Out Loud
A Memoir
(Sprache: Englisch)
From the most brilliant and audacious choreographer of our time, the exuberant tale of a young dancer s rise to the pinnacle of the performing arts world, and the triumphs and perils of creating work on his own terms and staying true to himself
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From the most brilliant and audacious choreographer of our time, the exuberant tale of a young dancer s rise to the pinnacle of the performing arts world, and the triumphs and perils of creating work on his own terms and staying true to himselfBefore Mark Morris became the most successful and influential choreographer alive (The New York Times), he was a six year-old in Seattle cramming his feet into Tupperware glasses so that he could practice walking on pointe. Often the only boy in the dance studio, he was called a sissy, a term he wore like a badge of honor. He was unlike anyone else, deeply gifted and spirited.
Moving to New York at nineteen, he arrived to one of the great booms of dance in America. Audiences in 1976 had the luxury of Merce Cunningham s finest experiments with time and space, of Twyla Tharp s virtuosity, and Lucinda Childs's genius. Morris was flat broke but found a group of likeminded artists that danced together, travelled together, slept together. No one wanted to break the spell or miss a thing, because if you missed anything, you missed everything. This collective, led by Morris s fiercely original vision, became the famed Mark Morris Dance Group.
Suddenly, Morris was making a fast ascent. Celebrated by The New Yorker s critic as one of the great young talents, an androgynous beauty in the vein of Michelangelo s David, he and his company had arrived. Collaborations with the likes of Mikhail Baryshnikov, Yo-Yo Ma, Lou Harrison, and Howard Hodgkin followed. And so did controversy: from the circus of his tenure at La Monnaie in Belgium to his work on the biggest flop in Broadway history. But through the Reagan-Bush era, the worst of the AIDS epidemic, through rehearsal squabbles and backstage intrigues, Morris emerged as one of the great visionaries of modern dance, a force of nature with a dedication to beauty and a love of the body, an artist as joyful as he is provocative.
Out Loud is the
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bighearted and outspoken story of a man as formidable on the page as he is on the boards. With unusual candor and disarming wit, Morris s memoir captures the life of a performer who broke the mold, a brilliant maverick who found his home in the collective and liberating world of music and dance.
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Lese-Probe zu „Out Loud “
OneVerla Flowers Dance Arts
I asked for dancing lessons when I was nine.
My mother-I called her Maxine-used to take me to see various touring companies at the Seattle Opera House, a series called Sol Hurok Presents. On one of these outings, we saw the great flamenco dancer Jos Greco, a gorgeous New Yorker with a big nose and a big basket. Flamenco excited me-it was sexy, virtuosic, stylized, and very alone-and, perhaps inspired by my mother's love for all things Spanish, my immediate reaction was "I want to do that!" My sister Marianne, nine years older, may also have been influential. She'd had some ballet lessons, doing jazz numbers to boogie-woogie, and was just starting pointe classes, which was also when she stopped. But that technique caught my eye. After one of her classes, I crammed my feet into Tupperware juice glasses so I could imitate her by walking on pointe in the front room. My sister thought I was going to die.
So my mother, seeing I was serious, opened the phone book and found a teacher, Verla Flowers, who taught Spanish dancing. Verla-always just Verla-was from the old school, the Depression era. She'd danced on the vaudeville circuit and studied with famous people, including Matteo, the American-born choreographer, a master of Spanish dance (who only recently died at ninety-two). There's a Verla Flowers in every single town in America, but her school wasn't just "Dolly Dinkle," the term embarrassed dancers use for their hometown dance school, a phrase I've never liked. Verla was well connected in Seattle, with friends who ran Cornish College of the Arts, the preeminent performing arts establishment.
Verla had an amazing beehive that was loopy and tall-it wasn't one big puff-bold, big, and auburn. Her hair was done fresh once a week, and you could tell what day of the week it was by how far it had collapsed. She wore comfortable muumuus-this was a long time ago-and had different shoes
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for every dance: black character shoes for Spanish class and big silver tap shoes with jingles. She'd taught herself a lot of the classic repertoire on the piano. Her daughter taught also, and there was a devoted husband, Ted, who did odd jobs and drove people around.
She seemed old to me because I was young (she was fifty-two when we met, older than my mother), and we were friendly in that intergenerational way. Though flamboyant, she was old-fashioned, big on manners like a strict mother who makes her children wear neckties to church. Above all else, however, she needed to keep her students, so she couldn't afford to be one of those vicious ninety-year-old classical ballet teachers from Russia, the kind you can't ever get rid of. There aren't a lot of the crazy ones left anyway, because you can't touch the students anymore, let alone hit them with your walking stick.
She taught all over Seattle in satellite studios, church halls, and so on, but her own studio-Verla Flowers Dance Arts, where she taught hula, tap, and "toe dancing" (as people used to call dancing on pointe)-was north of the zoo in the Greenwood area. At my very first lesson, a private lesson, we learned a well-known flamenco solo form called a farruca, traditionally performed only by men, a dance of intense footwork and quick steps. I learned a couple of phrases a week. I still know most of them, and thirty-five years later, some of that very first dance made it into my own dance Four Saints in Three Acts, to music by Virgil Thomson.
