THE NEXT GENERATION PROJECT
In performance, especially, the “I could do that” approach overlooks the importance of personality in an artist’s work. Certain performers have an aura, a captivating presence, that no amount of technical expertise can duplicate. This ineffable quality can make a mundane activity thoroughly engrossing. John Sanchez, Lydia Charaf, and Vicki Walden, the performers presented in this Next Generation Project showcase, all demonstrate this kind of magnetism. Their self-deprecating humor, poker-faced deliveries, and general lack of pretense quickly make us comfortable. But their true expertise lies in making us like them.
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Sanchez’s exquisitely conceived piece demonstrates just how successful a skill-less performance can be. Sitting a few feet in front of the audience in a chair with a telephone in his lap, he announces, “My name is John Sanchez, and I’m going to call 976-MUSCLE.” After dialing and wading through the preliminaries–you must be 18 or older, you can’t call from a cellular or mobile phone, all of which he relays to us in an utterly matter-of-fact voice–Sanchez finally gets 20 minutes on the party line. He spends this time trying to get someone to come over and appear in his performance, talking to about two dozen men in turn. No matter their responses–some inquire about penis size, some profess a preference for “ass work”–Sanchez tries to convince these men that he simply wants them to appear before his audience and say hello.
Like the best conceptual work, Sanchez’s piece ultimately reaches beyond its own cleverness and audacity. Fundamentally at stake is the terror of being genuinely present, whether before a live audience or in the virtual world of telephone sex. It’s old hat to suggest that 900 numbers exemplify the fear of intimacy that plagues our age, but Sanchez puts an insightful spin on this notion by desexualizing it. He only wants someone to show up and stand onstage with him, but even this prospect is unnerving to the men on the phone. All but one of them hung up on Sanchez within moments of hearing that he wanted to meet in person. Being fully present can be tremendously risky, but as Sanchez eloquently demonstrates in his own performance, risk is the basis for a meaningful connection.
The same results are produced when foot-long wooden dowels are kicked to and fro, as well as when an enormous white oil drum is rolled into the space. After this point, however, the women turn from discovering music to producing music in a much more intentional way. They use the rods to beat on windowsills and door frames, they sing into the drum, they blow into bottles. The serendipitous quality that gives the first section of Wash its charm disappears, and a disappointingly predictable musicality takes its place.
