In the Chamber

The body is the original resonating chamber. There’s no instrument, no recording studio, no cathedral that listens and responds more intelligently than this one does.

In her landmark book Sensing, Feeling, Action, Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen suggests that the most powerful therapeutic processes involve both movement and sound. Repatterning one affects the other, which then has a chance to be repatterned in turn. In the womb, we hear before we see. Before either of those we are contracting and expanding our minuscule forms, receiving and giving the pulse of breath and life.

I like working with sound in my own teaching and creative work. There are some tensions, some questions, some tender places or hot places, that can be accessed more directly in the body through passively receiving a vibration than through consciously articulating an action. Sometimes, if I’m having trouble finding what comes next in a particular movement passage or phrase, I will make the sound of the movement that came just before — a high hum, maybe, or a low rumble, or a quaver, or a laugh. Learning to trust the sounds my body produces leads me to trust the expressive shapes and gestures and trajectories my body develops.

Brief Kingdom, the evening-length dance I’m making this season with Tulsa Modern Movement (April 24-26 at Studio K), includes bodies and voices — the bodies of the dancers (which will appear both two- and three-dimensionally), the voices in the choral music which makes up much of the score, and the voice of the narrator, who tells the story in poetry. But the dancers also have a voice, as the narrator has a body. I am interested in allowing all the parts of everyone to exist together with a give-and-take of weight onstage. Sometimes you will see the narrator being involved as a body among bodies, sometimes more heavily as a voice. Sometimes the dancers will be “telling” more vigorously than others. Sometimes one speaker will hand off the story to another. And there will be other sorts of sound uniting it all, created by the brilliant Scott Bell, who has a uniquely intuitive and skillful understanding of volumes and vibration. There are different kinds of speaking. Speech of all kinds allows a resonance, a reverberation — of meanings and of literal physical vibrations — to travel out of the chamber from which it originates.

There’s another “chamber” here: the story itself, an ancient resonating box into which generations of individual imaginations have come looking for wisdom, reassurance, adventure, or help. The story we’re working with is “The Frog Prince,” and then there’s another story that grew out of that story: the poem by Amy Page that serves as the text we are engaging directly in this production. Amy is a translator as well as a poet, with a vast knowledge of Greek gods and German maidens and all of the symbols and animals and blessings and curses in between. Her poem somehow makes the original chamber — the tale of the princess and the frog — bigger, brighter, so you can see and hear more of what’s inside, so that what your fingerprint lands on shines more vividly back at you.

(Think about the resonating chamber of a frog’s throat, or what might be echoing inside the princess’s golden ball. Think about the empty space of a broken heart that’s ready, or waiting to be ready, to be filled with the sound of someone’s voice again. And there are many other kinds of chambers this image suggests to me as I let it travel through.)

Andrea Deszo, "The Frog King"

Andrea Deszo, “The Frog King”

Sometimes, we make resonance together. Sometimes we are the chamber — we who sit together in the dark inside a theater, with our own stories pinging around inside our skulls and sinews. Some of us speak more easily than others, whether in words or in movement. We are all looking for more ease, more efficiency, more wisdom, and more joy. When we sit and listen together — when we listen with our body-chambers inside the chamber of a story and ultimately inside this whole vast world of chambers — the resonance can reach more parts of us, more deeply, with a more gentle touch in places of resistance or weakness. It can reach us on our own time, with less threat, because the chamber of us can bear it for us for however long we need it to.

Making Work.

I say it constantly. So do a lot of other dancemakers. “I’m headed to the studio to make some work.” “Looks like they’re making a lot of work lately.” “She’s making new work for so-and-so.” “We’re so busy making work that we don’t have time to….”

(Write a blog, for instance. Uh, yes … about that! Thanks for hanging in with me, everyone.)

I don’t know why it’s such a common phrase among choreographers, but I sort of like “make work.” “Make art” would be ridiculously pretentious. “Make dance” sounds awkward, like two verbs in a row. “Make a dance” is what Mark Morris says, but most of us aren’t as boldly confident in the humbleness of what we do as he is.

