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Time and the Dancing Image
As a study of theatrical dance which places developments in dance within the larger artistic and historical environment, Deborah Jowitt's generously illustrated book makes a valuable contribution to modern cultural history.
- GenresArtNonfictionHistory
184 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 1988
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October 8, 2022
Twenty-seven years ago, this month (October), Deborah autographed my copy of "Time and the Dancing Image", and that launched my (short lived avocation) as a dance critic/writer. Although, I am now dead to the dance world, it lives yet in me.
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May 6, 2021THIS is the book on dance history I’ve been looking for! Jowett’s ability to place in dance within broader cultural frameworks is not just impressive but accessible to the dance novice like myself. Seeing how these movements are interconnected is incredibly valuable.
While I suppose one could begin earlier, ‘Time and the Dancing Image’ opens up in the 19th century. While the 19th century works were stilled performed in the “lingua franca of classicism,” themes began to evolve into exotic territories much like other art forms at the time, which often portrayed a division between spirit and flesh, a theme perhaps particularly suitable for dance. Further example is provided by the “Salome” image in paintings by Moreau and Kilmt (I also thought of the Delacroix exhibit I had the privilege of viewing multiple times at the Met Museum some time ago) as well as written work by Wilde and Flaubert that received treatment in Fokine’s decadent work for Diaghilev, all which were interestingly couched within the “woman as destroyer” image, or Freud’s own figuration in ‘Interpretation of Dreams’ of women as the “castrating female who terrorizes young male psyches.”
Indeed, it is hardly necessary to remind ourselves that for the entirety of the 19th century the dancers of ballet were overwhelmingly female. In these early days of the artform there was what Jowett describes as a “doublethink” pervasive in the ballets, that the female performers were meant to be both virtuous and capable of satisfying a man’s sexual appetite. Spirit and flesh indeed! Thankfully for the sake of the artform this would change with dancers and choreographers such as Duncan and Ruth St. Denis’ whose Isis and Osiris, “conceived neither as an occasion for erotica nor as a pretext for dazzling steps” but as an exteriorization of the male/female principle in nature. If the content of the 19th century reveled in the contradiction of body and spirit, both Duncan’s and Ruth St. Denis’ work was a revolt against the constricted female figure and an exploration in *uniting* the body and spirit against the growing severity of modern society and the severance of human beings, labor and land. One could question the “authenticity” of the Asian tropes that were bandied about, but can anyone doubt the achievement? Their work reminds me of the painter Henri Rousseau who could’ve just have easily said, as St. Denis did, that “I did not go to India, India came to me.”
Though for all their similarities, there were differences between Duncan and St. Denis that went deeper than Duncan’s Greecian and St. Denis’ more “oriental” aesthetic. For Duncan, dance would follow the music. For St. Denis, the idea reigned. Jowett follows Suzanne Shelton in her remark that “[Duncan and St. Denis] followed the polar paths of mysticism: one seeking the Self in the Universe; the other seeking the Universe in Self.” What a great way of putting it! It never occurred to me to consider the difference in such a way. And it’s fascinating the way Jowett points this out—that while the Orientalism of St. Denis’ work faded from relevance, he idea of “dance as a vehicle for showing change […] that one didn’t end quite as one began” would endure. More “idea” based dance was already coming to the fore in works by Wigman for “danced Nietzsche, and Duncan herself whose affinity for ‘Birth of Tragedy’ was a most appropriate companion to her project.
But there *was* still a split that was of growing importance in the 20th century that would usurp the body/spirit divide—that of the individual and their universe and the dialectic of struggle that would characterize so much of what we think of as Modern dance—“clannish” (Kirstein’s word) choreographers like Graham, Humphrey, and Weidman, work which, unlike the lightness of 19th century ballet, would use weight and gesture to deliver its notion, a “superb function” of angles rather than curves, or as Lillian Ray is quoted as describing as that “machinelike accuracy of gesture” that Graham’s more mature work, like that of Tamiris’, would distance itself from in favor of exploring more markedly American themes.
