Ballet West: Jewels

While George Balanchine’s Jewels may be best known as the first full-length abstract ballet, I find its magnificence resides in other features: its brilliant display of ballet’s history and the ways dancers and music convey different moods or atmospheres. Ultimately, I find the three sections of Jewels speak to the values of diversity and inclusivity, and by extension to the importance of honoring different artists and cultures.

This was especially apparent Saturday night when there was a special ceremony for Bruce Caldwell, honoring his 50 years of work with Ballet West as a dancer and currently as ballet master and company archivist. As the audience applauded at the end of the performance, Caldwell was on stage to receive a rose from many partners he worked with during his dancing career, including Jane Wood, Maggie Tesch, and Sharee Lane. It was a poignant acknowledgement of the commitment and love dancers bring to their profession.

It was also a fitting ending to a ballet that has a celebratory vibe: the richness of the costumes in Jewels, plus the size of the cast (34 dancers are on stage for the polonaise that closes the performance), make the evening a dazzling affair. On Saturday night I found the women in particular, both in leading roles as well as in the corps, were exceptional.

Emeralds, the first section, set to music by Gabriel Fauré, was a dreamlike series of encounters, and Katlyn Addison and Emily Adams were exquisite. They conveyed the sense of mystery and detachment that makes me think of Romantic ballet when I watch Emeralds. The longer tutus (designed by Barbara Karinska) recall the costumes of La Sylphide or Giselle, and the relationships between the men and women tend to be unresolved. There were lush, reaching gestures that looked like the dancers were being swept and blown through the phrases. A pas de deux ended with the dancers walking backwards into the wings, their chests lifted to the sky in a moment of reverie or surrender. The ballet ended with three men kneeling and raising one arm towards the wings, a gesture that evoked a sense of longing since the women had just exited. In last night’s performance it seemed to mark a moment of gratitude for the elegance of these women. The 10 women in the corps were incandescent: their bourrées suggested the shimmering of a gem. This was especially impressive Saturday night because the cast included dancers of Ballet West II––Jordan DePina, Savannah Lyle, Alexandra Terry, and Victoria Vassos­­––who blended seamlessly with the company members.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Rubies. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Rubies presented the slinky atmosphere of a jazz club (Igor Stravinsky’s score for this section was first performed in 1929). The section opened with the dancers standing in 4th position, arms high in V-like shapes, with the women en pointe. They jutted their hips with sassy thrusts and instantly the reverie of Emeralds dissipated: now we were in the land of “cool.” On Saturday night the four men, Kyle Davis, David Huffmire, Ryo Munakata, and Joshua Shutkind, were riveting: exquisite in their execution of fast phrases and precise steps. When they partnered Addison, who appeared regal and queen-like in Rubies, they attentively placed her wrists and ankles in développé and arabesque positions. They seemed to be displaying her fantastic lines like a ruby would be displayed on a pedestal; and Addison’s confidence recalled other powerful women in Balanchine’s repertory, like the Siren in Prodigal Son. Her headpiece made me think of the crown worn by Wonder Woman, an apt comparison given that Addison stepped into this leading role in Rubies for Emily Neale just after performing in Emeralds. Other corps dancers who shone in this section included Jenna Rae Herrera and Chelsea Keefer, both soloists with the company, who performed with an infectious joie de vivre.

The moment the curtain opened for Diamonds, there was applause from the audience. This section recreated the stately opulence of Tsarist Russia. The score by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and the white tutus worn by the corps of 12 women conveyed the refined sophistication of a royal ball. Typical of Balanchine’s ballets, the corps took a central role and again the dancers included members from Ballet West II––Terry and Vassos plus Cy Doherty, Robert Fowler, Noel Jensen, Joseph Lynch, and Jake Preece––who contributed to the magnificent vision of courtly elegance.

In the leading roles, Beckanne Sisk and Chase O’Connell were gorgeous, and special moments included the way he knelt to her during the beginning of their pas de deux, as if to ask, “Can I have the honor of dancing with you?” Their solos, especially his execution of à la seconde turns, were phenomenal, and again the audience applauded. Sisk’s choreography included gestures that recalled Swan Lake, with arms like wings, yet without any reference to a specific character or narrative. Instead these moments, that evoked the 19th century, reminded me how Balanchine was updating ballet’s vocabulary, making it relevant to the 20th century. On Saturday night there were exceptional performances by female soloists––Gabrielle Salvatto, Katie Critchlow, Chelsea Keefer, and Amber Miller––who danced with the speed, precision, and joy that are Balanchine’s trademarks. They continually captured my attention, an impressive feat when the cast numbered 34 dancers.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Diamonds. Photo by Beau Pearson.

