Prompt: In The Department of Aging, dancers Jade Manns and Gwendolyn Knapp performed choreographed phrases demonstrating miscalculated excessive effort in showmanship and futility. They oscillated between impressive high kicks and furious jumps to pathetic little shimmies, and even at moments, they recoil in the corner or hide their face in the wall. With movement references to synchronized swimmers, military drills, and pop stars, they shift between the hubris of celebrity to the anxious vulnerability of a child. The phrases provide a structural framework for the piece and a grounding point between the two dancers, who at times move as if in a solo presentation, often engaging more with their surroundings than each other. While the dancers have much freedom for improvisation, it is through repetition and return of movement that they come together, and in moments of exploration and respite, find common touch.

Their striving for attention reaches a comedic note in the context of their surroundings, as the dancers are not the only players in the space. They share a landscape with three human-scale filing cabinets. With the absurd proportionality of being a cartoonish body squisher, every interaction between the cabinets and dancers threatens to flatten out the latter and transform the cabinets into coffins. At moments, the dancers are like cartoon characters, performing exaggerated actions for an audience and then coyishly retreating, often in frenzied cat and mouse duet. Like many of Alexa West’s performances which often explore networked systems of labor and human behavior, “The Department of Aging” relies on public services as the cabinets are sourced from a surplus auction from the city’s Department for the Aging. Much like the city department addresses issues of care for aging citizens, West’s performance considers the threshold of productivity and what we deem a useful body.

Image: Alexa West, The Department of Aging, 2023; Photo: Sam Ozer