“Make work” has some unpackable corners and unfoldable curves inside it.

I hear…

Make it work. Make you work. Make work for myself, and for the dancers, and later for the seamstress and the printer and the stagehand.

It’s something that takes work to use, maybe, like a new set of skills or openness to new language and sensation.

Work. Not an object, but an unfolding event, a noun that moves and sweats. Hard to know when it’s finished, because it continues even after it’s done. The echo of effort that’s present in your rest.

“Makework” is busywork, of course, designed to ward off idleness, clamp down on daydreaming. But idling and the daydream are what make this work wake up; it’s got a quiet cell inside it, humming, wondering, whistling. This work knows how to wait.

Making work is making space for something to come alive. It takes muscles, and guts, and brains. It’s crafting the Rube Goldberg machine, the Versailles garden, the kayak run — the bed that the dream can flow through.

There’s work, and then there’s play. But the play is also the work. The effortful effortlessness.

Work means bodies, and bodies mean community. (Many hands make light work.) Work is to share.

The joy we feel when the work works. Wow, and whew, we say.

We made it.

(I’ll have lots to share about the work that’s being made in Tulsa this season in an upcoming post. For now … back to … you know….)

"Making work" for Tulsa Modern Movement.

“Making work” for Tulsa Modern Movement. (Photo by Nathan Harmon)

Exciting! Upcoming! Get Moving.

Herewith a totally utilitarian list of September’s coming events, because there are a LOT. Go Tulsa go!

  • Starting September 8, the Living Arts ColLABorate workshop is back! Second Monday of each month, 6:30-8:30. “ColLABorate is a regularly meeting collective of artists from all disciplines who have a desire to learn from each other and create together. Each two-hour evening session, Led By Jessica Davenport and Marianne Evans-Lombe, begins with a workshop led by one of the collective artists who will teach techniques and methods derived from their discipline that can aid in rehearsing and generating performance work. The sessions will also include time for artists to collaborate on new ideas and share ongoing works-in-progress.” This is good, good juju — more information at the link above.
  • September 5-7, Tulsa Ballet II presents “On Your Radar,” part of an expanded second company season this year under the direction of former TB principal dancer Alfonso Martin. Work by Bournonville, Ma Cong, and Norbert de la Cruz (with music by Crystal Castles in that last one, hello 2014!).
  • Choregus Productions launches an absolutely killer season with an exhibit of rare photos of Martha Graham at the Hardesty Arts Center, in preparation for that company’s first-ever visit to Tulsa in two weeks. Keep a close eye on Choregus this year for the absolute best in contemporary dance from across the country — the stuff you really really want to know about.
  • Classes! Portico Dans Theatre offers a wide range of classes, from aerial to hip-hop. Their website has all the information plus locations and age levels. Tulsa Modern Movement invites intermediate/advanced dancers to their weekly free open company class on Wednesday evenings. (Anyone else offering an open modern or ballet or contemporary or African or hybrid class? Shoot me a message and I’ll add you to the list!) 
  • Tribal Tantra / Shedding Skins / movement meditation YES. September 19-21, more info here.

See you out there, movers!

Authoring, Authority, Autobiography



Creating is always re-creating. Here’s how it’s looking over here.

This time last year, I was entering into the final rehearsals for “Unbound,” a collaboration between music coordinator and violinist Karen Harmon, videographer Nathan Harmon, and my company Tulsa Modern Movement. “Unbound,” which premiered at Living Arts of Tulsa, was to that point the biggest project I had ever choreographed on my own, and having such enthusiastic collaborators was critical to its completion (and of course to its inception).

