I remember Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker walking casually onto a dark, almost empty stage, save for an old-fashioned record player. I remember distinctly her gesture of lifting the tone arm and putting it down, the distinct sound of the needle hitting the grooves of the vinyl record, audible even to an audience sitting several meters away. Suddenly, the clear voice of Joan Baez, accompanied by an acoustic guitar, fills the theater. De Keersmaeker kicks off her shoes and begins to dance, like a teenage girl would do in her bedroom, absorbed in the peace songs of the musician and activist, oblivious to us, or so it seems. And yet, I remember (but perhaps this is only a trick of my memory) that she briefly looked up at us when she walked in, registering our presence as one does entering a busy public space. I always remember De Keersmaeker’s 2002 solo piece, Once, as a landmark of performance: the absence of acting, the subtle distinction between her space and our space, the way it made me think of everyday gestures as performance—something that would impress me so much, years later, when I discovered it in the work of sociologist Erving Goffman and his book, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (1956).
The presentation of self in the classical ballet class: dancing with Erving Goffman
