Myriad brings dance to the Dreamscapes space at Gateway

It was a surreal experience walking into Dreamscapes at the Gateway to view live performance indoors – Myriad Dance’s new Overslept. Just surpassing two weeks since I had received my second dose of the Pfizer vaccine, I was itching to see live art again. After a brief introduction, the audience was ushered into a waiting area filled with a hodgepodge of ramshackle furniture overgrown with dense foliage. Faint audio of a male voice lingered in the air. I couldn’t quite understand the text. It felt like hints of what was to come, planted deep in my subconscious mind. Once the speaking was complete, the dancers emerged from behind a large painting of a moon and beckoned us forward.

Whimsical landscapes changed dramatically from room to room, ranging from a dark space with abstract mountainous projections to underwater ruins adorned with floating jellyfish, which were only to be glimpsed for a moment before being whisked away briskly by the performers, deeper and deeper into this alien world. There was hardly enough time to take in the intricate details of the rooms and halls. As the dancers gently, but firmly pushed us on, I was left with only slivers of a story that was unfolding. I tried to read the long passages written on some of the walls, but only retained words like “Eva,” “clouds,” “falling,” and “moon.” As soon as my mind began to latch onto meaning, it was ripped away by the next cacophonous scene. The experience was overwhelming, and I wished I had more time to digest the minor details. The pace felt too rapid to fully comprehend the idiosyncrasies of the world I was exploring.

Myriad press photo

At times, I felt like the performers were an integral part of the world, and at others, it felt like one work of art superimposed on another. In a few scenes, the performers felt distinctly separate from the landscapes. The first room was a poignant example of artistic integration. Smooth movements with angular shapes seemed to emerge from the jagged, mountainous outlines projected on the walls. The dance was made for that space. In another room, psychedelic neon designs adorned variously sized boxes that appeared to move in shifting light. These severe flashing colors overshadowed the dancers who were gently moving on and around the boxes. The juxtaposition made the performers appear unassuming, and as though they were stuck in a world that swallowed them whole.

Throughout the work, I tried to understand what role the dancers were playing in this dream. Were they fairies urgently guiding us through an unknown world? Were they friends exploring alongside me? Did they possess knowledge that I was being guided towards? What role as an audience member was I playing in this experience? I left the performance with many questions, and I hungered for answers. I could easily attend this performance many times, hoping to get a clearer picture. There were infinite nooks and crannies to uncover. I found myself saddened that the dancers would only be performing this work for a week. I wished that as a limited-time performance, I would have had more time to take in the beautiful story that had been created. There was so much detail in not only the installations and the dancing, but also in the storyline, of which I only glimpsed hints. I think this would be a more effective show if it could be extended for multiple weekends or seasons.

I was grateful to be able to attend the post-performance discussion, where some of my questions were answered. The roles of the dancers, of the audience, and the pacing of the work were addressed there. What I thought was particularly engaging was the discussion of the artistic possibility of immersive performance. Would the work be more effective if it were a self-guided performance? Would the audience have absorbed more detail? Would it have been better if guided at a slower pace? Ultimately, their choice of having a fast-paced performance served a purpose: I left grasping at details of a dream; piecing together the memories that remained.

Meredith Wilde (she/her/they/them) is a dance artist based in Salt Lake City, UT. They received a BFA in Modern Dance from University of Utah. In addition to ballet and contemporary, Wilde has trained in Bharatanatyam technique and performed with Chitrakaavya Dance in Salt Lake City, UT. Wilde has been a company member for the Polaris Dance Theatre, Shaun Keylock Company, and Wasatch Contemporary Dance Company. Wilde’s choreographic work has been presented at Snow College, Pacific University, The Fertile Ground Festival of New Work, MADCO2, and OuterSpace. They were also the recipient of the “Audience Choice” award at MADCO2’s “Dare to Dance” Showcase, and a recipient of the “Barney Creative Prize,” a commissioning award to create work for White Bird in Portland, OR.

RDT highlights emerging voices

The title of Emerge, I assume, is a way to alert the audience that the choreographers on this concert are emerging into the role of choreographer. That is a fair and useful distinction to make — after all it takes time, focus, and practice to become a professional performer. But it is no less true that it takes time, focus, and practice to become a professional choreographer. I would agree with this title in my experience with this concert. With some small exceptions, my experience was one of witnessing a collection of largely lovely, very well-danced, and ultimately experienced-in-the-moment works that won’t stay with me for long but were mostly enjoyed in the moment.

