Trey McIntyre Project — some notes from Kathy Adams

Trey McIntyre Project’s performance at Kingsbury Hall this past week was so uniquely off the well-worn path of non-classical dance that many couldn’t recognize it as such. This work is astoundingly beautiful, emotionally engaging, original and highly detailed. It takes the best of what ballet technique can give you and fills it with purpose. It plays with dramatic intention. The purpose of art is to move us emotionally. So much choreography is either about nothing or so intellectual that it lacks heart.

The title of the first piece, “The Unkindness of Ravens,” is poetic in its efficiency and like so much else in the choreography is both literal and metaphorical.  A group of ravens is by definition “an unkindness of ravens.” The etymology infers the birds’ characteristics and ultimately is fascinating source material for a piece of choreography – so it’s funny, it’s strange, it’s sad, it’s twisted. But it is about something, and something interesting.

The solo in “Bad Winter” was soulful, and the duet so personal and sensuous. I was sitting in the hole they call the front rows at Kingsbury so I could not really see the duet clearly. But I saw enough to know the articulation these dancers are capable of make the choreography clear. Everyone has experienced a “Bad Winter” at sometime in their lives.

I loved “Ladies and Gentleman” although I think the last section seemed stuck on and unnecessary. Dynamically it seemed like one section too long to me.

The dancers technical ability and the dramatic expression in their bodies and faces gave me so much information about the choreography. Clarity is just that – there really is no other way to get across the idea.

Kathy Adams is the critic for the Salt Lake Tribune and regular contributor to Dance Magazine

Provo Sites

I have seen the beautiful old church at 79 W. and 400 S. in Provo evolve over the years. It was once a private school that my siblings attended. It has also been a music school, reception center and is currently being remodeled into a residential complex. On November 12th, the church was opened for a dance concert, hopefully one of many site-specific dance concerts in the Provo area. The audience was welcomed into the historic building with hot chocolate, hand warmers and a basket of blankets, which I appreciated as the temperature both inside and out was in the 30s.

Despite the chilly evening, the concert warmed the soul and the old church was an exquisite location for a dance concert. As I sat huddled under a blanket next to my husband and hot chocolate in hand, I was greeted with a lovely stained glass window as a backdrop. We had the luxury of having each choreographer personally introduce their own piece, describing their inspiration and motivation.

Nathan Balser (BYU dance faculty) choreographed Meeting Space, danced by a quartet of men. He was inspired by the historic building where we sat and by the interactions that may have occurred in times past. The four men entered in silence and, in a pedestrian fashion, acknowledged each other. As the music began, the dancers rotated in a mesmerizing turning motif that weaved throughout the piece. The dance continued with strong, yet fluid movement choices. I wondered to myself, if these walls could talk, what would they say? What stories do they have to share?

Letters in the Sand, choreographed by Kori Wakamatsu (BYU dance faculty) reflected the emotions associated with adoption. It began with a duet that included weight bearing and mutual support. I was intrigued by how the dancers physically kept in contact and also by the connection they shared in moments when they were not. As I mother, I saw this as the connection you feel with your child, a powerful connection that is hard to describe. The piece me left with a feeling of appreciation for those who place their child for adoption.

Journey, choreographed by Doris Hudson de Trujillo (UVU Dance Faculty) featured seven UVU students and 3 dance faculty members and was recently performed at the Wave Rising Festival in New York City. I loved watching a mix of ages dancing together. This piece used 3 poles, about 10 feet in length, which the dancers held and manipulated throughout the piece. The poles held, supported, restrained, and contained the dancers. At times I saw a burden being carried, other times it was a means to connect with others. As a viewer, I was on a journey with them, I felt stuck, liberated, supported and freed as the dancers portrayed each idea through movement. The conclusion revealed a lovely sense of resolution.

Neils, by Ashley Anderson, was a brilliant collaboration of songs by Neil Diamond, Neil Young and Neil Sedaka. I was taken back to my childhood listening to those songs on the radio. The quartet’s choreography was delightfully simplistic and possessed an element of humor. I enjoyed the movement repetition and seeing the character of each dancer through improvised solos. It was the perfect contrast to watch fresh movement vocabulary that was distinct from the other concert pieces.

The final piece, Divinity, choreographed by Aaron Shaw and performed by Kate Monson was most appropriate for a church setting. It was based on Christian values and beliefs, with the notion that we try and fail and try again. The performance was a stunning emotional investment that left the audience with a sense of peace and hope.

Leaving with cold hands and nose, but a warm heart, the Provo Sites concert was a beautiful start to what I hope will be many intriguing site-specific concerts, blending stunning locations with incredible dance.

