Ririe-Woodbury: Bloom

Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s Bloom featured two new works, one by artistic director Daniel Charon and one by University of Utah professor Stephen Koester, as well as a piece by Tzveta Kassabova (2010) that Ririe-Woodbury first performed in 2016. The concert was well-formatted, with Charon’s dynamic and daring work splicing two more humanistic explorations of relationship and transition. I’m not convinced the title Bloom accurately described my experience, but how does one accurately name a diverse repertory program? If the title didn’t portray what was happening on stage, it did sum up the beautiful Salt Lake City spring that is happening outside.

Kassabova choreographed “The Opposite of Killing” as an exploration of emotions pertinent to losing a close friend, and the piece has been performed by multiple casts, including by students at the University of Florida, University of Maryland Baltimore County, and Middlebury College. Amy Falls did a thorough job of describing and unpacking the piece at its Utah premiere; I will add that I especially found meaning in its arc.

The beginning was an exploration of movement, absence of movement; sound, absence of sound. The dancers confidently found their places making parallel lines and right angles, clear in their mission and devoid of emotional ambiguity. As the piece unfolded, it slowed down, weighted with grief. Breeanne Saxton found herself upstage and alone, bathed in a warm spotlight, isolated, watching the movement carry on without her.

There were the more obvious moments of experiencing loss, such as soft embraces and collapsing bodies. Particularly resonant, however, was the constant shift of dancers’ costumes. As the choreography moved the dancers on and off stage, each subtly shifted what they were wearing; one who was wearing shorts came out in pants, one previously showing skin next appeared in a turtleneck. The costume changes never departed from a gray palette, but morphed enough to signal that each dancer was, in fact, changing; as if to say, “I may be similar on the outside, however, with loss, there is a shift.”

The end was the beginning, the dancers lying down in horizontal and vertical lines. What felt self-assured and expectant in the opening scene now felt unresolved and heavy. What we experienced in the middle shifted everything.

Charon’s Dance for a Liminal Space, divided into two parts, buffered either side of the intermission, and each part diverged from the other in their definitions of “liminal.” From the program notes, the first section related to a transitional or initial stage of process, while the second explored occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary. I found both parts showcased the five dancers beautifully (Brian Nelson, who joined the company in 2018, did not appear in the piece), as well as challenged notions of how to convey something both in transition and arriving from transition. That is to say, I liked it.

The first part began with the three women of the company (Megan McCarthy, Melissa Younker, and Breeanne Saxton) as clear, directional, and undulatory, their bodies bright and severe against the darkness of the stage. Then, just when I started to put my finger on the piece, text by Meredith Monk began. Phrases such as “he salted his empty plate first” and “she wears the same bow as her dog” refused to relate to what was happening on stage, and scrambled any definitive meaning. This absurdity paired with the robust physicality was oddly satisfying, and forced my mind to open and receive instead of to close and define. Undoubtedly, there will be those that find the disparity jarring, even frustrating; but when the closing image was settled and fixed, two groups having taken their places, statuesque and clear, I appreciated it even more.  

The second part of Dances for a Liminal Space was highlighted with bold and geometric lighting by Ririe-Woodbury technical director William Peterson and relentless music by Michael Gordon. Did I mention that the dancers looked fantastic? Because they did. Bloom is also the farewell concert for both Yebel Gallegos and Breeanne Saxton, two versatile dancers that will be greatly missed. They, along with the others, were in perfect form, and this section of Charon’s piece in particular showed off the company’s range and virtuosity. Bashaun Williams and Megan McCarthy travelled from one side of the stage to the other, flying, twisting, and turning, and when they leapt into the wings, I wished they would run back around and soar through the phrase again. The stakes were high in this section, the position had been chosen, and it was time for the dancers to confront the consequence with intensity and resolve.

