Finding Multiple Truths in Challenging Times

With contributions from Liz Lerman and John Borstel

Global warming … genocide … war for oil … immigration … stories about our lives … corporate corruption … poverty … beauty and disorder … intolerance … marriage equity … racism … civil liberty violations … mountain top removal … greed … love … relationships … the power of prayer … community activism … paradise lost and found … old stories/new traditions … local heroes … ordinary prophets … animals and their people … old traditions/new stories … we have so much to make artwork about. How do we become informed?

We are living in a complex time, where values are questioned daily and the role of the artist is continually in flux. Charitable dollars are becoming scarce — and those are the dollars that most American artists depend upon. The call for artists to make work that is thought-provoking and generated from a place of inquiry is becoming stronger and stronger. We must investigate and question. In these times of sweeping change and fast-paced discoveries, our inspiration can be driven by what we don’t know about what we’re investigating or how to make the work, as opposed to what we do know or by a particular statement we want to make in a familiar way.

A story heard, a news article read, a cousin’s hardship, a lover’s joy or lament — you know where inspiration comes from. But what happens when we realize that the very idea, the very nugget of prime information that we’ve landed upon is something that we don’t truly understand? Does inspiration live in that ignorance? Is the act of making work about it going to help reveal new insight? In the context of this essay, the answer to those questions is YES. The projects cited here are part of the work and body of knowledge at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. A common practice of the artists in the company is to rattle around in someone else’s universe, which, in turn, leads us to the questions that will drive further investigation. In a sense, we are fueled by our own ignorance — as one of our scientist collaborators said about his own method of discovery.

We believe that understanding the power of research and knowledge is essential in an artist’s path to making significant work of high quality. The deeper the research, the more the aesthetic is pushed to new artistic solutions and structures, which, in turn leads to a deeper trans-domain dialogue.

What is a “Trans-domain Process”?

A trans-domain process may be described as activity that includes research, partners, translation, multiple perspectives, multiple truths, multiple voices and more than one outcome. Not all artists value interactions with people outside their own discipline as a way to inform their work. Nor does every artist value the idea that her work can serve a bigger purpose by showing multiple truths or ideas about a particular investigation. But when these values become priorities, the artist indicates a commitment to being trans-domain.

Trans-domain dancers are artists who are accomplished not only as technically skilled performers but as creators/choreographers, teachers, community facilitators, planners and program administrators. They are people who view themselves as engaged citizens. They are artists who are not constrained by traditional barriers of the studio walls or stage proscenium, but who function and flourish in settings like schools, community sites and corporate offices. This is the model that the Dance Exchange has long perpetuated, with Liz Lerman and her current ensemble as primary exemplars.

The possibility of a dance artist being diversely functional in diverse fields is not necessarily a new concept. Dance, from its origins as communal expression, has always been multidisciplinary, tapping not only the power of movement but also that of storytelling, singing, music, dramatic enactment, spectacle. Its traditional functions include celebration, mourning, healing, learning, socialization and worship. The concept of the dancer as a person who functions across domains is radical — not in creating a new image of what the dancer can be but in returning the multifunctionality of dance to its roots.

Dance artists have something unique to impart in a society where only a small minority of people pursue dance as a focused discipline. Dancers hold unique forms of knowledge because they are dancers, because their insights and perceptions are informed by bodily movement and spatial awareness. This gives them particular information to impart, skills to share and the capacity to connect to others whose orientation to the world is kinesthetic.

The next few paragraphs will provide examples of making work through methods that can inform the trans-domain artist. Many of them are examples of work we’ve developed at the Dance Exchange, but there is a variety of other artists who are involved in these kinds of explorations and have similar stories to tell.

Research and Multiple Truths

What do we mean when we say that research is necessary in a trans-domain creative process? How does it happen? This research happens through usual and unusual methods. Quick example: Liz and the dancers, during their development of “Ferocious Beauty: Genome,” were looking for ways to translate complex scientific facts into a multimedia dance/theater production by working with scientists. One of the things they wanted to convey was the idea that in cellular biology, the way we become who we are is determined by certain genes in our cells that are “turned on” or off by a process initiated by a complex chemical reaction involving an organic mechanism referred to in cell biology as the TATA box. The dancers began to develop a character (Miss Tata) based on this notion of turning on and off. Her first incarnation was as an outrageously proportioned claymation blonde bombshell. Then she was manifest on one of the dancers in the company as a temptress/stripper/seductress. They found out that the interpretation of this character was slightly incorrect after it was presented to a molecular biologist. The biologist suggested a nuance to the character (a dominatrix with a whip), based on the molecular process that the dancers did not fully understand. Specific information in the factual research led to the refinement of a more theatrical character.

