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This section contains interview materials such as videos and transcripts.

Interview with Marianela Boán, conducted by Abigail Levine. April 29, 2010. Sinaloa, Mexico. Translated from Spanish.

 

icon Boán Interview English (166.1 kB)

 

 

Abigail Levine: How has Contaminated Dance evolved since you came to Philadelphia?

Marianela Boán: Well, I see two important things. The first is, obviously, the inclusion of technology, of video, within the show, its image, for the first time. In Cuba, I had decided not to do anything with those media because the necessary equipment didn’t exist there, what there was always broke. That was in the 80s. I tried to use video and said, “Here, it’s not possible.”

AL: But you were interested in it?

MB: All my life. We are talking about the year [1983] that I made a work called Nijinsky. I used video, but it was a disaster. Even though I had the luxury of having Padroncito [Juan Padrón, Cuban filmmaker—Vampiros en la Habana, etc.] edit my film... make me a film with images of Nijinsky, all at ICAIC [Instituto Cubano de Arte y Industria Cinematográficos]. It was, like, “Wow,”  but then there was no way to project it well, you know, old projectors and all that. At that point, I said, “I’m never using this stuff again in Cuba.” But video was already disquieting me a lot as an idea, as a phenomenon. I was living with this. I was already making another work that really needed video... also, there was the frustration of not having internet access. In Cuba, we lived with a scarcity of everything, which produces a thirst for all those things you don’t have. So, when I arrived in the U.S., to the MFA [completed in 2006 at Temple University], I focused in on that. I mean, one of the reasons that I left Cuba was because I couldn’t have access to the technology, and I felt limited. And I did not want to continue on like that.

Finally, then, I think this is the primary thing: that technology became one more element in the Contamination, along with theater, song, and all the rest. For example, in False Testimony, upon integrating technology, the contamination has become... has had new experiences. In False Testimony, it is a situation in which four artists of distinct disciplines participate in the action from their specific discipline, each expressive instrument is participating in a specific way--the musician with her cello, the videographer with the camera, the dancers with movement. All three are there, each using her particular vocabulary in the same situation. In this case, as a creator, it was like a kind of laboratory where two people are being checked, analyzed. And the cello, just as the camera, is used to spy, to provoke, to calm. This, then, is a completely new thing because it is not the same when it is the dancers who are singing and acting and all that. Using your instrument, your expressive language, maintaining it as it is, inserting it in a situation, sharing it in a situation. This was very important.

Each time I integrate technology, new things happen with the “contamination.” For example, in Voyeur, the idea was to incorporate the public into the scene, to break the fourth wall. And there, again, is another element. And, later, in Decadere, there was the idea of the abandoned office and the idea of having technology tossed around carelessly in the space. And there, I also incorporated the use of the microphone, the processing of sound live, the DJ on stage. There is a permanent microphone. So, now it is not only work with video, but I am also experimenting with the realm of sound. I mean, with every technological element that is incorporated, new possibilities open up in the Contamination. And possibilities for the interpreter to get to a much more distant place in the body. I mean, getting beyond that of the “dancer.” This was already a space opened in my work, but each time more and more.

AL: I read an interview that you did in Cuba where you said that you felt like you had to speak about the reality around you. Do you think that in your work in the U.S., for a North American audience, that they read and understand your work in a different way than a Cuban audience, or is it similar?

MB: No, I believe it’s similar. Moving here, I felt total censorship. I mean, I have not lost the sensation, being here, that I am being censored. For example, during the Bush government, it was almost like living in... It was so ideologically repressive because of the question of the war and American patriotism and all that. For example, in Voyeur, I used the “Instructions for Use in Case of a Chemical Attack”, a U.S. government document. It is an official text. I felt moments of “Wow, this could get me in trouble.” It is a powerful text. Another example is the nudity in False Testimony. I feel like there are places in the U.S. where I cannot use nudity. So, there are examples of moral censorship, and also ideological censorship, that I have felt perfectly clearly. And money directs and Christian morality imposes... So, I think my work continues moving, articulating ideology wherever it appears. I have felt with my pieces that the public here has had the same need to see their reality reflected, to have someone comment beyond what people are accustomed to art doing. Basically, audiences have received the work with great interest.

