Performance Art Festival at the SLC Public Library

The following is a preview of Emma Wilson’s experience at the Performance Art Festival, hosted annually by the Salt Lake City Public Library at its Main branch downtown. Emma’s thoughts on other performances at the festival are forthcoming.

Before I entered the SHARE space, a small storefront in the Urban Room of the Salt Lake City Main Library, I peeked at the smartphone taped to the glass doors. Both phone and doors revealed Grafting by Kristina Lenzi and Eugene Tachinni, the two wearing matching maroon outfits and sitting side by side, just as the festival program said they would be. However, there was another aspect to this two-hour long vigil between two people: a woman, Sasha K -- identified by her business card on a shelf behind the three -- was styling Eugene’s and Kristina’s long hair elaborately, silently curling and smoothing it with precision: an art in itself.   

The live phone footage created a kaleidoscopic effect wherein one could choose to look at the artists framed in the phone or at the artists framed by people watching them, framed by the glass, framed by people watching from outside the glass, framed by frames to infinity. The piece invited me to zoom in or out, each aperture revealing a valid view of this performance that, like all performance art, is dependent on audience as witness. Upon further zoom inside the room I realized another possible reason for the phone footage was perhaps to simulate the intimate view of the work without being subjected to the smell of hairspray. Eventually, Sasha braided Kristina’s and Eugene’s hair together, and left them grafted for the remaining hour or so; two tree-people continuing their growth together.

Stay tuned for more.

Emma Wilson received her BFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and has since been making solo works, choreographing for Deseret Experimental Opera (DEXO), and working as the Salt Lake City Library’s Community Garden Coordinator.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Sanctuary

“When you have fire, that’s where you are,” she said as she rubbed ash across dancer Efren Corado Garcia’s face. The other dancers followed suit, rubbing the ashes from campfires grown cold across their faces and hands.

Poignant words from Ida Yellowman, one of the three Navajo guides who led the artists of Repertory Dance Theatre, guest choreographer Zvi Gotheiner, and ZviDance on a pilgrimage to Bears Ears National Monument in San Juan County, Utah. Marty Buhler’s documentary of their five-day journey began Repertory Dance Theatre’s Sanctuary program, contextualizing the 30+ minute work, “Dancing the Bears Ears," the group built from this experience.

“Dancing the Bears Ears” opened with eight RDT dancers slapping knees and head, two lines of four, weaving in between each other in unison, turning in one breath, energizing the Rose Wagner stage. The collected energy of their stomps highlighted the projections of small spaces from the Bears Ears -- a purple flower here, a range of colorful dirt there.

The ensemble dissembled into a series of duets, where small moments of tender intimacy echoed the small spaces projected. Ursula Perry and Corado Garcia arching underneath each other’s circled arms, she lifts and turns him around. Justin Bass and Lauren Curley lying legs tangled on the ground, she gently rubs the back of his neck, a touch as intimate as the rubbing of ashes onto a dancer’s face.

Returning anew to the rhythmic opening, the dance seems to begin again. This recurring beginning marks this as a dance of hope, the kind of hope that (to quote environmental educator David Orr) “is a verb with its sleeves rolled up.” By that I mean not a naive optimism that all will be well with the land, or a desperate cynicism about the wilderness that is slipping away in front of our eyes, but rather an engaged and recurring plea for the protection of this place for all who consider it sacred, and returning to the daily act of advocating for the land.

As the dancers took their bow, they gathered together in the center of the stage, arms around each other. There was a finality to the bow, a sense of complete giving and abandon to the energy of sharing their transformative experiences at Bears Ears with us.

Efren Corado Garcia in Eric Handman's "Ghost Ship." Photo by Sharon Kain.

After intermission, Eric Handman’s “Ghost Ship” led the second half of the evening. This 2007 work was re-staged on six of the eight RDT dancers, who huddled on stage right, moving across to stage left in syncopated build -- climax -- dissolve duets. Less stylized than more recent works of Handman’s that I have seen, the recurring arabesque lines and tight duet unison created a sense of remembering without nostalgia, and history without pain. The piece concludes with a shower of 250 pounds of rice on stage right, the patter of it on the stage satisfyingly never-ending.

