Consider the metaphysics of a telephone call: ringing. Hello? Maybe Silence has called. Or maybe Monster. Or the Dancer. But the Dancer comes out and starts dancing. The lights dim. A show begins.

Dear Writer, I would like you to dance but I don’t think you can pull it off.

The Plot is a video performance and a hypothetical movie plot, meaning it will unfold in its own time.

The Plot is archetypal and so are its characters: a writer wants to write but can’t, a voice actor becomes a dancer, a dancer moves like the writer. The Protagonist always arrives in a mythical mood, just after what happens before the beginning and bows at the end.

The Source is the original iteration of the movie, now lost. A post-structural prank. The Plot is a house of mirrors: reflection, refraction and translucency are thrilling!

The low grade horrorphoria of staring too long in the mirror. An abstract accumulation: the writer becomes fair and unfair (first she was only fair). A horror parable whose aesthetic and spiritual lessons, like a pile of Plexiglass, glisten obliquely.

From the directives of the scores, the performers enact the world they think they belong to. Like rituals they conjure, knee bend and let it blow away.

The Plot flickers fingers close to your eyelashes and eye balls. What are you afraid of? She can’t say. It’s just a feeling.

An open system: the indeterminacy of their relations and identities. A closed system: they show up and care for each other.

To tell your narrative to an empathic listener is to open yourself up and to dispossess yourself of the story.

The audience watching the characters enact being in a movie, feeling seen and seen feeling.

The Teller is pure action.

The Teller, in a sexy blue velvet dress, gives a final speech. The secret might be revealed. But no…

The characters exist in the space between a telephone ring and the non-response to the call, their actions spurred by an asymmetrical demand that can never be annulled or accomplished and so is infinite. I have a crush on God and I want a dog to ask me what I’m afraid of. Who is the answerer?

—

The Plot borrows from the aesthetics of téléthéâtre while also cutting through an imagescape more reflective of the digital and social media era. Each scene is an edit from a scored improvisation, a charade that creates and amplifies the sensations in the movie. Choreographies and editing are here like surfaces. The heels tiktok, the tights slide, the piano carries the dancer’s movements as Isadora her veil. Embodied visual concepts, like blur, zoom and transparency are explored in their expanded political meaning.

The Teller, active and alive, reiteratively tells the story that the three characters (The Protagonist, The Writer and The Voice Actor, who eventually becomes the Dancer) perform like an inherited emerging pattern. These characters, interrupted and never fully recovering themselves, make tremble at every distinction the stability of entities and concepts. In other words, the process of differentiation of their identities is in correlation to the indeterminacy of their relation, in which they are distinct and yet not separate. Who came first — the characters or the plot?

Underscoring The Plot is the absence of the original iteration of the story that Emma-Kate names The Source. This originary loss is intrinsic to the whole and, like dark matter or the strange impossibility of being present at your own birth, puts pressure on our grasp of time. We all need a Teller for our Protagonism.

There is a tenderness between the three performers/characters and their efforts at telling the story. Faithful to the task, they cradle the opacity of The Source, the profundity of their interdependence and then let it go, over and over, like a breath.

“. . .knowledge births (precedes) understanding.” — Audre Lorde, Poetry is not a Luxury

“What does the one who seeks the truth want? What is [their] type? What is [their] will to power?” — Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy

1.

I’ve been looking for a way to dance and a new way of thinking my way into dancing. I’ve tried not thinking as a way to get free in dance. For me, working on dancing seems to involve working toward and through degrees of freedom, which comes hand in hand with power and the unconscious. But this not thinking has only led me to representations of freedom. I am looking for a sledgehammer to break through the veneer of fake representation and allow representation to become representation — or a ridiculous way of saying “good art.”

The frame, the thinking or the sledgehammer, is the process of entry into what I’d call a “real dance,” and what I mean is a dance that dissolves and creates at the same time. So I am testing out the truth to see if it might be a temporary pass to a break/ make dance.

65

2.

Here’s how to dance the truth:

Dance all the weird shapes you enjoy, plus dance normal shapes, plus Make Big Symbols (like be a hawk). The truth passes through transmutations of sense: to be with what is familiar, made unfamiliar, then remade familiar. It is about attitude: nothing is weird and nothing is different because sometimes you are an authority.

Dance a series of actualized forms and actualized meanings. They are the truth. These forms have forgotten what would constitute “good” or “bad” (this is “the how”). Take time. It is not only a flow: everything takes form, is repeatable, is as if repeated but isn’t, and is transmittable. You want everything to be visible. You are already there. The truth is accomplished with sensation but not inflated emotion, unless the inflation is deflated. Make spontaneous choices. These happen out of the necessity of chance and the chance of necessity. You are active, never reactive.

