The following is an excerpt from a blog we kept on the process:

Berlin, August 2009: We made a draft of what we call the base material in Nebraska last fall—the six-minute-long real-time choreography that is then looped through the computer. We began by improving the base material with intentional eye focus and specified relationships, and by cleaning out the overly danced moments. After a week of improvements, we videotaped with six cameras, three on each side of the stage space, to ensure that each dancer had a clear shot of him- or herself from which to learn the choreography once it was looped. Mark Coniglio, Troika Ranch co-director and composer, made the loop structure from a musical point of view in order that the music have a dramatic arc, in essence, setting the over-structure for the choreography. Once the movies of the base material were digitized, we imposed the loops onto the two extra-wide, three-panel movies that showed all six cameras at once, and our loop learning began.

Each dancer had a computer and notebook and a slightly unique approach to how we remembered what our body was doing in each moment, how many repeats there were, and how they changed or didn't. A new language emerged: there were "loop steps," 267 total. In each loop step were "loop repeats"—how many times the loop occurs in that step. There were anywhere from 1 to 25 repeats per step. Sometimes the repeats shifted in time or in duration (length); sometimes they were exact repeats. The majority of this section consisted of palindrome loops—those that go forward and backward.

At a certain point we introduced the edit as an idea. The edit is significant because it is the aspect of looping that a human can never actually achieve and contributes to the sense of tension/struggle in the piece. The edit, in this context, is when a prerecorded video clip jumps from one point in time or one perspective to another in zero time. A human cannot jump anywhere in zero time! Some edits can be "faked" by moving as quickly as humanly possible. We chose to impose short blackouts when the looped choreography provided an edit that couldn't possibly be accomplished in real time. The blackouts allowed the performers to reset to the previous position, visually hiding the movement required to return to the start of the loop, while highlighting the sound of the performers' feet running in transition. Our performative construct was devised in an attempt to achieve a similar experience to that of a video edit.

All six performers are learning the exact same loop structure. We each have a different bit of choreography that occurs during each loop step, but our repeats and changes are the same. In many cases we made adjustments to the choreography because it was impossible to achieve the repeats due to the kind of movement that was occurring. The looped choreography had to be dealt with as if it were new choreography. We let go of trying to copy ourselves from the video and, instead, made creative choices about how to achieve the loops from moment to moment. Though the overall choreographic structure came from Mark's musical perspective, I had to finesse the movement to make it work and read as a dance.

We needed some help to stay in time with the musical loops. In some cases it was easy to hear when the sound was moving forward or backward and to match our movement to it; in other cases it was impossible. We devised a structure of clicks to help us with muscle memory for each loop, but if we concentrated too much on listening to the clicks, we forgot to tune into each other, hear the real music, and stay together. As a group we might shift in and out of correct time with the loops in the music, but if we stayed together it hardly mattered. The dance became a practice of listening and watching the others and deciding who was the leader of a particular loop. If we shifted out of correct time with a loop, a musical phrase or a click would sync us up with the music again. In the end, it was important that we perform and not be puppets to a time signature. [End blog]

Troika Ranch's work consistently reflects the beauty of being human and coping with the complexities of our very intimate relationships with our technology. We can and do live in harmony with our machines—even as we curse them. In loopdiver, the performers are trapped in a loop for nearly forty minutes. This is the challenge for both the performer and the viewer and resonates as an unseen violence—not the violence itself, but its aftermath. The viewer is launched into a state of numbness, of sensation, of questioning, of awareness of his or her own stuckness, and desire for the performers (and themselves) to be free. Relief is offered in the piece, but as with all Troika works, it will be fleeting and there will be a price to pay to get there!