Daughters of Mudson 2014

If you missed the show, check out Daughters of Mudson 2014 from loveDANCEmore on Vimeo.

Having reviewed last season’s Daughters of Mudson, I came to the 2014 performance last weekend with much expectation.  The 2013 show lingered with me long after I left the Studio Theater at the Rose Wagner. and this year’s iteration didn’t disappoint, leaving me pleasantly surprised, often amused, and a bit bewildered — which is a good thing…

The minimalist design of the Rose Wagner Studio Theater maintained a sleek, progressive atmosphere, but the addition of strip lights refined the look of the concert while creating the intimate environment patrons of the series have come to expect. The collection of works presented here were curated by Ishmael Houston-Jones from loveDANCEmore’s works-in-progress series at the Masonic Temple in the last year. Despite simplistic beginnings — relationships, self-discovery, boredom, transitions — the material shared relatable themes. It was clear the topics addressed weren’t cutting edge but through skilled execution and a sense of play, the dances created space for meaning and purpose to sink deep into the complexities of the human experiences.

Erica Womack’s Dear Son opened the show, serving as a perplexing work, simultaneously alienating and bewitching. Two dancers exchanged intimate, repetitive gestures focused on the cavity of the belly, coupled with a series of supportive and concerned touches. The dancers shared companionship as they whirled in sweeping unison, rendering spiritual solemnity. Excerpts of “This Little Light of Mine” were sung intermittently which furthered a ritualistic undertone. While the audience was encouraged to hum along, it distracted me to hear a few brave souls in the crowd sing the tune.  I questioned the context of the piece of music but settled on the most logical connection presented by the choreographer and new mother: bearing witness to the pain, joy, and surreal yet primal act of childbirth. I was unable to relate to the subject matter personally but was intrigued by the structure. I did desire to see less drapery in the costuming and more emphasis on the physical body as the choreography placed an emphasis on transfiguration.

When Efren Corado Garcia appeared next in heels and a biketard for My Little Man. By my side, eyes fixed on me, he moved, I braced myself for an alter ego, gender-bending caricature carousel ride but instead was presented with a stunningly personal and poignant portrayal of acceptance and empowerment.  Imploding stereotypes surrounding gender-exploration, this three-part installment instead offered honest slices of Garcia’s self, not particularly masculine or feminine, just a succession of lightning fast vignettes encapsulating the story of his moving body. A warm-colored light flipped on mid-dance to project a soft silhouette as  Garcia stroked, caressed and revealed himself with obscure but striking vulnerability that lingers in my memory. In the final section, amidst a soaring sound score, Garcia stripped 3/4 of his biketard away, as if to shed the old aspects and reveal something more powerful and confident.  As Garcia scanned the audience with minimal movement, he offered himself with a “take it or leave it” stance as the lights faded.

The Beatles or The Stones? choreographed by Brooklyn Draper gave a glimpse into what I’d imagine as the Mad Hatter’s road trip, complete with obtuse quarrels, oddly placed text and an awkward, family-photo motif that became an anchor to the dance. While solos showcased a breadth of engaging movement, I felt a little left out of the jokes and was unable to attach to a clear through-line helping me unpack and translate the many movement tropes within in the piece.

The superbly crafted and masterfully executed This is the Beginning of Boredom (inspired by Andy Warhol) by Ching–I Chang was easily my favorite of the evening.  A dancer carrying a suitcase and wearing an  Andy Warhol wig and Ray-bans mysteriously stumbled from the audience, discreetly unfolding a series of directions. The solo became a duet with a similarly accessorized dancer and the two completed a series of random actions revolving around cans of tomato soup, spoons, suitcases and a roll of paper.  At one point I laughed out loud as one dancer tried to stuff as many spoons and cans into her knee folds as possible. I applaud the dancers ability to seamlessly talk with each other and the audience while maintaining a certain air of tongue-in-cheek ease.  I found myself feeling as if I was back in the Warhol’s 1960’s Factory observing muses muck about with the creative process.

The final piece of the evening was an endearing and jocular exchange between Sam Hanson and Michael Watkiss in Watkiss’s With(out) Sam.  The two loosely bantered about dancing together throughout high school and college, what dance education has “done” to Watkiss and also addressed the sordid world of dance belt talks.  As Watkiss jammed to RJD2, stripped to nothing but a dance belt and performed a string of twisting and disjointed motions, re-dressed and recited a children’s story, the piece evolved into more than just a haphazard homage to their friendship but became an auto-biographical template. Engaging and empirical, the piece seemed to suggest we wear, slough off, reconfigure and transform our own history, as we identify and mark those moments that define us.

