RDT presents evening of work by Natosha Washington

Natosha Washington’s words begin the monologue which opens RDT’s I AM, “This is a story of a Black woman…” She asks the audience, as we pause to witness the person next to us, if we are part of the problem, or stand with solution? A warning, no matter where we stand, we will be confronted. Chills rocking my body, an overhead spotlight reveals Dee-Dee Darby Duffin, center stage, who begins to sing. The melody is soulful yet grief lingers in the lyrics. “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child...” Harkening to the feeling of loss when one enters adulthood, not knowing the answers to navigate the ever revolving door of social, personal, and spiritual conflict as age becomes us. 

As if to embody this feeling, dancer Ursula Perry emerges from the darkness upstage, wearing a simple white dress with slits that allow freedom from the waist down. Lighting from the sides of the stage softly illuminate the flakes falling from the ceiling. Are they ashes, or snowflakes? She dances beneath the column of falling flakes, shouldering an invisible burden that weighs her down, causing her to collapse to the ground throughout her solo. The sheer commitment to simple gestures — the raising of an outstretched hand to space, a falling curved arm to the side of her body, a flexed foot and a bent knee — demonstrate how simple concepts allow us to delve into difficult emotion. Fellow company members emerge from the darkness, helping her up with the simple support of a hug. Lights die, and the theater is pitch black for a moment. Suddenly the lights reveal one dancer center stage, and just as suddenly, the light is off again. Then, two more dancers are standing next to the original one. This pattern beckons more dancers forth, and gasps of awe from the audience accompany this simple, yet extremely effective transition. So begins an ensemble piece titled Say Their Names, a piece originally conceived for the company in 2018. With the theme of loss palpable, dancers revolve into duets with each other. Ripples of movement motifs echo from one duet to the next, each couple executing the same choreography right after the other, or in time with others. Engrossed in this process, it’s impressive to see the overall timing maintained throughout, reflecting human environments seen everyday. Not only were the partnerships strong, the strength of the company was clearly shown in the execution of movement and emotion, each caring for and supporting one another in lifts and other interactions. The simplicity of costuming, lighting, and choreography left room for emotional depth and interpretation, fostering an abstract world.

Dee-Dee Darby Duffin again takes the stage in Dismantle. She speaks about the limitations associated with her identity as a Black woman. Frustrated, she draws awareness to her pain while navigating the world with ignorant people, who do not see, or choose not to see her skin, voice, and presence. Behind her, dancer Trung “Daniel” Do is running in place for ages, facing a black void. The haunting image continues, as Duffin exits, he runs alone. With no shirt and minimal light, five plain benches stand above Do as he writhes between them, exhausted. This piece draws tears from my eyes more than once. His visible struggle and labored breath, was heart wrenching. Pulling the benches down one by one, Do is drained of strength as he stacks them upon each other. Banging his fists and gasping for relief, reminding us of what it is to endure hardships alone. The simple imagery and the incredible commitment to the struggle from Trung “Daniel” Do was enough for me to almost leap from my seat to help him. As the third bench was hoisted from vertical to horizontal, the company appears onstage, taking the burden from him as he falls into the arms of those who see and support. While we may be alone, it is through others that our struggle becomes light. 

My Crown begins as Duffin stands tall, exclaiming, “Don’t touch my hair. Yes,” she continues, “my hair is beautiful, my hair is my crown, but it is not here purely for your enjoyment.” Duffin, aided by dancers Caleb Daly and Alexander Pham, confronts stereotypes concerning hair, length, professionalism, and gender presentation. With hair whipping and winks over the shoulders, this fun duet provides a fun breather as I AM launches into climax. 

