Dat Nguyen: Will the Sheep Come to be Cleaned?

First, there was lip-syncing to a Christina Aguilera song. Then the first dancer skated on stage, her gushing snarl followed on its heels by a riotous chorus of five others, all smizing in provocative black underthings and gyrating madly. The slinky, goofy burlesque of this brief scene wasn’t anything like what followed it, or much of anything after that. But throwing a few hints and conjuring the wild and weird spectacle of the kingdom of pop culture built on the joy found in watching people pretend to sing was a pretty good place to begin Dat Nguyen’s Will the Sheep Come to be Cleaned? The new work, presented at Sugar Space Arts Warehouse, was a raucously fragmentary and finely tuned pinball game of emotional complexity and spectacle.

With an approach based on the chopping, blending, obfuscation, and scrupulous arrangement and rearrangement of visual collages, Nguyen ricocheted between nearly a dozen wildly diverse and splintered stories, both masterfully and delightfully. Citing his own feverishly overstuffed brain intersecting with anxiety, depression, and life in a culture that jerks us from one disorienting and performatively manipulative spectacle to another at lightning speeds, Nguyen explained that his work was meant to be a multi-dimensional experience and deeply personal reflection of his multi-layered self. These refractions eschewed narrative but were richly infused with distinctly-felt character and setting, transmitted to the audience through dance but also through music, words, monologues, photography, sculpted visuals, and technology.

Following the flash of the overture, the show pivoted to a monologue by Emma Sargent, explaining a time she danced for a very “Jesus-y” company. While she told us how many times a day they prayed and about her clashes with the director over Gaga, the others roamed about, rotating through slow-drifting weight-sharing exercises. With deft comedic timing, her voice cut out at key moments. This culminated in a bit that had the audience rolling in their seats in which she mimed a tirade given by her director, the silence punctuated only by an intermittent “...Gaga…..Gaga….Ohad Naharin...Gaga…” as the dancers in the background exploded, flailing in mocking mimicry.

From there we bounced to a third segment, and one of my favorites – a duet between Nguyen and Nora Lang. I’d seen a working version of this section at Mudson earlier in the fall which I loved; it was even more breathlessly moving to watch it here. This movement focused on a more physical energy than previous sections, with a kinesthetic intimacy developing between their two bodies in swift and unending motion. Paired with sounds of rain and splashing, lapping waves layered under the circling carousel of a waltz as Nguyen and Lang moved in sync. Their bodies became cresting and crashing waves that turned back again into bodies as they came up against each other, fluid and spilling over the edges of themselves. The choreography was aerobic and sweeping yet riddled with small clever delights.

Interrupting this couple, Emma Wilson appeared carrying a large roll of what looked like shiny silver wrapping paper. The light shifted to cool blue as they took over the space and began speaking while rolling out the paper across the length of the stage, going through a halting cyclical reasoning about “purpose in life” that didn’t seem to get them where they wanted to go. The water couple did the sheep shuffle down the silver path – wait, sorry… let me back up and explain.

All the different expressions of Will the Sheep Come to be Cleaned? were abstract and unconnected, without an overarching narrative. But they did form what felt like a story, packaged neatly together by layered and excellent transitions, recurrent patterns, and of course, the sheep. Afterwards, during a Q & A, Nguyen explained how he borrowed from a moment in an earlier work to create the title expressly for a grant application. From there he applied his process of collage and brought ideas and emotions to the studio to explore and improvise upon. Nguyen noted that in creating his work, the integrity of its personal meaning was most important to him, as well as the process with his dancers. But he also touched upon (both in the Q & A and in press material, including an interview with Salt Lake City Weekly) finding a way to thread his many ideas together and creating an engaging experience for an audience, and how that is... well, kind of the point of sharing it with people, and the more interesting artistic challenge.

Nguyen was successful in not compromising the integrity of his clouded, shifting creation, which was explicitly designed to avoid straightforward articulation. And he found a way to select the arrangement of his collage and add subtle motifs to impose a loose conceptual through-line for the purposes of securing time and space to create work and appeasing an audience. It was incredibly satisfying and exciting to watch this done so masterfully and, as a very jumbled-up artist myself, I will probably carry it around with me for a long time.

