ONE Chell Parkins
Open Points to Life
Beginning Pulsating Power
TWO Ellen Bartel
Center Points to Life
THREE Alvin Rangel
Fin Points to Life
Yearning Union Tangential Tango
ONE Chell Parkins Points to Life
One dimensional bodies powered to life. Wake to it. Climb to it.
Call out to electrified alternating light for dimensionality, curve into it, live into it.
Call out where stillness presides, shaking habituates, where fingers intimate mysterious capacitors within themselves.
Call out to princess wailing morning stories from towers hidden in foggy bays, surprising all bodies with waves of blue and orange and green and purple and red.
Call out to the power of death and roaring all waters ending the thinness of dimensionality, interweaving every spectrum into the bodies light.
Call in the decisive moment of bubbling movement, limb and life forever.
TWO Ellen Bartel Points to Life
Metroline. Escalator line. One lies; One rise. Both scream a stationary line.
Trains and rains and birds ripple to washes of guitars and bells.
Personages skooch in doubles and singles. Personages pile upon personages without condiment. Wishers decline ladders; gapers pass doorways never waiting even for port’s fog horn.
The brilliance of not wishing pulsates life’s baseline. Singular man states foot, slaps chest, searches hip. Singular woman slips into ice until one person digests metroline screams into a personal melody, until one person’s body draws endless escalator lines into one hug, maybe two. Then one body deserves a spin by another and all personages can now enter a rise and fall of the cavernous breath of life.
The roar stops. All doors open as an echo. I step in alongside the many.
Something about the Metro, the Underground, the A, the C, the L, all leaving only one lingering screech that drowns out a lone person’s song. Yes, there’s something about the sub-way to nothing extraordinary, to nothing connectable, to everyone leave-able.
My sadness resonates to the length of the subterranean cave, something like a long guitar line, neither untractable, nor subtractable, certainly not subtle, and definitely without a leaning toward hilarity. Yet when the moving platform jolts and I am still standing, life is imminently breathable.
THREE Alvin Rangel Points to Life
Man to man. Tango to the death. Flags fall. Man covers.
Spin a story of punctuated violin and high pitch surprise.
Yearning union, fingers embrace earth, grip scalp, seek infinite spectral caress.
Three Points to Life, UT Dance MFA, 03/09/12, By Tim Hurst