Gandini Project

 

Physically, this is accomplished by giving in to the catches, letting them take the arm to the next position rather than stopping the motion short at the wrist. One's whole body becomes sensitive to the catch and responds to it.

 

"Some jugglers feel that the juggling doesn't go on long enough - that there are too many carries," Gandini explained, "but for us this is necessary to extend the movement."

 

For that matter, dancers might question why the hand must constantly return to the catching position at all.

 

The Gandinis devoted a year to developing the work, rehearsing about four hours a day, taking class in the morning, thinking about it and discussing it the rest

of the time. The show premiered at the Lilian Bailis Theater in London and then moved on with the help of a bank loan to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival as part of Continental Shift, the city's first movement-oriented venue. While it was expertly performed and received excellent press notices, the show caused some controversy among the other acts. "One street juggler said we were at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of our performance values," recalled Gandini, "and I agreed with him. The other shows were comedy-oriented and based on the personality of the performers."

 

The Gandinis intentionally avoid dramatic expression in an attempt to communicate ideas and emotions through their gestures and choreography.

 

Ironically, for all its abstractions the piece resembles a traditional street show in several aspects. The performers non­chalantly walk onto the stage and begin setting up their props, which define the space for the rest of the program. The costuming is sparse, though typical of modern dance: practice clothes, a random collection of plain sweat pants and t-shirts. However, what follows is certainly not the usual Covent Garden street juggling fare.

 

Fortunately for those of us who missed the show in Edinburgh, the Gandinis performed a slightly shortened version in the gym at the Leeds European Convention last summer. As jugglers surrounded the square pitch and a very faint bubbling of music began in the background, the space took on the feel of an aquarium in which the inhabitants go about their business while the spectators look in at the scene from all angles.

 

As the first juggler entered alone with a red ball, he be­came a human dewdrop, using subtle gestures and movements to create an atmosphere of complete solitude with the ball. The skills did not center around manipulation or control of an object, but seemed simply a form of listening to the ball and beginning a peaceful and playful dialogue with it, in the way a dancer gently makes contact with his or her body before the dance. When the other joined in, the piece took on a more mechanical feeling which continued on and off throughout, each person absorbed in an individual task.

 

Yla-Hokkala first enters with a rope, coiling and twirling it until it undulates like a lightning bolt around her impervious stance. The zig-zagging of the rope seems to set the geometrical pattern for the rest of the piece. The performers follow invisible tracks across the floor, interacting when the paths of their designs happen to cross. The patterns evolved through experimentation, with choreographer Clarke setting an arbitrary structure such as an "H" shape for the performers to follow. This method reinforces the sense of randomness and chance which pervade the work and ultimately become themes in themselves.

 

The connection of these elements to modern life and the politics of art is revealed primarily through the soundtrack, a continuous monologue taken from the works of the late composer John Cage. Sentence fragments like "art is like a complaint - just as good" and "moveable entities flipping" create an intriguing and sometimes puzzling dichotomy with the juggling which viewers are left to interpret for themselves.

 

Art seemed to mimic life as the performers began walking along their designated paths, impersonally tossing clubs in basic patterns. Gandini and Yla-Hokkola periodically zipped off in their own style, curling themselves around the clubs and developing original methods of exchange. As the complexity increased and misdirection ran rampant, the pattern expanded to accommodate all four jugglers

drawn back into their own private domains.