Dmitri Peskov, Meghan Durham Wall, and Lehua Estrada at the Rose

Two men appear, one after another, dressed in work suits. They take turns pushing a plastic garbage pail through a field of discarded objects — broken cups and clam-shells, eerily white. jo Blake leans on the can, then back onto two feet, he proposes something with the slap of a foot, a hip turning inward. There’s a good-natured humor in how his limbs paw through the void. Dmitri Peskov’s movement is more cautious, yet also somehow jocular in a way that complements his partner’s directness. They gather up the each piece of refuse, but they aren’t in a hurry. They pick things up and consider them. They even pick tentatively at each other, hands considering another body. Along the way we realize that the soundtrack is telling stories of, among other things, space travel. These trash men are understated and calm, their improvisation is a bit like bricklaying, but as the title and the mysterious ending of this short piece reminds us, they — all of us — we are dead stars. A plastic cup could just as well have been a piece of the breathing, intelligent body deciding to pick it up. All proposals are provisional, transitory. Everything is material for some kind of dance.

This opener sets the tone for Two Fold, a concert by three Utah dance artists who have been working in different contexts in and out of Salt Lake City long enough that they aren’t trying to impress anyone. They’re in it for the long haul. The evening's choreographers, who include, among others, Peskov, Meghan Durham Wall, and Lehua Estrada, are at times quite diligent, but in Two Fold they share a refreshing lack of flashiness.

Photo by Doug Carter

In Alexandra Bradshaw-Yerby’s collaboration with Peskov, The Alex (Dmitri?) Show, the two performers earn our attention through markedly individuated strategies. For Bradshaw-Yerby, its all about dancing. Her opening solo displays a kind of playful, balletic musicality. It also contains the ever-present suggestion that, if she let herself, she might fall through space with a shattering multi-directional abandon, breaking the spell of formality cast by her long legs and articulate hands. Somewhere in the middle of all this delicacy, Peskov suddenly arrives, perfectly awkward, carrying one chair after another to make a circle around her. Finally he brings his partner a plastic purple Martini. She mimes drinking it and Peskov starts telling the audience a tall tale version of how he has arrived at this particular moment on stage, brilliantly making fun of, among other things, himself, the other Dmitri Peskov who works for the Kremlin, Paul Taylor, and, of course, dance itself. Eventually she rejoins him, four members of the public are brought on stage, and two proposals collide into an ending.

I say “ending,” but one of the best things one can say about Two Fold is that the whole show is both a collection of proposals and a collision into an uneasy whole. It’s nine dances, none of which — even at their most uneven — are too long, and it’s a show that talks to itself — sometimes literally. As Wall writes in the program, it’s “about listening, responding, and creating something together that none of us could make alone.” All kinds of images arise, subside, and speak to each other in this group experience, like Estrada’s trio of fierce wolves — Devin Etcitty, Kylie Lloyd, and Samantha Matsukawa in O-Six — presaging further breeches of the fourth wall in Salt Lake Ballet Collective’s rendering of Peskov’s wherever we are is what is missing. One thing leads to another, but not necessarily along straight lines.

Photo by Doug Carter

Wall’s works play with the tension between language and dance — a tricky proposition given the ways in which text can overdetermine how we read movement. In Werklyfe, Wall dances to what sounds like a TED talk about the tyranny of email, but also vocally addresses the audience herself, her movement riding the wave between narration and spoken aside. In frio, frio, frio, with theatrical foil Stephanie Stroud, Wall shows as much willingness to poke fun at herself as Peskov, pillorying both herself and the ego it takes to make any dance happen.

My favorite of Wall’s works was Confessional, which boasted a stellar cast of local veterans. Wall was joined by Eileen Rojas, Corrine Penka, and Lehua Estrada, dancing to verse by Carmen Giménez. Poetry in particular, when read into the voice-of-God microphone, can often crush a relatively abstract dance such as this one, but in Confessional something clicked, and I once again found myself thinking about everything as kind of proposal, a conscious choosing of one of many possibilities. The poem itself was a litany of proposals, conditional statements of identity which cascaded down on these women’s bodies at such a speed that they added up to being a statement about the instability of identity itself. This somehow made space for the dancing itself to become a vehicle for seeing these women in a state of serious play. Their expectations for each other were high, and each of them delivered — Wall and Penka crisscrossing with a mercurial vitality, Estrada stepping out and owning the space in a way I haven’t quite seen before, and Rojas, dancing like calligraphy, in confident ownership of a pared-down simplicity.

Samuel Hanson is the executive director of loveDANCEmore.