The final piece was Koester’s “Departure - A Last Song, Perhaps a Final Dance Before a Rest.” As the program note detailed, Koester is retiring from his position at the University of Utah in the School of Dance, and perhaps from dance in general. I was his student at the U during graduate school, and thus feel a personal connection to his retirement; he has been a strong figure in the Utah dance community for decades. I have admired him as a choreographer, and found his pieces bold and impactful -- even the few that I did not enjoy would run through my mind for weeks after, as I tried to find a landing place for them (arguably the biggest compliment of all).

To that end, I found myself anticipating what his final work would be. Conceptually challenging? Movement-driven? Autobiographical? Trying not to be too melodramatic (although the piece’s title doesn’t temper this), it was as if we were all huddled around him, staring intently: “What are your parting words?!”

His parting words in “Departure” seemed to be, “Find community. Help one another. Be together.” The piece featured the entire company, clad in pedestrian clothes, with music by David Lang. There was form to it, but that form sprouted from relationships as each dancer seemingly took a turn at being supported, or at least seen, by the others. Sometimes the relationships poked, nagged, questioned, or insisted; there was little movement for movement’s sake, each vignette attaining an emotional resonance that could also immediately shift or drop.

The final image was a terse wave from Yebel Gallegos, as he and Brian Nelson retreated upstage, the lights fading.

Bloom concludes tonight, April 20, with a final performance at 7:30 p.m. at the Rose Wagner Center for the Performing Arts.

Erica Womack is a Salt Lake City-based choreographer. She coordinates loveDANCEmore’s Mudson series and contributes regularly to the blog.

Ririe-Woodbury: Splice

2018 marks the anniversary of Ririe-Woodbury’s 55th season of both performances and education programming. Since its genesis by visionary founders Joan Woodbury and Shirley Ririe, the company has cultivated a family, in Salt Lake City and beyond, that can be seen and felt in the embraces and warm smiles shared at shows. The current show, Splice, includes four works from the recent past as well as two new company members, Brian Nelson and Breeanne Saxton, and is a veritable blending, or should I say splicing, of old and new.

Joanna Kotze’s “Star Mark” saturated the stage with a floral pattern projected onto the scrim, the dancers nestled upstage, holding hands in an ’X’ position and facing the flowers - or maybe not facing as separate entities so much as simply existing as flowers. Kotze, both choreographer and whimsical florist in this case, has created a work that blurs animate and inanimate entities and modes of existing. The movement was linear in one moment, curling with expression the next. Yebel Gallegos had a delightful solo in which he grimaced and flexed at the audience amidst longing looks of flirtation. All of the dancers scanned the audience at one point or another, aided by lights revealing the audience sitting in our own arrangement, perhaps inspiring some audience members to consider rearranging themselves in response to the dancers’ confident explorations of what is corporeally possible. The piece persisted to the point of wilting, then perked up again, and then gracefully but suddenly stopped, eliciting laughter throughout.

Following “Star Mark,” Jena Woodbury and Daniel Charon - who have a respectful and humorous rapport together as executive and artistic director, respectively - made opening remarks thanking donors, and then offered everyone a splice of cake after the show. Party on.

Yebel Gallegos and Breeanne Saxton in Adam Barruch’s “prima materia.” Photo courtesy of Ririe-Woodbury.

However, the next piece took the party in a darker, moodier direction. “prima materia” by Adam Barruch featured three sheets of almost-opaque plastic rectangles hanging across center stage, obscuring behind it the dancers, who began with twisted arm gestures above their heads like specimens in an incubator. Then they moved from behind the sheets, born into transparency, but their purpose (or that of Barruch’s) remained unclear. The rhythm of the piece was consistent throughout, featuring lots of forceful partner work paired with music that directed the movement. There was one very refreshing moment when Bashaun Williams supported Megan McCarthy in a floating meditative stance that made me realize that they had been moving swiftly for almost the entire piece without any distinct dynamic developments.

Ririe-Woodbury in “Strict Love” by Doug Varone. Photo by Tori Duhaime.