Which bring us back to the sheep. Throughout the show, one of the devices used to pull it together involved the dancers bending over to grab their ankles and doing a little hoof-like scuffle around in a flock. A sheep shuffle. It looked as silly as it sounds and was so simple that it shouldn’t have worked. But it was so funny and perfectly effective at tying the far-flung emotional spectrum of the show together.

So, the sheep shuffled off, and the light plunged to a deep blue. The vocal track of a drill sergeant came on, or maybe it was an overzealous fitness bootcamp instructor, and Wilson performed a few casual feats of superhuman strength and agility. Rolling, bending, beating, and twisting their body, they propelled it in every direction with a force and control that sparked both a viscera-deep emotional as well as blood-racing somatic reaction. The dance was punctuated by their grin, at times equally sheepish and wolfish. They ended the solo by rolling themselves up in the wrapping paper to rest, a shining silver lump.  

Each part of Will the Sheep Come to be Cleaned? was meaningful and densely layered. It’s hard to give a short summation of what was important, because it all felt important. And at this point there was still a huge range of things to come: a girl wearing a pink sweater decorated with tiny sheep who read from her cell phone a technical description of how and why and to what standard sheep are to be cleaned for slaughter; the Emma sheep, who lost their footing and spiraled into violent Gaga-esque spasms; a pair that danced a series of slow, stilted gestures to the melodramatic power pop, disco frenzy of ABBA; a fake ending that fooled everyone; the return of the water couple, who swayed cheek to cheek before falling out of sync. There was a woman who instructed a fitness class by talking about pet ownership and death and her apathy towards her grandmother. The pinkest sheep waltzed back in and began a glassy-eyed, floating dance to “Ave Maria” while the lighting turned dramatically baroque and the others Army-crawled around her. She picked up the silver wrapping and vogued with it before tossing it over the group, who gathered together and moved out, writhing in the shadows.

A shoutout belongs here for the great lighting and technical direction by Peter Larsen. The Sugar Space stage is small and bare, with a seating arrangement close to the action - it can make or break a show depending on how its elements are handled. The design and direction throughout were excellent: no element, not even floor work, was lost and the complex production moved seamlessly.

The final scene was heralded by the chime of an echoing clock tower. The ringing turned into a mechanical tick-tock and the dancers fell into a walking pattern that somehow conveyed “nursery-rhyme-crossed-with-dystopian-slaughterhouse-conveyor-belt,” traversing right and left in pairs, intermittently breaking the pattern. A harsh mechanical scream stopped them and the light blinked to sickly chemical green. Headbanging forcibly before reversing the movement, they ended by throwing their heads back, necks exposed, in a slow, deep arch backwards. Returning upright, they coalesced and heaved Nora Lang onto their backs, her limbs and eyes splayed wildly. They dumped her, then she Army-crawled to the edge of the stage, throwing back a curtain as the clock struck again to reveal a galvanized silver tub. Pulling herself in and standing, she cast off her blouse and skirt to reveal the black lingerie that had been underneath since the beginning and began to pour water over herself, her face that of enraptured delight as the light faded.

Speaking with one of the dancers a few days later, they made a comment along the lines of, “It was so cool but also disorienting and odd to perform - we spent so long trying everything a million different ways.” Challenging the idea of narrative as we commonly conceive of it, maybe a collage is the closest way to tell the story of a life - everything all at once and following and preceding and repeating until it’s over, some of it real and raw while other parts get dried out or hidden. And that’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Nothing makes sense when you’re in it.

Dat Nguyen’s Will the Sheep Come to be Cleaned? Photo by MotionVivid.

Emily Snow resides in Salt Lake City, where she performs regularly with Municipal Ballet Co. and with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Mosaic

Repertory Dance Theatre’s Mosaic was a curated evening that showcased the broad range of cultural communities in existence in the Salt Lake area: Polynesian, Native American, Spanish, Hispanic, African, Japanese, Cambodian, and Greek, as represented in the show. Mosaic was intended to comment upon how movement as a means of communication is universal across cultures. By additionally showcasing RDT performing snippets of its repertoire, Mosaic attempted to frame community-specific forms of dance and Western concert dance in the same way, equalizing them in terms of worth.

