Flamenco at Westminster

This past weekend, the Florence J. Gillmore School of Music at Westminster University presented A’Lante Flameco, a company based out of Ausitn Texas run by Isai and Olivia Chacon. This particular show was called Amor Flamenco, and was a love letter to flamenco. Oliva Chacon, originally from Texas, the artistic director, choreographer, and dancer, has been immersed in flamenco for twenty years, and spent five years studying and performing in Seville and Madrid, Spain, places that have rich flamenco history. Isai Chacon, the musical director, singer and guitarist, is originally from Mexico, but also lived for a time in Madrid, Spain accompanying many of the world’s best flamenco artists. 

Photo by Doug Carter.

I am hardly well-versed in the world of flamenco, however I did spend a year in college living in Granada, Spain, which is another epicenter for this art form. I took flamenco dance lessons while I was there, and fell in love with the passion, intensity, and musical complexity of this form. I will never forget watching my first performance; I sat front and center in an outdoor venue, unable to take a full breath the entire night. I was utterly transfixed, and so was then curious how I would feel twenty five years later, sitting in Salt Lake City, Utah watching flamenco. For me, it was equally as powerful, and this was a well programmed performance showcasing talent, artistic maturity, and a range of human emotion.

The first piece of the night, Ni de Aqui, Ni de Alla combined musical influences from Mexico, Cuba, and Spain, which spoke about the various cultural identities represented, and what it means to belong and honor immigrant stories. When vocalist Celia Corrales Sellers began singing it was impossible to not feel the sadness that can arise from complex situations, whether they be lost love, displacement, or mortality. The dancers added to the musical landscape by clapping and hitting their bodies, in between the rhythms  created by their feet and the swirling and twisting of their torsos. They created a beautiful community on the stage, each performer seamlessly going in and out of the spotlight, like a long braid being formed before our eyes.

In Cuando Yo Me Muera, Sofia Hurtado dances the somber seguiriya using the manton de Manila, which is an ornate shawl. She twists and turns with the fringed fabric, creating movement trails and pathways that long surpass her own limbs. Her facial expressions are serious and at times pained, which is common to see in this form where it feels like the audience is gifted a glimpse into the performer's deep emotional, and more often than not, sad storytelling.   

Spain, composed by Chick Corea and Paseando por La Havana (Guajiras), choreographed by Bianca Rodiguez and arranged musically by Isai Chacon and Jose Manuel Tejeda, both explore lighter experiences of the human condition. Rodriguez coyly incorporates a fan, and playfully dances around herself, the fan opening, closing and obscuring various parts of her body in conjunction to the beats of the music.

In the final piece of the night, Hacia la Mar la Vela (Cantinas) Olivia Chacon dances one of the most popular styles of flamenco, which is the Alegrias de Cadiz. She dances with her bata de cola, which is a long ruffled red train. It extends several yards behind her, creating a visual of red waves lapping against the shore. When she wants to display her footwork, the zapateado, she gathers up the train in one hand and throws it over her shoulder, like a backpack. The long train is her partner, giving more visual interest to the dance, and also creating logistics to explore and solve. This piece was a wonderful ending to a wonderful night, and what a treat it was for Salt Lake to be visited by this company.

Erica Womack is a Salt Lake City-based dance educator and choreographer.

Victor Quijada brings a pleasing mixed-bill to Kingsbury

A thirteen year old, a forty-three year old, and a seventy-three year old walk into Kingsbury Hall to watch UtahPresents host Rubberband Vic’s Mix, a compilation of Victor Quijada’s works. Can this concert please all of these ladies from very different generations? The answer is a resounding yes! This was a fantastic evening of dance, and my mom, my daughter and I all left the theatre energized, excitedly talking about the show. We had that post show buzz, the distinct feeling of knowing that you were a part of something special, that you witnessed other humans in a creative, elevated state. In this scenario it was a company of seven athletic dancers performing a choreographic style that blends hip hop and contemporary dance with classical music. Quijada opened the show introducing himself and his journey, he grew up in Los Angeles and was swept up in hip hop culture. That was his first exposure to dance, and he found it empowering. When he was later introduced to modern dance and ballet, he felt he had to choose a direction. He chose the latter, and had a successful career with Rudy Perez and Twyla Tharp. He eventually moved to Canada and started to develop the Rubberband Method, which explores the combination of urban pop and classical composition. The first section of works were choreographed between 2002 and 2005, and showcased the beginning of his movement vocabulary. The second half of the night, choreographed between 2006 and 2014, relied on this established language to go beyond movement exploration and say something more.    

