Deborah Goffe's Dancing Exhibits Elegance, Power

Have you ever seen someone jump so high that you actually question if she will land? Have you ever seen someone twist her body in so many strange ways that you wonder if she has a spine? Have you ever seen someone dance with such emotion that you can understand her story by watching her fingertips? Deborah Goffe's solo performance last Wednesday was so spectacular that the audience actually believed she could fly, lacked a spine, and could speak with her fingers. She is a true artist: a gymnast, a dancer, a singer, an athlete, a storyteller, an actress, a filmmaker. Goffe incorporated her dance, her voice, and her film in a self-choreographed evening of solo works, "Every Now and Then She Takes Flight."Deborah Goffe was born in Hartford, Conn. and raised between Hartford and Bloomfield. "I've danced in some form most of my life, but began studying modern dance as a teenager. At that time I developed a love for dance history and the pioneers of American modern dance. That is what inspired me to pursue it further. I began formal training in college," said Goffe. She currently teaches modern dance at Trinity. She performs as a member of the Judy Dworin Performance Ensemble and is the Artistic Director of Scapegoat Garden, a non-profit arts organization.

Goffe performed her piece "Every Now and Then She Takes Flight" as part of the Seabury 47 series celebrating the 35th year of dance at Trinity. She entered the crowded studio wearing a metallic gold hoop skirt and a white halter top. Already, her focus was strictly on her dance, avoiding eye contact with the audience. But then she began to leap and spin across the floor, expressing so much emotion through her eyes, her face, her fingers, and her back that it seemed she was speaking directly to me. She moved with such elegance and strength that I questioned whether I should refer to her movement as delicate or powerful. The muscle definition of her arms and back contrasted the long skirt she wore. Her jumps were incredibly high and alive, but she did not make a sound when she landed, as gently as if she was dancing on eggshells.

Goffe's dance was captivating enough, but then she added her voice. As she moved from high in the air to low on the floor, she told a story. Her voice was calm and did not show an ounce of fatigue. Then she began to sing. Her song was as delicate as the way she brushed her legs and swayed her arms.

The rest of Goffe's performance only impressed us more. Her background was a series of films she directed, starring herself. The solo became a duet with an image of herself: a film of her dancing on a pedestal in an antique kimono played behind her. The two dances were different but complimented each other so well that the audience watched her live version and caught the film from the corners of their eyes.

Now, if you are able to imagine the complexity and grace of her performance, you may wonder what the musical accompaniment was. The recorded music varied from Bjork to Bach, from "Born Free" to nature sounds. But perhaps the most amazing thing was that even when she danced to silence, it seemed as if the silence was a song of its own.

Goffe's work was autobiographical: "All the bases of growing up and making your way in the world are covered...in one way or another." The specific events that inspired the various dances were unclear, but it did not matter. What mattered were the movements and the emotions that came through from them. As in all dance, it is a waste of time if the audience has to struggle to understand a piece. Instead, viewers should spend their time appreciating the dance.

Needless to say, Deborah Goffe is truly an amazing performer. Her company, Scapegoat Garden, will premiere a new work "Studies in Empathy" in April. This new piece draws on the characters from Sophocles' "Antigone." Her company will also be performing in the fall show "35 Years of Dance" on November 18th in the Austin Arts Center. For more information about Deborah Goffe and her company, Scapegoat Garden, go to scapegoatgarden.org.