Karen Jensen is member of the BYU Contemporary Dance Faculty

RDT's Time Capsule // NY's Time Capsule

Repertory Dance Theater’s Time Capsule is nothing if not aptly named. The evening, which ran today and yesterday, is RDT’s attempt to educate the public about the history of American Modern Dance in one night. The goal was audacious and important. The attempt made some grand mistakes which belie important issues in our local dance community.

Narrated by company director Linda Smith with contributions from Marcia Siegel, Time Capsule begins with selections from Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis, Ted Shawn and Doris Humphrey. A less textbook choice is a solo by Japanese-American Michio Ito from 1916. Pizzicati, performed with wit by Nick Cendese, reminded me of the first time I’d ever seen Steamboat Willy, the first cartoon to star Mickey Mouse. It was music visualization at it’s most lighthearted. This work could have used some better context from Smith, who at times says too much and at times not enough.

The discomfort I had at watching Cendese in a shapeless kimono was to be overshadowed by embarrassment I felt at seeing how Black American dance experiences were referred to, and then ultimately ignored in the next few numbers. Cutting the Sugar Cane was Ted Shawn’s 1933 treatment of sharecropper life. It featured four white performers in straw hats who toiled in the fields and then, though pantomiming exhaustion, roused themselves for a jovial romp around the stage. Excerpts from Helen Tamiris’ Negro Spirituals followed, which according to Smith is one of the first pieces of concert dance performed to the African American music. The work is a study of Black American spirituality, again performed by an all white cast.

These dances do have a historical value in that they are examples of how prominent white artists used various conceptions blackness in their work in the thirties and forties. But they were presented with hardly any mitigating context, in a show that reported to celebrate the diversity of what has fallen under the term “modern dance” through the twentieth century. Here they were in an evening that encapsulated the “American century” of dance without presenting a single black choreographer.

Time capsule indeed. I have a friend who likes to joke that living in Salt Lake is like living in the 90’s, but watching this show I felt like I was living in the heart of the Cold War. Even after intermission as the experimentalism of the fifties and sixties was trotted meekly across the stage, I felt like already conservative repertory was being unnecessarily cauterized toward homogeneity. Daniel Nagrin’s 1948 Strange Hero mobster looked tame in the hands of Aaron Wood. Scramble by Merce Cunningham was earnestly undertaken, but seemed stern and cold, in the hands of dancers who looked like they’d rather be doing something else. And I wondered if Chair/Pillow, a 1969 exploration of pedestrian movement by Yvonne Rainer, had originally been done in matching Capezio jazz shoes.

From 1969 and Rainer we skipped directly to Shapiro and Smith’s Dance with Two Army Blankets, which like Laura Dean’s Skylight, I’ve seen RDT do so many times that I’ll have to recuse myself from saying anything critical about it. In Gamut, a group of high school students performed a sweetly awkward attempt at Cunningham/Cage chance procedures. Karyo, by RDT alum Susan McLain closed the evening. It didn’t offer a bridge into the twenty first century, but I liked it anyway, almost in spite of myself. The lighting was dark and sexy, and the content unabashedly dramatic, like Graham, who McLain performed for.

There’s a lot more I’d like to say about the dancers, who work really hard in this show. Katie Winder captured the strange theatrics of Limón in a solo from There is a Time. Sara Donohue and Nick Cendese made a better pair of Holy Rollers than I’ve ever seen (and like the blankets I’ve seen many). Rosy Goodman was stunning in everything as always, her Graham and Humphrey demonstrations making me nostalgic for summer workshops of my teenage years. Toni Lugo should have had more stage time, her interpretation of the solo from Lyric Suite struck just the right tone for Anna Sokolow, stricken from the interior without being at all self absorbed.

Maybe it will be these dancers who stand up and ask for a more coherent fulfillment of the company’s charge to be a historical and contemporary gallery for modern dance. I hope so. I would like to be as moved by that mission as I was in 2004 for when RDT wowed me with a show devoted to the sixties and seventies. I’ll never forget Chara Huckins and Josh Larson in Relief by Douglas Dunn, the whole ensemble in Steps of Silence by Sokolow, or the first time I saw that dance with the chairs and the pillows.

Samuel Hanson is a dancer and film maker. He is currently working on an evening length duet with Kitty Sailer.

