IAC tells new stories at Fringe

Interdisciplinary Arts Collective’s performance of Bedtime Stories at Great Salt Lake Fringe Fest definitely lived up to their company's title, drawing from a variety of different mediums. We saw quite a lot of gestural contemporary dance and heard abstracted stories in minimalist, deconstructed theatrical sets. Segments included costume design, masks, spoken word, vocals (was that singer opera trained?), sparse lighting design, video montage edited from existing films, a sweet little bit of live music, and a sculptural installation. I’m pretty sure I glimpsed a phrase of ballet. Even the projected chapter titles were themselves tiny little poems. 

Photo by James Westervelt.

In keeping with the micro-doses of many different art forms, the show was highly episodic. Bedtime Stories was divided into twelve chapters, each giving us just a snapshot of a classic Grimm’s style fairy tale, some familiar, others less so. These short segments gave my mind the opportunity to try to distill the whole genre of European folks tales down to their essential elements. Here’s what I came to, with Bedtime Stories’ depiction: 

“Watch out!” 

“Danger!” 

“Listen to your elders (who will tell you of danger).” 

“Trees are magic; Forests are nefarious (more danger).” 

“Creepy creatures gonna creep (possible danger).”

“Don’t lose your way (probable danger).”

“But really, open yourself up to connection, human and otherwise. Listen to the breeze and the birds and see if you can find yourself an earnest companion to share this moment with because your judgment isn't all that bad after all.“

Photo by James Westervelt.

Bedtime Stories' episodes included some really magical moments: a trio of hissing, whispering masked mystery, some wonderfully seamless partnering and lifts, Gray’s ode to the woods — SLAM style, a tenderness between two male-presenting dancers that made me forget I was watching choreography for a moment, obscured creatures tunneling through the stage under the watchful beak of some sort of witch, the opening set with a dancer splayed out as if having only just given up trying to wriggle out of the spider web they had been caught in, and the moment two dancers reveal their mouths to be lit from within. One of my companions for the night particularly liked the group dance sections because they had the unifying effect of making the cast come together and flow together for a brief time. My other companion enjoyed how everything was titrated — a few elements sprinkled in at a time so that after the cast spent three minutes deciding whether to go through a doorway. You had no idea who would stand on their head, and for how long (I didn’t count) and whether you’d see a rock band or piccolo next (neither, but I wouldn’t have put it past them). 

Ultimately however, I wished for more depth and less breadth. I felt like I was back in a 101 survey-style course, wanting to ask fifty thousand questions about today’s topic and being disappointed that we were so swiftly moving on to the next subject. Any one of those moments that caught my attention could have been the starting point for its own magical tale. I’d like to see what happens when these artists create their own fairy tale, rather than summarizing existing ones. What do they think is important to include in a cautionary tale to scare children (and all of us) into doing right? I’d like to see their individual mediums crash into each other and meld and argue and come out the other side transformed, because this company does seem to have the capacity for story.

Nancy Simpson Carter is a dancer, aerialist, choreographer, body worker, and movement researcher from North Carolina based in Salt Lake City, Utah. Currently she is in her seventh season teaching and performing with Aerial Arts of Utah. She also runs her own business, Rumble Motion Massage and Movement. In addition, she performs with Fire Muse Circus and organizes in the Contact Improvisation and Acro Yoga communities. Nancy’s choreography has been performed most notably at TEDx Salt Lake City, the Rose Wagner Theater, the Great Salt Lake Fringe Festival, Westminster Collage, Sugar Space Studio for the Arts, the University of Utah, Meredith College, the American College Dance Festival, NC Dance Alliance, and the American Dance Festival. Nancy has served as guest choreographer for Meredith Dance Theater and Broughton High School, and currently choreographs student repertory, Acro Yoga, and company acts for Aerial Arts of Utah.

A new playground for dance

On July 22, 2023, I had the pleasure of watching the community come together and showcase a wonderful collection of pieces. True to the show's title name, Playground, I could see the choreographers and dancers playing with their ideas for this project. From the rainbow cloud that transformed to the fabric flowing river, to the dramatic operatic piece, I was kept engaged and excited to see what else these artists had to give the audience.

As stated before the show started, Playground was designed with the intention to start and finish the artistic process in a week. On top of that, choreographers were inclined to choose dancers they haven’t worked with before. While watching the performance, I wouldn’t have guessed some of these folks met for the first time during this process. The amount of trust these dancers have in the process is clear. The performers were free to commit to the dances, while feeling secure that their group has each other. This is truly highlighted for me in Tori Meyer’s piece, Ode to Kenneth. While setting the mood for this piece, the dancers had this “too cool for school” attitude while trying to play a recorder with three people. It was silly and wonderful. Doing silly things on stage can be stressful if you’re not comfortable; however, the attitude and commitment of these dancers had made this piece so much fun to watch.