While this goal was achieved for me, the majority of RDT’s pieces felt extremely out of place in the concert. There is a difference between being inspired by a tradition, and preserving and developing movement traditions unique to an individual culture. Such was the case for Cutting the Sugar Cane by Ted Shawn: a piece inspired by the movement of Cuban workers, but not actually created for Cuban bodies. Additionally, the program made sure to point out Shawn’s interest in the “Far East,” a reminder of his predilection for Orientalism and the influence of stereotypes on Asian communities. As RDT’s pieces were the only ones showcasing this blending of movement from multiple cultures for a concert audience, it almost felt disrespectful to the other artists on the program.

The evening was split into six sections: Ceremonial Dances, Warrior Dances, Women’s Dances, Courtship Dances, Work Dances, and Community & Celebration Dances. Almost all of the groups performed multiple times, highlighting the presence of movement in each of these different cultures found across the globe. The guest performers included Ballet Folklorico de Las Americas, performing an enjoyable Mexican hat dance, among others; Dionysios Dance, which seemed to struggle to keep up the energy in their airborne Greek dances; Khemera Dance Troupe, which performed the intricacies of Cambodian dance; Okinawa Kenjinkai, which featured four older Japanese women who seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely; and Tablado Dance Company, featuring director Solange Gomes, performing a satisfying flamenco dance. Additionally, RDT performed a Guinean piece choreographed by Rosie Banchero that featured live drummers from WOFA Afro Fusion Dance.

NFR Dance Troupe and Malialole (a Native American and a Polynesian group, respectively) also performed in multiple pieces throughout the evening that were so high energy it felt remarkably uncomfortable to watch the piece in a dark theater in silence. These two groups prompted me to reflect upon we may perceive to belong in a concert dance venue, what we may perceive belongs elsewhere, and why we may hold those perceptions. I recognized that such internalized expectations might be exactly what RDT intended to address in Mosaic, but unfortunately that wasn’t explicitly shared.

Two events helped me examine the jarring dissonance I was feeling. During Mosaic, I was seated by the families of the youngest Polynesian dancers (three young girls who were probably five or six years old). Having been silent for the majority of the concert, the parents came alive and started clapping along and making joyous noises when their girls came out on stage. This reminded me that even though we may expect concert dance to be presented to and received by a silent audience, such rules may not be steadfast.

I then spoke with Banchero the next day about contemporary African dance, which reminded me that Native American dances now primarily take place in a competition setting - hence the plethora of colors and textures represented in the costumes. These dances may have originated for a cultural purpose, but the culture has since developed and changed. My expectation as an outsider was that the movement and the culture would remain as they always were, and in the past - which is not true of any culture.

Overall, Mosaic was an extremely enjoyable evening that even made me tearful at points. It was emotionally turbulent yet at the same time gratifying to inhabit a space with performers and communities who may dance for a different purpose than I do. I appreciate that RDT reached out to these communities and shared their voices with the concert dance-going community, and I am left with much to reflect upon as a result.

Photo of all performers in Repertory Dance Theatre’s Mosaic, courtesy of RDT.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed her MFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and is on faculty at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.

Gileadi Dance Co: Doyen

Drawing upon theatre, spoken word, and dance, Doyen, choreographed by Miriam Gileadi of Gileadi Dance Co, was an exploration of ritual, anonymity, animism, and groupthink. As performed by Tara Meredith, Deedee Moroz, Dmitri Peskov, Stanton Mercy Rodriguez, and Jake Winkelkotter, some of the most striking choreographic images emerged from unison and rhythmic structure as well as solo material, allowing the audience to be drawn in. Housed in the Eccles Theater Regent Street Black Box, Doyen took advantage of the theater’s superior sound system and lighting options, which unfortunately occasionally overshadowed the actual choreography.

The piece opened with five figures in silhouette, each embodying a hunched, swinging, and loose yet tense physicality. It was quickly revealed that all performers were wearing masks depicting the likenesses of different primates. The dancers wore the masks for the entire piece, concealing their identity as humans and placing themselves in an in-between realm in which animals were personified and humans were reminded of their origins. The masks themselves created tension, as physical movements often created emotions on the otherwise emotionless performers’ faces.

The strongest moments in Doyen were those featuring sharp unison - specifically, a repeated circular canon with a heavy bounce and look back at the audience. The circle truly allowed energy to be built up amongst the performers, to the point where the breakaway was never as satisfying as the build up.

Further strength came in several solo moments. While all of the performers had featured moments, Gileadi rightly chose to feature Meredith, Peskov, and Rodriguez most heavily. Meredith was a breakout performer, completely embodying the primal characterization and never seeming to falter in her energy. She moved expansively yet without tension, maintaining a sharpness with precision throughout the entire piece. Having not met Gileadi prior to the show, I wrongfully assumed that Meredith was the creator of the piece as the fullness of her performance was incomparable.

