Jimena Paz: Argentine dancer embraces foreignness and memory in her performance “Yellow”
Precisely two hours before the sunset at the Chocolate factory in Queens New York, an enchanting performance took place, to a small sold-out crowd. Anyone who arrived a minute later than 5:50 pm was not allowed entry. Argentine dancer, maker, and lecturer Jimena Paz’s performance piece mysteriously titled “Yellow,” —co-created with choreographer and dancers Ralph Lemon and Vicky Shick, ends as the sun sets in Buenos Aires.
“Yellow” is one of Paz’s most emotional and personal works yet— inspired by her childhood dance instructor, the Argentine choreographer— Iris Scaccheri. In an essay that Paz wrote about her late teacher for Danspace Project, she writes about the great influence Scaccheri had on her life describing her as her “dance ghost.” Iris Scaccheri is not widely celebrated for her work, simply because she was not born in the United States or Europe, Paz remarks that a Google search serves her no justice. Yet she still left a lasting impression on Paz’s dance life. Parts of “Yellow” are from a dance that Paz was in the process of learning but never had the chance to finish with Scaccheri. As “Yellow” continues the performance becomes more and more visceral and enigmatic.
In a brief program of “Yellow,” Paz writes “we have been working with the idea of ‘foreignness’.” What does that mean for Paz? To deal with the foreignness of self, it's an emotional distancing of the self and in this way, Paz is coming back to the self. The audience also is complicit in this idea of estrangement as we commence to watch her from a detached perspective, yet she tugs at the audience to lean into foreignness— at times widening the gap between us and her at other times pulling us closer. Immediately though she embarks on this expanse between the audience and dancer, and the dancer and the self.
In every frenetic shift of movement, her memory begins to unravel in front of the audience. Paz draws a lot on the idea of memory— the memory of the body and its attachment or unattachment to land, people, etc. or as she puts it “the heart of collaboration, are stories and people from my life in Argentina, the subculture of my dancing body” And yet she doesn't forget about the audience rather we join in the performance as well. Her gaze is empty and expressionless one second and the next she's staring directly at an audience member; provocatively, perilously, and seductively as she stretches her chest out in a fish pose. Sparse moments of intimacy render the audience into intruders. For example, there is a moment where Paz curves her back away from the audience as she undresses out of a bright pink top and orange pants into a translucent rose tulle dress. Reminiscent of flamenco style she begins to dance with imaginary castanets. Gradually, the audience becomes complicit in her memory retrieval.
And suddenly with a jolt, she screams a primordial scream of terror alarming everyone in the audience, people bolt out of their chairs. Her tremendous voice is like a siren; rending not only hearts but cracking cochleas in the process. She is pushing her limits and that of the audience. After the first scream, music ensues, heavy bass lines and drum beats ease the audience from immobility to remember breath as she prepares us for the preceding two terrorizing screams. Towards the end she is lying face down on the floor, whispering a childhood anecdote in Spanish. Even for the Spanish speakers in the audience, it's difficult to grasp every word she gently says to the floor, not to the audience.
The ending is abrupt, Paz casually steps out of the stage, leaving everyone astonished and debilitated in their chairs. Silence ensues and suddenly there's this aura of abandon “ the point of departure.” We are left to process on our own as dusk emanates in Buenos Aires.