Secret Service, the opening section, uses Sergei Prokofiev's iconic score that is also used in the classical ballet Romeo and Juliet during the Dance of the Knights. I have always loved this section of the ballet, it’s a menacing line dance showcasing ornate costuming, strict family order, and tradition. Quijada’s version matches the intensity of the music with full-bodied movement, the dancers urgently moving in and out of the floor with recognizable moves from hip hop. They’re clad in pedestrian clothes and boots, and the classical score often offers a feeling of vulnerability that the athletic movement sometimes lacks.

In the following section, Meditations, with music from Jasper Gahunia, we see partner work, which is not something you often find in hip hop. Men sharing weight with women and vice versa, various body parts used as levers and fulcrums, liquid spines — these are all traditions within contact improvisation. 

Photo by Bill Herbert, courtesy of UtahPresents.

Mi Verano, with music from Antonio Vivaldi, has delightful musicality with moments of laugh out loud playfulness. Towards the end of the work, two men hold up the two women in a sustained lift, and when they put them down they rub their backs, with exaggerated expressions of exhaustion and pain. It was all perfectly musical, and reminded me of a hip hop version of a Mark Morris piece. As soon as it ended I wished I could rewatch it from the beginning. 

Photo by Michael Slobodian, courtesy of UtahPresents.

In Second Coming, we once again see Quijada’s sense of play and humor as three dancers fight over whose turn it is to begin their solo. They clarify with the sound booth how their solo starts, and it all develops into an entertaining trio of the blended music of Beethoven, Paganini, and Bach. The three dancers' personalities collide alongside their movements, and they bring new theatrics and complexity to the traditional dance battle.  

The night ended with a dance circle, complete with Quijada taking his turn to the delight of the audience. It was an appropriate nod to his upbringing, and further highlighted that social dance forms have what concert dance sometimes lacks: fun, community, and a groovy good time. That being said this show wove all these aspects seamlessly throughout the night, including artistic and choreographic excellence.  

Erica Womack is a Salt Lake City-based dance educator and choreographer.

Ririe-Woodbury presents Kellie St. Pierre, jo Blake and Raja Feather Kelly

Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s RE-MIX performance captivated audiences from beginning to end, demonstrating strength during times of tumultuousness. The winter performance at the Rose Wagner Theatre ran to sold out crowds.The show consisted of three works, Scenes for an Ending choreographed by Raja Feather Kelly, coincidental, coincidences choreographed by jo Blake, and The Rate We Change choreographed by Kellie St. Pierre. 

Scenes for an Ending opened the show. The stage lights revealed the company dancers laying across the stage sandwiched between LED light panels. The dancers wore tennis shoes, shorts, and jeans, appearing as if they were abruptly pulled from outside the theater. A stunning musical score by Emily Wells accompanied the dancers as they transitioned into increasingly largel movement. Kelly, the choreographer, described the piece as “a love letter to the past,” a work that “is and is not dance.” Moments of intense physicality were contrasted by overt tenderness. Duets depicted relationships of strife and ease with forced pulling and cautious holding happening in close succession. Sections of unison held the power generated by the friction of subtle differences between each dancer as they broke out of the cyclical steps. I found a dream-like quality to the movement despite its intensity. Fausto Rivera and Luke Dakota performed a duet that left audiences on the edge of their seat, wishing both to lean in and back away from each moment between the dancers. In an impactful sequence near the end, dancers would abruptly lead each other to the ground with an initial jolt followed by care to protect their person. I find myself continuing to relive moments of the piece.

