DISTANCE
“DIS-DANCE”
—by Andreas Spiegl
Is it possible to imagine a dance
without a dancer, to formulate
such a word as “dance” and
yet fail to analyse the distance
between dance and dancing,
between dance as a mere term
and the actual act of dancing,
between body language and the
act of speaking with one’s body?
Is a waltz simply a waltz and does
it only reproduce a defined set
of steps and movements or is the
act of dancing a waltz something
in its own right and signifies
something that exceeds the
dance itself? Does to dance mean
to always break away from dance,
to emancipate oneself from the
defined set of movements in
order to express more than what
it initially promised?
A necessary distance gets
introduced between dance and
dancing, which differentiates
dance from dancing and enables
the dancers to take those dance
steps as a starting point and
thus approach dance itself while
dancing, to dance in order to
confront dance and to come to
new conclusions after each encounter.
In this sense, to dance
means to dance with a dance, to
connect with dance, to start off
with a dance so as to approach
it, to let go of everything else
and to let go of the dance, only
to pick it up once more and to
find stability therein while being
oneself again and another one at
the same time—with one movement,
to simultaneously lead
this dance and being led by this
dance, finally becoming a dancer
by name. This way, the relation of
dance and dancer is being characterised
by a distance, which
serves as a basis for the concept
of dance and essentially attributes
a “Distance/Dis-Dance” to
it. To dance means to address
with every movement, every step
and every leap this relation of
dance and dancer expressed by
a “Distance/Dis-Dance.” Without
“Distance/Dis-Dance” there
would only be the performance
of dance steps, but no dancing
would take place to express and
incorporate what the dance only
seems to promise conceptually.
Likewise, it is dancing that renders
visible the concept of dance,
that unfolds to produce the
linguistics and body language of
dance—the script entering the
movement of dance once it wants
to be perceived and described as
dance. Hence, dancing conveys
a concept of dance that it wants
to approach and originate from.
Dancing is a mode of writing
with and in body language—a
body script, which follows both
the defined word of a sequence
of steps or a dance figure as well
as an act of drawing, ensuing a
sketch while its shapes are not
yet defined as an object, sign or
word—an illegible hand, albeit
clearly regarded as writing
and claiming its own right to language.
The script enters the act
of dancing as a means of drawing
or writing with the body and thus
one movement gets connected
with the other—similar to a letter
sequence, which adds up to
a word or a sentence, even if the
body script remains illegible and
draws from unconventional signs
or grammar in order to search
for new letters or characters or
to integrate phrases from other
body languages. Writing is an
integral part of dancing—regardless
of the writing’s legibility.
To write with the body’s script
leaves traces or follows a trail,
and its pathway is defined by the
question as to whether the act
of dancing wants to adhere to
a written sequence of steps or
whether it wants to find a new
way of sketching characters.
Different body scripts—both
legible and illegible–do not only
express different forms of dance
but emphasise their common
ground in writing.
“Choreography” as a term—
meaning both “χορεÎ¯α” (choreia,
dance) and “γράφειν” (grafein,
writing)—conflates the concepts
of writing and dancing, of script
and dance—there is the possibility
of recording what is being
danced or dancing what has
been written down, to understand
dance in terms of writing
and vice versa. As much there is
of a written trace in writing—
which makes it possible to read
and comprehend what has been
written down as well as to track
down these traces of thought—
as much of a trail is being
created by dance in space and
time, a trail making sure that a
dancer’s movement is succeeded
by another, so they correspond
and one can elaborate on the
other. As different as traces of
writing and dancing are to each
other as inextricably linked are
those traces choreographically
by writing.
Casanova Sorolla’s Choreography
Diagrams (2011–2016) follow this
trail jointly created by writing
and dancing. He asked dancers
to dance on a floor covered by
sheets of paper and dusted with
color pigments.
Each step saturates the paper
with pigments and thus footprints
and trails are left, which
turn out to be sketches and
render visible the “Choreography”
of dance. The fine-grain
pigments allow for complex
imprints and it is possible to tell
the faint sanding marks of movements
from abrupt turns and
twists. Casanova Sorolla’s drawings
translate those instances
of time and space, disregarded
most of the time, into notations.
These translations render those
traces readable, which the act of
dancing has drawn or which it
follows according to a defined
choreography—you can spot a
“waltz” or a Swan Lake inspired
“pas de quatre” on this side while
there is a short improvisation or
solo over on the other side. At
one time, you can identify mostly
imprints of toes and, at other
times, these are traces created
by hands and feet, all alluding to
a different body language—to
a different kind of writing with
the body.
