Performance Art Festival 2019 at the SLC Public Library

While I was seated on the second floor of the Salt Lake City Public Library, staring at paper shapes suspended from the railings of the “bridges” in the library’s main Urban Room, Joseph Ravens approached me and asked, “Do you mind if I join you? I need to just sit for a minute!” 

I had just watched Ravens travel from one end of the third floor bridge to the other with a playful energy, flirtatiously peering down, his fingers dancing across the railing, with a yellow dunce cap on his head. He now sat in the chair across from me, dropping turkey feathers that had been painted black over the edge of the balcony, one by one. 

“These were originally attached to my elbows but they came off. Sometimes I put them on my toes but that would have made it too hard to go up and down these stairs.” 

I took notes as he continued to tell me that repetition of simple tasks, like ascending and descending staircases, is a frequent device he uses in his art, that performance art is very popular where he lives (Chicago), and that he made the piece that I’d been admiring with children’s responses in mind. He eventually asked,  “Anyway, are you here for the Performance Art Festival or are you just hanging out?” 

I was shocked that he’d told me so much about himself and his art, unaware that I was taking notes for this review. Such an interaction reveals several qualities of an experienced performance artist: the ability to be adaptable and responsive to the present moment (He needed a break so he took a break! His feathers malfunctioned so he repurposed them!), the confidence to interact with strangers, and the awareness that some spectators of performance art want more information about what they’re witnessing so that they can “get it.”

Is making sense of what you’re seeing always necessary? Isn’t it invigorating to stumble upon the unusual in the midst of your predictable library experience, regardless of whether or not you understand what’s going on? 

I wondered this as I watched a group of University of Utah School of Dance students and alumni improvisationally dance to a soundtrack I couldn’t hear (they were wearing headphones) while a speaker intended for the audience’s ears played NPR’s “Wait Wait, Don’t Tell Me.” Seeing the smiles on the spectators’ faces as the dancers eventually took off their headphones, turned their attention to the crowd, and playfully bombarded us with countless balloons filled me with delight. 

As a choreographer and performer myself, I am keenly aware of how premeditated and alienating (and sometimes pretentious) dance performances can be, leaving spectators (or myself, at least) longing for inclusion, spontaneity, and surprise. This group provided just that. My favorite part of this performance was one of the dancer’s closing remarks: “It’s never over! Take a balloon!” 

Which brings me to one of the pillars of performance art: the exploration of time. 

I am a sucker for durational performance pieces that you will inevitably catch less than half of, because it’s rare to have six free hours to spend watching someone rearrange piles of glass-like particles. This was Chelsea Coon’s task. By the time I saw her, she had made three large circles of glass on the floor and was sitting in the center of them, transferring handfuls of leftover glass into clear bowls. A pool of sunlight illuminated the entire scene magically. Though I was mesmerized by her concentration and the calmness of the display, I knew I needed to catch a few other pieces that were scheduled to end soon. 

In a nearby room, Marilyn Arsem sat behind a table, poised like a fortune teller but helping passersby to recall their pasts instead of intuiting their futures. My love affair with all things nostalgia couldn’t resist her invitation to calculate how many days I’ve been alive (11,684 in case you’re curious) and then trying to recall the events of one of those days, which was selected blindly by pointing to a date in “101 Years: A Calendar Book.” I was very surprised that, with a series of calculated questions, Arsem was able to help me recover some very forgettable details of a Tuesday during my senior year of high school. I departed just as a child, born in 2013, exclaimed, “I’m old!” after being told his age in days (there was a collective cringe and then giggle from the adults in the room) and once again I found myself entranced by Coon, who had begun placing a fifth circle of glass around herself, just as focused and meditative as before. 

Other performances I saw, too many to describe each in detail, included asexual alien creatures performing reproductive dances, women dressed as men reciting poetry in soothing voices, and a woman taping blank sheets of loose leaf paper onto a wall as a reflection on dyslexia. To supplement this piece, I encourage you to visit the Festival’s lineup while it’s still available and to find the websites of all participating artists. The Festival’s founder and curator, Kristina Lenzi, has her finger on the pulse of some exciting artists and, as this is an annual event, I look forward to seeing what she puts together next year. 