The Mudson series and particularly the Daughters of Mudson performances continually offer a much needed alternative to most of Utah’s traditional dance performance paradigms.  As the season continues to mature, I expect to see more innovation and risk-taking while maintaining the refreshing format from inception to completion.

Danell Hathaway co-directs the group Movement Forum and teaches dance at Olympus High School.

This article is published in partnership with 15 BYTES. Daughters of Mudson took place on June 13th & 14th, 2014 at the Studio Theatre Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center Salt Lake City, Utah.

The Pushers

Sex, religion, gender, race, art, and drugs. All of these topics were confidently (sometimes cockily) juggled by SB Dance’sThe Pushers, all the while gliding through the wine and beer that was served to audience members. The show is truly a modern day cabaret. Each attendee was given a velcro-backed seat marker to hold their place while they moseyed up to the bar and mingled amongst the high bar tables that scattered the stage. Eventually company members, Nathan Shaw, Juan Carlos Claudio, Christine Hasegawa, John Allen, Annie Kent, Florian Alberge, Dani Diaz and Stephen Brown himself trickled into the pre-show party, bringing with them the buzz of imminent performance. Purposeful conviviality abounded. Everyone present seemed to know that they were a vital part of setting the mood for the rest of the evening.

Around 8:45 the house lights dimmed and each audience member began to carefully find their seat, glass in hand, possibly considering what would happen if they remained onstage. They might have been forced by John Allen to take a shot (of what was supposedly hard liquor). He did just that to Christine Hasegawa, cradling her head, throwing the liquid down her throat and letting her recover, just to accost her system with another, and one more, and one more, and one more. This demonstration of power and submission recurred in other parts of the show and sometimes the gender roles were switched, but it was apparent from the onset that we were seeing a show through a primarily male lens.

The scene eventually morphed into a more upbeat one. The tables were removed, and SB Dance’s signature pole entered. Then the entire cast accelerated the show, walking fast and dipping underneath the fifteen-foot-tall pole held limbo-style by two or three people. Curtis Mayfield’s “Pusherman” accompanied this movement sequence, which became the interim activity for the entire show. The pole was expertly wielded by each company member like a weapon of fate, forcing others to duck out of the way; or it was held perpendicular to the ground and became a stripper pole that catapulted individuals above their counterparts to slither down to the ground. The movement in the show was intensely physical, including many lifts and group-dependent formations. This physical prowess supported the overtly sexual positions that the dancers landed in so naturally. Repetition of movement and verbal lines sometimes highlighted farcical situations and at other times simply energized the show–– the repeated lines becoming mantras.

Continuing in traditional cabaret fashion, Stephen Brown was the master of ceremonies, contextualizing the sex, drugs, and alcohol with anecdotal monologues about his life as a young, straight, male dancer in New York City in the eighties. Juan Carlos Claudio augmented these stories tremendously by acting the part of a quintessentially gay Puerto Rican: excited about sex, constantly erupting with emotion. The show took some poignant turns, acting as an homage to victims of AIDS in the eighties. Brown’s rehearsed lines on this subject were somewhat moving, but what was more moving was the vibrant energy of the show as a whole, demonstrating the legacy of the young artists that were being remembered. The performance was a celebratory wake rather than a morose funeral. It paralleled Patti Smith’s memoir Just Kids, about her life in New York City as a young, lost artist with the late photographer Robert Maplethorpe. One of the most charged scenes in the show was set to Smith’s “Horses.” The hypersexual nature of the show referenced Robert Mapplethorpe’s photography, which also focuses on sex and sexuality, BDSM and human vulnerability.

SB Dance has a history of pushing conventionally taboo subjects into the public’s (or at least their audience’s) eye. Sometimes it seems to be in direct response to conservative antics, but the alternately passionate and deadpan demonstrations of desire, confusion, and power come from personal experiences of the seasoned group of people that make up the company. The Pushers is scrumptious for the eyes and revealing for the mind. The show will continue this weekend, June 13 and 14 in the Rose Wagner Blackbox. For more information visit www.sbdance.com.