When comparing Casanova
Sorolla’s work with the first
dance notations written down by
Raoul-Auger Feuillet, who published
his CHOREGRAPHIE OU
L’ART DE DECRIRE LA DANCE
(fig. 1) in 1700, one can clearly
acknowledge the synthesis of
dance and script that has been in
use for centuries now. Not only
do Feuillet’s notations make note
of the step sequences, but they
also describe dance as a mode
of writing with the body, to leave
traces and follow trails, to sign
over one’s body to a dance. His
notations (fig. 2) and Casanova
Sorolla’s Choreography Diagrams
are kindred spirits in that they
both make use of writing: Whereas
Feuillet’s description of step
sequences anticipates the act
of dancing, Casanova Sorolla’s
notations reveal an act of dancing
that leaves traces but also
makes visible the script already
present within the movements.
These traces represent the act of
dancing with the script, dancing
with the dance. They record the
“Dis-Dance,” which differentiates
between dancing and dance
and still unites them at the same
time. In this sense, dancing
updates the dance, and this in
turn causes the dance both to
manifest in space and time and
to transcend the moment’s limitations
in virtual terms. A “pas
de quatre” sequence is literally
awaiting to be danced, and if this
sequence is being danced it will
be updated only temporarily,
since it only leaves actual traces,
which were already predetermined
in virtual terms. “Dis-
Dance” is the basic foundation
of any relationship between
dance and dancing, it defines an
indivisible dissimilarity, which
makes room for interpretation:
to dance a dance inevitably
means to interpret. Any step
sequence a dance defines has to
be performed once more and
thus interpreted once more. The
dance can represent a prescript
[Vorschrift], which will be superscribed
[beschriften] by each act
of dancing.
The discrepancy between
prescript [Vorschrift] and caption
[Beschriftung] is no sign of a
flawed performance, which does
not live up to the imperative. It
rather presents itself as an immanent
part of the relationship
between dance and dancing.
Only deviation allows dancing
to take place, and dancing can
only ever be a subjective and
individual task of interpretation.
For interpretation labels the
prescript in deviant terms, superscribes
with a fuzzy hand. The
notations of Feuillet still focus on
the imperative while Casanova
Sorolla’s Choreography Diagrams
turn toward caption, toward
the actual interpretation and
deviation—toward those traces
outlined by the interaction of
dance and dancing which make
for entire sketches, displaying
the correlation of prescription
and deviant caption. Usually,
Casanova Sorolla records the
process of creating his Choreography
Diagrams on camera, and
the dancers are being filmed in
profile or from above. The videos
do not only provide access to the
process of creating the sketches,
but they also show—apart from
the footprints—the bodies and
movements not represented by
the tracks on the floor. They
convey a feeling of time that is
not included in the drawings
and cannot be included, since
these drawings fuse together all
moments created by dancing
in time and end up with one
final moment of simultaneity.
The drawings only bear witness
to mere trails of movements in
time, the successive moments
now being represented simultaneously.
The transitory elements
of movement are transcribed
into a durational state by means
of these trails. These trails tell of
what does not exist anymore and
show what once was—they incorporate
ephemerality as much as
a moment preserving duration.
The drawings’ synchronous trails
create sketches of structures and
compositions, structures and
compositions which synchronise
the singular movements
and steps and give one total
impression of the diverse
dancing steps, subjugating it to
the choreography of one dance
piece—constructing one single
dance that could never have
existed or danced in any way but
only exists within this display. At
this point, the multiple meanings
of “Distance/Dis-Dance” between
dance and dancing are not the
only elements to interfere, but
there are also Casanova Sorolla’s
artistic interventions: his successful
emphasis of the indivisible
difference is made possible by
his own drawings—the diagram.
By means of introducing two different
notations of dancing the
apparent difference reveals itself
immediately. However, his artistic
intervention is less interested
in investigating the relationship
between dancing and drawing
or in blurring the limitations of
both genres—something Trisha
Brown pursued in her Drawing-
Performances (fig. 3)—than
in focusing on the act of including
the drawing as membrane or
filter in a process during which
the drawing filters this process
somehow graphically and extricates
the movement particles.
In this sense, one should not be
concerned whether the dancers
have drawn his painting, and
thus turn out to be the true
authors of those sketches, but
one should focus on understanding
the drawing as a method
of recording and registering
processes—perhaps similar to
a seismographic instrument,
which records earthquakes also
graphically. This way, Casanova
Sorolla defines a drawing not as
mere medium, which allows one
to express oneself by drawing,
but as an instrument, as a means
to record processes featuring
graphic qualities. His drawings
are recordings of processes and,
by intervening throughout these
processes, they illustrate a close
relation to the aesthetics and
history of drawing—something
neither intended from these
processes nor previously
addressed by them in any form.
