The Dirt on the Dirt People

You’ve seen them outside of Northrop, here’s the scoop

 Marie Ronnander

If you’ve walked outside of Northrop in the past few weeks, you’ve likely noticed the giant dirt pit marked with caution tape. The whole thing is rather mysterious, with little context clues alluding to what the pit is actually for. There’s been constant construction all around the block and the U tends to put money into strange side quests, so who knows? Maybe the University has finally decided to build a giant sand pit for some quality student enrichment time.

Then again, you may have been part of the lucky few who’ve walked by this pit at the exact right time, you may have noticed the group of dust-covered people rumbling and tumbling around in there. That clears a little bit of the mystery, the pit is for people to use after all. But what are they doing exactly? Is this an acrobatics class? Can we, perhaps, join in? 

The answer is not an expected one. These dancers are performing research-based movements to interpret America’s Forever War. Buckle in, reader. 

These dancers are part of the Black Label Movement group. They’ve been holding these rehearsals outside of Northrop since May, for two-week sessions at a time. The latest session ran from September 23 to October 4, drawing the eyes of many students and professors throughout campus. Their gestures are rapid and risky—almost violent. They are meant to provoke urgency and perpetuate connection.

The piece they’ve been preparing for is titled “Battleground.” The dance takes place in 10 inches of tilled soil, causing the dancer’s clothes to progressively become more and more filthy. The performance features jogging, army crawling, and what looks like wrestling. It’s clearly a very athletic endeavor, yet their movements are wrought with pain and suffering. They look ragged. Covered with dirt and absolutely ragged. 

In an interview with Informa, the lead choreographer, Carl Flink, explained that the dancer’s convey “the way perpetual war… situates in [the] body.” He’s referencing the United States constant involvement in wars since World War II which has led to both ethical and physical impacts on those involved. The performer’s actions are supposed to represent not only those of soldiers, but those of civilians as well. Their energy is power, but their energy is also fear. What’s even more surprising about this piece is the scientific backbone supporting the dancer’s volatile movements. 

Flink used the naturally violent ballistics within human cells as his inspiration for this rapid, high energy dance style. He cites David Odde, a professor in the Department of Biomedical Engineering here at the University of Minnesota, as his source of knowledge on these molecular interactions. In 2009, the two catalyzed a collaboration called the Moving Cell Project in which dance is used to explore the balance between chaos and order within living systems. Together, the two developed a technique coined as “body storming” (get it? Because… brainstorming?) which rapidly prototypes a model for molecular movement: chaotic yet beautiful. 

Odde researches cancer treatment, which is highly involved in understanding the dynamics within a cell. In an interview with Minnesota’s All Arts, Odde has described these molecular movements as a “catastrophe” yet they’re a “normal part of cell dynamics.” To Flink, “catastrophe implies a high amount of motion” with many things happening at once. When you combine the two professionals’ visions, you get body storming, which is using the dancer's bodies and movements as a macro-level interpretation of cell dynamics. 

Cell dynamics is, on a very basic level, the random, yet seemingly ordered transfer of energies between different components of a cell. This concept is difficult to interpret—even machines struggle to convey this type of randomness in a digestible manner. When Odde and Flink paired, however, this model became human beings responding, with their entire bodies, to the flip of a coin. Random, chaotic, and an excellent visual model of molecular movement and energy transfer. 

In Battlefield, Flink further applies this idea of random, yet ordered, high-impact energy transfer to explore the interpersonal effects of decades-long wars. The addition of 10 inches of soil allows the dancers to move with even more vigor, as the physical blows they receive are cushioned by dirt. Their movements are frenzied and wild, yet ordered, almost as if they were acting under a military official. 

So no, alas, we did not receive an adult sandbox as the welcome gift for the class of 2028. We did, however, get a peek into the minds of two very clever individuals: an artist and a scientist preoccupied with understanding our chaotic world.