This sense of emerging was illustrated in the interviews with the choreographers that were used as introductions for their pieces. The interviews were stacked with buzzwords like: community, relationship, connection, graciousness, problem-solving, gratitude, openness, and creative process. These are great words that I appreciate as a dance artist as they reflect some of the things that I also find important in my work. However, they don’t really tell me anything specific about the piece I am about to see, and can also be used as a way to hide the fact that a choreographer is not really able to identify the intent of a work. As emerging choreographers, this is understandable. Dancers often correctly work from a point of physical intuition, but it is also important to articulate what you personally bring to a work. I wish that someone had taken time to coach these emerging choreographers more (or perhaps change the questions that were being asked) so that some specificity could be reached.

Overall this concert pleasantly washed over you and then dissipated quickly. Many pieces had similar fluidity, dynamics, emotional tone, costuming, and music. The brightest spots occurred when they shifted from these similarities. Rebecca Aneloski’s piece Odes had some sparkling complexity and personal oddities. Daniel Do’s dancing, in a work by Jaclyn Brown, had complicated pelvic shifting and foot work that he performed with ease and exactness. Lauren Curley’s solo communicated a sense of collaboration and connection with the live musician, Nate Anderson, that was very satisfying to witness. Nicholas Cendese’s suite of works, Another Day in Quarantine, did have a significant shift in tone and texture that I think speaks to Cendese’s personal artistry. Even though beyond the first section I was not certain how the works really connected specifically with quarantine experiences, I appreciated the variety and light-heartedness that it brought to the concert.

Beyond the idea of emerging as choreographers, we all are emerging (or at least hoping to emerge), from a time period of decreased social engagement and heightened social turmoil that has left many of us voluntarily pulling away from putting ourselves out into the world. Many of us are seeing our communities differently and thus our places and voices in our communities have shifted. I have felt this as an artist, and it causes a bit of cautiousness in coming out of this backspace, wanting to be gentle with others, being timid about what I am sharing with the world, and even wondering if I should be putting anything out into the world right now. I saw gentleness and timidness in this concert, but also in so much dance I have seen recently on a national and even international level (the one nice thing about live-streaming). It is hard to emerge for all of us. I do look forward to a time when we will emerge with more ferocity and dynamics, as we find our footing and claim the goodness and importance of change reflected in the work that we create.

Kate Monson can be found teaching at BYU and presenting her own choreographic work, specifically through the On Site Mobile Dance Series, a loveDANCEmore program she created alongside Kori Wakamatsu.

A Shedding presents "A Duration" – share your perspective!

Dominica Greene and Courtney Mazeika, who last year presented A Shedding, an evening geared at giving queer and BIPOC artists a platform in Salt Lake City, are at it again. Since last summer, A Shedding has become more than a single evening of dance. Under the banner of A Shedding, Mazeika and Greene have just released a new wave of creative material – A Podcast and A Duration.

A Podcast is a two part conversation between two Black women: Alexandra Barbier (a dancer and choreographer) and Gabby Huggins (also trained in dance, now a filmmaker, teacher and “art fixture”). In their wide ranging discussion, they light on police murder and how the spectacle of death and racism is digested by the media. They discuss the prevalence of “trauma porn” around Black suffering and interrogate the political dimensions of art making. Both of these brilliant women are worth listening to on their own, and even more so in dialogue with each other.

A Duration was an ambitious four-hour installation featuring Barbier, Greene and two other dancers: Mar Undag and Masio Sangster – all of whom performed last year in A Shedding. I watched about an hour of it and found it captivating – at turns melancholy and meditative. Since it was a durational performance, I thought it would be fun to crowdsource a review. Instead of asking one writer to cover all four hours, I thought I’d try asking the community for impressions, even if, like me, they only watched a fraction.

