Women Choreographers Take the Lead in Salt Lake City

Opening with a comedic premiere, SuperWomen began as Celine David and McCall McClellan showed us both their hilarious and athletic sides. Casual and colorful clothing transformed into the classic high leotards and tights we all know and love. This also included a seamless mix of ambient music with eighties pop that was such a pleasant opening to this fabulous show. These two were the perfect pair, with their wit, facial expressions and beautiful spoken word. This was all in addition to their athletic dancing and smooth sweeps along the floor. Never in my life have I so quickly gone from crying to laughing in such a short span of time. It was a pleasure to share the space with these two and be brought into their small tales of lives they have lived so far, all while witnessing athleticism at its finest.   

Next we were graced with a previously performed duet from 2021. This was a fabulous introduction to these dancers new to the Salt Lake scene. This duet was aesthetically pleasing with no bumps or mishaps. Never missing a beat, Hannah Hardy and Brady Swanson were perfectly in sync with every move and lift. Liz Dibble’s choreography was subtle and clean with interesting gestures that perfectly aligned with what was being heard by the audience. Just like our comedic duet, these dancers swept along and transitioned seamlessly between partnering and the floor. Both technicality and musicality shown through within this three and a half minute piece. There is no doubt in my mind that these dancers have legs for days and are capable of anything they are asked. Liz could not have asked for a better pairing and it was a treat being able to see this duet again after its premiere.

Sedimented Here, a screendance directed by Rachel Barker, was up third. Based in Southern Utah, the sound of movement on rock, sand and water was the main soundtrack. Coming only from the dancers' movement in contact with their surroundings, it was such a refreshing and beautiful break in the program. The level of commitment both from the dancers and the team was astonishing and beautiful to see. Scraping along the circular cavities of rock formations, sweeping through a nearby river and flipping through the sand, these dancers had no fear with their environment.  Their collaborative choreography reminded me of natural humanistic and creature/bug-like movements. Dressed in red and orange hued clothing, dancers were dripping wet, pouring out sand, and yet they kept going like there was no care in the world. Overall, the camera work, choreography and dancers were all stunning, so much that I wish it had gone on longer. 

Next, McCall McClellan came back to grace us with a beautiful solo entitled Phoenix. In collaboration again with Liz Dibble, this piece showcased both the powerhouse that McCall is and again her fabulous use of facial expressions. It was such a pleasure to see an artist without a mask who used their face to amplify the movement being shown. McCall was never over the top and still let the dancing speak for itself. Strong and musical, Phoenix was the perfect word for this solo. Just like the bird, she portrayed a strong, stable and expansive persona. 

After Phoenix, Alexandra Bradshaw-Yerby was welcomed back to her previous Ririe-Woodbury stage. As a previous member of the company, it was a joy to see her back in Salt Lake and performing a multi-layered solo. Alexandra was enticing to watch with her spirals, presence, and long lines. She encompasses all it means to be a performer, with a stage presence unlike any other. Even while facing away from the audience and stepping in rhythm to “Total Eclipse Of The Heart,” her performance radiated to us through her backspace. This eighties break was shown stripped down from the long sleeve jumpsuit she started in. It occurred with Alexandra in shorts and a pink sparkly top that was enhanced by the beautiful lighting. From the sparkly top, she then removed it to reveal a bra top before changing again to end in the jumpsuit she originally started in. Dear Jane showed us the different stages of life and how Alexandra personally dealt with things in life. The ending was a great conclusion to see her standing there in front and circling back around to her starting position, stating “This is who I am”. 

Lastly, we were blown away by the premiere of Kaleidoscope with this brand new cast. This geometric, clean and almost-dystopian ensemble took my breath away. It was a fabulous surprise from what I assumed this piece would be from the name of the title. In addition to previous performers from the first half of the show, we saw some of our favorite local dancers Jon Kim and Daniel Do join this fantastic team of movers. Rachel Barker and her cast were flawless with their use of props and keeping in sync with each other. As time went on, each dancer had their moment to break away from the unison and orders of the group to show who they are as a mover. They assisted each other with purpose and grace, throwing and lifting each other with care. Again, the music emphasized the movement and musicality was a beautiful highlight of the piece. Never missing a beat or step, it was obvious how much time and effort these dancers put into this piece. Overall, Kaleidoscope was the perfect ending to such a wonderful show. SuperWomen was a stunning show that is just a sliver of what Women Choreographers are doing in the dance world and how much support is shown for them in the Salt Lake community.