Miss Tata (Elizabeth Johnson) from Liz Lerman Dance Exchange’s “Ferocious Beauty: Genome,” a temptress/stripper/seductress character corresponding to a “turning-on, turning-off" organic mechanism referred to in cell biology as the TATA box. One of their collaborators, a molecular biologist, suggested a nuance to the character (a dominatrix with a whip), based on the molecular process that the dancers did not fully understand. Specific information in the factual research led to the refinement of a more theatrical character.

Another example — a couple of years ago Liz received a commission from a Harvard Law School professor to make a piece to acknowledge the 60th anniversary of the war-crime trials at Nuremberg; the commissioner was specifically interested in a dance that would be suitable for a gathering of international human-rights activists who were looking at genocide through the lens of the law. As she began to explore her own ideas, Liz realized she wanted to have more contact with Martha Minow, the Harvard Law professor who had suggested the commission. Minow responded by articulating that, ideally, the piece could offer the possibility for people to dwell with multiple truths, that by getting beyond their own notions of the issues at hand, there might be a greater possibility for understanding the depth of these issues and historical events. Minow writes:

How could a trial be the right response to mass violence? How can the scale of the Holocaust fit within a courtroom, how can a few individuals be responsible, how can soldiers be to blame for what generals and politicians demanded and how can big guys be responsible for mass murders and rapes requiring the willing participation or passivity of hundreds, thousands of others? But also, how could a trial NOT be the right response — if the alternative is doing nothing, holding no one responsible, repeating the passivity during the atrocity with passivity afterward, and leaving silence as the rejoinder?

Why would you make a dance about genocide and the law? Because art can get at ambiguity, contradiction and irresolution; it can address ideas that a legal, investigative or empirical perspective cannot. This is why the trans-domain perspective is good, not just for art but for its partnering fields.

With this insight, Liz’s work took a new turn, and her communication with Minow remained constant throughout the process. All the while, every idea that was forming for the collaborating artists was investigated.

We sometimes refer to this notion of starting a broad research process as “keeping a wide funnel.” The artistry is then defined as receptive rather than deterministic. It requires a certain kind of faith on the part of the artist, as the piece may continue along a path of development with many questions unanswered while the purpose for the art makes itself more and more apparent.

The wide-funnel approach also helps us let go of our own preconceived notions of the issue or question. We let all opinions, ideas, analogies enter into the mix of possible material to grow, thereby allowing for multiple voices to be represented, thereby increasing the potential for more eyes to see the work for what it actually is, and not what the eyes and mind may assume it is.

An example of this is illustrated in the way we developed a section of work we made in 1996 in Portsmouth, N.H., during the Shipyard Project — a collection of personal stories from the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard put to movement by the Dance Exchange and members of the seacoast community. One of several issues that divided the community was the question of how much impact on the environment the shipyard was having, primarily because of its nuclear capacity. Some people we talked to had stories of contamination and destruction. Other people we talked to were convinced that the work of the shipyard had no impact whatsoever on the environment, and that the government had taken precautions to keep the water and air clean. Opinions were strong and emotions ran high.

We developed a section of the work that was performed in a church where dancers were lined up along the balcony rails (audience was seated in the pews below) and began making statements that began with, “Some people say….” At first you could hear each statement being made, and then the dancers began interrupting each other and speaking louder and louder, so that the cacophony of these opinions became an exact illustration of how multiple truths can exist in a community, and sometimes the diverging opinions never get resolved. It was not a moment of bias or certitude; it was a moment of noticing the diversity of voices, and the importance of that diversity as a positive hallmark of the community’s vibrant fabric.

Questions, Partners, Translation

Sometimes we define “community” as a geographical place, like Portsmouth in the Shipyard Project; other times it’s a community of interest, like the biologists in the Genome work. No matter the distinction, when we begin an investigation, we talk to a lot of people about what is on our minds, and theirs, for the work we are making. The initial thinking is informed by a series of questions we are asking ourselves and our growing community of potential partners. It will often take quite a while to land on what the “right” questions are that will lead us to the place that resonates with us as the creators, and with our partners. We’re also waiting for questions that lend themselves to physicalizing responses, which leads us to the gestures, verbs and choreographic structures that are the beginnings of a new dance.

The progress of a project is often reflected in the refinement of its driving questions. We may start with something quite broad, like “How can we live in a world where genocide still exists?” and then get to questions like “What is the meaning of upstanding?” Or a big question like “What are you in praise of?” becomes “What is something you miss, and what is something you wish?” or “When did you cross a boundary and who did you bring with you?” or “When have you found beauty and disorder in the same moment?” and “What reminds you that you’re human?”