---

After this review was published, the "ashley anderson dances" board president, Ishmael Houston-Jones sent this response: 

It was very interesting for me to read Sam Hanson’s review and critique of Repertory Dance Theater’s Time Capsule. I am not familiar with RDT or the Salt Lake dance scene beyond what I know thru lovedancemore but Sam’s article brought up several concerns for me. Sam takes issue with a sense of irresponsible, if unintentional, racism in the casting of several of Time Capsule’s pieces. He also ponders why the Time Capsule fails to include post-Cunningham experimentation.

These issues: Dance, Race, and Post-Modernism, were fresh in my mind as I read this. I recently attended a performance of Deborah Hay’s Blues in the atrium of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. I’ll be reductive here since I will include a link to a blog post written by one of the performers. I will just say that I was very troubled by the casting (half of the cast was composed entirely of “White” women wearing black tights and leotards and the other half by “Black” men and women wearing “colorful” street clothes.) What the two casts performed was very different; the White women were mostly still and meditative, the Blacks were free to improvise throughout the space in a loose-limbed, released manner. Deborah Hay, who is counted as one of the Judson Dance Theater’s experimentalists from the 1960s, offered no explanation of her casting choice other than an aesthetic one about how skin colors looked against the white walls of the MoMA atrium. To me this was unconscionable.

Kathy Wasik, a dancer whom I don’t know, wrote on the Performance Club Blog about her troubling experience being a performer in this piece. It’s worth a read. It may put some of what Sam Hanson wrote about RDT into greater context and give you an idea that Salt Lake is not the only place where dance, when it comes to race, is stuck in the cold war era, and that even PoMo experimentalist icons can make huge blunders.

One final note: if you read Kathy Wasik’s blog post you will notice that there are over 15 responses. I wonder why most lovedancemore posts get zero replies. Just askin’.

Marilyn Arsem's, Making Time

Because Marilyn Arsem’s recent performance at Nox Contemporary lasted nearly twelve hours it would seem inadequate to post a singular review with questions or comments. Afterall, no viewer (to my knowledge) observed the duration in earnest and instead, the work reveals more in the comings and goings of patrons. So what follows is an AM response and a PM response from two observers (Ashley Anderson & Leah Nelson). As more viewer responses trickle in the post will be updated to reflect that.

Leah Nelson views the piece after brunch:

As I walked into Nox Contemporary Gallery from the cold and snow, this is the scene I encountered: Marilyn Arsem standing, arms on a chair, back toward the viewers. Lots of white: two white chairs touching each other facing on the diagonal; Arsem dressed in a white linen top, long skirt, white socks; white powder on the floor of the “performance space”; nothing on the walls; leftover tracks from moving two chairs in what looked like white flour on the floor. And three viewers sitting in chairs watching and writing.

As Arsem started to move from her slightly hunched position with hands on a chair, it became clear that she would do endless circles around these two chairs. The previous tracks indicated that this might be an ongoing cycle, first of moving the chairs forward, then circling around them.

A snippet in the gallery told me that Arsem does not decide what she’ll perform until she arrives at the space, and that her performance is influenced by the history and culture of the place she’s visiting (in this case, Salt Lake City, UT). This perspective gave me a point of reference while watching this moving installation of sorts called “Marking Time”. It made me wonder how it affected my viewing, considering that until I read that snippet, I was not quite seeing much of anything, other than a person, place, and setting. This new information got me questioning more- was the white to signify purity or the snow, and is there some comment here on continuing to plod through, doing the same thing over and over again? Well, I’m sure there is, but I felt a little out of the loop. Maybe I should’ve stayed longer, or maybe it just didn’t click.

It did seem to click with an older friend of mine, who one might call a Jack Mormon. She saw a lot in that small space in time: Arsem was an angel and the chairs represented a union of sorts. But this union wasn’t working, and the angel was trying to progress this union, probably with no avail (although we did not see the end of the piece). I guessed that my friend was able to “see something” because of her different perspective (she’s lived in Salt Lake for most of her life and I barely just settled here). But maybe when I see something I just feel something or I don’t. And that’s okay with me. I will still go see art in the making because who knows, I could have the experience that my friend had, and it would’ve gotten me thinking more.

Ashley Anderson views the piece after teaching all morning:

I arrived at Nox after teaching many classes for dancers with special needs. While one of my favorite things to do I will say my mind was a flurry with activity. I stood outside for a long time on a call, unaware that it was likely disturbing the quiet inside the intimate gallery space. Walking in the space, and my awareness, was immediately transformed. In the lobby I saw the audience peering through a small doorway to the world Marilyn had created for “Making Time.” I also saw two leftover bags of flour and I confirmed with John, the gallery owner, that this is what coated the floor.

