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Originally uploaded by swan lake samba girl via mobile.


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Not! Can’t afford Chanel 🙂 but wanted to visit one of their boutiques showing more art from the mobile exhibit. One on 57th street is Pierre et Gilles‘ “I Don’t Want To Sleep Alone.” Rather amusing…

Update: So, exhibit in the 57th Street Chanel store was this: there were three large, life-sized photographs (touched up with glossy veneers). On the left was a young man in bed with a small fuschia Chanel bag. He looked a bit crazed, was staring at the camera with his mouth open. There were cigarette butts all over the floor, magazines scattered haphazardly, etc. On the right panel was a picture of him in the bathtub, looking equally catatonic; the same fuschia Chanel bag at the edge of the tub. In the middle, elevated above the other two pictures, was a photo of the man dressed in a beautiful wedding gown, looking very angelic, very happy. Oh my gosh, funny thing, I don’t even remember whether he had the Chanel bag in that picture… But the whole wall on which the photos were hung was done up in a stunning shade of fuschia — same as the handbag — with kind of a glittery facade. I guess he came to terms with his obsession and was now at peace. Or he overcame it. Or else his obsession enveloped him, and his whole world was now pink. Anyway, it was quite a spectacle, and had there been more than about three people in the store (the economy must really be hurting the couture boutiques) I’m sure everyone’s attention would have been drawn right there.

Zaha Hadid / Mobile Chanel Pavilion in the Park

So, eh, I thought it was actually pretty pretentious to be honest. (Come back, Louise Bourgeois!)

Once inside, they took all of your belongings (you had to check even your jackets and bags, so no cell phones or anything capable of recording), and gave you a set of headphones. Because each room is so small, you have to wait until Jeanne Moreau’s sexy deep-throated voice tells you you may advance. So, you may end up spending a lot of time in a room whose art you may be all that taken with…

First room had some “chandelier”- looking pieces of mobile art hanging from the ceiling that appeared to be made of plastic Christmas-tree-like ornaments, second room a big pit / bowl over whose sides you peered down into only to see some black and white images of leaves and vertebrae and butterflies and such projected onto the bowl’s sides sliding down into oblivion.

The third room was my favorite of the whole exhibit. It was by artist Leandro Erlich from Argentina. You walked through these curtains and sat on a bench and looked across at a wall. Almost the entire wall was obscured by a big black curtain. You were to focus on the bottom, where there was a glass floor, covered with what appeared to be fake mud and dirt. Strategically-placed water appeared to be puddles. Underneath the glass was a really quaint row of 19th Century, Parisian-looking apartment buildings. I thought it was cool because in the previous exhibit it appeared you were in the sky, above the clouds, watching items float down to earth. This one seemed to continue with that theme, except here you were on earth, stepping on all its mud and grime, and the city seemed to be below you. And yet the beautiful city was actually more pristine, not affected by the mud and grime of earth. But then Jeanne Moreau said something about reflections being truer than reality to her, so I figured we were supposed to feel we were seeing a reflection; we were not atop the city after all. Anyway, at one point, the ceiling lights dimmed. The little windows of the buildings lit up, like someone was inside, turning them on for nighttime. Sweet. At the end, the lights in the little windows spelled the Chanel logo. I thought, ew, how crass, you just ruined it! Then I thought, well, maybe the artist wanted you to question our consumerism, obsession with brands and conspicuous consumption. But then I thought, well, since the exhibit was commissioned by Karl Lagerfield / Chanel, no, they’re probably trying to get you to rejoice in that not question it.

Anyway, then we walked into a room showing a film projected onto a wall with a bunch of naked Asian women rolling around in Chanel jewelry. After that was another interesting exhibit – -my second favorite, by an artistic group from Russia known as Blue Noses. You looked down into these big boxes, opened like someone was getting ready to pack for moving — and projected on the bottom were these films of obese naked women running down the street chasing a red Chanel bag being pulled by an invisible hand. It was a ridiculous sight — I’m sure the artists were questioning consumerism here, right, how could they not be… But interesting thing was that the ambient sound for this one was Swan Lake music, interspersed with the sounds of cars and other street noises.

Then, there was a room with some disturbing pictures by American David Levinthal of naked women wearing gas masks, but the masks looked like they were made out of skin, out of the women’s very flesh. In this exhibit, Jeanne Moreau kept saying things like this is my skin, my flesh that I wear, or something or other. I’d have written things down if they’d have let us bring something inside to write with. Actually, I think it was Moreau’s voice and the rather goofy things she was saying (that were supposed to be taken seriously) that made me think the exhibit overall was pretentious. Because the art in itself … much of it was really pretty good — visually arresting and thought-provoking.

There were a few other rooms bearing things like a set of furniture, all items of which appeared to be made from Chanel bag material. A final room was kind of funny. There was a giant Chanel lipstick case inside of which was a giant powder compact, which was opened, and on the compact’s mirror played a film of some women with machine guns at target practice. They were shooting Chanel bags quite to pieces. A voice-over was saying something like “and you said you were pregnant?”
The pavilion is only in NY through next week, then will travel. Go here for more info. Here are some pics by Coolhunter of the inside, though they don’t have any of the exhibits I liked.

