What Type are You at the Rose Est.

“WHAT TYPE ARE YOU?” brought together talented local choreographers Juan Aldape and Sofia Gorder at the Rose Establishment in downtown SLC.  Each choreographer created a work, with a 10-minute intermission in between to absorb the material and grab a cup of coffee.  The two works have in common a thread of social commentary, and the evening’s name is aptly presented in the form of a question, as each piece begs of the audience a certain degree of introspection about their own role in the surrounding society and culture.

A Comic Hero of Two Cultures by Juan M Aldape/DANZAFUERZA examined the relationship between México and the United States as seen through the lens of one individual straddling the two worlds.  Juan integrated text and movement, a difficult thing to do successfully in a performance.  The text, both live and recorded, was one of the strongest aspects of this piece.  The opening text was recorded, and sounded mechanical, detached, as it asked intimate questions about marriage, in the form of a naturalization interview.  As an audience member it was impossible not to begin to examine one’s own relationships with a lens as wide as Big Brother’s.  “What do you like most about her?  What do you like least about her?  If you had cancer, do you think she’d stay with you?”

Comic Hero illuminated the experience of an individual oscillating between marginalization and thriving, living in a place in which the surrounding culture makes up only one-half of his cultural identity.  Emotionality and empathy were elicited in the last section, in which the recorded voice impassively described what was clearly a very charged experience for Juan, an experience described as a “racial bike drive-by.”  Juan’s clever wording of the material and earnest execution of the movement helped the piece to not feel too heavy, while still maintaining its integrity.  The text provided poignant messages about identity, self-realization, culture and love over a backdrop of piñatas, Lucha Libre masks and more.  Perhaps a lot to pack in to one evening’s work, but it felt cohesive.

At one point,  Reggaeton-inspired movements gave way to more traditional modern dance-inspired cadences as the music transitioned to a droning rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.  The metaphor here was most likely clear to the dancers in the audience, but I found myself wondering if there was another way to express this thought in a more accessible way.

When She Becomes Un-Easy by Sofia Gorder opened with three women wearing cutoff jean shorts, printed aprons and colorful tops.  The three created a mosaic of bright plastic smiles to a soundtrack of an old record talking about how to “gain an appreciation of your role as a homemaker.”  The soundtrack provided a humorous backdrop to the frenzied movement of the dancers as they baked, pressed, cleaned and prepared.  Their smiling exteriors and increasingly anxious actions conjured images of the Stepford Wives.  True to this form, the three collapsed by the end, apparently overtaken by their efforts to maintain the perfect household.

Following the collapse, the rest of the dancers entered the performance area as a crew, efficiently maneuvering those that had “failed” off the stage.  The remaining six took turns dancing out of a line, and being helped and adjusted by the other women.  Eventually, each dancer was painted with permanent marker, in a clear allusion to plastic surgery.  The zombie-like expressions of the performers indicated acquiescence, if anything.

The most intriguing section was actually the most difficult for me to watch as an audience member.  All nine women huddled close to the middle of the performance space, and began to dance when one yelled out “yes!”  A Brittany Spears song then played while the women took turns dancing in the middle of the stage, in a way much like “Brittany” probably would.  The others yelled, in fierce support or defensiveness of what was taking place.  Eventually they all collapsed.  The through-line became clear here, and the point that even though we as women may feel liberated from the “stifling” past in which we were expected to cook and clean and please “our men,” overt societal expectations still abound, which we actively endorse.

Gorder proved to be an effective communicator regarding women’s perceived role in society, and was able to raise significant questions regarding whether certain expectations remain relevant, or even more so, in the current social context.  Her movement vocabulary was succinct and well-executed by the talented cast of women involved.  While the issues raised here by Gorder are important to consider in any social context, the piece at times seemed quick to revisit already familiar territory, rather than to consider the material in an innovative way.

About halfway through A Comic Hero of Two Cultures, Juan spoke the words, “All writers only ever write one story- their own.”  This is true of all art, and was well-reflected in “WHAT TYPE ARE YOU?”  Both Sofia and Juan drew on their personal stories to create their art; Sofia’s, of being a woman, a mother, and a provider for her family, and Juan’s, of being a man who identifies with two cultures, in two places nearby in geographical proximity but perhaps worlds away in reality.  I much appreciated being able to listen to these stories.