Alexis Guerrero is a BFA candidate in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and Spring 2022 loveDANCEmore intern.

Briefly Noted: A new immersive work by Oquirrh West

When we say immersive, what exactly do we mean? Is the term simply a catch-all? A trendy way of saying that the audience will perforce participate? Or that the stage will not be a stage? The supposed genre has been around long enough that perhaps it isn’t even trendy anymore. And of course there were many immersive performances before New York’s Sleep No More gave us the name. Installation art has been immersive for decades. Happenings were immersive in the sixties. Choreographers and theater-makers have long made work that required you to step inside and walk around.

As annoyed as I clearly am by the word immersive, I am very interested in the kinds of risks immersion requires of audiences and of creators.

Oquirrh West’s Nesting, which I viewed on March 26, invites us into a deconstructed dollhouse — bathroom, living room, kitchen, and bedroom — inside the black box at the Rose. There we meet a family of somewhat deranged women who’ve invited us to an eerily homespun birthday party. Feeling something of the subtle dread of getting on I-15 headed south during rush hour, I found myself thumbing through a notebook on a coffee table attended by a couch.

There I was remonstrated by performer Lo Morrison, whose “diary” I had unwittingly picked up. After my dressing down, Morrison gave my companion and I the lay of the land, explaining that it was her sister’s birthday and that we would find the event tiresome.

Despite her warning, part of a caricature of a sullen teen attitude, I wouldn’t call what ensued boring. Her blond sister, clearly an adult despite a clownish, saccharine demeanor, told us that she was turning eight. Another performer, dressed in more boyishly, fell into a werewolfish spell and attacked the mother (or another sister?) and dance-ravished her on an empty bed. Each viewer had their own list of such images to remember, depending on where they wandered throughout the show. In the end, we were all drawn back to a final slow-motion cake-fight, which tipped into action just as the dysfunctional family was posed for a perfect photograph that wasn’t to be.

Oquirrh West press image.

I kept asking myself how this was all supposed to land. Was it supposed to comment on the restless lives of the suburban denizens of surrounding counties? What was being said about femininity — for adults or for children?

Although I never satisfied these questions, there were moments of real fun and legitimately interesting confusion. Morrison’s performance in particular had a depth and presence that wasn’t always matched by the larger design. I remember the careful, persistent way she drew five or six of us audience members — strangers to each other — into a game of Truth or Dare. She seemed to know where she was going, but she can’t have known exactly how she was going to take us there.

Samuel Hanson is the editor and executive director of loveDANCEmore.

SALT's Spring Season

The beautiful hallways at Mid-Valley Performing Arts Center were filled with the pre-show buzz of an eager audience on the opening night of SALT Contemporary Dance’s Spring 9. My usual excitement was heightened by the fact that the show featured three world premieres, with works by distinguished contemporary choreographers Micaela Taylor, Olivier Wevers, and SALT’s Artistic Director, Joni McDonald. The show program did not include descriptions of each piece, leaving the task of interpretation fully up to audience members.

Following SALT president Michelle Nielson’s signature statement of welcome, Spring 9 began with Joni McDonald’s The Quality Of. The curtains opened to a stunning, regal image of all the dancers moving through various poses. The balletic, classical music accompanied the technical, lofty movement of the dancers beautifully. The female dancers wore billowing, pastel-colored dresses and all the dancers had beaming smiles on their faces, resulting in an unexpectedly light tone, different than we often see from SALT. The Quality Of was, however, filled with the incredible physicality, spaciousness, technical skill, and seamless partnering SALT is known for. The partner work in this piece felt playful, likely reflecting the process through which it was created. Within the larger-than-life movement floating across the stage, there were moments of viscous stillness that dynamically anchored the piece. The Quality Of did not invite a need to follow a storyline or interpret meaning, but instead left audience members to witness and appreciate what the title implies; The Quality Of the playfulness and grandeur of McDonald’s choreography and The Quality Of the joy and skill of the SALT dancers. 

SALT Dance press photo. Dancers arrange their arms in a stacked shape while sporting a variety of yellow tones.

