During a first rehearsal for a new site-specific production by Duckler's Collage Dance Theatre, Marissa Labog and Roberto Lambaren experimented with rigorous horizontal and inverted balance poses between walls and columns that reflected formidable break-dancing skills while Duckler pointed out various Roman and Byzantine architectural details of the cavernous rotunda to a reporter. They, she said, "were begging to be animated. This is the perfect place to celebrate."
Indeed, the 57-year-old choreographer has good reason to feel festive. Her company, which has produced more than 60 site-specific works in a dizzying array of locations, turns 25 this year, and the normally prolific Duckler has never been busier. She's booked a slew of gigs that commemorate her past, point to her future and culminate with "Governing Bodies," a work that will incorporate break dancers, hula dancers, live musicians and ideas about public space and democracy that will premiere at City Hall in November.
Before that there's a performance installation in a Culver City art gallery (Saturday), a production in a vacant lot in Cambodia Town in Long Beach, a reprise of her first work, "Laundromatinee," and participation in a summer arts festival in Yaroslavl, Russia.
A nationally recognized pioneer of site-specific dance, Duckler was also one of 16 choreographers featured in a recently published anthology by the University Press of Florida called "Site Dance," which also profiled site-specific luminaries such as Meredith Monk, Joanna Haigood and the Los Angeles-based Stephan Koplowitz. Yet "I still feel like I'm just a kid in the sandbox," Duckler said during the City Hall rehearsal as she watched Labog and Lambaren perform precarious, tango-like maneuvers on a ledge that jutted out above a flight of stairs leading to the second floor. "With my work, each project is always so unpredictable . . . it's built in anti-burnout."
Although it's a milestone for any dance company to thrive for 25 years, Duckler's robust longevity especially stands out in Los Angeles, a city with limited funding and producing venues for dance artists. "This is a tough town for dance companies, and to survive in L.A., a choreographer has to be especially tenacious," says Michael Alexander, the artistic director of Grand Performances, which has a long-standing commitment to producing dance in its annual outdoor summer series at California Plaza.
Alexander had commissioned Duckler in 1998 to create a dance in the plaza's fountain called "Liquid Assets," and he remains an avid supporter of her work. "She attracts people who are often not your typical modern-dance audience, and she gets them to go places they'd otherwise never visit. Then she helps them interpret those spaces in fresh and interesting ways," he observes.
Over iced tea at a Culver City cafe a few days after the City Hall rehearsal, Duckler, a petite blond woman with a good sense of humor, has no trouble pinpointing the secret to her success. "The world likes to say no, but I nudge it to say yes," she says, chuckling yet perfectly serious.
Beginning in 1988 with her first site-specific work, "Laundromatinee," which had dancers diving into washing machines at a Santa Monica laundromat, Duckler adopted a trial-by-fire approach to dance-making as she encountered one uniquely site-specific obstacle after the next. She had a terrible time, for example, persuading police officers to perform with her dancers in her 2006 "C'opera," which took place at the Los Angeles Police Academy in Elysian Park. There was the screaming match that same year with owners of a Chinese laundromat in New York who didn't understand that Duckler needed multiple rehearsals to re-create "Laundromatinee." And there was the time she almost had her permit revoked by Los Angeles County to perform her 1995 "Mother Ditch" in the Los Angeles River.
Factor in the rats in the Los Angeles Subway Terminal building when she staged her 2000 "subVersions," numerous headaches with obtaining other permits and permissions, and the general unpredictability of architectural surfaces, and it's easy to believe Duckler when she says she's not the kind of choreographer "who's a control freak. In fact, my sister says I thrive on chaos."
"You could put Heidi in any environment, and she'd make it work for her," observes her sister Merridawn Duckler, a writer who has created numerous texts for Duckler's projects. "She was always very site-specific, so it's not surprising she wound up doing what she does."