Peskov had some satisfying moments in his solo as well. He writhed on the floor with great fluidity and his constant return to standing, while never acknowledging the audience, was engaging. Initially, I was actually impatient watching his movement, yet the longer it went on, the more interested I became. At one point, he moved in unison with live musician Wachira Waigwa-Stone while the lights flickered, which engaged all of my senses in an extremely satisfying way.

Overall, Doyen was engaging at times, but difficult to maintain interest in at others. The majority of transitions between sections felt much too long, with seemingly improvised, unintentional movement as dancers waited for sound cues. That said, I was extremely impressed with the design of the show. The score was engaging and the lighting by Seth Mergist was appropriate in creating a mood yet never drawing full attention unless desired. One distraction, however, was the costuming. The dancers were dressed in all black, but it felt like the directive could have been “find the weirdest piece of black clothing in your closet,” and what might otherwise have been a polished look appeared as a mish-mash of mesh and fringe.

Overall, Doyen was an enjoyable experience and it is exciting to see what Gileadi and her company will present next. I appreciate her voice in the community, providing an intersection of dance and theater in a way that doesn’t seem to prioritize one over the other. I also greatly appreciate her aesthetic. In a dance world that is becoming increasingly fluid, her dynamism stood out in moments that made me want to get up and sweat with the performers.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed her MFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and is on faculty at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.

UtahPresents: SALT Contemporary Dance in "The Bridge"

As I was watching The Bridge, commissioned by UtahPresents, I realized it was what I have hoped to see from SALT Contemporary Dance all along.

The show was continuous and cohesive, which I loved. I appreciate the departure from SALT’s previous usual format of presenting collections of works by different choreographers.

The Bridge was based on a short story called “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce. It was apparent that this story had strong and specific meaning to the performers, yet the execution was not burdened by an attempt to be overly clear about the exact happenings of the story and characters. This allowed audience members to interpret the work through the lenses of their own personal experiences.

The dancing was strong, controlled, fluid, and beautiful. SALT features a roster of highly talented performers, and it was nice to see some different artists this time around. Most notably, Ching Ching Wong, whom I hadn’t seen perform with SALT before, was a soloist in this work, and deservingly so. The other soloist, Eldon Johnson, was amazing as always. The rest of the cast, mostly in roles more supporting than spotlighted, was excellent as well.

I can only think of one tiny, picky complaint about the dancers’ execution in this work: in a series of many repetitions of falling to the ground (choreographically, fascinating to watch), while there were many instances of full commitment, I wasn’t completely convinced every time. Granted, this was an exhausting section of the piece, and falling to the floor with apparent lack of control is not easy to do, from a mental standpoint not to mention the physical aspect. So I still commend the dancers for each successfully committed repetition they made.

I appreciate that the choreography, by New York-based Brendan Duggan in partnership with the dancers, was both unique and beautiful (in contrast with how some choreographers may create as if they assume those two qualities are mutually exclusive). The strengths of the dancers were well-utilized, without being showy to the point of distracting from the story.

The pacing throughout The Bridge varied perfectly to keep the audience captivated. A long intro allowed the audience time to tune in to the live music and the pensive lighting, and to connect with the mood being set, before the dancers were even seen. Movement began slowly, with Ching Ching Wong and Eldon Johnson walking, and doing other pedestrian movements, progressing into partner work that exhibited brilliant control and grace while succeeding at naturally conveying a loving and comfortable relationship. Later, momentum built, and the speed of movement and the number of layers existing at once increased. At the end, we got to see more partnering between Wong and Johnson, including some repetition from the beginning choreography, but this time with a different mood.

I was glad that this expanded upon the standard “A-B-A” format, which I feel like I’ve seen enough of. The similarities between the beginning and the end were enough to tie them together, but the differences were enough to add meaning, taking this choice beyond the choreographic crutch that A-B-A can be.

SALT Contemporary Dance in Utah Presents’ The Bridge. Set by Christian Bell; photo by Jake Eveler.

