Myriad Dance Company: Perspective

Myriad Dance Company recently presented its winter offering, Perspective, at the Utah Museum of Contemporary Art (UMOCA). The company’s first publicized performance under the artistic leadership of Kendall Fischer, Perspective lived up to its name by subverting expectations for the venue and format in which dances are presented.

If you’re not familiar with UMOCA, the downtown museum’s largest gallery space is one level below ground and surrounded by a glassed-in mezzanine. Fischer placed audience members behind the glass in two rows, one sitting and one standing. At last, a bird’s eye view, erasing all sightline issues! (Those who choreograph floorwork in small spaces with shallow risers, take heed.)

Myriad members, alongside a handful of guest dancers, entered the gallery floor from all sides, gazing up and around as they wove in and amongst each other. As they wandered in silence, I wondered if they were truly looking up at us, or if their gazes were oriented more internally. That gray area between connection with and separation from the performers below was a thread throughout, intensified by the layer of glass that wouldn’t normally come between a viewer and a dance.

Fischer choreographed two of the program’s five total movements, with others by Ashley Creek, Sierra Stauffer, and Fiona Nelson, all frequent Myriad performers themselves. Each movement featured an occasional signature marking a choreographer’s unique touch. As a whole, though, each dance was more similar to its companions than not - on the one hand, begging the question of why the program should require the billing of five separate dances, but on the other, making the case for a very cohesive program despite contributions from multiple voices.  

Transitions between each dance, so smooth as to become invisible at times, swept varying configurations of the evening’s performers in and out of the center of the gallery floor. Long, diaphanous, burnt orange-colored skirts accentuated the eddies and swirls of the dancers, taking on a life of their own, while sometimes appearing to get in the way of supported partner work (the skirts were later abandoned for a more practical choice of leggings, allowing greater visible freedom).

I did wish that choreographers had paid closer attention to the orientation of audience to dance - upright choreography did not always make the case for why the dance should be taking place below us; my eye was most satiated when a choreographer utilized all the dancers lying on the floor, marking out kaleidoscopic patterns layered on top of the wooden floor’s repetitive squares, taking advantage of the audience’s privileged, aerial view.

In these instances, the more was truly the merrier: with the complete cast of dancers, I was able to see the full flesh of the design in space and watch it expand on a larger scale across the cavernous room. Such was notably the case in a diagonal line from which dancers would peel out and sweep back in, finding a new position while traveling backwards in a grand flocking.

All of the program’s music was electronic and trance-y; with only a faintly discernible meter, one track could blend unnoticed into the next. Working in tandem throughout, as choreographic mimicked musical quality, both became a vessel for an overall effect that washed over the space - one overarching feeling, like a long thought train or an extended music video (thinking Andrew Winghart here, and his powerful swarms of contemporary yet Graham-inspired women). Changing it up toward the end, I believe in Nelson’s piece, a noticeable meter emerged, congealing some previously scattered choreographic unisons to stronger effect.

The evening provided a truly unique viewing experience and it was exciting to see Myriad shake things up from past performances in more intimate venues. There was great potential in the possibilities unlocked by Fischer’s choice of space, though with perhaps still a bit of room left for exploration. I would eagerly press my nose up against UMOCA’s mezzanine glass for Perspective, round two.

Amy Falls manages loveDANCEmore’s cadre of writers and edits its online content. She works full-time in development at Ballet West and still occasionally puts her BFA in modern dance to use, performing with Municipal Ballet Co. and other independent projects in SLC.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Emerge

Repertory Dance Theatre is a collection of noticeably varied talents. Its company members possess distinctive personalities that can be glimpsed regularly in all RDT productions, no matter the program or how seamlessly they may move as a group. The second year of RDT’s Emerge, a choreography showcase for the company's dancers, gave us a chance to see those individual interests continue to develop. The program presented eight works that, while formally unconnected in content and style, all benefitted from RDT’s acutely personal approach to the work. Below is a small window into each.  

Dancers in Lauren Curley's "The Sum of None." Photo by Sharon Kain.

