On Sunday, April 16, Ze’eva Cohen & Friends presented five works in its program, Female Mythologies.  This performance examined female experiences through a compelling use of gesture, dynamics, facial expression and movement imagery.  

“Negotiations,” the first work on the program, explores the changing nature of the relationship between Sarah, mother of the Hebrews, and her Egyptian maid Hagar, mother of the Arabs.  Because Sarah is thought to be barren, she has her husband Abraham sleep with Hagar to produce a son.  This storyline is revealed through gesture and body language.  At the beginning of the piece, Cohen as Sarah looks confidently and assertively toward Aleta Hayes who plays Hagar.  Hayes responds with a look of fear, revealing her submissive role in this relationship.  At the end of this silent interchange, Hayes nods “yes,” and the two women embrace, hereby clinching their agreement that Hagar will sleep with Abraham.  Hagar performs solo movement which utilizes shapes reminiscent of figures in Egyptian artwork and incorporates floor work on her back, foreshadowing the events about to transpire between her and Abraham.  At this point, we see a marked shift in the women’s relationship because Hagar has gained power. The women push and pull one another while slowly progressing across the floor, and later they even seem to wrestle each other.  The storyline is further propelled by use of literal gestures.  We see this as Cohen pushes apart Hayes’ legs, making clear reference to the sexual union between Hagar and Abraham.  Hayes rounds her arms to suggest a large belly, contracts in her torso and lies down to give birth, and both women take turns holding the baby.   Though Cohen, almost as a sister, lifts Hayes’ head to help her rise after giving birth, continued conflict and struggle are apparent as the women partner with   increasing hostility.  Most impressive here is the ability of both choreographer and the performers to reveal a great deal of contained, intense emotion in apparently free, relaxed movement.  To make this work, Cohen uses sharper, more staccato, and constrained movements in contrast with the freer movements.  Aleta parades around the stage with her shoulders proudly moving from side to side.  We see that she is fully aware of the power she has gained by bearing Abraham’s son.  Meanwhile, face revealing worry, Ze’eva runs after Aleta, hunched forward as though she were trying to hide from view the events which has just taken place. The two women finish center stage, mouths and arms moving in silent conversation as the lights go out.  This leaves the conflict unresolved, adding to the power of the intense emotions of the tale. 

The choreography of “Ariadne” is beautiful and strikingly effective, centered on the disparate dynamics of frozen shapes and frantically intense movement.  As the piece begins, dancer Caryn Heilman appears in long, flowing white chiffon and lying on her side in stillness. Slowly, she comes to life as the movement changes from a series of statuesque poses to incorporate more flowing, stretching, and sustaining movement.  Her focus is strong as she sees beyond us, simultaneously looking out to sea and into the depths of her past. With a piercing gaze, Heilman begins to search for something in all directions, but, with a sense of frustrated failure, falls to the floor. With resignation, Heilman rises and then performs a series of poses from the beginning.  Her increasing desperation and frustration are evident as we see Heilman running, changing directions, reaching out for nothing, and falling. The high energy of this frantic, desperate movement provides dynamic contrast to the earlier slow movement.  The changes in energy level keep us drawn into the piece, and Caryn Heilman’s performance brings this contrast to life with the soft sensitivity and frustrated frenzy, which can be read both in her body and on her face.  At the end, Ariadne carries herself with a newfound sense of strength and assurance. She performs poses reminiscent of those found on a Grecian vase, and in this she also effectively emphasizes and embraces her identity as a Greek woman.  She conveys confidence and vitality as she moves freely, possessing the space wholly.

In contrast to the ancient myths retold in the first two pieces, “If Eve Had a Daughter” is a contemporary story of the struggle for cultural preservation. Cohen plays an overprotective mother to Jill Sigman. As the piece progresses, distinct aspects of the struggle between the old ways and the new ways are manifested in the movement itself. In one instance, we see Sigman as the daughter reaching out for freedom as she tries to crawl away from Cohen who plays her mother.  However, Sigman’s feet are hooked around her mother’s legs, not only hindering her progress but also enabling her mother to pull her back.  The conflict is also conveyed through mother and daughter’s convincing use of focus and facial expressions.  We see in Sigman’s eyes both her rebelliousness and her irritation with her mother.  Likewise, we see Cohen’s concern, frustration, and sense of pain and rejection. One specific cultural conflict addressed in the piece is language. At the outset, Cohen teaches Sigman the alphabet in Hebrew in order to pass on this tradition.  However, as the piece progresses, the daughter rebels by speaking quickly or by reciting the alphabet in English.  Each time, her mother is visibly wounded by her daughter’s choice.  Cohen also focuses on the preservation of tradition through food and cooking. With only a table and chair for a set, the mother gives her daughter an apron as well as various cooking implements.  Each time, the daughter tries to use them to reproduce the mother’s cooking, but her mother is repeatedly disappointed with her efforts. However, a tenderness between mother and daughter is revealed throughout the piece. Early on, there is a loving, playful partnering during which the daughter hangs onto her mother and their affection for each other becomes apparent.  Here again, focus, facial expression, as well as gentle movements are used to convey to us that mother and daughter continue to love each other despite their differences.  Later, the two women perform loose, flowing, playful choreography.  This section blends modern dance partnering and lifts with elements of folk dance as evidenced by the placement of their arms, their walking patterns, and the stomping incorporated into the choreography.  As a result, we see these two women are bound together not only by their love for one another but by their common culture.  This bond is reinforced as they share an apple at the end of the piece, and we are reminded that both mother and daughter are descendants of Eve.  Thus, a connection exists between them that can never be broken, and their conflict thereby comes to a comfortable resolution.  The piece ends as Cohen offers the apple to the audience, transforming us from voyeurs to participants in the drama that has just taken place on stage

As “Jeptha’s Daughter” begins, we hear a disembodied voice, which we take to be that of the title character. Regina Nejman, tambourine in hand, and Angharad Davies, with a hand-held drum, hold poses and periodically play the instruments they carry.  As rhythmic music begins, the women dance and partner in what appears to be a blending of traditional Middle Eastern and contemporary dance. Soon thereafter, we witness the celebration of Jeptha’s return from war as the dancers, with joy radiating from their faces, lift one another, jump, and extend arms and legs upward. However, the celebration is short lived. Davies holds her arms close to herself, bends down with her focus on the floor, and plays a sad, steady beat on the drum with her elbow announcing the imminent death of Jeptha’s daughter.  The daughter, now clearly embodied by Nejman, moves with confusion then ends on the floor, moving less and less until she has reached the complete stillness of death.  Here, the recorded voice is heard again, emphasizing these images with the Biblical story of how Jeptha vowed that if he returned victorious from war, he would offer up as a burnt sacrifice the first thing to come forth from the doors of his house.  Tragically, that first thing was his only daughter.  As the recorded voice continues, we learn more of the daughter— her maturity into womanhood, her desires, and her virtue. Unfortunately, confusion remains at the conclusion of the piece.  The relationship between the two women on stage is unclear.  Nejman certainly portrays Jeptha’s only daughter, but we are left wondering about the role of other figure danced by Angharad Davies.  Still, as in her other works, Cohen finds power in dynamic contrast, having created frantic movement, soft movement, and shapes in stillness.