Think of what you have left out: intensities, in-between spots, distances, etc. Do them. The truth will lead you to the unified field. Here there are no surprises and no failures. The truth is cool because it’s not surprised at being everything and it’s hot because it’s activated.

3.

Preacher’s words to repeat: You are the truth.

I write and dance at the same time because I gain insight. I’ve shared “The Truth” as a performance and as a workshop. The text was performed in the context of ATTABLER, a research-practice performance and co-creation with Nadège Grebmeier Forget, Emma-Kate Guimond, Véronique Hudon, and Katya Montaignac; it was also activated as a workshop for the schizo-somatic series organized by Diego Gil and Csenge Kolozsvári at the SenseLab, Concordia University. In both situations the “how to” portion of the text guided people and myself into dancing. — Hanako Hoshimi-Caines

My name is Hanako Hoshimi-Caines. I use the pronoun “she”. I was born in Quebec to immigrant parents. My whiteness changes depending on the situation in which I find myself. When I was a kid, I was more conscious of not being white. I take the position that politics are always at work and so there is no situation that evades it. I understand being an artist as being involved in a certain kind of subtle activism, which includes, among other things, engaging in the truth of plurality and the interdependence of identities. I used to adhere to the elitism of contemporary/high art simply by accepting “quality” as a universal notion with objective criteria, not situated within any particular culture. I see this now as a way of unconsciously maintaining and reproducing my own whiteness. In writing this text, I want to send deep respect to the people who have dedicated their time to equity and justice on a regular and ongoing basis.

Rethinking the arts hierarchy

As a kid, I often went to the MAI (Montréal, arts interculturels) with my mother, a community worker.

I’d think: This is great, but I’m not going to make community art or cultural art; I’m going to make “real” art. This hierarchy, or elitism, in which contemporary art is placed above cultural art, is not neutral and is one way in which white Western European values shapes what is standard, or simply what is the norm. Although I still need to work on dismantling the rigidity of these categorical differences in my own mind, I can say that I see things in nearly opposite terms today: this aesthetic hierarchy, which suppresses a multiplicity of perspectives and maintains blind spots, does not and cannot give value to my work, but impoverishes it ethically as well as aesthetically. And I want what I do to be meaningful. Working to dismantle racist, sexist, classist, ageist and ableist exclusionary structures is the only way of making anything of real value. The MAI is not special and different because it shows cultural art as opposed to “high art”, it is special and different because it responds to the whiteness of contemporary art and steps up to open space for a plural reality. I came to “include” the MAI in my understanding of standard art and contemporaneity, which changed how I think of and approach my own work. “Inclusivity” as an institutional goal is problematic when it means integration into established hegemonic norms. “Inclusion” is desirable when it involves an internal process of transformation, an active organization and reorganization of a place with the fluidity of plurality.

Dialogue at the heart of the institution

I’d like to share a recent experience I had this past November, when I spent two weeks working with artist Tanya Lukin Linklater as part of the exhibition Art for a New Understanding: Native Voices, 1950s to Now at the Crystal Bridges museum in Bentonville, Arkansas. I was struck by how the place didn’t feel elitist and very soon understood, by speaking to as many different and diverse staff members as I could, that this feeling was not accidental: inclusivity and accessibility was their number one priority.

Two initiatives stood out: I was told that anyone working at the museum could start a group to advocate for the needs and interests of marginalized and underrepresented peoples. Each group decides how membership is allocated and what constitutes an ally, i.e. that being an ally involves listening, becoming knowledgeable about specific needs and taking action accordingly. The group shares current events and important issues at quarterly meetings that all staff attends. Secondly, there are numerous informational and educational sessions about the art, the artists and the salient political points of the temporary exhibitions, so that every person working at the museum can be a knowledgeable and welcoming host to visitors and artists alike. These actions translated into a place that belonged to the people working there, no matter the position they occupied within the museum hierarchy. The sense of individual agency for a diverse group of people made the space “inclusive”. Making the place livable and welcoming to everyone involved accepting disagreement and imperfection as an ongoing part of making the museum better. That I am surprised at all by this experience made clear how habituated I am to the feeling of elitism in most contemporary art and dance spaces in Quebec.

From this I would like to see dance and art institutions in Montreal make inclusion and accessibility the number one ongoing priority, as opposed to seeing it as an adjacent institutional goal. And as I saw at the Crystal Bridges museum in Arkansas, this begins inside the institution. The facilitation of plurality, through the divestment of hegemonic and hierarchical power, is not separate from but integral to an active and actual formulation of “contemporary” artistic quality.

