Tiny House Dance Collective’s new evening

Salt Lake City’s Tiny House Dance Collective impressed audiences this weekend with the premiere of three new works in How To Want To Go. Kenzie Gannaway, serving as assistant director, choreographed Insomni-Ack, a piece that held viewers attention with its hypnotic canon formation and dynamic sequences of partnering, culminating in a satisfying movement crescendo against a dimly-lit backdrop.

Courtesy of Tiny House Dance Collective

In The Endless Cycle of the Bitter Flu, by Hayley Stoddard, the audience was drawn into a poignant narrative exploring societal pressures and the struggle for individual identity. Through the symbolic placement of jackets and evocative movement, Stoddard conveyed the weight of expectations, as one dancer bravely resisted conformity amidst a sea of coercion, ultimately succumbing under the weight of societal norms. 

Artistic director Christi Harris brought the evening to close with Soup, an exploration of timing with refreshing thematic cohesion. The deliberate synchronization of gestures and rhythmic interplay showcased the collective's technical abilities, while ingredients simmering in a pot were brought to life through the ensemble's vibrant costuming and dynamic formations. Overall, Tiny House Dance Collective delivered an evening of thought-provoking choreography and compelling performances.

Shelby Srickler's dance journey began in Baltimore, Maryland. Having graduated with a BFA in Modern Dance from the University of Utah in December 2023, she is a performer and teacher in Salt Lake City, passionately sharing her love for dance.

Ririe Woodbury presents two world premieres and a 2020 restaging

Ririe Woodbury concluded its sixtieth anniversary season this weekend with a unique collaboration. The concert included two new works, one by former director Charlotte Boye-Christensen and another  by current artistic director Daniel Charon. Charon’s work was brought to life by a live performance from the Salt Lake Electric Ensemble. The company also restaged a 2020 commission by Stephanie Batten-Bland, showcasing political and theatrical works as expressions of the company’s postmodern aesthetic. 

An audience of college students and seasoned dance lovers almost filled the house on Friday night. The black box provides a great view of the dancers but lacks some of the finesse of the main stage at the Rose Wagner. This could, of course, be an intentional choice to pull the curtain back and expose some of the behind-the-scenes activities. 

As a whole, the concert did not ascend terribly high but moved at the pace of a burbling stream with a few punctuated highlights. The dancers are highly skilled and mesmerizing to witness, but as most will agree, an interesting dance concert provides more than impressive technique. I’ll highlight a few of the most memorable moments of the evening… 

Moving Tables in Look Who’s Coming to Dinner

Batten-Bland’s dance addressed the 1960s film Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. The piece comments briefly on COVID-19, belonging, race, and a proverbial “seat at the table.” I wonder if some of the work's potency was lost in the restaging. It felt like it moved at a nearly glacial pace. 

There is a lovely surprise about halfway through the work. The dancers dismantle the tables and turn them sideways. This allows them to hide behind the tables and move individually through the space, taking on a ghostly appearance of changing iconography. Alexander Pham has a riveting solo on what could be a closed door, which later becomes a mirror. Pham defies gravity by hanging, perching, and launching their body into, and off of the table-turned-door, almost as if it were a partner. 

The company in Look Who’s Coming to Dinner, courtesy of Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company

Later in the work, the tables are assembled to resemble a low wall across the stage from side to side. Peter Farrow engages in a highly virtuosic solo in and around the front of the wall, leaping over it, dive-rolling to the floor, and flinging his limbs with reckless abandon. This section feels post-apocalyptic, with bunker blue lights focused on center stage. 

While I felt this work could have benefited greatly from an editor and dramaturg, I appreciate its statement on the necessity of belonging and the difficulty of fitting oneself into the world. Tension and nuance might have improved the messaging of this theme, but I appreciate and applaud the company’s investment in making socially conscious work. 

Salt Lake Electric Ensemble 

Dance doesn’t pair with live music often, usually due to budgetary constraints. Ririe-Woodbury and Salt Lake Electric Ensemble made it happen for the final work of the evening by Daniel Charon. Charon has collaborated with the Electric Ensemble a few times and did not disappoint with his new Storyograph. Abstract choreography was amplified by customized leisurewear by Melissa Younker – black, white, and gray with pops of neon yellow. 