So far, I’ve only received one “mini-review” impression, from Aileen Norris. I hope to receive more, from anyone who attended. Remember, loveDANCEmore exists to support you and your dance community. We want to share your thoughts, frustrations, elation, panic and everything in between. We’re very lucky (in my humble but correct opinion) to have artists like those involved in A Shedding in our community, artists willing to take big risks with serious content. We’re also lucky to have a venue to express our feelings about what we see. Please, send me your thoughts on A Duration. Let’s start a conversation. Until then here’s one thoughtful impression from Aileen Norris…

–SBH, editor

promotional material for A Duration by Marissa Mooney

I find myself returning to this idea of layers: Alexandra Barbier experimenting with new outfits, Dominica Greene covering a tarp in dirt and eventually tulips, Masio Sangster piece by piece removing garments, and Mar Undag refracted partially through clever mirror angles. People and things, revealed and obscured, move across my screen. This layering is enhanced by the fact that I cannot watch all four hours and must peel myself away from witnessing. By the last ten minutes, I feel as if I have seen another side to each performer; I am in awe of the vulnerability graciously shared. The perspective of a camera rather than the naked eye lends an extra curiosity. I can’t just crane my neck to peek behind Alexandra’s chair or walk to a different part of the room to watch Mar from a new perspective.

What do we get to see? What do we miss? I ask myself these questions not only of the physical realities of time and space—what happened when I had to return to work?—but also of these individuals. And it is true; we can never see one person completely, infinitely, try as we might. A Duration allowed me to settle in, though, and appreciate the aspects of someone we are permitted to witness. It is a deeply beautiful, deeply moving thing to see: someone sharing a part of themselves. It is a testament to the important work that A Shedding is doing that A Duration celebrated that, and a herald of the vital work I anticipate A Shedding will continue to do.

– Aileen Norris, May 3

Clockwise from top left: Alexandra Barbier, Masio Sangster, Mar Undag and Dominica Greene

Ririe-Woodbury’s "Cadence" On Demand

Cadence was pre-recorded and streamed as an on-demand performance. The show proceeded after Ririe-Woodbury’s land acknowledgment which read aloud the names of the Indigenous nations who have resided upon the lands presently known as Salt Lake City and the surrounding regions for millennia. The statement read: “Our organization recognizes the void of representation experienced by these [Shoshone, Paiute, Goshute, and Ute Tribes] and other Indigenous peoples, and through our diversity, equity, inclusion, and access efforts are committed to empowering change”. Most importantly, the statement concluded by offering actionable steps to take land acknowledgment beyond words. The acknowledgment of Indigenous lands needs to do more than merely state who the land belongs to. Indigenous land acknowledgments should foster relationships. As the company suggests, building a sustaining relationship asks the audience to become informed about the Indigenous peoples and true histories of the land upon which they reside. Further, only through engagement in Indigenous efforts towards reclaiming and protecting lands, cultures, and ways of life, can the central purpose of land acknowledgments begin to be fulfilled. Acknowledging stolen Indigenous land is only the first step in dismantling the systems of oppression that Indigenous peoples have survived and resisted for centuries in the Americas. 

The performance ensued with three riveting dances all filmed onstage. Cadence featured three separate works created by renowned choreographers: Yin Yue, Charles O. Anderson, and Andrea Miller. Each of the dances were intricately laced with detail and the subtleties of the works were effectively relayed through the cinematic nature of the show. In its entirety, Cadence was riveting, soulful, critical, moving, and exhilarating.

The company in In the Moment Somehow Secluded. All photos by Stuart Ruckman.

The first dance was Yin Yue’s In the Moment Somehow Secluded. The piece was described as “an external demonstration of an internal process, identifying and questioning the influences of subconscious personas on conscious reality,” and the dancing was as thought-provoking as this quote. The intricate patterns and partnerships which evolved were compelling. The opening duet between Dominica Greene and Nicholas Jurica was hypnotic. The dancers' lower bodies were rooted in the floor and their upper bodies made sharp and dynamic gestures, all while maintaining a supple, feather-like quality. The duet was joined by Corrine Lohner and soon after the whole company was on stage with the entrance of Megan McCarthy, Bashaun Williams, and Fausto Rivera. The rest of the piece unfolded with more duets, trios, and ensemble dancing. Jurica appeared to be “secluded” from the rest of the company. This was emphasized by his deep orange shirt which contrasted with the group's color scheme. At moments, the rest of the company seemed to exist in Jurica’s imagination. I wondered if he was in some way influencing, or being influenced by, the actions of the group. Jurica performed a captivating solo with an impeccable balance of strength, stealth, and fluidity. Throughout the piece, the dancers’ arms gathered, wrapped, and propelled through space as if something was being conjured. I was reminded of water bending. Even the ease with which the formations shifted around the stage mimicked the flow and current of running water. The piece concluded with the dancers running back and forth in a diagonal pathway on stage that resembled a pendulum swinging from one side to another in an even state of balance and flow.

