“What We See” from learning to loveDANCEmore volume 8

The latest edition of our performance journal, edited by New Media Coordinator Samuel Hanson, will arrive this coming week. Volume 8, displacement, features the work of many talented artists and critics from Utah and beyond. It’ll be available at Daughters of Mudson, get your tickets here. To whet your appetite, here is a piece by Ashley Anderson, which deals with how we see dance from ballet to Monica Bill Barnes.

What We See: Thoughts on Ira Glass, Monica Bill Barnes and The Rite of Spring

Several weeks back I got to see Monica Bill Barnes and Anna Bass perform Monica’s choreography as part of Ira Glass’s show at Kingsbury Hall, and later on I got to see Ballet West’s Rite of Spring. Both experiences left me asking questions about what frames my experience as a viewer, and also placing myself in the position of other audience members. The writing below is my way of grappling with my identity in relation to my peers in an audience. I am trying to see what they see, which is a task I don’t always consider while writing (or thinking) about dance.

I have long loved Ira Glass’s radio show This American Life on NPR. The show transports me to other parts of the country, but also to empathetic and interior parts of myself. When I had finished my MFA and was feeling extremely deflated at the difference between the work I was creating in the supportive environment of a liberal arts college versus my first apartment in Philadelphia, This American Life was one of the only things I enjoyed about my week trudging to and from a day job as a paralegal.

When I learned that Ira Glass was sharing the work of Monica Bill Barnes as part of This American Life performances and later, planning an entire tour, I got heated. My feelings about her works I’ve seen are best summarized by a piece by Andrew Boynton in the New Yorker (November 13, 2012). The title of the article is “Dance that tries too hard”. I’ve always felt that the jokes were just to get a laugh, and that it made me feel talked (or danced) down to. In addition to my hesitance about the creative work itself, I became frustrated that Ira Glass got to  “discover” modern dance for all these people in the audience. In descriptions of the project, modern dance, a vast tradition, was deemed generally unlikeable or un-gettable, by Glass himself. It made me wonder why people couldn’t discover something without it having been curated as extremely palatable for them. What if, instead, I was the person curating someone’s first viewing of modern dance through some of my most favorite things…

…Emily Wexler with walnuts pouring out of her skirt in Yvonne Meier’s Mad Heidi or better yet, her black boots narrowly missing colorful glass bottles in her own solo Fact or Fancy inspired by her grandmother’s radio program of the same name.

…Naughty Bits by Jen McGinn where some dancers wear tails, feathers or priest collars while performing the most difficult and intricate musical patterning I can imagine.

…Children’s Dance Theatre teenagers embodying Water Study and trying to explain to their parents the importance of silence and breathing.

…Katie Meehan lying on the floor listening to the Beach Boys playing out of a seashell covered television; Leah Nelson & Cortney McGuire pulling dresses over pregnant bellies before a re-staging of a duet they made as fivefour; Linda Denise Fisher-Harrell performing Cry in rehearsal in the smallest studio at the American Dance Festival; Dawn Springer breathing life into cover song after cover song in a token of one’s affection; Tara McArthur first performing Duet for Ririe-Woodbury, looking so unbelievably cool; Miguel Gutierrez working on Retrospective Exhibitionist in the small basement studio of the Dana Science Building at Hollins University as my childhood best friend Sarah Crass strides through having no prior knowledge about the artist she will witness and no suspicion of how well-known this piece will become…

Why would those introductions to modern dance be things that anyone would get “less” than highly choreographed jokes? They might not be inherently better than the introduction provided at Kingsbury Hall that night, but would they be as awful as Glass made the rest of “dance” sound?

A week or so later, in the Capitol Theater I watched Ballet West’s The Rite of Spring. The evening featured the title work by Nicolo Fonte, Forgotten Land by Jiri Kylian and Divertimento No. 15 by Balanchine. I experienced the same phenomena of an audience viewing something fresh while I saw different things living inside the dancing.

In the opening piece by Kylian, the audience gasped as the dancers did backbends or offered any kind of yielding in their partnering. What they found surprising I found to be comforting, as I could see inside it the dancing of Jose Limón and Helen Tamiris, or Alvin Ailey’s careful groupings, Doris Humphrey and every other modern dance choreographer who was inspired by the Shakers. While I know the piece is uniquely inspired by visual art, I can see inside of it numerous dances that share the same themes or physicality.

