Discussing what Should Be Discussable

I have not seen (this version) of Nine Sinatra Songs by Ballet West and have no plans to review it. In this show, which was given locally at the Capitol Theatre, Ballet West ignores that more than one in one hundred people in Utah have COVID-19 and they refuse to talk about it. I understand that there were masks and other hygiene measures, but of course no one goes to the ballet for the social distancing. 

People are asking whether Ballet West’s type of show is the new art form. Potentially killing strangers as an art form? Yes, yes, I suppose disease can be art in a screwily post-neo-Dada sense. But this is not the sense intended by Ballet West, even though some of their programming is billed as experimental. 

If I understand Ballet West here, and I think I do — the publicity has been deafening — it is a kind of messianic return to the theater, designed to do some good for sufferers of fatal illnesses, both those in the cast and those who may be in the under-capacity audience. If we ask what a show does that no hospital, clinic, church, or other kind of relief agency has so far been able to do, I think the answer is obvious. If we consider that the experience, open to the public, as it is, may also be intolerably dangerous, the remedy is also obvious: Don't go. In not reviewing Ballet West, I'm sparing myself and my readers a dangerous experience, and I don't see that I really have any choice.

A critic has four options: (1) to see and review; (2) to see and not review; (3) not to see; (4) an option — to write about what one has not seen-becomes possible on strange occasions from which one feels excluded by reason of its express effects, which are more intelligible than theatre. I don't deny that seeing dance in a pandemic may be of value in some wholly other sphere devoid of responsibility, but it is as theatre, dance theatre, that I would approach it. And my approach has been cut off. By ignoring dying Utahns to produce their act, Ballet West has put themselves beyond the reach of criticism. I think of them as literally refusing to discuss the public as their victims and their artistry as martyrdom. 

In theatre, one chooses what one will be. The pre-symptomatic or asymptomatic audience members at Nine Sinatra Songs will have no choice other than to be sick. The fact that they are there in person intensifies the starkness of their condition. They should be there on videotape, the better to be seen and heard, especially now. They are the prime exhibits of a company administration which has crossed the line between theatre and reality — who thinks that victimhood is a sufficient presupposition to the creation of an art spectacle.

The thing that Nine Sinatra Songs makes immediately apparent, whether you see it or not, is that ignoring the pandemic is a kind of mass delusion that has taken hold of previously responsible sectors of our culture. The preferred medium during a pandemic is video (see your computer at almost any hour of the day), but the cultivation of in-person attendance demanded by institutions devoted to the care of art is a menace to all art forms, particularly performing art forms. The critic is part of the audience for art that COVID-19 also threatens. I can't review someone I am worried for or hopeless about. As a dance critic, I've learned to avoid companies who ignore the obvious problems with their events in context of our larger society. 

The strategies of dance companies as the victims of pandemic are proliferating marvelously at the moment. There's no doubt that the public is filled with much more hardship, which companies will meet with fewer patrons and less applause. This a politicized version of blackmail, that certain companies have resorted to, in a self-pitying moment. Instead of compassion for Utahns truly suffering, they invite a cozy kind of complicity demanding that their audience support local artists. This perfect, mutually manipulative union is formed which no Governor has put asunder. 

Photo by Luke Isley, courtesy of Ballet West.

Those who have read New Yorker critic Arlene Croce’s original essay “Discussing the Undiscussable” will realize that I have more or less stolen it to make a comparison between Bill T. Jones’ piece Still/Here (made during the early years of the AIDS crisis) and Ballet West’s Nine Sinatra Songs (produced during the coronavirus pandemic). 

It’s worth noting that my criticism is more than witty plagiarism. Ballet West has made headlines for contributions to racial justice such as: calling for more pointe shoe shades and being part of the “final bow for yellowface” in The Nutcracker. However, just like they’ve made no change to other equally racist divertissements, Nine Sinatra Songs ignores not only that the pandemic rages on but that it disproportionately impacts Utahns of color and low-income Utahns. The danger of opening the theater is not only for affluent, masked patrons, but for all employees of Salt Lake County. 

Another danger that’s misconstrued? Using (exclusively heterosexual) married couples for pas de deux underscores the heteronormativity of concert dance, while also pretending that their safety will somehow extend to the audience. 