"Unbound," photo by Maggie Young

“Unbound,” photo by Maggie Young

This past June, I had the chance to re-envision “Unbound” for a very different space: the gorgeous proscenium stage at Tulsa Ballet‘s Studio K. In this much larger space, Nathan’s role expanded as he and his fabulous cantilevered camera had more room to explore, and that new presence — plus his new projections in black and white, taking up one full half of the stage — raised new questions for us and for the audience about our intentions and our message in the piece. It was very gratifying to revisit a dance whose creation meant so much to me; even more gratifying to hear applause as the curtain opened on it on opening night, applause from people who’d seen it at Living Arts or who’d missed it and were getting another chance; and more gratifying still to hear that “Unbound” was selected to be performed at the National Performance Network annual conference, held in Tulsa this year, in November. This little project, hatched in the elementary school pick-up line and over the Harmons’ kitchen table, has become a big, important piece of Tulsa Modern Movement’s rep. It’s always had its own life, and I’m eager to see how it grows next.

This time this year, I’m in the middle of several new projects for the 2014-2015 season. TuMM is starting off with a bang, touring to the {254} Dance Festival in Waco, Texas, in September and performing at Tulsa Ballet’s “Creations in Studio K” pre-shows on October 4 and 5. Over the summer we had the honor of learning two works by Rachel Bruce Johnson, a quartet called “Game of Risk,” which I’m in, and a solo called “Red” (to be performed by Katelyn Yeary), both of which we’ll show in Waco and at Studio K. I’ve written here before about the process of making work with Rachel, and having her set work on us has proven to be just as rich (because, well, the work is!). “Game of Risk” (originally created this past spring for Perpetual Motion in Oklahoma City) is an honest, unflinching look at partnership — not what it can be or what it shouldn’t be, but what it often is: a bit of a mess of good intentions gone awry, a clash of wills, an ever-shifting dance among courage, trust, and fear. Rachel’s work is thrilling to learn because it combines a lot of specificity and a lot of space, threading together small looks and gestures with big tough anchoring phrases. As a choreographer and coach she has what I think of as a very sensitive volume-control knob, so that a movement of the eyes can actually be “louder” than the pounding, dynamic floor work that comes shortly after it. Being in her work, watching her create and re-create in the moment, is always an awesome gift.

Tulsa Modern Movement's Ari Christopher and Mona Hatter, rehearsing with Rachel Bruce Johnson in her "Game of Risk"

Tulsa Modern Movement’s Ari Christopher and Mona Hatter, rehearsing with Rachel Bruce Johnson in her “Game of Risk”

Fall is the “making” time of year for us at TuMM, and this fall I have the honor of creating the central work for our season-end show. It’s a creation that’s a re-creation of a re-creation … in other words, a diving down through several layers into something that’s existed for a long time, namely the story of the Frog Prince, or rather the ancient human problems and solutions which that story captures and teases out. Writer Amy Page and I have been cooking up this project for a year, and now it’s starting to come to life. The solo I made last season, “Envelope,” was in a way a prequel to this piece, which will be called “Brief Kingdom.” fac55f741f39ccb898d312c6137e9654I envisioned “Envelope” (though it’s very open to other readings) as the story of what happened to the Prince before he was enchanted and changed into a frog. What was he like? What on earth happened to him? It can happen to anyone, I think, anyone who’s brave enough to open up to and experience the next phase in his or her own transformation. Sometimes we have to be “ugly” before we can be ourselves (and therefore beautiful). “Brief Kingdom,” in turn, is the Princess’s story, the Frog having done a large part of his own work already. Long ago Amy wrote a beautiful, rich poetic telling of this woman’s journey; now it gets to live in a new way, expanded into movement and theater. I’m very excited to share this work with you, in the making and once it’s made.

