RDT and RW present a joint fall show, online

Salt Lake City’s two reigning modern dance companies, Ririe-Woodbury and Repertory Dance Theatre, have joined forces to present DOUBLE TAKE. A season opener for both parties, the historic collaboration is an hour-long, virtual, on-demand performance featuring two world premieres.

The film begins with a recorded Zoom meeting in which RDT’s executive/artistic director Linda C. Smith and RW’s executive director Jena Woodbury welcome us to the performance. They address, with a sense of humor, the fact that people continue to confuse one company for the other even though they’ve been major players in the community for more than fifty years. The statement “We decided to make a performance together to prove that we’re two different companies” is curiously followed by a list of characteristics they share, which includes their belief in arts education, preservation and performance of historical dance works, commitment to working toward a more equitable world for everyone, and a shared denouncement of racism, bigotry, and intolerance. I want to add that both have employed an equal number of men and women performers for decades, posting auditions notices for “male” and “female” dancers. I wonder who will be the first to denounce these outdated, cisgender hiring practices and welcome non-binary dancers into their corps.

RDT dancers performing the work of Justin Bass

The contemporary program includes (in order) RESET performed by RDT and choreographed by company alum and Regalia 2020 winner Justin Bass, Autumn Sun performed by RW and choreographed by Artistic Director Daniel Charon, and Outdoors performed by RDT and choreographed by guest artists Noa Zuk and Ohad Fishof. The commonalities between the three works outweigh their differences, not quite supporting the directors’ intention to prove that the companies are two different entities. RESET and Autumn Sun share similar compositional structures. They both employ fractured entrances and exits — pairs of dancers moving in unison, overlapping and criss-crossing, while maintaining social distance. Both choreographers admitted that this emphasis on duets was a result of the constraints imposed by COVID-19. Questions and comments about how to perform partner work without touching were aplenty in the post-performance Q+A Zoom, with RDT’s Artistic Associate/Development Director Nick Cendese sharing that the adjustments made to the third work, Outdoors, challenged the company to redefine what partnering means.

RDT, viewed from above, in Outdoors

Outdoors and RESET are heavy on the repetition, featuring singular movements/gestures that are repeated successively, as well as longer phrases repeated intermittently throughout the pieces. Many of the movements are quirky and entertaining at first, but eventually become tiresome. Both works are performed to consistent, upbeat rhythms, the movements matching the beat without much contrast to ward off predictability. This is RDT’s second time performing Outdoors. I saw its premiere about a year ago and adored it, so I’m forced to wonder if my shift in opinion is due to my familiarity with it, the energy that’s lost when something is viewed through a screen as opposed to in person, or if the lack of touching between the cast weakened its magic. One of its strongest reconstruction choices is the bird’s-eye-view videography that appears several times in the beginning of the piece. The same point of view also occurs towards the middle of Charon’s work and is a very refreshing perspective.

The highlight of the program is Nicholas Jurica’s virtual presence in Autumn Sun. Forced to remain distanced from the company because his wife tested positive for COVID-19, Jurica’s choreography was pre-recorded via skype, then projected onto the scrim. He’s larger than life in comparison to the dancers on stage, and the duet he performs with Dominica Greene is inventive and entrancing.

Jurica, larger than life, and Greene in the foreground

The virus has made all of us dance makers, performers, and educators ask, “What has to change? What can remain the same? What will we retain when/if this ends?” The first two questions have pretty obvious responses. As for the third, Charon’s flexibility and “make it work” attitude in response to Jurica’s circumstances are things I hope all choreographers adopt as we move through and beyond the pandemic. In addition, I appreciate that the video-on-demand structure allows two viewings per ticket. The performance will be available throughout October.

I look forward to seeing the ways in which both companies push themselves to find new ways of engaging audiences for the remainder of this season, and I’m especially excited to see them integrate their new discoveries into live performance... when we finally get there.

Alexandra Barbier is a dance artist and performance-maker. She received a modern dance MFA from the University of Utah and has taught courses on creative process, queer performance art, and dance in culture.

Queer Spectra 2020: Day Two

Queer Spectra Arts Festival 2020 is a two day interactive virtual gallery (September 5-6, 2020) showcasing work by LGBTQIA+ individuals from the Salt Lake area as well as artists from across the nation. The festival’s theme this year is Risk of representation. Conveyed throughout the works presented are motifs of shame, social conflict, celebration of self, and the de-stigmatization of the Queer body. Each artist’s work speaks to a different facet of the Queer experience through photography, movement, poetry, painting, etcetera. 

