Ririe-Woodbury presents Kellie St. Pierre, jo Blake and Raja Feather Kelly

Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s RE-MIX performance captivated audiences from beginning to end, demonstrating strength during times of tumultuousness. The winter performance at the Rose Wagner Theatre ran to sold out crowds.The show consisted of three works, Scenes for an Ending choreographed by Raja Feather Kelly, coincidental, coincidences choreographed by jo Blake, and The Rate We Change choreographed by Kellie St. Pierre. 

Scenes for an Ending opened the show. The stage lights revealed the company dancers laying across the stage sandwiched between LED light panels. The dancers wore tennis shoes, shorts, and jeans, appearing as if they were abruptly pulled from outside the theater. A stunning musical score by Emily Wells accompanied the dancers as they transitioned into increasingly largel movement. Kelly, the choreographer, described the piece as “a love letter to the past,” a work that “is and is not dance.” Moments of intense physicality were contrasted by overt tenderness. Duets depicted relationships of strife and ease with forced pulling and cautious holding happening in close succession. Sections of unison held the power generated by the friction of subtle differences between each dancer as they broke out of the cyclical steps. I found a dream-like quality to the movement despite its intensity. Fausto Rivera and Luke Dakota performed a duet that left audiences on the edge of their seat, wishing both to lean in and back away from each moment between the dancers. In an impactful sequence near the end, dancers would abruptly lead each other to the ground with an initial jolt followed by care to protect their person. I find myself continuing to relive moments of the piece.

The second work was titled coincidental, coincidences. This work choreographed by jo Blake was paired with an original score from Trevor Price, a Salt Lake City composer. The expanse and groundedness of the movement was striking. Projections of natural environments appeared on the scrim molding an environment that the company and audience began to feel immersed in. One particular gesture, the circling of a straight arm, stuck with me. The sweeping yet angular arm movements reminded me of a clock. In times of uncertainty, the visual felt all the more powerful as it was urgent yet fluid. The piece split the companies into two trios for long movement phrases and partnering. Standout moments appear from dancers Megan McCarthy and Sasha Rydlizky who had the most beautiful leg movements dispersed between their work within the trios; legs poking through and above the other dancers. The precise nature of those movements again reminded me of hands on a wall clock. The groups themselves were separated by space but occurring at the same time, metaphoric of the lived experiences that can mirror and repeat. There was a weight to the piece, but a hope that was conveyed through the movement and spoken word incorporated in the work. The piece left me with a sense of wonder and determination, leading audiences into intermission. 

The final work, The Rate We Change was paired with an original score from Salt Lake composer Daniel Clifton. St. Pierre described the work as inspired by “the effect of ongoingness”. The work featured a prop, a spinning circular platform manned by the dancers. Lighting remained isolated to the prop and those within its vicinity. A whirlwind erupted on stage with constant motion and the changing of shapes, qualities, and speeds. I was shocked by the pure risk of the dancers as they jumped on and off the moving platform with dual caution and abandonment. Further ingenuity was employed by how the dancers kept the prop in motion, some utilizing their hands, their feet, or the force of jumping on and off the prop. Miché Smith holds a presence during performances that felt even further amplified on the spinning prop showcasing both strength and fluidity. Nick Elizondo shocked audiences with his particularly fearless quality, at one point flipping off of the spinning platform. Clifton’s track maintained an intensity that matched the piece, the score mimicking a ticking clock. I found the noise of the platform intriguing as well, at some points you could not tell what was being produced by the sound score or by the motion of the prop. It felt like an experience rather than a performance.

I found the RE-MIX show to be excellent. There is something special about the stage presence and conviction of Ririe-Woodbury company members. Every dancer brings an energy and commitment that stands on its own while aiding to the collective strength of the company. Choices feel deliberate and lived in, truly a wonderful experience to witness as an audience member. 

Allison Shafter is the 2024-25 loveDANCEmore intern.

Fem Dance's latest produces four new works

Fem Dance Company prioritizes “providing professional opportunities for women dancers and choreographers in our community.” In its recent Tetrad, held in the Regent Street Blackbox, the company sources company members from the community to perform and choreograph, producing a straightforward night of dance. Tetrad was a fitting name for the show — it’s a collection of four separate elements that make a whole — four works showcased together to make an evening. For the majority of the company, fresh out of school, Tetrad would be an excellent resume builder. Fem’s mission, giving emerging artists professional opportunities, was clearly demonstrated and upheld.

