Rebels in class: The birth of Pilobolus Dance Theater

There aren’t many arts organizations that survive fifty years, but the energetic dance group Pilobolus has surpassed the half-century mark and is still going strong. That’s not to say that getting to fifty has been easy. Part of its secret in attaining longevity has been that since birth it’s had an audacity and questioning of conventions that’s part of its DNA. The group has not been afraid of going against the rules and even reinventing itself when needed. When under stress, much like the fungus from which it took its name, Pilobolus fires out high speed spores for propagation and that’s proven to be an effective strategy for survival.

Pilobolus in Center Theater, 1972
Pilobolus never cared too much for what was expected of dancers. Rebellious by nature, they defined a new vocabulary and were rewarded with quick critical acclaim.

The original hot spark that ignited Pilobolus was struck in Professor Alison Chase’s dance class at Dartmouth College. It was 1971 – Vietnam years – and the Dartmouth administration, along with parts of the student body, were still stubbornly holding on to being an all-male college. Regardless, women were beginning to be a presence on campus. In reality, a majority of the students were rebellious and seeking teachers who not only opposed the war but embraced alternative approaches. Alison Chase was young – closer in age to her students than to other professors in her department – and as a teacher she had a collective and improvisational style of teaching choreography that caught the times. Just that there was a dance class on campus was a big step for the college. When most professors at Dartmouth were stodgy academics often tacitly supporting the status quo, Chase was a young attractive female teaching testosterone saturated students in leotards – a sure recipe to create sparks if not smoke and fire. She connected them with the world of dance, and in doing so she altered their lives and they, in turn, hers.

Alison Chase entertaining Martha Clarke’s son with a marionette. October, 1975 in-between performances at Espace Cardin in Paris.

I too was a Dartmouth student during those years, and the original dancers were friends or schoolmates. Being aware of the campus buzz surrounding their work, I photographed one of their first public performances on a small experimental stage in the college’s art center.

Ocellus was a dance linking bodies in fluid, sculptural sequences. Created before the women joined by Barnett, Wolken, Pendleton, and Harris it combined strength with languid beauty and was one of their early signature pieces.

Some months later, after graduation and during the winter of 1972-1973, I caravaned with them through northern New England photographing some of their early public performances. These performances were on small stages in college towns. The truth was that having a stage on which to rehearse and communally choreograph was as valuable to them as the small fee they were being paid. This was truly the birth period of the dance group, as it built up a repertoire and expanded from the original male quartet to six, adding two women. One, not completely surprisingly, was their former teacher and the other, Martha Clarke.

Martha Clarke and Alison Chase in Cameo (1973), their first duet after joining Piloblus.

In looking back at these photographs I think how different they would have been if I were shooting them today. They were shot on high speed black-and-white negative film (Tri-X) that was then processed to reverse the image, yielding a positive transparency. The reversal was to get around not having a darkroom, since I was living in the woods with no electricity and only rudimentary plumbing. The grit (organic material) in the water shows up as a lot of “dust” in the photos. More light was required for the exposures than what we need now, so even though I was using a Leica camera with fast lenses (and a silent shutter), taking photos that were representative of the dances was a challenge, especially since they were shot during actual performances and I was using dim stage lighting.

London 1973 poster

After these pictures were taken Pilobolus traveled to Edinburgh where it was the hit of the Fringe Festival, being awarded the “Fringe First Prize”, and continued on to shows in London. At Moses Pendleton’s suggestion, a photograph of mine (a detail of a Glenwood stove) was used for their poster. Their receptions in Edinburgh and later London were big steps to their widening success. Soon after they left their base in Vermont and moved to southern Connecticut, which is still their home. In late summer of 1975 our paths crossed again when they were in Paris performing at Espace Pierre-Cardin. It was fun to see them being courted by the European arts aristocracy, as they continued gathering steam.

A selection of these pictures appeared in the book Pilobolus A Story of Dance and Life by Robert Pranzatelli (2024, University Press of Florida), which colorfully weaves together the complicated story threads underlying the history of this pioneering and maverick dance company.

