nunu


kate bush dance troupe @ the kitchen, nov 5-7

The Kate Bush Dance Troupe (yes, I’m in it!) will be performing as the closing act of Chase Granoff’s piece in Nancy Garcia/Chase Granoff at the Kitchen, November 5, 6, and 7.

512 West 19th Street
Thursday–Saturday, November 5-7, 8pm
Tickets: $12

Curated by Matthew Lyons

To purchase tickets, go here.

About KBDT:
The Kate Bush Dance Troupe is an ongoing collaborative ensemble of non-dancers (Samara Davis, Erica Magrey, Cassie Thornton, Kate Scherer, Renata Espinosa and Jennifer Sullivan) who create dance performances inspired by the music and emotive movement stylings of Kate Bush.

You can see our videos here and here, and some pics here.

The show is also mentioned in The New York Times….but uh, please note, Kate Bush *will not* be there. Just the dance troupe tribute!

★ NANCY GARCIA/CHASE GRANOFF (Thursday) Way down in the press materials for this double bill at the Kitchen comes a brief statement: “Special guest appearance by Kate Bush.” That’s rather fascinating to those of us whose first onstage appearance was in a dance set to Ms. Bush’s “Wuthering Heights.” But Chase Granoff’s “Art of Making Dances” sounds alluring for other reasons too: the incongruous artistic trio of Doris Humphrey, Simone Forti and Jean-Luc Godard all figure into a montage of sound, text and movement. The other half of the program offers Nancy Garcia’s “I need more” (and who doesn’t?), which uses her own recent solo album in an exploration of music history as a source for movement material. Lighting for both is by Joe Levasseur; always a good sign. (Through Nov. 7.) At 8 p.m., the Kitchen, 512 West 19th Street, Chelsea , (212) 255-5793, thekitchen.org; $12. (Sulcas)

“fall collection” at printed matter new york art book fair

This is not what I am wearing in the show, but there will be a fancy hat involved.

I’m participating in Jennifer Sullivan’s “Fall Collection” performance (a “runway show”) at P.S. 1 today in conjunction with the publication of her wearable art and fashion zine Threads, co-edited with Jenn Brehm. It’s part of the Printed Matter New York Art Book Fair, details here

return, return (volver, volver part two)

Back to school for the art and fashion worlds…today I hit the F.I.T. Couture Council’s luncheon honoring Dries Van Noten, the Belgian designer who knows how to take the hippie out of bohemianism, fusing disparate ethnic and historical references to create clothes for the wandering poet in all of us. I “bumped into” Maggie Gyllenhaal, who was there to present the award to Dries. She had never met him, she admitted, but he did design her wedding dress earlier this year– “Oh my god, this is not what we talked about, what am I going to do?” she remembers thinking when she first saw the results. “I’ll wear that dress in my closet from 2005…then I took it with me to Italy, put it on and I had never been in a dress more beautiful. I think he knows much better than me what will look sexy on me. Obviously he’s not designing just for me, but I imagine a lot of women must feel that way.”

Typically all us journalists needing a soundbite on the first day or two of fashion week will ask what a celeb’s plans are for fashion week. It’s a litmus test for whether they are A, B, C or D level; the more things they plan to attend, the lower the grade. “I’m juggling so much right now, but I’m going to try,” said Gyllenhaal, on whether she’d attend Proenza Schouler’s show (she’s a big fan of them, too). She said she’s busy with her daughter who just started school. A-/B+?

At the luncheon I sat next to Lynn Yeager and Marilyn Kirschner, two of my favorite fashion writers. I think that’s a good omen for the week (and Mercury is even in retrograde!) Kirschner and I discussed feeling disenchanted with the whole fashion brouhaha, though clearly she loves what she does otherwise she would not still be doing it (her first job in fashion was at Seventeen in the seventies). It’s in her blood to be a magazine editor, she said. And when she’s feeling down, her favorite thing is to get dressed up in one of her vintage Pucci dresses. When she said that, suddenly my brain was flooded with a sense of clarity and I remembered why I love fashion. Why, I love dressing up, too! But I think it’s important for the things you wear to have meaning (as with everything one does in life). So when I put on a certain pair of shoes, I remember walking a mile in them in Paris to hear Patti Smith perform at a fashion show, or when I wear a certain belt I think about how many fashion functions it got me through, because it was the only new accessory I could afford that season, and the next season, and the next….

Tonight I will celebrate my final night of “Renata Time” by flipping over to my former world, art. I’ll meet Aileen, in town from San Francisco, for a photography show at Jen Bekman, then off to Invisible Exports for genesis BREYER P-ORRIDGE: 30 Years of Being Cut Up:

a three decade retrospective of photomontage and Expanded Polaroids, which includes many works never exhibited before, as well as a sampling of P-Orridge’s early Mail Art. The show will mark the culmination of a new, re-emergent phase in BREYER P-ORRIDGE’s life. He/r career — and most particularly he/r recent pursuit of pandrogyny — tests the limits of transgression and traces the tragic fate of the underground, proving again the expressive power and pervasive influence of those artists who take the world not as it comes to them — sensible, orthodox, predictable — but as they would like it to be.”