Emily Haygeman is a graduate of the University of Utah dance department and a graduate student in psychology. She regularly choreographs and performs in SLC.

RDT's Green Map

Repertory Dance Theater is as much an educational resource as it is a dance company. By facilitating dance workshops in elementary schools and using informal performances to reach the community, the company strives to align the arts and education in order to reveal their symbiotic relationship. RDT’s new work, entitled Place: Dancing The Green Map make use of the growing interest that Salt Lake residents have in environmental issues. A collaboration with the Green Map© Project, Place is a dance concert inspired by Green Map © icons that are located throughout a community to label a location’s relationship with the environment. RDT “mean(s) to raise consciousness and concern about the health of our community” by taking the icons and translating them into “movement essays”.

It is not often that a review of a dance performance will open with comments about the musical accompaniment. However, Scott Killian’s dated sound scores were distracting enough to command my attention more times than I would have liked. Killian’s synthesized pop beats and simple melodic progressions call to mind a PBS Public Service Announcement. “Mass Transit,” is winningly performed by Toni Lugo. This piece solidifies the premise that Place is a made-for-PBS special. In “Mass Transit,” Lugo performs a lengthy rap illustrating the benefits of buses and “UTA-Trax,” and the plights of our transit system. Getting funky, Lugo gamely hip-hops her way through the decidedly PG performance, which would have made a lovely educational segment for PBS’s Sesame Street.

Paired with one minute dances in which dancers embody the environmental icon related to that piece— for example, “Solar Energy” was danced by a sweat-swiping, sun-basking Aaron Wood— the affect was that of a long string of short commercials. The music, which alternated between evoking moods of sadness and sexiness, also had trouble correlating with the dancers’ intent, often dictating the style of dance. “Wind Energy Site”: sexy. “Oil and Gas Site”: sad. “Solar Energy”: sexy. “Recycling”: sad. Often times the mood inspired by the music’s attributes diverge from the content of the dance. Since when is recycling an emotionally wrought subject? In “Recycling,” the dancers lean listlessly on one another, their faces torque with despair. The emotions displayed by the dancers are at all times correlated with the music, which sometimes left the movement’s purpose behind.

Zvi Gotheiner essentially created a full length dance performance (although Gotheiner credits dancers as collaborating choreographers). Such singular choreography credit is rare in the modern dance world, where productions are often comprised of multiple choreographers with multiple inspirations and aesthetics. The singularity of choreographic intent in Place, merging environmentalism and dance, was an organizing and unifying device for the performance. The seamlessness of Place was also its’ Achilles heel, though, lulling the audience into passivity. With such a strong through-line required by collaboration with the Green Map©, Place might have benefited from using multiple musical artists or choreographers. In Place, we saw the same interpretation of the icons and environmental issues over and over. Ellen Bromberg, a Salt Lake resident and multimedia artist, provided simple projections of sky-line or waste-sight to add another level of visual stimulation and interpretation of the icon for each dance. With collaboration being a key-focus of the project, inviting even more artist community members could have enlivened the performance.

In the opening mini-documentary projected onto the screen onstage, Chara Huckins-Malaret says that in her experience teaching elementary students as part of RDT’s educational program, “the boys shine a bit more” than the girls do as dancers. Apparently, talent evens out between males and females during maturity, because both sexes performed equally well this weekend. Nathan Shaw transformed his solidly muscular arms into snaking rivulets of oil in “Oil and Gas Site”. On the girl’s team, M. Colleen Hoelscher dissolved into hilarious belly-laughing in her duet with Christopher Peddecord in “Water Pollution”. Glimpses of physical beauty appeared onstage as fleetingly gleams of filmy oil on the surface of the ocean might attract your attention. On the sea, the unnaturally colored water which tells of contamination is unwelcome. In Place, the moments of brilliance were too far and few between, a result of choreographic simplicity rather than physical and artistic inability.