No End In Sight, was the most realistic portrayal of a relationship, romantic or not, that I’ve seen onstage. Ursula Perry, dressed in a long white gown, grasping a bouquet of red roses to her breast, floats on a box upstage. She begins sweeping her right arm around her, clutching the flowers as Trevor Price’s score directs the space to introspection. Dancer Jacob Lewis appears in the downstage corner, approaching her, then turning his back to have a dramatic solo moment. Perry descends from her box, shedding her skirt and joining Lewis in a duet. At first, the couple is in support of each other, leaning to their sides, arms stretched above in fists. Yet, I can’t help but notice Perry frames Lewis, holds him in subtle ways on his waist. As their connection begins to fumble, she runs and jumps in Lewis’s arms. He embraces her in a tight hug as he cradles her. Perry eventually slips out of his arms, fighting this connection as it seems to heavily weigh upon her. Lewis relies on her strength to support his movements while she desires to dance alone. He beckons her, yet she firmly shakes her head, abandons her red roses in Lewis’s hands and exits. Lewis follows in a haze. 

In the background of this duet, the rest of the company places benches down, watching the couple. As the duet ends, the dancers open their fans. Comically waiting for “service” to start, fanning, and talking amongst themselves. A soulful choir brings the company to their feet, and four other company members join from a downstage wing. The costumes reflect a church service from back in the day, the ladies in little hats and the men in jackets. Celebratory, the company rotates through the benches. The choreography, stunning as ever, allows the dancers to really show their athleticism. Raising their hands in prayer above, then slamming down on the benches into quick hand and arm isolations. Energy builds again as Lewis goes on a tangent downstage left, extending legs to the sky and fluidly flipping through a walkover. Two company members now standing on benches, reprise the upper body isolations. A scene that everybody can recognize, showing the pure joy people can experience together as we find that higher power. As Church ends, Duffin enters downstage, returning the red roses to Perry. 

I Can Only Be Me calls back to Perry’s moment on her box. This time, Duffin supports her in finishing what she started as she sings. Perry, now grounded in herself, holds her roses and glides through the space. Duffin begins to speak, transitioning us to Black Girl Magic. In the most profound statement so far, she tells us that even though she has been manipulated and used when only convenient, her power may never be quenched. Her final monologue is so powerful, an audience member in front of me raised his fist as she raised hers. 

The company returns with the benches, this time three women remain onstage. Trevor Price’s original composition brings heavy base with an overlay of drive. Each dancer executing their own image, for Megan O’Brien a fist with a power walk, Lindsey Faber a roll down of the spine to a middle split, and Caitlyn Richter leg extensions to the gods. This intense trio grappling with angst, using heavy breath to labor their way. The remaining company emerges from the back, stepping into the space and interrupting the struggle. As the women repeat their images, two dancers wrestle one to the ground, audibly grunting with fear and effort. This piece, Monsters, was, to me, what happens when we let anger and fear guide our actions. Inorganic results that harm others, based on rotten schema left unchecked. It represents the shadow of the self, the darkness we all carry within. 

The conclusion of the show, I Am Here, looks much like Say Their Names, yet our company has been on a long journey. Costumed in black dresses with slits, they duet again with another. Dee-Dee Darby Duffin’s voice is listing all of the things that she is: confused, weary, scared, hopeful, lost, uplifted. This dichotomy is the epitome of the show: Everything can exist at once, it is all a balancing act. Each pair ricocheting off another, one dancer going on their own tangent. This time, everyone is seen, everyone is heard. All emotions bubbling to the surface, each performer giving their all. The audience is also grieving, to see the show end, and relieved, that the journey is at a real conclusion. 

Witnessing this work brought many emotions to my forefront, as a dancer, woman, and human. Natosha’s design of the overall arc of the show was exceedingly brilliant, building from her personal story into the multidimensional web of collective consciousness. By zooming in, we also zoom out. The call to action ever on the front of the stage, imploring introspective responsibility and outward awareness of people immediate to our reality. Many a time we feel alone, yet we only need reach out in our hour of greatest need. At the same time, people may also hold us back based on their own insecurity. In short, being a human in this day and age, especially a marginalized human, is extremely hard. We must take care to take care. For those who came before, for those who are here, and for those to come. 