Electric Newspaper, Issue Two, 1995, Mixed media 9 x 9 inches on 15.25 x 12 inch paper

Electric Newspaper, Issue Two, 1995, Mixed media 9 x 9 inches on 15.25 x 12 inch paper

the metro mutterer

He’s wearing a royal blue polo shirt, standard issue black slacks and generic black work shoes, the kind that masquerade as a dress shoe but are nothing more than a sneaker. He looks like a Blockbuster employee, minus the badge. He half-mutters, half-bellows like a street preacher, except he is constructing a dialogue with himself, as though practicing lines for a play by performing both parts.

“You will bow down to me! And you will bow down to the Almighty!” is said to no one in particular, followed by an almost-whisper, “Too much Samuel Jackson, motherf*cker.” As the train approaches the next station, he turns to the doors to get off, catching his reflection in the window: “Gerber baby, you’re my hero…I get it, motherf*cker, I get it.”

As the Metro Mutterer, he is the opposite of the Dog or Horse Whisperer. Instead of communicating with animals with therapeutic aims, the mutterer sounds off to random people with unsettling results.

anna copa cabanna: call of the wild

Three year anniversary, tomorrow, May 2nd at Joe’s Pub. Last chance to see the show…until…? Buy your tickets here.

everything you need to know

Today’s recommendations:

space is the place #2 w/ j. morrison and maria chavez

A manageable 61 degrees, a night for hopping, art on everyone’s mind this weekend: Commercial fairs and then the one-night-only performances far from them. A man in black frame glasses, plaid shirt, striped sweater and bow tie leans against the building where the secret performance will take place. He checks his list and gives complex directions for finding the space in the studio maze. Robin’s egg blue elevator, like the coating of an Easter malted milk ball. Up and away. Fresh smell of new paint and my boots clank noisily on the concrete. Pass the dumpster, to your left, and there will be a sign on the door. Yes, there it is. The waiting room is reddish pink and bare. Two girls lean on one wall, two guys on another. They drink cheap red wine. Slowly others trickle in. Ambient noise and turntable scratchings drift in from a padlocked room. The cell phone of a guy sitting next to me rings, it is his girlfriend Maria calling. She is the sound artist. He gets up, turns off the reddish pink lamp. Struggles in the dark with the padlock. Opens the door, and other-worldly light pours out. A thin plastic sheet bathed in Pepto pink resembles a womb. Next to it, a room filled with neon twilight contains a quarantined sound artist surrounded by plastic. Tempera action painting commences; the turntables wail. Paint and water violently thrown towards plastic. Bubble boy j. morrison is trapped and throwing a temper tantrum. Pacing. Smearing. Banging. Yearning. Feeling. Watching. It’s raining paint and I am mesmerized. (Space is the Place #2, 3.07.09. Greenpoint, Brooklyn)

“it’s a process” with jennifer sullivan

The always charming Jennifer Sullivan, jennifersullivan.org.

The always charming Jennifer Sullivan (jennifersullivan.org) at Klaus von Nichtssagend Gallery, 438 Union Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11211, (718) 383-7309 on Saturday, March 7.

let me take your photo

The Anna Copa Cabanna Show in Paper magazine today. All photos by Alexander Thompson.

If you live in New York (or are visiting) and wanna catch us live: We’re performing at the Highline Ballroom on March 3rd as part of the Rock-It Science festival with Rufus Wainwright, Dee Snider and a slew of scientists in bands….and our next full production is at Joe’s Pub on May 2nd.


Continue reading ‘let me take your photo’

it’s showtime, folks! (bye bye life)

The row is empty; it is still early. A guy with a headset, official badges and company-issue t-shirt sits alone in seat 13. I am seat 12. He has tattoo sleeves. Awkwardly, I sit down and start digging through my bag for my pen, pad and camera. The usual settling in. The tent is too hot and I want to take my coat off. Suddenly I feel claustrophobic, as though I have no space to move about in order to do this. I will disturb the natural order of things, or at least the order of two people sitting side by side. So I sit there, burning up, trying to go about my business. But I can’t check my phone or look at my notebook, without feeling like someone is looking over my shoulder as I do it. Finally I give up on my own private activities. “So, you’re holding down the fort?” I ask him. Clearly this is not really his seat, he is wearing a headset, after all. “Yes, this seat is for Fern Mallis.” Fern Mallis is the vice president of IMG Fashion. I formally met her in Mumbai over a year ago at another fashion week and I will never forget how she found an incredible black and white striped rug at Fab India but decided it wouldn’t fit in her suitcase. So she let me buy it instead, even though I could tell she was very disappointed.

We are silent again and I start scanning the room for flashbulbs. Nothing yet, except for some shaggy haired guy being interviewed. I don’t know who is, which means he’s probably on television. “So have you been enjoying the shows?” the guy asks me. I look at him and hesitate. I can tell he’s quite thrilled to be working in the tents, holding Fern’s seat, watching all the biggest shows. I don’t want to be a killjoy by saying how crappy I think everything has been and how tired I am. I don’t feign enthusiasm, exactly, but I stop myself from complaining and give a canned response. Continue reading ‘it’s showtime, folks! (bye bye life)’