The Dancer, MoMA, NYC

I recently was able to contact dancer Lenio Kaklea and pass on a series of pictures I made of her during a visit to MoMA in NYC back in 2013.

I always enjoy my visits there but on this day it was even more memorable. As part of the Museum's Performance Program 20 dancers were performing spontaneously around MoMA. I found it amazing to be able to witness these wonderful artist in closeup as they moved past exhibits and around us gallery visitors.

Lenio is an amazing dancer - every graceful and powerful movement gave me many sculptural photographic moments in her short but energetic piece.

Lénio Kaklea, '20 Dancers for the XX Century' at MOMA, NYC, Oct 2013 © Paul Foley

The Performance Program is part of MoMA’s increased focus on the historical as well as the contemporary practice of performance-based art. The ongoing series brings documentation and reenactments of historic performances, thematic group exhibitions, solo presentations, and original performance works to various locations throughout the Museum.

20 Dancers for the XX Century (2012/2013) presents a living archive. Twenty performers from various generations perform, recall, appropriate, and transmit solo works of the last century that were originally conceived or performed by some of the most significant modernist and postmodernist artists, dancers, and choreographers. Each performer presents his or her own museum of sorts, wherein the body becomes the primary museological container and object. Accordingly, there is neither a stage nor a demarcation of performance space; rather, the performers circulate freely between the Museum’s Marron Atrium, the Museum galleries, and other public spaces.
Cast: Magali Caillet-Gajan, Ashley Chen, Jim Fletcher, Brennan Gerard, Trajal Harrell, Burr Johnson, Lénio Kaklea, Catherine Legrand, Morgan Lugo, Richard Move, Mani A. Mungai, Banu Ogan, Leiomy Prodigy, Christopher Roman, Shelley Senter, Valda Setterfield, Gus Solomons, John Sorensen-Jolink, Meg Stuart, and Adam Weinert
Source: MOMA Website
See more here.

Wonderful Chaos

Wonderful Chaos (2) © Paul Foley (Click to see more)

The random blend of nature and movement intrigues me. It helps soothe my internal chaos.

For this series I combine portions of several long exposure captures of the ocean as it crashes against the shore. I add to the natural chaos by reversing, flipping and otherwise blending various layers of motion and time. My process is a testament to the always changing shoreline and a mind that is not always settled.

At some stage I reach a calm place. Then I press print.

The best day. Ever.

Port Stephens © Paul Foley (Click to purchase)

After so many great expectations the best day ever had begun not so well. ‘Goodsey’, his best mate, had planned a midweek surf at a favourite, isolated spot and they had both been able to wrangle a guilt free day off work.

Years ago a surreptitious day off work was much more satisfying than a sanctioned one because of the lack of guilt it illicited. But that was in the days before responsibility, love, children and mortgages.

So the day was arranged weeks before in the hope of good surf and weather coinciding. That it would also be his birthday made it more special to his family and his mate. His own birthdays weren’t such a big deal for Luke. But hey, if it helped justify a day surfing then so be it! Luke enjoyed other people’s birthdays more than his own and found it hard to accept any fuss that was made about his.

With age came more reflection and less lifting of carpet for the brushing of truths and secrets under. The last year or so had seen Luke struggle with a hidden darkness that lay just behind his bright green eyes and sun-weathered, omniscient smile. The black dog, however, had been coaxed out for more regular walks and years of happy hidden sadness was being talked about, understood and, better still, accepted.

Last night, backed by a great forecast, held the anticipation of clean waves, and a blue sky. The spot was isolated enough that not many would make the 2k walk in when there were other places, easier to get to,  that would have good waves as well.

The spot was their place. He and Goodsey had first camped there as 14 year olds when the surf first took hold of their bodies, souls and, for a long time, sole possession of their hearts. Others knew about it and it could often be crowded on weekends but, midweek, at this time of year it would not be.

At 5am Luke heard Goodsey’s old 4WD ute rattle onto his drive. He gulped a last mouthful of Weetbix and half rinsed the bowl before setting it quietly in the sink. His board and gear were in the carport ready for loading and he got downstairs and out the front door so quickly that the ute had barely stopped.

