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'Women, Sex & Desire: Sometimes You Feel Like A Ho, Sometimes You Don't' Gesel Mason Performance Projects
March 27, 2010 -- Robert & Arlene Kogod Theatre, Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center, University of Maryland There’s no denying that Gesel Mason came up with an intriguing title for her work that was recently commissioned by the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center at the University of Maryland. With a title like “Women, Sex & Desire: Sometimes You Feel Like A Ho, Sometimes You Don’t,” you’re pretty much guaranteed an audience. In fact, an additional performance was added because the shows sold out so quickly. At the tacked-on matinee performance, the theater was, not surprisingly, full of university students and dedicated dance fans, but there were a number of silver-haired theater patrons in the audience as well. They did not shrink from the explicit, adult nature of the material. To Mason’s credit, the performance probably disappointed those coming with hopes of seeing something truly X-rated. Oh, sure, there was nudity and pole-dancing, but it all served the purpose of the piece. Rather than being risqué, “Women, Sex & Desire” was an intelligent, artistic exploration of the theme, and for that, I was thankful. Mason, with help from frequent collaborator Cheles Rhynes, transformed the theater. From the moment you walked in, you were grabbed by all sorts of visual stimuli. A film, in a repeating loop, in which women discussed sexuality, played on a large screen at the center of the platform stage. In the film, Mason asked women of all ages and backgrounds, among other things, “What do bad girls do?” and “What is your definition of a ho?” White, headless mannequin bodies with signs hung across their chests reading “Ho” and “Prude,” clothing racks, red carpet, and red apples also decorated the space. To begin the performance, a poem of Mason’s called “Book of Eve,” which had been placed in the programs, was read. Naked, but darkly lit with the utmost care by Rhynes, the dancers formed a gently moving wall behind Mason, who was blindfolded. Ultimately, someone threw money at the naked Mason, assuming she was a whore. The dancers then paraded out in short black dresses and blonde wigs to a tune that begged “spread for me.” Soon, off came the tiny dresses, and bras and panties and garters abounded. The audience was asked to participate in a kind of call and response, only we were asked to repeat the following words, “suck,” “cock,” “pussy,” etc. Then we were asked if we felt dirty. Let the wild ride begin!
Tamara Wellons lent fantastic live vocals to “Women, Sex & Desire.” In particular, her rendition of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was equally as haunting as Cobain’s. During the song, the dancers (all women) flung themselves into each other. They clung to legs and thighs. There was no shortage of exposure in Mason’s latest work, but it wasn’t merely flesh that was so out in the open. Hurtful truths and disillusionment related to femininity and sexuality were also laid bare. Mason chose her performers well. They do not all possess bodies you’d see in fashion magazines, or even in most dance companies, but they were each absolutely beautiful to behold. Among the performers with amazing stage presence was Kayla Hamilton. Her performance was raw and real and deeply affecting. When she walked away muttering, “ I don’t care,” we knew she does care and our hearts lurched after her. When, with a ball of clothing held tight to her chest, Hamilton cried, “Where are you going?” and “Are you coming back?” we understood her lover wasn’t going to return, and we felt her pain. Another mesmerizing performer was Ching-I Chang. Whether she unselfconsciously chewed a banana or cuddled up close to someone, she constantly took your attention with her. “Women, Sex & Desire” moved gracefully from individual stories to an examination of relationships in everyday life. The movement of the dancers in a home environment (they wore shorts and t-shirts and sweats here) satisfied because the dancers did not shy away from melding bodies. They stood back to back, or fell into one another, all in impressive synchronicity. Through their movement, we experienced the anguished, sometimes awkward and difficult negotiations couples have over sex when desire fluctuates. Toward the end of the work, a live feed from a webcam to the big screen was set up, and audience members even more clearly became voyeurs. In closing, there was a wonderful film of the dancers dancing, and they repeated the identical sequence live in front of the screen. The layers of live and recorded dance were rich and utterly captivating thanks to the work of talented videographer and trained dancer Shannon Schwait. Mason certainly tackles a lot in “Women, Sex & Desire” (maybe too much). She describes the work as “a multi-media investigation on how women navigate sex, desire, choice, and perception.” Mason accomplishes that, and more. Nonetheless, “Women, Sex & Desire” is at times scattered and lacking in focus. In any event, one must admire her tenacity and creative vision. With continued editing and performing, the work promises to further solidify. Mason’s thought-provoking piece is definitely worth viewing, with or without the deliberately titillating title.
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by Carmel Morgan
The dancers subsequently took individual turns relating something personal about their sexuality, their dance careers, their race/culture. Wayles E. S. Haynes, lamented that when people are informed she’s a professional dancer, they immediately think she works in a strip club. She was, somewhat ironically, dressed precisely like a dancer in a strip club, in a pink negligee and fishnet stockings. Dancers later played a game of duck, duck, goose, in which one dancer walked around a circle tapping the seated dancers’ heads while saying, “prude, prude, ho.” The designated “ho” got up and screamed with glee and gave chase.