New Worlds Mar 28, 2014

by Gillian Jorgensen

When I walked into the theater, the smell of soil and sound of crickets transported me to those times growing up when we were allowed to sleep outside. In the nearly quiet darkness, we would discover new worlds, renewed each night but vanished with daylight. Because of this, when the dancers came on stage, their dimly lit grey costumes and percussive rhythms put me in mind of moths clamoring around a lamp: the sharp fluidity of the choreography accentuated this image and before I knew it, I was completely immersed in a world where moths and insects took human form, their insect casings left in the soil, new bodies exploring ways of being and moving.

The design of this production only deepened this caught image: the large-scale papercuts (oh those hidden-in-plain-sight silhouettes!), the shimmer and focus of lighting, the hammered loud-ness of the music...I was caught in a world where a prep school boy wandered in to the night to a realm within the every day but wholly its own. It was magical. It was exciting.

If I watched this production again, perhaps I'd have a different framework. Maybe I'd be caught up in the abstract artistry of dance via projection, silhouette, and mirrored bodies, how they can move and shape so much so simply. Maybe I'd be thinking about arguments wholly personal but able to be unseen by others. Maybe I'd see bugs again.

And that's what I truly enjoyed about BeginAgain. The richness of this production allowed my mind to settle where it would, rarely snagging on elements irregular to my wistful world of even-ing trysts. I would like to visit again.