Posted in Artists, Paris
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Pushing back against French Racism: M Klein by Joseph Losey


Joseph Losey
Joseph Losey 1970

Part of a series on the making of the Losey film, M Klein (available on the Criterion Channel)


Joseph Losey in Hollywood

People often don’t fit into neat boxes. Joseph Losey defied easy classification. In the 1930s and 40s he was a young, breathtakingly handsome Hollywood director with an expanding stage and film reputation, known for his leftist politics and creative directing. He drove a pink Jaguar around town and had a highly public persona decorated with female movie stars and expensive tastes. He could be gracious in one moment and furious in the next, when his quizzical grin would turn hard steel. He could also be almost simultaneously thoughtful and thoughtless, the later often fueled by large amounts of alcohol.

Losey in forced exile and how this project started

Losey and many other people found their match in the vitriolic storm of McCarthyism that swept into United States in the late 1940s, because of which he was forced into personal and professional exile in England.

I met him on his first trip back to the United States in 1970. He had been hired as a “Visiting Professor” at Dartmouth College, where he picked me out of a class as a creative photographer. He returned to England after that term but we stayed in touch by letter. Five years later I received a fellowship to spend a year taking pictures in Beirut, and in late summer 1975, faced with the beginning of the Lebanese civil war, I was searching for another project to focus on. Losey suggested that I meet him in Paris where he’d give me access to photograph the making of his next film, to be shot both in a studio and on locations around the city. He wrote a convincing letter to the fellowship committee about how I should be allowed to change from low-cost Beirut to expensive Paris, and in due course I started taking pictures of him making the film M Klein in early October of 1975.

M Klein and French racism

I was lucky in that this film ended up being one of Losey’s enduring works. It was a disappointing failure commercially but it ranks as one of his most respected films. It also had the added dimension of bringing to light an unpopular topic in postwar French society: French racism and complicity in the Nazi extermination of the Jews and other ethnic minorities.

Losey certainly wasn’t the first to deal with this subject, for example Marcel Ophul’s 1969 documentary The Sorrow and the Pity pre-dated M Klein by six years, but Losey’s film went into distribution in France, helped along by the popularity of the lead (Alain Delon). Even though the film wasn’t popular it raised the temperature and helped penetrate the French wall of resistance to even talking about what had happened during the war.

On the production side, both the Casting Director, Margot Capelier, and the Art Director, Alexandre Trauner, were Jews living in Paris at the start of the war (Capelier born there, and Trauner an immigrant) who had been forced to flee to southern France to escape the Nazi occupation, and the centrality of the Jewish persecution in the screenplay attracted them to the project. But overall, the film was typical of Losey’s best films: embracing large themes and weaving them into a cautionary tale with present-day relevance.

What made M Klein unusual

M Klein was the twenty-eighth feature length film directed by Losey, but his first in French. It tells the story of Robert Klein, a privileged but shady French art dealer who, through wartime suspicion and his own subsequent actions, becomes trapped in a web of bureaucratic confusion, ultimately coming face to face with the persecution of Jews during the WWII Nazi occupation of France.

Robert Klein’s girlfriend Jeanine (Actress Juliet Berto) resplendent in his bedroom. She felt doomed to a life in bed, and Berto played her character as bored and petulant.

There are, in fact, two M Kleins: Robert, who believes he is “French and Catholic since Louis XIV” and another who is a Jew fighting for the Resistance. The Catholic Klein, smoothly played by Alain Delon, is drawn like a moth to the Jewish Klein. Delon is joined by a standout cast including a caustically dour Jeanne Moreau, a two-faced French lawyer played by Michael Lonsdale, Suzanne Flon who gives a nuanced portrayal of the Jewish Klein’s concierge, and a laconically skillful performance by an elderly Louis Seigner in one of his final roles, as Klein’s father.

Most films contain a disclaimer that they are fictional. M Klein flips convention around, stating right at the beginning that what is shown is based on a composite of true stories from 1942 France.