Finally, one more full-circle moment. Recently I started teaching at the ballet school where I grew up, the Jasinski Academy, formerly called the Tulsa School of Ballet. I teach the advanced classes and a variations class that’s especially close to my heart. When I was a student there, the late Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo dancers Moscelyne Larkin and Roman Jasinski, founders of Tulsa Ballet, coached us in classic variations from their repertoire — “Gaite Parisienne,” “Le Beau Danube,” “Les Sylphides.” I was taken from the start by the unique mix of glamour, passion, and spunky joie de vive in that era of ballet, an obsession that only grew stronger when Miss Larkin and Mr. J’s friends Frederic Franklin and Alexandra Danilova would visit the studio to work with the company, in which I was a teenaged apprentice. They all taught a certain brand of fearlessness, a go-for-it spirit that has never stopped inspiring me, as much as in daily life as in the studio and onstage. Now I get to share what they shared with me, in the very same rooms. We’re learning a variation from “Les Sylphides” right now, and I’m brought to tears watching these young ladies as they begin to feel — as a hundred years’ worth of dancers have felt — the resonance of Fokine’s choreography and Chopin’s music in their own 21st-century bodies, absolutely fresh and utterly eternal.

There’s nothing new. And what a gift that is. We get to discover it for ourselves; what’s new is how it comes through each of us.

Cooling Off, Building Up, and “Mob”bing: Summer Dance in Tulsa

As the Polar Vortex moves through the midwest this week, bringing incongruously quiet, cool, rainy days in the middle of July, local dancemakers and presenters are doing their summer business. For some, like Tulsa Modern Movement, that means resting after our June performances of “HOLD” and building new ideas for next season (plus learning some fabulous Rachel Bruce Johnson choreography, a solo and a quartet). For others, like the Bell House, it means preparing rep for the {254} Dance-Festival in Texas in September and starting work with Jessica Vokoun on the Oklahoma Dance Film Festival (among many other things). Tulsa Ballet and Choregus Productions are preparing for massive 2014-2015 seasons (celebrating Marcello Angelini’s 20th anniversary as Artistic Director at the former; bringing in the likes of Martha Graham Dance Company and Wendy Whelan at the latter).

For Portico Dans Theatre, however, summer means showtime — they open their new show, “Mob Mental.ity,” tonight.


Portico’s work has always embraced the idea that dance theater is fundamentally a kind of play, a disciplined taking-delight in storytelling and character and decor. In recent years, with the departure of co-founder Valeria Cordero and the arrival of new co-director Michael J. Lopez partnering with Jennifer Alden, Portico’s summer shows have taken on some darker colors. (Nina Madsen joined the company as a third co-director last fall.) But their bubbly spirit remains evident in the way they play with other artists (particularly visual and media artists in the past, but now musicians as well) and absorb ideas from many genres. “Mob,” as usual in Portico shows, involves many styles of dance — modern, contemporary ballet, aerial, hip-hop, plus additional choreography from Living Water Dance Community — and a wide range of music, some of it drawn from an international call for compositions by Karen Naifeh Harmon (who also delivered some amazing music to TuMM this way for “Unbound” in 2013). As the title suggests, the evening explores the psychology of mobs, leaders and followers, inclusion and exclusion and hive minds, flocking and fighting … a rich vein of material for sure.

Portico Dans Theatre’s “Mob Mental.ity” runs tonight and tomorrow at 8pm and Sunday at 2pm at the Williams Theater at the PAC. See you there!

Instinct and Intellect: Talking with Kidd Pivot’s Cindy Salgado

Tulsa has the huge honor this week of welcoming Vancouver-based Kidd Pivot to town for two performances of Crystal Pite’s most recent work, The Tempest Replica. Choregus Productions snapped up the chance to bring this internationally-renowned company here to a part of the world they’ve never even come close to on a tour, and from the responses I’ve heard to last night’s show, this visit is proving to be transformative for arts patrons in our community. Kidd Pivot presents one more show tonight at Cascia Hall — get tickets at — and dancer Eric Beauchesne will offer a master class tomorrow. I got a chance to sit down with Kidd Pivot dancer Cindy Salgado this morning to talk about her five years’ experience working with the company and about The Tempest Replica in particular. Thank you to Cindy for her time, and to Choregus and Kidd Pivot for the opportunity to go inside this extraordinary company.

Kidd Pivot NEWAC: How do you start the process of creating these incredibly elaborate, complex theatrical pieces with Crystal? Do you start conceptually, or with physical exploration?