This article is published in collaboration with 15 BYTES.

Emma Wilson is an intern for loveDANCEmore, studies dance at the University of Utah, and performs with PDC and in Porridge for Goldilocks, among others.

NOW ID’s FEAST

FEAST, NOW ID’s second production since its founding in 2013, began with a casual pre-show. Cellist Jesper Egelund, from Denmark, improvised upon the backdrop of the setting sun as it kissed the Great Salt Lake and all of the wandering guests at Great Saltair. As Egelund moved inside he complimented the location, saying it was one of the most beautiful places he has been privileged to play. The expectant audience was filled with food truck fare and ample socializing time within Mother Nature’s beauty, before gathering inside Saltair. Inside, a large table shaped like a runway served as a stage while also representing Utah’s Lake Bonneville. Chairs for the audience lined the two longer sides of the table in congested rows, allowing for only partial views in some spots.

At its inception, co-founders Charlotte Boye-Christensen and Nathan Webster stressed that their new company would be international, interdisciplinary, and collaborative, adjectives that aptly describe their most recent production. In addition to Egelund and a troupe of talented dancers from around the country, NOW ID added to the menu the words of New York-based playwright and filmmaker Troy Deutsch, performed by Flying Bobcat Theatrical Laboratory’s Robert Scott Smith and Alexandra Harbold, both of Salt Lake City. Deutsch created what Smith calls a “rhythmic obstacle course for the actor.” They recited his lines on and around the table throughout the feast. The two actors held an expressive focus within their performance while being direct and dynamic with Deutsch’s writing. Regarding the process of having Deutsch as a collaborator, Smith says, “We purposefully wanted to keep it as vague as possible to see what would come out of just a few ideas we threw his way. Troy was up for the challenge and created a really powerful and specific-to-SLC work that allowed space for movement and interpretation.” The actors’ clear intent throughout the performance showed their pride in personal development with the script.

Dancers Yumelia Garcia and Jennifer Freeman initiated the show and their tension carried throughout, with a slow walk around the perimeter of the lake bed stage, eyes staring deeply at one another. Precise and pleasurable to watch, the two dancers performed grammatically correct movement vocabulary. With one facial expression and a stifled focus for each throughout the entire show, individuality and personal research were not displayed. They were less humans explaining ideas through movement and more figures transcribing choreography.

At one point in the work, a third dancer, Jo Blake, joined Smith for a duet, a successful mixing of mediums. Smith’s continued performance within the rhythmical obstacle course gave rhyme and reason to Blake’s expressive thoracic spine movement. Simultaneously, Blake’s focus and shifting intent created a dynamic visual story out of Smith’s words while the two artists moved athletically through a well-choreographed dance. Art mediums merged to create something new using clear and unique communication to deliver a poetic story about Salt Lake.

In opposition to this success was the final scene, a collaboration that wasn’t quite as seamless or integrated. While Smith monumentally lost his beard to a straight razor on one end of the table, dancers moved through choreography on the other end and Harbold walked between them. Unfortunately, each performer seemed to be telling a different story to themselves instead of employing their collective voice to discuss with the audience what was transpiring. Losing his beard was a surreal moment for Smith, he noted it as “a cleansing of the palate; a beginning or a welcoming of something new.” However, this shift was not consistent with all the performers, as the work seemed to lose focus and intent.

The fact that NOW ID is utilizing a variety of art mediums is a wonderfully positive step, and speaking after the performance, Smith described the NOW ID collaborative process as something that was personally and artistically productive: “From the beginning…everything came together in a very organic, energized and thoughtful place. It wasn’t always candy canes and gumdrops, but there was professionalism and openness that allowed for risk, vulnerability and support for one another throughout the process.”

The different art forms considered in FEAST were suited for one another, based on one another and created by, with, around, and because of one another. This cohabitation of mediums read as an interesting and enjoyable experience for all parties in NOW ID. Smith states, “the dancers were beyond supportive and encouraging. Jo was nothing but gracious as we navigated the opening duet.”

Harbold commented well on what she described as “the ongoing time-release value of collaborating with artists from other disciplines. . .In our distinct roles as choreographer, playwright, composer, dancer, actor, and musician, we were all pressing into one another’s territories and blurring the lines. Collaboration can be disorienting in such a        powerfully strange, and beautiful way. It was this way with FEAST.”

