Dance Scene
For Iona Pear dancers, art imitates death

By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer

Summer Partlon and other Iona Pear dancers in "Passage Into Tomorrow" will remain eerily still, becoming moments frozen in time. The piece is based on a paper sculpture exhibit about the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings. Carl Hefner "Passage Into Tomorrow" Presented by Iona Pear Dance Theatre 8 p.m today, Saturday and Sunday The ARTS at Marks Garage, 1159 Nuëuanu Ave. $15 ($12 advance) at the Hawai'i Theatre box office 528-0506, 262-0110

And the use and manipulation of that space are the basis of the Iona Pear Dance Theatre.

"I love space and visuals," she said, her voice disappearing into the crevices of her spacious Kailua home. "There's definitely an aesthetics in the house. It's probably got a good feng shui."

Gleaming walls, moon-shaped pillows, flowing curtains — her home has the ideal vibe for the style of movement Iona Pear Dance Theatre embodies. The studio, located at the back of her living room, sinks into the back yard, its powder-blue floor and open-air space harmoniously work for the dancers.

This is the place where, for the past few weeks, eight dancers have been physically and mentally preparing for tonight's show, "Passage Into Tomorrow," at The ARTS at Marks Garage.

Demanding on both the mind and body, the company's latest installment piece explores the deliverance of souls after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that ended World War II in 1945.

The 45-minute performance is based on the paper sculptures of visual artist Sandy Bleifer, who brought her Hiroshima Memorial Exhibit to the University of Hawai'i-Manoa seven years ago. Iona Pear opened her powerful exhibit — paper sculptures of body parts to reflect physical and emotional destruction — with a performance that incorporated the use of paper and skin as the housing of the soul. Each occupying a separate space, as if artwork in a gallery, the dancers pose in stillness; they are moments frozen in time.

One woman stands in shock, a shredded red dress encircling her pasty white body, black braids thrown toward the sky. Another lies motionless under deep black branches; her white limbs peek out between the black. Another performer, mostly naked, cowers in the corner, headlines about the bombing plastered all over his body.

After about 20 minutes without movement, the dancers unfold from their positions painfully slowly. And as they shed their stillness, awake from a supposed death, they begin to transform from empty bodies into moving souls.

"It's so simple and intense and powerful," said Flaharty, watching a tape of the 1994 performance. "It's so intense because the dancers move so carefully and the people are so close. It's difficult to be able to totally stay in the 'witness.'"

Meaning, to be in a position where their bodies are separate from their minds — like an out-of-body experience, where they feel themselves hovering over their bodies. The dancers practice this technique during rehearsals, what Flaharty calls "practicing to be dead."

Half of rehearsal involves meditation, where the dancers develop their ability to control consciousness and state of mind. Dance, then, becomes "experiments on energy, on consciousness," she said.

The company subscribes to the style of butoh, making yourself aware of working from an internal state. Improvisation and imperfection are welcome elements to Iona Pear's distinct style of dance.

And this piece, intimate and intense, fits the feel.

"It's an incredible growth opportunity for the dancers to do this piece," said Flaharty, who directed and choreographed the dance.