Costume fitting Transvestite performers being fitted with costumes for a wartime cabaret scene.

In filming this story, Losey has several themes, and all of them center around questioning racism. One is that he highlights the transient nature of human identity. Who are we, how do we define ourselves, and how do others define us? Robert Klein is a comfortable, refined French Catholic minding his own business during the war period. However, when he is mistakenly identified as a Jew, his world is turned upside down. In delving into his past he is forced to confront the fact that his identity is not as fixed as he was brought up to believe – that there are shades of grey that are easy to exploit in a fascist environment.

The film also deals with the question of societal and personal guilt in racism. Robert Klein is not a Nazi sympathizer, but on the other hand he doesn’t much care (or think) about what is happening. He is a man who, like many others, is content to go about his business and ignore the suffering of others. The end of the film makes it so he has to confront his own complicity in the racism that he had ignored before.

Finally, there are themes of memory and history in constructing narratives of racism. As Robert Klein delves deeper into the mystery of his mistaken identity, he begins to uncover a web of lies and deception that have been woven around him since childhood by his family. He realizes that the past is not always what it seems, and that truth can be elusive, and again can easily be used against a person.

M Klein is a thought-provoking film that explores some of the most complex and difficult themes of the 20th century. It is a film that challenges us as viewers to confront our own beliefs and assumptions about identity, guilt, and history. It’s not by accident that these themes attracted major actors and film professionals who were, like Joseph Losey, committed to social justice and truth, nor is it at all surprising that in view of its unpopular themes the film failed to find a favorable reception in France. What made the M Klein unusual was to have committed people working together on a theme that they knew would be unpopular, but still wanted to make it and advance the discussion of racism during the war.

Posted in Joseph Losey, Artists, Paris
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A 23-year streak, broken

Exceptionalism exists in Canada too

Last weekend I was at a friend’s party in Montreal and sitting next to a man I had never met. It was noisy, a lot of people speaking excitedly and simultaneously, so the man leaned over towards me and asked me my name. I told him and he looked me straight in the eyes with narrowed pupils while still leaning forward, and let loose The Question: “what kind of a name is that”? I almost fell off my chair. I’ve been living in Canada now for twenty three years and I’ve never been asked that question. When I lived in the United States it was common follow-on to an introduction, but not here. He seemed kindly enough so I explained that my father was Syrian blah blah blah but I was pretty shocked, and I was (and I am) sorry that my multi-decade string of non-exceptionalist Canadian behavior has ended.

Canadian-US border crossing in different times.

Crossing the border

Yesterday my wife drove down to the Canadian/US border. We hadn’t gone across it since the new US president’s inauguration but she needed to have a paper notarized. Faced with the choice of either driving to Ottawa (183km) and presenting herself at the US embassy (50USD fee) or going across the border (100km) to the always-friendly town clerk in Champlain NY (∅USD), it was a no-brainer.

She found the main border crossing a desolate place, not a single other car waiting. There’s been a lot of talk in Canada about phones being searched and hostile border control guards, but she had no problem entering the US. Returning to Canada she was asked to roll down her back window and given a one-over, so it’s pretty obvious that Canada is not encouraging its citizens to enter the US. And why should it? Things have happened quickly since January 6, on both sides of the border, and a lot has changed.

A different view

As a dual Canadian-US citizen I get to see things from an unusual vantage point, having lived in the US until I was fifty, and then having lived more than two decades in Quebec. It’s only been during the Vietnam War, and now more recently, when some few Americans have looked seriously to Canada as an alternative place. We left earlier than the current wave, but for similar reasons – we saw what was coming, and thought that the move north to a saner country would be a good idea – even if we didn’t know quite what we were getting into.

The lead-in to the second Iraq war, New York City demonstration February 2003. The names change, but the issues remain.