A week before this performance I watched a rehearsal of this section led by Sandra Jennings, who performed, and now stages, Balanchine’s repertory. Her cues to the dancers to “really step out” while maintaining exact positions, revealed the ways that Balanchine extended the classical vocabulary. Jennings’s attention to detail was impressive: noticing how a slight shift in a dancer’s shoulder in arabesque distorted the feeling of uniformity among the soloists. I imagine Jennings would have appreciated how thoroughly the cast embraced her directions and presented a gorgeous performance of Balanchine’s aesthetic.

A through-line of the evening was the exceptional music, conducted by Jared Oaks, Ballet West’s music director. Each section conveyed a different characteristic, from dream-like to jazzy to elegant, that was generated by the musicians as well as the dancers. Jewels is known for its close connections between the scores and the steps, and any time musicians and dancers are working well together, there’s a distinct synchronicity: we are watching how artists in the orchestra and artists on stage are generating this work of art collaboratively. When I attended the rehearsal led by Jennings, I noticed that Oaks was present as well: his deep knowledge of the dancers’ needs, combined with his attentive conducting, made watching Ballet West perform Balanchine’s ballet an extraordinary experience.

The costumes, courtesy of Cincinnati Ballet and Pacific Northwest Ballet, added to the evening’s glamour, and it was exciting to see how each jewel’s costume was created by combining multiple shades of its color: green for emerald, red for ruby, and white for diamond. This diversity added to the ballet’s theme of embracing multiple nations and styles.

When Balanchine made this ballet in 1967, he was fortunate to be working with a special cast of artists: Violette Verdy and Conrad Ludlow, Mimi Paul and Francisco Moncion; Patricia McBride, Edward Villella, and Patricia Neary; Suzanne Farrell and Jacques d’Amboise. What was exciting about Ballet West’s production last night was noticing how many talented artists in Ballet West II could become new members of the company, and how many artists in the company, like Kyle Davis, Jenna Rae Herrera, Chelsea Keefer, and Gabrielle Salvatto, are thriving and could soon be moving into more featured roles. Just like Jewels is a celebration of different countries, as well as artists from different countries, Ballet West is a company that has a rich diversity of dancers in terms of backgrounds, body types, and countries of origin. At this particular moment in the States, I find this celebration of difference an important message about the richness of cultural diversity, and the contributions that people from many nations make to our definitions of what it means to be American.

 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.

OSBA presents Stars of American Ballet

Stars of American Ballet, directed by New York City Ballet principal Daniel Ulbricht, gathers assemblages of performers (mostly NYCB colleagues) to tour extensively, “to one day see all parts of this country entertained, educated, lifted up and inspired by the art of ballet and great dancing.” The Ogden Symphony Ballet Associated presented the group, just returned from a tour to Cuba this past week, to a somewhat sparse but enthusiastic audience at Weber State University’s Val A. Browning Center.

It’s a treat to see some of the current big names in ballet here in Utah, as local presenters often bring in acclaimed modern dance companies, or even smaller contemporary ballet companies, but rarely full-swing classical ballet. NYCB soloists Unity Phelan and Indiana Woodward were performing, as well as mainstay principal Ask la Cour.

As expected, Balanchine was well-represented on the program, with a couple of unknowns sprinkled in (and, unavoidably, a gala circuit favorite, the Kitri/Basilio pas de deux from Don Quixote).

I was looking forward to seeing Ulbricht’s band of dancers, having read about past engagements of theirs at Jacob’s Pillow, at which they recently presented a program of Jerome Robbins ballets in celebration of the choreographer’s centennial.

While such a program is likely (and regrettably) not viable to Utah presenters, I hoped, going in, that the more conservative, almost introductory, program would still allow its cast to shine - as brightly as on their larger home stage in the D*v*d H. K*ch Theater (thank you to soon-to-be-retiring NY Times chief dance critic Alastair Macaulay for that clever editing).