This isn’t to say the choreography is derivative because it wasn’t, it was complex and fascinating. But, in my viewing of both concerts, dances became houses for memories of other performance experiences. And in both cases, the people around me seemed, for the most part, to be watching something new, something singular rather than simultaneous. It almost gave me envy, of what I might experience if I had seen somewhat less.

After Kylian, an overlong Balanchine piece rolled around. The friends I was with asked how I could possibly like something so boring and conventional. My only reply was that based on my experience in ballet class, it seemed like it would be fun to do. I’ve always loved the slightly off kilter petite allegro of Balanchine because I’m good at it; that’s why I was watching his work enthusiastically. Maybe Balanchine is my Monica Bill Barnes, something I find infectious or likable despite my objections to the particular hierarchical structures of ballet including endless pas de deux and stationary corps. It’s something I like just because it makes me personally happy.

Ballet West’s final piece, a new Rite of Spring by Nicolo Fonte, was another exercise in viewing a real life performance simultaneously with other things, namely, Pina Bausch’s dancers running through the dirt and my toddler son watching a T-Rex brutally murder a brontosaurus on a VHS tape of Fantasia in the living room of my childhood home. For others in the audience this Rite, leather clad and featuring an industrial set characteristic of the choreographer, was their first taste of a narrative that, to me, was already distinctly experienced.

Despite it’s newness, ballet audiences can recognize The Rite of Spring the same way they recognize a Bolero, as a system where new ideas can play out rather than a purely new work. I remember in college learning that during the reconstruction of the original Rite, pointe shoes were examined to explore the steps. We all called it “Ballet CSI” but really it’s more magical than that, and speaks to what I’m after here–– that steps performed fleetingly do hold a lot more of a moment inside them than we offer credit for when we engage in conversations about the way in which dances disappear in time. While this wasn’t my favoriteRite, it does remind me just how many exist and that’s a kind of gift.

Despite my preferences, or those of the New Yorker writer mentioned above, the audience at Kingsbury Hall and Capitol Theater on those nights seemed to be eating up what was presented, whether it was because of a witty radio host or an astute artistic director. The landscape of performance is inevitably dominated by what we are told is likable or good rather than what we may find on our own.

As I write this I can already predict the response from my peers: “but don’t you think Ira Glass opened the doors for people to think differently about dance?” My answer is unequivocally no–– it only opens doors for people to think differently about Monica Bill Barnes, a person they’ve now been given permission to understand. I significantly doubt that anyone left Kingsbury Hall choosing to look into what modern dance offerings were made by comparable regional artists. Similarly, I’m curious if Ballet West audiences were motivated as viewers to seek out other Rites, or if they simply enjoyed the work of Nicolo Fonte, who will make many more ballets for the company, then left the theater.

All of that is fine. Beyond my curiosity over my relationship with other dance goers, I ultimately left both theaters glad that people enjoyed dance. It’s the same way I felt when my young students at the American Dance Festival enjoyed Pilobolus. You couldn’t have payed me to watch the concert, but when something seems magical or fresh to you, it just is.

Ashley Anderson is a choreographer based in SLC. Her recent work has been presented locally at the Rose Wagner, the Rio Gallery, the BYU Museum of Art, Finch Lane, the City Library, the Ladies’ Literary Club, the Masonic Temple and Urban Lounge.

New Points of View at Ballet West’s Innovations

Each year Ballet West puts convention aside for “Innovations” and this year’s concert is no exception. From a visibly pregnant Katherine Lawrence adding depth and complexity to “The Sixth Beauty,” by guest artist Matthew Neenan, to Arolyn Williams leading audience members on pedestrian pathways in a premiere by company member Chris Anderson, the show challenges patrons to experience ballet in new ways while also relating the company to a larger community of dance makers in the contemporary moment.

Some new relationships were forged through the abandonment of traditional ballet structures in favor of more loosely linked movement structures. For Tyler Gum’s “Inverted Affect” this meant dancers performing movements alongside a tilted mirror which duplicated the imagery from each performer while physically and conceptually expanding the stage space. For Chris Anderson’s work it meant more traditional partnering happening amid of stream of Ballet West patrons in walking pathways while performing some unison movement to frame the action. Although an atypical corps de ballet, the participating audience members served that function as they drew the eye to and from the pas de deuxs they surrounded. While both dances shared visual design and concepts popular in modern dance history,  in this context they were a fresh juxtaposition to the postures and sequencing one might expect of Ballet West. Each gave the audience a glimpse into the curiosity of classically trained artists who are keen on exploring new points of view.