Lauren Cheree Wightman (she/they) is a dancer, writer, explorer and part time goblin. When not in the studio, she prefers frolicking in the mountains, foraging for plants and climbing rocks. A contemporary freelance artist, they roam where they please, creating projects with the resources in their area. An ideal day in Lauren’s life would include climbing up a waterfall, swimming in the ocean, hiking to a cozy cave, and reading a book as the sun sets. Find out more at travelbarefoot8.wordpress.com.

The Joy of Queer Art in an Anti-Trans State

On Thursday night this last week, Salt Lake City got a big dose of queer and trans celebration from Sean Dorsey Dance Company at Kingsbury Hall. It was an evening of vignettes performed by five nonbinary and masculine-presenting dancers that touched on stories of divinity, community, pleasure, and self. The work was accompanied by spoken narrative that has stuck with me since that night, “You are longing given a body… Who made you small? What do they get from this? When did you forget?... We are made of stardust… The earth is sacred and so am I… Letting ourselves enjoy pleasure is revolutionary, want to start a revolution with me?”

One of the first sections was a solo accompanied with spoken word that helped to establish a vocabulary for movements which were repeated throughout the work. The circling of the arms like rolling up a blanket became associated with creative energy, a more intricate gesture of tapping the hands down the body with only thumbs and pinkies extended became a symbol of unconditional love, pulling hands from the chest represented the longing that comes from deep within each of us and started in the cores of the stars that created our atoms — which Sean reminded us at one point in the show is very poetic, but it’s also true. 

Photo by Lydia Daniller.

These gestures arose and dissolved from sweeping, spinning dances by the group, often augmented by long skirts that added to the effective beauty of these sections. The smooth partnering and interwoven pathways revealed a deep sense of connection between the performers and offered a glimpse into what more interdependent community might feel like in a world that is so focused on individualism.

The moments that have stayed with me the most, however, were the intimate duets that repeated a few times throughout the work. One dancer stood behind the other, at first in an embrace, and then beginning to guide their partner through circling, soft gestures in the arms, at times revisiting some of the common vocabulary of love, creation, and longing. It seemed to me that the leading dancer was softly reminding their partner how expansive they are, how to dream, and how to create. I found myself reflecting on the relationships in my life that help me trust myself more deeply and connect me to the wonder that is being alive. That kind of support is something we all need throughout our lives and it's something that my queer community especially has a lot of practice in doing for each other.

In a state that has been increasingly targeting trans and queer bodies, this performance was a breath of freedom. The dancing was beautiful and accessible, each section was fully developed but short enough that I never lost interest. The story was vital to counter the fear and constriction that has been present in my body since the election and replace some of it with openness, expansion, trust, and wonder. Thank you, to Utah Presents, for bringing art that bolsters our community and turns us towards collective liberation.

Kara Komarnitsky grew up in Salt Lake City and recently graduated with a BFA in Dance from Ohio State University with minors in Environmental Science and Business. Her work approaches the complexity of human interconnection with the planet, pulling inspiration from the natural world and environmental research. While her primary medium is dance, Kara regularly uses projections, film, sound, and interactive technology to create immersive performance experiences. Her piece Tales of the Deep (2018) recently won third place in the Midwest Climate Summit’s Climate Stories Competition and her thesis, Interconnect (2022), received an Honorable Mention at the OSU Denman Research Forum 2022. Other places her work has been presented includes the OSU Student Concert, OSU BFA Showcase, and the Ohio Dance Festival Professional Concert.

Another view of the show from our loveDANCEmore intern, Allison Shafter:

Sean Dorsey continues to amaze with The Lost Art of Dreaming, performed at the Kingsbury Theatre on November 21. Dorsey’s work inspires a sigh of relief; the show acting as a symbol that trans art will continue to persist amongst an uncertain political future. Blends of theatricality, partnering, elegance, and comedy created an atmosphere that was ever changing, yet grounded in its existence. The work is described by Dorsey as both  “a spell” and an avenue to “reclaim, remember, conjure, co-create and manifest OUR BIRTHRIGHT”. 