Arlene missed out on some of why Still/Here was important; the dance looked at HIV/AIDS and other chronic and/or terminal illnesses as something that impacts more than one group. While many Americans failed to apprehend that AIDS wasn’t only a crisis for (cisgender white) gay men, we seem to have done the inverse. We assume that the pandemic applies only to smaller subgroups and do not acknowledge the way a space, like a theater, impacts us all. 

Ashley Anderson is the founder and director of loveDANCEmore and Ashley Anderson Dances. At the time of writing, the state of Utah is at a 20% average positivity rate for COVID-19 with neighborhoods near the theater at over 30%. 661 Utahns have died.

Ballet West mounts a modified Tharp classic during coronavirus

On Friday night, I went to the theater. I even went inside the theater. Ballet West’s Nine Sinatra Songs is a return to the stage, but not a return to normal — and that’s a good thing.  

The mixed repertoire of three works is the company’s first live indoor performance since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic eight months ago. It is beautiful, impactful, and reflects the moment we inhabit. Their return to the Capitol Theater stage was marked by rigorously enforced safety measures, including mandatory masks, distancing, a symptoms checklist, and staggered audience seating and release. It also featured curtain speeches by Artistic Director Adam Sklute that presented care and respect for those precautions and for one another as a basic premise of the evening; an acknowledgement of the unprecedented challenge to the artists and appreciation of their growth and investment in meeting it; and insight into the process of both the creation and commission of the works presented. I appreciate the transparency and clarity those remarks imparted.  

Artist Victoria Vassos and First Soloist Hadriel Diniz. Photo by Luke Isley.

Ballet West has a continuing responsibility to meaningfully and materially address equity and systemic racism institutionally and structurally. Their “Substantive Policy Changes to Allow for Greater Equity for Dancers of Color” is linked here. The first installment of the ongoing discussion panel series “Dismantling Racism in Ballet” led by Dr. Elizabeth Pryor and hosted by Ballet West is linked here. Though it is not an institutional responsibility in the same material and absolute sense, I am very glad that the night’s works explicitly reflected and responded to the emotional quality of living this year. Jennifer Archibald’s premiere Tides evoked resilience in the face of omnipresent change, and Nicolo Fonte’s premiere Faraway Close treats the loneliness and solace of distance and connection. The Nine Sinatra Songs for which the performance is named sets a precedent for what the restaging of existing works during the ongoing and locally escalating viral outbreak looks like. 

Inescapably prominent in Jennifer Archibald’s Tides is the great individual strength of the dancers, their nuanced fluidity, and most notably the way these qualities combine in partnered duets. Although the costumes of sea blue mesh-paneled leotards and pants were gender-specific, these qualities were not; shifting vulnerability and strength were equally embodied by all. And often in quick succession, like the entrance of slides en pointe into the abrupt and contained hand gestures that punctuated the piece. Or the poised inversions of the men in group one, of stable handstands rolling to the floor and stalled cartwheels, where Adrian Fry’s lanky grace recalls his Apollo. The trio of Katlyn Addison, Chelsea Keefer and Kristina Weimer in group two battement their legs with such power, and in remarkably controlled unison, to music that is explicitly sacred in tone and sometimes more felt than rhythmically countable. The small motif of a piked position caught my eye, legs and torso forming an acute, tight angle, first in a partnered turn skimming above the floor and later in a lift, but especially in a duet between Vinicius Lima and Dominic Ballard. Beginning in a piked fireman’s lift over the shoulder, a kind of awkward and powerless position, it evolved into a gorgeous give-and-take of assertion and support characteristic of the entire work.  

Nicolo Fonte’s Faraway Close is spare but striking in staging. A central platform symmetrically flanked by stairways stands to the back. It is perfectly lit and ascended by single dancers at moments throughout, moving in unison with those below, so simply and effectively representing distance and longing. I have scrawled in my notes that everyone standing up there looked incredibly beautiful, and sad.  Emoting in that way is all the more impressive given that the dancers were masked, as they were for the entire performance. An early mirroring from across the stage between Chelsea Keefer and Katlyn Addison sets the emotional tone. The distinct quality of sharp attack into suspension of these two dancers truly stood out and complemented the style of the night’s two premieres. The unfurling of an outstretched arm is a recurring thematic gesture that also ends Faraway Close, with enough plaintive ennui in the port de bras that face masks are no impediment. I was struck also by an elongated attitude, a barely bent leg that might easily look like a broken line but which epitomized unbroken strength as danced by BW’s artists.

