Sunday, Oct. 8, 4:48 PM It feels a little strange to tell the concierge at the Annenberg Community Beach House I’m here for the performance. I go to the beach all the time—almost every day; my husband surfs—and rarely has my dance life had the occasion to intersect with the sandy, windswept persona his habit has cultivated in me. But the man behind the desk doesn’t skip a beat. “Courtyard,” he says, pointing me to an area lined with fat palms. Cars hurl past on Pacific Coast Highway as I make the short walk up the beach. 4:59 PM Clothespins hang on a line, sharing space with a couple pairs of shoes, laces tied and tossed over in Los Angeles’ symbol for drug transactions and/or cultural rites of passage. A few dark blue jumpsuits give a small percentage of the pins a job to do. I am familiar enough with choreographer Jay Carlon’s work to know that the flattened cardboard surface over the concrete ground will function as a dance floor, and that under the patchwork of masking tape are mics that are wired to the unassuming table in the corner. A solitary laptop rests there, waiting. As I take a […]
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