One of the many things that stick out in my mind about Isadora Duncan was her love affair with set designer Gordan Craig. According to Isadora’s autobiography (My Life) the fiesty fire between the two lovers began over a backdrop; the signature blue drapes that Ms. Duncan prided herself on. Simple, flowing, much like the tunics she wore throughout her life, and certainly while dancing. So much attention paid to fabric and detail that she wound up in a tumultuous, lustful and painful relationship with Craig; someone who shared her vision and passion.
It was this detail that lit up in my mind when dancer and Executive Director of IsadoraNOW, Elyssa Dru Rosenburg, paraded onto the marley at the Joyce SoHo donning such obviously cheap white fabric. It’s no mystery that Isadora was extravagant and lived well beyond her means and it shocked me that such a character trait was put aside so early in the show. 40 seconds into watching Polanaise I finally saw some semblance to the sensual, committed, and stubborn Isadora that I had come to know and admire. Dru Rosenberg morphed her down-beat motion from angry to playful. She was finally, magnetic; precisely how I always imagined Isadora to be in those small parlors she began performing in. Filled with patrons and fellow artists Isadora danced to implore her art and politics; with every flexed hand, pointed finger and scanty gaze Dru Rosenburg distracted me from my initial disappointment.
To the sounds of patriotism and percussion Intangled (a piece choreographed by Rebecca Woll) helped to web a work much like its namesake. While some dancers sprawled and spiraled across the floor like cats trying to catch a ball of yarn, others were unmoved like an hourglass counting time with grains of sand. The juxtaposition was alluring in its chaos. As Isadora was known to be anti-ballet, Intangled presented many elements that were just that: architectural partnering with a play on the traditional male who lifts and leads the female; strong and grounded women; soft men; and most simply, deep contractions and arcs of the body. The piece radiated like a baptismal awakening to the spirit of modernity within each dancer.
What really illuminated the program was the last of Isadora’s works showcased, Varshavianka; a reactionary piece towards the Russian Revolution. Each dancer came alive with pride and fight as they waved the single flag high before sinking down into the arms of the next compatriot ready to march on. It was this work where the breath and depth of dancers Molley Knochel and Raleigh Veach enraptured me. Knochel had been moving all evening with a dominate, sultry grace that it took great efforts to look away from her; her leading out in Varshavianka relieved me of the dreaded task of diverting my attention towards other elements of the program. Veach, showing glimmers of her ballet virtuosity throughout, gave herself over to the choreography and political seriousness with complete transparency. It was as though she was fighting Isadora’s fight and left me, as Isadora predicted, with something I will carry forever.