As the collaborative nature of Salt Lake’s creative community increases, it is important to decipher what to carry and what to bury so that artists may continue cultivating the most efficient practices of collaboration.

NOW ID’s Collaboration with the space is just as important as any other medium. There is beauty laid across long patches of salt just outside the stone innards of the Saltair. Being that this feast was about the salty landscape, accepting it and settling upon it, FEAST would have done well outside. Use of the Saltair added no production value to the main performance however much it added to the pre-show and after party.

The collaborative model also asks questions about how funding relates to what’s currently being produced. Leading Smith to ask questions about what new models artists may find, noting that, “it takes money to produce work at any level, but there’s an added cost with site-specific, high production values, using national and/or international artists…our friends and families can only fund so many of our endeavors and the non-profit business model for performing companies is struggling.” He’s confident that new models of funding and support for projects of this nature will emerge.

Continued collaboration can fuel inspiration while audience diversity increases, especially within the independent art scene. We are not alone in our desire to make or view good art. FEAST was good art and hindsight is a powerful tool that NOW ID can choose to utilize after two site-specific pieces.

The collaborative process brings up a reminder that performance is not a competition of who can get more spectators but is about working together to build community. It is also a reminder that collaborative performances extend beyond this one-night event and include Flying Bobcat’s new work at the Masonic Temple on September 26th with the Utah Men’s Choir. Habitual attendance to one type of show stifles collaborative fuel. Attend one of the numerous dance jams hosted by Movement Forum, poetry readings by the Wasatch Wordsmiths, or bands playing at any bar or coffee shop you can imagine. Watch and experience a variety of mediums to help build a rapport with potential collaborators, allowing creativity to grow and flourish in our community.

NOW ID’s FEAST took place on Saturday, May 24th at Great Saltair on the shore of the Great Salt Lake. This article is published in collaboration with 15 BYTES.

Amy Freitas formed Porridge for Goldilocks, an improvisation collective of performers and musicians. She also performed recently with Body Logic and Michael Garber Dance Collective, among others.

“What We See” from learning to loveDANCEmore volume 8

The latest edition of our performance journal, edited by New Media Coordinator Samuel Hanson, will arrive this coming week. Volume 8, displacement, features the work of many talented artists and critics from Utah and beyond. It’ll be available at Daughters of Mudson, get your tickets here. To whet your appetite, here is a piece by Ashley Anderson, which deals with how we see dance from ballet to Monica Bill Barnes.

What We See: Thoughts on Ira Glass, Monica Bill Barnes and The Rite of Spring

Several weeks back I got to see Monica Bill Barnes and Anna Bass perform Monica’s choreography as part of Ira Glass’s show at Kingsbury Hall, and later on I got to see Ballet West’s Rite of Spring. Both experiences left me asking questions about what frames my experience as a viewer, and also placing myself in the position of other audience members. The writing below is my way of grappling with my identity in relation to my peers in an audience. I am trying to see what they see, which is a task I don’t always consider while writing (or thinking) about dance.

I have long loved Ira Glass’s radio show This American Life on NPR. The show transports me to other parts of the country, but also to empathetic and interior parts of myself. When I had finished my MFA and was feeling extremely deflated at the difference between the work I was creating in the supportive environment of a liberal arts college versus my first apartment in Philadelphia, This American Life was one of the only things I enjoyed about my week trudging to and from a day job as a paralegal.

When I learned that Ira Glass was sharing the work of Monica Bill Barnes as part of This American Life performances and later, planning an entire tour, I got heated. My feelings about her works I’ve seen are best summarized by a piece by Andrew Boynton in the New Yorker (November 13, 2012). The title of the article is “Dance that tries too hard”. I’ve always felt that the jokes were just to get a laugh, and that it made me feel talked (or danced) down to. In addition to my hesitance about the creative work itself, I became frustrated that Ira Glass got to  “discover” modern dance for all these people in the audience. In descriptions of the project, modern dance, a vast tradition, was deemed generally unlikeable or un-gettable, by Glass himself. It made me wonder why people couldn’t discover something without it having been curated as extremely palatable for them. What if, instead, I was the person curating someone’s first viewing of modern dance through some of my most favorite things…

…Emily Wexler with walnuts pouring out of her skirt in Yvonne Meier’s Mad Heidi or better yet, her black boots narrowly missing colorful glass bottles in her own solo Fact or Fancy inspired by her grandmother’s radio program of the same name.