Jowett’s chapter “In the Royal Image” develops ideas of the 20th century further, as other companies, which alternatively due from more traditional sources, took on different forms in Balanchine’s work after Petipa’s ballets wherein the ensemble became “an impersonal force” unlike Perrot and Bournonvile for whom the ensemble had been more of a “a bouquet of individuals.” In a funny way I think that here we also see this convolution of individual and universe…
Eventually (as all things do) Modern Dance would become just as codified as ballet, renewing the crusade for a more faithful expression. This movement from modern to postmodern was beautifully illustrated by Jowett’s comments on philosophy of breath in three examples—
“Isadora Duncan, associating breath with a kind of electrical force animating all nature, built rise and fall, ebb and flow into her movements and patterns. Doris Humphrey and Martha Graham made breathing the basis of physical systems that could express the drama of human existence. Yvonne Rainer, wishing to make a more factual acknowledgement of inhaling and exhaling as a function of the body, taped to her throat a contact mike that amplified the sound of her breathing.”
It may seem obvious from this quote, but it struck me how so much of the postmodern tradition was rooted in the music of John Cage—both the rather “alert and unselfconscious” technical display of Merce Cunningham as well as the more overtly exploratory and pointedly unpolished efforts of Judson Dance. These projects tended to move away from the Modernist archetype of tragic hero in celestial distress described earlier. Judson (in amplification of Cagean principles that surpassed Cunningham’s own less literal interpretation, as well as its embrace of influences as diverse as Tai Chi and black vernacular) emphasized a greater freedom of movement and release of control of the choreographer which embodied “the tussle between pride of creation and noble intentions about relieving the creator of godlike control over the finished work.” Yet against this looser attitude was a contradiction in work from this period as outlined in Jowett’s subsection “Persona and Performance” which set the neutral efficiency of performance beside a suppression of nature involved in concealing one’s emotions (such as glee or discomfort). The ambition of “studied inexpressiveness” could just as easily lead to thoroughly conventional results as other traditions before it. As Jowett notes, “as important as it was for Rainer to eradicate her considerable charisma as a performer, she was ever entirely able to do so.” As a final contradiction, the democracy of movement and performance space that was touted by these choreographers had the odd affect of appealing to the cultural elite (my guess is the virtuosic Petipaesque dances continue to have more mass appeal!) Yet the pared down influence of these movements would in different forms last into the 70s perhaps being challenged by the more theatrical 80s.
A fantastic book. If you’re looking to learn more about dance but don’t know where to begin, *absolutely* pick this book up, though even if you’re well versed I’d imagine Jowett’s insight will be just as rewarding, perhaps more so.
While I suppose one could begin earlier, ‘Time and the Dancing Image’ opens up in the 19th century. While the 19th century works were stilled performed in the “lingua franca of classicism,” themes began to evolve into exotic territories much like other art forms at the time, which often portrayed a division between spirit and flesh, a theme perhaps particularly suitable for dance. Further example is provided by the “Salome” image in paintings by Moreau and Kilmt (I also thought of the Delacroix exhibit I had the privilege of viewing multiple times at the Met Museum some time ago) as well as written work by Wilde and Flaubert that received treatment in Fokine’s decadent work for Diaghilev, all which were interestingly couched within the “woman as destroyer” image, or Freud’s own figuration in ‘Interpretation of Dreams’ of women as the “castrating female who terrorizes young male psyches.”
Indeed, it is hardly necessary to remind ourselves that for the entirety of the 19th century the dancers of ballet were overwhelmingly female. In these early days of the artform there was what Jowett describes as a “doublethink” pervasive in the ballets, that the female performers were meant to be both virtuous and capable of satisfying a man’s sexual appetite. Spirit and flesh indeed! Thankfully for the sake of the artform this would change with dancers and choreographers such as Duncan and Ruth St. Denis’ whose Isis and Osiris, “conceived neither as an occasion for erotica nor as a pretext for dazzling steps” but as an exteriorization of the male/female principle in nature. If the content of the 19th century reveled in the contradiction of body and spirit, both Duncan’s and Ruth St. Denis’ work was a revolt against the constricted female figure and an exploration in *uniting* the body and spirit against the growing severity of modern society and the severance of human beings, labor and land. One could question the “authenticity” of the Asian tropes that were bandied about, but can anyone doubt the achievement? Their work reminds me of the painter Henri Rousseau who could’ve just have easily said, as St. Denis did, that “I did not go to India, India came to me.”