The quiet excitement and anticipation disappeared with one look at his friend’s face.
‘Sorry mate,’ he said, hardly able to look up. ‘Hank can’t make work and I need to be there for today’s pour.’

Hank was the foreman at Goodsey’s concreting business and it was his experience, trustworthiness and reliability that allowed Goodsey the time and peace of mind to take the occasional day off.

‘What’s up with him?’ Luke knew Hank well and if he couldn’t make work it had to be serious.

‘It’s that fuckin son in law...’ was enough for Luke to know that Hank’s daughter had probably been hit again.

'Why does she stick with the bastard? She ok?’

‘Yeah, a bit of a shiner, but nothing broken. At least this time she called the cops. Hank’s helping her move out.’

‘Well, at least that’s good,’ Luke said putting down the board he had just picked up.

‘Hey mate, what are you doin’? You go - the waves will be great. It’s offshore, five foot - perfect birthday pressie, mate’

Goodsey grabbed Luke’s board putting it and his gear in the ute with the food and water he’d organised last night. ‘You take the ute, I’ll catch up later in one of the work trucks.’

He could see Luke was hesitating and spoke quickly as he moved around to the passenger side, ‘Drop me off at the site on ya way! Don’t miss these waves mate - you’ll be dead a long time and ya gettin’ bloody old now!’

So, before he had a chance to back out he had dropped Goodsey at work and arrived at the break in the trees where the track to the sand dunes began. The old ute meant he’d be able to get  much closer to the break so he’d only have to climb one or two sand hills.

From the top of the last one he could see a perfect little peak peel off across a shallow bank with fast, tubing left and right walls. No one was out and the beach was empty - a perfect present.

In younger, invincible times there would have been no second thoughts. He and Goodsey would be rushing to the water barely taking time to wax their boards.

Now, though, he was more measured. The allure of a perfect empty break was tempered by the occasional fins they had seen at their spot over the years. They had never been hassled by a shark but surfing alone had made Luke a little uneasy the older he got.

Besides, Goodsey was bigger and a little slower - something to be considered when choosing a surfing buddy. Luke smiled at the joke they often shared and his mate’s retort that he would be fine because ‘Sharks don’t like blackfellas!’

As he walked down the dune and closer to the shore a new set broke and any reticence was set aside. Methodically, he stripped down and then pulled on his wetsuit. It would be a warm day but this early in spring the water was still cold. Besides, last night at dinner, hadn't his kids said he was ‘really old’ this time? Just before they sang him ‘Happy Birthday’.

The cold water was quickly forgotten as he broke through the shore break . The surf wasn’t big - just a good, fun, comfortable size. Perfect to play and relax in.

His first wave peaked quickly and he hardly had to paddle. Just turn and sink the board backwards into the face. Momentum launched him and in a single motion was on his feet leaning low to make the turn before the lip crashed onto his back. Tucked up tight, he crouched, becoming wrapped in a watery blanket. Some long seconds later the wave pushed him out across the wall as it feathered far down line preparing to close out. He pushed down into a final bottom turn and launched the board up over the lip. In younger times he would have attempted a crashing re entry just like his heros in the surf magazines. Now though, he was content to glide down the back of the wave looking for the next one.

It was already the best day ever….

Regrowth

There must have been a moment. Just one instant when the forest was about to change. How that happened is for speculation. Lightning storms often visit this place - blasting down gigantic sparks powerful enough to ignite dead, brown leaves in spite of the accompanying rain.

Regrowth, Australia © Paul Foley (Purchase here)

Many cars also pass nearby on their way up or down the coast. On heavy, humid days when summer defeats even the best of car air-con a casual flick of a thumb and finger can lead to this. The last glow of tobacco launches into the rushing, hot air beyond an open window to find succour in the eucalyptus detritus.

Whatever the cause the effect overwhelms all it touches.  Fire cares not for species or intelligence. It just burns until there is no more or humans somehow manage to 'contain' it. It is never completely defeated - just delayed. There will be more storms, more flicks of fingers and thumb.

