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The "slide show" called "Angels and Accordions,"
owes its inspiration to
Martha Bowers' Dance Theater Etcetera's site-specific performance of the same name.
"A&A"
has been presented annually at the
Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York, a
National Historic Landmark. I attended the performance of
October 4, 2008, having no idea of what was in store; I was mesmerized by
the beauty of the cemetery and the powerful imagery of the choreography.
At the Green-Wood performance a body of "visitors," essentially an audience, is
guided along a predetermined path by ushers bearing two giant umbrellas -- one
to mark the front of the procession, and the other to identify the end.
If the audience remains within these markers they will see the
production as intended, which has been calculated to be seen in the
intervening space
between
the passing ushers and their umbrellas. Once passed, the actors move ahead and
reform themselves as new
tableaux.
I suggest that readers of these paragraphs view the slide show
first. (If you haven't seen the show yet, you may use this link:
A&A.)
The "slide show" does not attempt to reproduce or document the "A&A" work as much as it mines
suggestive episodes from the sequence
of tableaux -- using some of its tableaux vivants (an odd word to use
here) while incorporating
views of Green-Wood Cemetery into its theme. Its purpose, method and functions,
while related, nevertheless, of necessity, differ from those of
its model. In particular, it rearranges some of the sequences and uses the
power of photography to focus attention, develop content and offer
meanings not apparent or not suggested by the live action of the imagery.
PART ONE
 The
slide show is divided into three phases or movements. In the first,
angels guard the tombs of the deceased and inhabit the trees as a sign of
their presence and watchful ambition. It should be noted that some of the
angels are shown in pairs -- one asleep and the other awake -- as if they were
taking shifts better to execute their responsibilities as protectors.
Either sleeping
or awake, with faint pointing gestures, some of the angels guide the "visitors" toward the right,
the direction of the procession. The music for Part One is taken from
Bach's Cello Suite: Number 2 "The Prelude." (None of the
original accordion music has been captured.)
 Part
One begins with several views of Green-Wood's imposing entry gate. This
"gothic" style structure is shown from several vantage-points, all of which
are from within the cemetery grounds. Symbolically, it implies that we are
within a sacred precinct where all beings are sanctified and in some way
consecrated -- at least for the duration of the metaphor unfolding around
us. You will note that the images at this point are all monochrome and
tend to fade -- or better put -- slide from one tonality to another.
From my perspective, these sepia-tone monochromatic
images serve
 as
the principal metaphor of the "slide show" presentation. They function as a remembrance
of the past, partly reproductions, partly tangible manifestations, like
objects, or old pictures in a family album. They contrast with the color
images which are intended to signify the current
intangible and fleeting experiences of daily life as formed by habit and simple observation,
but, here, of course, within the cemetery.
Students of theology may want to think of the monochrome transformations as a kind
of pictorial exegesis -- an attempt to locate meaning and significance in
observed reality. In this way the slide show presents three levels of
observation: 1) the visitor's viewpoint -- watching the show unfold, 2) The photographer's view, watching
the show and watching the visitors watching, and 3)
The exegetical level, in which meaning -- the "invisible" dimension --
becomes paramount.
 The high steeple of the entry
gate, as many people
have
noticed, serves as a nesting area for Brooklyn parrots. The steeple slides
from monochrome to fully lit by sunlight, and then in the next slide folds back again
into an ominously sepia-toned skyscape. Not
surprisingly, this sequence is a suggestive metaphor about living in a life
and death environment. Along the way we find a variety of tombs in both the classical and
Egyptian
styles. We also see the tall columnar monument erected in honor of fallen
Civil War soldiers.
On this day it is in the custody of angelic caretakers. In this context,
using architectural
references to ancient times is one way of claiming your right to possess
your share of eternity.
 The
first "tableau" we see after leaving the gateway takes place on
a pyramidal tomb set in an Egyptianizing style. Visitors have gathered
around it and are occasionally highlighted by their brightly colored garments. But soon
their bright clothing, and everything else -- for that matter -- fades to monochrome, and then they, themselves,
are rendered invisible in front of the pyramid's foundation stones. This is the last
appearance of the tourists in this section. (When viewing the "slide
show", perhaps it is best to think of
them as pilgrims, or as actors in the performance -- not "tourists," for
they are as much part of the show as is the cast; we watch them as
much as we watch the performance.)