In counterpoint to the previous piece, Doug Varone’s “Strict Love” was also static, but with more clarity of intention. The dancers moved almost entirely in unison throughout except for the beginning, during which Saxton initiated a robotic phrase to The Jackson 5’s  “ABC.” I should mention that this was not in fact the true beginning of the piece because it stealthily began as the audience trickled back into the theater after intermission, with “Spirit in the Sky” playing softly as if the dance was just that - a spirit slowly materializing before our eyes. The choreography was keenly in sync with the radio-pop-medley soundtrack, but it never succumbed to any literal interpretation of the lyrics, or standard groove that you might expect when hearing such classic, groovy tunes; instead, the dance was dedicated to its own logic and just happened to exist in this space of popular music.

Yebel Gallegos and dancers of Ririe-Woodbury in Daniel Charon’s “Construct.” Photo courtesy of Ririe-Woodbury.

Charon created the final work, “Construct,” in 2014 with a score by local composer Mike Wall. Charon has a knack for and deep interest in digital dance work that “Construct” represents well. Two screens accumulated onstage, onto which the dance was projected and then slowed down to different degrees, constructing a poignant representation of time and visual memory. There was a quartet featuring the more senior members of the company (Melissa Younker, Williams, Gallegos, and McCarthy) that was punctuated with Younker standing alone at the end, first physically, then virtually, her calm strength in that stance a reassurance of beauty through change.

Emma Wilson is a body-based artist bearing several long titles: graduate of the University of Utah, with a BFA in modern dance as well as minors in Portuguese and environmental studies, and the community garden coordinator at the Salt Lake City Public Library.

Ririe-Woodbury: Return

Return, the third and final work of Daniel Charon’s “Together Alone” trilogy, premiered in the Eccles Theater's Regent Street Black Box. The space placed the Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company performers in a new and exciting venue, so different from their home at the Rose Wagner. The audience sat in the round, which created an intimate, circular gathering. As the dancers entered, they seemed just an arm’s reach away; their breath could be felt, and every step heard. All of a sudden, strips of light that surrounded the dance floor lit up, creating a tangible border - immediately, the dancers felt detached, separated from the audience. They began moving with a floating, eerie quality that was abruptly interrupted by flashing red lights and a booming voice yelling, “Warning! Warning!” The dancers quickly left the space. This shift added a taste of urgency and tension, mixed with a layer of science-fiction, to the scene.

The dancers then began subtle movement that grew larger to a percussive, intriguing score by the Salt Lake Electric Ensemble. There was a shockingly beautiful moment as Melissa Younker balanced precariously on Bashaun Williams’ leg as he lay on the ground. Her body swayed slightly, from side to side, like an upside-down leaf dangling from a tree.

As the movement became larger and more intense, a constant entering and exiting of bodies developed, eventually giving way to several solos, duets, trios, and larger group phrases. However, each section was brief and interrupted as the dancers quickly exited. These fleeting interactions never felt fully realized. There was a constant, dissatisfying resonance of something left unfinished. As I watched the dancers leap and dive with flying, suspended legs, the performance space felt cramped, like we were looking in on an enclosed environment that was too small, too tight. Yet this bound, constricted space appeared to be an intentional critique of the effect of technology tightening the space around us. The dance seemed to say, “If we are not careful, we will be boxed in by our own devices.”

The piece continued with incredibly dynamic shifts through space and stunningly embodied movement. At one moment, most of the dancers left the space and Yebel Gallegos performed an exquisite solo. As his body rattled and curved, small droplets of sweat sprinkled off of him and twinkled in the luminous light. This moment of splendor led into haunting text, each dancer sharing a single sentence, a fragmented idea: “We had to move on”; “It was hard to tell”; “We have to do it again.” Each carried an ambiguously eerie weight and evoked an apocalyptic scenario. Each dancer seemed to be adding a significant thought on to the last, but they never looked at each other or acknowledged one another’s presence. They seemed so very close together, but also distantly removed.