RDT and Utah Valley University students in "Tower" by Andy Noble. Photo by Sharon Kain.

Andy Noble’s “Tower” (2015), featuring 27 guest performers from Utah Valley University, concluded the evening. Evoking military images, the ensemble goose-stepped and chassé-ed on, across, and off the stage. The UVU artists’ command of ballet and jazz techniques supported Noble’s competition dance aesthetic. Also notable: their commitment to the stage presence required for the work, such as when the house lights went up and a group of dancers slid towards the front of the stage, aggressively waving their arms in the faces of the first row of the audience. I struggled to connect the army-inspired images and content of the work to the evening’s theme, begging the question of what makes an ‘environmental piece’.

While leaving the concert with a heart full of beautiful and engaging dancing, I stumbled into one of my students, who had, for the first time, paid for a ticket to a dance concert specifically to see "Dancing the Bears Ears." Confused, she and her brother had left the show at intermission, certain that the evening was over. I must admit that I shared that sense of finality at intermission. While the later works of the evening were also interesting and important, I felt satiated after seeing "Dancing the Bears Ears," and would have preferred to have gone on with my evening with its hopeful dancing strongly in my mind’s eye.

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.

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.

Renjith & Vijna in Samarpanam: A sublime offering

If you missed ChitraKaavya Dance’s presentation of Samarpanam: A sublime offering, you made a mistake.

The area non-profit regularly creates and performs Bharatanatyam, a classical Indian form, but also presents guest artists including Renjith and Vijna last night in the Eccles Regent Street Black Box. The duo, described as partners in dance as well as life, offered a stunning series of duets and solos. ChitraKaavya founder Srilatha Singh described beautifully the way in which she aims for these performances to not only share and preserve Indian heritage but also to form cross cultural relationships. In all her performances, Singh ensures that the form of Bharatanatyam, movement as visual poetry, is also described through program notes and onstage narration which bridge the gap for audience members who may be new to classical Indian dance.

This narration describes how the first piece, Panchadeva Stuthi, is an invocation for five Hindu deities and that the composition (by Professor C.V. Chandrasekhar) uses both abhinaya (expression) and nritta (physical movement) within a single phrase of music. Without this knowledge, all of these facets are still revealed through the dances as both performers offer inherent reverence through the slightest rotation of an ankle, a settling within their chest, and the soft fluttering of Renjith’s fingertips.  

Other works offer different narratives and, while Devaranaama - Chikkavane Ivanu would be enjoyable without being spoken, it is nice to decipher from my seat the way in which Vijna interprets and physicalizes the poetry of Purandara Daasar. Vijna’s onstage pre-teaching of specific gestures allowed me to fully enjoy the pranks of Little Krishna as he disrupts the lives of two young maidens.

This solo was followed by another composition dedicated to facial expression and performed by Renjith. At this time I’d like to implore all regional modern dancers working with facial expressions to take several seats. In fact, take all the seats because Renjith is an expert at revealing the ways that our face not only carries expression but also the way that expression must be driven from, and exist in relationship to, other parts of the body. Part of this is built into the composition by Indira Kadambi, but other parts are because of his own performance; which is virtuosic beyond measure and evokes physical and emotional textures in complex rhythmic relationship to the music.

During the entire concert I was aware how different the audience is from other concert dance productions in our city, and it made me think about the way that cultural forms are often treated in both training and performance settings in the United States (as a workshop elective, a supplementary technique, a community practice). With that context, it’s easy to dissociate how much more similar Bharatanatyam is to ballet than it is to the other cultural forms with which it’s frequently grouped.

When I was a child my family had season tickets to the ballet. Part of the experience was watching the dancing but another, much bigger, part was how we dressed up, ate shrimp puffs in the founder’s room during intermission, and talked to my grandmother’s friends. At Samarpanam, I was able to get a window into the Indian heritage not just of the art form but also the nature of theater-going. Turning around to see children dressed in their nicest clothes, alternating between watching intently and lounging on their parents or flipping through the program, I could see that there was much in common between this performance and my own formative experiences of viewing dance.