Both premieres were thoughtfully titled. The figurative breadth sets up expectations of abstraction, the non-narrative representation of action under fluctuating external forces in Tides and of distance as both a physical and emotional metric in Faraway Close. Both works were created in response to the pandemic, and in place of what was originally commissioned.  The pieces were developed within the strict constraints of small pods of dancers, with contact only among those who cohabit. Both Jennifer Archibald and Nicolo Fonte are resident choreographers, Archibald as the first Black female resident choreographer of a ballet company at Cincinnati Ballet and Fonte at Ballet West. They seem well equipped to meet these constraints by continuing to identify the individual strengths and personal qualities of the artists, and to integrate these with craft and consideration. Whether in Tides’ sharp hand gestures and acute pikes or Faraway Close’s more lyrical reaching arms and obtuse attitudes, the experience of isolation/connection under duress which has been felt universally was expressed singularly.

Twyla Tharp’s Nine Sinatra Songs closes the performance. How existing works are presented now is also precedent-setting for works like Nine Sinatra Songs that require repetiteurs to set them. There is an interplay between expert fidelity to legacy and responsibility to the here and now. Permission was granted to add matching masks to the costumes originally designed by Oscar de la Renta to prioritize the health and safety of cast and crew. Partnerships were determined not by height or hierarchy, but by true interpersonal relationships. It reminds me of the Waltz Girl’s hair cascading down in beautiful braids in 2017’s Serenade, or the re-costuming and movement adaptation of the Chinese divertissement in the entrenched annual production The Nutcracker. These iconic moments in established works are made better and truer by respecting those who embody them and those who come to see art that reflects their humanity.

Artist Lillian Casscells and Beau Chesivoir. Photo by Luke Isley.

Nine Sinatra Songs was iconic Twyla, and very charming. Emily Adams’ poise and outwardly-radiating epaulement immediately establishes the mood and mode in Softly As I Leave You; it wouldn’t surprise me if she had a secret closet full of Ballroom trophies. Olivia Gusti and Tyler Gum were particularly synchronous and bright in Forget Domani. Each couple was a pleasure to watch. There was a surprising melancholy tinge to that pleasure, as watching people out for a night of dancing is somewhat wistful now, and nostalgic in a complex way that is more related to lockdown than the Rat Pack. Though the applause was thinner, with the audience necessarily so much sparser, I believe we were all deeply appreciative of this experience of live ballet, and of the dedication and care that made a night at the theater possible.

Nora Price is a Milwaukee native living and working in Salt Lake City. She can be seen performing with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.

SONDERimmersive's new effort at the Gateway

On Monday night, November 2, the eve of these historic 2020 elections, I stepped into the interactive theatrical experience The Carousel by SONDERimmersive at Dreamscapes, at the Gateway in downtown Salt Lake City. Prior to entry, we received our instructions on mask-wearing, appropriate social distancing from fellow spectators (capped at four) and from the performers as appropriate. I saw an interesting mix of people waiting to be let in, my group had only two audience members. All the performers were wearing masks as well.

We were introduced to the experience by The Jester, and invited into the world of dreams, a world of anxieties, hopes, fears, expectations and aspirations. We walked into a room through a fireplace to see a mother, softly bathing her baby, and putting it to sleep, and then breaking into a panic-stricken search for her young girl who had failed to come back home one evening. Was this a memory or her nightmare? The intense emotion there was something I could immediately identify with, as a mother – the wrenching fear of any harm befalling our child, and the completely paralyzing effect it can have.

Catherine Mortimer as The Jester

This was the story of a mother and her daughter Brandy, lost in the woods. And so we left the mother and went through a tunnel, into a scene that looked like it came from Alice in Wonderland: toadstools, strange flowers, and green growth surrounded us as we saw a young girl, Brandy, delicate, looking lost, and trying to find her way back, perhaps? As we observed her struggles, we met our next character. The Lizard led us through a cave of crystals, promising a short cut through the woods. His monologue on how fear can shrink a person, rooting them to a spot and then growing like a crystal, increasingly soaking that emotion, and feeding on it, felt eerily reminiscent of recent conversations around Election 2020.