Maybe We Land exhibits the athletic abilities of two soloists and the power of three. This first piece utilized superficial changes in lighting (harsh white light to warm glow), and in number of dancers (solo to duet to trio). Moments of synchronicity were pleasing aesthetically, dancers moving together and laying on each other. As the house lights came up however, I wondered why Maybe We Land was choreographed in the first place. The show notes dedicated the work “to those who put our pieces back together.” Perhaps this theme was to be seen in the group lifts and swooping group choreography. But the internal struggles of each dancer were kept private behind the fourth wall, and the dancers did not appear to share these struggles with each other either. Yes, there was angst and isolation, but the audience was left craving additional vulnerability through human gestures, not just contemporary choreography.

Five dancers take the stage for Swan Song. Two soloists have their respective moments, stretching to their edges and collapsing back suddenly to their center. Movements becoming manic, the flock dramatically “flaps” through the space. The iconic dying swan music beckons forth another solo, and as she succumbs to death, the flock falls with her. They all end in the familiar pose: head on the floor, legs bent beneath in a compressed pigeon, arms curved to the side. This derivative translation of this classic idea, however beautiful to watch, was lackluster. If the intention was to make a piece about swans, it was well executed in overall arc and conclusion, with familiar motifs and music. If the intent was to create a new take on a vintage work, the piece would benefit from nuance when it comes to spiritual portrayal. One approach might have been to depict the journey of a swan becoming a human, as a coming of age story...  

Fem’s third work, Of the Sea, is inspired by the ancient myth of sirens. According to the show program, the dancers are expressing the characteristics and powers of sirens in this work. Intense and driving, this cast listens to one another closely as the gestures demand precision. The transitions of formation and the composition of movement dynamics were impressive, demonstrated through the diligent efforts of the performers. While the performance itself was polished, the themes written clearly in the program did not translate to the stage. To be clear, the issue does not lie in the choreography itself. The dancers’ facial expressions and dramatic portrayal of their siren characters remained the same throughout the entire piece. If it had not been for the program, my friend and I would not have known it was about sirens. Be purposefully seductive, command the ocean, drown a man onstage! Let the imagination run wild. The foundation of the choreography is solid, now let’s see what happens when dancers are pushed to act.

Ending on a high note, Merde brings the whole company onstage. Smiles from company members dot the intimate space as we are swept into a pleasing conclusion. With lots happening onstage, there is a generous helping of dance to behold in Tetrad’s conclusion. Giving every last ounce of effort, dancers prove their tenacity after dancing in back to back works all evening. Celebratory, the company moves as one body, riding the music effectively with potent accents in the arms and legs.  The ensemble was a synergistic conclusion to an abstract disjointed show.

Producing a show takes focused, sustained effort over time. I commend this brave company for staying true to their mission. Choreographing and performing in one show is exhausting and demands sacrifices of time, creativity, and energy. This effort has not gone unnoticed by peers and supporters alike. As a reviewer and independent artist, my mission is to provide honest, in depth feedback. This is a service to the community as a whole, as we keep each other accountable when embarking on vulnerable, creative expressions such as concert dance. I would like to draw attention to two items: Audience engagement and the mission of the company.

There is a difference between choreography and art. A key characteristic of art is that the viewer can draw something — emotion, message, quality — from the object presented. Choreography on its own is purely a sequence of movement. What makes choreography an art is the intention we interlace between the steps. This can be as simple as telling a story, or dancing like a siren. Placing complex choreographic phrases onstage without ensuring that the product is relatable to non-dancers does not expand our audience. When only focused on producing phrasework, art becomes inaccessible to those who want to relate. Making choreography into art allows the audience to take something home and dwell on it long after they have left the theater. Making art for one’s self is a beautiful tool, but making art with the intention of communicating with others sustains the company and community as a whole. 

The mission of Fem Dance Company is noble and originates from good intent. Providing emerging artists with choreographic and performative opportunities is extremely valuable. There is concerning gender inequity in dance, with women making up 32% of choreographic residents and men 68%, according to a study by Dance Data Project. That being said, using the language “women dancers” is not only excludes men, but also gender fluid and non-binary artists, and other members of the LGBTQ community. Salt Lake City is in the top ten cities of America with the largest gay population, according to Gallup. With much of the dance community exploring gender labels and LGBTQ members significantly contributing to (post-)modern, contemporary, and hip hop scenes, I implore Fem Dance Company to look closely at the effect of their use of language. Yes, keep providing opportunities for choreography and performance. But, consider all of the people excluded who may not identify as a heteronormative woman.

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. 

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.