Though not without its dazzling moments, the evening did not shine as brightly as anticipated.

Balanchine’s firecracker pas de deux Tarantella opened the show. NYCB soloist Erica Pereira was the embodiment of a Balanchine ballerina, exhibiting the necessary crisp footwork, sharp focus, and expansive port de bras, with extra energy emanating from her fingers. Pereira was at home in the sassy, more traditionally performative choreography, as well as in the Balanchinian quirks of the pas de deux, such as in a sequence of échappés and second position pliés on pointe in a forced arch.

Ulbricht spun like a top and flew with bravura in his jumping sequences, yet somehow lacked the luster to vie with Pereira's sunnier approach. His performance quality often appears subtle, or at least casual - that is, when he is not doing tricks - and this approach may be better suited to solo work. (Ulbricht has previously performed excellent solos at Ballet West’s Youth America Grand Prix galas.) In this performance, it felt like he was withholding the exuberance necessary to carry a dance such as Tarantella.

Phelan and la Cour were the standout couple of the evening, in the sparkling pas de deux from Balanchine’s Diamonds. With the appropriate regal air, their extensions and port de bras flowed liquidly between crystalline moments of stillness, la Cour’s supple, almost prowling, walks providing a panther-like connection between partnered pirouettes and promenades.

Phelan possesses the enchanting ability to conceal her flexibility, except when she settles effortlessly into a perfect penché or a soaring extension; thus, each comes as yet another delightful revelation. While also delightful in most moments in between, Phelan still appeared withholding - as though she and la Cour were aware of the diminished size, and perhaps experience, of this audience versus at home.

Being shown only the pas de deux from Diamonds left me hungering to see the corps de ballet enter in its grand mass - luckily, Ballet West is presenting the full trio of Jewels (reviewed on this blog here) at the Capitol Theatre through next weekend.

The world premiere of Rouge Lullaby featured Utah native and NYCB corps member Baily Jones alongside the pas de deux’s choreographer, fellow corps member Alec Knight. The two were unsurprisingly clad in red unitards, which, oddly, closely resembled those worn for Ulysses Dove’s Red Angels (were they actually those costumes, borrowed for this occasion?).

Rouge Lullaby contained all the quintessential ingredients of a modern ballet - overextended arms, hip thrusts, flexed hands, accompanied by strident tones (here, a score by Bartók). Jones was a clear and compelling performer, buoying Knight’s satisfyingly kinesthetic yet, at times, imitative choreography. A more complicated, exciting version of a fish dive was a fresh surprise, but the two didn’t seem to have a good escape plan, which took away from the lift’s initial effect.

A quick Google didn’t turn up anything further on Knight’s choreographic pursuits, but it seems a reasonable progression for either Ulbricht or NYCB, in the form of the company’s Choreographic Institute, to further incubate Knight’s confident voice, honing its distinction within the aesthetic tradition of the company.

(I did learn that Knight is the first Australian male dancer to receive a NYCB contract, that he has modeled for Dolce & Gabbana, and was featured on Teen Vogue’s 2014 video series, Strictly Ballet, the second season of which is available for viewing here.)

At this point in the program, intermission was still two dances away, and I wish those described thus far could have been lengthened and the next two omitted. The Don Q pas de deux began on a good note, Houston Ballet’s Connor Walsh and Allison Miller portraying Basilio and Kitri. Both displayed a clean, refined technique, more gathered than their City Ballet cohort, but Miller began to waver as the opening progressed into her variation and then into the coda.

It feels unnecessarily harsh to assess the pas de deux based solely on the success of balances and fouettés, but the success of the pas as a whole is dependent on these, coupled with the bravado of the performers, which also felt less than in this performance (though Walsh’s jumps were consistently and gratifyingly effortless and soaring). The inclusion of a mediocre Don Q lent to the program’s introductory feel, as any ballet-going audience has a high bar for such a familiar number (though presumably I was in the minority here, as that did not seem to be the audience makeup, or similarly the programming’s intent, for this performance).

