"Dance of Women" and "The Wonderful Kandinsky"

Dance of Women

Eight women of various physiques, skin tones, and attire walk onto the stage one by one. They form a line facing the audience and begin to dance freely, silently. Faint violin melodies drift in; the audience is not sure if it is part of the performance or whether it comes from outside somewhere. Each woman dances according to her own unique style. For example, one flings her arms with abandon, one gyrates her hips, one performs a backbend into a flip, one does the queen wave. Each in their place on the line.

A person of unknown gender enters stage right pulling an infinitely long scarlet scarf and weaves it among the dancers, starting with their ankles. The women continue their dance, though their feet and ankles are trapped. Still, they dance. The weaver continues in and out, back and forth, wrapping with the material. Soon the women can only move above their waists, but they continue with waving arms, gesticulating fingers, nodding heads. As the weaver winds up their torsos, they signal each other with alarmed eyes and jaggy eyebrows. 

Now they are cocooned up to their chins. Some continue to dance, using facial expressions, lips, a shimmy of hair. Some stop moving and stare out at the audience or close their eyes. The weaver covers their mouths and noses, leaving only their eyes uncovered, then runs off stage left. The audience gasps, mutters.

A woman on the end of the line pushes against the cloth with her nose, uncovering her mouth, then uses her teeth to create a small tear in the fabric. She bites onto a thread and pulls. The fabric starts to unravel. The face of the next woman in line is now free. The end woman wriggles out of her wrapping. With delicacy and flourish, she unwinds the fabric from all, and cavorts around the stage. Three other women step out of their positions in the line to join her. They dance circles around the four women who remain rooted in place. The four leap down off the stage, dance down the aisles, and run out of the theater. They run for their lives.

Of the remaining women, one wiggles her fingers, one nods her head, one stares with panicked eyes, and one sits on her spot, wraps her arms around her face and cries. The audience is divided in response. Many clap. There is one bravo. Some boo. Most shuffle out in confusion and leave. One young girl climbs onto the stage and offers her hand to the crying woman, who almost takes it, but finally, stands and resumes a silent dance in her allotted space.

The Wonderful Kandinsky

Two old ladies wearing faded flowery dresses sat on a backless velvet-covered bench in the hushed gallery, hands folded in their laps, as they gazed at an abstract painting by Wassily Kandinsky. Country people, Bernie, the museum attendant, thought happily. The plump short one plucked a large sandwich from her bosom and handed half to the tall boney one.

Bernie observed the infraction from the corner of his eye but took no further action. There were no other visitors in the room, so he allowed the ladies their lunch, though the room now smelled of salami.

He liked this particular Kandinsky very much, with its joyful explosion of lines, shapes, and color. In it he saw piano keys, a tic tac toe game, exploding suns and calm moons, a wormy wave, and, and… more. He had worked in this museum for thirty years. Concerning the museum’s paintings, he had feelings, opinions, loves.

The taller lady tapped her foot as if to soundless music. The other one took a huge bite of her sandwich and chewed as she continued to stare at the painting.

Finished eating, the two of them rose simultaneously from the bench, approached the Kandinsky, and kicked off their thick black shoes. They danced, jig-like, hopping from one foot to the other. They lifted their skirts with precise fingers and really went to it, circling each other, laughing and snorting, the tall one and the short one. Their dance became wilder as they flung their arms this way and that.

As he continued to maintain a demeanor appropriate for his profession, Bernie’s big toe and eyebrows began to twitch in time to the beat of the dance. His shoulders waggled inside his uniform. 

An elegantly dressed couple strolled into the room, arm in arm, with measured steps, placing their feet in front of them just so, in a refined two-person parade.

“Wha-at?” said the woman, her face contorting into a grimace of distaste. The dancers took no notice. 

Bernie gestured towards the next room. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “This is a private showing.” 

As the couple huffed away, he roped off the area, and turned towards the painting, his mouth spreading in a grin. Feet itching to move, he kicked off his shoes, two-stepped towards the ladies, and joined the wonderful Kandinsky dance.