For other pieces on the program, the formalism of ballet remained and instead the challenges came from the selection of highly personal narratives that contrast the story ballets or abstract contemporary pieces which populated Ballet West’s 50th Anniversary Season.

Christopher Ruud’s “Great Souls” explored the dynamics of many of his interpersonal relationships including his divorce and the death of his father. Because so many in the audience are also watching the reality show “Breaking Pointe” and feel not only like they know intimate details of Ruud’s plot but also the lives of its performer’s dancers as well, a palpable tension could be felt in the room. Pushing that tension to the side, the dance aptly presents a highly technical and musical investigation of those that greatly influence us, and our decision-making, during our lifetime.

Matthew Neenan also utilized personal narrative in his work as well as more abstract gestural material within traditional ballet structures. As mentioned above, the pregnancy of Katherine Lawrence breathed life into the dance allowing the audience to experience the partnering in a unique way — both the awe at the ease with which she performed but also the reminder that those performing the ballet are quite real people with lives beyond the stage that influence their craft.

Ballet West has invited many guests to take part in “Innovations” over the years, including Helen Pickett, previously of the Frankfurt Ballet. But the program, however innovative, primarily consists of male choreographers. Ballet West’s Emily Adams has been, more than once, the only female choreographer taking part in “Innovations” and each year she takes part I find her work to be incredibly detailed and thought-provoking. A few years ago I noted that her highly musical and witty piece was among the most interesting on the concert and this year she took a different direction with more ambient sound and abstract visual design. I leave wondering whether she is the only Ballet West woman to take up the charge due to a real lack of interest, and certainly don’t think Ballet West’s platform lacks encouragement of all artists in its ranks, but it does warrant reflection that even in this open format we continue to see male thinking and female-centered performing.

Ballet West recently completed its 50th Anniversary Season. Innovations, its annual exploration of new choreography, took place at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center May 14-24.

Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore events as part of her 501c3, ashley anderson dances. This review is published in collaboration with 15 BYTES.

Michael Garber Dance Collective in review

Hospitable. Intimate. Convivial. Sugar Space’s presentation of Artist in Residence MGDance Collective and guests Porridge for Goldilocks & Body Logic Dance Company was a show of friends. Michael Garber – the MG of MGDance – was the consummate host. He even had refreshments available for attendees; popcorn and water infused with herbs picked from his garden that morning. I savored more than my fair share of the treats while enjoying pre-show drumming by Wachira Waigwa-Stone.

Samantha Matsukawa and Eliza Tappan entered cautiously from stage left for Matsukawa’s Thing, Thought, Thorn, Thumb. Peering at the audience they tentatively approached a large circle of socks center stage. Matsukawa turned on the record player attached to two large speakers. To a scratchy soundtrack of the Americana crooning of Will Rogers the dancers wove in and out of the sock ring. Each new pair of socks they put on was an impetus to reset movement qualities. Their facial expressions traversed between inquisitive and solemn, an earnestness that felt increasingly performative by the end of the work. This ironic gravitas created a distance between the piece and the audience – I felt as though I was watching an inside joke. During Home on the Range they kicked and shuffled until inevitably falling on the ground, a satisfying moment of predictability. Abruptly the dancers begin swimming around the ring of socks, sweeping the floor of it is detritus and ending next to each other, downstage, in a pile of knit footwear. This eruption of directness is an enjoyable surprise, along with the end of the piece where Matsukawa pulls the plug on the speakers.

As Garber cleared the stage of socks, a buzzing from stage right grew into shouts – “Those are MY feathers!” Out burst the five person MGDance Collective in an eclectic array of costumes; green velvet dress, sequined American flag hat, and hot pink punching gloves. Like Matsukawa and Tappan, the dancers noticed the audience; making comments on the people sitting there and their outfits. This part felt underdeveloped until the dancers began to get (appropriately) Strange(r). The more childlike the game the more I believed these characters were kids at play, cooing as if at babies to the audience member next to me, and waving airplane arms around the stage. “When you’re strange!” the Doors wail, and strange the dancers mostly successfully were. The piece concludes with a dance breakout foreshadowing the movement vocabulary we would see during the rest of the show. Arcing of the limbs through space carved the outer edges of the dancers’ kinespheres. Garber’s specific body part initiations – the head threading through space, pulled the body along, and a hand lead the dancer to the floor, foot pulling the dancer back up. Interruptions of technical virtuosity infused the work; one moment I saw Katie Meyers as a child playing in a costume and the next she was someone with years of ballet training extended in an almost arabesque – reaching toes and fingers beyond their length. Also foreshadowing the rest of the show was the chemistry between Meyers, Keanu Brady, Amy Freitas, Joshua Mora, and Monica Remes.