Photo by Florian Alberge.

Fun – that is the biggest take away I can say about watching this collection as a whole. Exciting moments like those in Tyler Schnese’s piece, Venus in Pink, and Rebekah Guerra’s piece, que vas-tu faire?, kept my senses alive. I thought, “Wow, this is exciting! I need to know what happens next.” While softer, magical moments appeared as well - like how much the tearing of the paper screen added visually and audibly in Lehua Estrada’s piece, O-Six. The show made me excited to see what else these artists can give to our community and inspired me for my own creative projects.

To continue supporting more shows like this, please continue to watch these artists. The creative team of Playground made it easy to access the performer’s and choreographer’s information on their instagram, @playground_danceproject. This is where you can take a deeper dive into the community and support the contribution they give in our Small Lake City.

Edison Corvera (they/them) is currently a queer Filipinx performer living around the SLC area. They attended Southern Utah University and studied theater arts and dance performance. Since moving to the Salt Lake area, Edison has worked with Myriad Dance, Ogden Movement Collective, and SONDERimmersive. Whatever artistry they find, Edison hopes to continue to find ways to implement their art with the community around them.

801 Salon explores a new space

801 Salon continues to grow and evolve. From its humble beginnings at Vis, an eyewear store on 800 East, the event leapt into a new space — Church and State, a converted church across from the Main Library downtown — and announced Saturday, May 20, at its most recent edition, that it had acquired non-profit status. From one non-profit to another, congratulations!

Like many of our past and current programs, 801 has blurred the line between work-in-progress and finished work for a non-traditional setting. This show tipped to the latter, but it benefited from the charm and shape of Church and State, which is a large, homey space full of comfy seating and lit with Christmas lights.

The cast of The Rate We Change.

I had seen Kellie St. Pierre’s piece The Rate We Change before at the MFA show at the University of Utah. The work makes use of a spinning circular platform which the performers keep turning continuously throughout the duration of the action. I liked this piece in its original environment, where the platform disappeared into the black void of the theater, but I was surprised that I liked it even more in this intimate setting where I could see the dancers sweat and struggle to mount and dismount, like a hungry pack of youths sharing a single, spinning skateboard. Jessica Boone, whose presence on and off the disc radiates a warm calm, was particularly striking in this work.

My other favorite of the evening was a solo by Stephanie García, which explored what it means to be homesick, in her case for Mexico City. (Parenthetically, although I can’t claim it as my home, I might be willing to agree with Stephanie that Mexico City is the greatest city in the world.) I am consistently impressed by Stephanie’s range and depth as performer. She began behind us on the balcony, speaker in hand, and took the whole audience out dancing with her in a wave of nostalgia for the metropolis that segued seemly into a monologue, in which she hilariously left her heart (an actual wooden prop, gaudily painted in graphic detail) in the hands of an audience member. Stephanie pulls things off that are hard to explain, let alone imagine someone else succeeding at. There was a long mimetic sequence near the end of this piece in which she seemed to traverse every emotion and (nearly) every absurd encounter she’s experienced since moving here. In the hands of another performer, it might have been a mess. Stephanie made it somehow sublime.

Samuel Hanson is the executive director of loveDANCEmore.

Briefly Noted: Four women making work in SLC

I continue to be struck by the quantity and quality of work being made week-to-week in our community in small spaces and on shoestring budgets. A couple weekends ago I took in Anhad: Beyond Limitations at the Regent Street Black Box. The evening was the latest offering of ChitraKaavya Dance founder Srilatha Singh, who specializes in Bharatanatyam, and Sonali Loomba, who in this production performs Kathak.

I am consistently impressed by the savvy with which these two performers bring these genres to the general public. I’m not an expert in either of these forms, but I feel that I learn a little more each time I see one of their performances, which are always stunningly well-rehearsed and executed with a deft sense of musicality. I’ve seen less of Loompa’s work, and this presentation offered her ample opportunities as a performer to wow the audience with spectacular turns, punctuated by twists of wrists and fingers that seemed to gouge new cardinal directions into the very air in which she revolved.

That same weekend, I’d also caught another 801 Salon at the Vis eyeglasses studio, produced by local choreographer Roxanne Gray. The evening featured short pieces by five choreographers. I was particularly impressed by a solo by Rebekah Guerra and a duet but Sam Stone. Stone and her partner seemed to be exploring a charged space somewhere between contact improvisation and choreographed stillness, somewhat reminiscent of the recent trend toward using sculpture and figurative monuments as inspiration or provocation. Guerra’s study, One Step in Time, which mostly consisted of her crawling slowly on her elbows and knees, was physically discomfiting to watch, but also mesmerizingly beautiful.

