NOW-ID: Rite of Spring

Industry, productivity, labor, ritual, depletion, exhaustion.

These are some of the themes that emerged while watching Now-ID’s Rite of Spring. Even the path to the stage, surrounded by railroad tracks, chain-link fencing, and brick and concrete block buildings, felt like part of the performance.

The raised stage underneath the 600 North on-ramp (498 West 600 North) emerged like a destination in the midst of this industrial setting, an oasis for people curious to see what unfolds when an opera singer, four phenomenal dancers, and Igor Stravinsky’s landmark score come together to create an event. The performance began at 9 p.m. and ended less than an hour later, just as the sky had darkened and night had come.

Now-ID’s Rite was a study in contrasts: between the vibrancy of the dancing and the desolation of the landscape that surrounded it, between the glimpses of mountains and the concrete that surrounded the stage, between the timelessness of the music and the ephemerality of this moment, between the perseverance of the performers, and the ultimate collapse that ended this Rite.

Avoiding an explicit narrative, Rite unfolded as a series of images: beginning with the four dancers seated on stools at the corners of the stage. Evoking boxers waiting on the edges of a ring, they seemed focused and primed. Jo Blake stood, as if to signal the beginning of a ritual, and slowly walked by the other dancers (Sydney Sorenson, Liz Ivkovich, and Tara McArthur) to greet Joshua Lindsay as he stepped onto the stage and began singing. Lindsay’s voice, sonorous and lush, heightened my attunement to sensorial engagement, of letting the sounds, sights, and actions of this event convey meaning.

When Lindsay exited, Stravinsky’s score began, and Blake’s solo presented a transformation: from human to extra-human, with arms that morphed into wings as if he were performing an invocation. He danced like he was propelled by forces, and the clarity and strength of his performance was mesmerizing to watch.

Although the performance was choreographed by Charlotte Boye-Christensen, with Nathan Webster providing the concept, the dancers made their ideas into realities with a performance that was impressive in terms of both stamina and precision. Each dancer presented distinct qualities, while also maintaining a sense of coherence. Sorenson danced with a rare combination of power and extension. Ivkovich had a compelling expansion to her movement, limbs stretching away from her center of gravity in ways that seemed to resist gravity. McArthur presented a flickering, quicksilver quality, with movement that was so fast it seemed superhuman.

In unison sections the women generated a sense of solidarity, bounding across the stage with a loping gait that seemed to gain momentum as they moved. At other times, the four performers divided into pairs that suggested rival tribes: Ivkovich and McArthur wore red-ish pants that contrasted with Blake’s and Sorenson’s attire. In partnering sections, they seemed to engage in combat, like wrestlers grappling.

Tara McArthur and Jo Blake in NOW-ID’s Rite of Spring, in costumes by Mallory Prucha. Photo by Jeffrey Juip.

The costumes, by Mallory Prucha, added to the rough and exposed environment: pants were made of heavy cotton (“monk’s cloth”) but shredded at the hems and stained with dark streaks. Make-up and hair by Stephanie Ericson, Rikki-Lee Thomas, Brittany Botarri, Kevin Truong, and Vanessa Alfaro enhanced the sense of severity with body paint and spiky hairstyles. As the performance continued, the body paint disintegrated, leaving traces of colors just as the surroundings presented traces of former industries and communities.

It’s hard to decipher the connections between this landscape and this Rite: in some ways the choreography presented a familiar tale of a woman’s sacrifice for the betterment of a community. In other ways, the dancers seemed to be exposing the exhaustion and depletion of cultures and sectors that are no longer sustainable or viable, perhaps suggesting that we become more judicious in where we invest our energies and resources. No matter the interpretation, the dancers’ commitment to the choreography was impressive, and their ability to execute the phrases while maintaining a sense of understated calm was riveting. Each one is a compelling artist, and the lighting design by Cole Adams made it appear, at times, as if their bodies were glowing. A gorgeous and appropriate effect.