Dorsey, an Emmy award winning choreographer, is known to amplify queer and trans experiences within his works. The Lost Art of Dreaming is no different. The message of the show, one of acceptance, reclaiming, and love is made accessible to the audience. The use of spoken word is expertly applied throughout the pieces. Vocalizations inspire and complement the dancing, guiding audiences through their own interpretations of the night. Original songs performed by Dorsey further aid audiences in this exploration.

Kingsbury Theater observed the production in awe. Intricate gestural work becomes a staple of the show. These gestures are contrasted with expansive movements that build a whimsical world onstage. Constant motion and fluidity perfectly illustrate the show’s title. The dream-like environment is supported by an incredible sound score. Some of my personal favorite compositions came from Anomie Belle, their work transforming the stage from marley to water, with strings that mimic ripples and waves. The illusion is furthered with continuous motion from the dancers. Architectural shapes sway back and forth before disintegrating into new movement patterns. The Lost Art of Dreaming appears as a work retrieved from the ocean.

Repetition in the choreography is expertly crafted throughout, with the building and crumbling of shapes and textures resulting in stunning visuals. Unison sections are crisp with power and physicality. Duets fold and unfold beautifully with a quiet intimacy and trust between the dancers. Additionally, whacking technique, known for its origination within queer spaces, is utilized with a stand out performance from Brandon Graham. Further stand out moments come from dancer Nol Simonse as he approaches the other dancers draped in fabric that begins to cover their lower bodies. 

While tackling emotional topics, lightheartedness is interwoven. Audiences cheered and laughed as dancer Héctor Jaime offered a light tonal shift to the piece with a comedic monologue and theatrical solo. Messages of “JOY” are perhaps most pronounced within this section with cheers, gasps, and laughs traveling from the crowd. 

In the second half, I AM THE OCEAN, sung by Dorsey, accompanies soloist David Le. Vocals both complement and contrast Le’s movement, developing an intriguing relationship between speech and dance. Ideas of dreaming and reality become more intertwined with the work's introduction of scientific theory. Dorsey recalls the Big Bang Theory stating that “we are all made of stardust.” The work ties the creation of both the dancers and audience members to the same stars. This encouraged me to consider that the inception of the universe is as unpredictable and explosive as its present. Through all the chaos, there is a strange comfort in the wonder that we all come from the same act of chance. 

The finale piece featured the stunning silhouettes that appeared on the show’s promotional materials. The production’s dreamy quality is perhaps most pronounced in this final number. Its choreography leaves audiences to contemplate how the second half of the production mimicked and built upon the first. Movement of the dancers slowly dissipated but their energy seemed to project even further in the moments before a black out. The theater erupted with a standing ovation to Dorsey’s work and its advocacy for queer art, belonging, and acceptance. Dorsey made a point to thank Utah Presents, stating that they were one of the first organizations to support a showing of the work. I strongly recommend seeing The Lost Art of Dreaming if you get the chance. It was a beautiful night. 

Allison Shafter is the 2024-25 loveDANCEmore intern.

A Bharatanatyam exploration of rivers and seas

From Cauvery to Colorado – A River Runs Through It was a captivating exploration of rivers through Bharatanatyam, a classical Indian dance style that blends intricate movements with storytelling. Performed at the Leona Wagner Black Box Theatre on September 13 and 14, the program spanned cultures and continents, drawing connections between rivers like the Ganges, the Cauvery, the Colorado, and even our very own Great Salt Lake.

Bharatanatyam, the dance form at the heart of the performance, is known for its expressive hand gestures, precise footwork, and powerful storytelling. The choreographer has deep roots in the Kalakshetra tradition of Bharatanatyam, which is known for its elegance and spirituality. What makes Bharatanatyam special in this performance is the way it uses movement to tell stories, often from mythology. The work beautifully bridged ancient traditions and contemporary environmental concerns. 

The opening, “Incipience – Benediction,” was a simple but reverent homage to the elements, particularly water. The dancers’ movements reflected a deep connection to nature, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. “Ganga – An Origin Story” followed, illustrating the mythological tale of the Ganges River. The cast moved with fluidity and grace, representing the river goddess Ganga’s divine descent to earth. It was easy to follow the narrative, even without prior knowledge of the story, thanks to the clarity of the movement and the performers’ expression.

