Stills from Youtube: Woman - Glamour Race- Women racing in high heels, Moscow, 2008
Man - Ukrainian Traditional Dance, Hopak.
Stand Like A woman was performed on Sat, 20th November, 6.30-9.30pm, at SAIC, Chicago.
Following that, Dance like a man, was performed on Sunday 21st, 6.45pm-9.30pm, SAIC, Chicago
So you think you can stand like a woman and dance like a man ?
Title: Stand like a woman
Concept:
Growing up in Ukraine, watching my mother wear stiletto heels everyday to work, riding for hours on packed old buses and walking miles of cobbled city streets, whilst carrying heavy groceries in homemade shopping bags. I was amazed at the simultaneous strength, endurance and fragility of the situation and her compliance with it. In Stand like a Woman, I am utilizing an action of standing still, wearing very high stiletto heels and elegant classic feminine attire whilst holding a long metal tube on my shoulders with two heavy, loaded plastic grocery bags positioned symmetrically on it. The bags hang on either side of the tube and are full of cans of Campbell soup. Referencing the never-ending battle of masculine and feminine in life and art, testing endurance, appearance and exhausting the body and mental limits of a feminine structure.
Title: Dance Like A Man (Ukrainian)
Concept:
Growing up in Ukraine, dancing the national Ukrainian dance Hopak moving ever so slightly inside a semi-circle of girls, formed at the back to allow for the boy dancers to take centre stage, I wowed to: Dance like a Man. One day. One by one the boys performed their exciting strenuous routines in front of us, as I watched spitefully. In this performance, I propose to Dance the Male solo part of the Ukrainian Folk Dance, dressed in a traditional male costume. The dance will be performed repeatedly for 2 hours to the same recording of the Hopak, gradually exhausting the body and loosing the grip on choreographed movement, appearance and traditional gender prescriptions.
No, I didn't fall apart. I felt empowered and somehow-protected. Yes, I am a woman, feeling, as I danced, my breasts' gravity, supported by heavy- duty sports bra, moving up and down. Normally, I would be aware and yes, embarrassed. I couldn't care less. I sweated and wiped my sweat on my sleeves. Sleeves of my authentic Ukrainian- imported bought in New York shirt. I didn't care. The white cotton had no stains. I had absolutely no make up on. Fresh faced and sweaty, I faced the spotlights each time the looped music came on. My gestures gradually became more proud and exaggerated. Instead of disintegrating my movement became learned. I understood very quickly I will yes, get tired and sore, but my choreography will not skip a beat. I became stronger somehow in spirit and one thought kept flying through my head, this is hard and exciting, and yes, I want to be a boy!
The woman on the other hand, on the previous night, disintegrated fast. Yes, yet, she held it to the end. I was extremely aware of how SHE looked and what the audience was thinking of my body, my heavily made up face, my new red dress with no bra, the shape of my nipples showing through. My shoulders and arm and muscles exposed , how do they look? Do I have cellulite under this harsh spotlight? What is the spotlight doing to my face, my legs? The Steve Madden stiletto shoes began hurting immediately in almost ten minutes into the performance. My feet went numb, my calves shortened and cramped. I couldn't move, nor did I need to. I stood and faced the spotlight. The metal tube hurting my upper neck. I have a bruise there. One of the shopping bags full of soup cans fell onto the ground. I accepted and dealt with one bag by leaning and lifting it as if not to drop my load. No. Not to drop my load. I cannot drop my load.
The woman took a long time to dress up. She required nice hair, nice makeup, shaved armpits and shaved legs, good pantyhose, new shoes and new dress, good perfume and face mask and creams and nail polish. We know the trappings, yes. She pained me quickly and I became sad and alone. Lonely, standing solitary for audience or not, standing, standing.Thoughts flying through, slowing down. I moved ever so slightly often to keep circulation going. 2 hours is not that long but it can be a lifetime. I stood and nobody told me when to finish I had no sense of time. The blurred faces were spots of colours I cared little who was there. Yet my mind raced around the globe. I pined for home and softness. I thought of harshness of my life, travelling, working, studying...alone. Family on the other side of the world. Always. I pined for home and felt like crying. I don't know if I looked good or not. I suffered and wondered Why? I kept going. Endurance. I know it. I thought back to Ukraine, my childhood. My teeth being extracted with no anaesthetic whatsoever. Yes I am comparing performance to teeth being extracted but the endurance of holding on to the dentist's chair for as long as it took, for the nerves to be taken out with needles, inserted into my live flesh inside my mouth full of blood, tears streaming down my small face,..... open wider...you have very small jaw..open... the corners of my mouth bleeding bleeding...I am standing and slowly bending my knees to help my back. Mama...mama.... I am on a pedestal...yes I am brave yes I can endure but the little shy girl inside me...with those big open cherry eyes and wild forever tangled golden brown hair cries out in bewilderment........ I wanna be a boy I wanna be a boy...
shaved head free movement running running
wheat fields and corn
so small
so free