Among
other scenes in Part One is an unusual group of angels uncharacteristically walking
to the left rather than to the right. Less like angels and without
expression, they appear to be
zombies -- the arisen dead. This time their images fade from sepia to
a stark black and white -- as if to say (within the symbology used in this show)
that they are not to be remembered -- they are not among the chosen.
As
Part One comes to its
end, the music begins to breathe long and heavily, as if the music
itself, is about to expire. The images of the walking dead and the tomb that follows pulses with
the final strains of Yo Yo Ma's cello.
 After Bach's Cello Suite
concludes, we see a variant of the Fabbricotti
monument that appeared earlier.
On the Fabbricotti stone, one angel sits alert at the base, while another
sleeps on top of it. Still in the darkness of sleep, this angel instinctively points to
the right.
I call the final image of Part One a variant because the formula is
similar: Two
"angels"  are resting
on a tree. The standing angel is awake and the
seated one asleep. They remain on view for the time it takes them to
transform from a semblance of being live into the morphed state of being
remembered or imagined -- transformed from color to sepia -- like a faded
photograph. a dim memory or a poignant dream. The air is void
of sound and the viewer has nothing with which to divert his attention
from the visualization. In their monochrome silence, they thus become
tokens or emblems of their given role and presumed significance. Pointing
to the right it would seem they have an undisclosed purpose; but for their
observers, the awake angel seem to suggest that it is time for us to move on.
PART TWO
 In
Part Two the "visitors" return; Schubert's music, to which Part
Two is set, is not like the
dirge we heard in Part One. One might even say it is rather jovial, that is, were it not
relentlessly driven by a
repeating rhythm of baroque intensity. The first tomb we
encounter sets the mood. Two accordionists accompany a sleeping angel.
Thus, at first, the angels still honor their commission to protect the tombs of
the deceased, but now find themselves accompanied by
music. They are transitional, for further on we see that they have become
spirits of the field and watch over the broad campus of graves as they
romp through it to the music of a lone accordionist. But, soon enough the field fades into a deep sepia and
appears, itself, to be preparing for sleep. Time, it would seem, is a deciding
factor even here, among the dead.
 But
as darkness falls over the field, the scene shifts, daylight has
returned, and
the music suddenly becomes more intense and highly repetitive; we are
greeted by two angels slowly circumnavigating a stone monument. To me,
this scene recalls those large medieval town clocks one finds in east European
cities -- those that exhibit mechanical figures rotating around their base, once, on
each striking of the hour. Metaphorically, I interpret this tableau as indicative of the
cycle of time and, as in some beliefs, of the cyclical nature of life and
death itself. In Part Two, time is losing its linear hold on the human condition.
[Note: See, for example the
Prague Astronomical Clock.]
Next appears a quaint gothic chapel in a landscape --  even in color
it is more fantasy than architecture. A figure is walking across the lawn;
but here, as in so many of the other scenes, it turns to shades of sepia,
as if to imply that even the constructions and establishments to which we
pin our hopes and yearnings eventually decay into figments of the
imagination and fragments of the past. The dominant theme is restated. It is that of the
memento mori. Remember death, for all things turn to dust; life cannot be preserved
forever.
[An afterthought: I should have
removed the live figures in the sepia version and let them fade out too.
Then it might have evoked memories of works like the famous M.R.James
ghost story, "The Mezzotint."]
 As
if to put this thought into another context, the next image shows two
youths facing each other as they sit on pedestals at the summit of a
flight of stairs. Obviously lovers (or shy lovers) the boy (the only male
angel in the troop) is holding a carnation to give his partner. If you've
watched carefully, you might have noticed the carnation gain color before the image
fades out. It
is subtle; don't miss it. In common lore carnations signify love and
marriage, but they also are symbolic of remembrance and, as such, are
frequently
used as decorations at funerals.
Strictly, its name refers to the "incarnation," and the red
color is said to evoke the
blood of Christ.
 The music drives us into the next set of images. In them we find a group
of angels cavorting and dancing among the trees -- as if they are
exercising their ability to fly joyfully through the air. One, though, appears to
be having trouble, loses control and drops, head-first to the ground. Is
she a
novice?
Following these, we see an angel ardently praying ("supplicating" seems more
appropriate) before a
stock sculpture of a saint. A scene on one of Green-Wood's lakes takes an oriental turn --
as if to cover all the bases, ecumenically speaking.