Chelsea Coon (pictured six hours later than above photo) at the 2019 Performance Art Festival, in the Urban Room at the Salt Lake City Public Library. Photo by Paul Reynolds.

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

UtahPresents: Doug Varone & Dancers, with guests

UtahPresents programmed an evening of choreography by Doug Varone, held at the University of Utah’s Marriott Center for Dance. The performance featured members of Varone's company, Doug Varone and Dancers, Varone himself, special guest artists and former Varone company members Daniel Charon and Natalie Desch, members of Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company, and students from the University of Utah School of Dance. The multiple groups shared the performance cohesively. I would have loved to see even more interaction among the different groups, but I understand that they had limited time together to prepare for this show.

The first work presented, “in the shelter of the fold,” consisted of five sections, which were held together thematically, and with similar music (intense ambient sounds with humming vocals) and lighting design (many-rayed light coming from one source, with darkness to contrast around it).

‘1. horizon,’ performed by the company, introduced a stiff movement style that continued through the next couple sections as well. The dancers created shapes and painted pictures together as a group, moving at varied speeds and with nice moments of stillness.

My favorite moment of stillness involved a female dancer holding a male dancer up off of the ground. It was an interesting and aesthetically pleasing lift that demonstrated grace, strength, and coordination. But also, many female dancers are perfectly capable of lifting a male dancer, and yet we don’t see it choreographed that way very often, even in today’s more current landscape of female empowerment. I liked that it wasn’t supposed to be a big statement, just something that could happen naturally within a choreographic work. Looking at it in that light, it’s ironic that I wanted to dedicate a whole paragraph to the topic.

‘2. folded,’ performed by two dancers from the company, was not particularly noteworthy as far as any differences from the first section. It ended with the performers vigorously shaking their heads at the front of the stage, which I enjoyed.

‘3. shelter,’ performed by three dancers from the company, portrayed continual negotiation of relationships, likely among two parents and their child. It was tense and poignant, and included some wonderfully executed, choreographic details of hand articulation.

‘4. mass,’ performed by students from the University of Utah School of Dance, was stylistically different from the previous sections, featuring more choreographed unity among the dancers, more fluid movements, and more use of physical flexibility. This contrasting piece was like a breath of fresh air.

The dancers from ‘4. mass’ slowly crawled off the stage as ‘5. hope’ began. It was wonderful to integrate the two sections that likely could not have been rehearsed together very much due to time constraints. It was simple, but so effective, especially because of how well it fit the style. The crawling theme was also repeated toward the end of ‘5. hope,’ tying it together even more, and without feeling too repetitive.

‘5. hope’ was a solo by Hsiao-Jou Tang, who is, in my humble opinion, the very best choice for a solo feature of anyone who shared the stage that evening. Her seemingly natural grace and movement details made her stand out.

After intermission, we saw “Strict Love,” which featured an off-putting combination of upbeat music and stiff, floppy movements. Eight dancers (a combination of performers from Ririe Woodbury and Doug Varone and Dancers) seemed stuck in their limited expressions (contrasting with the lively soundtrack) as they stayed in the same formation for a displeasing amount of time. This 1994 piece by Varone wasn’t my favorite, but it did provide a good contrast to other pieces within the show.

After a pause, Doug Varone himself performed a self-choreographed piece titled “Nocturne.” The solo included a pleasing mix of larger dance movements, gestures, and wonderfully natural pedestrian moments. I loved Varone’s unique and charming style, especially his expressive hands and shoulders.

Next came a piece performed by Daniel Charon and Natalie Desch, called “Short Story.” I disliked it, although I don’t think that its purpose was to be likable. The piece portrayed a tense relationship and power struggles between two people. I prefer for everyone to support each other, so this was not my cup of tea. However, it was a memorable and well-executed piece.

Finally, “LUX,” a 2006 Varone piece, was performed by the company. “LUX” gave the audience a welcome abundance of big, energetic movement, including some playful barefoot tap moves, solos from my favorite dancer, Tang, and a strong ending. I very much appreciate the way that the evening of Varone’s choreography ended with a bang, so to speak.

Doug Varone and Dancers in rehearsal at the University of Utah, with students from the School of Dance 

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company. In addition to dancing with Myriad, she also performs with Voodoo Productions, and has enjoyed opportunities with SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co, and La Rouge Entertainment, among others.