In the winter of 1999, I walked into a darkened gallery at New York's Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art, expecting to view a virtual dance installation. Instead, I entered a sensual, beautiful, mysterious 3-D "hand-drawn space." On video screens, scribbled lines of varying hues suggesting the human form appeared, left vaporous trails, suddenly disappeared, twisted, turned, became multiples of themselves, strutted, hopped, and glided through the ink-black space. Humming, murmuring, whispering, the dancing figure (the ghostly outline of choreographer Bill T. Jones) resembled spontaneous art-class life-drawing sketches, but made with a glowing, luminous charcoal pencil.
展开▼
