Galván: An Andalusian in Paris

Israel Galvan. Photo Claudia Ruiz Caro

As part of the "focus" dedicated to him by the Théâtre de la Ville, Israel Galván presented his work S evillana Soltera en París . In other words, a single woman from Seville in Paris. A free, available woman, ready for anything and for meeting someone? Not only that; the word "single" can have a Duchampian connotation since Jacques, Raymond, and Suzanne Villon's brother decided, in 1913, to abandon Cubism in particular and painting in general in favor of words and wordplay. Duchamp's Large Glass finds its origin in his 1912 sketch, The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors /mechanism of modesty/Mechanical Modesty.

The Sevillanas, in this instance, are not a single woman but a dance. A couple's dance, albeit without physical contact. A rhythm (3/4), a cheerful music—akin to the Alegría . Galván, like any self-respecting creator, transforms the particular into the general. What might have remained endogenous, indigenous, native, not to say vernacular—that is, within the context of the family circle, the neighborhood festival—has become, thanks to the public and touristic success of the ferias , the Rocíos , and other Holy Week celebrations, an object of international, universal, global rejoicing.

Sevillana soltera en Paris is not simply an anthology of airs, songs, dances, and rhythms originating in the (golden) Baroque age, as Nina Laisné and François Chaignaud have emphasized in their own way in their new production, Último helecho (see HERE). This period is illustrated—not to say, as is the current practice, "documented"—by a film like Edgar Neville's Duende y misterio del flamenco (1952) or, more recently, by Sevillanas (1992), directed by Carlos Saura for the 1992 Universal Exposition on the island of La Cartuja, a film that brought together many figures of flamenco and revived interest in the Andalusian capital (see excerpt below).

In the center of the stage of the Sarah Bernhardt Hall, the stage itself is reflected in a mise en abyme, surmounted by a platform which, for a time, bears in its center an amorphous form, wrapped like Man Ray's Dada sculpture, The Enigma of Isidore Ducasse (1920) – which was a promise of future works by Christo and Jeanne-Claude. Galván enters stage right, accompanied by a young woman (the actress Ilona Astoul, already noted last year at the Abbesses in Templar el templete ) and a little boy (Shaï Sarfati). To our left, a harpsichord and its harpsichordist (Benjamin Alard) and a guitar and its guitarist (María Marín, who recently played and sang for Galván in Carmen ).

The child sings "Viva Sevilla," one of the Canciones populares antiguas recorded in 1931 for His Master's Voice by Federico García Lorca and La Argentinita, Pilar López's older sister, who danced a Sevillana with her , accompanied by Manolo de Huelva on guitar, in Marius de Zayas's short film, La Argentinita , shot in 1938 at the Photosonor studios in Courbevoie—a treasure of which we were able to obtain a copy for the Cinémathèque de la Danse thanks to the generosity of Rodrigo de Zayas. "Viva Sevilla" was popularized shortly afterward by Imperio Argentina, who performs it at the 80-minute mark of La Hermana San Sulpicio (1934), a Sulpician film directed by her husband, Florian Rey, who arranged the song with the composer Juan Quintero. The title of this Sevillian piece reflects the pride of Galván, a native of the city. It is also under this title that we know Pablo de Sarasate's Opus 38 for violin and orchestra (1896) - which is quoted for the rhyme by Aznavour in Comme ils disent (1972).

The musical themes of Padre Antonio Soler are played, as is fitting, on the harpsichord by Benjamin Alard, while those of Isaac Albéniz are performed on the guitar by María Marín. But the Sevillana soltera is not entirely serious, as we are treated to the children's choir canon Cuckoo! (c. 1935) by the British neo-Baroque composer Benjamin Britten. Similarly, Galván unveils the object that sits at the center of the stage; he removes the cover, and we discover a... stationary bike, like those found in the gyms he frequents so he can continue his daily workouts during his tours abroad. Is this yet another reference to Duchamp and his readymade , Bicycle Wheel, created in 1913 ?

Speaking of bicycles, given that the show took on a burlesque character from the outset, no one will be surprised to see a scooter, driven by Ilona Astoul, inexplicably crossing the stage from one side to the other, at one point, if memory serves. In addition to theatrical, circus-like, or cinematic effects reminiscent of Chaplin or Keaton's comedy, there are surreal incongruities such as the dance floor being cluttered with various materials or objects that could hinder movement, particularly the zapateado (footwork), like the dozen or so oranges rolling across the middle of the stage. The burlesque element isn't limited to these outlandish ideas. It extends to the dancer's look (his feathered triconre worn backwards, a nod to Falla and Massine), his compression stockings, his frustrated football shorts, and the dance itself.

It seems that burlesque is not unique to bulería : it also suits that other palo , the sevillanas. The play explores or reviews all categories, all modes, all styles of sevillanas: that of Albeníz, that of the animals, that of the two sisters, or of the horses, or... of the field, of La Niña de los Peines, not forgetting the romantic sevillanas, those of Rocío, of the brotherhood, of Penderecki, of the insects, of Lulli. The dancer nods to football and the 1998 French national team with the theme "I Will Survive " (1978) by Freddie Perren and Dino Fekaris, played by the Los Sones Charanga brass band, and follows an obstacle-strewn path, in a counter-clockwise direction, passing over a series of supports/surfaces capable of sounding, resonating, vibrating, echoing, rustling, rattling, creaking, cracking, snapping, clacking, clicking, squeaking, or squeaking, or of producing absolutely nothing, like the vulgar foam mattress laid out stage left. The noise concert is amplified just enough by the ever-faithful Pdro León.

Each piece features its own new apparatus. Here, a spring-loaded board lined with castanets is theoretically meant to enrich the tap dance or, at the very least, echo it. This humble percussion instrument is reminiscent of the alligator-mouthed medical bed frame used by the bailaor in Apocalypse (2010). Galván also attempts, at the end of his journey or ordeal, to combat the kenophobia generally associated with Arab-Andalusian art. He treats us to a barefoot taconeo routine. In silence, or almost.

Nicolas Villodre

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