Day two of the festival featured two panel discussions, via zoom, on the topics of Risk and Representation and a zoom zine making workshop. 

On the subject of risk, organizers from Queer Spectra were joined by some of the presenting artists to discuss and share. The conversation highlighted the ways risk of Queer self expression surface in art and how sharing identity openly can be a risk depending on environment. Jordan Simmons talked about their experience moving from Salt Lake City back to New Jersey during the pandemic and being confronted with the risk of people from the community they grew up in, seeing them post-coming out and transitioning. The artists expressed how they have learned to adapt to being more comfortable presenting work that is more authentic to themselves, rather than not fully putting forth the message they are trying to convey. 

The author’s “unsure monster”

Zine makers and other curious artists, including myself, came together to participate in a zine making workshop led by Max Barnewitz. Max gave us a brief introduction to zine history and introduced their perspective on zine culture being alternative and inherently representative of the Queer community.  We started making our zines by folding paper into a small booklet. We were then asked to write a word associated with risk on each page. To accompany each word, we drew shapes which created a jumping off point for illustrating a “monster.” This creative exercise allowed the participants to confront feelings surrounding risk and openly discuss if/why taking risks is important. 

The panel discussion on representation had some of the presenting artists reflect on times when they saw their identity represented in someone else’s art. There was conversation around both physical representation and emotional representation such as relating to someone else’s work and the joy that comes with realizing that there is a shared identity or experience between oneself and the artist. The discussion also brought up if what the artist intends to represent motivates their process or if the themes appear after the work has been created. Teresa Fellion, choreographer of Healing Currently Downloading (in progress),  shared how she tries to avoid thinking about the work’s message too hard in order to allow the themes to emerge organically. 

Queer Spectra Arts Festival 2020 uplifted LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC communities during the global pandemic (virus, racism, ableism, homophobia, and transphobia alike) by giving artists the opportunity to share their voices and perspectives through a wide array of disciplines portraying individual experience of risk and representation in today’s society.

Harlie Heiserman (they/them/theirs) is a dance artist originally from the D.C. metropolitan area. They trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance prior to relocating to Salt Lake City where they are a current member of SALT2 and Oquirrh West Project. Harlie’s work and research is driven by heightened emotional states, instinct, and effort.

Queer Spectra 2020: Day One

Queer Spectra Arts Festival 2020 is a two day interactive virtual gallery (September 5-6, 2020) showcasing work by LGBTQIA+ individuals from the Salt Lake area as well as artists from across the nation. The gallery can be accessed for another week here. The festival’s theme this year is Risk of representation. Conveyed throughout the works presented are motifs of shame, social conflict, celebration of self, and the de-stigmatization of the Queer body. Each artist’s work speaks to a different facet of the Queer experience through photography, movement, poetry, painting, etcetera. 

The topic of Queer shame is a recurrent reference in many of the works presented. Samuel Beckett Does Drag (concept and performance by Emmett Wilson, videography by Matt “TheRat” Nelson, music by Ms. John Soda) is a drag performance in which the viewer is let in on complicated relationships to societal pressures of gender roles. A sock, at first being used as DIY packer for a mannequin prop, then stretched over the performer’s face, accomplishes a masking of identity mirroring real insecurities and shame revolving around exploration of gender expression and identity. In Nate Francis’ work, there is a sense of shame associated with the subject’s poses in the photographs and choice to keep their face hidden. The set of photographs creates an aura of malaise using a dark backdrop, green tones, and underexposure. 

Untitled: 26”x36” — photography by Nate Francis, 2020

The motif of social conflict in art is ever present as the fight for equality presses on.

Silence is Violent, a collection of spoken poems by Nico Sin, speaks powerfully on the subjects of erasure, discrimination, and violence towards LGBTQIA+ individuals under the influence of the LDS church in Utah and the continued effort to hold systems of oppression accountable for their acts against minority groups. On the matter of social media and dating, Two Questions by Tony Griego is a social experiment asking eleven individuals, age 18-70, “What would you say is the biggest struggle being gay in this day and age?” and “What is most important in life?” on the popular Gay dating/hookup app, Grindr. This work looks at the difficulties of forming an intimate bond with someone in the era of social media and hookup culture.

Self Portrait by Steven Salabsky

Concepts of destigmatizing the Queer, Black body are evident in works by Jordan Simmons and Steven Salabsky. LIFTED, a short dance film (direction, editing, choreography, and performance by Jordan Simmons, direction and videography by Malcolm Fields, music by Jazmine Sullivan, cover art by Taylar Jackson) presents a celebration of self. Filmed out in nature, artist, Jordan Simmons, embraces their transgender body through movement combining fluid contemporary movement, Krump, and other dance forms. Close up shots show him smiling and wearing his top surgery scars proudly. In Self Portrait, a series of three painted self portraits by Steven Salabsky, the artist paints himself getting in and out of the bathtub, an everyday task to showcase humanity against the harsh criminal stereotype that is placed upon black men today.