Cindy Salgado: It’s been different for every piece I’ve been part of the creation for. With Dark Matters, which was the first piece I joined [in 2009], Crystal had created some phrases for the dancers at Nederlands Dans Theatre and came in and taught them to us. For me that was really beneficial because I got to learn her movement quality first and then she gave us tasks based off those phrases. She knew she wanted to work with this idea of dark matter, she knew she wanted this shadow character throughout the piece. She’d already started exploring with Frontier, which was an NDT piece as well. So we had some jumping off points. She also had this idea of working with a puppet but wasn’t totally convinced about it. As we went along and she worked with a puppet maker and we started to explore with it, she was convinced she wanted to use it but wasn’t quite sure how. It was amazing how that piece came together really last minute. The storyline for the puppet came, like, the week before the show. She wrote the script of it and we had been playing so much in the studio with the way the puppet could move and articulate but it wasn’t until the very end that she put all the pieces together and understood that the story had to be that this puppet had to destroy its master and that that had to come back around at the end of the show.

AC: That’s amazing, because it’s tied in so beautifully all the way through, so to hear that it wasn’t the starting point of the whole thing is so surprising.

CS: She knew she wanted to work with the idea of us being “puppeted,” and that’s something Crystal always works with, really, the idea of the dancer being danced instead of dancing. That’s a concept we like to play with even in our improv classes: how can you allow for other things to manipulate you, either outside dancers or outside energies, whatever it is. I think that’s one thing that makes her work stand out — the idea that we’re not always in control of what we’re doing — and we’re really available to that process.

For The Tempest Replica, it was kind of the opposite. She had a story, so the challenge was how to tell a very complex story! She knew she didn’t have enough dancers to really tell it in its fullness, but she also didn’t want to tell the story from start to finish the way any Shakespeare play would. She played a lot with what kind of order to put it in, and that also came together quickly, how she wanted to structure the piece and how the “replica” parts wanted to fit in.

We do this whole “replica” storytelling [in The Tempest Replica] — which is another thing she tested out on NDT with a piece called Plot Point – and we worked with developing how these replica characters would move, finding the best way to tell the story as concisely as possible but still in an interesting fashion. We just fell in love with that process, trying to figure out the walks — we spent hours working with how to walk in a way that would look not too human but not so out of place so that you can’t connect to it.

AC: Can you describe the “replica” idea?

CS: We thought originally there might be sort of a play within a play that would help tell the plot of the story. But then Crystal realized in the process that Prospero’s character is creating everything that happens, orchestrating the plot. So these are characters that he’s built that he’s using to help make the plot a reality. Almost like a puppetmaster again, in a different way. Prospero creates these characters and they come back to haunt him. In the play itself, everything he wants to have happen, happens, but he is destroyed by that process. Crystal’s work has a tendency to be about a creator being destroyed by their creation. That came back within this story line, particularly with this being Shakespeare’s last play. In the last speech that Prospero gives he talks about “release me,” and there’s this sense of “I’ve done everything I can, I’m putting it all out there, let me go.” It’s just another really fascinating multi-dimension and layer of her work.

AC: In these pieces I see a beautiful combination of pinpoint heart-connection, a very personal quality that never feels sappy, and then a highly intelligent abstraction. That’s a really valuable set of qualities.

CS: I know. I’ve always been surprised myself at the balance she’s able to achieve. I think that’s just Crystal’s nature. When we improv together as a company she talks a lot about having a balance of instinct and intellect. You’ll probably hear that in your class on Saturday! That translates into everything she does. You can see that there’s a very thoughtful intellectual approach to the work, and at the same time there’s this instinct that drives it. There’s an emotional quality that, like you said, doesn’t feel sappy and comes from a deep place. I don’t know how she does it either!

AC: Kidd Pivot’s movement language combines extreme specificity and also an energy that’s a little bit out of control, a little bit wild. How do you train together? How do you achieve that quality?

