Book Review: BRUJA by Wendy C. Ortiz

Bruja Bruja
by Wendy C. Ortiz
Civil Coping Mechanisms, 2016
$15.95

Reviewed by Melissa Grunow

Wendy C. Ortiz’s Bruja is a collection of dream vignettes that pull us into a moment of life that is often unseen, and even more so, unspoken.

Each dream scene is written in language that is sharp, but not simple, as it shakes us awake to consider the implications of our own dreams. Is there more to life that what we know? What are the possibilities beyond our immediate awareness? Is there potential for hope, even in the darkest moments? When we can stave off the fears of the real world, we can journey to new places within ourselves in the dream world, awakening desire, valiance, and certainty of self.

The word “bruja” means “witch” in Spanish, and this new “dreamoir” is certainly bewitching as it delves into the darkest corners of the mind to investigate what lurks there. People are mostly unnamed and given first initials only to make room for Ortiz’s self to emerge from her unconscious as unaffected archetypes:  the sexualized lover, the caring mother, the old crone, and—of course—the bruja who can shapeshift into all of them.

The book ultimately explores who or what is in control and presents a number of dream sequences in which Ortiz’s character is in a position of subordination to another. She’s trapped in a house with grating hosts. She’s escaping dynamite tossed onto the rooftop of her apartment. She’s wishing, longing, for a different place or people who fill in the spaces in her mind.

“After the car went down the side of a short cliff, I said with extra calm in my voice, Do you want me to drive?” … “On the side of the road in the dust, we switched positions. I became the driver.”

There are other moments like this one in which Ortiz maintains a centered and calm persona while confronted with risk and uncertainty. Repeatedly, she is the hero of her own dreams, rescuing children and animals and jumping into the metaphorical driver’s seat to steer the dream, and ultimately one’s life, toward resolution.

Symbols are ever-present in Ortiz’s dreams, some subtle and others obvious. She writes, “The enormous ‘lucky 13’ tattoo on my left forearm was exquisitely detailed. The black was rich, and there were subtle flames and careful shading that made it jump off my skin. Still, I wasn’t certain I wanted to have that on me for life.”

Like all of us, Ortiz’s dream persona questions and doubts decisions and is full of wonderment at what desire and the self will be in the future. The story reads as though it is on loop: there is no beginning and no ending, only a series of isolated moments of existence that simultaneously trap us and shape us into who we will be in our waking lives.


 

Dance Review: ANALOGY/DORA: TRAMONTANE by Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company

Reviewed by Adrienne Totino

For over 30 years, renowned choreographer, Bill T. Jones, has built a prolific repertoire of dance works. Throughout his career he has received a number of accolades, including a MacArthur Genius Award, the Kennedy Center Honors, and two Tony Awards for Best Choreography. Jones has tackled difficult topics in his work, including the AIDS epidemic and the sex trade. This piece was equally challenging in subject matter.

ANALOGY/DORA…is based on the life of Dora Amelan, a Holocaust survivor who worked as a nurse in detention camps in southern France. The piece was choreographed last year, and was presented at the August Wilson Center this past weekend.

The company members took turns telling Amelan’s story. As movement swirled around them, one dancer at a time spoke into a hand-held microphone. The text relayed Amelan’s own words in a harrowing account of her bravery and what she sometimes described as “luck.”

Nick Hallett and Emily Manzo performed live music from the open wings, a mix of classical French songs and present-day electronica. The sound worked well to support the emotion of the spoken word.

Though Amelan’s story was one of survival, it was not without tragic loss. Early on, the dancers rolled a cot onto the stage as a portrayal of her mother’s death. Here, the accompanying movement was technical and clean. Despite the dancers’ exceptional execution of the movement, the choreography did not fully reveal the despair of the moment.

At times, the piece did a better job conveying the horrors of the war. Portable walls (created by Bjorn Amelan) served various purposes throughout the show. In one vivid section, Amelan’s story recounted her father’s illegal travel to France. Antonio Brown performed a solo in which he struggled against one of the structures falling on him. The movement was simple, the image impactful.

Another section that worked well came near the end, when the dancers depicted Amelan’s sister’s death. From one corner, I-Ling Liu performed a solo of minimal gestures. Eventually, Rena Butler picked up on the movement from across the stage. And Jenna Riegel eventually began the same phrase. In that moment, there was a trace of solidarity between them, despite heavy grief.

That section turned to a unison phrase of big jumps in and out of the floor. The choreography was neatly arranged. One would have imagined disorder or dread even amongst a coming together. The choreography could have been bolder.

The piece continued in that same manner. While some sections revealed deep sorrow, others fell short. Amelan’s description of the deplorable conditions of the barracks was haunting. But the movement didn’t portray the same ghastly quality. Later, though, a series of slow motion partnering duets showed the care and support each of the survivors gave one another.

To close, peace was declared. The dancers attended a party where Marcel Marceau and his brother performed. Marceau’s character made appearances throughout the show. Like the rest of the cast, Carlo Antonio Villanueva performed his role well. His movement was precise and subtle, just as mime should be.

The dancers joined hands in the end and formed a line, weaving around the moveable walls. This had a folk-dance effect, communal and complete with exuberant smiles. The lights went down on the dancers’ silhouettes. The joy in their conclusion felt abrupt.

Continuing to share Holocaust stories is incredibly important. Jones’s depiction of Amelan’s personal story was a touching tribute and a necessity in keeping the devastation of the time well documented. Though the movement was worthy of a more stirring depiction, the heart of the piece was clear.


 

Book Review: PARIS SCRATCH by bart plantenga

ParisScratchFrontCover-600-390x600 Paris Scratch
by bart plantenga 
Sensitive Skin, 2016
$15.95

Reviewed by Kevin Riordan

This volume comprises a tidy collection of 365 ‘meta-factual’ verbal snapshots of Paris, city of light and low-lifes. It will be joined by a forthcoming companion piece, NY Sin Phoney in Face Flat Minor, set in New York City, out later this year. The author bart plantenga is currently based in Amsterdam and has been an avid participant in international subversive subculture for several decades, whose writing is half of his double barreled approach to making the world more interesting; the other barrel is his career as a disc jockey in an incredibly long running pirate radio program, Wreck this Mess. While the book is not set up as either a novel or a journal, it functions as both, by portraying the misadventures and lives of many Parisians in an observant, mordant prose that finds the rhythm of an epic barroom ballad.

With a fairly even mix of anecdotes of his friends and speculations about strangers, the reader is submerged in a very real place and time lit by a unique point of view. In entry 79, we find his claim that “Every corner, rooftop, fruit wrapped in colorful tissue, every rendered knee exposed is a source of aesthetic arousal. Yes, even the smokestack just out of Gare du Nord had its beauty.” Similarly every small chapter of Paris Scratch is a source of aesthetic contemplation. In all it is a frank attempt to translate the wonders of Parisian street photography into prose, each entry tantalizingly brief yet encapsulating a whole scenario.

The most remarkable thing about plantenga’s writing here is the way it is informed by a life-long embrace of the little giants of bohemian expostulation, from Breton, Bukowski and Baudelaire to his contemporaries in the slamming poetic culture fracas of today. He imbues the everyday sights and sounds of the city with a dignifying appreciation of their cultural significance, as when he says “graffiti is a language that emanates from the belly of the un-empowered, serving simultaneously as wailing wall & publishing house of the dissident neglected.”

As the most surreal of the loose cadre of writers known as the Unbearables, plantenga has been aligned with the push toward more earthy reality in the depiction of the insanity of the modern world, and in this volume he has crystallized a year’s worth of closely watched madness into a smooth elemental piece of poetic journalism.