Hidden away within the Cinémathèque Québecoise, Yang Minha's video installation drew me into itself as it radiated into the foyer. Entranced by minimalist spaces and melodies, the crystalline bells and electrical chords of Running Women led me into a long dark room illuminated by the projection.
You could stand before Yang's work for hours. It is peaceful, mesmerizing, and soothes your eyes. and while I do not think it should be confused with meditation or yoga, I admit that it has a similar effect. As my eyes followed the dancers, I found my body turning from left to right at the same pace as their footsteps. I found myself at ease.
The robes of the running women move with a fluidity that hellenistic sculptures would long to possess. Moving across a blank screen several meters long, the dancers imprinted countless possible gestures upon my mind. As they lept forward, I could imagine them twist right or left, kick their legs in arches, or catch a current of air to carry them off the screen. As the motion vectors extended and retracted, I could envision multiple directions. And then, of course, some of the dancers fell. Perhaps it was cliché, but orchestrated or not, the few moments when the dancers touched the ground were the flaws that bound this piece together. They were the difference between a serene loop and a shifting vision of human beauty.