Walking and Other Choreographic Tactics: Danced Inventions of Theatricality and Performativity

Imagine we are walking along the downtown streets of a major North American city, not strolling in the manner of the flâneur nor marching resolutely towards an urgent rendez-vous. Eventually, the goal is to arrive at two sites, not far from one another, called "performativity" and "theatricality." But we can't get there by taxi, and besides, we have enough time to enjoy the walk, to note the pedestrians around us, to perceive the ebb and flow of bodies along the sidewalk, to register the criss-crossing of trajectories that bodies accomplish so deftly at street corners. Mid-block, we walk into something that strikes a slightly odd note: a large, young man hovering behind an elderly shopper passes us just as we are overtaken by a short, young woman tailing a tall businessman. Each follows closely the rhythm, step, and posture of their unaware leader. Then, they stop, turn to face the street or gaze skywards, and adopt the pose of someone waiting. They check their watches; they shift from side to side. We scan the street. They are not alone. Bodies situated at irregular intervals stand waiting; then each falls in behind a new passer-by, exaggerating ever so slightly the demeanor of their new leader.

Part of our interest is taken up with sorting out who is involved. We're standing still now, eyeing the other side of the street, conferring with amusement as the contours of this event begin to emerge. There must be twenty or so participants; they seem like student types, mixed gender, race, and size—each carefully assessing the attributes of the bodies they imitate, always following closely enough to make their citation evident, but not so closely as to intimidate the leader. They make differences between bodies stand out; they elucidate the subtle rhythms of limbs, the non-uniformity of pace, the intricate melding of posture with gait. The street is brimming over with the nuances of corporeality.

Is anyone else watching? Are we the only ones willing to stop for a moment and savor this assault on the normal? Is this an exercise mostly for the benefit of those who are doing the following? What do they learn from it? What do they hope we might see, if we pause to watch?

We are, perhaps, their ideal audience. We are willing to convert this particular group of bodies in motion into a dance. We know dance's history; we remember the sixties. We believe in those moments when one suddenly becomes aware that a performance is in progress. We are dedicated to the interrogation of our expectations about the when and where of art. We embrace the transformation of consciousness that suddenly recasts perceptual experience as art that illumines our awareness of our surroundings through our newly sensitized perception of the pedestrian. We imagine this group of students is a dance composition class, assigned the task of investigating site-specific choreography.

Wait. Who is this "we?" What history and pedagogy of dance do "we" share that supports this interpretation of a walking dance?

Backing Up

Let me reconstruct some of the dance history that underlies the imaginary performance described above. It is now 1964 in the streets of lower Manhattan. Lucinda Childs and another dancer are performing her Street Dance. The two dancers move down the street pointing out architectural features or objects in windows as they go, only distinguishable from other pedestrians on the street through their seemingly meaningless pauses and gestures. Located above, the audience crowds around a loft's windows, listening to a detailed description of the action which the performers have learned to synchronize with their movements. ¹ Or it is 1970, and a harnessed dancer crests the top of a five-story building and begins to plod towards street-level in Trisha Brown's Walking Down the Side of a Building. Soon accustomed to the perilousness and the...