Noémie Lafrance's "Melt", New York City 09/02/10
On my first night in New York, Amelia, Lauren and I made our way under the Manhattan Bridge to witness the Noémie Lafrance-choreographed happening entitled “Melt.” In the middle of urban nowhere, we found our queue of murmuring seekers of culture and eventually made our way through the gate into a concrete yard with a huge pile of white granules to the right – hence the name of the venue, the Salt Pile.
In front of us sat eight women, each poised upon a makeshift seat at asymmetrical levels upon the concrete wall. Each woman wore a rough gauzy shift that hung down in tattered ribbons on either side of her body, her hair braided and pinned close. Their bodies, glistening in the hot stage lights, were covered with a dripping layer of beeswax and lanolin. Their legs slowly moved forward and back, never still, their eyes stared forward, focused upon a heat source that we could not see. I think nobody was certain when the performance actually started, but soon the movements grew more varied and intense as the women began to melt down.
At seemingly indeterminate moments, they would move together as a choreographed group, but never entirely; always at least one performer was doing something quite different in accordance with the asymmetry of the piece. The dancers seemed to be alternately embracing and fighting an inevitable end to their heated journey, at times reaching an ecstasy of movement and grace, followed by a sort of wilting process and a moment of stillness.
The piece recalled Icarus’ fated journey toward the sun on homemade wings; drawn like a moth to a flame he flew too high, melted his waxen wings and fell into the sea. Ah, the intoxicating euphoria of flying so high! And oh, the hazards such flight can bring! “Melt” provided a mesmerizing glimpse into that dichotomy on this hot late summer evening, begging comparison to the city of New York itself–a place where so many come to fly to the top, willing as they are to singe their wings a bit along the way.