THE SUM OF NONE

Set to a Philip Glass score, Lauren Curley’s choreography was a complex study in pattern and numerical manipulation. Six identically-clad dancers performed sweeping athletic movements that multiplied and varied as they traveled along parallel and intersecting trajectories. The movement built up from simple walking and continued at a steady pace, adhering like clockwork to the unending and obfuscating evenness of the music’s rhythm.

Tiana Lovett in Tyler Orcutt's "Blue Sun." Photo by Sharon Kain. 

BLUE SUN

A solo for the lovely and intense Tiana Lovett, “Blue Sun” by Tyler Orcutt was well-crafted and even better performed. Lovett is a clear and technical dancer, suited to the fast and rolling fluidity of Orcutt’s style, and she sold the frenetic emotional drama of his contemporary-lyrical work perfectly. Chronicling a story of coping with an unavoidable “ending of a cycle,” Lovett shook and thrashed and fell to the floor over and over in passionate protest. The piece ended in silence and with a fade-out as she continued to jerk and twitch, suggesting any measure of peaceful acceptance might be out of reach.

Lacie Scott and daughter Shae in "Jammies" by Scott and Jaclyn Brown. Photo by Sharon Kain. 

JAMMIES

Cue audible squeals and cooing from the audience - newborn Layla Brown and small, giggling cherub Shae Scott accompanied Jaclyn Brown and Lacie Scott onstage in a testament to the life of dancing mothers, and what was very likely the cutest thing ever presented on stage. Inspiration drawn from the games, rocking, bouncing, and cradling of real life to create the choreography, the two mother-daughter pairs sweetly bobbed and capered around the stage to the tune of Bob Marley’s “Be Happy.” Their hijinks were punctuated by a section for the mothers alone who danced a weaving duet, nodding to the compound layers of identity that come with motherhood.

Dan Higgins and Natalie Border in Higgins' "Denizen." Photo by Sharon Kain.

DENIZEN

Dan Higgins’ choreography for “Denizen” depicted an intense relationship between a pair of strong and violently entwined forces. Natalie Border was tremendous and compelling in her uncompromising intensity. Brooding and moody, Higgins battled her. The exact nature of their spiraling relationship remained unclear, alternating between roaring aggression and something that was not quite tenderness, but maybe the insular comfort of familiarity. She got in his way and he attacked, neither able to extricate themselves or eliminate the other.

Dancers in "Doors" by Justin Bass. Photo by Sharon Kain.

DOORS

Justin Bass has been with RDT for four years now, and recently announced this season will be his last. “Doors,” likely one of his final pieces with the company, reflected this dawning life-shift, exploring themes of change, saying goodbye, nostalgia, and keeping faith in oneself, communicated through a spoken monologue by Bass that played over soft instrumentals. Four dancers stood apart, oriented toward each of the stage’s four corners. They performed subtle movements, sometimes in unison but holding the distance between them. While each dancer was lovely and interesting to watch on their own, the choreography of the piece as a whole underwhelmed when paired with Bass’s personal, moving, and deftly crafted poem.

Ursula Perry in "I'm OK, I Am Okay...I'm Still Here." Photo by Sharon Kain.

I’M OK, I AM OKAY…I’M STILL HERE

Ursula Perry’s work is always a personal favorite and often a revelation for me; nearly every time I see her perform I learn something that feels astounding and vital. (Perhaps a hyperbolic statement, but it feels true.) Her technical skills and power are beautiful and unforced. “I’m OK…” displayed a devotedly tended and honed strength, bowing and cracking under the weight of a pain the body can’t expel. A story of treading water, of keeping the surface intact while the inside roils, trying to glimpse the thing that used to make you feel joy when the world keeps tossing salt in your eyes. Twisting and flaking into the most beautiful and fragile shapes, Perry’s solo was devastating.

Tyler Orcutt and Tiana Lovett in Efrén Corado Garcia’s “Collateral Beauty." Photo by Sharon Kain.