AL: I have felt that there is an a-politicism, if that’s what to call it... that a great deal of the work produced by the dance world here [in the U.S.] tries to exist in a world apart. But you have felt that audiences react to your work, making the connections between the work and its surroundings...

MB: Yes, they get it! They react. They laugh. They understand the codes, and they appreciate the work. The problem is that my sensibility is not going to change.

AL: As far as practical conditions--economic, the structure of the artistic community... Has it been a change being here?

MB: A total change, yes!

AL: And has it affected your work? Advantages? Disadvantages?

MB: Yes, it was a total change. It took me a lot of work to adjust to the system of production here, the conditions. At first, I started to do things as I had in Cuba. That is: find a space and people that want to work with me; get together and make works until I feel that they are good and show them to presenters until they program the pieces. I did that until I started to apply for and receive grants. At one point, I decided to create a non-profit. Lots of papers. They offered me a course in Arts Business. I found a lawyer. But in the end, I went back. Cuba-style. I hole myself up in a space and make things I like, and when I need money for something, I apply for a grant and that’s it.

AL: And it wasn’t easier in Cuba where you had your dancers and all that?

MB: Yeah, a thousand times easier. Of course, of course. Now I figured out the way to produce work here. It has been a lot of work, but when I want to make something here, I have a thousand people that want to work with me. If I have money at that moment to pay because I have a research grant, great. If not, the people who can’t work if they don’t get paid, don’t do it. I work with those who can and, at some point, they are going to start to earn money because, hopefully, the work is good and it gets presented. That’s what has happened up to this point. And each time I have more money. Often I ask for grants and they don’t give them to me, but normally... Now I am in the grants “system” here.

AL: And Cuba, does it remain a level of your work, of your thinking?

MB: I think it is a level that has passed, that I have now superseded. Not that that is better or worse, but I see myself as far away from that by now.

AL: What I was thinking of in particular was whether the themes that were a part of your work there continue to have a presence in the work now?

MB: For me, Cuba as a theme does not interest me. Not at all. There is nothing left to say. It doesn’t interest me to say any more about that, about that country, about that system because I don’t believe that anything is going to change, absolutely nothing. I feel very used. At some point I said, “If I continue talking about this, I am being an accomplice to it because I am sure that it is not going to change.” I spoke about these things because I thought they were going to change, that it was going in a positive direction. But when I saw that the negative direction was not going to change ever, I got tired of talking about the same thing. It didn’t interest me anymore. And being here, I have not spoken of being an emigré. I chose to leave Cuba because I wanted to, not because I had to. To the contrary, I left at the high point of my career. I was very free. I had absolutely no problems with Cuba. I left because I wanted to leave, to have another experience. Because of that, I don’t have the nostalgia of the immigrant, nor is immigration a problem for me at all. I don’t have any problem of that sort. As a theme, nothing.

What remains is that I see things here from the same point of view from which I looked at them in Cuba, the same need to speak about a place... I saw Obama and said, “And now? Now what?” It is the first time that I agreed with a president. Well, I was in agreement with Fidel until the 80s, until I began to feel like there was injustice everywhere... from then on, I became an artist of permanent opposition. When Obama was campaigning, I said, “I agree with all of this,” but then the [economic] crisis started... Decadere is a work of the crisis in the United States. It is like El pez de la torre in Cuba; it is the work of the crisis. Decadere is the work of the crisis of the Capitalist system. That’s why the title refers to decadence. In fact, I cite two previous works--Fast Food and El pez. Moments from these works are re-edited here. Fast Food and El pez were the works of the crises of ‘93 and ‘96, and this work is the work of the crisis now, and I re-use moments and cite them here in a new way. But always purposefully.