We find partners in order to expand the circle of dialogue as we make a piece. This, in turn, expands the means for an audience to enter into the work. Inviting people who have a deep understanding — but different opinions — of the issue or question we’re investigating makes it more possible to introduce multiple perspectives into the work, and expands the artist’s ability to be less didactic in the way he is choosing to present information on stage. This, in turn, creates more ways for the audience member to enter into the investigation.

Sometimes we find partners based on the questions we’re asking. For example, when we worked on a project in Burlington, Vt., called “In Praise of Constancy in the Midst of Change,” we had discovered early in our research a group of women who had been playing cards together every Monday night for 40 years. They were the inspiration for our exploration and they became integral to the structure of the performance work. The piece called for partnerships with the Burlington Peace and Justice Center because of its sponsoring of immigrants and how, in addition to the civil-union question that was a hot issue at the time, people were making note of the changing demographics of the city’s population. This was primarily due to the support new Americans were finding in the community through its churches and other organizations. The work we made was poignant and honest, bringing people from myriad points of view not only into the discussion, but onto the stage together. Arnie Malina, artistic director of the Flynn Center for the Performing Arts, where the piece was performed, wrote, “This [project] recognized that life’s simplest recurring pleasures are indeed sacred. That “In Praise of Constancy in the Midst of Change” celebrated Vermont rural tradition as well as gay civil unions made this work both timeless and timely.”

The way we integrated the controversy in Burlington into our performance work can be thought of as translating information in a way that informs and illuminates, but doesn’t necessarily declare. It is not a thesis or an editorial. We can keep our opinions, but make the work speak to a variety of ways to think and feel about the issue. We become better translators when we learn to listen, to ask very specific questions, and to keep our circle of partners open. Sometimes the partner will be an informer, sometimes a participant, sometimes an unexpected artistic collaborator. We’ve learned that we can stay fresh in our investigation by continuing to ask questions, and by continuing to build meaningful partnerships throughout the process of making the work.

Managing and Accessibility

This notion of becoming people collectors takes a fair amount of energy and management skills. At a certain point we will “flip the funnel,” or narrow the funnel down, so that our work can focus on a particular area of exploration that we have identified as meaningful, as having the potential to be interesting and compelling to an audience while leaving open rich possibilities for making exceptional art that is honest and authentic.

Rigorous inquiry accompanies all steps in a Dance Exchange artist’s process, but is most present as we narrow our investigation toward actually making the work. The artists and the staff that supports the artists have become fairly skilled at managing our partners and knowing when to pull them into the artmaking, just as we manage the work itself and the artistic collaborators who are helping to create, synthesize and produce. Sometimes, in an effort to edit and focus, we find ourselves in the position of making decisions that may imply that the work is highlighting one idea more than another. Still, we find ways to keep the multiple voices represented while maintaining the rigorous connection to a process that ensures quality and accessibility in the work. We stay connected to what is driving the art.

We have found that, just as we need people from other universes to inform the work we are making, those people, too, need the perspective of an artist to make their own work more accessible and more easily understood. One example: When Francis Collins, director of the National Human Genome Research Institute, saw “Ferocious Beauty: Genome,” he had these words to say:

…it's a very powerful experience, and it's the second time I've had the privilege of being part of this — I don't want to call it "performance" because that doesn't really cover it, does it? It draws you in, it's an experience. Science is seen by many people as impenetrable because it's full of jargon and it's hard to understand what people are talking about. This is so accessible, yet it's so mysterious, in a way that science can be as well.

An artist has the ability to convey complex ideas as beauty, or distressing realities as evocative, or things we take for granted as magical. Making our way from one domain through many makes for journeys that stimulate our own inspiration, which becomes evident in how our own art and aesthetic expand. It also affirms the reality of the profundity with which that aesthetic can communicate and enlighten.

This essay is part of the Community Arts Convening & Research Project, 2008, funded by a Nathan Cummings Foundation grant to the Maryland Institute College of Art. The essay was reviewed and selected by the project’s Editorial Board: Ron Bechet, Xavier University of Louisiana; Lori Hager, University of Oregon; Marina Gutierrez, Cooper Union; Ken Krafchek, Maryland Institute College of Art; Sonia Mañjon, California College of the Arts; Amalia Mesa-Bains, California State University Monterey Bay; Paul Teruel, Columbia College Chicago; and Stephani Woodson, Arizona State University.

Jane Hirshberg is managing director of Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. She has been participating in community-based art making projects for many years, first as a musician, then as a presenter, as a funder, and now as an artist representative and advocate. She lives in Catonsville, Maryland, with her family and two cats.

Original CAN/API publication: June 2008