In the middle section, dance and music integrate, swelling in additive unison phrases and quieting with smaller, more intimate duets. Near the end of the work, the dancers leave the stage completely, allowing the audience to take in the musicians while they continue to play live. This moment was a delightful surprise, and when the dancers re-entered, repeating choreography from the beginning of the dance, they pushed the syncopation and demonstrated a quick dynamism through to the end of the dance. 

As with much concert dance these days, the works feel too long. Beautiful, flowing, overlapping solos and trios are not enough for the modern audience. We want to see the physical logic and poignant ideas made real in the moving body. Editing can amplify the heart of the work, creating tension and depth. 

Of course, artists always balance making work that is true to themselves and making work that audiences want to see. This time, Ririe-Woodbury’s show was a bit self-indulgent, and didn’t measure up to the choreographic development I’ve seen in the past. However, the company is stacked with six powerhouse dancers, an experienced artistic director, an energized executive director, and an exciting summer collaboration coming up in July. I look forward to seeing what new collaborations and developments are to come in the sixty-first season.

Hannah Fischer is a professional writer and dance educator in Salt Lake City, UT. She holds an MFA from the University of Utah and a Laban Movement Analysis Certificate from Integrated Movement Studies. Hannah has written for loveDANCEmore since 2018, and in addition to dance, loves backpacking and boxing.

Bijayini Satpathy returns to Salt Lake City

A last-minute decision took me to the Rose to see Bijayini Satpathy for the first time in my life and hopefully not the last. I was excited to meet with my friend and colleague Claudia Norman, Satpathy’s manager and a multilingual, award-winning producer, consultant, and artist based in New York City.

After catching up with Claudia, I stepped into the Leona Wagner Black Box. My seat was three rows from Mayor Erin Mendenhall and her family. As a freelance artist, I appreciate seeing a political leader attending this event, although it would be even more valuable to see her actively involved in a local artist’s work. (My family and I are local artists who are very active in the arts scene in Utah and this is the first time in my more-than-three years here that I have seen the mayor at an arts event.)

Abhipsaa: A Seeking started and I sat there choosing to empty myself of any preconceived idea, stereotype or expectation, hoping to generously receive what was being offered. I am a Mexican contemporary dancer and creator, and I did not feel like I should be writing a review on a dance style I do not know intimately, but perhaps I could offer an appreciation of the universal language of movement even without a deep knowledge of the cultural context. And, I was not wrong, there was so much to enjoy.

Photo by Prem Shashi.

It is impossible not to see the mastery in Satpathy’s body as she navigates the Odissi Indian classical dance style. Years of experience were emerging in front of our eyes and pouring out of every step. A solo in four parts, this was a poetic journey taking the audience through metaphoric atmospheres, longing, joy, and freedom, depicted with a precision only Satpathy could muster. The performance was followed by a Q&A where it became evident that this work had inspired everyone in the room, perhaps particularly the young dancers present. Surprisingly, this has been one of very few events I’ve attended in this community where white people have been in the minority. It blew my mind seeing all these young girls excited to take a photo with the artist, inspired by a role model who will last in their minds for the rest of their lives, and, moreover, one in whom they could see themselves represented. This does not happen often and it cheered my spirit.

On the other hand, while observing and waiting for Claudia to speak before leaving the city the next morning, I was saddened by the fact that so many people I know in Salt Lake City had missed this performance. Bijayini Satpathy is a world-renowned artist who spent twenty-five years as a principal dancer, teacher, researcher, and administrator in the acclaimed company Nrityagram, and then decided to undertake a journey as a choreographer and solo dancer in 2019. Since then, she has been commissioned by Duke Performances and Baryshnikov Arts, has been an artist-in-residence at the Met, a Rockefeller Foundation Bellagio scholar, and a fellow at the Center for Ballet and the Arts at NYU. She was recognized with a Dance Magazine Award in 2023 and Bessie in 2020. In 2019, Dance Magazine acknowledged her as “Best Solo Dancer.” Why did Salt Lake City miss seeing  such a world-class performer? Where were the dance students? Where were the faculty of the dance departments in the area? Where was the dance community in general? I know end-of-year events might have been underway, but surely this is the sort of thing that faculty and students ought to make time for. Why miss the extraordinary opportunity to see such an exceptional artist in our city? 

