Municipal Ballet Co. & Color Animal: Night

I began driving to the Commonwealth Studios upset that my tidy and prescribed theater route was disrupted on a hot night. But upon parking (finally) I discovered that the Municipal Ballet Company had found yet another magical space for something to happen.

The company’s newest concert, “Night” is, in a word, disarming.

In its sixth year of presenting concerts, this collaborative group directed by Sarah Longoria has consistently used charms to relieve the suspicion of both dance skeptics and dance critics. By carefully choosing venues off dance’s beaten path, collaborating with local bands (in this case, Color Animal) and always ensuring that beverages are provided, it’s challenging not to find something to enjoy about the experiences created by Municipal Ballet Co. whether you are a regular dance goer or, more likely, new to the field. For the former, there are new faces and places (did I mention beverages) and for the latter, there are entry points beyond movement.

Many of these entry points are stylized —  garage tracks juxtaposed with ballet steps in a commercial studio, but they are also unwitting and spatial. I am able to turn to the band on my left and notice that Felicia Baca is concentrating and therefore chewing her gum in a particular way. Or, that the audience member to my right closes his eyes at a certain cadence in Andrew Shaw’s voice. If I am choreographically disinterested, I can also see who has snuck to the bar or the black and white photographs in the back of the space. With each of these passing glances, I can just as easily return to the strips of gray marley where a handful of dancers perform the twelve works that comprise “Night.”

Theoretically these dances each represent an hour of the night, from dusk to dawn, and relate to the contemporary political moment. But in my view, that topical idea is less present than something that continually rises to the surface in Municipal Ballet Co. concerts, the complicated way in which so many individuals fill so many vibrant roles in Salt Lake’s art and social scenes.  

In this work, no choreographer, dancer, or musician holds a singular title and I am aware as I’m watching that this not just a dance concert but a dance concert which includes: radio personalities, writers, gallery directors, parents, arts administrators, neighbors, and even one of my first dance teachers. The audience reflects this multiplicity back to the stage and returns a vibrant energy of friends, family, and future collaborators eager to participate in something new.

The atmosphere of possibility has some moments of particular excitement. In “Destruction,” Mary Jessie Floor bourres while David Ayala and Tim Dwyer (literally) juggle fire around her port de bras. In “Disconnection,” Ben Estabrook’s films take the stage in new contexts, and in “Dismantle,” Nora Price impossibly cooly departs her own solo to harmonize with the band.

But that feeling of possibility is also disrupted at times: when the addition of oatmeal colored ballet skirts overwhelms the more fashionable aesthetic of clothes-we-happened-to-have, when the confines of the small space cause a choreographic glitch, or when the inevitable disparity among performing bodies is revealed -- — 

The fifth dance of the concert, “Tomb” is performed by Ursula Perry, a Repertory Dance Theater company member. Her command of the stage is tremendous and this control is derived in part from Chase Wise’s choreography but, in larger part, the amount she dances each day. It isn’t until she performs that there is a distinction between her, a dancer by trade, and the former performers who (as described) fulfill many artistic roles but simply don’t have the same degree of daily physical practice. For the casual observer, pointing this out may not appreciably change nor represent their experience, but for me, the first moment of her sharp gestures troubles the former works of the concert. Despite this sentiment, the solo is beautiful, as are many preceding and following dances -- a trio by Jo Blake that unfolds alongside the music, Joni Wilson’s crisply cupped hands and delicate movements in “Fragility,” and the unfolding choreographic pieces and earnest pairings within ensemble works.

If disarming is the first word, liminal is the final word.

Municipal Ballet Co. arrives at a boundary between showing audiences ballet steps and exploring choreographic structures; at a threshold of something commercially engaging to audiences but still artistically focused; occupying a place where I like “Night” but also (the best part is) that they don’t need me to.

Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore programs as part of her 501c3, ashley anderson dances.  