Later, the dancers stood on opposite edges of the floor, looking out into the audience with their backs to each other. Two dancers at a time would say the same text in a conversation that felt incredibly mechanical. One pairing of dancers wanted to discuss something but the other grouping continued to repeat, “I can’t, I’m expecting someone.” This pixelated conversation was broken and dysfunctional. A tension was created, as something important needed to be shared and communicated but no one knew how to do it. As an audience member, I felt a deep craving for this human interaction to be fulfilled, but the dancers remained separated and unable to complete the urgent conversation.

These moments of intriguing narrative were followed by deeply physical movement. Megan McCarthy and Gallegos had a breathtaking duet. Their bodies rotated in quick, tightly controlled spirals and their legs swirled in luscious circles that carried them to the ground in exciting sweeps of momentum. Return was Mary Lyn Graves’ last performance with Ririe-Woodbury and her dancing was also exquisite throughout the performance.

The costumes for Return were designed by fashion stylist Laura Kiechle, who created the many different looks changed into throughout the show. The costumes introduced new moods and textures throughout. The dancers began in grey and blue shirts and pants that were a blend of Star Trek and post-modern. Later, the dancers filtered back on in all-black costumes that featured an intriguing exposed square on each back. At one point, McCarthy wore a stunning, long peach-colored dress. The final costumes were blue shorts and white shirts that resembled swimwear from the 1950s. The constant changing of costumes continued to introduce a new aesthetic to a continual play of together- and apartness. There was a truly striking development in the way that new costumes were introduced; only a few dancers would change at a time, the new look slowly infiltrating the stage in pieces, as if through a shift in time.

One of the most striking moments was as Gallegos shared lines of text in Spanish: “No hay nadie más en el mundo. No hay nadie más en la vista.” Younker repeated the lines in English: “There is no one else in the world. There is no one else in sight.” The two of them walked along the edge of the lit square and repeated the lines with slight additions and variations. It was striking to watch the others move within the square and to feel their deep separation as Younker and Gallegos spoke about being alone. There was an incredible irony in hearing their call and response in different languages and their inability to connect with each other, or those moving around them - almost as if there was no one left in the world.

Throughout Return, Charon played with the way technology affects, and will affect, human interaction. In many moments, I felt trapped in an episode of Black Mirror. Return presented an impressive collaboration of movement, spoken text, sound, lighting design, and costume design to create imagery of future humans as disconnected beings that exist together, but are mostly alone.

Melissa Younker and Yebel Gallegos in Return. 

Rachel Luebbert is a recent graduate of the University of Utah, having completed a dual degree in modern dance and Spanish. Rachel has also contributed writing to the College of Fine Arts’ blog, The Finer Points.

Ririe-Woodbury: Parallax

This weekend, Ririe-Woodbury’s six artists undertook the task of creating for their audience a sense of parallax; the effect whereby the position or direction of an object appears to differ when viewed from different positions.

What ‘object’ was the viewer was intended to see differently; the idea of contemporary dance, the bodies of the artists, the company’s canon? One thing this viewer saw differently was the aesthetic range of the six-member company, illuminated by the curation of three unique dances and their staging.

The evening’s works -- a restaging of Kate Weare’s Unstruck (2015), the world premiere of artistic director Daniel Charon’s Exilic Dances, and Raja Feather Kelly’s Pantheon -- required much adaptability from the dancers, which they ably delivered. The pieces were thoughtfully staged with lighting by Cliff Wallgren and Mike Faba (Unstruck), and interesting costume design by Laura Kiechle and Brooke Cohen (Unstruck). All three works were presented with careful attention to shifts in the framing of wings, scrim, and stage that affect what we notice.