Photo by Prem Shashi.

Sometimes I wonder why those of us in academia aren’t collectively in the habit of being up-to-date on things happening off-campus. Were there really no dance departments in the area interested in a master class with this esteemed artist? Or a talk, or another performance? Where were the bigger presenting organizations? The evening was produced independently by Srilatha Singh, who founded Chitrakaavya, a local company exploring Singh’s abiding passion for the classical Indian dance. To my knowledge, this was Satpathy’s only performance while here in town. 

Still, at the end of the day, perhaps those of us who were there — members of the Indian community, a few white people, and this Mexican — were the best audience this show could have had. We are so lucky to have had Bijayini Satpathy come directly from India to perform in our city. 

(The evening also notably included compositions by Srinibas Satpathy and Bindhumalini Narayanaswamy, and lighting design by Sujay Saple and Itohan Edoloyi.)

Stephanie Garcia is a multi-awarded Mexican artist, arts advocate, and arts administrator living between Salt Lake and Mexico City. More info at stephaniegarcia.art.

Eleven salty seasons

Over the weekend, SALT premiered Spring 11. SALT doesn’t disappoint, bringing a show that highlights their talents and wows the audience. It begins with a performance by the Ballet West Academy choreographed by SALT dancers. Seeing SALT showcase other companies is amazing – I love to see community involvement. 

On The Nature of Being, choreographed by Ihsan Rustem, was the segway into the company’s own work. Ihsan’s choreography was powerfully evocative — epic music, lighting, movement, full white costumes with white cargo pants. One moment that remains unforgettable came when the lights turned warm above the dancers. Hovering from above, the audience saw a golden outline of the dancers’ skin and white costumes. The partnering was strong, fluid, and seemingly effortless — liquids of different viscosities pushing, pulling, and contorting against each other. They moved together naturally, but couldn’t mix. 

Next, SALT2 made an appearance with Amy Gunther’s piece Heart Shaped Cookies. So silly, romantic, and weird — a type of weird that’s so authentic you can’t help but love it. This whole piece was lovely; different nostalgic love songs would switch on and off to cue the dancers, a couple of moments of yearning would be depicted by dancers traversing the space on a carriage made of others’ bodies, and a great amount of sass was present. The lights helped add finishing touches to the sense of story book romance. As each dancer sprinted to the corner and stopped in a graceful, lunging pose, it felt like a natural downpour. At some point, I noticed the cool wash painting these dancers was becoming warmer and warmer. The light made this moment seem like time was moving. This piece was one that definitely warmed the heart. 

Noche No Te Vayas by Omar Román De Jesús came after intermission. This piece faded the line between daydream and reality. Before I read Omar’s program note, I jotted down, “Dancers, you are the magic that enables the world to dream without boundaries.” That narrative sang through the piece. Through gentle repetitive movement, shapes expressing longing, and a single lift, dancers were able to bring a sense of comfort to the stage. At times, dancers would move outside the light, and their image would seem like a distant memory. The pinterest style workwear made the movement in this piece feel like a romantic, optimistic dream — indulgent, ethereal, almost existential, completely lost in thought. As snow fell on stage, magic was achieved. 

Last came All Too Human by Peter Chu. I didn’t get the pleasure of seeing this piece when it premiered last spring, but I have no ill feelings after having seen it for the first time Friday night. As an audience member, my attention went exactly where the piece wanted me to look. Although this work was highly emotional, the flow was excellent, showing many layered conflicts. One moment dancers were struggling to stay vertical in a shoulder stand, and then we’d see them fall heavy and quickly become vertical again. Another dancer performed a forceful internal monologue. Dancers were crossing back and forth from upstage and downstage pulled in multiple directions. I loved the ending, which felt like a return to the beginning refreshed by a change in perspective.

At the curtain call, the crowd rose from their seats to show the artists what they thought of their show. They were wowed. The dancers showed their great athleticism and beautiful artistry. The production team melded movement, visuals, and music. And the choreographers were able to build stories for the audience to live through. What a wonderful opening night!