Porridge for Goldilocks, choreographed and directed by Amy Freitas, began their improvisation performance with a series of solos in a diagonal line across the floor. On second thought, I’m not sure these dances could be called solos, truly they were duets with Wachira Waigwa-Stone who had returned to the stage to play in the corner. Dancer and musician took turns leading, each artist finding their groove alone and then together. Leading the charge, loveDANCEmore’s own Emma Wilson; energy expanding through her joints, elbows leading up and chest open to the sky, she was a swirling, growing energy spiral. Matsukawa’s deep, circular back bends built on the energy trail that Wilson left behind. Keanu Brady was a standout, his flow interspersed with moments of rigidity that punctuated Waigwa-Stone’s music, creating a rhythmic conversation. Brady’s joy of improvising filled the space and even his shadows seemed interested in what he was doing. Waigwa-Stone slowed down as the piece rolled to a close, a musical inhale that supported Stanton Rodriguez’ long angularity and sustained movement. If the first piece performed earnestness and the second fun, this piece embodied both qualities. No pretension, just pure love of dance.

Porridge for Goldilocks was followed by Body Logic Dance Company in Garber’s Samundar. The six women turned, rond-de-jambed, and rolled their way through the spatial pathways that looked like two French braids of hair crisscrossing the stage. Eiby Lobos, Desiree Simons, Melanie Francom, and Serena Webb moved beautifully within the structure of the piece, highlighting Freitas and Remes’ facility with Garber’s movement vocabularies. Remes found moments to showcase her leg extension and line and Freitas’ gentle happiness lit up the stage.

Circulus kept Freitas’ glowing stage presence in the forefront. Brady and Remes were witnesses in corners, holding the space for her solo. The music was a slow melody, evolving, interrupted by static. Mora and Meyers each carried a spotlight to illuminate Freitas’ leisurely volutions. The spotlights created their own story; a dance of stillness, revolution, and radiation for Freitas My focus shifted from spotlight to dancer and back. Freitas also played with a shifting attention, sometimes dancing to her reflections on the walls, sometimes burying herself in the private universe of her sensory experience. I was entranced. Circulus is a piece that begs to be seen more than once.

Before I was quite ready to move on to a new idea, we did. Though I wanted more Circulus, the overall digestible length of each piece was one of the strengths of the show. Another strength – Stéphane Glynn’s documentary about MGDance Collective – shown between Circulus and They Too Have Their Story. Rehearsal scenes and interviews with dancers were interspersed with narration by Michael Garber, all brilliantly directed and edited. I left the documentary with a more nuanced understanding of the Collective, and the what-how-why of the show. I would have liked to see documentary first, followed by the three MGDance Collective pieces in a row. These works felt like four chapters of the same book and would have stood nicely together rather than dispersed throughout the concert.

Glynn’s documentary described the negotiation between flop and energized release as characteristic of Garber’s dance style. The dialogue between these contrasting movement qualities permeated the concluding piece, They Too Have Their Story. The dancers careen in and out of duets, trios, and group work, movements quick and sustained in turn. In one moment they buckled onto the floor, breathing heavily. In another, they lift each other; push, pull, shove in points of (dis)connection. The chaos of the piece expands and expands until  – collapse! A flash of intention; the dancers walking methodically downstage, gazing at the audience. Backing up, they unbutton their shirts and take them off to reveal white tank tops underneath. Accompanied by the music of Michael Wall, the dancers’ presence in this moment was palpable. Wall’s music blazed when the dancers found playtime in the nanoseconds between the beat and the space around it. These particles of the work lit the smoldering choreography into a flaming mass of energy. Reeves and Freitas’ duet in the final piece was alternately motherly and sensual. Joined by Joshua Mora the duet became a trio of comrades. Arms swinging in alternating rhythm, they traveled in and out of each others spaces, packing this brief section with meaning. As the piece built momentum towards an ending Sugar Space began to feel small; runs, jumps and rolls overflowing the stage. Aptly closing the show MGDance crumpled on top of each other in a sculptural ode to their title of ‘collective.’