RDT’s dancers brought all of their strength and humility and honest performing voices to Place, and were sometimes met with choreography that seemed only half-hearted. A marathon compilation of 24 dances, the brevity of each piece was at times startlingly incomplete; in “Diverse Neighborhood,” two dancers sit in a pool of light and take a bite of noodles, only to walk off before they have even had time to swallow. Pleasingly, some short dances display all of their intent with quick completion, often aided by literal gestures that allow the audience to grasp the connection between the icon and the dancer. When gestures or literal images are not easily deciphered though, mystification and befuddlement cloud understanding.

As is often the case in performance with lofty aspirations, some goals are met while others fall short. RDT has and continues to collaborate with the community and youth in the educational system with a commitment and energy that cannot fail to inspire a love of dance in others. The recent partnership with Green Map© is no doubt successful when implemented as an educational program. However, bringing education and environmentalism to the stage is difficult to do without acquiring a preaching voice. Humor and RDT’s powerful performers helped to alleviate the educational feel of Place, but leaving the theater I immediately started craving for more dancing, less learning. Luckily, RDT is planning a full day of free dance in May, 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. It’s an informal showcase of 45 pieces of RDT’s repertory that will more than assuage my appetite.

Sofia Strempek is a University of Utah BFA candidate and a regular contributor to the Daily Chronicle.

dance-dance review

Dance, in its video form, comes across as tyrannical and forceful, a selective service. loveDANCEmore’s dance dance illuminates an investment that viewers make in order to experience the luster of a piece, whether they contort their own body to see it, or sit hypnotically after gleaning the last leg of the piece in order to faithfully imbibe the entire video. Dance for the camera implores us to give ourselves to its respective States, to situate us in its hierarchy.

“Blue in Tunisia/Dance in a Window,” by Andrea E. Woods, displays a woman in a white dress who dances playfully with the musical accompaniment, in a window frame. As she works within the confines of the frame, the camera-angle subtly induces me into my own verisimilar, uncomfortable confinement: I see the frame at a tilted angle where the dancer’s relationship to my sense of gravity is skewed, and I either acknowledge this discomfort, or perhaps crane my neck to comply with the screen’s logic. If I meander away from this large projector, the section in closet-like areas called “some other things” offers a chance to submit to the physical placement that each dance mandates—Adrienne Westwood’s “small films” casts me as the croucher above the stage as I peep inside a box. This microcosm ensconces two women who rearrange a table, chairs, and a rug atop pavement then switches to a clip of a woman on a hill whose skirt blows in the wind. Once I retract from the footage, I see transpositions of the furniture segment all in single instant of time in front of me in the form of five flip books that lay in front of me. I flip through each one in order to experience the dancer’s precise repetition of their rearrangement-movements; the dance’s structure tricks me into believing that I enable its five repetitions of movement to occur—yet, I only can because I’ve submitted to my role in its structure.

dance dance entertains the illusion of my privilege further: “NOBODY’S DARLING,” by Marta Renzi, depicts a man and a woman in an intimate dance with each other. Though sexually charged dance is commonplace, the setting generates a heightened sense of closeness between me and the dancers: Their sterile, rehearsal-like room simulates an actual rehearsal in a studio at which I am not present, physically. As the dancers caress each other with their movements, the woman in her sports bra, the man in his underwear, I experience the simultaneous sexual tension and comfortability that can (and often) occur between dancers who prepare for a piece, the foreplay that becomes the epilogue for a dance. In this way, the dance beckons my investment in it in the same way as pornography—I internalize its private sensuality through a conceptual, non-physical bridge. I can choose to watch, but “NOBODY’S DARLING” directs the ebbs and flow of my faculties once I do.

Karinne Keithley Syers’ piece, “Untitled (Perth Dickinson),” fabricates the fiction of soccer action figures dancing through the technique of stop action filming. The headless of the two highlights the absurdist nature of the piece, a dance of the paralyzed and the dead; it sections off a pure dancing lexicon, devoid of the act and performance of dance, yet stands, unequivocally, as dance—a poem on paper, the absolute word. Additionally, Betty Skeen perpetuates video dance’s absolutism with her piece, “Eidolon.” Although this video exhibits a real dancer, Skeen’s reversal of the dancer’s slides and rolls in a concrete skate park, in contrast to the forward motion in the piece, indicate the dance’s materialization of the impossible and its ability to dictate the fallibility of my own logic. Despite that, in historical reality, the work is comprised of different, forward-moving clips that Skeen has manufactured to move backwards, the piece nonetheless directs my viewing through and around the dimension of time. Thus, the components where the dancer’s feet lead her to slide up a cement quarter pipe momentarily jerk me to and fro in linear reality, where I am at the mercy of “Eidolon”’s world of mirrors that mandate one visual-temporal perception.