Edison Corvera (they/them) is currently a queer Filipinx performer living around the SLC area. They attended Southern Utah University and studied theater arts and dance performance. Since moving to the Salt Lake area, Edison has worked with Myriad Dance, Ogden Movement Collective, and SONDERimmersive. Whatever artistry they find, Edison hopes to continue to find ways to implement their art with the community around them.

Legislative manuevers on behalf of our water

The stage of Kingsbury Hall receives you with its open curtains and a large platform simulating a podium, like those found in various nations’ congresses, extending along almost the entirety of the stage. This is with justifiable reason, as this performance is about passing a bill to reduce global bodies of water — oceans — into tiny and humanely “controllable” bodies of water, to reduce their “threat” to human life.

The Ocean — masterfully performed by Jennifer Kidwell — presents itself at the Global Senate to filibuster the bill. Mr. Majority — also masterfully performed by Jennifer Kidwell — is pushing to get the bill passed. Impressively, Kidwell jumps with ease from one character to the other through voice modulation, singing, and the manipulation of the costuming. 

The stage is also framed by a white screen and several columns of white fabric. As a whole, these will become the screens of large-scale projection. immersing the audience into the narrative. Projection has been used in the performing arts for centuries — the use of candle light to project a shadow is one of the earliest antecedents of what we can do now with a little electricity — and it remains very effective in this context, particularly in the immersive sequences in which the Ocean is speaking.

Photo by Pim Lin, Forest Photography at the University of Houston, 2022.

During the intermission, spaces behind the stage and the lobby of the second floor are activated, as we are invited to explore, interacting with the actors or scrutinizing an app through which augmented reality unfolds facts related to the ocean.

One element I consider a success and a smart choice is the integration/participation of local performers. Students from the Musical Theatre program at the Theatre Department at the University of Utah, are “the ocean ensemble,” an extension of the life that proliferates in The Ocean and of The Ocean itself. This illustrates the increasing challenge and complexity of today’s performing arts logic. This production might seem easier to tour because there is only one touring actor on stage, however, building or transporting those bulky set pieces and even hosting the company for more than four days is costly, and fewer and fewer venues can afford it. Partnering with local organizations and soliciting local talent reduces costs, which is why more productions have opted for this model. However, what is not sustainable in this case is that Ocean Filibuster was only a one-night show. Once a date is secured, this kind of production should be presented for more nights and in other venues around the area. I cannot imagine how expensive building or transporting the biggest set piece was just to present this performance one time.

Ocean Filibuster — written by Lisa D’Amour and directed by Katie Pearl — is an enjoyable musical that through humor, a lot of scientific facts, and visual immersion, unfurls the specifics of how poorly our anthropocentric approach has managed and exploited natural life and resources. Nevertheless, I do not think what it offers is wholly new to the audiences of this city, especially considering the awareness of the current situation of the Great Salt Lake. If anything, Mr. Majority reflects how this city and state’s leaders have overlooked, and put at risk the future even of their own children on behalf of business, greed, and profit. 

Photo by Pim Lin, Forest Photography at the University of Houston, 2022.

This performance is straightforward, didactic, and easy to digest. In this sense, this kind of show accomplishes certain objectives and is necessary in the arts ecosystem. Watching from the comfort of my seat, I wondered if it wouldn’t be useful to try to present this kind of educational performance outside as well as inside the city, which already has better-than-average access to information and spectacles like this one. I can foresee how this performance might be important in regions where beliefs and education play a fundamental role in access to information. I had a good time recognizing the incredible work of the performers, but what I am curious about is reaching the right people. Will we use public transit more often, reuse instead of disposing of massive amounts of waste? Are we willing to make sacrifices, measurable in terms of commodities? I am authentically curious if any of us who made it to the theater that night have power and a say. Will we go back to work on family business or in political affairs and will we refrain from signing the next contract, passing the next bill, or taking actions that, in particular, negatively affect the Great Salt Lake, or any other natural resources at stake?

While I was watching, I asked myself all these questions. I appreciate that art can — like a mirror — reflect on matters that need our attention, but maybe we should become better not only as viewers but also as agents. Of what we applaud after a show, how much do we actually practice in daily life?

Stephanie Garcia is a multi-awarded Mexican artist, arts advocate, and arts administrator living between Salt Lake and Mexico City. More info at stephaniegarcia.art.