COLLATERAL BEAUTY

Efrén Corado Garcia’s “Collateral Beauty” was a light-hearted duet, simple and sweet, danced by Orcutt and Lovett and accompanied by Michele Medina on violin. The piece gave me the sensation of watching a ballet - something neoclassical, attuned only to music, lightness, appealing lines and a shimmering feeling. A little goes a long way with that kind of ebullient frivolity; the willful obliviousness and over-saturation of it in my own balletic background can feel exasperating, but it’s very refreshing in smaller doses. I particularly enjoyed the moment in which Orcutt won over Lovett with some jellyfish-esque grand pliés. The two flirted, they dipped, swooped, darted, and brushed softly into each other without allusion to any world beyond.

Winterdance Workshop participants in "The Color of Sand." Photo by Sharon Kain.

THE COLOR OF SAND

Following last year’s model, Emerge came at the end of RDT’s Winterdance Workshop and utilized the final piece as a showcase for the workshop’s participating dancers. This year’s workshop, unlike last year, was also an audition for the company. This seems to have drawn a larger group than previously: a good thing, but one that made for a somewhat uncomfortably tense viewing experience. The dancers did an admirable job with the crowded space and choreography that appeared overly tricky for a large group of newly-acquainted people to pull together in several days, but the “they’re-looking-at-me” tension was viscerally palpable. A more informal, workshop-dedicated showing might have been more appropriate, and still could have offered dancers a chance to both prove their abilities and partake in a rewarding performance experience.

Emily Snow lives in Salt Lake and can be seen performing with Municipal Ballet Co.  She is also a member of Durian Durian, an art band that combines indie electronica and modern dance.

Wasatch Contemporary Dance Company: Blue Skies

I attended the closing night of Wasatch Contemporary Dance Company’s fall concert, Blue Skies. The intimate theatrical setting of the Underground Social Hall in Provo was full of eager and attentive audience members, and the choreographic transitions between rooms showcased how dynamic the space could be.

Blue Skies was an immersive dance experience. Before entering the social hall, we were treated to a playful duet, “Hold Please,” featuring two mischievous ushers dancing in the ticket booth. The duet was a fantastic way to introduce the audience to an interactive show, and took every opportunity to explore and make full use of the unconventional dance space.

The show started casually with live music, conversation, and a corner bar for sweet mocktails. This set a nostalgic, comfortable ambience. The dances that set the concert in motion emphasized jazz rhythm, swing-style choreography, and improvisation.

Alyssa Richardson’s “Roots” began in silence, slowly building a rhythm with clapping and ending in a crescendo of live djembe drumming. The dancing incorporated staccato spoking motions and beautiful level changes, with hints of African dance motifs. It felt like a celebratory nod to the history of jazz, the dancers wholly committed to the full-body movement style.

The concert cleverly developed a narrative about jazz and the culture of the 1920s while feeling accessible and contemporary. I particularly enjoyed the partnering and footwork in Heather Norton’s “Swingin Scat,” with lifts reminiscent of famous Lindy hop stunts. The dancers’ synchronicity had a pretension of vaudeville flair. “Make Something Up on the Spur of the Moment” was a creation of structured improvisation. While spoken word was utilized for clarity, it never became prosaic, supporting the choreography without guiding it.

Throughout the concert, the performers showed no apprehension to being viewed so closely, easily breaking the fourth wall and making eye contact with each audience member. The patrons were free to roam or view each dance from a new angle. Any time the crowd followed the dancing action to a new part of the social hall, the chairs and furniture would be reset in the corresponding room. I was impressed that stage magic in this open space continued to happen without the benefit of a blackout or scene change.

The second half of the show highlighted a politically feminine fierceness in Roxanne Gray’s “female.” and Mikayla Phillips’ “The Secret Society of Short-Hair Ladies.” Both dances featured soloists contrasting with the group, keen shifts in stillness, sweeping motions, and a sense of frustration, strength, and emotional resolve.

“Newcomers” actively engaged the audience through mirroring and improvisation. Each performer would ask an audience member to dance with them, creating a seductively calm environment that was arrestingly broken by the ingress of the next dance, “Nearness of You.”

