NOW CURATING: YOMI
s t r e e t a r t i s t
Gina Hoch-Stall is an inspiring, bright woman, who has a way of smiling and looking you straight in the eye that dares you to bullshit her. She is talkative, opinionated, and likes communication to be direct, and you can see these qualities in her dance company RealLivePeople. She is clear about what she wants you to get from a performance, and her choreography, which often includes the dancers speaking earnestly about their own experience, strives to be accessible to dance-lovers and first time dance-goers alike. I sat down with Gina at Good Karma Cafe in Center City to talk about how she sees her art, success, and calling herself an artist.
-Antonia Z Brown, curator
AZB: One of the things I love about your work it that it has a very specific and clear intent to it. You’ve obviously laid out a mission around it and developed a personal style. How did you come to find that direction in your art?
GHS: There were a few moments in my childhood where I can remember seeing a dance performance and feeling simultaneously elated and furious: I was shocked by what dance could do and upset that I hadn’t thought of it first . . . at the age of eight. But aside from specific moments of inspiration I actually think that a lot of my creative process and endeavors have come from a reactive place. I’ve often been more sure of what I did NOT want to make than what I did—although I also value the work of artists who appear to have a clear point-of-view to offer their audience. I have felt like there weren’t many people who were focused on creating “accessible” dance or dance for less familiar audiences in Philadelphia, and that has always been a huge tenet of my mission and work.
Lately I’ve been on a bit of a new journey, questioning everything. Which I think we, as artists, should all be doing, all the time. In the past I’ve started most of my artistic projects from a place that felt safe and clear but I’ve found that having so much clarity in advance can actually stifle my creative process in and around the studio. Since my time at the Ponderosa program in Germany recently I’ve been questioning a lot of my working patterns and impulses: why big group dances? Why make dances in the studio? Why wait until you know more than one thing before you make dance? Is it so bad to make terrible dances—what can I learn from it?
So you question the goals of your art?
All the time! As I said, never more so than right now. I think I’ve spent the last five years becoming more and more clear about the RealLivePeople mission and the type of dances that fit with that model and work for that audience. But there’s a reason that the company is called RLP and not Gina Hoch-Stall and Co—I’ve always wanted to keep a bit of distance between the work created by the company and my own full range of creative output. That is a complex balance though and I feel like I’m always redefining it. I will say this, I definitely have no problem now calling myself the Artistic Director of a dance company because I am. The company is real, it exists, it has some funding, it has paid some artists and other people have come to our shows and really enjoyed themselves. That is immensely satisfying and I feel really good about spending most of my creative time in the last five years making that happen. The next five years? We’ll see . . .
I think that’s hard for a lot of people, owning calling yourself an artist.
Yes, and I think it’s especially hard as a dancer because it’s immediately attached to your physical self—there is literally no way to separate it. So the first thing people will do when you tell them you’re a dancer is look at your body and try to assess it for skill (as if they can see your years of training, rehearsing, creating, exploring) but actually just seeing if you look skinny/strong/anorexic/stereotypical. I don’t, and for many years that was a huge barrier to me calling myself a dancer. But I was lucky to have exposure to other seriously strong, super talented female dancers who gave so little of a shit, on the outside at least, that I was eventually able to own my own self as a dancer and now, just in the past few months, as a choreographer. It’s such a personal journey and really has so little to do with anyone else because when you can say it, “I’m an artist,” and actually believe it, really convince yourself, no one else questions you. But you have to do the work to get there and it’s pretty painful and full of rejection.
What does success look like for you? Because it can be so many different things.
Success is such a tricky concept. I feel like we should be super specific about when we’re discussing internal success and external success because I feel like outsiders are often given the power to determine the success of an artist or a project without that artist’s own opinion being taken into consideration. And my feeling about that type of success, the external variety, is that it’s a bit like luck: if you keep making things, showing up, being a decent human being and giving other people opportunities, eventually you’ll get some—but that’s it. It also helps if you come from privilege and connections.
As for the other kind, internal success, I’ll talk about my all-time favorite metaphor for life: the forest and the trees. I believe that some of us are more oriented to tree thinking: focusing on the day-to-day, short-term, in-the-moment interactions. While others are more focused on forest thinking: big picture, how do I fit in the universe, what will my life mean, how does my work fit in the context of economics, politics, pop culture right now?
And I think I need to satisfy both of these to feel successful. In my tree-brain I need to be in choreographer-mode and move my body thoughtfully at least once a day, every single day. For my forest-brain I need to have a minimum of three, maximum of eight, projects coming down the pipeline that simultaneously thrill and terrify me—specifically things that seem to be in my wheelhouse but that I’ve never attempted before. There’s something about knowing that I will be forced to change and evolve in the future and then doing it in small, bite-sized daily pieces that makes me feel successful—like I’ve got this living-as-an-artist thing down.