In a way this was a performance. But in another way I instantaneously saw the trajectory of the performer even though she was still. I could see in the tracks that the chairs she sat in were dragged forward and circled around. I could see there was endless flour that might mark this path for hours to come. I saw it as contemplative. I saw it as an open system I could ponder.

My one regret was not following more of my instincts. I have a feeling I could have shouted “thanks Marilyn” before leaving and she might have heard me. I wanted nothing more than to walk through the flour and sit beside her to see from a new vantage point. I did neither of those things because everyone around me seemed very formal and thoughtful. But I think I should have done it and I’m sad that I didn’t. There was, after all, no barrier or guide telling me to act a certain way.

Monica Campbell and Dancers

Artistic Director Monica Campbell premiered her new company Monica Campbell & Dancers with an evening of work at the Egyptian Theater in Ogden. The concert showcased 4 works by Ms. Campbell including the premiere of  “The Spring”. The show also presented “So…what now?” by Chai Chi Chang.

My night began with a single and very simple statement “I want to see some good dancing,” and that’s precisely what I got. The evening was full of strong and versatile movers enthralling me and filling me with the envy of not being one of them, sweating, huffing, puffing and throwing themselves on stage. These dancers, mostly composed of Utah Valley University students and alum, demonstrated a strong showcase of the bountiful life dance has in this state.

Speaking solely on the subject of the company members, it was refreshing to see such a cohesive cast. It was evident that Ms. Campbell is not only interested in training strong, dynamic dancers but that as a creative director she takes coaching them very seriously. I prefer to see an ensemble that looks like they are working under the same umbrella of one creative mind, that are cohesively trying to embody a physical ideology. The majority of the work I have seen in this city doesn’t necessarily focus on the idea of cultivating a brand through their dancers. The work of many local choreographers embraces the individual identity and although this is something to cherish as it provides the work to be expressed in different way, I feel that the audience never quite get the feeling you know the choreographer’s philosophy about the moving body, which often informs and helps crystallize the subjects of their work. There was no doubt that when you looked on stage you knew these dancers were working to reveal a very specific aesthetic — that these dancers were Ms. Campbell dancers.

With the exception of the work by Chi Chang, the evening showcased one single creative mind, and when looking at a full night you begin to see creative patterns and unfolding aesthetic preferences but you also have to recognize the bravery and hard work it takes to complete one piece of choreography and imagine that happening times ten when producing an entire show.  I have played with the idea of creating a show of my own work and the thought of planning the event makes me buckle at the knees. With that said, I have to congratulate Ms. Cambell on the production quality of this show. It was immaculate.

The night began with “So…what now?”, Chi Chang’s duet performed by Monica Campbell and Jill Voorhees Edwards.  The piece began with the curtain rising on bundles of towels folded into small cubes and placed up stage in a pathway from one side of the stage to the other. This piece was set in two movements, the first composed of abstracted images that did not reach beyond the proximities of the upper body and  varying in speed without seeming to be too exhausting or engaging. Throughout the first section Ms. Edwards continuously undressed by taking off what appeared to be over 10 or 15 thin-layered shirts, one after the other. To what effect? Perhaps it was a study on the trance-like state evoked by repetition but my blind eye did not catch why there needed to be that many shirts, it seemed enough after the first two or three. That was not the only element of the work that left me wondering the significance of why they were present on stage. The folded towels were not utilized as props but as a component of a very dull spatial design.  During the first movement I began to wonder, are these going to be layered on stage? Are they going to step on them? Are they going to kick them? What was their purpose? Sadly, these just laid dormant in their insignificant shapes, adorning the back layer of the stage with little to no life in them. The second movement of this work had more full-range movement. The two dancers moved through space with a distinct mature sensibility but again I wondered to what effect? This was my second run with this dance and I still don’t get it. What I did appreciate about the work is the experience of witnessing two mature dancers present in the same space. There was a type of serenity that I miss seeing on stage and it was a very nice gift to take with me.

“The Final Hours” (an excerpt) was performed by Mindy Houston, Hannah Braegger and Kylie Bronk. The three exceptional dancers were intertwined in a dependent partnership and tied up with an appearance of grief, fright and valor. I have seen this work three times now, once as part of its major body  and I find that this excerpts speaks volumes without over-dramatizating but by relying on the ability to express tone and voice through the small nuances between big movements. For example, there is a motif in which the three dancers stand hugging each other. In the phrasing they repeat a sequence of upper body rolls, collapses and leg lifts. However, its not the movements that appear most prominently but the moments in between. The weight bearing shows a type of mourning that accentuates these other movements and extends the internal wailing happening between the three women. This was by far my favorite piece of the night.