Blue Skies culminated in a collective celebration, the audience joining in for a dance party. Overall, the dancers’ technique and performance skills were superbly articulate and joyfully evocative, and the choreography meticulously and clearly crafted with the jazz-era theme in mind.

Fiona Nelson holds a BFA in Modern Dance Performance from Utah Valley University. Currently based in Salt Lake, she has performed and choreographed with Body Logic Dance Company, Co.Da (Sugar Space), and currently collaborates with Myriad Dance Company. 

Repertory Dance Theatre: Top Bill

With tap shoes, reading glasses, and a relaxed yet specific performance demeanor, William “Bill” Evans literally (and figuratively) stepped into the spotlight at the conclusion of his solo, "Three Preludes." This piece blended the sounds (which were unfortunately muffled on the marley floor) and rhythms of tap dance with the lyricism and emotional ventures of modern dance. "Three Preludes" was choreographed to honor Evans’ late mother, Lila Snape Evans, and was programmed in the middle of Repertory Dance Theatre’s Top Bill, an evening that included six works, all created by Evans, spanning 1970 to 2015.

It is fascinating to open the “modern dance time capsule”; RDT does this regularly, as they brand themselves as a living library, a breathing museum, of modern dance. This mission can be challenging for an art form that was born out of rejecting what came before and one that is often neurotically trying to rebirth itself with the new and avant garde, sometimes at the expense of baffled and unwilling audiences. Top Bill not only opened the history book but narrowed the scope to one artist, so we could see where modern dance was 47 years ago ("For Betty"), both in terms of trends and for one individual, and in contrast with the trends and interpretations of 2015 ("Crippled Up Blues"). This programing also brought up questions of timelessness: why, despite being impeccably performed, did "For Betty" show its age at 47 while "Tintal," just two years younger, existed in the elusive wrinkle in time, leaving me captivated enough to forget past, present, and future?

My opening-night performance companion was my mother, who was born and raised in a three-bedroom home in Cedar City when it truly was a small town. She lived in the three-bedroom home with her parents and nine siblings and, when it was bulldozed to the ground to make way for commercial development, the local paper wrote about how sad it was to see a place that housed memories for so many people disappear. It is now a car wash, wedged between two gas stations. My mother now lives in Orange County, California, where I was raised but, at Top Bill, she was taken back to her Utah college dance days of piling in Professor Whetten’s car and making the four-hour drive to Salt Lake City to see Bill Evans dance.  

Although, memories can be faulty…

Mother: “I think I saw Bill [Evans]’s company come through Costa Mesa recently.”

Me: “No, Mom, that was Bill T. Jones.”

However, some memories do stay; often, the ones we deeply experience in our muscles and bones.

“How many times have I crossed the floor like that?” my mother whispered to me after seeing a repeated attitude jump in "For Betty."

I myself have never done that jump across the floor. That jump hasn’t dusted off all its ballet influence, with its clear air-borne shape and punctuated musicality. It resides comfortably in a past era of modern dance: an era that precedes the blended counts of release technique or the self-interest and -indulgence of Gaga; an era that continues to resurface in RDT’s programming.

In fact, this was my third time seeing "For Betty" resurface and, similar to its previous performance, this rendition was full of joy and technical mastery. However, this performance felt especially embodied with a fullness of execution and, at times, a curiosity in approach. The difference was as subtle yet as distinct as perfecting a movement in front of the mirror versus perfecting the same movement with closed eyes. The dancers were not performing what the movement should look like but rather were experiencing each curve, swing, and jump as a dimensional body in space.

Dan Higgins and Tyler Orcutt in Evans' "Alternating Current." Photo by Sharon Kain. 

Dan Higgins and Tyler Orcutt performed "Alternating Current" (1982), a duet in which Higgins played the flame, flickering and teaming with kinetic energy, while Orcutt played the moth, flighty and dangerously drawn in. A building motif, Orcutt would run into Higgins’ embrace, unable to resist its pull and then, just as quickly, would sprint offstage, leaving Higgins to writhe in solitude. I appreciated the focus and clarity of the choreography, but also wondered what would happen if the dancers traded in their costumes that were spotted with literal flames and instead dressed as themselves, two men trying to grapple with the electric, even deadly, charge between them. Could this other version have existed in 1982? If not, it could certainly exist now.