The federal election this week, where Mark Carney was elected the new Canadian Prime Minister, has capped a rude Canadian awakening to the dangers of sharing a border with a rogue elephant of a state. It’s been a revealing election. Nothing has done more to make me feel Canadian than this period, and the election results reinforced our choice (though we were pretty blind) in making Quebec our home province. The election vote stripped away the weepy rhetoric that often prevails in Quebec, and what was revealed was a province that supported Carney and the Liberal government (43%) versus the American-Elon-Musk inspired Conservative party of Pierre Poilievre (23.4%) by a margin not even closely matched in any of the other provinces. In December of last year you would have been hard pressed to find anyone in the province who would call themselves a Liberal. That’s an exaggeration, but not much. So it’s been quite a change. I don’t see Carney quite as positively as I’d like to, but I was still pleased.

Prior to Trump II many Canadians possessed a romantically foggy view when looking south. So the last few months have been like the breakup of a formerly “idyllic” marriage: first disbelief, then anger. Trump’s ascendancy this time has only been lightly garbed in reality show politics. His second ascent represents an amplified and aggressively threatening continuation of the bullying conservatism that, over the years, has shown its face in many guises – from the blatant McCarthyism of the Forties and Fifties, through the filth and duplicity of Nixon, morphing into the smoothly front-facing corporate faces of Reagan and the Bush family. That’s not even getting into the Democratic side, which has had its share of failings too. The toxicity has always been around, either in the foreground or just below the surface. The difference now is that it’s fully out and fully vengeful, with a clear road map driving its behavior. Whether Trump II will “succeed” in its destructive course is no longer in question, the damage has already been widespread and generational in scope. The question for us in Canada is how to minimize its effect while steering a way through the geo-political/economic storm. Even if the US courts reign in the Executive branch, and Congress reasserts itself instead of playing dead, trust has been broken. Canada has largely been able to avoid the militarization of society and social breakdown that’s been happening in the United States for decades. However, even though the economic consequences of tariffs have been enough to dramatically accelerate political change here, dealing with them is nothing compared to prospect of having to deal with an increasingly aggressive and politically fragmented country thrashing around to the south. That’s the scary prospect. Let’s hope a path can be found, both internally in the US as well as for us and others.

Posted in Social Documentary, Canada, Montreal
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The impossible miracle of Biblioteca Vasconcelos

Anyone who has moved boxes of books around knows how heavy they are. To have 600,000 volumes suspended in space is close to a miracle! Biblioteca Vasconcelos in Mexico City achieves this remarkable feat, extending the creative practice of Mexico City architecture by floating its stacks in the air. This unique architectural marvel not only serves as a library but also as a cultural hub, attracting visitors who are eager to experience its stunning design.

Biblioteca Vasconcelos Mexico City Architecture at its best!
Architect Alberto Kalach made a significant contribution to Mexico City architecture with his daring design – suspending the stacks from the ceiling of the building.

The architectural design of Biblioteca Vasconcelos is an example of modern creative ingenuity. The building’s side windows allow natural light to flood the interior, creating a serene reading environment that inspires contemplation and study. The stacks, suspended from the ceiling, give the impression of books floating in mid-air, challenging conventional library design and offering a visually striking experience. This innovative concept encourages visitors to engage with the space in a more dynamic way, as they navigate through the airy layout.

I’ve always photographed in libraries. I enjoy books and the spaces designed for their use. This time there was a problem though. A woman in a semi-official uniform approached me, informing me in Spanish that photography was not allowed. To be honest, it seemed quite permitted, given the number of people snapping pictures on their phones. Unfortunately, a “Real Camera” is viewed differently. There was a loophole: I could apply for a permit at a specific office, allowing me to capture the stunning Mexico City architecture within. I was determined to document this unique space, since to me its beauty and functionality was worth sharing with a wider audience.

As I filled out the form for the photography permit, I couldn’t help but admire the intricate details of the library’s design. The open spaces were filled with the soft sounds of pages turning and quiet whispers. The atmosphere felt filled warmed by the shared love of literature, making it an inspiring environment for both photographers and bibliophiles alike!

The office I had been directed to was in the back of the library. I faced another woman, this one sitting at a crowded L-shaped desk near one of the doors that opened out onto the gardens. I asked if I could take pictures and was given a form to fill out. That, coupled with a Quebec driver’s license, and soon I received a plastic tag on a lanyard which gave me Official Status. Hooray, okay to use a camera!

