Friday March 18th, 2016 – There are only a handful of true originals on the Gotham dance scene these days, and Ian Spencer Bell is one of them. In the past, his very sophisticated choreography of small ensemble pieces has always intrigued me; more recently, Ian has been exploring his two passions – dance and poetry – simultaneously in unique solo presentations.
Tonight at the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center on 13th Street, Ian performed his newest work, MARROW, in the intimate yet airy space of the recently-renovated Room 210. It was in the same setting, last June, that Ian’s double bill of GEOGRAPHY SOLOS and HOLLER made such a distinctive impression.
An attentive and wonderfully silent audience seemed mesmerized this evening by Ian’s every word and move. Lithe and beautiful to behold, Ian dances with a rather gentle physicality; but the choreography can also take on a sharper aspect when the narrative gets more intense.
His poem tonight drew on his experiences as a Southern boy, a youth who was different from everyone else. How many times has this story been told??…and yet, rarely with the same poignancy as in Ian’s words and dancing.
Waiting for the performance to start, we were listening to Ode to Billie Joe; thus was the setting for what we were about to witness already evoked. Beginning with a story about swarms of bees which attacked his home (“I’m allergic, and alone.”), Ian went on to describe a dream of men climbing out of manholes. (Yes, physical laborers have always created fantasies for gay boys…) As Ian spoke, his body spoke also – in rapid turns, or simple walking, with expansive port de bras; the sweeping motion of a foot; plunges to the floor where he cowered or lazed.
Confidences and local gossip become part of the story, as does an incident of Ian’s mother falling into a hole on their property while tending horses. This left her with a permanent injury. Meanwhile, his siblings and step-father play out their expected roles: “Boys don’t act like that!” his step-dad yelled, uncomprehendingly. “I wanted my step-father to die,” was young Ian’s thought in response.
From repose to restlessness, the dancing moves on: a harrowing episode where his step-father attempts to strangle him is the work’s most dramatic moment; but even the more mundane aspects of daily life – as of waiting in the checkout line at a local store to buy supplies for “making a funeral wreath” – take on an unusual resonance in Ian’s words.
In the end, our stories of growing up gay are mostly all the same – a theme-and-variations setting of what it’s like to be different. What’s sad is that, apparently, so little progress was made in the years separating my experience from Ian’s.
Waiting in the Center’s lobby for the performance to begin, I watched the hordes of young people coming and going. They have found a community and a haven here: such lovely kids, unbounded diversity. And while I am certain they are dealing with many of the same problems that have beset us all, they have resources now that we did not have…and they have each other.
I had no one to turn to, and nothing to reassure me; I was alone, thinking – as I so often did in those first harrowing years of self-discovery – that I was the only one.
Thus it is deeply moving to have Ian telling our story, and in such an imaginative and compelling way.
(Note: this article is now updated with new photos by Kyle Froman)
Oberon's Glade 