"Tintal" was the highlight of the show; Evans drew on his studies of Bharatanatyam and West African dance while choreographing it. Not many pieces cause me to lean forward in my seat in an attempt to capture every texture and layer, or to see the dancers as otherworldly. The set, designed by Ivan Weber after the original by Kay Burrell, cut the space into background and foreground and placed the dancers in a world of pre-human organisms that slumbered and awakened with curved spines and rooted bodies. Efren Corado Garcia and Lacie Scott had an especially captivating duet, their spines undulating as if boneless bodies in unison, summoning the earth and its energy. "Tintal" ended in silence, suggesting that its world continued on indefinitely; if it did, I would be there to watch.

Next up was "Suite Benny," reimagined in 2017 from a 1987 creation and dedicated to Janet Gray (an iconic Salt Lake City dance teacher), and the program closed with "Crippled Up Blues," a premiere in 2015 for the company’s fiftieth anniversary.

"Suite Benny" evoked the era of old Hollywood films, with twirling ballroom dancing and carefully paired couples circling the stage. This nostalgia was initially lost on me, and I settled in to let the movement wash over me. Enter Ursula Perry and Lauren Curley: two magnetic leaders, two chaperones that encouraged rather than monitored, two women who decided that pairing off with a partner would not suffice. Instead, they wove in and out of the on-stage couples and performed to the audience, with animation and confidence, that they would pave their own way in their created world.

"Crippled Up Blues," well-described here at its 2015 premiere, took the program full circle, exhibiting ever-changing aesthetics and how an artist evolves over time. The beginning consisted of multi-focused vignettes, emerging as quickly as they dissolved, and a constant yet morphing emotional landscape. The piece eventually settled on what felt like a more familiar trope: dancers clapping and slapping their bodies, marching in plié. This led into the cast posing as the elderly, shaking with hunched shoulders in their chairs, their bones drying out in the desert heat. I preferred the more ambiguous and disjointed beginning world, as I am a product of my own time.

Lauren Curley (left), Justin Bass, and members of Repertory Dance Theatre in Evans' "Tintal." Photo by Sharon Kain. 

Erica Womack is a choreographer based in Salt Lake, and an adjunct faculty member at SLCC.     

Sara Malan-McDonald: Birth! at Sugar Space

Arizona-based Sara Malan-McDonald recently presented Birth! at Sugar Space Arts Warehouse. The work was created as a therapeutic response to an experience of “obstetric abuse” in which Malan-McDonald was forced to have an unnecessary C-section and her “baby was assaulted… result[ing] in extreme, morbid postpartum depression and [PTSD].” “Birth!” promised to “discuss how babies are born; how it affects mammas, babies and society; and why it matters.”

Upon our arrival in the space, several lab coat-clad “doctors” greeted and steered us into the small theater – or rather, waiting room. We were each given a "new patient form,” which turned out to be an extensive, themed program I was unable to read until after the show. Although we were early, a dance was already underway. A pregnant woman stood mid-stage in black, using her arms and hands to fashion winding and sculptural pictures. A New Age-y woodwind track played as her limbs slowly pushed and retracted, held something small, and created a rounded belly and ovaries with a sprinkling of seeds.

In a following dance, a second, also heavily pregnant woman told us the story of her previous four children’s births, using speech and corresponding narrative movement. The clarity of her storytelling was excellent, piqued with humor and personality. I was delighted. When the first woman returned to reprise her dance, she seemed like an otherworldly intermediary. I wondered if we might get to see a series of personal narratives, transitioned through coiling imagery. Regrettably, the show took a different track and didn’t return to those curious stories.

After a pause, two more snappy, faintly condescending “doctors” arrived, signaling the start of Birth! They brought up the house lights and engaged with us, requesting we fill out the medical history questionnaire included in the program. They also insisted we as an audience produce 2-4 volunteers to share a personal story of trauma. There were a few, a range of reopened wounds that hung around uncomfortably after our hosts’ swift consolations - “We’re so sorry, thank you for sharing today.” If the intention was to create an atmosphere where the audience would feel defensive and pressured the way you might in an unfamiliar or hostile medical environment, I’d say they succeeded. I didn’t find it to be a choice especially reflective of Birth!’s key themes of facilitating healing through empowerment and reclaiming agency over one's story.