Liz Ivkovich is an MFA candidate at the University of Utah.

Ririe Woodbury’s Accelerate

Accelerate marks the end of Ririe Woodbury’s fiftieth season as well as the end of the first year with their new artistic director, Daniel Charon. Comprised of three premieres, the show features Bradley Beakes, Alexandra Bradshaw, Yebel Gallegos, Mary Lyn Graves, Tara McArthur, and Bashaun Williams whose versatility is evident in the vast body of commissioned work as well as in their individual endeavors as local artists who teach and create works of their own.

Each piece in the show explores different, yet similar ways to utilize video technology alongside dance; each has relevance inherent with the use of somewhat modern technology but similarities were inevitable because each piece shared the same space – the same options of where to project film and similar devices with which to do so. This is the irony of technology: each new type of digital technology promises liberation, but each comes with its own set of limitations and overwhelming options of uses that can be paralyzing for an artist trying to utilize it.

The first piece entitled Construct was choreographed in collaboration with the company by Daniel Charon who designed the video component as well. It was accompanied by musician, Michael Wall, who composed the score and played it live in the small orchestra pit of the Jeanne Wagner Theater. As the audience members began to trickle in, the company was already on stage with a bench (that seemed familiar as a somewhat popular prop in the Ririe Woodbury repertory) warming up in casual dance-wear. When the house lights finally dimmed, most of the dancers had left the stage save for one or two still jumping and lubricating their arm joints by swinging them around and around. The music drifted into the space, very openly with a loose melody indicating the “real” beginning of the show.

The dance began at a higher velocity – lots of dynamic partnering (in close proximity as well as synchronicity amongst couples far away from each other) and running from one form to the next in order to displace what lay there previously. The dancers that had left the stage after warming up returned wearing identical sleeveless jumpsuits in various colors; the outfits looked like benign hospital scrubs for the summer season. Eventually, the entire company had exited intermittently and returned wearing this goofy getup.

About a third of the way through the piece, a projection screen descended from the fly space above the stage. It landed stage left of the dancers who were sitting in various positions on the bench stage right, splitting the focus from real-life to recorded life. At this point I was able to see the purpose of the costuming; it allowed each dancer to be extremely distinct from the others in the recorded and manipulated projection of the piece. The first manipulating effect was very captivating. The dancers were performing a series of movements around and on the bench in very efficient manner – each constructing an individual pathway for themselves that was paradoxically limited by the confines of the bench. The recording would show each dancer complete their task in reverse and then show it a few seconds later in chronological order, but extremely fast. It was like a representation of how fallible memory is; some things are out of order and some events are lost or blurred in the sheer mass of thoughts, images, and events to remember. Eventually another screen descended showing a different perspective of the dance that was riddled with physically charged movement constantly tumbling out of the expertly trained bodies of the company members. There was a definite rhythmic pattern of the movement that was like a slinky toppling down a set of stairs to rest for a moment and then being catapulted down another set of the same number of stairs. The music, however, gradually built or should I say, accelerated, adding more and more components to end with a melancholy, wailing trumpet over grungy electronic sounds. The piece sparked thoughts of the meaning of individuality and if that concept is even realistic in our world as society seems to construct us more than we can ever shape it.

Next was, You and the Space Between choreographed by Ririe Woodbury alumnus, Miguel Azcue. Beginning with a down pool of light, center stage, Bashaun Williams and Alexandra Bradshaw tenderly leaned into each other, foreheads and forearms touching to support themselves. When they began moving, their relationship seemed more presentational than personal. Admittedly, I was underwhelmed with the choreographic structure until, about halfway through, the projector turned on to display the word “Panasonic” with a blue background on the cyclorama. This was obviously wrong, so when the bird’s-eye view of the dance finally appeared after what were probably very panicked moments for the projection technician I realized that that perspective was probably an integral part of the whole piece. Even if technology is advanced and capable of myriad actions, it is still not impeccable nor are we as operators. We are constantly adapting our culture to technological advances, but that process is still being arranged and mistakes are inevitable and normal.