The second work was titled coincidental, coincidences. This work choreographed by jo Blake was paired with an original score from Trevor Price, a Salt Lake City composer. The expanse and groundedness of the movement was striking. Projections of natural environments appeared on the scrim molding an environment that the company and audience began to feel immersed in. One particular gesture, the circling of a straight arm, stuck with me. The sweeping yet angular arm movements reminded me of a clock. In times of uncertainty, the visual felt all the more powerful as it was urgent yet fluid. The piece split the companies into two trios for long movement phrases and partnering. Standout moments appear from dancers Megan McCarthy and Sasha Rydlizky who had the most beautiful leg movements dispersed between their work within the trios; legs poking through and above the other dancers. The precise nature of those movements again reminded me of hands on a wall clock. The groups themselves were separated by space but occurring at the same time, metaphoric of the lived experiences that can mirror and repeat. There was a weight to the piece, but a hope that was conveyed through the movement and spoken word incorporated in the work. The piece left me with a sense of wonder and determination, leading audiences into intermission. 

The final work, The Rate We Change was paired with an original score from Salt Lake composer Daniel Clifton. St. Pierre described the work as inspired by “the effect of ongoingness”. The work featured a prop, a spinning circular platform manned by the dancers. Lighting remained isolated to the prop and those within its vicinity. A whirlwind erupted on stage with constant motion and the changing of shapes, qualities, and speeds. I was shocked by the pure risk of the dancers as they jumped on and off the moving platform with dual caution and abandonment. Further ingenuity was employed by how the dancers kept the prop in motion, some utilizing their hands, their feet, or the force of jumping on and off the prop. Miché Smith holds a presence during performances that felt even further amplified on the spinning prop showcasing both strength and fluidity. Nick Elizondo shocked audiences with his particularly fearless quality, at one point flipping off of the spinning platform. Clifton’s track maintained an intensity that matched the piece, the score mimicking a ticking clock. I found the noise of the platform intriguing as well, at some points you could not tell what was being produced by the sound score or by the motion of the prop. It felt like an experience rather than a performance.

I found the RE-MIX show to be excellent. There is something special about the stage presence and conviction of Ririe-Woodbury company members. Every dancer brings an energy and commitment that stands on its own while aiding to the collective strength of the company. Choices feel deliberate and lived in, truly a wonderful experience to witness as an audience member. 

Allison Shafter is the 2024-25 loveDANCEmore intern.

Fem Dance's latest produces four new works

Fem Dance Company prioritizes “providing professional opportunities for women dancers and choreographers in our community.” In its recent Tetrad, held in the Regent Street Blackbox, the company sources company members from the community to perform and choreograph, producing a straightforward night of dance. Tetrad was a fitting name for the show — it’s a collection of four separate elements that make a whole — four works showcased together to make an evening. For the majority of the company, fresh out of school, Tetrad would be an excellent resume builder. Fem’s mission, giving emerging artists professional opportunities, was clearly demonstrated and upheld.

Maybe We Land exhibits the athletic abilities of two soloists and the power of three. This first piece utilized superficial changes in lighting (harsh white light to warm glow), and in number of dancers (solo to duet to trio). Moments of synchronicity were pleasing aesthetically, dancers moving together and laying on each other. As the house lights came up however, I wondered why Maybe We Land was choreographed in the first place. The show notes dedicated the work “to those who put our pieces back together.” Perhaps this theme was to be seen in the group lifts and swooping group choreography. But the internal struggles of each dancer were kept private behind the fourth wall, and the dancers did not appear to share these struggles with each other either. Yes, there was angst and isolation, but the audience was left craving additional vulnerability through human gestures, not just contemporary choreography.

Five dancers take the stage for Swan Song. Two soloists have their respective moments, stretching to their edges and collapsing back suddenly to their center. Movements becoming manic, the flock dramatically “flaps” through the space. The iconic dying swan music beckons forth another solo, and as she succumbs to death, the flock falls with her. They all end in the familiar pose: head on the floor, legs bent beneath in a compressed pigeon, arms curved to the side. This derivative translation of this classic idea, however beautiful to watch, was lackluster. If the intention was to make a piece about swans, it was well executed in overall arc and conclusion, with familiar motifs and music. If the intent was to create a new take on a vintage work, the piece would benefit from nuance when it comes to spiritual portrayal. One approach might have been to depict the journey of a swan becoming a human, as a coming of age story...  