The curtain rose on Unstruck with Megan McCarthy and Mary Lyn Graves facing each other, backs undulating on a dimly-lit stage. Joined shortly by Dan Mont-Eton, they wove between duets and trio, three islands floating together around the proscenium sea. Weare’s masterful movement invention and use of the performers’ strong ballet technique kept me engaged at every surprising lift, light slap, and sensual touch. It was a dance of salt water taffy, each pull stretching the trio into a new relationship. As Unstruck neared its conclusion, the three walk in perfect unison towards the wing, glimpsing the exposed wall behind each step, above their heads a box of white light. I had the sense of not only witnessing the journey of the performers but joining them in it.

Yebel Gallegos and Melissa Younker in Kate Weare's Unstruck. Photo by Stuart Ruckman.

After a short break and speech from artistic director Charon and executive director Jena Woodbury, all six performers reappeared for Charon’s Exilic Dances. The jazzy stylings and on-the-nose use of music and props felt sincere, but it was the small moments rather than the overall effect that carried the dance. When Mary Lyn Graves appeared in a spotted fur coat holding a TV Guide Bible for Yebel Gallegos’ “Boris” to pledge his U.S. allegiance, her small nod and hunched position created more of a sense of character than earlier, more lengthy solos. Gallegos’ frenzied series of fouetté turns while holding a chair to a musical listing of the original 13 British American colonies brought a round of cheers from the audience, both lightening the mood and highlighting the absurdities of the hoops newly-arrived U.S. residents may face. I’m not sure if this work will be part of the company’s season tour, but hopefully so, as with a bit more rehearsal, more delightfully nuanced moments may emerge.  

Ririe-Woodbury in Charon's Exilic Dances. Photo by Stuart Ruckman.

Intermission.

Pantheon by Raja Feather Kelly.

Kelly describes this work as a search for a framing that causes the viewer to see movement differently.

What I saw differently:

1. Dancer bodies: the performers’ eclectic tattoos that were highlighted by their white underpants, wigs, athletic socks, and tennis shoes.

2. Dancer labor: the obvious fatigue and heaviness of the dancers rounding the bend on their second show of the day, at the conclusion of the weekend-long run.

Interesting images that developed:

1. Melissa Younker laying in pile of red confetti, spotlighted, the rest of the cast surrounding with crossed feet, jumping back and forward in syncopation.

2. Dancers folded forward with legs wide, gently bouncing their hips up and down in the kind of pop culture reference that Kelly’s mentions in his program notes.

3. The de-evolution of humans slowly passing from stage left to right, movement from standing -- crawling -- squirming.

Perhaps because of the promises contained in Kelly’s extensive program notes, I longed for these images or their framing to lead me on a surprising journey or culminate in an unexpected conclusion. Instead, the work felt predictably postmodern. Images, stitched together by a recurring running motif and a very extended series of each dancer slowly putting on brightly colored silk dresses, were overlaid by text excerpts describing the sorrow of fame and names of celebrities who have overdosed or committed suicide. At the end -- death in the spotlight. Celebrity life is tough, Kelly seemed to say. You betcha.

Megan McCarthy in Kelly's Pantheon. Photo by Stuart Ruckman.

Parallax offered challenging material, thoughtfully juxtaposed aesthetics, and excellent performances from the dancers. For this viewer, the show was not an insignificant commitment. My evening lasted two hours from the moment I sat down at 7:20 p.m. with a program in hand, to when I stood back up at 9:20 p.m. In Charon’s program notes, he emphasized the company’s philosophy that “Dance is for Everybody.” And it’s true, that everybody can appreciate and engage in the thought-provoking, intellectual and durational material such as that presented here. However, at a two-hour stretch it's hardly an easy leap, even for an avid dance-goer like myself.

Liz Ivkovich is in a relationship with the loveDANCEmore performance journal (it’s complicated), works in sustainability communication and development for the U of U, and adjuncts at SLCC.

Molly Heller: very vary

Molly Heller’s “very vary” was just that: a very varied patchwork. For the duration of her hour-long dance, the cast of six - both members of Ririe-Woodbury and freelancers alike - approached Heller’s performatively demanding work with integrity.