CS: Crystal has an improvisationally-based class that we explore together as a company regularly, not an every day practice but it’s something we always come back to. A lot of it has to do with isolation. Crystal is a master of isolation, which I guess shows most in the Replica characters, her ability to break down one piece of the body and make that articulation so fascinating. We play a lot with leading from different parts of the body, and with partnering, which helps you to understand that “puppeted” quality. We do an exercise called “predator and prey” where two people are manipulating one person and that person can choose how passive or active they want to be in the process. In doing exercises like that you start to gain an appreciation for being both the follower and someone who can tap into that intellect in terms of how they choose to follow.

What’s unique about this company also is that when Crystal went off to have a child and then brought Nico back into the fold, we were functioning on our own for a bit as a company. We don’t have a ballet master, per se, so we would help to ballet master one another. In that process we all understood how to articulate the certain aspects that make her work special for one another. It’s weird when you’re working with your peers and you know they’re extremely talented to begin with and still to be able to find the details that make the movement more or less magical that you want to help them bring out. It was really special. First of all it brought us closer together as a company, and also it helped us all step up in our level of responsibility for understanding her work. A lot of us have been with her for a while but there are a few new-ish dancers. Crystal has a tendency to work with dancers she already knows through other companies, people she’s really worked with, so she knows what they’re like in process. She can tell that they’ll be muses of some sort for her. I was the one random person who didn’t come in that way, but I lucked out and had good timing and all that! Getting to know her deeper as a person helps us to understand what she’s looking for.


Cindy Salgado (center) in "Dark Matters" (photo by Christopher Duggan)

Cindy Salgado (center) in “Dark Matters” (photo by Christopher Duggan)

AC: There are often huge pieces of group partnering you have to do that just tumble across the stage. Can you talk about how you put those moments together?

CS: Because we do so much partnering in Crystal’s improvisational classes, we already have a sense of how we react to one another. Crystal puts a lot of faith in her dancers and our artistic choices. Every once in a while she’ll jump in and change a choice … “what happens if this person does this here, and what’s the reaction down the line?”

One of the big group partnering sections actually developed out of one in The You Show. It was a very dark moment, but she liked the tumbling energy we had there. But it has a totally different energy here, we’re talking throughout and it’s very playful. She’s never afraid to borrow from herself.

AC: There’s a kind of honesty in that. “I’m not done thinking about this yet!”

CS: She’ll use a lot of the same material with us and with NDT and it will look completely different depending on what the overall arc of the piece is. I think that’s why her work is so rich: because she is willing to return and develop it further.

AC: There’s some talking in this piece, which might be surprising for some people, and a lot of props, a lot going on on the stage. What’s it like to work with those challenges?

CS: With the replica scene we definitely struggled with props at first, and every once in a while something will go wrong and you just can’t help it. There’s this rock that comes on and off the stage that’s drawn by a string and we had a show at the Joyce where the string got caught and the rock couldn’t move and it was just a long stillness onstage with nothing happening! We just had a performance in Toronto where the projector stopped working, so you have to pause and reset … at the same time it’s amazing how the piece didn’t lose too much momentum, we were able to keep going, and we’re lucky to have a really strong technical team who can adjust so easily.

It’s quite fun to have all these things to play with. Eric [Beauchesne] is the one who plays Prospero and does the most speaking throughout the piece. He’s gotten so used to having this dialogue with himself as he goes through the piece that last night [after the first Tulsa show] we were saying, “If you ever do another dance piece you’re just going to be talking to yourself the whole time because you’re so used to this way of working!” For the rest of us there’s only a little bit of speaking, especially in that one scene we all do together, and there’s more natural sounds that come out in the movement depending on the emotional depth of what we’re doing.