It was dark, hypnotic and menacing in the crystal cave, the immersive part of the experience here was the most dreamlike for me. We then were rescued from here by The Logic — the right brain — into a place where WORDS was spelled out in a giant sculpted form, used adroitly as athletic dance props by Tyler Fox, leading to some of the visually most absorbing moments of the experience for me.

One of the evenings many portals

We had time through out to engage in a reflective response to the scenes we had witnessed, and to sometimes anticipate what might come next. As we proceeded, we saw other versions of Brandy, and then had a chance to listen to a tormented message from a mother who can never stop looking for her lost child, who articulates small steps about how to live again, laugh again, hope again…

We came finally to The Dragon, who is a philosophical guide to our experience and leaves us with the question: “How different is dreaming from dying?” Finally, we were led into a labyrinth with wishes of “courage” all around and having navigated it we are asked to add one of our own: “I wish I had the courage to…” This reminded me of the little red threads tied to various sacred trees in India, the wishes I had seen deposited in front of a shrine in Tokyo, the keys tied to the bridge over a canal in Amsterdam — as a species we like to send out emotional missives out into the universe, and hope that thought, that prayer, that wish, will come true.

This was the first live theatre experience for me in more than eight months, and it was enlivening. I was really impressed by the creativity of the team, especially that they were able to craft an immersive experience around the existing exhibits of the Dreamscape venue.

Looking back at the experience this prefatory verse from Alice in Wonderland comes to mind :

Anon, to sudden silence won,

⁠In fancy they pursue

The dream-child moving through a land

⁠Of wonders wild and new,

In friendly chat with bird or beast —

⁠And half believe it true.

I was Alice for that hour. There were a few slow ponderous moments that dragged too much for me, but on the whole it was a coherent, refined and enlightening ride on The Carousel.

Srilatha Singh directs Chitrakaavya Dance, through which she teaches, choreographs and collaborates. Her work has frequently been written about on loveDANCEmore.org, including many collaborations with fellow frequent contributor Erica Womack.

RDT and RW present a joint fall show, online

Salt Lake City’s two reigning modern dance companies, Ririe-Woodbury and Repertory Dance Theatre, have joined forces to present DOUBLE TAKE. A season opener for both parties, the historic collaboration is an hour-long, virtual, on-demand performance featuring two world premieres.

The film begins with a recorded Zoom meeting in which RDT’s executive/artistic director Linda C. Smith and RW’s executive director Jena Woodbury welcome us to the performance. They address, with a sense of humor, the fact that people continue to confuse one company for the other even though they’ve been major players in the community for more than fifty years. The statement “We decided to make a performance together to prove that we’re two different companies” is curiously followed by a list of characteristics they share, which includes their belief in arts education, preservation and performance of historical dance works, commitment to working toward a more equitable world for everyone, and a shared denouncement of racism, bigotry, and intolerance. I want to add that both have employed an equal number of men and women performers for decades, posting auditions notices for “male” and “female” dancers. I wonder who will be the first to denounce these outdated, cisgender hiring practices and welcome non-binary dancers into their corps.

RDT dancers performing the work of Justin Bass

The contemporary program includes (in order) RESET performed by RDT and choreographed by company alum and Regalia 2020 winner Justin Bass, Autumn Sun performed by RW and choreographed by Artistic Director Daniel Charon, and Outdoors performed by RDT and choreographed by guest artists Noa Zuk and Ohad Fishof. The commonalities between the three works outweigh their differences, not quite supporting the directors’ intention to prove that the companies are two different entities. RESET and Autumn Sun share similar compositional structures. They both employ fractured entrances and exits — pairs of dancers moving in unison, overlapping and criss-crossing, while maintaining social distance. Both choreographers admitted that this emphasis on duets was a result of the constraints imposed by COVID-19. Questions and comments about how to perform partner work without touching were aplenty in the post-performance Q+A Zoom, with RDT’s Artistic Associate/Development Director Nick Cendese sharing that the adjustments made to the third work, Outdoors, challenged the company to redefine what partnering means.