—

Hanako Hoshimi-Caines is a choreographer and dancer based in Montreal. She has an emo- critical commitment to dance, choreography and philosophy as a way to see, feel, and love better. And what she means by love is a form of ambiguous knowledge that is necessarily embodied, transformative and involves time and intimacy with things.

L’inclusion et l’accessibilité

comme priorité numéro un —

Article paru dans “Les échos du milieu” du Regroupement québécois de la danse

Je m’appelle Hanako Hoshimi-Caines. J’utilise le pronom «elle». Je suis née au Québec de parents immigrants. Je dirais que ma «blancheur» dépend de la situation dans laquelle je me trouve. Quand j’étais petite, j’étais plus consciente de ne pas être blanche. Pour moi, le politique est partout et il n’y a donc aucun moyen de l’éviter. Je vois l’artiste comme une sorte de militant qui s’implique de façon concrète dans et pour la pluralité et l’interdépendance des identités. Par le passé, j’ai adhéré à l’élitisme de l’art contemporain en acceptant la «qualité» comme principe universel aux critères objectifs, non situé dans un contexte culturel en particulier. Je pense aujourd’hui qu’il s’agissait inconsciemment pour moi de conserver et d’entretenir ma «blancheur». Par ce texte, j’espère rendre hommage à tous ceux qui ont dédié et qui dédient aujourd’hui encore leur vie à la lutte pour l’égalité et la justice.

Repenser la hiérarchie dans les arts

Enfant, je suis souvent allée au MAI (Montréal, Arts Interculturels) avec ma mère, qui était travailleuse communautaire. Je pensais: «Tout ça c’est très bien mais je ne ferai pas de l’art communautaire ou interculturel, je ferai du «vrai» art». Cette hiérarchie, ou élitisme au sein duquel l’art contemporain se place au-dessus de l’art communautaire, n’est pas neutre. Ils résultent du pouvoir des valeurs blanches européennes occidentales qui décide des standards de qualité. Alors que je travaille encore aujourd’hui à déconstruire la rigidité de ces catégories toujours très présentes à mon esprit, je peux dire que je vois désormais les choses de façon complètement différente: cette hiérarchie esthétique, qui empêche de nombreuses perspectives, ne peut et ne doit conférer aucune valeur à mon travail. Bien au contraire, elle appauvrit l’éthique et l’esthétique de mes créations. Et je veux que mon art soit significatif. Travailler à la déconstruction des structures d’exclusion racistes, sexistes, classistes, âgistes et validistes est la seule façon de produire du sens. Le MAI n’est pas spécial ou différent parce qu’il programme de l’art multiculturel plutôt que du «grand art», il l’est parce qu’il répond à la «blancheur» de l’art contemporain en donnant de la visibilité à une pluralité existante. J’en suis arrivée à inclure le MAI dans ma définition de l’art «vrai» et de la contemporanéité, définition qui a changé ma façon de penser et de travailler. L’inclusion en tant qu’objectif institutionnel est impossible s’il s’agit d’intégrer l’hégémonie des normes établies. L’inclusion est bénéfique quand elle implique une opération interne de transformation, un bouleversement actif et fluide grâce au pluralisme.

Un dialogue au cœur de l’institution

Je souhaiterais partager ici une expérience récente vécue en novembre dernier alors que je travaillais avec l’artiste Tanya Lukin Linklater sur l’exposition Art for a New Understanding: Native Voices, 1950s to Now au Musée Crystal Bridges de Bentonville en Arkansas. J’ai été frappée par l’hospitalité de l’endroit et j’ai rapidement compris, au travers de conversations avec les employés, que cette impression n’était pas fortuite: l’inclusion et l’accessibilité sont leur priorité numéro un.