Here are some pictures I took of the outside.

Here, am exhibiting herd mentality by doing as everyone before me did while waiting in line: taking a picture when I got up to this lighter sheet of mirrored window surrounding this building outside the pavilion. I’m not even sure what that building was, now that I think about it…

Lovely fall day in Central Park.

Anyway, on the subject of architecture, check out David Hallberg’s pics of this awesome Frank Gehry building at Bard College. It’s like an ultra-modern thatched roof house. I love it! I’m also jealous his fall pictures turned out better than mine…

On an unrelated note, my Explore Dance reviews of the Dance Times Square showcase and ABT’s opening night gala performance are now up.

Survived First Dance Class in Four Months!

Okay, how come I always look like an ass in ballet class, but a ballerina in all the other styles of dance I take? Tonight, I took my first dance class in four months now (yikes) — a beginner Flamenco class at 92nd St. Y. Seriously, in lieu of the beautiful palmas (fluidly wrist-bending Latin / Indian hand movements that are one of the three basic elements of the dance), I did the perfect port de bras (balletic arm movements). I mean, I’m sure they wouldn’t have looked like perfect port de bras in ballet class, but they sure did in Flamenco. No matter how much Latin I take, for some reason I always have the tendency to turn my wrists inward so that my palms are toward my body (as in ballet), rather than turned out, away from it, as they usually are in Latin. It’s ridiculous.

And damn do those castanets require patience! We only did basic taps, but tapping the pinkie finger, then the ring, then the middle, then the pointer, then moving to the left hand in a continuous one-two-three-four-five rhythm, faster and faster and faster was so unbelievably trying on my nerves, for some reason. I had to keep shaking my hands like I was shaking off a bug or something. And keeping my arms up in the air was a bit painful, embarrassingly. I am just a bit out of shape here 🙁 And forget trying to coordinate the castanet taps with the wrists with the arms with the foot toe / heel stomps (my favorite part — gets rid of some real aggression :D)… forget it! This dance is so hard. It’s not athletically hard in the way ballet is, but it requires maximum coordination that I don’t have!

I’ll probably stick with it anyway; it’s good for me 🙂 Unfortunately, the teacher has a strict dress code — all black — so I can’t wear my pretty purple Flamenco skirt (above). Don’t really understand this — I took a Flamenco class at Ballet Hispanico months ago and wore the skirt to Paso Doble classes at two different ballroom studios and no one’s ever had a problem with the color. It cost $75 too, so I have no intention of buying another one in black. My black ballroom skirt will have to do, though it doesn’t have the pile of ruffles at the bottom so is not going to look wholly right for Flamenco… I just always pride myself on being different, so was rather pleased with myself for finding such a color.

I’ll never forget the first dance class that blew me completely to Heaven, made me feel like I was experiencing a whole new level of humanity, made my heart race: it was basic ballroom Samba with Roula Giannopolu at DanceSport studio. I remember I was squealing when I came out of there, practically crippled with blisters, my classmates trying to steady me and asking if I was okay. “What kind of music was that?” I screamed out demandingly, collapsing on the lobby sofa. No one knew and Roula had sprinted off to her next class. “That was like ballet and African and Latin and just the whole world!” I cried, flailing about. I haven’t had that same exact experience since and I so long for that feeling again. I think I may sign up for group ballroom classes next month. I like the solitary Latin dance classes I’ve taken — Brazilian Samba at Alvin Ailey and now Flamenco. But ballroom’s really where my heart is.

Anyway, on another note, here are some more pictures I took today during my lunch hour of the Bill Shannon “Window” site-specific dance performance that I blogged about at the beginning of the week. It was funny seeing it down on Liberty Plaza this time, after having watched from the high-rise before. I had thought when I was inside looking down that people were trying to be good New Yorkers and avoid any weirdish person making a “scene,” but being down there with the people, I realized that the area the dance was performed in was so vast, without music, it was actually pretty hard even to notice. You had to really seek him and his dancers out to see him. Dance is also so music-dependent I realized. Upstairs we had the music blasting from the speakers to accompany the movement we saw out on the plaza. It really got you into it, made you move a little yourself. Being down there with no speakers, the movement just didn’t have the same meaning, it wasn’t as fun, it wasn’t as noticeable, it wasn’t as “performancey” which I guess was the point…

One of Shannon’s break-dancers.

The guys in white are the performers. It might be apparent, it might not.

This is Shannon himself, on the crutches. I didn’t notice him zooming around on the skateboard this time; he used it more as a prop than a vehicle, unless I just arrived a bit late and missed that part of it.


On, and another thing, at one point a woman walked up to him while he was on the ground break-dancing. I guess because he had the crutches, she thought he was hurt and tried to help him up! He spoke with her a bit, but with all the city noises, I couldn’t possibly hear what they were saying. I wonder whether he went along with her, told her what was really going on, or if I just completely misunderstood the whole interaction and she was actually part of the performance!