Day one came to a close with a live Zoom performance: I heard it’s worse if you open your mouth. A movement exploration choreographed and performed by Dominica Greene with music by Simon and Garfunkle, Bach, and Tchaikovsky. The artist’s body contrasting with classical compositions by the historical white man amplifies the differences of being a Queer, BIPOC in a white heteronormative society, encompassing the concepts of shame, social conflict, and destigmatization highlighted by the event’s theme, Risk of representation.

Harlie Heiserman (they/them/theirs) is a dance artist originally from the D.C. metropolitan area. They trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance prior to relocating to Salt Lake City where they are a current member of SALT2 and Oquirrh West Project. Harlie’s work and research is driven by heightened emotional states, instinct, and effort.

An archway of participation and a call to action

Since May, in the wake of the murder of George Floyd, citizens across the country have defaced, destroyed, and advocated for the removal of racist, colonial-centered monuments. At the Minnesota State Capitol, a statue of Christopher Columbus was ripped from its pedestal and thrown face down on the pavement. In Richmond, Virginia, the Robert E. Lee Monument was covered in spray paint and has been the site of weeks of protests. In Salt Lake, red paint was strewn across the “Serve and Protect” sculpture of bronze hands that resides in front of the Downtown Public Safety Building.

In this context that Kathy Tran, a design educator, and Alex Moya, an artist who migrated from Mexico to Utah as a teenager, enacted Tomorrow’s Monument. This participatory art piece is a part of Pain and Possibility, a community art series hosted by Sugar Space Arts Warehouse and Mestizo Institute of Culture & Arts. It is in this context of destroying monuments that these artists envisioned and launched a new sort of monument—one that embraces community and participation. 

At eight pm on September 3, I walked along the grassy median right outside the Sugar Space Arts Warehouse. The sun was low in the sky offering an orange haze for the last few minutes of the day. In the center of the grass stood a large white arch constructed from stretched white spandex offering the impression of marble architecture. The organizers scampered around the structure in a buzz of last-minute construction: adjusting cords, repositioning laptops, and angling projectors. 

In just a few minutes, the neighborhood was swarmed in darkness. Several lampposts that reached above the tree tops gleamed like little moons in the surrounding sky. The monument was illuminated by the contrasting darkness and glowed with stoic presence. 

Words filtered across the top panel of the arch expressing that, “We don’t need another monument. But people dedicated to eliminating racism.” Meanwhile, projectors cast the image of two white men that moved ever so slightly. The choices of these figures provoked questions for me. Was their presence intended as a parody? Were they meant to invoke the essence of so many historic monuments? Were they chosen as an intentional criticism of the dominating presence many monuments entail? 

As I mulled over these questions, I felt an itch that I did not want these figures on the monuments of tomorrow. They don’t belong as the front facing images of the fight against racism. For a monument that reaches to the future, that calls upon solidarity, and acknowledges the need for change, I craved for two white men to not be the projected relics.

Tran and Moya structured Tomorrow’s Monument with participatory action. Individuals and groups of people were directed to walk and stand under the arch. Once underneath the structure, the projection recognized the presence of bodies and progressed in segments to read: 

Breath

For Those

Who Can’t

And then, a tree appeared that quivered and stretched while small green buds pushed out of the branches. The light evening breeze seemed to mix with these electronic pixels and ground the experience in reality. 

I loved watching families entering the arch together. Several kids pulled their parents back around to the front, to line up, and take a turn at entering the arch again. These families would stand in the arch, huddled together, in a shared moment to acknowledge the violence of racism and breathe in a commitment toward future action. 

This cycle of text and images took about 30 seconds to complete. This offered time to the audience. This was a moment where participants breathed together, reflected, and perhaps considered actions of future change. Upon exiting the archway, the back of monument billowed in clouds of smoke that expanded like grey parachutes. I was struck by the implication of the temporal. Logistically, this monument is only on display for two short nights, unlike so many other permanent, unchanging monuments and memorials. The smoke added the implication that this arch was in the process of being destroyed. What remains when the physical structures come crumbling? When symbolic forms are torn to the ground, what do you do next?