“Breathing Room”, was a duet performed by Kim Campa and Rick Santizo. The dance started with a square placed center stage, composed of partitioned platforms no more than a foot high.  The movements resembled a combination of playful pantomime and flirtatious acts between two lovers.  The use of acrobatic stunts makes evident that these dancers are best considered stunt men/women with a finesse of a dancer. As the dance progressed so did the level of difficulty, it was incredible to see the man lift the woman to complete 360 degree lift in a single sweep only to catch her straight into a second rotation with such flawless continuity. I have never been a fan of cheesy, purposefully “funny” or “cute” dances and this one was not the exception. The absence of authenticity and reality were really off putting. I was once engaged in a conversation about the same topic and at point my friend Nancy said to me, “Efren, you’re just a humanist and it’s ok!” and it was then I realized that I want my dances and those I see to have some degree of reality that reflect what my human experience is like, not hyperbole.

The evening ended with the premier of “The Spring”, a 30 minute work inspired by “the revolutionary wave of demonstrations, protest and wars occurring in the Arab world beginning in December 2010,” as stated by Ms. Campbell. To some degree this was the Mount Everest of the show, the one work that surpassed difficulty not only based on its length and cast of 12, but also a subject matter so heavy that you wonder what essences the choreographer was trying to grasp about it. Also, as an audience member it left me to wonder how different this new work was going to be in comparison to “The Final Hours”, which had a  similar topic of interest.

The work started with the cast facing upstage, slowly trickling downstage while walking backwards. Some were alone, others held hands as couples or trios.  The first soloist was Jaclyn Brown, who did a fantastic job at setting up a tone of vulnerability, strength, and loss with a series of swirling, sweeping phrases portraying a dynamic form and creating shapes with a crisp attitude much like a Beta Fish. There was such strength and accessibility to her movement without being overly dramatic and while still calling for attention despite the other 12 bodies on the stage. What a remarkable task. I have to admit I could have done with a less codified structure to some of her movements and a few less turns but by the end of her solo, the humanist in me was ready to feel.  The piece continued to build up momentum, in a less crowded manner by having sections divide into smaller groups. There were series of trios and a duet that repeated at the beginning of the work and again towards the end. There were  smaller groups of intertwining sixes and finally concluding in an mélange made up of the entire cast. The movement swept through and across the stage with power, intensity and clarity of direction much like military arrangements.

Once the dance started there wasn’t a moment of rest, even the moments of lamentation or suffering (as portrayed by very pantomime movements of angst facing straight into the audience or emotional hugs) the speed and the push of the movement portrayed the constant chaotic and loss of stillness that can often occur in a moment of chaos.

It was undeniable that these dancers were committed to making this dance come alive, to live in it, fully embodied and to reject the nuance or thought of lacking the energy to push through. Perhaps this portrayal on behalf of the dancers was an essence Ms. Cambell was looking to channel about people that are often midst turmoil.  However, it wasn’t until the end of the piece when the entire group came on stage to dance to a beautiful and stark folk like song that I could see that the piece was about human beings, a community and not just a study of phrases. Perhaps it was this dynamic shift in the end that let me see the dance for something else, a portrayal of people.

As I listened to that last song, I immediately channeled  the opening solo and my heart began to sink with sorrow. Just as quickly, I felt dissatisfied with thinking of how many more similar feelings I had probably missed in the rest of the dance. I asked a lot of internal questions:

Did I want a moment of rest, or more dynamic disparities, a different order to the work so that I could see that I was about a community and not a panel of strangers walking the same path?  Did I want a change of music so that it didn’t feel like I had been listening to the same atmospheric music as present in the rest of the show? What about if it had been done to classical music instead of the typical modern-style sound we often experience? What if they were smiling or appeared pleasant during moments that the music so obviously displayed a heavier more dark tone? Before the lights were brought up for the bows, I wondered, was this a variation of “The Hours?” A continuation? Or did it appear so similar because the movement and dancers had been so vividly molded to appear of a similar bodily aesthetic?

So many questions rushed through me in such a brief moment, that it wasn’t until I found myself standing with the room applauding to the cast and its creative director that I realized it wasn’t about finding clarity right away. That it was about me as a creative mind sitting in thought as a byproduct of the performance. Me, wanting to re-arrange the dance, select the new music to best suit its body based on my aesthetic or the feelings I wanted to surge through my body were an unexpected gift. I wanted good dancing and I got it. What I did not realize was that I also wanted to be inspired and I was. Besides, the dances we watch on stage are only one version of the puzzle.

Efren Corado is a choreographer and performer based in SLC.