AL: And are you creating works with the hope that there will be change here [in the U.S.]?

MB: I think, by now, no. Let’s see, I think... how to explain it? This is a good question. I don’t know if I lost hope, the faith that art can change things. That’s it. I think that I lost that faith. Better said, what I always feel is the necessity to express things that are going on around me--pains, limitations on people, those I see, my own, like a permanent scream. The work doesn’t talk; it screams. Until I have found that scream, I cannot create anything. So, my work is always asking for help, but it is not that I think that it can change something. I don’t believe that, no. Show, I think it can show something, put forth a scream.

In Decadere, there is a lot about the question of culture, about multi-culturalism. I am analyzing cultural reactions to a particular situation. For example, in the U.S., the workplace seems to me a very oppressive space, very strange. And what happened for Latinos and Americans in that same space? What are their affective reactions? I am exploring the question of culture, but much more broadly than just Cuba, at the level of the Latino and American, the Anglo and the Latino.

AL: I heard you speak about being happy about presenting your works within Latino and Latin American cultural contexts...

MB: Yes, touring these works, bringing groups from the U.S. to Latin America, I feel that at intellectually, culturally, on a very small scale, I am supporting something. For example, Philadelphia, to bring people from that city to feel our culture from the inside. Yes, that makes me feel very good.

AL: And the next step. Where are you headed?

MB: I think, in my next work, I want to use computation of some kind, a form of processing of the image live, to work with digital design artists. There are very interesting people in Philadelphia working on Digital Art... not just having a laptop in the wings, but having a computer on the stage processing images. And how to incorporate this world so that it has the same process of incorporation into the action, that I can really contextualize it into the work. I mean, as a challenge to me: Get to the point of using these technologies, maintaining the same principles of construction, of dramaturgy, etc. I am very interested because I believe it is going to give new possibilities for presenting the dancer’s body on the stage... a new element that can enrich the work. I think that I have a need that drives this. I am very curious. I now know a lot about the cameras, projectors, but now I want... I want to learn a great deal about this, as well.

AL: And in terms of the effects of all this equipment on the body, especially on the trained body of the dancer, what is it that interests you? How do you see this?

MB: Well, the first thing is that it can be like a cinematographic version parallel to the version on stage. I always envied film a lot. Film can get to certain levels, get into the body at some levels that I can’t do on stage. And that is what has fascinated me in relation to the movement and the body--that you can see the granules of the dancer. How does a granule dance? How does a pore dance? You know, that thing of seeing the dance the way the camera offers it to you. The camera offers new perspectives on the choreography, on the body itself.

AL: But it also changes the behavior of the body, both being seen and also, as I felt in False Testimony, working the camera changes how one moves.

MB: That’s true. There are a set of behaviors when a dancer is being filmed--the relation with the image. I mean, new points of view, new focus, perspectives. It is like a fifth wall, a fifth wall... It is a fifth wall that you have awareness of or not. I mean, there are the four walls and one more wall that the image brings. That just occurred to me. Ah, the interview should be called “The Fifth Wall.”

AL: Yes! For sure. One last one... Dance as the center of your work. It is just because it is?

MB: Yes, it is because it is, because I believe in the body as the source of expression, as a primordial source. That’s the thing. I mean, for me, I’ve always maintained that. It seems that there is an energy in the body. It’s not mental; it comes from memory, from memory that, you know, begins way, way out there, it begins... The body is full of memories past and future, so... I believe in the truth in the body... The body as energy of all types, coming from other expressive elements. And when I say “the body”, I do not mean just the physical body, the motivating body, the mental body... the body as the base of expression. And beyond that, that theory that I have that the dancer who has educated her body so fully, therefore, has a special sensitivity that allows her to use the voice, as well... whatever element she wants from that sensitive body... y ya.