What is left when fire has moved on is smouldering devastation. The shock and awe of flames and smoke is seemingly final and for a few days the survivors stand silent and defeated.

The nights immediately after the fire are quiet. Even when wind rustles the scant leaves at the tips of trees it is with the sound of soft, tired sighs. No small animals scurry for food - no larger ones stalk ready to pounce.

The morning light shows earth burnt bare - stabbed all over with black sticks. These dark reminders of recently new growth, of promise, were in reality just food for the fire that destroyed them.

Within a few short days grasses sprout from the coarse, grey sand in exclamation points of green. That anything can grow here in such soil is a wonder. That the battered survivors can be so straight, tall and resiliant is inspiring.

It is in the glow of afternoon light that beauty washes over this place. Nothing is forgotten, the evidence of devastation is still overwhelming. Yet, a little green and the warmth of burnished bark hints at a tomorrow not imaginable just a few days ago. A regrowth.

Waiting

Today, like yesterday, Thomas was waiting. He was thousands of kilometres away from yesterday and the similarity of the difference struck him just here. Just now.

Waiting, The Cowrie Hole - Newcastle, Australia © Paul Foley (Purchase here)

Yesterdays wait had been in Darwin Airport and added yet another delayed flight to the hours (days?) of life lost to the whims, vagaries and sometimes pandemonium of departure boards. 

He had travelled enough that delays failed to antagonise him like they once had. This time though, his reaction had been so jaded that it almost jolted his 'here we go again' resignation. Almost.

Instead he made the call telling Bec he'd be home by dinnertime and not by lunch. So he couldn't pick Tim up from childcare. And Bec had an afternoon conference call. So she'd ask Sally to collect Tim when she picked up Ava. And Sally would say 'Poor Thomas - so unlucky with flights'. And Bec would think how patronising that sounded but say 'I s'pose so. Thanks Sally… I owe you.' And almost hear Sally say 'again..' as they hung up.

Thomas was a one man operation just two years into a five year plan so business class travel and executive lounges were not part of his expense budgets. Yet. And hadn't the cynic inside once wonder if delays were just an airline ploy to make the cost of lounge membership seem worthwhile? But this was now so he went looking for somewhere else to have a late breakfast. All the while the departure board pondered who went where and when. He'd been told two hours. Maybe.

Thomas travelled with two compact bags. One he dragged behind him by a handle - its small wheels scurrying quickly as if trying to keep up. The other was over his shoulder and carried his clothing - carefully packed to provide five days of clean variety and utility. Although two carry ons made for quick exits on arrival he ran the occasional risk of being stopped at the gate for having too much hand luggage.

If a smile didn't get him on board with both items then he would let the clothing be checked in. The equipment in his wheeled bag was too precious. Besides, he had a smile that got him past most frowns and used it in a way that seemed both innocent and familiar. Never cocky. For now, though, the need for that strategy was at least two hours away and Thomas was hungry.

Darwin Airport terminal is not large so it didn't take long to find a place to eat. Although it was crowded he found a table with another single traveller who didn't mind sharing. Some small talk then both settled into the zone that seasoned travellers can find in busy, noisy terminals.

Thomas ordered what would be a very flattened toasted focaccia with teabag green tea and opened his laptop for effect - not really wanting to work. He wanted to be home and away from this hubbub of tourists and raucous, drinking offshore rig workers...

And now, this morning, he was home - about to surf for the first time in 8 days. Yesterday had ended in bed with Bec. Before that a soft kiss on Tim's wispy blond hair as he slept with dreams he would never remember.

Just thirty minutes ago he slid slowly away from Bec. She was asleep but still mumbled something. 'Yes' he said 'I'll drive you to work'. Which was probably the answer to the question she may have asked.

There were still ninety minutes till then and he could hear the surf through the walls. Plenty of time for a couple of waves. Or more.

So here he was, thousands of kilometres from yesterday waiting for this set to play out. Waiting for the lull when it would be safe to jump. To skim across the white water for just a little. Then belly down and with arms digging deep. Paddling to beat the next waves so determined to wash him back onto the rocks.

No more waiting...