Fem’s third work, Of the Sea, is inspired by the ancient myth of sirens. According to the show program, the dancers are expressing the characteristics and powers of sirens in this work. Intense and driving, this cast listens to one another closely as the gestures demand precision. The transitions of formation and the composition of movement dynamics were impressive, demonstrated through the diligent efforts of the performers. While the performance itself was polished, the themes written clearly in the program did not translate to the stage. To be clear, the issue does not lie in the choreography itself. The dancers’ facial expressions and dramatic portrayal of their siren characters remained the same throughout the entire piece. If it had not been for the program, my friend and I would not have known it was about sirens. Be purposefully seductive, command the ocean, drown a man onstage! Let the imagination run wild. The foundation of the choreography is solid, now let’s see what happens when dancers are pushed to act.

Ending on a high note, Merde brings the whole company onstage. Smiles from company members dot the intimate space as we are swept into a pleasing conclusion. With lots happening onstage, there is a generous helping of dance to behold in Tetrad’s conclusion. Giving every last ounce of effort, dancers prove their tenacity after dancing in back to back works all evening. Celebratory, the company moves as one body, riding the music effectively with potent accents in the arms and legs.  The ensemble was a synergistic conclusion to an abstract disjointed show.

Producing a show takes focused, sustained effort over time. I commend this brave company for staying true to their mission. Choreographing and performing in one show is exhausting and demands sacrifices of time, creativity, and energy. This effort has not gone unnoticed by peers and supporters alike. As a reviewer and independent artist, my mission is to provide honest, in depth feedback. This is a service to the community as a whole, as we keep each other accountable when embarking on vulnerable, creative expressions such as concert dance. I would like to draw attention to two items: Audience engagement and the mission of the company.

There is a difference between choreography and art. A key characteristic of art is that the viewer can draw something — emotion, message, quality — from the object presented. Choreography on its own is purely a sequence of movement. What makes choreography an art is the intention we interlace between the steps. This can be as simple as telling a story, or dancing like a siren. Placing complex choreographic phrases onstage without ensuring that the product is relatable to non-dancers does not expand our audience. When only focused on producing phrasework, art becomes inaccessible to those who want to relate. Making choreography into art allows the audience to take something home and dwell on it long after they have left the theater. Making art for one’s self is a beautiful tool, but making art with the intention of communicating with others sustains the company and community as a whole. 

The mission of Fem Dance Company is noble and originates from good intent. Providing emerging artists with choreographic and performative opportunities is extremely valuable. There is concerning gender inequity in dance, with women making up 32% of choreographic residents and men 68%, according to a study by Dance Data Project. That being said, using the language “women dancers” is not only excludes men, but also gender fluid and non-binary artists, and other members of the LGBTQ community. Salt Lake City is in the top ten cities of America with the largest gay population, according to Gallup. With much of the dance community exploring gender labels and LGBTQ members significantly contributing to (post-)modern, contemporary, and hip hop scenes, I implore Fem Dance Company to look closely at the effect of their use of language. Yes, keep providing opportunities for choreography and performance. But, consider all of the people excluded who may not identify as a heteronormative woman.

Lauren Cheree Wightman (she/they) is a dancer, writer, explorer and part time goblin. When not in the studio, she prefers frolicking in the mountains, foraging for plants and climbing rocks. A contemporary freelance artist, they roam where they please, creating projects with the resources in their area. An ideal day in Lauren’s life would include climbing up a waterfall, swimming in the ocean, hiking to a cozy cave, and reading a book as the sun sets. Find out more at travelbarefoot8.wordpress.com. 