Immediately preceding intermission was a brief, jazzy number choreographed and performed by Ulbricht, who was joined by musical theater performer Danielle Diniz (I learned later that the two are dating, and have another collaborative duet that is also in the Stars of American Ballet rotation). Set to Benny Goodman’s “Sing, Sing, Sing,” and employing tropes of swing dance and elements of Fosse, it was a number that could have worked as a crowd pleaser (not to say the crowd here didn’t enjoy it), but it fell a little short as just a duet, again with diverging energies, Diniz’s enthusiasm unmatched by Ulbricht’s nonchalance.

Yet, at the same time, Ulbricht seemed more at home in the movement (which, as it was his invention, is logical) - as though it were really Ulbricht’s world that Diniz, and before Diniz, Pereira, were temporarily inhabiting, with their more unbridled approach.

A 30-minute portion of Balanchine’s Who Cares? was the entire second act, and the continuity was a reprieve from the choppier first half. Five of the group’s NYCB dancers (Pereira, Ulbricht, Phelan, la Cour, and Indiana Woodward) romped through a selection of the ballet’s original twelve well-known Gershwin standards. There appeared a coalescence as the colleagues supported each other in a style, and in a ballet, that must feel like home to them. And finally, Ulbricht’s approach did not feel at odds with the others’.

Phelan and la Cour’s beginning pas de deux emphasized Phelan’s awareness of and engagement with her backspace, her supple port de bras always going beyond and behind herself yet remaining well within her command.

Woodward dashed off a breezy series of brisé volé, capturing her levity, but soon afterward, her pointe shoes looked oddly clunky as she appeared not to extend her feet in further jumping sequences. I later re-watched videos of Woodward to assure myself this was not usual for her, and indeed it is not. It was an unfortunate anomaly amidst an otherwise polished performance, as she toyed charmingly with the syncopation of Gershwin’s music, long ponytail streaming in her wake.

Ulbricht then had a solo in which I saw his strengths (and not tricks, in this case) finally realized: a playfulness that seemed to not reach its peak previously appeared here in full force. In this solo, it was clear that his build serves him in his pursuit of musical bending - he is able to draw movement in just as quickly as he can send it out.

La Cour then joined Ulbricht’s solo for a brief yet memorable duet. This was a surprising pairing, as the two could not be more different: la Cour is nearly 6’4”, according to Playbill.com, grew up in the Danish school, and, unusually for a NYCB dancer, is not trained at the School of American Ballet, having joined the NYCB corps straight from the Royal Danish Ballet (family connections are the likely explanation here, as Ask’s mother’s first husband was former ballet master in chief Peter Martins); Ulbricht, compact rather than rangy, did take the traditional route, going through SAB to join the company as an apprentice and rose up the ranks from there.

Despite these differences, Ulbricht and la Cour engaged in a sportive yet calmly casual duet that somehow spoke to both of their strengths simultaneously, and cohesively. This duet was the true embodiment of what I think the whole program aims to do on a larger scale - bring dancers of multiple backgrounds together to enjoy themselves and impart to others the joy found in ballet in all its numerous identities. Whether or not this was always successful may be irrelevant, as all these stars of American ballet made it to Ogden, Utah, to a cheering crowd nonetheless.

Amy Falls coordinates and edits loveDANCEmore’s online journal. She studied ballet at the North Carolina School of the Arts and has a BFA in modern dance from the University of Utah.

Ballet West II: Beauty and the Beast

In 1991, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast was one of the first movies I saw in theatres. The 2017 remake is a favorite of my 6 year-old. She and I jumped at the opportunity to see Ballet West’s ballet version during their annual Family Classics series.

After fielding 25 or more “What’s happening now? Who is that? They aren’t in the movie!” comments from my young date during the performance, I realized how colonized the fairy tale is by the Disney version. A $3 bottle of water at intermission effectively silenced both of us (albeit for different reasons), and we were soon transported by Ballet West’s perfectly-paced iteration.

This 60-minute Beauty and the Beast had less villagers and more magical quirk. Intermittent spoken narration and creative use of magical objects helped thread the tale together. Pamela Robinson Harris and Peggy Dolkas’ creative choreography was masterfully performed by Ballet West II artists accompanied by students and the Professional Training Division of the Ballet West Academy. Kudos all around to the lovely dancing, which impressed everyone in the audience, this writer included.