 

Viernes, 03 Diciembre 2010 15:34

La nostalgia del quinqué... una huida (1999)

"La nostalgia del quinqué... una huida" explora y expone las ansiedades del Puerto Rico cotidiano transversalmente investigando temáticas de género, clase y raza. Una serie de "tableaux vivants" de la "Familia Puertorriqueña" muestra la versión esteriotipada de la folklórica familia de jíbaros (campesinos) de la literatura costumbrista (que lidia con el tránsito de una sociedad rural a una sociedad industrial y urbana), en un choque tragicómico entre los anacronismos, la intolerancia auto-inflingida, y las políticas partidistas, negociadas en un desesperado malabarismo de realidades contrastantes, evasión, eufemismos, y la negación de lo que evidencia una crisis de identidad en la sociedad puertorriqueña. Estos "tableux" se corporeizan en una relación antífona con los personajes de tres "hermanas", a través de las cuales Hernández expone su opinión sobre la crisis de identidad puertorriqueña y el colonialismo: Licenciada Perdóname (una representante de distrito), Pragma la continental (con su discurso de auto-ayuda que invita a los puertorriqueños a "trepar y progresar") y Perpetua (una sensual cantante "Pan-Latina"), que, con la ayuda de su asistente Lamento, destapa las complejidades políticas, socio-históricas y etno-culturales de "la condición puertorriqueña".

Lunes, 22 Noviembre 2010 13:11

Lo cubano, zona peligrosa

There is no translation available.

Full Text

icon Lo cubano, zona peligrosa (esp) (67.15 kB)

por Marianela Boán

Originalmente publicado en Gaceta de Cuba. Ciudad de la Habana: UNEAC, 1999.

Parto de la premisa de que todo lo que creo es cubano y que proponerse concientemente un resultado final cubano es inútil, pues en cualquier tema que trate sea de la literatura universal o abstracto, estará ahí esa cubanía, a pesar de mí. No obstante el problema se presenta cuando he escogido “manipular”lo cubano concientemente. Trabajar en este plano significa tratar de hallar un equilibrio entre dos extremos muy peligrosos; de un lado la poderosa imagen cliché de lo cubano y del otro los clichés vanguardistas de lo cubano como tabú. En cuatro momentos de mi obra me he visto enfrentada a lo cubano como materia concreta en el proceso de creación: Mariana (1980), Retorna (1992), El pez de la torre nada en el asfalto (1996) y El árbol y el camino (1998).

 Como toda operación en zona de extremo peligro he requerido de una estrategia cuidadosa para llevarla a cabo. He aquí algunas reflexiones sobre mi experiencia en este sentido.
 Con Mariana quería hacer que el teatro oliera a manigua, hablar de patria, héroes e historias hiperconocidas y manipuladas manteniendo el equilibrio para no caer ni en el panfleto ni en la abstracción. Cómo revitalizar una tradición histórica y cubana, llevar al espectador a un plano de sensibilización emotiva, mantener los valores artísticos a salvo de lo ancilar y evadir tanto el jeroglífico simbólico cerrado en sí mismo como los clichés al que nos tienen acostumbrados el tratamiento de estos temas. Había que partir de desesteriotipar a los personajes. Una de las maneras fue la consabida humanización de los mismos, dejando ver su parte débil y humana. Mariana tiene que haber llorado mucho donde no la vieran. No es que no llorara sino que tenía el valor de hacerlo oculta y salir con una cara reluciente a empujar al próximo hijo hacia la guerra y hacia la muerte con una sonrisa lavada por el llanto.

Otra manera fue hacer un sincretismo entre entre estos personajes y el panteón yoruba afrocubano, descubrimiento que surgió en el proceso. Mariana-Yemayá, Marcos-Ogun, Antonio Maceo-Changó. En el momento en que voy a coreografiar la escena en que Marcos enseña a sus hijos a manejar el machete me doy cuenta de que la danza de manejar el machete ya existe en Cuba milenariamente y es la danza de Oggun, dios de los metales, y que era mucho más fuerte reelaborar una información que forma parte de la conciencia colectiva del cubano que inventar de la nada una danza del machete. A partir de ese momento comenzaría a buscar en Mariana una evidente Yemayá, madre de todos los dioses, la madre por excelencia en nuestra cultura con sus pasos marinos que mecen a las criaturas y su manera única de salvar lo que tiene alrededor poniéndolo a salvo en su gran saya. ¿Y Antonio Maceo? El gran guerrero estaba también ya creado, era Changó.