Deux initiatives ont été mises en place afin de concrétiser cette priorité: n’importe quel(le) employé(e) du musée peut lancer un groupe de défense des intérêts de populations marginalisées ou minoritaires. Chaque groupe décide de ses conditions d’entrée et définit lui- même ses alliés: être un allié signifie être à l’écoute, s’informer des luttes et agir avec la connaissance des besoins spécifiques. Les groupes peuvent présenter leurs enjeux et actualités lors de réunions trimestrielles auxquelles participent tous les employés. Il existe également de nombreuses sessions d’information portant sur l’art, les artistes et les questions politiques présentés dans les expositions temporaires, afin que chaque employé puisse offrir un accueil informé aux visiteurs comme aux équipes artistiques invitées. Ces diverses La facilitation du pluralisme, à travers l’abandon du pouvoir hégémonique et hiérarchique, n’est pas indépendante mais bien partie prenante de l’élaboration d’une véritable qualité artistique «contemporaine» actions font du musée un lieu d’appartenance pour tous ceux qui y travaillent, qu’importe leur place dans la hiérarchie. L’encouragement des initiatives individuelles ont fait du musée un lieu «inclusif». Et ce qui le rend si accueillant, c’est l’acceptation de la différence et de l’imperfection, qui y sont considérées comme normales et constituantes de l’identité du musée. Le fait que j’ai été si surprise par cet environnement montre bien à quel point je suis habituée à l’élitisme des espaces d’art contemporain au Québec.

À cet égard, je voudrais voir les institutions culturelles faire de l’inclusion et de l’accessibilité une priorité permanente, et non un objectif parmi tant d’autres. Comme j’ai pu l’observer au Musée Crystal Bridges, cela commence au cœur de l’institution. La facilitation du pluralisme, à travers l’abandon du pouvoir hégémonique et hiérarchique, n’est pas indépendante mais bien partie prenante de l’élaboration d’une véritable qualité artistique «contemporaine».

—

Hanako Hoshimi-Caines est une chorégraphe et danseuse basée à Montréal. Elle a un engagement émo-critique avec la danse, la chorégraphie et la philosophie comme moyen de voir, de ressentir

et d’aimer mieux. Et ce qu’elle entend par amour, c’est une sorte de connaissance ambiguë qui est nécessairement incarnée, transformatrice et qui implique temps et intimité avec les choses.

ARCHIVAL LAB/LABORATOIRE D’ARCHIVES

This fanzine invites you to follow the traces of a ghost-like dance. The dance by Hanako Hoshimi-Caines was performed before a select few, and was not filmed or photographed. Yet its sensory content was methodically captured in this multi-authored work.

H’S DANCE

I got excited at the thought of being watched. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed the inherent sexiness of performance, the structure of viewership as a kind of invitation to voyeurism. But I took this request for a solo at face value: can we watch you?

I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about intimacy in performance. I talk a lot about intimacy. And the more I hear it, the less I know what it means. After a discussion about the fourth wall and how to break it, and after hearing talk of intimacy again, I wonder whether intimacy is the fourth wall. To be intimate is to cross a threshold, to acknowledge both separation and relation (like magic, like difference).

In the room, it was like a staring contest, but without the clarity of the eye-to-eye line. Both sides being put to work. I felt like a lion pacing in a cage or a dead fox whose teeth you’d like to play with. I probably got a little cocky. Sometimes I like it. But at least I felt safe, the walls of the room with that fourth wall between you and me. What is public, group intimacy? Performance?

These days I’m into pleasure—maybe because pleasure is how I measure what is mine to give. It’s one way of working on something and being put to work by it. I get caught on something and do a little dance—the cap on a bottle of cream, black stretchy tights, one move, next to another, nothing at all, a word that sounds so funny when it gets stuck in your throat and whatever else feels just right (except I really don’t think I could jerk off a purebred horse!). I’m not very patient. I don’t mind being bored. I always like to give, be bubbly and smiley. I always want to be beautiful. It’s like there’s a new world in the old one. Even my shiny yellow shorts have something to do with that.

I recently went to an open improvisation and felt so relaxed watching people be so cute and lost and yet so committed to being there. I liked the idea of giving—that openness and commitment—even though I don’t think you can aim for it. I think some things can only happen in excess.

Before starting I said something like, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m only going to do things that give me pleasure.” I meant that I wasn’t going to take, for example, the phases of the moon as a score. Then you would have been watching the moon. I tried to say this before I started. Maybe it was the silence, but somehow it was too late. I had started and there was nothing (nothing?) I could say or do once I appeared to step up (to what?). Now they think I’m lying or at least have dubious intentions.

They told me after that they didn’t believe me. And by this at least one thing was made clear: that performance makes you A LIAR! Or at least makes you potentially not what you seem. Or at least creates many more possibilities than what is given. Even the truth lies somewhere in there—but where? That’s for sure not determined ahead of time.

Maybe I told them what I was going to do because I was curious about the difference between the space I was in and the one they were in (the power of the structure of separation). Maybe I couldn’t be believed, because somehow we had already agreed to seduction, the walls of the room and that fourth wall between you and I. What remained to be believed, and remains still, is only conjured up in the new middle (between R and N and R and N and L and P and N and C and C and Y and V and C).