Alexander Ortega is a contributor to SLUG magazine as well as a musician about town.

SUITE

Sugar Space’s most recent event, SUITE: Women Defining Space, was an odds and ends compilation of three choreographer’s works. The show lacked a through-line, but the individual pieces were also unclear in their purpose, making the performance confusing and ultimately frustrating.

With a purpose as lofty as presenting some of Salt Lake’s “emerging women choreographers”, facilitators of SUITE might have made sure that the choreographers commissioned for the show were representative of Salt Lake’s dance scene, which has its brilliant moments. The choreography was a display of apathy; little development of ideas and uninteresting movement were features of all five pieces in the show (choreographed by three women, Joan Mann, Emily Haygeman and Elise Woodruff).

Joan Mann describes her piece kills as an exploration on “80’s gore karate films and experiments with ocular orgasms”. I would describe kills as a stationary study on inactivity. Dancers Caitlin Warren and Chutta walk onto the stage seductively, but immediately separate with passive indifference. Warren is a shining statuesque figure, due mostly to the gold glitter covering her body (full disclosure: I attend the University of Utah and am in the same class as Warren). Chutta is a splayed body on the floor. A projection of a field of golden poppies displayed on the back wall fills in the space between the dancers. If only images could make a dance. Warren’s feet are virtually glued to the floor, with upper body movements that stay close to the torso; occasionally a flick of the wrists sends glitter into the air. Mann may have been aiming for a minimal aesthetic in kills, but the piece is flat—a nice painting, maybe. Mann may have an eye for one dimensional art, but dance is inherently 3-D.

Haygeman’s Rites and Returns was an unassuming piece which got lost within the glaring muddle of the rest of the show. The most memorable part of the dance was a sense of fear I felt each time dancers climbed onto a wobbling platform which threatened to topple. The platforms themselves were innovative, playing with Sugar Space’s awkward theater that hides any movement on the floor from much of the audience, so that elevated figures were more visible. It is regretful that Nell Suttles performed in this piece. A performer who I looked up to as a freshman at the U (she was an upperclassman in the Modern Dance department) Nell’s confident gaze and gentle movements were not utilized in the repetitive choreography in Rites and Returns.

I relaxed into my seat when the arresting image of Chelsea Rowe’s back slowly became illuminated in the Haygeman’s duetRendering 2 (with Michael Watkiss). However, I soon was leaning forward to be able to discern what was happening onstage; what might be deemed “mysteriously dark” lighting actually just left the audience squinting to see what could have been a beautiful image- Rowe standing on a platform with an exaggeratedly long skirt flowing to the floor, her bare back exposed to the audience. The extended lines made by the costume would have been interesting, had Rowe not stepped out of the skirt by the time the lights had lifted. The rest of the dance was an uneventful exploration of back muscles. Yes, backs are beautiful. Yes, muscles ripple.  But if rippling and shrugging of the shoulders are dancing, then what are dancers training for? Any layman could do that (albeit with less muscle tone). Haygeman kept Rowe’s face hidden for the entire dance, distancing the audience from the performer. I was disappointed by the casualness of the choreography, and by how easily Haygeman seems to be distracted from a potentially interesting idea.