If you have shown up to demonstrate your solidarity for anti-racist work, what do you do when Tomorrow’s Monument is no longer standing? What action do you take after the symbolic gestures are completed? Will you continue to show up and engage in anti-racist work?

Rachel Luebbert is a Utah-based dance artist. She also teaches and works in arts administration and programming, and has previously worked in Colorado, Massachusetts, and Washington, D.C. Her work will be seen at the upcoming Queer Spectra Arts Festival.

Shm00fi3zZ Virtual Birthing: A Queer Orwellian Spacescape in the Age of COVID

It’s both difficult and amusing to consider where to begin after witnessing the Shm00fie3zz Birthing. 

The basic, “what does it mean?” expresses a genuine desire, but feels almost disingenuous when examining the series, captivatingly conceived of and performed by local artists Natalie Allsup-Edwards, Molly Mostert, and Emmett Wilson. The Shm00fi3zZ Birthing, hosted on possibly the most garishly dystopian of all platforms: Instagram Live, mounts the ritual births of the Shm00fi3zZ, adorable beanie baby-like space aliens, who are immediately auctioned off for adoption by the Inter-Dimensional & Galactic Adoption Foundation, Inc. (IDGAF). The piece is a continuation of the long-term performance art series typically conducted live but modified for COVID-19 safety.  Both delightful and sinister, watching the Shm00fi3zZ live on Instagram is akin to watching the Teletubbies read Orwell. 

screenshots by Max Barnewitz

Adult Shm00fi3zZ are near impossible to ignore. The large harlequin space cyclopses, embodied by Mostert and Wilson, dance with exaggerated and guileless movement, emitting high pitched squeaks and buzzes, presumably with unseen kazoos. While the Shm00fi3zZ, like walking Lisa Frank notebooks, are so aggressively cute that they express some sort of uncanny horror, Wwanda Star, the Adoption Agent for the mysterious and/or nefarious IDGAF judiciously played by Allsup-Edwards, is just as engrossing. With stilted optimism, Allsup-Edwards grimaces from behind Martian green face paint while narrating the scientific observations about the Shm00fi3zZ whose offspring she collects, tags, and auctions off. 

The queer performance piece is unsurprisingly resistant to moralization. Indeed, in the spirit of both strict postmodernism and absurdist millennial humor, applying meaning is probably what audiences should avoid. However, for the purposes of entertaining ideas, it is worth postulating that the Shm00fi3zZ could be 1) a dark metaphor for animal rights, 2) a biting critique of the mistreatment of immigrant families by the United States government, 3) a reminder of the inevitable commodification of the body in a capitalist society, 4) a commentary on the pitfalls and horrors of the art making process. 

Over the trills and toots of the Shm00fi3zZ, Wwanda made the eerie assertions that “when they’re not birthing, they’re working” and “it is so difficult to give away the things you create.” Over the course of the performance, her growing obsession with “productivity” belied one of the central themes of the Shm00fi3zZ piece: greed. Ultimately, while Wwanda is willing to go to great lengths to explain away the Shm00fi3zZ objectification – they are “ill equipped to care for babies” – audiences must choose where they stand. Do we believe Wwanda is doing what’s right for the adorable baby Shm00fi3zZ? Or do we support the adult Shm00fi3zZ in their struggle to keep their innumerable offspring? Much like said babies and the swarmy, grotesque bodies of the adults, questions are plentiful, comical, and disturbing.

The Shm00fi3zZ Birthing delivered (if you’ll pardon the pun) surprising twists and turns, plus many humorous Easter eggs to which Allsup-Edwards dutifully pointed the viewers. Past Shm00fi3zz shows have embraced a need to stay in-character that rivals that of the Muppets. As a result, audiences are immediately drawn into the narrative. Not to be inhibited by social distance, the trio encouraged audiences to interact with the Shm00fi3zZ. Viewers could dance at home (to promote the birthing process!), ask questions of Wwanda via the chat feature, and even order the baby Shm00fi3zz via eBay. As bizarre and fascinating as the Shm00fi3zZ Virtual Birthing may be, the trio of artists produced an outrageously complete, provocative, and well-constructed show that let audiences’ minds and bodies go wild.

Max Barnewitz is a writer, comics enthusiast, and outdoor nerd based in Salt Lake City. Max graduated with an M.A. in Comparative Literary and Cultural Studies from the University of Utah in 2016. Their thesis, “The Animal As Queer Act in Comics: Queer Iterations in On Loving Women and Nimona” underscores the potential for comics to portray LGBTQ+ identities. They also serve on the organizing committees for Salt Lake’s Grid Zine Fest and for Queer Spectra Arts Festival, which premieres this weekend.