For me, I play Miranda, and there’s a scene where I’m watching the shipwreck and seeing destruction and suffering for the first time and I’m crying throughout the whole scene. At the beginning it was very subtle, but the more that I played with how far I let myself go, she appreciated the sounds that came along with it. It wasn’t like we said, “Sound like you’re crying!” That would be horrible and would come across quite forced. So it just naturally kept growing, and because it was natural she appreciated the sound that came from it. There are also some recorded sounds in the piece that came from dancers and our sound designers. Peter [Chu], who was our original Caliban, recorded some sounds that he thought his character would make, and also Meg [one of the sound designers] recorded some of the lines for Ariel. You can feel the natural connection to Shakespeare because she’s an actress who has explored Shakespeare quite a lot. But there are only tastes of the language, so you don’t feel like you’re watching a play. You can tell that Crystal picks lines that she thinks are beneficial to the story line, to helping you understand, to heightening the emotional moment.

AC: How did you approach getting inside of your character?

CS: In the past, we’ve never had specific characters (well, in The You Show Germaine has a part where he plays a superhero, but it’s not like he even has a name or a history he’s playing with). This was the first time we had characters from a play that have multiple lines we could be drawing from, or not, and I think most of the dancers chose not to try to be somebody else and take on a role, but tried to find what it is about those characters that they relate to and apply that. Crystal’s also very smart in creating a piece where most of us are quite similar to our characters in some way or another. So getting me to be this dramatic girl who cries over other people’s suffering is really not very far from who I am! So it’s quite easy for me to connect to that part and each night go there because I’ve had experiences in my own journey that I can easily connect to. So I’m not trying to imagine myself as this child living on an island watching a shipwreck; I can imagine myself seeing children suffering that I’ve worked with personally. Crystal doesn’t put too much pressure on everybody to find it a certain way. We’re all given the freedom to find our characters the way we want to, and that’s really helpful. Bryan [Arias]’s Caliban is scarier; Peter’s was more vulnerable. She likes to bring out different aspects depending on who’s performing it.

AC: What might this show give to someone who comes to see it, maybe someone who doesn’t know Kidd Pivot or even contemporary dance at all?

CS: I’ve seen how this show impacts people who come to see it. If you know the play, there’s a depth of understanding through the movement that you get to experience. Actors who have come to see it, for whom The Tempest is their favorite play, find that elements of this show move them so much deeper than they’ve experienced watching the play before. I’ve also had plenty of friends who know nothing about Shakespeare or this play and can still appreciate the physicality.

Crystal has a way of connecting physicality to humanity. Each gesture is something you can relate to. Each gesture comes from a real human place, so you can go through a cathartic experience through the artists involved and hopefully come out with a story that you can somehow relate to. Whether it’s about forgiveness, whether it’s about letting go, whether it’s about trust – all of those are things we all experience, and telling a heightened story to get to those places sometimes helps us process our own journey.



Tulsa Ballet: The Pulse Point


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It’s coming up on 20 years since Marcello Angelini took the helm at Tulsa Ballet, and in that time perhaps his most remarkable skill as Artistic Director has been his ability to keep his finger on the pulse both of the world of dance at large and of his own community here in Tulsa, a community which combines sophistication and a genuine enthusiasm for the arts with a certain innocence that comes from living in a part of the country that typically doesn’t experience groundbreaking creative movements until years after they hit the coasts. For the past two decades Tulsa Ballet has successfully navigated this push and pull between staying relevant and staying enjoyable, and its most recent triple bill, “Paint It Black,” is a tidy example of how they’ve done it.

I’m still hearing murmurs of “weird…” from viewers around me at the close of ballets like Alejandro Cerrudo’s “Extremely Close,” but then I visit the TB Facebook page and see that the majority of responders to its “which ballet on the program did you like the best?” query chose that very piece. The ones who whispered “weird” will have loved Christopher Bruce’s “Rooster,” all strutting swaggering fun set to Rolling Stones music. The ones who liked the emotionally juicy Cerrudo might have been a little bored by “In the middle, somewhat elevated,” which opened the program — but they’ll have gotten some rock-solid contemporary dance education in the form of William Forsythe’s fierce classicism.