Choreographer Elise Williams tried her hand at humor in both Denial and Ode To The Restaurant Business, with little success. Relying heavily on pantomime and props, both dances were mimicries of stereotypical characters. Ode To The Restaurant was a lengthy dance, but the time and effort put into it was wasted due to lack of any kind of editing or self- criticism. The seemingly endless piece takes place in a restaurant. You can tell it’s a restaurant because there is a chef with a chef’s hat on, chopping plastic vegetables with her hands. Or maybe you can tell by the two waiters tying their ties in the mirror as a manager spanks them naughtily on their asses that tip you off. (Interestingly, SUITE claims that the show “addresses the misconception that men make dances and women perform them”. This may be, but when a woman choreographs misogyny into a dance, is it any better than if a man had?) A pointless story of diners dining and women flirting ensues. You can tell they are eating and flirting because they literally eat and flirt. No subtlety or metaphors for Williams. Dancing is almost solely used as a way to travel across the space; apparently, people travel with random jetes now. Slapped on smiles (which wavered into a grimace with any teetering pirouette) and an incredible panoply of props (cardboard cars! silverware and trays and plastic food!) attempted to distract the audience from a lack of dancing and an abundance of bad acting, to no avail.

Choreographers for SUITE were young artists, and this performance may have been their first foray in presenting work for a more diverse audience. These dances seemed like sketches, skeletons of what they might become. No work in the show was satisfying as a whole, but some moments glimpsed at interesting artistry. I wish that “emerging women choreographers” of Salt Lake had been represented by more mature audiences, but perhaps now we can watch these three women grow.

Sofia Strempek is a student at the University of Utah who regularly writes for the Chronicle.

5 days new at urban lounge

Wednesday night I went to Urban Lounge to see Five Days New. As the name suggests, everything in this group show was supposedly made in the first five days of 2011. Erin Haley, a local artist and provacatuer, gathered about ten artists for the experiment. They were mostly musicians, a few illustrators and a few dancers.

The greatest thrill of the evening for me was Juan Aldape’s solo performance. Aldape explored his own relationship to Mexico, as an identity, a possible home, a foil to America, a place to go or not to go. Set to a score that sounded to me like sampling from local Mexican radio stations, a lot happened in this solo that couldn’t have been more than ten minutes long. There was a beer-fueled Tarot reading, a deconstructed Macarena that reminded me of early Trisha Brown, and a rearranged version of Ginsberg’s “Howl”, addressed not to Moloch or America, but to Mexico, where the artist was born.

I wish Aldape would post his performance text on the internet so you could read it and I could read it again. There was humor and urgency as he mused on the Mexico’s problems and broached his desire to one day live there with his wife. He also noted that the couple were about to go not to Mexico but to Europe instead. He promised to bring Mexico back secret knowledge from the 400-year-old city of Belgrade. Although he was quoting Howl, the experience was really a lot more like another Ginsburg poem “America”, part love-song, part appeal. The joking and the witty referential humor was rife, but there was an undertone of seriousness, a sense that these were things that Aldape needed to find a way to say these things out loud to this particular audience.

I’ve been watching Aldape’s dancing for many years now, since we were both in high school. I also saw his acclaimed show last year at the Sugar Show. In this five day old solo, Aldape found something I’ve never seen in his dancing or choreography before. There was this tremendous informality about the way he carried his body, a kind of sexy, skinny sloppiness that reminded me of James Dean. He’s embraced this great sense of comic timing that he’s always had that has sometimes been subdued within his more formalist dancing. Aldape was also playing to effect on the simultaneous familiarity and exoticism that Mexican pop music has for white boys from Salt Lake like me, who comprise the mainstay audience of a place like Urban Lounge. In short, his dancing offered an excellent, thought-provoking beginning of a self-portrait.

There was another, less successful integration of music, spoken word and dance that included University of Utah trained Ashley Creek and Bayeshan Cooper and another woman who I didn’t recognize (anyone know her name?). The dancing was strong, but suffered at the hand of bad Beat-era nostalgic text offered by the musicians. Also worth mention from a live performance perspective was Alison Martin’s musical performance “She”, a haunting evocation of a dead family member that for me became a sort of hyper-honest musical-spectacle. Martin’s emotion on stage was refreshing, and while I wasn’t sure how much of it was real and how much was put on, I found her way of approaching that dichotomy to be quite interesting to watch.

I’m looking forward to seeing Haley’s next curatorial endeavor. Sometime in February she’ll be lighting a fire under a few more local procrastinators to make something for an evening at Kilby Court. Let’s hope dance is represented as well at that event as it was at this one.

Sam Hanson is finishing his B.U.S. at the University of Utah