“Cauvery Calling” was a twenty-minute section that used canon (a choreographic device where the same movement is repeated by different dancers in a staggered sequence) to depict the river’s journey through southern India. The dancers evoked the flow of the river with fluid arm movements, while sound effects of rushing water provided a rich audio landscape. 

A standout piece for me was “Colorado – Dam Nation,” which focused on the damming of the Colorado River. The choreography mirrored the river being split apart by dams, with sharp, fragmented movements. In depicting the Hoover Dam, this section highlighted the shift from viewing dams as marvels of engineering to recognizing their ecological consequences, which felt timely and relevant. 

The most personal moment for me was the final piece, “Once We Had Everything… Ode to the Great Salt Lake.” The dancers beautifully portrayed the grandeur of what the lake once was, and their movements poignantly depicted its slow disappearance. The dance conveyed the environmental challenges our region faces in a way that was both emotional and visually striking. This piece was my favorite, as it felt like a tribute to the natural world we are rapidly losing.

Throughout the performance, I appreciated how clearly each story was told. Dance can sometimes be abstract, but this program provided just the right amount of context so that I could engage with the narrative while still enjoying the interpretive nature of Bharatanatyam’s movement language. The sound effects, especially the water and machinery used to illustrate the dams, added another layer to the experience, making it both visually and aurally immersive. Cauvery to Colorado was not only a journey through rivers but also a reminder of their vital role in our lives and the ongoing environmental challenges they face. It was a meaningful, engaging performance that used the rich tradition of Bharatanatyam to connect us to stories both ancient and modern.

Shelby Strickler's dance journey began in Baltimore, Maryland. Having graduated with a BFA in Modern Dance from the University of Utah in December 2023, she is a performer and teacher in Salt Lake City, passionately sharing her love for dance.

A gut-punching, evocative exploration

Mythili Prakash and her ensemble performed She is Auspicious on the evening of September 8 at the Jeanne Wagner Theatre, under the auspices of Utah Presents and Nitya Nritya Foundation. To the terms “avant-garde,” “bold,” and “original” used to describe Mythili Prakash's production, I would add “candid” and “forthright” to capture the essence of her performance.

As the lights slowly fade in, the audience witnesses Mythili balancing effortlessly on a low platform under a makeshift marquee as a montage of movements evoke the eight-armed Goddess Durga. She assumes the character of the sculptor judging the results of his work. He shapes her eyes, her breasts, her waist line, and stands back to adjust a curve here, a line there, and to look at his own creation. With this simple metaphor Mythili draws a parallel that for centuries women have been unconsciously shaped by patriarchal mythologies. The dancer is starkly attired, no jewelry in sight, eschewing even earrings. She wears a white cotton practice sari draped simply (in pronounced departure from the usual Bharatanatyam performance aesthetic) — a powerful statement in and of itself.

Completed as a sculpture, this Goddess steps off the pedestal…

Photos by Chuck Bigger.

Down into the real world which worships Her and celebrates Her, adores Her and bows down to Her — but simultaneously we see the struggles to be a mother, a wife, a woman. A vignette that stayed with me was the gradual morphing of the desperate mother who almost loses control attempting to calm her child, then regains composure, lulls her child to sleep in a cradle. Slowly the rocking hand transforms, displaying unabashed desire coursing through Her body… and then yet again to Goddess, warrior, woman defending herself and others. The subtle changes of body language and expression and the small intuitive details that she embodies completely and effectively transmit the story of Her transformation, and are a mark of the artist's virtuosity. The minimal use of hand gestures (Pathaakam/Kuvicha Pathaakam) transformed ever so subtly from a soft-petalled lotus to sword-wielding, to gestures of intimacy and yearning, to a benediction, a shield, a protective hand, a nurturing hand… It was hypnotic, unerringly eloquent, riveting. By the end of that sequence this author was bawling.