Covering the floor with sheets
of paper in order to record the
traces of the dance steps can
rather be compared to setting up
an experiment and a method of
analysis, which will extricate the
graphic qualities.
For this reason, Casanova
Sorolla does not interfere in the
Choreographies of the dance
pieces, because it is not about
adjusting them in order to create
impressive drawings, but it is
all about recording the graphic
particles inherent in those Choreographies.
Thus, one could say
Casanova Sorolla uses his concept
of drawing like a thermometer: to
take the graphic temperature of
these processes.
To use drawing as an instrument
to measure and analyse, to filter
(previously disregarded) graphic
qualities of diverse and heterogeneous
artistic processes, is a
key feature of the subject and
technique used by Casanova
Sorolla in his works. He extricates
graphic qualities from
genres and processes usually
categorised in regard to other
disciplines and conventional
methods of perception. Although
his technical method of
recording musical instruments is
different to the method used in
Choreography Diagrams, the subject
remains to be similar to his practice
of creating drawings from
the graphic methods of analysis.
The way he used sheets of paper
to transform a dance floor into
a sensitive filter of movements,
the same way he uses small light
sources, which are attached to
instruments—e.g. applied to a
violin bow or to a conductor’s
baton—and photographed
using a long-duration shutter
speed, to capture the moving
elements and to shine a light on
the graphic qualities inherent in
those movements. This photographic
technique captures the
trials of the light sources, and
he can then isolate and expose
them. The apparent reference
to informal or abstract drawings
implicates a history of drawing
that is simultaneously being
remarked upon and kept at a
distance. The way the lines are
drawn gives no indication of that
they are by-products of a mere
visual expression. They are rather
created by the musical notes,
by the movements of the bow,
which draws across the strings of
the violin or cello. There is an
arbitrary relationship between
the graphic qualities of the visual
notations and the tonal qualities
to which the movements of the
bows are solely dedicated. As
with the Choreography Diagrams,
Casanova Sorolla’s notations fuse
together the temporal successions
of the musical notes to end
up with simultaneity once again.
The successive scores are being
translated into an image of concurrency,
the temporal progress
of a piece is being condensed
into a moment’s duration. The
drawings disclose the matter of
a synthesis one has never heard
before, a quasi “unheard-of”
image. Casanova Sorolla uses
his concept of drawing like a
measuring rod: measuring the
accidental and unintentional
graphic moments of music-making.
As with dancing, there is an
act of writing inherent in the performance
of a score, in the performance
of a notation. This act
of writing implicates a concept of
writing that is both present within
dance and music. The same
way one can notate music, one
can also read or listen to what is
being read without losing a word.
Casanova Sorolla complements
this reading session by providing
us with notations that enable us
to perceive the music visually as
well. In this sense, his drawings
can be regarded as phonographic
measures extricating visual
qualities from what is audible.
These measures conceive of the
act of playing an instrument as
an act of writing a score—thus,
understanding it in terms of
producing a transcript. The difference
between the imperative
processes, which Casanova Sorolla
starts to tap into. His current
effort, to analyse even geological
processes and movements, such
as earthquakes, in regard to
their graphic qualities, outlines
Casanova Sorollas immense engagement
in surveying our world
graphically.
His concept of drawing and his
method of designing a suitable
filter and device for each of these
processes enable Casanova Sorolla
to include a diverse range of
(artistic and daily) practices and
genres in his process of creating
these drawings. Accordingly, his
concept of art tends to emancipate
the vision of a work of art
from the sole expressiveness of
one person. He understands
the work of art rather in terms
of a membrane, which is able to
record cultural or daily practices
and processes. Hence, the image
does not take on the shape of a
representation in regard to the
processes it displays, but it rather
of a score and the performance
of this score, as a musical caption,
is being analysed in terms
of the “Distance/Dis-Dance”
between transcript and notation.
The lines and trails of movements
depict each individual
and subjective note, something
which is inevitably part of every
musical interpretation. This
way, they do not only resemble
the lines drawn by informal or
abstract drawings, but they also
share the very same qualities of
individual expression. In this
sense, Casanova Sorolla conflates
the concept of a bow or baton
with the concept of a pen and
turns the performance into a
recording session.
Over the last couple of years,
Casanova Sorolla has extended
his reach when looking for intrinsic
graphic qualities in movements.
He has started to design
his own special devices. In order
to record a trip on the tube, with
its acceleration and deceleration
between stops and its vibrations
and centrifugal forces while turning
corners, Casanova Sorolla
installed a ball on a platform
dusted with color pigments. The
movement of the ball, its back
and forth, recorded the trails of
the movements. This way, even
urban everyday life makes for a
huge reservoir of graphic