Verla's Spanish dancing lessons, every Saturday for an hour and a half, were so exhilarating, so much fun, that I couldn't stop practicing on my own time. I'd do a move forever until I got it down. Immediately, I was a full-on committed perfectionist, purely because I was doing something I really liked. Verla saw something in me right away and quickly picked me out. I was new, I was eager, and I was a boy. Basically it was pretty much free-and it often is if you'
She seemed old to me because I was young (she was fifty-two when we met, older than my mother), and we were friendly in that intergenerational way. Though flamboyant, she was old-fashioned, big on manners like a strict mother who makes her children wear neckties to church. Above all else, however, she needed to keep her students, so she couldn't afford to be one of those vicious ninety-year-old classical ballet teachers from Russia, the kind you can't ever get rid of. There aren't a lot of the crazy ones left anyway, because you can't touch the students anymore, let alone hit them with your walking stick.
She taught all over Seattle in satellite studios, church halls, and so on, but her own studio-Verla Flowers Dance Arts, where she taught hula, tap, and "toe dancing" (as people used to call dancing on pointe)-was north of the zoo in the Greenwood area. At my very first lesson, a private lesson, we learned a well-known flamenco solo form called a farruca, traditionally performed only by men, a dance of intense footwork and quick steps. I learned a couple of phrases a week. I still know most of them, and thirty-five years later, some of that very first dance made it into my own dance Four Saints in Three Acts, to music by Virgil Thomson.
Verla's Spanish dancing lessons, every Saturday for an hour and a half, were so exhilarating, so much fun, that I couldn't stop practicing on my own time. I'd do a move forever until I got it down. Immediately, I was a full-on committed perfectionist, purely because I was doing something I really liked. Verla saw something in me right away and quickly picked me out. I was new, I was eager, and I was a boy. Basically it was pretty much free-and it often is if you'
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Autoren-Porträt von Mark Morris, Wesley Stace
Mark Morris was born on August 29, 1956, in Seattle, Washington. He formed the Mark Morris Dance Group (MMDG) in 1980 and has since created over 150 works for the company. From 1988 to 1991, he was Director of Dance at the Théâtre Royal de la Monnaie in Brussels. In 1990, he founded the White Oak Dance Project with Mikhail Baryshnikov. Morris is also an acclaimed ballet choreographer and opera director.Wesley Stace has published four novels, including the international bestseller Misfortune. He recorded 17 records under the name John Wesley Harding before reverting to his birth name for Self-Titled in 2013. His show Wesley Stace s Cabinet of Wonders has been a fixture in New York City and beyond for ten years.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autoren: Mark Morris , Wesley Stace
- 2021, 384 Seiten, Maße: 14,1 x 21,4 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: PENGUIN BOOKS
- ISBN-10: 0735223084
- ISBN-13: 9780735223080
- Erscheinungsdatum: 27.10.2021
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Direct, brash, flippant, charming, impenetrably self-assured. And funny. On just about every page, there s an anecdote or remark to make you laugh. The New York Times Book Review Rollicking, uninhibited and refreshingly raw. . . Whizzing through these adventures with him feels a lot like being in the audience at one of his lively post-performance question-and-answer sessions, where Morris the everlasting bon vivant delights in holding the spotlight, typically with a wine glass in hand. . . Out Loud takes us on a swift-paced ride through a fascinating life whose joys and setbacks are viewed with a sharp eye and often dry humor. Nothing is belabored. In his writing as in his dances, Morris has a light hand. But his memoir is about more than the making of a choreographer. It s about the layering on of self-worth, and how a solid sense of who you are can equip you to survive all kinds of hell. The Washington Post
With the publication of his memoir, aptly titled Out Loud, we get to hear that spoken voice in all its guises: from brilliance to laugh-out-loud wit, tenderness to outrage, introspection to cockiness, gratitude to irony to (his word) vulgarity . . . the book takes you on a now riotous, now somber tour through Morris s personal history and the history of his company . . . It s a monumental task, and one done with elan and candor: He s pulling aside a curtain to let you see both the backstage to his dances and the workings of his genius mind . . . Throughout the book, Morris s eye for the telling detail astonishes, capturing the essence of a place or a person in a heartbeat. The Boston Globe
Mark Morris has chosen the perfect title, Out Loud, for a memoir as rollicking, brash, and thoughtful as his dances. . . . Marvelously entertaining. Ballet Review
Fans of modern dance are sure to enjoy this colorful, often humorous memoir. Publishers Weekly
"Morris is frank, joyful, and, at times,
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provocative. . . A fascinating memoir that will engage anyone interested in dance, movement, or the creative process." Booklist
The absorbing story of an uncompromising genius of the dance, as revelatory and intense as his extraordinary choreography. Salman Rushdie
Out Loud is a golden opportunity to get inside the mind of one of the great musicians of our time and also into the history and progress of modern dance itself. Isaac Mizrahi
Out Loud is the story of a brilliant, complex artist, a keen observer and interpreter of the world around him, guided by one constant purpose: to create dance. This hard-to-put-down book illuminates the mind of an irreducible visionary and the art form that shaped him. Yo-Yo Ma
The absorbing story of an uncompromising genius of the dance, as revelatory and intense as his extraordinary choreography. Salman Rushdie
Out Loud is a golden opportunity to get inside the mind of one of the great musicians of our time and also into the history and progress of modern dance itself. Isaac Mizrahi
Out Loud is the story of a brilliant, complex artist, a keen observer and interpreter of the world around him, guided by one constant purpose: to create dance. This hard-to-put-down book illuminates the mind of an irreducible visionary and the art form that shaped him. Yo-Yo Ma
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