. It was a respectful crowd, mostly silent, not breaching the sound of the rushing water, which was our only accompaniment.
It was a successful concert, in my view. We brought people together to regard the human body and its place in nature.
Malcolm Shute
Photos by Jennifer Mueller