NOW-ID’s Rite of Spring, with lighting by Cole Adams. Photo by David Newkirk.

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.

NOW-ID: A Tonal Caress at UMFA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Justin Bass: A Bag of Nuts

When I first saw the list of shows that loveDANCEmore would be reviewing this spring, I immediately “called” reviewing A Bag of Nuts because I love Justin Bass’s choreography. This show met my high expectations.

Upon entering the Rose Wagner, we were greeted warmly and directed through a door across the way, down a flight of stairs, and into Studio A/B. The lighting and the atmosphere were warm and soft.

Justin Bass introduced the event in a good-natured and straightforward manner.

Act I was "Walnut", which Justin described as being revamped from when it was first presented a year ago. The performance featured only small tweaks the second time around, and was as delightful as I remember it from last year.

Last year, Justin said he purposely choreographed this work to challenge areas that each featured dancer struggled with. I thought that was a great idea, and I loved how it contrasted with the common approach of featuring dancers’ strengths – both great approaches in their own ways.

"Walnut" began with the dancers informally stretching on the stage, a concept also employed in NOW-ID’s NOWHERE a couple years ago. "Walnut" progressed with choreography that incorporated the stretches, and I was glad for the way that created continuity.

The piece included solos, duos, and trios, and the three dancers flowed in and out of unified choreography. I especially loved the concept and execution of the dancers repeating a short series of movements with varying timing, so that sometimes they matched up, and sometimes they sped ahead of each other or lagged behind.

Elyse Jost had a pretty neutral vibe throughout "Walnut". Her demonstration of control with transitions from quick movements to moments of stillness and balance was impressive.

Elle Johansen seemed intense, ranging from annoyed to angry. The way she holds and moves her neck is uniquely hers. In this choreography she demonstrated attention to artistic detail with spinal undulations that were at times flowing, and at times rigid with resistance.

Tiana Lovett exuded a feminine boldness, or maybe even haughtiness; this was perfect for her excellently contrasting solo choreography, which alternated between straightforward movement and more coy gestures. A fellow audience member noted that Tiana’s interpretation made walking a worthwhile inclusion in a modern dance piece.

Act I ended with a unified snap of the fingers and fall to the floor. From the back row, Justin started the applause.

After a five minute pause, which I thought was the perfect amount of time, Act II began.

Justin’s choreographic style was the common thread that connected Act I and Act II, which otherwise didn’t seem directly related but nevertheless meshed together within the show.

The music of the second half of the show was especially noteworthy, featuring songs I would describe as sassy, spliced together with excerpts of speaking by current U.S. Republican political figures. This was well-done as far as the flow of the audio, and how the choreography flowed through the audio transitions.

In solos and duos, the cast of six performers took turns dancing in the center of a semi-circle created by the rest, who sat and watched attentively, occasionally raising a hand as if in question, or raising both hands as if in indignation. In transitions between featured dancers, the others got up and walked to a different spot in the semi-circle, which I liked as a way to keep things connected. The choreography featured a mix of awkward and sassy and demanding and proud.

The last piece within Act II included all six dancers in moments of unity and divergence. The last bit of audio was along the lines of “I think how you laughed at me just now is indicative of how the media treats women. I’m just going to ignore that. I'm bigger than that.”

I imagine some audience members wondered what Justin “meant” by Act II. I can’t speak for his true intentions, but I wonder if he was less trying to make a specific statement, and more just pointing some things out and having a chuckle.

At the end of "Walnut" last year Justin did a Q&A session, which I found to be very interesting. I wished that we had gotten to do one this time too. It’s tough for artists to know when to shut up and let the art speak versus when to let their fans in on what’s behind it all.

Overall, A Bag of Nuts was an enjoyable evening. I was pleased that the show was both interesting and aesthetically attractive – sometimes a tricky balance to find. I look forward to seeing what Justin Bass comes up with next.

Kendall Fischer currently performs with Myriad Dance. She has also enjoyed recent opportunities with SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co, La Rouge Entertainment, and Voodoo Productions, among others.