En ese momento pude constatar que lo cubano, en este caso lo afrocubano podía completar o alimentar un personaje y una trama si era asumido en su esencia. Marcos en simbiosis con Oggun hacia surgir un personaje superior a ambos que iluminaba la esencia de cada uno, la riqueza poética y danzaria de la mitología yoruba puesta a convivir con la naturaleza histórica y humana de los personajes en cuestión.

En Retorna, obra cuyo tema es directamente una reflexión sobre el espacio que le otorgamos a lo cubano en la vida y en el arte, los personajes aparecen vestidos exageradamente elegantes, rayando en lo cursi y tratando de aparentar una total acepcia por los tambores. Aparentan no querer bailar la música cubana pero el ritmo es más fuerte que ellos y los lleva por un camino frenético y descontrolado a pesar de la lucha constante entre las poses que quieren mantener como apariencia y las caderas que son arrastradas más allá de todo posible control aparencial de clase, cultura, o personalidad.

Tanto el momento en que encarnan al “fino”como el momento en que después de luchar contra su propia apariencia son arrastrados por la “gozadera” están ironizados por los gestos, bailes y posturas no sólo típicas del cubano cliché, sino hasta del bufo, elementos de los que me valgo concientemente para mostrar lo grotesco y caricaturizar esta actitud de falsa acepcia. Cuando los personajes pasan la catársis y son concientes de la transgresión tratan de disimular. En ese momento comienzan a musitar la canción Retorna de Sindo Garay y a través de distintas relaciones que se establecen entre ellos y la canción van poco a poco abandonando las máscaras, comienzan a derrumbarse los clichés, el grotesco cede y la obra termina en que los intérpretes cantan a cuatro voces la canción, dejando atrás el tono de parodia conque ha sido tratado lo cubano durante la obra.

Lo interesante de este proceso fue el haber logrado armar una dramaturgia que me permitiera utilizar los propios clichés de lo cubano para, llevados al extremo, llamar la atención sobre otros posibles puntos de vista de lo cubano, que alejados de los tabúes, abren un espacio de reconciliación con ese mundo para quienes ya lo daban por inútil .

En El pez de la torre nada en el asfalto, obra cuyo tema es el cubano en medio de una crisis, las reflexiones sobre lo cubano marcan toda la primera parte: capacidad contemplativa, poca resistencia al patetismo, búsqueda de la catársis inmediata, refugio en el humor exorcizante,etc…Tenía que asumir elementos típicos de nuestra cultura como son una rumba o la gestualidad del cubano y la opción fue elaborarlos sin que perdieran sustancia en el proceso de extrañamiento.

La rumba, al mezclarla con la técnica de contacto que es una de las técnicas postmodernas que el grupo maneja habitualmente y que parte de estímulos mutuos en el cuerpo, en el espacio que produce el diseño del cuerpo y en las líneas de energía, dió como resultado un discurso de movimiento donde los pasos esenciales de la rumba aparecen con toda su fuerza pero emergiendo de otras fuentes. Esto me permitió entrar en un género popular tradicional desde una nueva perspectiva , y revitalizar una técnica como la de contacto que es una asimilación foránea desarrollada originalmente por la danza postmoderna norteamericana.