Though all the dancers were truly outstanding, Victoria Vassos as Evil Fairy and Alexandra Terry in the role of Beauty were my standouts. I loved the shifting cast of love duets, sometimes with Terry (Beauty) and Robert Fowler (Beast), at other times Vinicus Lima (Prince) and Terry (Beauty), and still another lovely moment between Lima (Prince) and Tatiana Stevenson (Beauty’s double). My favorite ensemble moments featured the 12 castle statues in gray dresses and white wigs when waltzing together at the ball and out of a wardrobe with several of Beauty’s dresses. (“How did they learn all those steps?” my date wondered.)

Central to this story were the material objects of the classic fairy tale. Whether it was a magical glove that transported dancers from one scene to another, the unique use of transportational mirrors, or the satisfying flounce of David Heuvel’s tutus, I was left considering the imprint of the objects of our daily lives, and how everyday things become imbued with power on and off stage.

From conception to performance, Ballet West’s Beauty and the Beast is a welcome reminder that this tale as old as time has as many variations as any fairy tale should.

Liz Ivkovich is the Development Director for UtahPresents.

OSBA presents BalletX

The Ogden Symphony Ballet Association (OSBA) was founded with the mission to bring classical concerts from Salt Lake City up to Weber County, and now presents music and dance programming from nationally and internationally renowned touring companies to audiences in the greater Ogden area. BalletX is a Philadelphia-based contemporary ballet company that premieres many new works by prominent choreographers to their home audience, as well as taking programming on tour throughout their season. OSBA’s presentation of the company at Weber State University was comprised in the manner of most touring shows, a triple bill. A nearly full complement of nine company dancers performed in each piece (save all but one dancer in the first).

Vivir opened the night with an evocation of Spanish Harlem. Choreographer Darrell Grand Moultrie cites exposure to the beauty, power, and ubiquity of the Latin music of his birthplace in the program notes. Besides having worked broadly in ballet and contemporary dance, Moultrie has choreographed extensively in musical theater, from Broadway to Beyoncé’s world tour, whereby this love of music is clearly borne out. In Vivir, the musical selections occasionally overwhelmed the dancing as a focal point. Ballet generally is performed to a score, rather than a performing of the score, as in musical theater; this formed an emotive disconnect in the more lyrical solo, but served well in the instrumental sections and the accompanying duets and ensembles.

The introductory solos featured the lithe athleticism and startlingly sharp pointework that came to characterize the dancers’ performance quality throughout the evening, with heavy side light defining their muscularity. Solos transitioned to small groups, notably a fluid, self-contained male trio, which gave way, with a certain sense of inevitability and familiarity, to pas de deux. The partnering was both tricky and nuanced. The highlight of Vivir was a sultry pas de deux culminating in a lift, at which point another couple entered dancing to the quicker, brighter motifs in the transitioning music, while the lift slowly and languidly reached the ground. Including these differing musical interpretations in one duet was a masterful way to evoke social dance with beautiful, clear contrast.

The larger-scale contrast of the (rather too) dimly-lit solo danced by Richard Villaverde was less effective. The abrupt shift from de rigueur colorful mesh-paneled unitards and the infectious joy of Latin Jazz great Tito Puente and new-school classical guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela, to the black-clad bare chested defeated-man-on-center was a moment of drama that encumbered the following solo. The choreography was rather quiet and mellow, and perhaps under-articulated to match the continuing melodrama of the song’s overt plaintive lyricism. The following transition into dynamic duets of technical virtuosity in ever-flirtier iterations of costume, into the full ensemble featuring the overfamiliar single line of exuberant individual movements, never recaptured the nuance of the foregoing pairings. Although the progression of movements felt rather formulaic, the brighter sections were danced with unwavering alacrity and technical prowess.

BalletX co-founder and choreographer Matthew Neenan sought to create a “more purely musical” piece, as a reprieve from narrative/conceptual focus, to the strains of Schubert in Increasing. The loveliest motif emerged quickly and was reprised often in the form of two simultaneous duets, two blue-skirted women downstage right and two men upstage left in earthy neutrals. The duets were consistently fully motivated both in contact and musicality. These pairings achieved a level of abstraction that truly suited the stated intent: a non-narrative representation of the musical changes, themes, and subtleties. Each dueting couple was completely attentive from one partner to another, lending clarity to the full scope of the stage and tension to interwoven moments between the pairs. Subtly choreographed deviations by one dancer from unison phrases read as effective moments of pattern-break, and never as mistakes, which is a difficult feat.