Heavy music, dim lighting and intricate group work made for an immediate shift in tone when the curtains opened to Micaela Taylor’s Feather, the second work of the evening. The backdrop was lifted for this piece, revealing a barely-lit brick wall that opened up the space. The simplicity of knee-length black skirts paired with white turtlenecks allowed the movement to speak for itself. Taylor’s signature style, featuring nuanced head movements, gestures, and extreme, intricate facial expressions, was executed beautifully by the SALT dancers. It was refreshing to see the company moving as a whole with such impressive cohesiveness and attention to detail. The momentum of the quick movement was paused with satisfying moments of loud breaths, coughing sounds, percussive hands, and humming coming from the dancers. These moments of sound were captivating in their abstractness and paired beautifully with the peculiar, unexpected facial expressions used throughout the work. Both the sound and the expressive faces cultivated a sense of raw emotion that did not follow a linear story, but pulled me into the humanness of each dancer. As the momentum of the piece built, the audience witnessed the stunning result of Taylor’s exploration of groove in a contemporary work such as this. Feather ended abruptly with the lights dimming while the movement continued, this left me longing for some semblance of closure. 

The Right Time to Let Go, choreographed by Olivier Wevers was a beautiful, tender ending to the show. The lifted wings dramatically opened up the stage, a satisfying choice for the closing piece. The work began with a similar ominous tone to the previous piece, with an amoeba of dancers dressed in black, and a heap of neon yellow heels on the other side of the stage. The dancers eventually wore the heels, and their contemporary movement in them felt abstract and out of place in an intentional way. The Right Time to Let Go was the first time in the show that the dancers truly saw one another. There were moments of struggle and confrontation between them, but the interactions became more tender and nurturing as the piece progressed. One by one, the dancers spoke beautiful, hopeful, heartbreaking, and very personal statements into the microphone set at the back of the stage. This went on throughout the piece and opened up an emotionally vulnerable avenue rarely seen so directly in concert dance. The combination of fluid movement, emotional speaking, and the dancers witnessing one another revealed a more tender side of SALT than I have seen before. The captivating, emotional words of Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese played toward the end of the piece, as dancers Myles Tracy and Aubry Mason danced a skillful, intimate duet. I was amazed by their capacity to move with such expansive physicality while maintaining the intense vulnerability that had been infused in the entirety of the piece. The curtains closed on this beautiful duet, and The Right Time to Let Go left me feeling deeply connected to all of the SALT dancers who shared their hearts in Spring 9. 

As we stood and cheered for the beautiful work of SALT Contemporary Dance, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the arts community of Salt Lake City. As SALT president Michelle Nielson expressed at the opening of Spring 9, art like this is deeply special and important, and it takes each of our support and creativity to make this community what it is.

Elle Taylor is a BFA candidate at the University of Utah’s School of Dance.

RDT and 801 Salon highlight local choreographers

This week I took in two very different performances — one viewed online and filmed at the Rose Wagner, the other in-person at a tiny converted storefront. Both showcased emerging local choreographers.

RDT’s Emerge: Sounds Familiar, took American music from the thirties and forties as its inspiration. A mixture of works set on the company, on dancers from Utah Valley University and on kids taught in studio programs by company dancers, this evening is available to view through March 6.

801 Salon’s sixth edition, at the Vis storefront at 800 South and 800 East, featured solos by Meredith Wilde, Haley Stassia, Nina Wilson, Joey Anderson and Rachel Andes. My personal favorite was Andes’ My left or yours, which made clever use of the tiny allotted space and two built-in mirrors that faced the audience. The opening image, in which she writhed under the projected image of an egg breaking against her body, was followed up by footage in which the projector, shifted to face a corner, explored a nose and mouth at close quarters. Andes’ dancing, to music by Aretha Franklin, seemed to relate to the song’s narrative of a woman trying to please a man, without being tethered to it completely. The result brought up interesting questions about the intimacy of being in such a small space and the complicity of the audience in piecing together a narrative.

Where the salon offered youthful exploration, RDT’s output in Sounds Familiar gave us artists who’d been committed to their stylistic grooves for a bit longer. I was interested to see how Kareem Lewis’s solo, Nascent, put me in mind of other roles he’s performed, such as “Pegasus” from José Limón’s The Winged. Jonathan Kim’s work After Record End took the nostalgic trope of the evening’s theme and turned it on its head, using the maudlin music of the Ray Noble Orchestra to craft a surprising work of horror that borrowed images from René Magritte.

Jonathan Kim and guest dancer Ruby Cabbell in Kim’s After Record End.

I found myself considering how both experiences were differently shaped by the pandemic. In RDT’s case, a move had been made to draw in resources from other parts of the community to keep the theater and all of its moving parts employed, even as the company made the difficult decision not to perform during the height of the Omicron surge. (The performance was originally scheduled for January.) The salon made me think about how desperately artists, particularly young ones, need opportunities to put work in front of people frequently in order to grow.