Justice in her core and shoulder sheathed in valor
Thus imbued is She, a gracious gem.
Our many woes fragile like flammable cotton
Her mere glance sets ablaze.
Vanquishing hate, hostility and enmity
O' people around the world
Proclaim your surrender to Her hallowed name
Sakthi Om Sakthi Om Sakthi Om

Above is a translation of the first stanza of a beautiful poem by Tamil poet Subramanya Bharathi in praise of the Goddess. The singing was unadorned like the dancer, and thus all the more poignant. When the words Sakthi Om rang out, I could discern glimpses of devotional surrender, juxtaposed against the forces of worldly resistance like a tug of war between the roles of a mother and a wife, of a devotee, and a distraught, overburdened woman.

The main inspiration for the lyrics of this piece is Mathe Malayadwaja — a gorgeous Daru Varnam composition that praises and highlights the dichotomies embodied by the Goddess as a mother and a daughter, as a slender sylph who is fiercely combatant, and as the dark-skinned central light of the universe. 

The all female ensemble of musicians and other dancers now make their way onto the stage, as the ladies decorate the marquee, the floor in front, sing praises of the Goddess and celebrate Her. Her hand is held out in blessing. Then the process of change begins - she is hidden from view and when she reappears it is as a sparsely adorned figure, but adorned nevertheless and in traditional Bharatanatyam attire. As the Goddess prepares to be paraded amongst the celebrants, her role as a mother suddenly intervenes. She must resolve conflicts amongst her sparring children, one hungry for food, the other for attention, unwilling to let their mother go until they fall asleep. After she addresses their demands, She is finally ready, one is compelled to wonder, Where is the father amongst all this chaos? While She is desperately balancing her duties — and the desperation was visible — the blurring of lines between Goddess, mother, and woman were paradoxically clear and unmistakable. 

This Goddess finally steps forth, and a seemingly male figure beckons her to ascend her pedestal once again. Ascend She does, but to reject the embellishments and to morph with fury into an avenging warrior, unrelentingly fierce and razor focussed on the destruction of all evil... The energy of this section was electrifying and palpable throughout, with the other dancers giving an ever stronger, ever faster rhythmic drumming on the stage floor, on the sides of the movable garment rack that were used as a prop on the stage. Here the performance of the rest of the ensemble becomes absurdist, subverting our aesthetic expectations. The accompanying dancers became increasingly agitated and frenzied on stage, as though possessed perhaps to reflect the inner state of the Goddess who wreaks havoc on evil, but has uncontrollable rage in the process. The destruction She wrought is manifested on stage by the physical collapse of the marquee executed by the ensemble. Many members of the audience seemed entertained by the discordant scene on stage, and therein was the incongruity of the moment, where I perceived the effect to be potentially disjoint from the intent.

A primal scream comes forth from the Goddess and finally She rests amidst the wreckage, with just a physical manifestation of her pulse, the way a pair of defibrillator paddles would restore a heartbeat. I felt all our hearts thud in unison with this supine being, willing Her to return to us. And return to us She did... with a glance that at once, asked and answered, confirmed and denied, and challenged and accepted all that we expect from a Goddess, a mother, a wife, a woman..

I think I held my breath for a large part of the show. So electric is Mythili's presence, such utter conviction and character emanating from her bones, so completely overwhelming is her honesty that every second of the seventy minute performance I cannot but be utterly entranced. 

Srilatha Singh is the artistic director of Chitrakaavya Dance. She has a Ph.D in Mathematics in three-manifold topology, which deals with geometry of spaces; the same fascination with geometry is imbued in her passion for Indian Classical Dance. Trained in Bharatanatyam, primarily the Kalakshetra tradition, from eminent gurus Shri Dhananjayan, Guru Kalyani Shekhar and Smt Ambica Buch, in her youth in India, she continually refreshes her training and has facilitated and attended workshops with artistes of international repute such as Bijayini Satpathy, Praveen Kumar, Janaki Rangarajan, and Shankar Kandasamy. She enjoys choreographing to new and unexplored themes, teaching and presenting history, mythology, rhythm, mathematics, poetry and theater, all through the medium of Bharatanatyam. Her interests lie in questions of historically re-interpreted classicism, and contextualizing the evolution of this art form as well as its relevance to contemporary identity. As a member of the Utah Presents Advisory Board, she participates in cross-cultural conversations that inspire her artistic investigations. She has guest-taught Bharatanatyam at the Snow College Convocation Series, and master classes at Weber State University, University of Utah, Westminster College, Utah Valley University amongst local institutions. She has  performed in a multitude of venues and cultural festivals including Living Traditions, Ring around the Rose, Living Legacy Community, and International Day Festival, among other events.