The set, by Christian Bell, was memorable and well-utilized. Two vertically hung curtains of ropes created divides which might have represented time and/or alternate realities. In one section of the choreography, the dancers brushed past the ropes causing them to sway mesmerizingly, adding to the chaos of the moment. At another point, several dancers each looped one rope around several others, creating a visual effect like drawn curtains, maybe symbolizing clarity. The ropes also tied into Bierce’s short story, in which the protagonist is tied up and about to be hung.

The lighting, by Jaron Kent Hermansen, was both visually stunning and effective at conveying mood and meaning. I appreciated how the lighting was designed in conjunction with the set, playing upon the ropes.

The live music, by Stuart Maxfield with brother Andrew Maxfield (both of Fictionist), was perfectly cohesive with the dancing. The unique and varied, yet continuous, sound supported the dancing, while being neither distracting nor boring. Stuart Maxfield worked in silhouette behind the dancers the entire time, which I felt connected the dance and the music, again without allowing the music to distract from the dance.

Overall, The Bridge was captivating, different, and beautiful. I very much look forward to seeing SALT keep up with this new standard that they have set for themselves with this project.

Ching Ching Wong and Eldon Johnson of SALT Contemporary Dance in Utah Presents’ The Bridge. Photo by Jake Eveler.

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company, and has enjoyed performing opportunities with Voodoo Productions, SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co., and La Rouge Entertainment, among others. Her choreography has been performed by Myriad, Municipal Ballet, and at Creator's Grid, and her dance film project “Breathing Sky” received the 2017 Alfred Lambourne Movement prize.

Ballet West: Jewels

While George Balanchine’s Jewels may be best known as the first full-length abstract ballet, I find its magnificence resides in other features: its brilliant display of ballet’s history and the ways dancers and music convey different moods or atmospheres. Ultimately, I find the three sections of Jewels speak to the values of diversity and inclusivity, and by extension to the importance of honoring different artists and cultures.

This was especially apparent Saturday night when there was a special ceremony for Bruce Caldwell, honoring his 50 years of work with Ballet West as a dancer and currently as ballet master and company archivist. As the audience applauded at the end of the performance, Caldwell was on stage to receive a rose from many partners he worked with during his dancing career, including Jane Wood, Maggie Tesch, and Sharee Lane. It was a poignant acknowledgement of the commitment and love dancers bring to their profession.

It was also a fitting ending to a ballet that has a celebratory vibe: the richness of the costumes in Jewels, plus the size of the cast (34 dancers are on stage for the polonaise that closes the performance), make the evening a dazzling affair. On Saturday night I found the women in particular, both in leading roles as well as in the corps, were exceptional.

Emeralds, the first section, set to music by Gabriel Fauré, was a dreamlike series of encounters, and Katlyn Addison and Emily Adams were exquisite. They conveyed the sense of mystery and detachment that makes me think of Romantic ballet when I watch Emeralds. The longer tutus (designed by Barbara Karinska) recall the costumes of La Sylphide or Giselle, and the relationships between the men and women tend to be unresolved. There were lush, reaching gestures that looked like the dancers were being swept and blown through the phrases. A pas de deux ended with the dancers walking backwards into the wings, their chests lifted to the sky in a moment of reverie or surrender. The ballet ended with three men kneeling and raising one arm towards the wings, a gesture that evoked a sense of longing since the women had just exited. In last night’s performance it seemed to mark a moment of gratitude for the elegance of these women. The 10 women in the corps were incandescent: their bourrées suggested the shimmering of a gem. This was especially impressive Saturday night because the cast included dancers of Ballet West II––Jordan DePina, Savannah Lyle, Alexandra Terry, and Victoria Vassos­­––who blended seamlessly with the company members.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Rubies. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Rubies presented the slinky atmosphere of a jazz club (Igor Stravinsky’s score for this section was first performed in 1929). The section opened with the dancers standing in 4th position, arms high in V-like shapes, with the women en pointe. They jutted their hips with sassy thrusts and instantly the reverie of Emeralds dissipated: now we were in the land of “cool.” On Saturday night the four men, Kyle Davis, David Huffmire, Ryo Munakata, and Joshua Shutkind, were riveting: exquisite in their execution of fast phrases and precise steps. When they partnered Addison, who appeared regal and queen-like in Rubies, they attentively placed her wrists and ankles in développé and arabesque positions. They seemed to be displaying her fantastic lines like a ruby would be displayed on a pedestal; and Addison’s confidence recalled other powerful women in Balanchine’s repertory, like the Siren in Prodigal Son. Her headpiece made me think of the crown worn by Wonder Woman, an apt comparison given that Addison stepped into this leading role in Rubies for Emily Neale just after performing in Emeralds. Other corps dancers who shone in this section included Jenna Rae Herrera and Chelsea Keefer, both soloists with the company, who performed with an infectious joie de vivre.