Azcue says in his program note that the piece “resembles a kaleidoscope where bodies and emotions combine in suggestive landscapes.” This was achieved in a confusing way where the dancers would skip around from being personal to creating presentational, cohesive kaleidoscope images (that were realized once the projector started working properly). There was one section, for example, where Mary Lyn Graves was isolated from the group and pitifully alone on the stage as well as on the wall of the cyclorama. She had a solo and was eventually integrated back into the group, but there was no continuity with more personal moments like these amongst the shapes and funny bits of wiggly movement that were merely entertaining to see projected onto the back end of the stage. I was reminded of the satisfaction that attendants in the courts of baroque era French monarchies might have had while watching performers spell out the storyline en masse as they watched in balconies from above. It was a visual spectacle that jumped from personal moments, to comedic effects, to simply displaying visually pleasing shapes.

The last piece was choreographed by internationally renowned choreographer Doug Varone, the choreographic god-father of RW’s, Daniel Charon and University of Utah modern dance professor, Eric Handman who were members of Doug Varone and Dancers in the past and whose aesthetics are heavily influenced by his style. Varone’s piece is titled, States Rendered, and includes black and white film projections designed by Ellen Bromberg who is a distinguished Professor of Modern Dance at the University of Utah and founding director of the first Graduate Certificate in Screendance. This piece was impeccably formulated. Varone is a master of creating architectural forms with bodies and then displacing one valuable component of the structure to launch the mass into a different form with angular movement that looks comfortable on the dancers because of their input in the process. The sound score of the piece was shocking; most of it sounded like humanoid creatures speaking a futuristic language that had remnants of current languages in it. The dancers were dressed in dark grays and blacks that blended well with the video. These visual and audio components added up to suggest a science fiction aesthetic that was engaging for its dark intensity. The piece refreshingly did not have a linear narrative that can easily become ridiculous in a typical kitschy, sci-fi way.

There was a point in the piece where the dancers were lying in a vertical line, stage right. Alexandra Bradshaw bolted up and gasped, like she had emerged from the stark black and white world that they were emerged in for so long. This gasp was a sparsely used, strong spice that occurred once again when two dancers were left by the group in warm down pools later in the piece. This choice complemented one segment of the video projection that looked like a sped up recording of an ultra-sound. The dancers were trapped in a womb of humanoid sounds and icy lighting. The piece was so alienating and uncomfortable that it became even more intriguing. It pushed me so far away that there was no further to go from it and nothing else worth paying attention to because of its originality; I had to return, learning to adapt to the sterile environment that was born onstage.

Accelerate as a whole was exhilarating and captivating. There were some overlapping choreographic styles and technological similarities that became monotonous, but those moments were broken up by other moments of daring originality. I hope that the pieces debuted this weekend will live on in the future as premonitions of what’s to come during new RW seasons.

Emma Wilson is a BFA candidate at the University of Utah who is interning for loveDANCEmore.

loveDANCEmore reviews are shared with 15 BYTES

Repertory Dance Theater’s “Land”

Repertory Dance Theater’s production of “Land” presents four pieces focused on and dedicated to the western landscape. It is intended to advocate for the preservation of Utah’s natural geography and is “part of RDT’s commitment to exploring, defining, and honoring our western landscape” says Linda Smith, executive and artistic director of the company. RDT has fulfilled a vital role as the physical embodiment of historical works by innovative originators of modern dance like Isadora Duncan and Doris Humphrey, and more recent choreographers like Merce Cunningham and Anna Sokolow. Dance is a living art form that is difficult to preserve in the same way that a static, tangible piece of artwork is preserved. The company is comprised of strong, intelligent performers whose versatility is invaluable for a group whose repertoire is so varied. The works presented in this particular show, however, left me dissatisfied with the very literal ways in which the idea of land was represented and honored, despite the skill with which they were executed.

The first piece, “Desert Sea”, was choreographed by Molissa Fenley, a dance faculty member of Mills College. It began as all nine dancers formed a symmetrical set of poses, some with arms in a half-box shape and others balanced on one leg, the other jutting out in arabesque. The program notes say that Fenley was inspired by the culture and history of native people living in the Colorado Plateau, and that she used the surrounding geography and the geometric designs of this culture’s woven blankets to create the piece. The angular movement abstracted and dehumanized the dancers effectively to demonstrate their connectivity as one landmass. The movement vocabulary was also very comparable to what one would encounter in a westernized yoga class. Phrases involving leg lifts and arms at right angles were repeated almost endlessly, but didn’t outwardly achieve any of the sort of dynamic or energetic evolution that is so satisfying to see in repeated movement. The meter stayed consistent as did the effort put into moving— of which this lengthy piece required a lot. The work would probably be more satisfying to execute as a dancer than it was to watch. The relationships between the performers remained static— in general, the work lacked arc. “Desert Sea” seemed primarily an investigation of abstract shapes and poses, and could have been more engaging had it not exhausted this idea so soon and gone on for such a long time.