Here at its best, Increasing reminded me of watching Disney’s Fantasia as a youth, seeing classical suites interpreted with abstract movement and forms. That is however a difficult conceit to sustain. As the piece progressed, again familiarly, from the duets into pas de deux and ensemble sections, the introduction of the “Allegro” section left little to be explored. Much of the choreography was novel and ambitious, and all was executed beautifully; the larger structure of movements compromised a sustained interest, not quite living up to the swelling intensity suggested by the title. As with the first piece, I was engaged for a full two-thirds of the performance and then found my attention wavering. In each case, I would wish for a less predictable progression of movements and more thoughtful utilization of the cast, perhaps not featuring the full ensemble, as well as a little stagecraft.

The final performance of the evening answered each of my forementioned desires of structural reform, and then some. German for “checkmate,” Schachmatt was in fact consistently winning. The curtain opened on a silent stage already in motion with a repeated unison flourish of many hands, discernible through the diffuse fog and theatrically prominent upstage row of floor lights. Toplight filtered down as the chanteuse of “J’attendrai,” a pop favorite of occupied France, began to sing. The dancers were uniformly dressed in matching monochrome grey shorts, button-ups, and ties, with the jaunty addition of a jockey-like black billed hat, perhaps best described as a ‘60s Mod scooter-fashion send-up. The unison gestures continued, allowing each frequently cheeky motion to be fully delivered through repetition before transitioning to the next. This basic theme was carried throughout and somehow never once became tiresome.

Through a series of seven vintage pop tunes, noir theme songs, mambos, and other inherently danceable selections, groups entered and exited deliberately through the wings. The dancehall was thus evoked but never actualized as vaudeville or chorus line. Cayetano Soto’s choreography adhered to his central vision with remarkable conviction. New brief phrases were serially introduced and developed with repetition and minimal, considered variation which allowed them to be truly seen. I have seen and appreciated this structural approach with more minimalist schools of subtle gesture, but rarely with motions this full-bodied, energetic, and vigorous. The dance vernacular included some very current street styles alongside older social dance and original contemporary movement. A great strength and cohesion was achieved with the choice of allowing these styles to coexist in the same world, undifferentiated in quality or treatment, creating an exuberantly articulated whole. Breakaway duets and groupings were re-integrated with the very classic approach of all parties repeating the current danced theme through the transitions - and it worked seamlessly. Schachmatt ranged from silly, to sexy, to strangely emotive, as in the final movement wherein the men faced the audience in a downstage line and were embraced from behind with gently enfolding hands as they executed a cyclic series of measured gestures. This piece alluded to historical and worldly referents while realizing a feeling and context all its own, never relenting in novelty, in the very best sense. It made me appreciate the virtuosity and versatility of the BalletX dancers and the company’s commitment to showing new contemporary works for many and varied audiences.

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.

Brine: Na

Now in its fourth year, Brine was created by Symmer Andrews, Ashley Creek, and Sara Pickett to highlight works by numerous local choreographers. This year, the group’s annual fall offering featured two distinct programs with sold-out performances, Na (the symbol for sodium) and Cl (chloride); this reviewer was only able to attend Na.

The opening number, “Parched,” was choreographed by Daniel Do and Edromar Undag in collaboration with their dancers. A potent piece, “Parched” created a sense of torment, yet not without end. The spoken word artist Nia Portocarrero was forceful and compelling in her tone and delivery, and even without really understanding the words that were spoken, one still absorbed the intent. The diverse bodies on stage, in turn yearning and yielding, hoping and striving, and coping with support, were decidedly interesting to watch. The lighting by William Peterson was simply brilliant, with blue and amber cross beams of light leading the gaze into a mysterious land, in which threats of darkness and glimmers of hope could coexist with equal chance.

“Guardians of the Hearth” by Emily Bokinskie was a blander number with an aesthetic dance arrangement, illustrating women as perhaps gentle yet strong keepers of warmth and tenderness. The dancers looked lovely in pinks and reds and greens, the overall palette pink as they twirled and stretched around in circles and lines. My interpretation possibly takes a cue from the title, but the intent of the choreography on its own was less clear.