Papier-mâché animal heads by Gretchen Reynolds lined the back of the stage, glowing orbs lit from within. According to the program, each performer identified with one of these six animals: a bee, a deer, a monkey, a lion, a wolf, a seahorse. The only decoration in the Eccles Regent purple box, the animal heads added a minimal yet detailed touch, and I looked forward to how the performers might further define relationships to them.

The opening section was organized chaos, the dancers slotting into varying identities from the start. The Pixies blared; Florian Alberge yelled, Mary Lyn Graves did a mockingly good petite allegro routine, and Marissa Mooney burped (this elicited laughs, but I could have recognized Mooney’s derring do in spite of this). Melissa Younker’s innocent inquisitiveness stood out to me; her character quietly explored a landscape that the others often experienced more explosively.

Much of the physical vocabulary in “very vary” was fresh to my dance-worn eyes. The dancers’ movement came in spurts and appeared image- or emotion-driven (rather than dance for dance’s sake). The quick darts between movements and also sections managed to maintain a certain logic in their dissonance.

While there were many compelling moments by each of the six dancers, I did find that some entreated their rites and plights more truthfully, or at least less forcefully, to me than others. Some arcs of investigation I read as honest, and even vulnerable; others verged on feeling put upon, or done for the sake of performance.

Physical humor triumphed. Alberge and Nick Blaylock had a duet to Elton John’s “Rocket Man” that was a hybrid of slapstick and modern dance, timed masterfully.

"Rocket Man" duet with Florian Alberge (right) and Nick Blaylock. Photo by Tori Duhaime. 

Mooney introduced a different brand of physical humor. Telling a story about a crowded train, she noted that overhead luggage should be placed in the overhead bins - as Alberge’s dancing body was implicated as the luggage. As the group wrestled her overhead in a tangle of their arms, Mooney spoke of feeling trapped. The humor in such parallels between the spoken and the physical was successful for me.

Near the end of the dance, the opening “chaos” section was reprised, with dancers swapping roles. Graves punched through what was originally Yebel Gallegos’ serious boxing routine. Sometimes the do-er fit seamlessly into the newly assumed role; other times, the do-er appeared to have donned ill-fitting clothes. In either case, adopting others’ identities was an interesting progression after seeing each performer make their own brand of choices for most of the dance.

The dancers then helped one another tie the glowing animal visages to the tops of their heads; each seemed to have come to terms with both himself and others, and was now able to exist singularly as well as collaboratively. I wondered whether the preceding parts of the dance offered ample segue to this conclusion, and additionally wondered about the connections to the specific animals each performer supposedly had.

The dancers and their animal heads. Heads by Gretchen Reynolds, photo by Tori Duhaime.

Some of my favorite moments were when the dancers traveled around the stage en masse, like a whimsical marching band. The first time this happened, Younker conducted them as they quietly raged on their imaginary instruments; as she yelled “Louder!”, I couldn’t help but picture Spongebob Squarepants' compatriots, led by clarinet aficionado Squidward in a madcap dash around Bikini Bottom.

The second time, having donned the glowing heads, the dancers alit for a final lap. Like a mystical gaggle of Hayao Miyazaki animations, they floated, dream-like, past us before their departure. The final image presented itself to me as a reflection, in the back windows which opened mid-dance on a perfect, lilac dusk. Now, as dusk turned to night, the magical creatures began to make their way to their next engagement. I watched the reflections of their glowing heads recede as they filed, one by one, out the back.

This conclusion was lovely and evocative, but hard work for me to connect to the rest of the very varied material. Instead, I found myself waiting for the night animals to come out to play, wishing they had sooner. The ending of this iteration of “very vary” worked well as an epilogue, but might still be missing its final chapter.

Amy Falls is the development coordinator at Ballet West and loveDANCEmore’s former Mudson coordinator.