I think we’re far away from any answers about what, if any, discernible aesthetic trends will emerge from the pandemic. I see some possible answers in films I’ve seen online, like Jasmine Hearn’s video work that I mentioned in a past newsletter, which felt like a sort of organized diary of a year or more of rehearsing and directing rehearsal — masked and remotely — with no real end point in sight. Somehow the meandering quality of their film hinted at an acceptance of our ambiguous situation that I haven’t really been able to internalize.

The salon and RDT’s Sounds Familiar didn’t feel that way to me, and I don’t mean that as a critique. As interesting as it is to consider how dance might change because of this moment, it’s equally heartening to see dance persevering in spite of it.

Samuel Hanson is the editor and executive director of loveDANCEmore.

Ananya Dance Theatre visits Utah

Friday, February 11 at Kingsbury Hall, Ananya Dance Theatre performed Dastak. 

The playbill summarizes Dastak as “a meditation on borders, loss, belonging, home, and liberation. Structured through four elemental journeys — Earth, Water, Fire, and Air — the work traces the knockings (dastak, in Farsi) of global injustices on our hearts, and echoes the subtitle created by writer Sharon Bridgforth – I Wish You Me – indicating the cross-generational love that has carried communities through difficult migrations. Dastak invites viewers to imagine what freedom is possible as it expands the realms of intention and trans-dimensional connection through spells that invoke rest, forgiveness, love, and freedom.”

Ananya Dance Theatre is a company entirely made of of BIPOC women and femme artists and their presence on stage was extraordinary. Both the dance and the score was inspired by many multi-layered histories, ancestries, and influences, and it was made for the BIPOC women and femmes both performing and witnessing it. Spirit McIntyre specifically acknowledged the influence of Farsi and Hindi in the sound score. Ananya Chatterjea had a special dedication for her performance. She said, “My solo is dedicated to so many women and femmes from marginalized communities, especially those who have suffered so much torture in state custody. Lal salaam in particular to Soni Sori, Safoora Zargar, Gulfisha Fatima, Nodeep Kaur, and many unnamed others: I dedicate my fire to you.”

Images courtesy of UtahPresents.

The raw power coming from the performers was so exciting, it was hard to not get swept up in the movement. But there were so many things to appreciate about the production. They had pieces flying in from the fly rail, they had projections, consume changes, and props. And they had a live musician interacting with the sound score as well as living inside the performance. I felt like I was on a ride for the entirety of “Water.” It felt like it was happening to me instead of me actually watching it from a distance. The first two movements were performed by almost the entire cast on stage performing together as a community. They would flow from unison sharp movements to traveling steps and rhythmic stamping of the feet as they moved. The flow washed over me and I was transported to a world that was both new and familiar. The dance almost felt like it was happening to me instead of being something I was actually watching from a distance.

And then I was snapped out of my trance as “Fire” began with a fierce solo by Chatterjea. She managed to command the huge space of Kingsbury with her presence. Another striking moment was a sensual trio between three women. They weaved in and out of each other. Sometimes it seemed there were only two people instead of three, and then they would unfold and pause in still life poses. It was a beautiful dynamic and it was performed to an equally beautiful song, the lyrics making explicit the ways in which the performers asked each other to “light my fire.”

Chatterjea herself performing.

The dance closed with “Air.” This was the part that stuck with me. I wanted to buy tickets for the next night to see this section again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The dancers all came on with props and it seemed to be a huge celebration and also to be reminiscent of an offering of some kind. The musician was singing to the dancing group. They called to them, while the lyrics in the recorded music seemed to be both echoing that call as well as coming from within the dancers themselves. At one point the entire cast was moving so powerfully to the sound of someone repeating, “I am sacred ground.” That was so visceral. It was empowering and freeing all the way to my bones. The dance kept building and the dancers shifted from quartets to trios and they tossed props back and forth to each other, then placed them in a small altar down stage. The singing shifted to the subtitle’s song “I Wish You Me,” which was a loving farewell. The dance became gentler and more enchanting. The projection was a beautiful collage of stars in the night sky and falling rose petals. The dancers kept moving past the end of the dance, and the lights faded until they were just silhouettes against a starry sky. It was so beautiful and raw I felt sad. 

If I ever get the chance to witness Dastak again, I will definitely be taking it. It reminded me of my roots in classical modern dance in the narrative structure, but it was so enriched by all the different styles, the different people performing, and the magnificent sound score. 

arin lynn is an artist and stage tech in Salt Lake City.