The next piece, “Asylum” by Dan Higgins, was absorbing and yet difficult to watch. The dance opened and closed to a scene of five women who stood tethered to an invisible track in the ceiling, accompanied by the sound of ropes stretching as they struggled valiantly to escape, all within a diagonal track of light. (In this piece, as in “Parched,” the concept was very ably assisted by the lighting.) As they tried to break through but fell again and again, I could almost feel their bruises, both of their physical bodies and also of their spirits. Was this a prison? Was it of their own making? Were they helping each other or holding each other back? It was all a bit ambiguous. Every struggle in “Asylum” felt lonely and hopeless.

“A Walk in the Rain” by Heather Francis was an unexpectedly humorous piece, the dancers playfully exploring a pull towards conformity. Like sea lions yapping until others joined in, the dancers repeated phrases until all were engaged in the colloquy, effectively drawing the arc of an evolving indulgence from the individual to the collective, from the unique to the commonplace. It was a rare use of lighthearted wit and hilarity to entertain and stimulate. It was also interesting to see the forceful pull of one strong individual then co-opt the acquiescence of the others.

The next piece, “Saudade,” was choreographed by E’lise Marie Jumes. A Portuguese word, saudade evokes a sense of loneliness, incompleteness, or, as noted in the program: "the pleasures we suffer and ailments we enjoy; this is our longing for what is not the present, ...layers upon layers of our past experiences give life to the palimpsest of our existence." Mounds of hair surrounded the dancers, as they appeared to experience a poignant longing. The nostalgia was effectively embodied in their movements, the hair perhaps a symbol of what they had lost. And yet... it grows back, does it not? “Saudade” was an introspective piece, in which each dancer was ensconced in her own memories and a dreamy wistfulness.

“Ash/Salt,” choreographed by Corinne Lohner, opened to two women sitting in front of an elaborately arranged meal on the ground, as a third woman on the other side of the stage struggled incessantly, yet vainly, to move against an invisible barrier, locked in an eternal undesirable fate. The other two dancers seemed to eat and drink in turns, while one cut the other's hair (a wig), dyed portions of it black, and later, both proceeded to smear their mouths in the same substance. These were two separate, detached happenings, perhaps illustrating the impersonality of existence, or a lack of empathy: the two women indulging in their meal were seemingly completely oblivious to the struggle of the other woman, just across from them. The piece was jarring at times, but still kept the viewer hooked, in a strangely vicarious, voyeuristic fashion. And what did the dark smearing signify?

“Your Light Is Never Forgotten” by Alicia Trump was as compelling a number as her piece in last year’s Brine concert, “Gaslighting Blatherskites,” and was an aching reminder that grief and loss are negotiated with everyday, long past the event of loss. In myriad covert and conspicuous interactions, the absence of a loved one became evident as their essence was acutely highlighted. That graceful acknowledgment was skillfully portrayed with a spotlight under which one dancer stood. When she fell, the others continued to simulate her essence, dancing around the light that was once hers, not fully extinguished even when she no longer danced under it.  

“Good Enough” by Megan O'Brien featured a cast of four women, some dancing, some observing. They prompted several questions, among which were - What do we find surprising? What do we find acceptable? How hard is it to reveal self truths, and how do you resolve the feeling of not being good enough? The costumes, everyday clothing such as suits and the like, were aptly chosen, bringing home the situational realism in a relatable manner.

Taken in entirety, the pieces throughout Na were all thought-provoking. However, individual sections needed more finesse in their abstractions, which did not always drive home points with conviction. Last year's Brine concert, Disembodied We, was possibly more exciting and mature. As we watched this year’s, my friend and I were struck by the thought of a compulsion to find meaning through our own constructions. Did a narrative exist that was a version just for me and my constructions, or was there maybe even none at all? In stark contrast to the Indian classical arts, where there is an explicit intent to provide common meaning and contextual narrative, the aesthetic experience here was secondary to the intellectual and emotional one. Perhaps that was the intent, or perhaps it does not really matter.

Srilatha Singh is a Bharatanatyam artiste and the director of Chitrakaavya Dance. While interested in encouraging excellence in her art form, she is also keenly compelled to explore relevance and agency through the artistic medium.