Resetting for a third dance, four dancers introduced themselves, three quickly fading as my attention was drawn to Sara Malan-McDonald.  Her progression of movement was dynamic and violent. Quaking and convulsing, with eyes stretched wide, she lurched and tumbled forward to tell us about her most harrowing experience. Like the earlier birth solo, this one told a vivid story through openly descriptive movement. Things that might have been cheesy, like a recurrent accusatory finger pointed out over our heads, were bolstered by intense sincerity. Throughout most of the show, I noted the video screen on the left for its flashes of technical error, but the anatomical drawings of women projected during the solo were a good supplement to her portrayal of being dehumanized, laid out, and cut open at the mercy of indifferent actors.

Malan-McDonald’s excellent solo was choreographed by Jodi James (and the program didn’t specify who had choreographed the prologue), but from then on the show felt markedly different, drawing mostly from familiar standbys of modern and lyrical contemporary dance. Ambient hospital sounds mixed with dramatic orchestral scores. A strangely-placed and syrupy Tori Amos song jarred with a heavy emphasis on declarative statements from the dancers. Giant placards with words like “fear” and “depersonalization” were held up as they spouted a stream of statistics about C-section rates and decried a suspicious prevalence of the operation in the U.S.

However, I did note a conspicuous absence of meaningful analysis or calling out of the systems and people responsible. At one point there was a cry for women to forgive themselves for having a Cesarean delivery. It was an odd moment that both lacked set-up earlier in the work and smacked slightly of victim-blaming. Preaching for self-love and against stigma isn’t quite the same as telling women to forgive themselves for the abuse someone else perpetrated on them (thereby implying that what happened was partially or all their fault). Although decently well-executed, the remainder of the show felt anti-climactic and too safe, missing a lot of good opportunities to scrutinize its topic more fully.

Seeing diversity of age, body, and ethnicity represented in the cast was wonderful, but accentuated the narrow viewpoint of Malan-McDonald’s production even more. Her story was the only one represented, the extremely personal generalized to suggest a universal certainty: disconcerting in a show that attempted a nearly even split between lecture and dance work, and broadly promised to discuss “how babies are born” and the societal impact thereof. None of the profuse statistical scaffolding applied an intersectional lens, watering down its authority for me immediately. No other common issues concerning maternal and fetal/infant distress and death were touched on, of which there are many. And there was no reference to the larger issue of the systemic failures, obstruction, and manipulation women face in seeking medical care around the world. Simply “taking back control” and seeking a different, better hospital or hiring a doula out of pocket to skirt these challenges is not an option all women have access to. The erasure of interrelated issues, individuated experiences, and the experiences of women in marginalized communities was troubling.

Afterwards, a woman who identified herself as a practicing physician assistant took the stage. Underprepared for her lengthy speech, she did not end up providing the much-needed professional analysis I was hoping for. Throwing out a few more scattered stats, she called on “both sides” of the provider-patient relationship to “be better to each other.” Declining to “get political,” she went on to tell us that women need to "take more responsibility" and just "trust their provider" more. Her outright refusal to talk about the root issue of deeply-layered systems of institutional prejudice that keep women marginalized and unheard, or to advocate for any meaningful justice or change, was disheartening to say the least. Having a credible person of authority with nuanced vision come out to speak after the show could have fleshed out some of what was missing, brought us full circle, and turned the closing moment into an affecting call to action. Her waffling closed that door, however, and I left the theater thinking that Malan-McDonald should have dropped the scaffolding, the ensemble, the stage-dressing and speeches, and let her story speak for itself.

Emily Snow holds a BFA in ballet from the University of Utah and has spent several seasons dancing with Central West Ballet in California. She currently performs in Salt Lake with Municipal Ballet Co. and with 3-member band Durian Durian.