The company in Rites

Rites was a beautifully chilling work created by Charles O. Anderson. I have been lucky enough to experience Anderson’s artistic and academic virtuosity a number of times as a student in the University of Utah’s School of Dance. Anderson’s work is provocative and moving in its call for action and solidarity in the face of the social injustices faced by Black and other marginalized communities in the United States. Rites is a timely piece, but in light of America’s long history of social injustices, I can’t think of a time when this piece wouldn’t have been timely and necessary. Anderson described the work as “a ritual to contextualize the pain of marginalization”. The piece begins with Williams walking downstage illuminated by white light and dressed in a white cloak of sorts. He looks angelic. As the rest of the company enters, wearing similar white garments, the group forms a triangular formation traveling downstage led by Williams at the tip. The company claps and stomps in a rhythmic manner moving slowly forward with a sense of unrelenting will. The piece progresses as a series of vignettes, each seeming to offer homage to a piece of African diasporic culture. The sound score, designed by Anderson himself, exhibited the expansive influence of African culture in music. Inlaid in the choreography was Anderson’s Afro-contemporary style, a fusion of classical modern dance and African dance techniques. The entire piece was like a ritual, performed to mourn, to heal, to celebrate community, and to invoke change.

The final dance was I Can See Myself choreographed by Andrea Miller in 2010 and restaged for Ririe-Woodbury’s Cadence. The high level of artistry, physical strength, and electric performances exhibited by the company were particularly impressive. Miller’s background in the Gaga technique was traceable as the piece demonstrated the dancers’ tremendous strength, agility, musicality, and prowess as improvisers. Miller’s choreography was idiosyncratic in the way it took life within each of the dancers’ bodies. There were solos, trios, and ensemble phrases, sometimes unfolding simultaneously on stage, creating intricate layers and dimensions that were amplified by the cinematic experience of the show. 

Williams and Greene in I Can See Myself

The tone of the piece was set by the energizing electronica funk sound of the Israeli band, Balkan Beat Box. The piece began abruptly as each dancer filed on stage one by one in a line as if they were on a conveyor belt. The dancers pulsed with frenzied shakes in place for a few moments before flinging themselves to the next position in line as another dancer joined from the wings. This continued until the entire company was on stage as if they were characters being introduced before the start of an old television program. Williams, Rivera, and Jurica wore an array of shining colored pants with white collared shirts. Greene, Lohner, and McCarthy wore an assortment of dazzling sequined outfits, my personal favorite was Greene’s rainbow tutu and shimmering top.

The dancers each personified larger-than-life characters that appeared capable of jumping right out of the screen. Even the dancers’ shadows projected onto the stage’s white backdrop were a part of the piece, making it feel as though there were more than just six performers. The dancers' engagement with the audience/camera, was mesmerizing. Their expressions and feelings were intensely raw and deeply resonant. I felt as though I was personally introduced to each company member’s unique persona. The whimsical and imaginative aura of the entire piece made it feel as if I had been transported into a fantastical alternate reality. This dynamic and lighthearted energy felt relevant in light of the past year’s events and this unique moment of collective unease.

Talia Dixon was raised in Southern California and is a member of the Pauma Band of Luiseño Mission Indians. She is graduating with her Honors BFA in Modern Dance and Minor in American Indian Studies this month and will attend UC Berkeley in the fall to pursue her graduate degree in Performance Studies.  

UtahPresents brings Phantom Limb Company

On April 22, Earth Day, Utah Presents completed the online presentation of the last of three pieces that comprise the Environmental Trilogy, created by the Phantom Limb Company.

Made over the course of the past decade, these three works were created for the Brooklyn Academy of Music. They explore and engage with mankind's relationship to nature and climate change.