Ballet West: National Choreographic Festival, Program B

The second weekend of Ballet West’s National Choreographic Festival features three pieces created by women: Jennifer Archibald’s Myoho performed by Cincinnati Ballet, Robyn Mineko Williams’s To Clear performed by Charlotte Ballet, and África Guzmán’s Sweet and Bitter performed by Ballet West. Like the first weekend of the festival, each choreographer presents a different approach to contemporary ballet, revealing a diversity of aesthetics as well as the significance of including women’s voices in ballet programming.

The director of Cincinnati Ballet, Victoria Morgan, has brought financial stability and artistic excellence to the organization during her 20-year tenure as artistic director, 8 years of which she spent in the dual role of CEO. At a panel discussion of women in leadership roles, hosted by Ballet West on May 23, Morgan said, “It’s ironic, in part, because you don’t see women in these roles, you don’t realize that you have that capability.”

Her statement speaks to the politics of representation and who has, historically, decided how women are presented and represented. Scholar and theorist bell hooks writes about how “the field of representation (how we see ourselves, how others see us) is a site of ongoing struggle.” In an essay called “In our Glory: Photography and Black Life,” hooks writes that photography was a “political instrument, a way to resist misrepresentation as well as a means by which alternative images could be produced.” In many ways the festival presented by Ballet West is another reworking of these “misrepresentations” and a place where “alternative images” of capable women are made visible and tangible.

Jennifer Archibald’s choreography exemplifies the importance of the politics of representation. Archibald was named resident choreographer of Cincinnati Ballet in 2017 and Myoho marks her fourth creation for the company (following 2014’s Sit, 2016’s Redeem, and 2017’s Never.Nest). Cincinnati’s dancers shine in her creations, which is a testament to both their talents as performers as well as Archibald’s extraordinary creativity and craft. Her choreography updates ballet’s vocabulary by intertwining elements of jazz, modern, and hip-hop with the classical vocabulary. The results are neither gimmicky nor acrobatic but rather intensely fascinating and evocative. Archibald brings ballet into the 21st century with the kind of imagination and intelligence that George Balanchine brought to ballet in the last century: sections of Myoho looked like Agon, but newly resonant. Exquisite feats of partnering and careful attention to dancers’ formations made Myoho, like Agon, a physical and emotional contest. Myoho tests the dancers’ limits and capacities, and it was incredible that, coming from Ohio the night before, they adjusted to Salt Lake City’s elevation just in time for this demanding performance.

In the panel discussion on May 23, Archibald said, “For me, when I walk into a studio I see more than dancers’ physical abilities. I am checking in with them emotionally… I look at them as humans, instead of what they execute from point A to point B. When you invest in that aspect of their humanity, I think the ensemble work is stronger and the experience is better for myself and for them.” These words sum up perfectly what happened on stage last night: the dancers combined steely strength with lightning-fast accents. Partnering sections allowed both men and women to occupy roles of resisting, relishing, and evading one another. The entire cast of ten inhabited Archibald’s movement as both a challenge and an affirmation, as if to say, “Not only can I dance this phrase, I can also add my own nuances to it.”  

Two men, Cervilio Miguel Amador and James Cunningham, were fascinating in a duet that was as much a demonstration of leaning into support and interdependencies as it was a showcase for their exceptional dancing. Again, Archibald’s vocabulary enables this kind of emotional insight: she has a keen eye for both formal elements, as when couples enter the stage in similar lifts, creating a sense of dynamism and equilibrium, and for highlighting dancers’ relationships with one another. In a brilliant touch, one of the women placed her finger on a man’s lips after a virtuosic duet, as if to say, “That’s enough for the moment.”

Indeed the title of her piece can be translated as “Myo” which means mystic or wonderful, and “ho,” which means law. According to the Soka Gakkai International website, “Myoho” is “the wonder of ordinary people, beset by delusion and suffering, awakening to the fundamental law in their own lives, bringing forth wisdom and compassion and realizing that they are inherently Buddhas able to solve their own problems and those of others. The Mystic Law transforms the life of anyone—even the unhappiest person, at any time and in any circumstances—into a life of supreme happiness.”

In many ways, Archibald’s work with Cincinnati Ballet brought me supreme happiness: I spent three days in San Francisco recently for the Unbound festival of new choreography and none of the works had the nuance and vibrancy of Archibald’s. This is also a compliment to Cincinnati’s dancers: they tap into a place where they are fearless and they excel. Their costume design, by Archibald, placed the women in yellow leotards with futuristic collars that extended over the napes of their necks, suggesting the top of a cape and heightening their sense of invincibility. The score included music by Nico Muhly, Robert Honstein, and David Lang and the intertwining of instruments and machines contributed to the idea that Archibald makes ballet relevant to our digitally-enhanced 21st century.

During the panel, Archibald also said, “I love teaching and I continue to teach high school through university students. How I attack all of my classes is to not only see the star in the room. It’s important for me to see the dancer that may not be at the forefront, but has the skill level and the talent, but not the confidence to step forward. It’s important to see everyone and motivate everyone.” Based on last night’s performance, it’s clear that her choreography motivates her audiences as much as it motivates her students, and Myoho received a standing ovation.

Charlotte Ballet is now directed by Hope Muir, who trained and performed in Great Britain before joining Hubbard Street Dance Chicago (HSDC). Muir selected a work by Robyn Mineko Williams, who danced with HSDC for 12 seasons, to bring to the National Choreographic Festival. Called To Clear, the piece was a brilliant choice for the contrast that Williams’ choreography provided. Working in a more exploratory and grounded style, Williams developed scenes that evoked poetic and enigmatic interactions: the piece began with one woman standing on a folding chair, as a man, Anson Zwingelberg, walked slowly from downstage to upstage, towards her. Two technicians, working hand-held lights in the downstage corners of the stage, created shadows that duplicated their actions on the backdrop. The imagery suggested that this relationship was similar to other human interactions, and as the piece continued the cast of seven created duets, trios, and quartets that felt poignant and dream-like: in one section each cast member slid a hand around one dancer’s waist, as if about to hug or embrace them from behind, but then abandoned the gesture.

Costumes by Aimee J. Coleman contributed to the pedestrian environment, with the men and women in socks and distinct outfits, wearing long-sleeved and sleeveless tops, with pedestrian shorts, capris, and even a pant-suit. The muted tones added to the casual environment and the commissioned score by Robert F. Haynes and Tony Lazzara enriched the atmosphere with blankets of sounds that felt like they were enveloping the scenes. Actions segued seamlessly: for example, a deep lunge morphed into a turn, and then into an arabesque, allowing the momentum of each part to determine the course of events rather than lingering in any position. Zwingelberg, who graduated from Juilliard with his BFA last year, stood out among the cast of beautiful performers.

Ballet West chose África Guzmán’s Sweet and Bitter to close the program and its merger of dramatic interactions and spectacular partnering created a powerful ending. Allison DeBona and Chase O’Connell were stellar as the lead couple, and their closing pas de deux was poignant and haunting, ending with O’Connell lifting and cradling DeBona in his arms.

Katherine Lawrence, Katlyn Addison, Chelsea Keefer, Hadriel Diniz, Alexander MacFarlan, and Jordan Veit added vibrancy and playfulness to the piece, embodying the “sweet” part of Guzman’s title. The women especially lingered in balances as if savoring the movement and this added allure to their performances. Guzmán’s choreography, a fusion of theatricality and physical feats, evokes a lineage of European ballet-makers like Nacho Duato (who Guzmán worked with for 20 years) and Jiří Kylián, and was complemented by a score by Ezio Bosso, which combined both driving and demure sections.

During the panel, Guzmán acknowledged the importance of powerful women in her career, such as Maya Plisetskaya, her first director, and Hope Muir added similar observations. Great Britain, said Muir, is “quite a small island. Ninette de Valois founded the Royal Ballet and Marie Rambert started Ballet Rambert, which is the oldest company in Britain, and one that I was fortunate to dance with... Now you’ve got National Dance Company Wales with a female director [Caroline Finn] and Scottish Dance Theatre has a female director [Fleur Darkin] and there’s Tamara Rojo at English National Ballet.” For Muir, such examples of women in leadership roles led her to believe “it was possible,” a statement that contrasts with Morgan’s observation about seeing so few female directors during her performing career.

The French philosopher Jacques Rancière presents a theory that explains these observations: it’s called “the distribution of the sensible,” which means we can only see or “sense” those ideas that have been presented or framed for us. As a result, aesthetic approaches are deeply entwined with politics, and those works deemed “good” or “valuable” are supported by particular regimes of seeing and thinking. Another way of stating this idea is that aesthetic choices are also political choices: when we support the voices and ideas of people who are not equitably represented, we are enriching our knowledge of the world we live in.

What the National Choreographic Festival makes abundantly clear is that female choreographers are a vital part of our ballet landscapes. While the festival presents a vibrant spectrum, I believe there are still more artists to include. Salt Lake City is home to several distinguished dance-makers, including Penny Saunders, who just premiered an acclaimed full-length for Grand Rapids Ballet, and Melissa Bobick, who was selected for this summer’s prestigious Choreographic Institute at the University of North Carolina, School of the Arts, which is led by another vital female leader, Susan Jaffe.

As Morgan said during the panel discussion, “I might say confidence is important, but then I realize I didn’t feel confident when I stepped into these roles. I think it’s interesting that there’s this theme of recognizing the potential of dancers who are around you. It’s not always necessarily about confidence, but a lot about being vulnerable and creating relationships where dancers feel safe. The ability to generate that kind of atmosphere in a studio is essential.” As this festival proves, it’s also essential to generate support and opportunities for these women who are keeping ballet real.

Principal Artist Chase O'Connell and First Soloist Allison DeBona in Africa Guzmán's Sweet and Bitter. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Kate Mattingly is an assistant professor at the University of Utah’s School of Dance, and holds a PhD in performance studies from UC Berkeley.

She moderated the panel discussion at Ballet West, which featured the female choreographers and artistic directors invited to Salt Lake City for the second weekend of the National Choreographic Festival.

Read Kate's review of the first weekend of the National Choreographic Festival here.

Dr. Janaki Rangarajan in Samah: Dance of Mystic Poetry

Photos of Dr. Janaki Rangarajan in Samah: Dance of Mystic Poetry, by Srinivasan Govindarajan.

Srilatha Singh, of ChitraKaavya Dance, has a passion for presenting high quality Bharatanatyam to Salt Lake City audiences. I have had the pleasure of being an audience member for some of these performances: previously, for Renjith and Vijna performance, Samarpanam, in the fall of 2017, and, now recently, for Dr. Janaki Rangarajan performance of Samah: Dance of Mystic Poetry at the Jeanne Wagner Theatre.

I was also involved when Ragamala Dance Company performed at Kingsbury Hall in 2016; Singh, Raksha Karpoor, Liz Stich, and I performed a piece that was a collaboration of modern dance and Bharatanatyam to open the show. I preface with all of this to say that I have had exposure within this cultural art form, but am in no way well-versed in its nuance. I left Samah with a desire to understand more from the perspective of someone that was more well-versed. Thankfully, Singh and I were able to meet and the following are highlights from our conversation.

Bharatanatyam is an ancient South Indian dance form that was traditionally done as a solo by women in Hindu temples for elite, extremely select, and primarily male audiences. There was much conflict over its existence during British colonial rule; many classical Indian dance forms were ridiculed and discouraged. An “anti-dance movement” arose from this conflict, which accused dance of being a form of prostitution, and culminated in the British government banning Hindu temple dancing altogether in 1910.

When Rukmini Devi Arundale helped to revive Bharatanatyam in the 20th century, it was both taken out of the temples and relieved of any sensuality and sexuality, arguably in an attempt to gain traction and shed its former, alleged connection with prostitution. One of the many things that Singh finds so profound in Rangarajan’s dancing is that, while most contemporary Bharatanatyam dancers continue the mainstream tradition of keeping their hips and pelvis centered, Rangarajan has also been trained in the movement vocabulary called Karana, as reconstructed by her guru, Dr. Padma Subramaniam, as her life’s work. Karana allows the hip to be off-center in sculpturesque angles. With this subtle change, dancers re-integrate the sensual origins of the form, and Singh views Rangarajan’s personal interpretation as skillfully towing the line of adding sensuality without crossing over into the vulgar.

I was not fully aware of this history, or of this deliberate attempt by Rangarajan, but I did gather the effects just by watching her perform. I interpreted her moving body as a full-bodied and multi-dimensional woman, aware of her sensuality and sexual power, but also interested the portrayal of other aspects of the human (or divine) experience. One portrayal did not take precedence over the other. She was simultaneously euphoric, devoted, devastated, sublime, and ordinary. These states of being were housed and manifested in her flesh-and-bone body - a body that she was able to transcend while fiercely staking claim to it.

Singh and I also discussed Bharatanatyam moving forward, and how Singh thinks the form could possibly evolve to gain wider audiences (and also, what will remain constant in the form without compromise). As I watched Rangarajan’s performance, I was surprised at the sheer length of it. As a solo performer, she was onstage for just under two hours, interpreted five different poems, and spoke in between each one, with minimal rest backstage throughout. I can’t imagine the stamina, both physical and mental, that was necessary.

Consequently, the viewing experience also asks a certain stamina of the audience. I found beauty in settling into a lengthy solo performance, a respite from the often scattered and short attention spans littered with sound bytes and social media quips. But, I wondered how this functioned with mass audiences, especially those that are predominantly non-Indian.

While I gleaned much from Rangarajan’s storytelling, Bharatanatyam is essentially a form of sign language, the dancers telling plot-based stories familiar to those raised in the tradition. Immediately accessible to me were her virtuosic dancing, the rhythms, the specificity of her arms moving with her legs, and the layer of choreography that was her face and eyes, but I did not know the literal meanings of many gestures, nor did I have access to the music (sung or spoken in a variety of languages, including Tamil, Kannada, Persian, Kashmiri, Punjabi, Hindi, Maithili, and Sanskrit) in the way that Singh does.

Will this art form experience a "Balanchine moment," in which the plot is forsaken for a non-literal musical interpretation? Could it even go a step forward, à la Merce Cunningham, and divorce itself from the music to see what remains of an abstracted body moving through space? Singh cannot imagine this happening, as emotion and storytelling are at the core of why the dancers move to begin with. This idea was highlighted in our collaboration in 2017: Stich and I would explain our movement choices in terms of spatial arrangement and internal impulse motivation (i.e., doing what “feels” right), while Karpoor and Singh would respond with what the music was saying and how their movements directly corresponded.   

Should somethings remain unchallenged? Should we always be jabbing at tradition with innovation? Would anything worthwhile be left if we pushed and pulled at the rich tradition of Bharatanatyam? These were my own questions, though I’m not sure Singh felt my angst within my probes - which makes sense. I am looking through the lens of modern dance, a movement tradition that was born in the 1900s through the rejection of traditions that came before it, and then continued, and still continues, to turn itself inside and out each decade. We dance to the music, then alongside it, then against it, and sometimes without it… and while I find this interesting, I cannot say modern dance’s exploratory nature has gained it mass appeal as a form.

Instead of these questions, Singh wonders if it would be advantageous to educate audience members more about Bharatanatyam prior to a performance. Each show she has presented has maintained a nice balance of speaking before the performance to welcome but also to enlighten the audience about what they will see. Does there need to be more explanation in order for wider audiences to walk away feeling fulfilled? In the case of Rangarajan’s performance, my response was, “No.” Though I could not historically or academically detail all that occurred, I was transported nonetheless. Rangarajan wove the history of her own body with questions and affirmations of love, despair, and joy with a commitment that I have hardly experienced before. I was left wanting to engage more with what I experienced at Samah: Dance of Mystic Poetry- an indication that art did what it should.

Erica Womack is a Salt Lake based choreographer. She teaches at SLCC and regularly contributes to loveDANCEmore.

Ballet West: National Choreographic Festival, Program A

When Ballet West’s Artistic Director Adam Sklute welcomed the audience to the second annual National Choreographic Festival last night, there was tangible excitement in the auditorium: not only was every work on the program created by a female choreographer, but the artistic directors of the visiting companies, Richmond Ballet and The Washington Ballet, were women - Stoner Winslett and Julie Kent. Even though ballet schools may be full of female students, and a lot of female teachers, there’s a scarcity of choreographers and company directors who identify as female.

In fact, a couple years ago, a graduate student analyzing the 2015-2016 performance season of the ten highest-budgeted American ballet companies ($9 million to $60 million, U.S. dollars), found that approximately ten percent of the works were made by women: 111 male choreographers compared to only 13 female choreographers. Prior to Kent’s appointment as director of The Washington Ballet in 2016, and of the “top billing” American ballet companies, only one had a woman in charge: Lourdes Lopez of Miami City Ballet. Out of 59 American companies with budgets between $1 million and $60 million, only 26% are directed by women. This list includes Winslett, the longest tenured company director in the United States, plus artistic directors Virginia Johnson of Dance Theatre of Harlem and Victoria Morgan of Cincinnati Ballet.

Victoria Morgan will be in Salt Lake City next week when Cincinnati Ballet, and Charlotte Ballet (with newly appointed director Hope Muir), share a program with Ballet West. These performances also feature works by female choreographers: Jennifer Archibald, Robyn Mineko Williams, and África Guzmán.

I’m aware that’s a lot of names in just three paragraphs, and this is intentional: I believe one of the reasons for the gender disparity in leadership roles in ballet is that women’s work often goes unnoticed or unacknowledged (parallels could be drawn with women’s domestic labor). When we start to look at the achievements of women who occupy leadership roles, thinking especially of Stoner Winslett, Victoria Morgan, and Virginia Johnson, we see people who have merged longevity, financial stability, and artistic excellence. Their visions, determination, and dedication are extraordinary.

Last night, on stage at the Rose Wagner, there was a similar sense of excellence. As different as each of these companies and choreographers are, the dancers invested in the distinct movement vocabularies and brought to life vivid images of aquatic life, relationships’ tumults, and athletic mating rituals.

Richmond Ballet opened the program with Katarzyna Skarpetowska’s Akwarium (Polish for “Aquarium”). This is the Skarpetowska’s third commission for Richmond’s dancers (following Polaris in 2015 and Scarred Bouquets in 2017). Akwarium’s cast of 12 inhabited her movement with a sense of ease and curiosity. Their rippling torsos and fluid partnering evoked an underwater world, as some dancers had the mercurial qualities of minnows and others took on more sinewy actions. There was no narrative but rather a beautiful sense of immersion in another realm.

The piece began with an empty stage and fluorescent rods gradually illuminated the space, reminiscent of lighting that could be found above a home aquarium. Dancers’ unitards, designed by Fritz Masten, were shades of blue, green, and cobalt; each featured its own delicate details.

Something that distinguishes Skarpetowska’s choreography is her ability to use the stage like a multi-sided box instead of a square with only one front that faces the audience. As a result, one section presented two pairs of dancers, but much of their choreography showed their backs to the audience, giving us a distinct and intriguing view of their pas de deux. In another section, women traveled across the stage with energetic bourrees, but with their backs to the audience, revealing Masten’s beautiful accents in their costumes.  

Entrances often took the form of a man lifting and turning a woman, as if they were being swept onto the stage. Other clever choreographic details included a couple performing downstage as other dancers emerged and exited in fast runs across the upstage area. This kinetic “backdrop” enriched the downstage duet.

A pulsing score by Robert Henke added to the intensity and momentum of Akwarium’s first section. For the last part of the piece, the music shifted to J.S. Bach’s “Allemande.” Throughout the performance, the choreography, lighting, costumes, and music created a multi-layered quality, as vibrant and effervescent as aquatic life. One of the women, Elena Bello, was stunning, imbuing the choreography with fluidity, playfulness, and confidence. Bello also shone in a trio with two of the men, and all of the six men, Marty Davis, Trevor Davis, Matthew Frain, Anthony Oates, Fernando Sabino, and Mate Szentes, were impressive, displaying clean lines and exuberant leaps.

The Washington Ballet brought Myriad, a new work by Gemma Bond, who’s a member of American Ballet Theatre’s corps de ballet. Prior to moving to New York, Bond was a First Artist with the Royal Ballet, and there were vestiges of Kenneth MacMillan’s approach in her Myriad. Set to music by Henry Purcell, the piece presented a cast of six women and one man. Its tone was dramatic with a tinge of angst, as the women often circled their heads with their arms as if wilting or feeling entangled. The costume design by Bond had the women wearing long skirts that they, at times, lifted gently with their hands. The man, Brooklyn Mack in last night’s performance, wore a white sleeveless vest and white tights that stopped just below the knee.

Mack was brilliant in a role that’s a tour de force: partnering each of the six women and delivering his signature great jumps with captivating personality. In contrast, the women seemed more tentative or less confident. Bond’s choreography is complicated and fast. In this program, Myriad had the most recognizably classical vocabulary, although there were moments when Bond experimented with unusual partnering, as when one of the women stood on Mack’s thighs as he grounded himself in a second position plié. In another unusual choice, the women rolled on the floor like logs.

Although there were times when the women seemed to comfort or whisper to one another, each time he was on stage, Mack was the most prominent performer. I was not sure if the six women represented six different relationships with him, or if they were facets of the same relationship, as some duets were capricious, and others more somber. Overall, I was left with a puzzled impression: was Bond reinforcing a stereotype of a man who vacillates between different partners without ever committing to one?

The program closed with Natalie Weir’s jubilant Jabula (Zulu for “Joy”) for Ballet West. Choreographed as a solo in 1993 for Queensland Ballet, Jabula has been “modified” for companies and schools around the world. It’s an exuberant closer, bringing a sense of spectacle to the program’s poetry and drama, and in last night’s version, it was performed by 16 dancers.

Eight men opened the piece with a series of staccato poses that evoked strength and domination. The score by Hans Zimmer, from the motion picture The Power of One, and the costume design by Weir added to the display of power: the men were topless and wore sienna-colored karate pants. As they dispersed, Chelsea Keefer emerged from the backdrop to perform a solo that contrasted with their steps. Her agility and fluidity, as she turned with exquisite grace and extended her legs towards the sky, were a brilliant counterstatement to the men’s unison. Keefer presented a fierce and flickering style that made me think of how her power took the shape of more precise and ninja-like movements, different from the men’s brute poses, but equally compelling.

As the piece continued, there was an athletic trio for three men where one man appeared to be launched through the air, and the entire cast was on stage for the final section, coupled in male/female partnerships. Weir’s choreography mixed handstands and yoga-like poses with acrobatic partnering maneuvers. While the cast displayed these shapes with grace and power, there didn't seem to be much purpose to these feats beyond a display of the dancers’ prowess. In some ways this made Weir’s work a perfect ending, and most of the audience stood to applaud their performance. 

Weir’s work, the only one with women in slippers instead of pointe shoes, also added to the versatility of ways in which women make ballets. If Skarpetowska’s choreography was more detailed and nuanced, with the cast presenting different facets of their technique and exploring distinct qualities of movement, Bond and Weir chose different approaches: their male and female dancers occupied more distinct roles based on gender, but the results were dramatically different.

As a whole, by showcasing a variety of women making work today, the National Choreographic Festival demonstrates why it’s imperative to present this kind of showcase. Last night’s performance made it crystal clear that there’s a spectrum of contributions women are making to the future of ballet. Personally, I was drawn to Skarpetowska’s qualities of movement and the dancers’ abilities to inhabit her style, and this may be because she has established a relationship with Richmond Ballet. A take-away from this observation could be that women not only need to be commissioned more often to create work, but also need to be given repeated opportunities to work with these great artists.

Artists of Ballet West rehearsing Natalie Weir's Jabula. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Kate Mattingly is an assistant professor of dance at the University of Utah. She has a doctoral degree in performance studies from UC Berkeley, and has had writing published in The New York Times, The Village Voice, Dance Research Journal, Dance magazine, and Pointe magazine, among others.

Read Kate's review of the second weekend of the National Choreographic Festival here.

Ririe-Woodbury: Return

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Melissa Younker and Yebel Gallegos in Return. 

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