RDT presents evening of work by Natosha Washington

Natosha Washington’s words begin the monologue which opens RDT’s I AM, “This is a story of a Black woman…” She asks the audience, as we pause to witness the person next to us, if we are part of the problem, or stand with solution? A warning, no matter where we stand, we will be confronted. Chills rocking my body, an overhead spotlight reveals Dee-Dee Darby Duffin, center stage, who begins to sing. The melody is soulful yet grief lingers in the lyrics. “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child...” Harkening to the feeling of loss when one enters adulthood, not knowing the answers to navigate the ever revolving door of social, personal, and spiritual conflict as age becomes us. 

As if to embody this feeling, dancer Ursula Perry emerges from the darkness upstage, wearing a simple white dress with slits that allow freedom from the waist down. Lighting from the sides of the stage softly illuminate the flakes falling from the ceiling. Are they ashes, or snowflakes? She dances beneath the column of falling flakes, shouldering an invisible burden that weighs her down, causing her to collapse to the ground throughout her solo. The sheer commitment to simple gestures — the raising of an outstretched hand to space, a falling curved arm to the side of her body, a flexed foot and a bent knee — demonstrate how simple concepts allow us to delve into difficult emotion. Fellow company members emerge from the darkness, helping her up with the simple support of a hug. Lights die, and the theater is pitch black for a moment. Suddenly the lights reveal one dancer center stage, and just as suddenly, the light is off again. Then, two more dancers are standing next to the original one. This pattern beckons more dancers forth, and gasps of awe from the audience accompany this simple, yet extremely effective transition. So begins an ensemble piece titled Say Their Names, a piece originally conceived for the company in 2018. With the theme of loss palpable, dancers revolve into duets with each other. Ripples of movement motifs echo from one duet to the next, each couple executing the same choreography right after the other, or in time with others. Engrossed in this process, it’s impressive to see the overall timing maintained throughout, reflecting human environments seen everyday. Not only were the partnerships strong, the strength of the company was clearly shown in the execution of movement and emotion, each caring for and supporting one another in lifts and other interactions. The simplicity of costuming, lighting, and choreography left room for emotional depth and interpretation, fostering an abstract world.

Dee-Dee Darby Duffin again takes the stage in Dismantle. She speaks about the limitations associated with her identity as a Black woman. Frustrated, she draws awareness to her pain while navigating the world with ignorant people, who do not see, or choose not to see her skin, voice, and presence. Behind her, dancer Trung “Daniel” Do is running in place for ages, facing a black void. The haunting image continues, as Duffin exits, he runs alone. With no shirt and minimal light, five plain benches stand above Do as he writhes between them, exhausted. This piece draws tears from my eyes more than once. His visible struggle and labored breath, was heart wrenching. Pulling the benches down one by one, Do is drained of strength as he stacks them upon each other. Banging his fists and gasping for relief, reminding us of what it is to endure hardships alone. The simple imagery and the incredible commitment to the struggle from Trung “Daniel” Do was enough for me to almost leap from my seat to help him. As the third bench was hoisted from vertical to horizontal, the company appears onstage, taking the burden from him as he falls into the arms of those who see and support. While we may be alone, it is through others that our struggle becomes light. 

My Crown begins as Duffin stands tall, exclaiming, “Don’t touch my hair. Yes,” she continues, “my hair is beautiful, my hair is my crown, but it is not here purely for your enjoyment.” Duffin, aided by dancers Caleb Daly and Alexander Pham, confronts stereotypes concerning hair, length, professionalism, and gender presentation. With hair whipping and winks over the shoulders, this fun duet provides a fun breather as I AM launches into climax. 

No End In Sight, was the most realistic portrayal of a relationship, romantic or not, that I’ve seen onstage. Ursula Perry, dressed in a long white gown, grasping a bouquet of red roses to her breast, floats on a box upstage. She begins sweeping her right arm around her, clutching the flowers as Trevor Price’s score directs the space to introspection. Dancer Jacob Lewis appears in the downstage corner, approaching her, then turning his back to have a dramatic solo moment. Perry descends from her box, shedding her skirt and joining Lewis in a duet. At first, the couple is in support of each other, leaning to their sides, arms stretched above in fists. Yet, I can’t help but notice Perry frames Lewis, holds him in subtle ways on his waist. As their connection begins to fumble, she runs and jumps in Lewis’s arms. He embraces her in a tight hug as he cradles her. Perry eventually slips out of his arms, fighting this connection as it seems to heavily weigh upon her. Lewis relies on her strength to support his movements while she desires to dance alone. He beckons her, yet she firmly shakes her head, abandons her red roses in Lewis’s hands and exits. Lewis follows in a haze. 