 Part
Two continues with a festive romp among the tombs located before the cemetery's main
chapel. The umbrella ushers who have guided us thus far relinquish their
role as bookends and now direct us toward the open space on the other side
of the chapel. There the angels have gathered, the accordionists have formed a small
orchestra, and the angels run back and forth in praise of whomever
they must. The hill upon which they dance is reminiscent of the Elysian
fields of the ancients -- home of the blessed after they have passed
from this life.
The angels are busy and run back and forth in a frantic flurry of arm-waving. Have
they received advanced word that the Second Coming is at hand and
their work-load is about to increase dramatically?
 This section ends with views of the
audience and the chapel architecture, which we
notice is Byzantinesque in style -- of significant interest in contrast to the gothic cemetery gate. As if
we've come full circle, the chapel image fades into the busy gothic
meanderings of the cemetery entry gate -- the same that we saw at the
start of the slide show; but, this time, for the first time, it is shown in
in natural color, as if to suggest that the circle through which we
have journeyed -- as a metaphor -- offers some hope of redemption and
recuperation -- that life after death is not necessarily unlike life
before death. The music follows suit. Vibrant and agitated to fit the
rhythmic turbulence of the Byzantine building, it contrasts to the slow,
thoughtful strains we remember as having characterized the cemetery gate
at the start of Part One.
PART THREE
As Part Two is about to close, credits appear. However, they are not
placed at the
show's conclusion, where one might expect
to find them.
 Schubert's music (the fourth movement of Quartet No. 9 in
G-minor -- an opus posthumous, ironically) ends in a classical manner with an
extended teasing
conclusion. In the slide show, it is juxtaposed with a scene of a road leading out of the
cemetery. From this, and having already seen the credits, you might conclude that the show is over, especially
since you've already been warned that "The End (is near)" -- however, the ending is
false, false if you believe the music and false if you believe the
picture. This is the road not taken -- the road that you must not take, for after a few moments of
darkness, you are shown the announcement of a Part Three --
informing us of an impending "Curtain Call," and a "Finale."
That the Curtain Call precedes the Finale should suggest that the latter
is radically different from what has been presented so far. It is.
The Curtain Call is composed of actors standing in formation before
the entry gate of the cemetery which serves as an
episcenia -- a rear
stage wall. One of them, at the front, stoops to pick up a
bouquet of flowers. In reality, this is a scene photographed when the
actors first emerged at the start of "Angels and
Accordions;"
but, here the scene is repurposed and used to mark the end of
Part Two and the beginning of Part Three. In the current context, it signifies that from now on
the angel-actors will be off stage.
The curtain-call photo begins in monochromatic sepia; we've seen it
before; but now, with a bright flash of white light, it abruptly turns to color.
As the gate returns to its original color, we enter the conclusion of Part
Two. But this backdrop soon fades to white, and as it does, the image of a smiling angel
emerges as if from nowhere. True, she made a brief appearance earlier,
when Part Two began, but then, quickly, it was she who faded away. Now she comes back stamped
with a supernatural air, as might be surmised by the powerful lightning strikes and as dangerous pulses of
a negative light jar our expectations. In my mind they are
reminiscent of published images of atomic bomb blasts, and, as such, evoke
a vision of a final holocaust.
Barring that thought, you might easily presume that her assignment
is to survey everything that passes in this district of the departed, and,
perhaps, by implication, in all districts of the departed; but,
here, certainly, she is transcendental and possesses an unworldly aura. She is the
invisible, inevitable, and commanding spirit of the place -- ethereal, immaterial and
omnipresent. Even so, she smiles. She seems less an actor and more a
presence. There is no stage for her to inhabit. Viewers, including this
author, are made
uneasy by her appearance and are annoyed by the length of time she remains
on screen. However, the effect is purposeful because it makes people
suspect that she
may be ushering in an apocalyptic event.
The theme music for this part is taken from an early work by Phillip
Glass. Its tone transcends place and time to imply that the
protagonist has sweeping power and authority over what we have witnessed.
If you listen and watch carefully, you'll see that the music and visuals
are synchronized with each other. Music, as we have come to know it, is gone, replaced by a song of subtle variations and
incessantly unremitting celestial rhythms. The music implies that,
perhaps, she is the keeper of
the gates and the judge of what lies before her. Music and images end
simultaneously and
abruptly, which is to imply that the narrative we have just witnessed may not
have an ending at all.
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