RDT, viewed from above, in Outdoors

Outdoors and RESET are heavy on the repetition, featuring singular movements/gestures that are repeated successively, as well as longer phrases repeated intermittently throughout the pieces. Many of the movements are quirky and entertaining at first, but eventually become tiresome. Both works are performed to consistent, upbeat rhythms, the movements matching the beat without much contrast to ward off predictability. This is RDT’s second time performing Outdoors. I saw its premiere about a year ago and adored it, so I’m forced to wonder if my shift in opinion is due to my familiarity with it, the energy that’s lost when something is viewed through a screen as opposed to in person, or if the lack of touching between the cast weakened its magic. One of its strongest reconstruction choices is the bird’s-eye-view videography that appears several times in the beginning of the piece. The same point of view also occurs towards the middle of Charon’s work and is a very refreshing perspective.

The highlight of the program is Nicholas Jurica’s virtual presence in Autumn Sun. Forced to remain distanced from the company because his wife tested positive for COVID-19, Jurica’s choreography was pre-recorded via skype, then projected onto the scrim. He’s larger than life in comparison to the dancers on stage, and the duet he performs with Dominica Greene is inventive and entrancing.

Jurica, larger than life, and Greene in the foreground

The virus has made all of us dance makers, performers, and educators ask, “What has to change? What can remain the same? What will we retain when/if this ends?” The first two questions have pretty obvious responses. As for the third, Charon’s flexibility and “make it work” attitude in response to Jurica’s circumstances are things I hope all choreographers adopt as we move through and beyond the pandemic. In addition, I appreciate that the video-on-demand structure allows two viewings per ticket. The performance will be available throughout October.

I look forward to seeing the ways in which both companies push themselves to find new ways of engaging audiences for the remainder of this season, and I’m especially excited to see them integrate their new discoveries into live performance... when we finally get there.

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

Queer Spectra 2020: Day Two

Queer Spectra Arts Festival 2020 is a two day interactive virtual gallery (September 5-6, 2020) showcasing work by LGBTQIA+ individuals from the Salt Lake area as well as artists from across the nation. The festival’s theme this year is Risk of representation. Conveyed throughout the works presented are motifs of shame, social conflict, celebration of self, and the de-stigmatization of the Queer body. Each artist’s work speaks to a different facet of the Queer experience through photography, movement, poetry, painting, etcetera. 

Day two of the festival featured two panel discussions, via zoom, on the topics of Risk and Representation and a zoom zine making workshop. 

On the subject of risk, organizers from Queer Spectra were joined by some of the presenting artists to discuss and share. The conversation highlighted the ways risk of Queer self expression surface in art and how sharing identity openly can be a risk depending on environment. Jordan Simmons talked about their experience moving from Salt Lake City back to New Jersey during the pandemic and being confronted with the risk of people from the community they grew up in, seeing them post-coming out and transitioning. The artists expressed how they have learned to adapt to being more comfortable presenting work that is more authentic to themselves, rather than not fully putting forth the message they are trying to convey. 

The author’s “unsure monster”

Zine makers and other curious artists, including myself, came together to participate in a zine making workshop led by Max Barnewitz. Max gave us a brief introduction to zine history and introduced their perspective on zine culture being alternative and inherently representative of the Queer community.  We started making our zines by folding paper into a small booklet. We were then asked to write a word associated with risk on each page. To accompany each word, we drew shapes which created a jumping off point for illustrating a “monster.” This creative exercise allowed the participants to confront feelings surrounding risk and openly discuss if/why taking risks is important. 

The panel discussion on representation had some of the presenting artists reflect on times when they saw their identity represented in someone else’s art. There was conversation around both physical representation and emotional representation such as relating to someone else’s work and the joy that comes with realizing that there is a shared identity or experience between oneself and the artist. The discussion also brought up if what the artist intends to represent motivates their process or if the themes appear after the work has been created. Teresa Fellion, choreographer of Healing Currently Downloading (in progress),  shared how she tries to avoid thinking about the work’s message too hard in order to allow the themes to emerge organically. 

Queer Spectra Arts Festival 2020 uplifted LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC communities during the global pandemic (virus, racism, ableism, homophobia, and transphobia alike) by giving artists the opportunity to share their voices and perspectives through a wide array of disciplines portraying individual experience of risk and representation in today’s society.

Harlie Heiserman (they/them/theirs) is a dance artist originally from the D.C. metropolitan area. They trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance prior to relocating to Salt Lake City where they are a current member of SALT2 and Oquirrh West Project. Harlie’s work and research is driven by heightened emotional states, instinct, and effort.