In the background of this duet, the rest of the company places benches down, watching the couple. As the duet ends, the dancers open their fans. Comically waiting for “service” to start, fanning, and talking amongst themselves. A soulful choir brings the company to their feet, and four other company members join from a downstage wing. The costumes reflect a church service from back in the day, the ladies in little hats and the men in jackets. Celebratory, the company rotates through the benches. The choreography, stunning as ever, allows the dancers to really show their athleticism. Raising their hands in prayer above, then slamming down on the benches into quick hand and arm isolations. Energy builds again as Lewis goes on a tangent downstage left, extending legs to the sky and fluidly flipping through a walkover. Two company members now standing on benches, reprise the upper body isolations. A scene that everybody can recognize, showing the pure joy people can experience together as we find that higher power. As Church ends, Duffin enters downstage, returning the red roses to Perry. 

I Can Only Be Me calls back to Perry’s moment on her box. This time, Duffin supports her in finishing what she started as she sings. Perry, now grounded in herself, holds her roses and glides through the space. Duffin begins to speak, transitioning us to Black Girl Magic. In the most profound statement so far, she tells us that even though she has been manipulated and used when only convenient, her power may never be quenched. Her final monologue is so powerful, an audience member in front of me raised his fist as she raised hers. 

The company returns with the benches, this time three women remain onstage. Trevor Price’s original composition brings heavy base with an overlay of drive. Each dancer executing their own image, for Megan O’Brien a fist with a power walk, Lindsey Faber a roll down of the spine to a middle split, and Caitlyn Richter leg extensions to the gods. This intense trio grappling with angst, using heavy breath to labor their way. The remaining company emerges from the back, stepping into the space and interrupting the struggle. As the women repeat their images, two dancers wrestle one to the ground, audibly grunting with fear and effort. This piece, Monsters, was, to me, what happens when we let anger and fear guide our actions. Inorganic results that harm others, based on rotten schema left unchecked. It represents the shadow of the self, the darkness we all carry within. 

The conclusion of the show, I Am Here, looks much like Say Their Names, yet our company has been on a long journey. Costumed in black dresses with slits, they duet again with another. Dee-Dee Darby Duffin’s voice is listing all of the things that she is: confused, weary, scared, hopeful, lost, uplifted. This dichotomy is the epitome of the show: Everything can exist at once, it is all a balancing act. Each pair ricocheting off another, one dancer going on their own tangent. This time, everyone is seen, everyone is heard. All emotions bubbling to the surface, each performer giving their all. The audience is also grieving, to see the show end, and relieved, that the journey is at a real conclusion. 

Witnessing this work brought many emotions to my forefront, as a dancer, woman, and human. Natosha’s design of the overall arc of the show was exceedingly brilliant, building from her personal story into the multidimensional web of collective consciousness. By zooming in, we also zoom out. The call to action ever on the front of the stage, imploring introspective responsibility and outward awareness of people immediate to our reality. Many a time we feel alone, yet we only need reach out in our hour of greatest need. At the same time, people may also hold us back based on their own insecurity. In short, being a human in this day and age, especially a marginalized human, is extremely hard. We must take care to take care. For those who came before, for those who are here, and for those to come. 

Lauren Cheree Wightman (she/they) is a dancer, writer, explorer and part time goblin. When not in the studio, she prefers frolicking in the mountains, foraging for plants and climbing rocks. A contemporary freelance artist, they roam where they please, creating projects with the resources in their area. An ideal day in Lauren’s life would include climbing up a waterfall, swimming in the ocean, hiking to a cozy cave, and reading a book as the sun sets. Find out more at travelbarefoot8.wordpress.com.