Gang Fang's Blog

[Copied from a site that I deleted]

An experimental piece is never inherently bad—it’s just more likely than not to fall short, simply because of the nature of experimentation. Just as most new businesses fail due to their inherent novelty, an experimental dance piece is also more likely to receive polite silence rather than rousing applause, because it often doesn’t quite “click.”

What fascinates me most is the type of novelty involved. I think of entire novelty as something completely new—an experience no one has encountered before, a wholly unfamiliar combination of elements. In contrast, relative novelty feels new in certain aspects or to certain audiences, while others find it more familiar.

The first act last night embodied entire novelty: three dancers circling and interacting with a table as the focal point. The choreographer seemed to be exploring how movement in space could be defined in relation to that object. It was conceptually new, but the performance overall fell flat, and I found myself disengaged.

In contrast, the Korean dance that followed received thunderous applause. To a largely Western audience, it likely felt fresh and captivating—its exquisite arm movements and intricate details stood out beautifully. I, too, admired it. Yet as someone familiar with traditional East Asian dance, I felt the climax lacked depth. The dancer did not fully command the stage in the way an entire formation typically would, which made the it feel somewhat hollow despite its elegance.

Ultimately, the evening highlighted the tension between tradition and innovation. Innovation excites, but it carries significant risk; tradition reassures, but it can bore. The most compelling works usually strikes a balance, weaving together the reliability of convention with the spark of the novelty. That is the challenge for all creators—artists, technologists, entrepreneurs alike: to set guardrails with proven practices while relentlessly reaching for the new and unforeseen.