“The more we become absorbed in what is hidden inside us, in the excess, in the exposure, in the self-penetration, the more rigid must be the external discipline; that is to say the form, the artificiality, the ideogram, the sign. Here lies the whole principle of expressiveness.” – Jerzi Grotowski¹
Essence and form are the yin and yang of dance theater. Typically, in western and highly structured non-improvisational dance, the primary focus is on form, but form without essence lacks substance. In the subbody method, the emphasis is placed on essence. Taking essence to its limits results in the bottom body. This is not to say that we cannot place a great amount of energy on form. Form is conditioning. Form is treated as resource or wardrobe for the subbody. Mature expressiveness, as Grotowski hints, is the dual crafting of both form and the hidden (the subbody).
To work at reaching this mature expressiveness, one can either begin with form or essence. Both can arrive at the same place. If, however, we are to begin with form, we must remember to feel the body.
In Hijikata’s final writing piece Sick Dancing Princess, he stated, “Because of monotonic and anxious things stormed into the body, I might faintly be aiming at an opportunity to fabricate fake things within by wearing a haze to the body.”² According to Rhizome Lee’s in-class commentary, “fabricating fake things” was a reversal of the “authenticity” or “real” goal of creation. This was one of Hijikata’s moments of humility and also perhaps a moment of buoffon.
We can drop “essence” altogether then if we wish, to find our personal deep dish pizza. Imagine, for instance, that a performer is seen in what appears to be deep concentration and/or presence. Perhaps someone feels she/he/they have entered into a profound multidimensional world or one of catharsis, but in reality, he was merely resonating with a deep dish pizza.
Form and essence can also be interpreted as the signifier (the vehicle) and signified (the meaning).3 To say “essence” may deceive the individual into thinking that the meaning exists for itself (like an absolutist God), hence being what Derrida called a transcendental signified, which he felt was an illusion. He instead felt things are dependent on difference instead (defined by other signifier that the signifier is not, ad infinitum). So thinking in terms of “essence” may be a bit outdated, and reductionist. Instead, there appears to be a systematic play at hand, where no one thing in particular exists for itself. Meaning, to Derrida, resides in the play of difference.4
“We have the belief of the total body, and the view of ‘body as the scene of a full life.'” – Natsu Nakajima5
Form can also be taken as body and the subconscious as mind. The separation is an old theatrical duality (early Stanislavski), but does not have to be. Shadows of the body can imply shadows of the mind and vise versa because the mind/body distinction may be a false dichotomy. Richard Schechner says of this union: “All performance work begins and ends in the body. When I talk of spirit or mind or feelings or psyche, I mean dimensions of the body. The body is an organism of endless adaptability. A knee can think, a finger can laugh, a belly cry, a brain walk and a buttock listen.”6
Whether the body or mind is emphasized, the important thing to grasp is that there is a fusion or symbiotic relationship between the two. David Edward Shaner explains: “Although there may be mind-aspects and body-aspects within all lived experience, the presence of either one includes experientially the presence of the other. This relationship may be described as being ‘polar’ rather than ‘dual’ because mind and body require each other as a necessary condition for being what they are. The relationship is symbiotic.”7 Peter Brook gives the example of a cat: “If you watch him [the cat] jump on a shelf, the wish to jump and the action of jumping are on the same thing.”8
Furthermore, body/mind dualism may encourage viewing the body as a mere instrument, an object alone, which is certainly not the case in butoh. Tara Ishizuka Hassal explains precisely why. “[Butoh] is the subject of dance itself. When the Butoh dancer is naked onstage, i.e. uncovering his flesh, he symbolizes that he is in fact exposing his inner life, and that the body and the dance are one; they are inseparable.9