I hope to see more from all four of these talented women here in Salt Lake City in the years to come.

Samuel Hanson is the executive director of loveDANCEmore.

Here and now with Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company

Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s show HERE TODAY played January 12-14 at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center in downtown Salt Lake. The performance featured an engaging, diverse program of work from three choreographers – Raja Feather Kelly, Molly Heller, and Charles O. Anderson.

The evening opened with a premiere by local choreographer Molly Heller. Her group Heartland Collective collaborated with Ririe-Woodbury in 2020 on the screendance Full View, and her new piece for this concert, Long View, was a reengagement with the same visual language (made distinctive by the film’s setting in a room painted entirely, delightfully green). Heller’s work likes to play with bright colors, bodies pulsing through ostinatos, and a studiously blank affect interrupted by moments when these colorful fractals suddenly kaleidoscope open to reveal something expansive and emotional before spinning and fracturing back again. Her willingness to wait for that opening, to keep us in the pulse for long enough before finally letting the beat drop, was what gave this work its strength. Long View’s first movement, an extended sequence with a cluster of bodies rocking under the light of a glowing cloud, was delicious to sit inside of for as long as we did. When the dancers finally asked us to sit with them again at the end of the piece, the green furniture from Full View had appeared onstage and they took their places among it with that same sense of patience mixed with wonder as the beginning. It wasn’t a return to the past, but something more fluid and recursive. Full View was a strict container of a piece, the camera recording a single room that filled with bodies like a microscope filling with a single slide. Long View was a telescope, less interested in the container of space than the channel of time.

The second piece of the evening was a restaging of Charles O. Anderson’s Rites: Come As You Are, featuring a strong showing by dancers from Westminster College. It was a spell cast for future equity and freedom, and it was an elegy for past and present injustices. The white costumes, gentle haze, and video projection (a favorite element of mine in the way it moved from swirls of mist to strident lines of text) set a simple stage for highlighting the work. Anderson’s movement was grounded in African Diasporic vocabulary, and his choreography swayed between long, lithe cascades of movement and sharp syncopations in large groups, illuminated by bright individual moments of stillness. It was a dance performed in circles: structural, rhythmic, kinesthetic, and thematic. A particularly evocative moment came when a circle formation returned about two-thirds of the way through the piece, this time as a half-circle that now required the audience to complete it. Anderson, in his exploration of racial justice and his own experiences as a Black artist, made a piece about synecdoche – how the whole can stand for the part and a part for the whole, and how these processes of identity and unity are manifestations of power. The rites and rituals in this dance took many forms – incantatory, celebratory, lamentory, oratory. It asked us to consider the ways in which solidarity too can take many forms: as witness, as action, as unison, as polyrhythm.

HERE TODAY ended with a premiere by Brooklyn-based choreographer Raja Feather Kelly. Scenes for an Ending was a maximalist delight – full of stormy weather, thick smoke, pulsing pop music, and flickering lights. Kelly assured us in the program notes that “whatever you see is real – it’s actually happening.” The piece tessellated whip fast through moments of tenderness, violence, play, fantasy, and tragedy. It was so successful because it was able to hold that kind of multiplicity, to channel its fluidity in an evocation of gender, power, relationships, and perception. An early duet between Peter Farrow and Fausto Rivera was a dizzying collision of bodies that at turns wrestled and caressed each other – a scene that was so absolutely stunning it threatened to overwhelm the rest of the piece. It found its necessary counterpoint near the end of the piece, when Alexander Pham twice took a surreal, slow descent to the floor, face uplifted and fingers curling inward in a sort of rushing stillness that felt exactly like love. There was a taste of the mythic in each of HERE TODAY’s dances: time-travel, incantation, and transfiguration. But each were grounded in a very human connection to the body, the way it moves and touches, and what it owes and is owed by the world around it. Where the show might have faltered, it did so by an unfortunate confluence of programming. Sitting through three long, multi-movement pieces (two of them scored by the same composer) that each featured slow walking and some sort of individual moving against the backdrop of a group unison proved difficult at times. But where the show excelled, and it did, it was with startling grace – a trust in the next moment to get us where we needed to go and a kindness towards the past moment, faults and all. It was an evening that wasn’t afraid to sit and wait when it needed to, and it also wasn’t afraid to throw itself headlong into whatever came next.

Indigo Cook is a multi-disciplinary artist in Salt Lake City.