Laura Elaine Ellis, Lisa Bush, Diane Frank, Risa Jaroslow, Nina Haft, Wendy Rogers, and Sue Li Jue. Photo by Kegan Marling.
Encounters with Vicky Shick
By Valerie Gutwirth
Back in 1980s New York, I loved Vicky Shick's work. It was luscious and spare, not romantic, and intensely, intimately connected. This evening I’m 25 years into living in a different city, with perspective-changing amounts of dance-life and life-life behind me. And here again is Vicky Shick, doing something called Encounters After 60, which at first made me think, “Oooh, sexy time!"
It was kind of a speed-dating approach to group work, 5 days of rehearsals with seven dancers I love to watch, plus Vicky doing two solos. Before it all began, I had a shudder-of-a thought, a “What if it’s nostalgic, a dance about stylized oldness?" The last stanza of Lucille Clifton’s poem To My Last Period describes old women holding photos of younger ones and sighing, “Wasn’t she beautiful?” As I waited in the (most of us over 40) audience, I was squintingly, squirmingly suspicious of how that idea might dance.

Vicky Shick. Photo by Kegan Marling.
Turns out, I still love Vicky Shick’s work. It gave us the body that is, not the one older people have to work like acolytes and eat like ascetics to maintain; exploring with curiosity and the same clarity I loved way back when. Particularly in her solos, Shick drew our focus to the limitations of the thing — slackness, stiffness, bunions, liver spots, funky shoulders, hands – as organic, central, and additive. A slice of Mylar, wrapped around her waist, reminded me of the sound of my aging bones moving, the changing texture of my skin and hair, the footsteps that injury and use make uneven, and the juiciness and glee accessible in every living body.
Maybe it was the speed of the date, but the seven collaborators did not get to the deeply distilled place that Vicky achieved. They were nonetheless gloriously specific, with an honest consider-ed-ness that highlighted the dancing bodies that emerge from a life’s good use. The image of the line of seven, just before the beginning, preparing to move while standing almost still, knocked me over. So did a partnered two-step, slow and effortless, that encompassed the giggle of kids trying that form, the work of dancing, and the memory of all the partnering (in many meanings of that word) we have done. Just before the end, Shick dragged Lisa Bush, who danced with her in the 80s, across the space by the hand. The smile they shared was that of two people whose connection spans forty years, and who also know they are still in that fresh-start moment. That’s the thing about dancing. Every step, even fifty years later, is a new beginning.
Valerie Gutwirth dances, teaches dance to children, and plays and performs body music in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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