The second piece was created by Zvi Gotheiner, an Israeli choreographer who spent his formative years dancing in New York City (the site of many artists’ rite of passage into the creative “world”). His piece was titled “Erosion” and was similar to “Desert Sea” in that the dancers represented omnipresent aspects of land commonly encountered in Utah. The work began with a red, backlit cyclorama silhouetting the company, who were posed as if they were petroglyphs. When the lights finally illuminated the fronts of their bodies, they began a procession of different poses downstage with a sensual hip-swinging movement that made it look like the petroglyphs were shaking off sand from the stone from which they were excavating themselves. This piece was similar to what a written treatise on its subject would have been, in that it was filled with very formal and systematic representations of the land. The dancers pulled on elastic bands coming from stage right that looked like layers of the Earth. One gesture that was alarming for its randomness in the formal, stoic nature of the piece occurred near the end where the dancers stretched their own mouths on either side with their pointer fingers. It was an intriguing image, but it seemed out of place and underdeveloped as it was introduced near the end for maybe twenty seconds and then never referenced again.

Another component that should be mentioned is the show’s use of projections. In Gotheiner’s piece there was a series of images of slot canyons and other geologic formations found in Southern Utah scrolling through slide-show style. They made the piece, made in 1993, look tremendously dated. The integrity of Gotheiner’s work lies in the physical dance, not the media embellishing it, which did not relate to the movement other than in that the slides seemed to be solely for the purpose of showing the audience that the dancers were emerging from rock. Each slide appeared for the same amount of time and the images were smaller than the backdrop, making the projections seem like a presentation intended to display someone’s vacation rather than a necessary part of the dance.

The projections in the next piece, however, were a bit more integral to creating the forest that Ze’eva Cohen envisioned. They filled the stage, making them look less foreign than the projections in the former piece. Cohen’s “Rainwood” originally premiered in 1977. It too embodied the characteristic aesthetic ideals of its time–– tie-dyed unitards and bright colors— but here, these components related to each other well. Physically speaking, the dance was another exploration in abstracting the human performers in order to achieve an accurate representation of a natural element— in this case that element was the flora and fauna of a forest. The dancers had an innate ability to personify the collage of tree frogs and fluttering leaves that Cohen pieced together. There was also a ritualistic sense to the piece, beginning with the dancers revving up the movement in a circle and then expanding from there. “Rainwood” is an anomaly within Cohen’s other work, which investigates a vast array of human emotions and states of being; for a time she primarily worked on solos for herself and did not use large groups of people as she did with this piece.

The last piece in the show is “Turf”, choreographed by Daniel Shapiro and Joanie Smith, who have collaboratively created work since 1987. This piece ended the show in an overtly comical way, eliciting a few laughs from the audience in response to the dancers’ obvious intent to be funny while doing things like running in slow motion and playfully pushing each other out of the spotlight to gain attention for themselves. The piece began combatively, even incorporating a few “booty bumps” as a means of “dance-fighting.” “Turf” eventually evolved into a more introspective, personal investigation. A pair of males, then a pair of females, partnered to slightly melancholy music. It was an energetic, humanizing end-to-the-show, because of it’s almost overly presentational nature.

“Land” as a whole, was homogenous in it’s often literal representations of various environments. Perhaps this is the nature of environmentally-based pieces; the land speaks for itself already and does not need an artistic interpretation. However, I do not think that environmentally engaged pieces should be limited to true-life representations against a backdrop of photos of what they’re trying to emulate. The breathtaking scenes in southern Utah can initiate a dance piece, originating with that first gasp and then going anywhere from there. Dance can speak for itself upon being inspired by nature and does not need to attempt to be nature. Nevertheless, I commend RDT and its collaborators for a heartfelt tribute to the land that we live on.

Emma Wilson is an undergraduate in Modern Dance at the University of Utah. She recently performed for Meghan Durham Wall in PDC. She is also an intern at loveDANCEmore.