…Naughty Bits by Jen McGinn where some dancers wear tails, feathers or priest collars while performing the most difficult and intricate musical patterning I can imagine.

…Children’s Dance Theatre teenagers embodying Water Study and trying to explain to their parents the importance of silence and breathing.

…Katie Meehan lying on the floor listening to the Beach Boys playing out of a seashell covered television; Leah Nelson & Cortney McGuire pulling dresses over pregnant bellies before a re-staging of a duet they made as fivefour; Linda Denise Fisher-Harrell performing Cry in rehearsal in the smallest studio at the American Dance Festival; Dawn Springer breathing life into cover song after cover song in a token of one’s affection; Tara McArthur first performing Duet for Ririe-Woodbury, looking so unbelievably cool; Miguel Gutierrez working on Retrospective Exhibitionist in the small basement studio of the Dana Science Building at Hollins University as my childhood best friend Sarah Crass strides through having no prior knowledge about the artist she will witness and no suspicion of how well-known this piece will become…

Why would those introductions to modern dance be things that anyone would get “less” than highly choreographed jokes? They might not be inherently better than the introduction provided at Kingsbury Hall that night, but would they be as awful as Glass made the rest of “dance” sound?

A week or so later, in the Capitol Theater I watched Ballet West’s The Rite of Spring. The evening featured the title work by Nicolo Fonte, Forgotten Land by Jiri Kylian and Divertimento No. 15 by Balanchine. I experienced the same phenomena of an audience viewing something fresh while I saw different things living inside the dancing.

In the opening piece by Kylian, the audience gasped as the dancers did backbends or offered any kind of yielding in their partnering. What they found surprising I found to be comforting, as I could see inside it the dancing of Jose Limón and Helen Tamiris, or Alvin Ailey’s careful groupings, Doris Humphrey and every other modern dance choreographer who was inspired by the Shakers. While I know the piece is uniquely inspired by visual art, I can see inside of it numerous dances that share the same themes or physicality.

This isn’t to say the choreography is derivative because it wasn’t, it was complex and fascinating. But, in my viewing of both concerts, dances became houses for memories of other performance experiences. And in both cases, the people around me seemed, for the most part, to be watching something new, something singular rather than simultaneous. It almost gave me envy, of what I might experience if I had seen somewhat less.

After Kylian, an overlong Balanchine piece rolled around. The friends I was with asked how I could possibly like something so boring and conventional. My only reply was that based on my experience in ballet class, it seemed like it would be fun to do. I’ve always loved the slightly off kilter petite allegro of Balanchine because I’m good at it; that’s why I was watching his work enthusiastically. Maybe Balanchine is my Monica Bill Barnes, something I find infectious or likable despite my objections to the particular hierarchical structures of ballet including endless pas de deux and stationary corps. It’s something I like just because it makes me personally happy.

Ballet West’s final piece, a new Rite of Spring by Nicolo Fonte, was another exercise in viewing a real life performance simultaneously with other things, namely, Pina Bausch’s dancers running through the dirt and my toddler son watching a T-Rex brutally murder a brontosaurus on a VHS tape of Fantasia in the living room of my childhood home. For others in the audience this Rite, leather clad and featuring an industrial set characteristic of the choreographer, was their first taste of a narrative that, to me, was already distinctly experienced.

Despite it’s newness, ballet audiences can recognize The Rite of Spring the same way they recognize a Bolero, as a system where new ideas can play out rather than a purely new work. I remember in college learning that during the reconstruction of the original Rite, pointe shoes were examined to explore the steps. We all called it “Ballet CSI” but really it’s more magical than that, and speaks to what I’m after here–– that steps performed fleetingly do hold a lot more of a moment inside them than we offer credit for when we engage in conversations about the way in which dances disappear in time. While this wasn’t my favoriteRite, it does remind me just how many exist and that’s a kind of gift.

Despite my preferences, or those of the New Yorker writer mentioned above, the audience at Kingsbury Hall and Capitol Theater on those nights seemed to be eating up what was presented, whether it was because of a witty radio host or an astute artistic director. The landscape of performance is inevitably dominated by what we are told is likable or good rather than what we may find on our own.