The first, 69 Degrees South (2011), was inspired by Sir Ernest Shackleton's 1914 Trans-Antarctic Expedition. The second, entitled Memory Rings (2016), focused on the world’s oldest living tree, the Methuselah, and the stories that have emerged over the course of its lifetime (almost five thousand years). The final piece, Falling Out (2019), is a cross-cultural collaboration with Butoh dancer Dai Matsuoka. The work listens to, and learns from, the residents of the Fukushima region of Japan from their stories of loss and hope.

I will elaborate mostly on the first of the series, mostly because I benefitted a lot from attending the live-stream premiere and the behind the scenes chat commentary enhanced my understanding and appreciation for the program immensely – one of the benefits of virtual programming.

Phantom Limb Company’s 69 Degrees South (a reference to the latitude that crosses the Antarctic) chronicles Ernest Shackleton’s almost doomed 1914 Antarctic expedition. It includes puppets and live dancers, twenty-eight-foot-tall moving iceberg sculptures, NASA satellite imagery, and a minimalist score by the Kronos Quartet, along with Eric Sanko’s band Skeleton Key. “Men wanted for hazardous journey, small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful, honor and recognition in case of success.” Thus apparently read the original advertisement that Ernest Shackleton, placed to recruit his crew. The show opens with a haunting score, and a bright overhead spotlight, within an icy landscape, transitioning to four dancers, soon joined by two others in red suits exploring this icy barren, landscape, within a snow storm (rendered by fantastic lighting effects). As they seem to struggle to find shelter, a shadowy figure with a skeleton appears – this may have been an allusion to the Third Man factor, the unseen spirit that Shackleton and others felt, was accompanying them on the last leg of the journey. Giant icebergs inflate, the sounds of metal cracking, ice cracking, wind shearing seem to be simulated, and in glides the ship. Ernest Shackleton's entry on to the stage, as a life-size marionette expertly controlled by a puppeteer on stilts, is simply jaw-dropping. Following him are the crew, similarly controlled by other puppeteers in white robes and hoods on stilts. The lighting is cleverly focussed on these life-like marionettes, and so skillfully are they moved, that for much of the show, you would be forgiven for mistaking the one for the other. Who is controlling whom, I wonder?

The show then proceeds through a series of tableaux illustrating the explorations of the crew huddled around a fire, searching for food, searching for water. We witness the spectacularly unfortunate collapse of the ship. The palpable dismay of the crew as they (the puppets) fall back – it resonates deeply. The crew then embarks on the journey to Elephant Island, the rowing scenes articulated by the puppeteers are again incredibly well done and coordinated. The rest of the show details the departure of Shackleton, as he sets off to organize a rescue mission. All of the crew are eventually rescued. At the end, we see the return of the dancers in red, they look alien, like creatures from the future. The icebergs recede, the fire and heat come back to the scene, and the shadowy skeleton is seen, as the dancers in red laugh defiantly – like the crew laughing the face of death, perhaps. A sad footnote: many of the crew who survived this this incredible adventure, died in the war shortly after.

Each of these productions is a superbly-original, deeply-researched, sharply inquisitive, and yet profoundly meditative contemplation on humans and their interaction with nature. Indeed, I feel hardly up to the task of reviewing such complex, multi-media, layered spectacles. Jessica Grindstaff and Eric Sanko, the husband and wife couple who are co-artistic directors of Phantom Limb, must be credited with boundless creativity and artistic curiosity for crafting these one-of-a kind experiences. Puppets are a unique medium in which we can be mirrored and yet alienated, where we can see ourselves reflected and yet at the same time recognize them as material artifact, as separate. Interestingly they form a perfect metaphor for our perspective on the environment and on life on this planet – we are but a part of it, a reflection of it, yet we may, in our hubris, put ourselves above it and above all other forms of life. Unbeknownst to us, we dangle from strings…

Phantom Limb's Falling Out was scheduled for the 2019-2020 UtahPresents season. It was subsequently cancelled twice due to the Covid-19 pandemic. The online presentation of the trilogy, while it was the best substitute, merely whets your appetite – there is no doubt that this would have been a simply wondrous event, and it has me thirsting for a return to the live performance experiences. UtahPresents has been a responsible and thoughtful steward of the arts both before and during this pandemic and their eclectic and inspiring programming deserves the support of the community.

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.