Fleet presents a strong mixed bill

Swallowed by the intimate Pearl on Main theater, Gnaw begins comically and casually with a series of  pre-show sketches. Shuffling boots backstage beckon forth cow-folk dressed in their unmentionables. Playing cards and smoking a shared cigarette, Fleet Co-Op warms up the space with their first trope: the hyper-independent cowpoke. This vaudeville montage entertained with a sense of classic charm. We saw each member’s take on cowboys, from spittin’ sunflower seeds to gettin’ in fights. There was almost too much to watch as the scene devolved into madness, a frenzy only people in deep isolation can muster as they yearn for connection. Amid the madness, we see one particular cowhand attempt to shed the mask by removing the iconic hat. Thus begins Dirt Between the Teeth, choreographed by Alex Seager. 

Dirt Between the Teeth is classic Fleet — a stunning, nuanced duet with flamboyant group choreography in the background. Our protagonist-cowboy sheds her hat, boots, and trench coat for a theatrical reveal of the nakedness beneath. Comical, shrill screams erupt from the rest of the cowboys each time the hat is removed. Accented with stomps, in boots, a cautious duet unfurls between the protagonist and an observer. They comfort each other as well as the audience. Dirt ultimately comments on the hyper-masculine individuality borne out of the West, using comedy to digest the idolized isolation that keeps cowboys from banding together. As a viewer, the imagery of the cowboy translated well to our current times — late-stage capitalism. The more we cling to ourselves, the less we consider others in our life path.

Teeth Agape, crafted by Shelby Taylor and Hailey Nilson, was an immense crowd pleaser. This piece’s imagery? Angry, corporate bad-ass woman, punking in heels and being upset that you need her to act a certain way. Seated right in the front row, I was left stunned by their in-your-face waacking/punking/voguing rebellion. Absurdism was the cherry on top, rounding out the multidimensionality of the character play. 

The crown jewel of Gnaw is The Skin of Our Teeth, choreographed by Sawyer Player. Having had the privilege of seeing this work progress from Fleet’s workshop and a showing at Monday Movement Lab, this iteration was by far the most magical. Fruit and witchcraft are the central imagery of Skin; three dancers in darkness are illuminated one by one by their comrades, who point flashlights at their disfigurements. Fanatically grabbing and biting fruit as an eerie, distant violin pulls you deeper into this unstable world, the technical abilities of each performer are stretched to the limit. Running similar to Dirt, Skin devolves from unstable to pure chaos, reaching straight for your throat. Amazing solo moments from Kira and Trinity threaten as the corps jacks and ping pong along upstage. An ode to the feral, to community suffering, and to insanity, Skin of Our Teeth peels back the layers of each member of Fleet. We crave more. 

Fleet stuns with a dance-theater night of confrontation. The character play, individual voice, and creativity of each choreographer demonstrated professional-caliber work. More than worthy of a New York stage — they plan to present at NYC’s Arts on Site on July 22 — Fleet sets the example of independent work in the Salt Lake Valley. Each member of Fleet has a different relationship to dance, some working gigs, others pursuing it as a profession, and others flying where the wind takes them. This collective spreads responsibility amongst each member, utilizing individual talents to market, design and support each other. You do not need to wait for your next big break; you can craft it yourself. 

Lauren Cheree Wightman (she/they) is a dancer, writer, and explorer. A contemporary freelance artist, they roam where they please, creating projects with the resources in their area. Find out more at travelbarefoot8.wordpress.com. 

A practice of connecting with the Other

As I walked into the Miller Bird Refuge this week, I was handed a pair of headphones and binoculars. A small group of us gathered and talked before being quieted by Mitsu Salmon, warmly welcomed, and guided through the experience of Feathered Tides. I had never been to the refuge and this performance introduced me to the landscape and its species in an intimate and personal way. Dancers wove through the trees with a bird-like movement vocabulary that was also somehow so human. The Lazuli bunting’s flirty shimmies across the river at each other, the Wilson’s Phalarope’s cautious tiptoes over the stairs, and the Robin’s curious peek over the bridge all felt like familiar movements I’ve done before. The choreography created a kinesthetic connection where I began to feel that these bird-beings that were being portrayed in the dance are not so Other as we are often taught to think. As someone who counts the birds out at Great Salt Lake every fall with the Sageland Collaborative, I felt their characters were very well captured in the movement and costume design.