And yes, I do feel my most successful when someone who has never even thought about seeing a dance show sees something I’ve created with my collaborators and is like ”Oh, I actually really like dance!” That makes me joyful deep inside.
Does money play into your idea of success in art? (I’ll put it out there, I don’t think the two have to be connected.)
If I have more money I can spend more time making art, if I have less money I have to spend more time working (which can be artistic too). I think it’s much easier to be ‘successful’ when you have money because you have the luxury of spending the time it takes to play and discover something new. Limitations can be wonderful but if they are always the same ones it gets tedious and struggling to pay my collaborators what I know they are worth is often infuriating.
Where do you think the Philly dance scene will go next?
I’m so excited about the young dancers in Philly right now. I am seeing so many new faces at performances and workshops, and they’re really excited about performing and taking classes. And there’s like nothing there. So I hope they’re going to be really entrepreneurial and start building things. I think for a while, my mini generation (dancers who graduated at the height of the recession) all left. They moved to the burbs or out of Philly and I don’t think that’s happening any more. So I’m just really excited about this next group. I also think that people who have been in the dance scene for a lot longer and have been really scrappy and productive have become elders in the community. And they’re being really supportive and generative. There’s Meg Foley with the Whole Shebang and there’s the workshop series that you just did at Mascher which looked really great. I think people are getting excited about dance class again, which always makes me really pumped because it brings people together—in addition to keeping our bodies strong and able. Even though it’s a rough time for funding and presenting, I still feel hopeful.
Photo credit: Gina Hoch-Stall and Scott McPheeters. Photo by Frank Bicking.
Antonia Z Brown is artist-in-residence at Mascher Space Co-op, one of the best places to go in Philadelphia for exciting experimental dance. Her work has been performed on all three U.S. coasts, and has been described by reviewers as “full-bodied, virtuosic and ‘space-eating.’” Here, she shares one aspect of her practice with Curate This.
-Julius Ferraro, co-founder
I often start my dance rehearsals with a sensory movement practice. Using certain images and metaphors, I like to bring a new group of dancers together in a shared experience where they can find connection to their own individual creativity as we wake up our bodies and minds together. This practice gives me a through-line from one project to the next, and is also flexible enough as a research lab for delving into each new project’s theme. In the most recent version of this practice, developed in rehearsal for my recent Fringe show Body of Water, the main focus was to connect to water imagery and the watery flows of movement already happening inside the body.
I invite you to join in this practice to experience what goes through the mind of a dancer. My choreography often requires a lot of fine tuning imagination and the connection between body and mind, and I hope you enjoy seeing what that feels like.
Think of it as a guided meditation.
Find a quiet space where you won’t be disturbed. Begin either standing or lying on your back, with your eyes closed. This is for all bodies. You can move, be moved, or be (relatively) still depending on what feels good to you.
I know Christina through working with her as members at Mascher Space Co-op. She has a special way of thinking about her art and about Mascher, and a deep love for the well-worn, DIY rehearsal and performance space. Christina often talks and writes in a roundabout, muddled-through way that gives weight to the slow, the dispersed, and the felt, and this modus operandi extends to her sincerity in working with the multiplicitous, slow-moving organism that is an artist cooperative. I thought of Christina for an In the Studio piece not only because she is an integral part of this unique cooperative studio, but also because her art space expands beyond those walls. She walks around Kensington as part of her dance and life practice.
-Antonia Z Brown, curator
For a while now, I’ve been saying “I have a walking practice.” I’d like to rethink that and instead just say, “I like to walk.” I think of walking like digestion—an active space of doing, sensing, and soft absorption and excretion. For the past few years I’ve been rehearsing fairly steadily at Mascher on Friday afternoons. I often split my time between being INSIDE and OUTSIDE of the rehearsal space.
When I’m INSIDE:
When I’m OUTSIDE:
How do artists or citizens move through the landscapes, dynamic environments, and communities in which they make their work, especially when those communities and neighborhoods are rapidly gentrifying and changing? It is our job to turn over and over and over the ways that we are embodied within ourselves and our work but also in our physical and geographic location.
This experience INSIDE and OUTSIDE of Mascher has collaged itself into a solo that I have made called lasso belly. Many of the pictures are of me rehearsing that solo. The piece asks how process and studio time can transparently and unapologetically live in a finished work. The piece asks how I want to engage with an audience and how I want to frame my own solo body and the contexts in which I choose to put it in.
All photos by Miles Yeung.
See Christina’s solo at Fresh Juice, Mascher’s 10th Anniversary Cabaret, Nov 20 – 21, 2015, 155 Cecil B. Moore. Info here.