The moment the curtain opened for Diamonds, there was applause from the audience. This section recreated the stately opulence of Tsarist Russia. The score by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and the white tutus worn by the corps of 12 women conveyed the refined sophistication of a royal ball. Typical of Balanchine’s ballets, the corps took a central role and again the dancers included members from Ballet West II––Terry and Vassos plus Cy Doherty, Robert Fowler, Noel Jensen, Joseph Lynch, and Jake Preece––who contributed to the magnificent vision of courtly elegance.

In the leading roles, Beckanne Sisk and Chase O’Connell were gorgeous, and special moments included the way he knelt to her during the beginning of their pas de deux, as if to ask, “Can I have the honor of dancing with you?” Their solos, especially his execution of à la seconde turns, were phenomenal, and again the audience applauded. Sisk’s choreography included gestures that recalled Swan Lake, with arms like wings, yet without any reference to a specific character or narrative. Instead these moments, that evoked the 19th century, reminded me how Balanchine was updating ballet’s vocabulary, making it relevant to the 20th century. On Saturday night there were exceptional performances by female soloists––Gabrielle Salvatto, Katie Critchlow, Chelsea Keefer, and Amber Miller––who danced with the speed, precision, and joy that are Balanchine’s trademarks. They continually captured my attention, an impressive feat when the cast numbered 34 dancers.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Diamonds. Photo by Beau Pearson.

A week before this performance I watched a rehearsal of this section led by Sandra Jennings, who performed, and now stages, Balanchine’s repertory. Her cues to the dancers to “really step out” while maintaining exact positions, revealed the ways that Balanchine extended the classical vocabulary. Jennings’s attention to detail was impressive: noticing how a slight shift in a dancer’s shoulder in arabesque distorted the feeling of uniformity among the soloists. I imagine Jennings would have appreciated how thoroughly the cast embraced her directions and presented a gorgeous performance of Balanchine’s aesthetic.

A through-line of the evening was the exceptional music, conducted by Jared Oaks, Ballet West’s music director. Each section conveyed a different characteristic, from dream-like to jazzy to elegant, that was generated by the musicians as well as the dancers. Jewels is known for its close connections between the scores and the steps, and any time musicians and dancers are working well together, there’s a distinct synchronicity: we are watching how artists in the orchestra and artists on stage are generating this work of art collaboratively. When I attended the rehearsal led by Jennings, I noticed that Oaks was present as well: his deep knowledge of the dancers’ needs, combined with his attentive conducting, made watching Ballet West perform Balanchine’s ballet an extraordinary experience.

The costumes, courtesy of Cincinnati Ballet and Pacific Northwest Ballet, added to the evening’s glamour, and it was exciting to see how each jewel’s costume was created by combining multiple shades of its color: green for emerald, red for ruby, and white for diamond. This diversity added to the ballet’s theme of embracing multiple nations and styles.

When Balanchine made this ballet in 1967, he was fortunate to be working with a special cast of artists: Violette Verdy and Conrad Ludlow, Mimi Paul and Francisco Moncion; Patricia McBride, Edward Villella, and Patricia Neary; Suzanne Farrell and Jacques d’Amboise. What was exciting about Ballet West’s production last night was noticing how many talented artists in Ballet West II could become new members of the company, and how many artists in the company, like Kyle Davis, Jenna Rae Herrera, Chelsea Keefer, and Gabrielle Salvatto, are thriving and could soon be moving into more featured roles. Just like Jewels is a celebration of different countries, as well as artists from different countries, Ballet West is a company that has a rich diversity of dancers in terms of backgrounds, body types, and countries of origin. At this particular moment in the States, I find this celebration of difference an important message about the richness of cultural diversity, and the contributions that people from many nations make to our definitions of what it means to be American.

 Kate Mattingly is an assistant professor of dance at the University of Utah. She has a doctoral degree in performance studies from UC Berkeley, and has had writing published in The New York Times, The Village Voice, Dance Research Journal, Dance magazine, and Pointe magazine, among others.