As I write this I can already predict the response from my peers: “but don’t you think Ira Glass opened the doors for people to think differently about dance?” My answer is unequivocally no–– it only opens doors for people to think differently about Monica Bill Barnes, a person they’ve now been given permission to understand. I significantly doubt that anyone left Kingsbury Hall choosing to look into what modern dance offerings were made by comparable regional artists. Similarly, I’m curious if Ballet West audiences were motivated as viewers to seek out other Rites, or if they simply enjoyed the work of Nicolo Fonte, who will make many more ballets for the company, then left the theater.

All of that is fine. Beyond my curiosity over my relationship with other dance goers, I ultimately left both theaters glad that people enjoyed dance. It’s the same way I felt when my young students at the American Dance Festival enjoyed Pilobolus. You couldn’t have payed me to watch the concert, but when something seems magical or fresh to you, it just is.

Ashley Anderson is a choreographer based in SLC. Her recent work has been presented locally at the Rose Wagner, the Rio Gallery, the BYU Museum of Art, Finch Lane, the City Library, the Ladies’ Literary Club, the Masonic Temple and Urban Lounge.

New Points of View at Ballet West’s Innovations

Each year Ballet West puts convention aside for “Innovations” and this year’s concert is no exception. From a visibly pregnant Katherine Lawrence adding depth and complexity to “The Sixth Beauty,” by guest artist Matthew Neenan, to Arolyn Williams leading audience members on pedestrian pathways in a premiere by company member Chris Anderson, the show challenges patrons to experience ballet in new ways while also relating the company to a larger community of dance makers in the contemporary moment.

Some new relationships were forged through the abandonment of traditional ballet structures in favor of more loosely linked movement structures. For Tyler Gum’s “Inverted Affect” this meant dancers performing movements alongside a tilted mirror which duplicated the imagery from each performer while physically and conceptually expanding the stage space. For Chris Anderson’s work it meant more traditional partnering happening amid of stream of Ballet West patrons in walking pathways while performing some unison movement to frame the action. Although an atypical corps de ballet, the participating audience members served that function as they drew the eye to and from the pas de deuxs they surrounded. While both dances shared visual design and concepts popular in modern dance history,  in this context they were a fresh juxtaposition to the postures and sequencing one might expect of Ballet West. Each gave the audience a glimpse into the curiosity of classically trained artists who are keen on exploring new points of view.

For other pieces on the program, the formalism of ballet remained and instead the challenges came from the selection of highly personal narratives that contrast the story ballets or abstract contemporary pieces which populated Ballet West’s 50th Anniversary Season.

Christopher Ruud’s “Great Souls” explored the dynamics of many of his interpersonal relationships including his divorce and the death of his father. Because so many in the audience are also watching the reality show “Breaking Pointe” and feel not only like they know intimate details of Ruud’s plot but also the lives of its performer’s dancers as well, a palpable tension could be felt in the room. Pushing that tension to the side, the dance aptly presents a highly technical and musical investigation of those that greatly influence us, and our decision-making, during our lifetime.

Matthew Neenan also utilized personal narrative in his work as well as more abstract gestural material within traditional ballet structures. As mentioned above, the pregnancy of Katherine Lawrence breathed life into the dance allowing the audience to experience the partnering in a unique way — both the awe at the ease with which she performed but also the reminder that those performing the ballet are quite real people with lives beyond the stage that influence their craft.

Ballet West has invited many guests to take part in “Innovations” over the years, including Helen Pickett, previously of the Frankfurt Ballet. But the program, however innovative, primarily consists of male choreographers. Ballet West’s Emily Adams has been, more than once, the only female choreographer taking part in “Innovations” and each year she takes part I find her work to be incredibly detailed and thought-provoking. A few years ago I noted that her highly musical and witty piece was among the most interesting on the concert and this year she took a different direction with more ambient sound and abstract visual design. I leave wondering whether she is the only Ballet West woman to take up the charge due to a real lack of interest, and certainly don’t think Ballet West’s platform lacks encouragement of all artists in its ranks, but it does warrant reflection that even in this open format we continue to see male thinking and female-centered performing.

Ballet West recently completed its 50th Anniversary Season. Innovations, its annual exploration of new choreography, took place at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center May 14-24.

Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore events as part of her 501c3, ashley anderson dances. This review is published in collaboration with 15 BYTES.