En cuanto a los gestos y signos gestuales del cubano también fueron elaborados coreográficamente. Pero a partir de su propia negación, es decir, asumiendo el mito del cubano hipergestualizador y utilizando toda esa famosa gestualidad para ocultar cosas, gestualizar para no tener que decir o poder secretear, la gestualidad, aparente arma de comunicación, convertida en arma de disimulo de lo ilícito, ya que la escena donde se trabaja con el gesto en la obra es la de los negocios prohibidos. Al elaborar el gesto cubano, cosa esta que se ha hecho mucho en nuestra escena, el matiz decodificador se consiguió a partir de ironizar traicionando este procedimiento.
Al comienzo de El árbol y el camino, los bailarines llegan tarde a la función, cada uno por diversos problemas cotidianos. Intentan comenzar a bailar con la misma ropa que traen de la calle y las mochilas al hombro después de discutir entre ellos, con la coreógrafa y con el público para tratar de salvar la situación ya que la música de la obertura ha continuado y el telón ha comenzado a abrirse. Intentan bailar desconcentrados, cargados de “realidad cotidiana” la primera escena de la obra que es nada menos que el paraíso. Por supuesto, el paraíso-escena-arte expulsa a estos intérpretes que están aún contaminados con el infierno-cotidianidad-realidad y no les permite evolucionar en el escanario, la acción se paraliza, están desesperados, se agreden , nosaben que hacer hasta que uno de ellos, comienza a invocar a sus dioses yorubas, cae en trance y va contagiando al grupo hacia un ritual de despojo de la santería cubana, el grupo se “limpia”de esta manera y ya “despojado”del infierno-cotidianidad-realidad el paraiso-escena- arte les permite comenzar la obra.

Las invocaciones y cantos afrocubanos aparecidos al calor de una acción aparentemente casual, en esta primera parte, se seguirán utilizando a lo largo de toda la obra con diferentes subtextos siempre como símbolo de lo ritual, espiritual, religioso y natural, dentro de una trama cuya multiplicidad literal se basa en los opuestos sociedad-naturaleza , proyecto social-proyecto individual, ritual social-ritual religioso.

Necesitaba un ritual purificador para que los personajes pudieran pasar del presente al estado de total armonía con el medio y entre ellos y ese ritual en Cuba tiene un nombre: despojo.
Como la danza de Oggun, conque Marcos Maceo enseña a sus hijos a manejar el machete, preferí no inventar un ritual sino elaborar el ritual de purificación por excelencia en la cultura cubana y aprovechar así no solo su fuerza ancestral sino además inaugurar en la obra “lo ritual”a partir de un ritual propio de nuestra cultura.

No todos los países tienen la cultura viva y absolutamente interactuante en todos los planos de la existencia que tiene Cuba, siempre me ha parecido que vivir ignorando la enorme energía que puede insuflar a la expresión contemporánea la incorporación de elementos de nuestra cultura popular o folklórica es perderse un gran banquete. A mi juicio esa cultura es en sí insuperable y es por lo que al tratar con ella lo hago siempre con un nivel enorme de autoconciecia, como si metiera mis manos dentro de un cuerpo viviente del que hay que extraer órganos vivos sin lacerarlo.

Martes, 16 Noviembre 2010 09:16

Acceso controlado (1995)

Acceso Controlado es un espectáculo de multimedia que gira alrededor del tema del acceso controlado y la metáfora (y la creciente realidad) de las comunidades enrejadas en Puerto Rico. La pieza se compone de cinco partes, con cinco personajes que Hernández corporeiza con majestuosidad. "La Reina" recita un discurso fascista, clasista y racista, reclamando que la democratización y el mestizaje son crímenes en contra del orden histórico. La guardia de seguridad "Teniente Cortés" habla sobre la paranoia y las falsas "redes de seguridad" a las cuales tornan las personas --"controlar" el acceso a través de las ubicuas comunidades enrejadas siendo una de ellas- para así protegerse del alarmante crecimiento de la criminalidad en Puerto Rico. El público se encara luego con "El Chamaco" en "Primera Plana", una escena que explora el lenguaje corporal y las expresiones de la juventud criminalizada, trayendo a colación la relación entre la voluntad y el sometimiento, la vida criminal en la calle y las fuerzas institucionales que tratan de controlarla. Un cortometraje titulado Milagros Vélez le sigue a esta escena. El filme esta basado en Request Concert (Concierto a Petición) de Franz Xaver Kroetz y Acto sin Palabras de Samuel Beckett. La última pieza, La Primera Dama en Solo Operático en Tiempos de Desafortunados, completa el performance, con una "Primera Dama" histérica que simboliza la banalidad de la queja en una sociedad donde la elite económica controla la expresión cultural y los políticos esconden la corrupción detrás de su hipócrita preocupación cívica.