This comparison even extends to any critique or curiosity some new audiences may have of the work. When I watch ballet, I often tire of the number of solos and pas de deux between what I’m really after, a corps de ballet moving in idyllic unison. In Bharatanatyam, this ebb and flow is similar -- there are those who may revel in the small and specific solos, but others who (like me) wait for the rush of compelling rhythmic duets that rise at just the right moment in each piece. While the ultimate objectives of the two forms are different (one extends and balances, the other grounds and subtly shifts), the structure is always going to be traditionally clear and presentational of its respective, centuries-old objective.

In the case of Samarpanam, these objectives are matched with lovely and engaging performers who share their traditions with revelatory and expressive joy.

Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore programs as part of her non-profit, “ashley anderson dances.”

Administrator's Note: To view a recent cross-pollination of the forms mentioned in this review, you may visit Chitrakaavya Dance's Facebook page for video footage of a workshop Renjith and Vijna recently taught for Ballet West Academy students.

EyeKnee Coordination: DRYPP

As I was en route to DRYPP, I passed people taking photos of the sun diffused by haze caused by smoke blown into the Salt Lake Valley from fires as far away as Los Angeles and the Pacific Northwest. I thought about my family and friends who are recovering from Hurricane Harvey and also inhaling toxic air caused by leaking petrochemical plants, hastily shut down before the storm. I thought about Bangladesh, India and Nepal where monsoons have caused the deaths of 1,200 people. We are in the midst of many natural disasters occurring much faster than the shift of tectonic plates. In DRYPP, Einy Åm Sparks investigates “geological time” in relation to “human time” through movement and media with her company, EyeKnee Coordination. I arrived at the show with a sore, smoke-filled throat as well as a heightened sense of “geological time” moving at a rapid pace, at the rate of “human time”.

I peered into the Leona Wagner Black Box Theater to see crinkled white paper that, as I ventured further into the space, quickly became a rock formation when I rounded the corner to see more floor-to-ceiling paper-rocks looming around every wing of the stage-scape. I felt like I was going into Timpanogos Cave. Stephanie Sleeper and Kevin Ho were planted onstage already, wearing loose red outfits designed by Sleeper. They were lying down with their legs up, the tops of their heads facing the audience, at rest as if they had been there for eternity.

A drop of water fell in our ears and the dancers began. They moved upstage with a series of intertwining leg and arm movements executed on their backs until they rolled away from each other, while still gesturing towards one another and then reconnecting. Einy Åm Sparks entered, her black oxford pumps click-clacking over the sound of rain falling. She had a cameo scene protecting herself from the rain with a red coat that served as a potent symbol throughout the piece. It protected, it was coveted, then it was a shroud trapping its wearer. The red coat could be seen as another dancer in the piece as it was animated by the way the human dancers moved with and around it.

Photo of DRYPP, courtesy of EyeKnee Coordination.

Scenes of the Arctic Circle were projected and woven into the performance of DRYPP. Both Sparks and Sleeper dance in the films, and their live movement was frequently in dialogue with that of the film. The film spilled onto the stage. This expert integration of film and live dramaturgy created a sense that even though the footage was shot primarily in the Arctic Circle, the landscape of DRYPP was universal and transplantable.

The same can be said of the efficient, released, and persistent choreography. All three dancers moved fluidly alone, together, or with the filmed version of themselves. There were a few moments when one dancer crawled through a space created by a dynamic, geological-looking position of their partner. They played with the weight of their limbs, lifting their legs as if they were very heavy and then flipping onto one another as if they were weightless. DRYPP is a mesmerizing interplay of weight-play, film and live-performance play, and sonic provocation. The sound designed by Eddie Segi, Mike Wall, Yngve Åm, and Kristy Dodson was vital in driving DRYPP forward, with piercing violin concertos, silence, and distorted drips.

DRYPP reminded me that disparate communities of people on earth are ecologically connected despite socio-political initiatives towards separatism. Watching this work was a meditative experience amidst a hectic and somewhat ominous time of natural disaster throughout the world. I left the theater feeling like I had taken a breath of fresh air.

Emma Wilson received her BFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and has since been making solo works, choreographing for Deseret Experimental Opera (DEXO), and working as the Salt Lake City Library’s Community Garden Coordinator.