Playground's second year

The second year of Playground Dance Project was a hilarious and inspiring success. Last night’s show included five choreographers and 15 dancers who created new works in just eight hours, each of them unique, creative, and playful.

Photos by Todd Collins.

Where Were We by Steven Chodoriwsky was spacious and silly, the repetition of the score created a sense of character without being attached to a linear storyline. Played over the movement was a recording of voices speaking from a rehearsal, adding an additional layer of insight into what the dancers were exploring and investigating. When the dancers on stage began to speak to us, to each other, and to themselves I found myself and the rest of the audience laughing at the narrative that was revealed. In what other scenario would give ourselves the task of pushing through two hugging bodies? In what space other than dance would we drag each other across the floor and call it a train?

¿Y Ahora Qué? by Bianca Calderon featured Latin music and movement motifs that began in a dramatic and curious setting, then developed into something more celebratory by the second section. The dancers frequently brought their palms towards their faces and heads, as if looking in a mirror or pondering a memory. The motif that sticks with me from this work was Masio Sangster’s screaming/shaking moment that repeated in different contexts throughout, sometimes reading as anger, frustration, excitement, or joy. For me, this informed my understanding of the dancers’ relationship to the Latin movement vocabulary as one that changed and shifted over time and could hold many emotions at once.

Blasé Girl(s) by Xochitl Marquez was ridiculous and unexpected. The performers’ commitment really sold the shaking, pumping, sometimes sexual movement that was matched with high energy music. The creative use of clothing drew more laugher from myself and the rest of the audience for an explosively joyful experience.

Lanu O Fa’asinomaga by LaGrande Lolo was a deconstruction of traditional hula movement paired with tense, powerful music and lighting that showed off the musculature of the dancers. The repeating gesture of a hand pulling from the opposite shoulder through the heart and casting down to the side of the body made me wonder if the dancers were trying to take off their traditions, redefining for themselves the kind of women they wanted to be. As the dance concluded, the traditional music returned and each of the dancers responded very differently: one lay collapsed on the floor, one walked off towards the light, and one stood tall with open arms. I got the sense that their relationship to identity was continually changing and deeply personal.

Imagine if the Moon Was Theirs by Constance Anderson created a world of dream-like wonder for the audience that became real through the visceral textures and facial expressions of the dancers. We traveled through the night sky with the moon, we swallowed a dense weight and watched it move through the dancers’ bodies, we kicked and Kicked and kicKed and KICKED and *kicked* and kicked and kICKed. Everything was given just enough time to form a story and then strung together into a beautifully crafted voyage.

I want to congratulate Roxanne Gray for directing a space that was so welcoming and open-ended, we need more spaces like this to create art in Salt Lake. The whole evening was a drop of pure joy.

Kara Komarnitsky grew up in Salt Lake City and recently graduated with a BFA in Dance from Ohio State University with minors in Environmental Science and Business. Her work approaches the complexity of human interconnection with the planet, pulling inspiration from the natural world and environmental research. While her primary medium is dance, Kara regularly uses projections, film, sound, and interactive technology to create immersive performance experiences. Her piece Tales of the Deep (2018) recently won third place in the Midwest Climate Summit’s Climate Stories Competition and her thesis, Interconnect (2022), received an Honorable Mention at the OSU Denman Research Forum 2022. Other places her work has been presented includes the OSU Student Concert, OSU BFA Showcase, and the Ohio Dance Festival Professional Concert.