My chrisanne dress!

My chrisanne dress!

Originally uploaded by swan lake samba girl via mobile.


Sooo jealous – this lucky woman from ukraine won the chrisanne dress i was drooling over! The ballroom gown costumer together with swarovski, the jeweler who makes the stones used to adorn most costumes, had a cocktail party at which participants were entered into a drawing. I didn’t win the dress but did receive a swarovski penant for being one of first 200 to submit an entry form.

Gender Bender Confusion!

Last night I went to see the last third of a three-part dance series on the theme “Gender Benders” at Symphony Space. This one was by Monica Bill Barnes & Company and Nicholasleichterdance. (Unfortunately, I missed the second part of the series, by Les Ballets Grandiva; the first was Keigwin Kabaret, which I blogged on earlier). Like the Keigwin, this was comprised of a series of short pieces, some mostly dance, others more like wordless skits, some containing both, and all presumably aiming to challenge our notions of gender.A couple of the pieces choreographed by Barnes and performed by her and Deborah Lohse that stuck in my mind were these cutely humorous Vaudeville-esque sketches featuring the two women in overdone makeup and platinum blonde wigs and wearing maid-like aprons over ruffly skirts, who were kind of simultaneously sexed-up — one kept bunching her skirt and wanting to lift it — and naively sweet and confused. It was very funny, very cute, and Lohse’s expressions were brilliant. She has a tall, thin, somewhat gangly frame, and she really seemed to know how to use that to maximum comical effect here. I recognized her name in the progam then her face as soon as I saw her onstage, and I realized where from when I read her bio: she has her own newly-started company, ad hoc Ballet, whose website I’d visited after the introduction of a new Winger contributor from that company. Anyway, I’d actually like to learn more about Vaudeville since I’ve seen a few modern companies use it now. Kind of ridiculous that I know so little since my boyfriend in grad school was writing his dissertation on its history, and I read Fred Astaire’s autobiography

I really LOVED Nicholas Leichter though. My favorite pieces were his “Baby Doll,” a solo which he performed, and “Undertow,” a piece for four men wearing tight form-fitting skirts with sexy thigh-high back slits, leather jackets with nude mesh undershirts, and finger and toenail polish. That piece explored in a short time a rather large panoply of male interactions, as the men, flirted with, hugged and caressed, lifted, fought with, and threw each other about. The costumes, along with some of the snaky Samba-y hip swaying would have been very “sexy” on women — but how did they look on men, I felt Leichter asked.

In “Baby Doll,” Leichter came out onstage alone, dressed in a man’s pinstriped suit, then, pretending to have a conversation with someone else — initially maybe someone gazing at him, then coming onto him, then perhaps a lover who was jilting him — reacted against what that absent other was doing. Initially, he seemed embarrased about being looked at, then nervous and somewhat frightened, then burst into hysterical laughter, then hurt and crying, lashed out. At one point, he pulled his pants down and mooned the absent other, then waddled around the stage, too lazy or angry to pull them back up. It was funny but disconcerting to see a man do such a thing, do all these things. Also, I thought how “feminine” the emoting and the reactions were, which contrasted sharply with his muscular “masculine” physique.

The thing that threw me was, I hadn’t known who Leichter was before this, so I looked in the program and saw the name of the performer for this piece listed as “Clare Byrne.” I then looked at the insert, and saw that they had changed it to Leichter as the performer for tonight’s show. I thought, huh, “Clare” is a strange name for a man … then when I got home looked up the name on the web and found that she was not a man at all. (In fact, she’s the one who’s doing that Kneeling piece throughout next week at various NY locations, which I am definitely going to scope out!) But, unless the whole thing was just a misprint, I couldn’t believe he had choreographed this piece for a woman — it would have been so completely different for a woman to have performed it — gone would be everything I just said above. And that made me think that, of everything I saw in this “gender bender” series, it was really only the men’s performances that I found “gender-assumption” challenging. Not that I didn’t find the women’s dancing beautiful or remarkably athletic. But, I guess women can kind of look or act any ole way — we can wear short sexy skirts, pantssuits, men’s underwear, army camoflauge or ruffly skirts, and we can be ballerinas or pole dancers or breakers or sexy sambistas and it’s all just that; nothing looks out of the ordinary. But for a man to cry or emote at all, to don nail polish and a skirt with a high back-slit and move his hips in a sexy figure eight motion… it just makes you stop, look, and think. And, I mean, how many of the DWTS celebrity males have (beyond annoyingly) freaked over looking too feminine in the Latin dances — Ian and Billy Ray this time around, George Hamilton last time; and there were several guys in my old social dancing school who dropped out of the international Latin classes because they were “too girly”… It’s interesting though, because at the same time, I don’t think this greater gender flexibility amounts to women actually having more power…

Anyway, this was a short program, but it’s inexpensive and thought-provoking. Visit Symphony Space for tix; it’s on through the 21st.