Though for all their similarities, there were differences between Duncan and St. Denis that went deeper than Duncan’s Greecian and St. Denis’ more “oriental” aesthetic. For Duncan, dance would follow the music. For St. Denis, the idea reigned. Jowett follows Suzanne Shelton in her remark that “[Duncan and St. Denis] followed the polar paths of mysticism: one seeking the Self in the Universe; the other seeking the Universe in Self.” What a great way of putting it! It never occurred to me to consider the difference in such a way. And it’s fascinating the way Jowett points this out—that while the Orientalism of St. Denis’ work faded from relevance, he idea of “dance as a vehicle for showing change […] that one didn’t end quite as one began” would endure. More “idea” based dance was already coming to the fore in works by Wigman for “danced Nietzsche, and Duncan herself whose affinity for ‘Birth of Tragedy’ was a most appropriate companion to her project.
But there *was* still a split that was of growing importance in the 20th century that would usurp the body/spirit divide—that of the individual and their universe and the dialectic of struggle that would characterize so much of what we think of as Modern dance—“clannish” (Kirstein’s word) choreographers like Graham, Humphrey, and Weidman, work which, unlike the lightness of 19th century ballet, would use weight and gesture to deliver its notion, a “superb function” of angles rather than curves, or as Lillian Ray is quoted as describing as that “machinelike accuracy of gesture” that Graham’s more mature work, like that of Tamiris’, would distance itself from in favor of exploring more markedly American themes.
Jowett’s chapter “In the Royal Image” develops ideas of the 20th century further, as other companies, which alternatively due from more traditional sources, took on different forms in Balanchine’s work after Petipa’s ballets wherein the ensemble became “an impersonal force” unlike Perrot and Bournonvile for whom the ensemble had been more of a “a bouquet of individuals.” In a funny way I think that here we also see this convolution of individual and universe…
Eventually (as all things do) Modern Dance would become just as codified as ballet, renewing the crusade for a more faithful expression. This movement from modern to postmodern was beautifully illustrated by Jowett’s comments on philosophy of breath in three examples—
“Isadora Duncan, associating breath with a kind of electrical force animating all nature, built rise and fall, ebb and flow into her movements and patterns. Doris Humphrey and Martha Graham made breathing the basis of physical systems that could express the drama of human existence. Yvonne Rainer, wishing to make a more factual acknowledgement of inhaling and exhaling as a function of the body, taped to her throat a contact mike that amplified the sound of her breathing.”
It may seem obvious from this quote, but it struck me how so much of the postmodern tradition was rooted in the music of John Cage—both the rather “alert and unselfconscious” technical display of Merce Cunningham as well as the more overtly exploratory and pointedly unpolished efforts of Judson Dance. These projects tended to move away from the Modernist archetype of tragic hero in celestial distress described earlier. Judson (in amplification of Cagean principles that surpassed Cunningham’s own less literal interpretation, as well as its embrace of influences as diverse as Tai Chi and black vernacular) emphasized a greater freedom of movement and release of control of the choreographer which embodied “the tussle between pride of creation and noble intentions about relieving the creator of godlike control over the finished work.” Yet against this looser attitude was a contradiction in work from this period as outlined in Jowett’s subsection “Persona and Performance” which set the neutral efficiency of performance beside a suppression of nature involved in concealing one’s emotions (such as glee or discomfort). The ambition of “studied inexpressiveness” could just as easily lead to thoroughly conventional results as other traditions before it. As Jowett notes, “as important as it was for Rainer to eradicate her considerable charisma as a performer, she was ever entirely able to do so.” As a final contradiction, the democracy of movement and performance space that was touted by these choreographers had the odd affect of appealing to the cultural elite (my guess is the virtuosic Petipaesque dances continue to have more mass appeal!) Yet the pared down influence of these movements would in different forms last into the 70s perhaps being challenged by the more theatrical 80s.
A fantastic book. If you’re looking to learn more about dance but don’t know where to begin, *absolutely* pick this book up, though even if you’re well versed I’d imagine Jowett’s insight will be just as rewarding, perhaps more so.
January 12, 2008
Although I'm a dance critic, I often find dance history tedious--all those names and descriptions! But Jowitt puts the dance into context with artistic and intellectual movements and finds some really fascinating connections along the way. I feel so much more educated now that I've read this. . .
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July 24, 2011Deborah Jowitt writes a very intelligent and interesting non-chronological overview of dance history. Her writing style holds the reader's interest, and even though I have read many similar books, her perceptive insights are original and thought-provoking.
January 28, 2008
Had to read it for school, but found it interesting all the same.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews