Myriad Dance: Lavender Words/Saltwater Resolutions

I always appreciate the wide variety of research and accessibility found within the Salt Lake City dance community. From established repertory companies to college programs, there is truly dance to be found for all vernaculars and audience interests. I was struck by this upon attending Myriad Dance Company’s Lavender Words/Saltwater Resolutions, choreographed by the group’s former artistic director Temria Airmet. Airmet, who is currently pursuing an MFA in dance from California State University, is a longtime member of the local dance community. It was a treat to see her return to her home company to create a work influenced by her time away. I also appreciated the variety and breadth of our community upon entering The Leonardo, a downtown museum adjacent to the Salt Lake Public Library, as I realized I did not recognize anyone in the audience. In a nearly packed house, I was pleasantly reminded that dance cannot be, and in this case was not, insular.

Lavender Words/Saltwater Resolutions was presented as a visualization of Airmet’s relationship with depression, as gleaned from the program, audio, and a talk-back following the performance. I surprised myself when I became choked up at certain points while watching the dance. As someone who has also struggled with anxiety and depression, I was skeptical that the work, presented in a sparse lecture space, would be able to offer me a new visualization that felt authentic to such a strong internal emotional experience. I’m still not certain that the overall piece achieved this, but there were enough clear moments that brought me to a sense of catharsis alongside the performers.

The show began with Symmer Andrews lip syncing to Jake Tyler’s “I’m Fine” TED Talk, a sort of stand-up routine highlighting the importance of naming and sharing feelings. Andrews was so successful at this opening moment; her body language was loose and congenial while switching between the emotions of the words as authentically as Tyler’s talk. From this opening moment, the dance took off in a series of vignettes, providing a snapshot into a cycle of emotions. While the choreographic structure became predictable at times (extended canon into either stillness or a solo moment, for example), Airmet’s creative use of the space kept the piece fresh and unknown. From a dancer tearing off pieces of paper and placing them so only the front row could see, to not being afraid of exiting and immediately re-emerging, to the unique lighting patterns created on the side walls, everything seemed like it might have been accidental, yet in doing so felt intentional and extremely defiant.

While the structure created a sense of controlled chaos, the dancers ended up performing much of the same movement as one another, from wave-like patterns of the arms to struggling while crawling towards the audience. Within the chaos, my eye jumped to identifying dancers. The unison was never perfect, but allowed the dancers to shine individually. In a piece about such an individual experience (whether or not it should be is a different question), I appreciated that Airmet allowed this. Andrews, Ashley Creek, Kendall Fischer (Myriad’s current artistic director), Amelia Martinez, Fiona Nelson, Margarita Lucia Olvera, and Alyx Pitkin all had their moments to shine. Some were more memorable than others, but it was refreshing to be reminded that even though this was an ensemble, it was still made up of individuals. I was especially drawn to the intensity of Olvera’s movement. Nothing she did felt reserved; she moved with such risk, even in the stiller moments, embodying a heightened sense of turmoil and relief.

The most effective moment was a trio performed by Andrews, Fischer, and Pitkin. The movement was technically in unison, but each dancer had such a different way of approaching it that it felt like watching three different pieces. The vignette never felt rushed and allowed me to live in the moment with the dancers. Choreographically, it was minimal and gestural but, with the dancers’ focus tending to be internal, I felt every emotion they did as their hands shook and grasped at themselves. When making work about an emotional experience such as depression or anxiety, it's good to be conscious of whether the performers are just portraying or truly experiencing an emotion; here was the most successful example of a true cathartic experience throughout the show.

Almost immediately afterward, the rest of the cast re-entered the space in stillness as Pitkin delivered a poem, which I believe Airmet wrote. Pitkin broke down in tears that felt unplanned, making her delivery that much more powerful. The words “Just give it another day” seemed to reflect both the poet speaking to themselves, but also to the audience. It became more poignant when three of the dancers read a letter aloud that was written by Airmet’s grandmother. While their delivery might have been a little stiff, I found myself choking back tears as the words (“I can tell by how you sound”) seemed to come right from my own mother, trying to discern something she sensed to be not quite right. The universality of needing an outside figure to recognize your pain resonated strongly with me.

At the end of Lavender Words/Saltwater Resolutions, Airmet opened the floor for a Q & A. Starting with questions about how the piece was put together (“How do you select music?” or “What is your creative process like?”), the Q & A morphed into a forum that touched on experiences grappling with anxiety and depression, relief at its depiction in dance, and a conversation on difficulties identifying with anxiety or depression when not personally suffering from either. In these final moments, I was reminded of my appreciation for the audience and its variety of individuals. I also appreciate Myriad’s commitment to keeping dance accessible, as the Q & A reiterated the importance of art - not just in artists’ lives but in audiences’ as well. Often, we don’t know we need something until we have experienced it, and I applaud Myriad Dance Company and Temria Airmet for expanding their community in a relatable yet meaningful way.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed an MFA in modern dance at the University of Utah and is a faculty member at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.

NOW-ID: A Tonal Caress at UMFA

It takes a special experience to challenge what we know about movement. NOW-ID’s newest production, A Tonal Caress, challenged the audience to question their knowledge of movement and what role it plays in relationships, and, most importantly, the communicative potential that movement inherently possesses. Humans are physical communicators, and the act of communicating is an act of physicality: training the hand to perform specific movements that create shapes on a surface, forming the mouth in specific combinations while forcing air out of the lungs to create speech. For the movement practice of this show, the bodies of performers were constantly in an act of communication, with gestures for emphasis, “body language” providing hints to true meanings, and, in the case of Deaf poet Walter Kadiki, using the hands and face as the primary tool of communication.

A Tonal Caress was a massive collaborative undertaking, with choreography by artistic director Charlotte Boye-Christensen, an installation by Gary Vlasic, poetry both written and performed by Walter Kadiki, sound by Adam Day, lighting by Cole Adams, and video by Jan Andrews. Each element emphasized communication, opportunities for potentially missed contact, and a feeling of otherness when the communicative potential was not realized.

Upon entering the Utah Museum of Fine Arts, I was greeted by Vlasic’s “Installation of Men,” in the stairwell off the Great Hall. Seven men were dressed in suits, barefoot and expressionless, and staggered up and down the stairs. While seemingly unprovoked, the men moved in perfect unison with reaching arms, lifted eyes, and precise hands. A droning soundscape allowed the enclosed stairwell to envelop the movers, and myself as an observer. Though occasionally changing formations, the men remained serene in their flowing arm gestures. Most intriguing was the seeming lack of cues, yet the men knew exactly when and how to move. Clearly well-practiced, the installation offered calmness and assuredness. While not verbally communicating with each other, the men exhibited a movement language of their own.

Seating in the G.W. Anderson Family Great Hall was arranged in the round, with rows of chairs on three sides of a platform that featured a lone chair on which Kadiki sat, still and silent, as the audience filed in. Before director Nathan Webster made an announcement, the droning score that had previously filled the space ended and Kadiki and the audience were wrapped in silence. Knowing that A Tonal Caress featured collaboration with a Deaf artist, I truly appreciated this moment. The lack of sound brought a hyper-awareness of the rest of the space; the audience’s focus was directed toward the seated Kadiki, who continued to stare straight ahead. I focused on his feet fidgeting, noticed a silent swallow, and paid attention to my own initial discomfort at the complete lack of sound.

Throughout the show, one interpreter signed in American Sign Language and the other in Auslan (Australian Sign Language; Kadiki is Australian). This immediately signalled that verbal communication was not the dominant form of discourse. The performance as a whole was rooted in the physical body: through signing, through emotive expression, and through dance. Sign language itself can be viewed as a dance, bolstered in this case by collaborative choreography. Additionally, it made me aware of sign languages as codified movement languages. In order to successfully communicate through either sign language, studying and proficiency are obviously required, as maybe opposed to expressions and gestures inherent in spoken language.

A Tonal Caress raised a question for me: what defines emotion through physical form? Additionally, in examining movement and the body as forms of communication, what makes one movement emotive but another less so? Kadiki’s relationship to the dancers pointed to this question: he stayed on a platform for the entire show, only occasionally rising to stand and never taking a step down onto the floor, yet Kadiki’s was still the story being told.

Jo Blake, Liz Ivkovich, and Sydney Petitt were all powerhouse performers, and danced for close to the entirety of the near hour-long production. All three shared unique relationships with Kadiki while also with each other. Through their constant reflection of, reference to, and direct eye contact with Kadiki, they existed as thematic and physical extensions of the poetry.

Blake’s relationship to Kadiki was best defined through his intense eye contact. He began the show with a water-like solo. Throughout the evening, he also became a partner and a leader of the “Installation of Men.” He provided a challenging gaze to the audience, but also to Kadiki. Every moment, every fluid, tossed spiral, was deliberate and subtly communicative. As I pondered what created emotion and meaning in movement, Blake created it through a physical manifestation of confidence that left no room to doubt his intentions.

Ivkovich’s movement choices, in contrast to Blake, provided a more direct relationship with Kadiki. Her entrance solo was one of the most memorable moments of the evening. The operatic score playing as she entered was blended so seamlessly it might have been missed if not for Ivkovich’s movement. She existed in actual conversation with Kadiki as Boye-Christensen’s choreography focused so much on the face and the mouth, even as she deliberately covered both. Ivkovich’s mouth and expressions moved in direct relationship to the arpeggiated score and were animated to the point of feeling just right, and not like a caricature. Kadiki directly communicated with Ivkovich through repeated gestures, initially in a matter-of-fact, physical tone but eventually with more vigor and frustration.

Petitt was a hard performer to pin down. She was so physical in her movement, with beautiful lines and immense control, but also attacked each movement with a desperation, in the most positive sense of the word. Toward the end of the piece, all three dancers were on stage together, Petitt with a pleading, breathy quality, ignored by the other two except for some physical pushes and lifts. Petitt and Blake had another memorable partnering moment, in which they started with a more traditionally balletic lift but then kept going, as Petitt seemed to roll and melt up Blake’s body. However, Petitt seemed to have the least direct relationship with Kadiki. During a trio, she ultimately became a physical extension of Kadiki’s desperate reach, but it was only possible because of the other two continuing to push, pull, and elongate her. She provided a truly emotional connection to Kadiki’s poetry as interpreted through her body.

As Kadiki shared his final poem, “Butterfly Hands,” Blake and Petitt performed the most classical and fluid partnering of the show, which provided a romantic reading of their relationship. But, as they left Kadiki and his butterfly hands alone on the stage, I was left with a sense of resilience. Kadiki experienced an extremely exhaustive, emotional act of communication as he shared, at times, his frustration, a lack of being understood, and a lack of being heard. But his parting happiness, butterfly hands flying light in the air, expressed a continued desire for communication - for what joy is there in being human if not the ability to share with and learn about others?

The men of Gary Vlasic's "Installation of Men," part of NOW-ID's A Tonal Caress. Photo by David Newkirk.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed an MFA in modern dance at the University of Utah and is a faculty member at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.

LMN Mov't No. 1 at Sugar Space

Long associated with DIY art-making and performance, warehouse venues demand a conscious balance between activating cost-accessible spaces and making them both functional and inviting to viewers. LMN Mov’t No. 1, a collaboration between Meagan Bertelsen, Natalie Gotter, and Peter Larsen, fully realized the production potential of Sugar Space Arts Warehouse more so than any other performance I have experienced there. The thoughtful staging under the technical direction of Larsen framed compelling works from artistically mature creators and performers. The white flooring contrasted with the dark drapes to delineate the stage and beautifully captured the shadows cast from diffuse lighting (otherwise often unequal to the space). Barn-door framing later shaped this same soft light into hard lines that effectively limned stage sections.

LMN Mov’t No. 1 was an hour-and-a-half-long work comprised of four pieces, fronted with the admirably concise artists’ statement, “The works seen tonight invoke the role of the individual and their surroundings, examining how we interact, work, and create with the world and other people around us.” After viewing the show, I interpreted the statement in the following way: “Experienced people making the art they want to make, with the people they want to make it with, in the way they want to make it.” This was, I think, a very successful composition from artists who are not defensive about their work’s intention and value, who collaborate willingly and meaningfully. It was certainly an exploration of human action/interaction within the scope of the intersection of subject and environment - but it largely did not demand that you acknowledge it as such. The theoretical underpinnings were less visible than the experience of dance, which I took to be a great sign of maturity and aesthetic confidence. I was personally struck with the notion that a solo can be a remarkable encapsulation of collaboration, and to a greater degree than ensemble pieces.

The opening solo, “Hunter,” illustrated this beautifully: the stage was set with a lovely tableau - two chairs, one holding a lush houseplant and the other a box fan, with several can lights loose on the floor. Bertelsen first activated the fan, and later played its grid like a harp (after the recorded notes of Alice Coltrane’s harp were several minutes past, a wonderfully subtle evocation); she adeptly inverted a long buttoned coat and turned on the lights, trailing them along the path of their floorwork, and, memorably, affectingly embraced the fronds of the houseplant, all of which made Bertelsen an immediate and sustained active agent in the space. Bertelsen’s performance seemed to simultaneously inhabit and connect on several layers of abstraction - the venue, the stage, and their body - with an ease informed by years of thesis research in solo improvisation. Under the direction of Brianna Lopez, “Hunter” fluidly passed through discrete ideas, each with a radically different movement quality and intensity. This was accurately and succinctly reflected in the program notes, invoking “the evolving role of subject and its surroundings” and “constant shifts of attention...through the explored body states and interactive environment,” a description which was met and exceeded.

The accompanying notes for “Carry From Below” were less illuminating. A quote by famous NFL coach Vince Lombardi was gender-inverted to evoke ideal woman as triumphant samaritan-warrior. It was presented without author attestation of Lombardi or otherwise, so I assumed the substitution to be choreographer Natalie Gotter’s. The conceit was very interesting - an act of reaction and also creation, claiming something in a way that thoroughly unseats it. However, there was little evidence of this notion in the work itself. I was inclined upon viewing to examine some aesthetic biases I personally hold - namely, the feminine-but-pragmatic ensemble conventions of hair half-back-half-down and similar pedestrian clothing (here, flowy florals) with black sportswear, accompanied by overtly lyrical singer-songwriter music. I realized I dislike these conventions not because they are traditionally feminine (which is wonderful as a deliberate choice) or not-quite homogenizing (which uniform costuming can achieve and individuated costuming can belie), or overly emotive. Rather, because they are so familiar as to provide a blank slate that the work then is responsible to fill, which “Carry From Below” never quite achieved. Partner contact appeared under-motivated, without the physical weight or gestural context to lend it gravity. The lyricism of Nico’s “I’ve Been out Walking,” paired with on-the-nose walking-path choreography, borrowed emotional content from the external musical modality without embodying its own.

The pure movement created by Gotter and the dancers, and their performance of it, was truly strong and graceful; notably, a solo moment by Christine Glidden and a duet by Xochitl Marquez and Ashley Creek, each of which I wished would have lasted longer. I did, however, appreciate being given cause to examine my biases and have concluded that at their root, my dislike of these conventional forms rests on how much harder this nullity of stagecraft makes it to appreciate the hard work and interesting product. I wished the identity theory cleverly used to such effect in the notes had been used visibly in the performed work - otherwise, I am not, as an audience member, able to credit its presence.

During the brief intermission, it felt as though the lobby might break into a contact improv jam. The local dance community was out in force to support LMN Mov’t even at a matinee, testament to the contributions of its creators to this scene. The second half began with a request to hold all applause to the end, as there would be transitions - an injunction that was perhaps unnecessary. For one, because it is always destined to go unheeded, but also because the slightly contrived visual continuity of lighting was superfluous. The works shown were all capable of standing alone, cohesive because of the strength of their refined craft and artistry.

Choreographer/performer Emma Sargent began  “Firmament” in an upstage corner, and immediately held every gaze with a series of progressively intensifying leg swings, her grounded torso static and shadowed. Thus obscured by her own legs, Sargent subtly stroked the floor with her toes, an image later mirrored with her fingers in a standing inversion, and in the final supine gesture of sweeping circling hands. These variations of levels and distal articulation were thematic touchstones in an utterly captivating performance. In contrast to the opening solo work, “Firmament” was fierce but also spare and contained, even insulated, which created a gratifying sense of observing, of beholding. Side light was brought in and out, which created shadows that contributed to the sense of communion and dialogue with the space. The quote included in the program was deftly chosen, speaking to natural universal enfranchisement in personal isolation from the artist Björk, and which, in consideration of the well-chosen music of Sigur Rós and Jónsi & Alex, bespoke a certain Scandinavian brand of lonely and lovely.

“Fractals” began with directed light illuminating alternatingly one far lateral third of the stage and then the other. Bertelsen and Larsen each occupied one segment, in well-chosen, completely matching minimalist attire that flattered their strong builds, and the two executed powerful phrases in silence as they were lit in turn. The lights came up, they met on center, and began a partnership of inversions, rolls, and lifts, laborious over-the-shoulder carries accomplished by each in bursts of energy. Gotter’s staging choices and movement creation/direction were extremely effective here. You were given no choice but to appreciate two driving forces whose encounters were continuous, dynamic power shifts without any internally acknowledged power disparity. It worked, and wonderfully, leaving the viewer to confront any expectations to the contrary and their internalized source. The dancers exited the stage only to be reproduced as projections on the wall in Gotter’s screendance iteration of the work.

“Fractals” was a very well-made piece, but I generally question whether a screendance paired with live performance is incorporated meaningfully, whether it literally or figuratively reframes the work in an additive manner, and if it does or does not undermine the live component. The video piece shown in ‘Part One’ of “Fractals” touched briefly on the continuation of a single movement from one dancer to another, and the accelerated reiteration of movements, like the oft-repeated handstand, which are attainable only through editing. These were prominent enough to enrich the texture of the evocative screendance alone, but not enough to appreciably speak to their conjunction with the live work.

‘Part Two’ of “Fractals” finished the show with a duet between Gotter and Bertelsen. They took their places with heavy footfalls in athleisure neutrals and knee pads, as though to promise floorwork and weight-sharing and good times ahead. They absolutely delivered, establishing an intensity borne out until the end. Bertelsen’s movement was controlled even at difficult speeds and phrases, her energy continuing beyond the line of the limbs, and with a steady gaze. Gotter’s initiated movement from the center, which then exploded outward, even in a posture as ostensibly staunch and static as a held développé to the side, with a gaze consistently fierce and challenging. Watching these very distinct but complementary artists embody moments of unison and contact was endlessly appealing - with endless appeal being a preferred way to finish a show.

I viewed an in-progress presentation of “Fractals” at the last Mudson at the Marmalade Library; I was intrigued then, and am very gratified to have had the opportunity to see how the work has evolved and grown. Indeed, seeing these local artists utilize local platforms to produce works of such full realization is an inspiring look into what is happening in the Salt Lake dance community. Much of the best dance I have seen recently has occurred at two branches of the public library system. The consummate accomplishment of this LMN Mov’t collaboration reminds me that the dedicated work of public servants and independent artists is creating and maintaining the infrastructure of this community in an incredibly heartening way.

Nora Price is a Milwaukee native living and working in Salt Lake City. She can be seen performing with Municipal Ballet Co. and with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.

Junction Dance Co: Zero Flux

Zero Flux is the first full-length performance presented by Junction Dance Co, but in many ways, this did not seem like the first show of a company that was just starting out.

The 31-dancer cast of Zero Flux includes artistic director Megan Adelsberger, nine company members, and 21 Junction II members (who pay to be involved in this training opportunity), and so much talent. Zero Flux showcased many styles of dance, such as hip-hop, contemporary, house, b-boying, jazz, and tap.

The show was clearly well-rehearsed (as I understand it, the dancers have worked for several hours a day, two days a week, since January on this project). Most of the choreography was by Adelsberger and it was cleaned to her style, which includes sharp movements, gooey moments, and expressive faces. Adelsberger’s strong vision and impressive execution are highly commendable. I appreciated the high energy of everyone on stage, how the variety of styles meshed together, and how the show flowed smoothly with quick transitions between pieces.

Some of my favorite choreographic moments were a few times when dancers were placed closely together and seamlessly transitioned from highlighting one dancer to highlighting another elsewhere in the group. I especially loved the unique lifts and other connected movements in these parts.

The theme of the first act, entitled “Zero Flux,” seemed to generally cluster around bold expressions, and a celebration of life and dance. It reminded me a lot of Underground Dance Crew (because of the large group, inclusion of various dance styles, and different costumes for each piece).

I generally enjoyed it, although I was mildly disappointed in the lack of originality in music choice for the lone Fosse-meets-contemporary-sexy piece: “Fever.” I’m glad that at least it was a less common version of the song. And maybe the dancers felt that disappointment too, because I don’t feel like they shined as brightly in that piece as in the rest.

After a 15-minute intermission, the next section, “Love Journals,” was all one piece, with extra-smoothly connected parts.

Then, following a five-minute pause, came “A.Live,” which included a variety of live audio to accompany the dancers. For me, the most memorable part of this act was a piece titled “What Do You Desire?,” which included a live actor, Isaiah Cook, delivering a speech by Alan Watts. The content of the speech included the concept that financial practicality keeps many people from doing what they truly desire to do. It was relatable to artists, wherever they are, who may exist on a spectrum from full commitment to their art to completely giving up on their art in favor of practicality. Choreographers Adelsberger and Jeffery Louizia danced along to the words in ways that highlighted the humor and irony of not doing what you love in order to fund the continuation of not doing what you love.

Another thing that stood out about this show was the strong, clean, fun tap dances featured throughout the performance, and how they seemed to be a main part of the plan, rather than an afterthought. Tap was a big part of the final piece, which included most of the cast, and was highly energetic, ending with everyone yelling something triumphantly.

The Zero Flux program states eight goals, and I think that Junction is already achieving some of them, such as, “uplift and celebrate local artists,” and “encourage artistic expression to inspire healing and instill purpose in individuals throughout the community.” There are also some bigger goals, including, “save lives through dance,” and, “create local and international opportunities, events, performances, and outreach to unite with other communities around the world.” I wish Junction the best with all of their goals, and I will be eager to see what the future holds for them.

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company, and has enjoyed performing opportunities with Voodoo Productions, SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co., and La Rouge Entertainment, among others. Her choreography has been performed by Myriad, Municipal Ballet, and at Creator's Grid, and her dance film project, 'Breathing Sky,' received the 2017 Alfred Lambourne Movement prize.

Justin Bass: No Bueno

When I arrived at Sugar Space Arts Warehouse in the early evening, it was sweltering. Inside, the AC was blowing to its max while a very small crowd milled about. Comprised almost entirely of other dancers from around Salt Lake, and presumably some close friends and family of the performers, the gathering was intimate and very casual. Once we were seated, Justin Bass came out to say hello. Grinning and shrugging and cracking jokes, he performed the introductions. As a preface, he let us know, “No Bueno is about everyday life, crossroads we reach, how we react… there’ll be a Q&A at the end, we can talk about why it’s not very good.”*

The dancers of No Bueno were Bass, Marty Buhler, and Natalie Border. All are fantastic performers to watch, and they executed the work with richness and ease. During the short performance, each took a solo, Bass and Buhler performed a duet, and the three came together as bookends. The group began with walking patterns back and forth, contracting in and out. They shifted mostly in unison to a bouncy and driving groove, sliding into deep grand pliés in second, sometimes stopping to reach an arm out to the side, elbow cocked. When Bass and Buhler exited, Border grabbed a folding chair and slunk to it center stage. Hotly shaking off its gravity to do a jerky, windmill-armed, off-balance tip-toe before relatedly retreating back into its support, her anxious solo was the most explicitly emotive segment of the show.

When Bass and Buhler reappeared they were side by side. Here as in the group sections, they moved together without eye contact. Their far-off stares went out above our heads, while the closeness of bodies and movements in unison established connection. Simple shuffling steps combined with sudden held extensions, and with repeated gestures that were shared and passed back and forth. Buhler’s solo was next, characterized by more wide, slow grand pliés with the head rolled back and clasped hands stretch out long– matching plaintive vocals and a slower, heavier beat. Bass turned his back to the audience for much of his solo, reprising those pliés again, this time a little sharper and paired with elastic undulations of the torso and fluttering fingers.

As all three dancers reappeared, the music turned to soft piano and the choreography drew a line through everything that had come before, restating themes from each movement. A final tableau transformed the dancers into a small flock of birds - perched in deep, forward lunges, wings back, fingertips fluttering, heads swiveling, before they walked upstage away from us as the music flared again and cut to black.

Surrounding the simplicity of each dance were elements unfolding texture, depth, and tone. The music was Bass’s own composition, born of a self-proclaimed deep love for amateur tinkering in GarageBand. It was mostly in the realm of electronic dance club music, beat-heavy but also pop-y, dipping between a pulsing groove and something more moody and sweeping. The costumes were likewise home-hewn, beautifully busy fabric of jumbled blue squares turned into knee-length skirts paired with plain black tees. Bass later elaborated that there was no specific intention behind the costuming, just an easy sewing pattern and the chance to practice another favorite hobby. And then there were the vocal audio recordings woven into Bass’s solo and the final section – the first was a spoken word poem, "The Revolution Will Not Be Digitized" (a modern take on Gil Scott Heron’s iconic 1970 recording), from a YouTube video posted by poet Danny Mahes in 2011, and the other a 2015 viral video wherein high schooler Shea Glover walks around campus telling people she wants to photograph them because she is “taking pictures of things I find beautiful.” Bass re-cut and looped the latter, placing it over a tinkling piano. Afterward, in the Q&A, he expounded rhapsodically about his love of ambitious gesture, how he first found that video, and how he sort of included it on a whim just because he found it so delightfully affective and sweet.

Speaking more about the choreography, Bass touched on the specific and personal nature of his work. He explained how he created movement and method to be uncomplicated and purposely “lowbrow,” choosing to reflect the dancers, the process, and the vast minutiae of day-to-day experiences over labored sophistication and grander ideas. Referring to the process of creating No Bueno, Bass described it as a sort of experiment – if awarded an opportunity by Sugar Space to do a show, what could he come up with given the limited time and resources he had available? Might as well try it.

The assorted elements of No Bueno shared an appreciable thread of purposefully D.I.Y. and resourceful creativity similar to previous works by Bass. Discovered elements and those at hand were dissected and reassembled and inserted alongside movement phrases of irrelative origin without precise bearing in mind. The work took shape as it was created, and the different pieces ultimately came together to form a sort of tapestry, reflective of Bass himself in that moment in time and of the people he worked with - likes and dislikes, relationships, media consumed, activities enjoyed, social climate. This meandering approach through personal hobbies and cultural touchstones bestowed a nice, nuanced layering on the sensibility of the final product, which was never overly heavy on conceptual detail or framework to begin with. If No Bueno was a sort of casual and sprawling experiment, it was also passionate, crafted, and intuitively well-defined self-expression.

*Partial paraphrasing by the author

Emily Snow resides in Salt Lake City, where she performs regularly with Municipal Ballet Co. and with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.