Lunes, 15 Noviembre 2010 16:35

Blanche Dubois (2000)

Blanche está basada en la obra de Tennessee Williams A Streetcar Named Desire. Mientras su hermana decide emigrar, esta versión cubana de Blanche se queda en la isla y se aferra a sus sueños revolucionarios, del mismo modo que Blanche nunca pierde su espíritu aristocrático.

La obra fue creada en colaboración con el director teatral cubano Raul Martín. En Blanche, Boán articula los principios de la “Danza Contaminada” a través de su propio cuerpo y su performance. A través de una atención equitativa y meticulosa a detalles de la voz, los cuerpos, los objetos y el espacio, Boán crea una obra que se convierte en un verdadero híbrido entre la danza y el teatro.


Otros enlaces

Artículo sobre Blanche por Miguel Sirgado Teatro en Miami. En Español.

Artículo sobreBlanche en Miami New Times.

Lunes, 15 Noviembre 2010 16:32

Chorus Perpetuus (2001)

There is no translation available.

Chorus Perpetuus is a reflection on freedom, collectivity, and the necessity for responsible action. DanzAbierta sings and winds itself through Gershwin, Mozart, Pergolesi, and Simons, interrupting itself as one or another of the dancers breaks out of formation, fails to stay in tune or steps into individual action. To the repeated question ¿Por qué te vas? (Why are you leaving?), this choreographic work explores the tight places between the individual and the collective, their effects and perils, and their complex ethical and political implications. Chorus is the last work Boán created in Cuba before moving to the U.S. to complete an MFA program. The work continued to tour for many years throughout Europe and Latin America to enthusiastic audience and critical reception.


Additional Links

Web cuaderno about DanzAbierta, Boán's Havana-based company.

Critical essay about Chorus Perpetuus by Vivian Taberas in Conjunto, Nº 124, En-Ab 2002, pp. 58-61.

Review of Chorus Perpetuus by Omar Valiño in La Jiribilla 

Lunes, 15 Noviembre 2010 16:03

Ah Mén (2004)

Ah mén es una pieza de danza/teatro de Javier Cardona, creada en el 2004. La pieza es una exploración de la masculinidad como construcción social. A través de la recreación visual, verbal y corporal, seis actores/bailarines ejecutan una red intrínseca de prescripciones y transmisiones de la normativa masculina, mantenida por instituciones sociales tales como la familia, la iglesia, la escuela y el estado. Interpretando las evidentes dinámicas de poder y violencia ligadas a la nociones y expectativas de la masculinidad en el inconsciente colectivo, los actores/bailarines provocan un re-pensar de las preconcepciones de lo que significa "ser hombre".
Lunes, 15 Noviembre 2010 15:53

You Don't Look Like... (1996, 2003)

Este unipersonal de danza/teatro, desarrollado por Javier Cardona en 1996, trabaja sobre el problema de raza e identidad en Puerto Rico, especialmente con los estereotipos raciales que prevalecen en la cultura popular y en la industria del entretenimiento. Temáticas de violencia, discriminación y racismo, experimentadas por los afrocaribeños, son representadas a través de la exploración de la relación entre el cuerpo y las políticas de representación, aquí ejecutadas a través de las yuxtaposiciones experimentales entre fotografía, danza, anécdotas e interacción directa con el público.
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