Photo by Kim Raff, courtesy of Bloomberg Philanthropies

Our little group of audience members were turned into birdwatchers, peeking through the trees, crouching down to look through the bushes, and quietly trying not to disturb the peace as we watched with wonder. While the music and narration in the headphones offered guidance and questions, we also had time with the headphones off to listen to Red Butte Creek below us and reflect with other members of the audience. The stories woven through the performance built a sense of empathy with the bird populations in our valley. I was reminded that their stories are our stories and what happens to them happens to us. As we are watching biodiversity dwindle across the planet, this performance made it personal for the birds that call Great Salt Lake home, just like us.

The performance is running May 24, 25, 30, and 31. If you have binoculars bring them and keep an eye out for the while-faced Ibis, that one is my favorite!

Kara Komarnitsky grew up in Salt Lake City and recently graduated with a BFA in Dance from Ohio State University with minors in Environmental Science and Business. Her work approaches the complexity of human interconnection with the planet, pulling inspiration from the natural world and environmental research. While her primary medium is dance, Kara regularly uses projections, film, sound, and interactive technology to create immersive performance experiences. Her piece Tales of the Deep (2018) recently won third place in the Midwest Climate Summit’s Climate Stories Competition and her thesis, Interconnect (2022), received an Honorable Mention at the OSU Denman Research Forum 2022. Other places her work has been presented includes the OSU Student Concert, OSU BFA Showcase, and the Ohio Dance Festival Professional Concert.

Repertory Dance Theater revives two classics

On April 25, I fell in love with dance all over again.

Repertory Dance Theatre closed their 59th season with DEUX, a double bill featuring historic work by José Limón and Zvi Gotheiner. Each piece is introduced by a short film introducing the choreography, rehearsal process, and dialogue about how the work came to be–allowing the audience into the creative process.

José Limón’s The Winged opened the evening. Dancers enter the stage with the pitter patter of feet striking the marley floor, creating a soundscape of vibrant, rapid energy. The figures collect, grow, expand, disperse, and migrate, reflecting the nature of birds. The use of silence is enchanting and builds a world in which the figures inhabit; I feel as though I am in a bird’s environment as opposed to them being in mine. My focus is drawn to each and every movement and shape the performers make and they are successful in convincing me they do possess wings in the motif of rapid hand movements slicing through space. The dancers exhibit incredible control in their moments of stillness and shapes as they carve through space. I was especially impressed by Trung “Daniel” Do in the Eros solo — he finds security and stability in his balances and demonstrates confidence and ease in his movement. While I find unitards to often be outdated, these unitard costumes were unique and flattering. The ombre effect paired with the velvet-like material gave the impression of feathers which helped elevate and communicate the narrative of the work. Although The Winged premiered in 1966, it still felt relevant to me. In the short film introduction, a narrator communicates Limón’s work to represent a human heart evolving, creating transformation and magic. This rings true for me — I felt that the work demonstrated connection and revealed the power of a collective spirit. Magic resulted from the choreographic and design elements, pulling me into the environment in which the work exists. I could watch this work repeatedly and experience something new each time.

Zvi Gotheiner’s Chairs featured excerpts from the original 1991 premiere. I found it rather funny that Gotheiner denied RDT in their initial pursuit of restaging the work for the company but am glad that he eventually relented. Chairs is a reminder that not all choreography needs to demonstrate every possible skill — simplicity is beautiful and repetition reveals something new with each reiteration. The two moments that struck me were the women’s duet, Lindsey Faber and Ursula Perry, and the men’s duet, Jacob Lewis and Alexander Pham. Repetition in both duets created suspense as the bodies rose and fell, crossing over and through one another, elevating in lifts. The inclusion of chairs in each duet grounds the solos, creating connections to the human condition, in daily encounters. I do feel the music left something to be desired; it dated the work and pulls it to a lower register.

Company dancer Lindsey Faber continued to impress me throughout the evening. Her precision and confidence in her movement compelled me. She followed through in each line of her body, extending beyond the shape being made creating a double-direction.

I feel as though I witnessed two choreographic masterpieces at DEUX and recommend that the Salt Lake City community make every effort to attend a Repertory Dance Theatre concert. Congratulations RDT, I look forward to season 60!

Kara Robertson is a Choreographer, Director, and Educator based in Salt Lake City, Utah working towards her MFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah. She founded and served as Artistic Director of Karar Dance Company, a 501(c)3 nonprofit professional contemporary dance company, for seven years. She is a 2024 Virginia Commission for the Arts Choreographic Fellow.  Her work has been performed throughout the country including at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and at the Ailey Citigroup Theater and Gibney Dance. Kara holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Dance and Choreography from Virginia Commonwealth University. Find her at kararchoreo.com and on Instagram @kararchoreo.