Photo: Michael Bartmann
Photo: Michael Bartmann

Through the Café Glass: Leah Stein’s Portal

Lynn Matluck Brooks

Looking out the glass doorway and wide front windows of Frieda’s Café, I spotted dancers performing unison phrases around the door-frames of the historic buildings across Walnut Street as a U.S. Park Service Ranger calmly checked the locks to those same old buildings. Bicyclists scooted by on the street, dog-walkers strolled with their pups (who were more curious than their owners about the performative doings around them), and cars struggled to park and discharge their harried passengers while performers, singly and in groups, ran or danced through my view.

Leah Stein’s wonderful troupe—David Konyk, Andrew Mars, Megan Wilson Stern, and Michele Tantoco—climbed up the door jambs, hung from the lintel, contact-improv-ed with other performers, sang, crawled, scooched, and hovered through the 50-minute show. Their grounded, focused performances in words, song, and movement created the continuity that held this partly improvised performance together. Stein’s four company members were joined by a crew of eight community performers of various ages and movement backgrounds, an appropriate choice in a café “whose goal is to (re)connect people across generations.” Some of these folks were more comfortable performing than others—those whose shy, excited smiles and moments of awkward pause revealed the novelty of their situation—but the rich layering of performance capacity matched the layers of movement space that Stein’s Portal attended to.

All the performers passed through Frieda’s double doorways at times, penetrating the thin layer between the audience and the outer world. Some of us experienced this passage while sipping coffee at Frieda’s tables; others sat in rows of seats facing the modernist glass doors, which butted up against the peeling, unfinished walls of Frieda’s interior—another set of layers. At the same time, the audience could see the performers running and dancing across the sidewalk in front of the café, and those across the street, nicely set off by the railing that fronted the building they danced along there. And the passersby were the ultimate layer, the sometimes puzzled, sometimes bemused, sometimes indifferent, sometimes enthusiastic, and unwitting participants in the work.

At one point, Frauke Regan read a poem she had written, starting with the words, “You are a thought….” Watching, I thought up many story bits that the layers of space, time, age, chance, structure, and distance stimulated, as the people of the show—performers, passersby, baristas, and audience members—created an ongoing, ever-melting flux of invention and aspiration.

Portal, Leah Stein Dance Company, Frieda’s Café, Sept. 15, 17, 21, 22, 24.

 

Share this article

Lynn Matluck Brooks

Lynn Matluck Brooks was named to the Arthur and Katherine Shadek Humanities Professor at Franklin & Marshall College, where she founded the Dance Program in 1984. She holds bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and Temple University. She is a former staff writer and editor-in-chief with thINKingDANCE.

PARTNER CONTENT

Keep Reading

To You—who I think about all the time:

Jennifer Passios

A letter to my favorite student

In a dance studio with white walls, a light gray marley floor, and two large whiteboards along the back wall, situated above a double-stacked wooden ballet barre, eleven college students lay supine with their arms raised and legs parted in an “X” shape on the ground. They lay at different angles, breathing deeply, following the instructions of the teacher at the front of the room. The instructor, tD writer Jennifer Passios, faces the students. She wears a black Adidas jacket. Her hair falls in a half-up-half down updo as her arms reach skyward in the same “X” gesture that the students make on the ground.
Photo: Jacob Regan

Apocalypse: We Hold Us

Xander Cobb

The only things left to live for are our lover’s touch and dancing all night.

The light’s red, the stage black. Dramatic. Devilish. Contrast and shadow are high on the six people in frame. Dead center, a dancer lays. Around her, four people point, laugh, and crouch over her body making the “loser” L on their forehead. In the bottom left corner, someone's leg, hip, and reaching hand are just in frame.
Photo: Matthew Caserta