Visitors reacting to the reworked white whale skeleton by Mexican-born artist Gabriel Orozco at Biblioteca Vasconcelos.
Visitors reacting to the reworked white whale skeleton by Mexican-born artist Gabriel Orozco, which adds a unique artistic element to the library’s ambiance.

Mexico City’s Biblioteca Vasconcelos is such an unusual space – one can see the surprise and glee on the faces of people entering for the first time. Any resident can use the library, and many people do. The manner in which the stacks are suspended in mid-air creates a faceted and irregular space, playing with light and transparency. It’s a brilliantly imaginative way to design a library, and brave too in a city prone to powerful earthquakes. The library not only serves its primary purpose but also acts as a community gathering space, hosting events, workshops, and exhibitions that engage the public and foster a love for reading and learning. I don’t know if perhaps a part of what I was sensing was the public pride in the hard-fought win to break away from the book-banning controls of the Catholic Church – but it seems possible that this space embodies some of that pride too.

The library opened in May of 2006, designed by the architect Alberto Kalach and built next to the old Buenavista railway station, north of the city center. Housing a collection of 600,000 books (using the Dewey Decimal System!), it also features the hanging skeleton of a large gray whale decorated by the artist Gabriel Orozco called “Matrix Móvil”. I saw a retrospective of Orozco’s work in the Museo Jumex (March, 2025) which I’ll describe in a later post. The whale creation is well traveled, having been shown at the Museum of Modern Art in New York in 2009.

Biblioteca Vasconcelos stands as a beacon of modern architecture and culture in Mexico City. Its unique design honors the communities, reading public, artists, and scholars that use it. The library exemplifies how architecture can inspire a love for literature and create a sense of belonging among its visitors. Whether you are an avid reader, a photography enthusiast, or simply curious about innovative design, a visit to Biblioteca Vasconcelos is sure to leave a lasting impression. If you are in Mexico City it’s a must. It’s a short Metrobus ride north of the city center, and there’s a metro stop (Buenavista) nearby. The combination of literature, art, and innovative design makes Biblioteca Vasconcelos an essential stop for anyone visiting the city.

Posted in Mexico, Architecture, Travel
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All roads? Perhaps not …

I’ve never been totally comfortable with Rome. To be honest, I’ve always had problems with authority and authority figures, and there’s no city more populated with both than the old Roman capital. And that’s not even saying anything about the Vatican. I can be relatively sure that my ancestors paid a price to the Romans, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end when I walk down the present-day beautiful and elegantly-appointed streets and see the wealth and power that’s the product of that price.

On the other hand, the world has moved on, and I have too. I’ve always been attracted to temperate zone cultures, and Italy is no exception. But all my previous experiences were in the northern tier of the country, especially in the Veneto (Padua, Vicenza, Venice).

So Rome was a new experience for me. I’ve posted a ⊕portfolio of photographs of the city. The old part of Rome is really set up to be a tourist magnet. As such, it certainly doesn’t let one down. There is a casual, un-curated feeling that makes being there a pleasure. Overlaying the old is the modern jumble of chaos that passes for Italy, complete with savory and unsavory overtones. I am always trying to scratch under the surface and see what I find, and I found a lot.  I have no blood history with Italy but it’s easy to see the racism, the governmental chaos, and excesses along with the society’s appreciation for living life and the long and real investments in art and culture. In short, it’s a fun place to be as a person and a photographer who doesn’t have to live there, and has the privilege of being able to dip in and out.

 

Posted in Europe, Photography, Travel


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How Many Roads? is a book of photographs by Jonathan Sa'adah, available for order, offering an unglossy but deeply human view of the period from 1968 to 1975 in richly detailed, observant images that have poignant resonance with the present. Ninety-one sepia photographs reproduced with an introduction by Teju Cole, essays by Beth Adams, Hoyt Alverson, and Steven Tozer, and a preface by the photographer.
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