Hyonjun Rhee and Youhee Son in "In the Middle," photo by Julie Shelton

Hyonjun Rhee and Youhee Son in “In the Middle,” photo by Julie Shelton

There was plenty of value to be found in all three pieces, presented at the Lorton Performance Center on the University of Tulsa campus. The dancers performed the Forsythe with an eager, almost titillated edge of joy just beneath their sharp, flat, urgent planes and angles. TB first encountered “In the middle” in 2011, when former Forsythe dancer Jodie Gates came to stage it. What I saw was that the ballet had an immediate, strong effect on these dancers, turning up the heat on their own investment in their movement. The thing about this piece is that it’s just building blocks — many many building blocks — inside of which pumps a tornadic whorl of advanced physics. So in a way the dancers already know what to do, hence the delightfully “no big deal” demeanor they bring to Forsythe’s technically exhausting stacking and re-stacking. But in another way (in a point Gates emphasized in my interview with her) they are in a zone of extreme unknowns: what will happen this time when that huge pirouette a la second starts with maybe a little more power? What will the ripple look like in time, in space, in adrenaline? Because the ballet’s structure is so classical, so simple in its complexity (canons, fugues, themes and variations), the life inside each movement is shockingly visible. The cast I saw got it completely, corps member Carla Lopez and principal Hyonjun Rhee standing out for their technical and personal boldness.

Cerrudo is a choreographer one wouldn’t necessarily know about around here unless one had been keeping tabs on the trends, as Angelini does. Cerrudo is Resident Choreographer at Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, one of the nation’s top contemporary dance companies (he got his start choreographing through HSDC’s “Inside/Out” program, which encourages dancers to make their own work), and has done the rounds at Nederlands Dans Theatre (a prerequisite for cool these days, or so it seems). Last year he worked with New York City Ballet’s Wendy Whelan on a duet for her “Restless Creature” project, and he’s created works for Ballet Arizona and Pacific Northwest Ballet. He’s young, hot, and Spanish, and he makes dances that nibble at intimacy, edgy but gentle around those edges.

“Extremely Close” is a little drop of wildflower honey in two parts: the first hit is sweet with lots of darker notes, the last a full-on rush. There’s something deeply satisfying about a dance with well-used props. White feathers, dropped from above during the intermission, cover the stage floor. When the dancers enter, they do so behind square white walls that move on casters. Walls and feathers. And so my mind does this …

block you out / cuddle you up

float across / float down

heavy / light

peek through / pillow fight

invisible mover

solid / air

dependable / changeable

hide behind / flyaway

… and so on. When I say there was more poetry in the set than in the choreography, it’s just to say the landscape was truly unusually delectable. Cerrudo’s choreography has that quality of sponginess charmingly common in young dancemakers — that is, what you can see most is what it’s absorbed from its surroundings. I look forward to watching his work distill in the years to come, his own voice strengthen and develop. For now I see Duato, and Kylian, and McGregor, and Lightfoot/Leon, and Crystal Pite, lots of emotional sliding on cotton socks, heads and arms disjointedly offset from the torso, an eerie movement quality that shifts in little jerks between passivity and decision, dynamics that teeter at the edge of “anxiety disorder” and “ennui.” A notable condition of our times, I’d say; Cerrudo’s on the mark. An accurate voice, if not yet a bold one.


Hubbard Street Dance in “Extremely Close”

I wanted more development in the ballet’s first half, a barely-stopping flurry for eight dancers (as the feathers shuffle around the dancers’ feet and the walls shift swiftly carrying dancers behind and before). One moment tilted instantly into another (a single man in black trousers and jacket, facing away from us; a rapid-fire duet; a trio of leggy women), lighting up in small spaces in front of and around the walls like pegs on a Lite Brite screen, setting us up (I assumed) for the big reveal in the second half, the pas de deux, the passage that would make the picture whole. When the scene did shift to Dallas Blagg and Beatrice Sebelin, alone together, no walls anywhere to be seen (they’ve been pushed back together, slowly, light glowing between the cracks), I kept batting at the just-past movement in my mind, catching scraps of what might have been a connection with something seen earlier, blowing at ticklish feathers of half-memories. The ballet is like a party with two dozen conversations happening at once on the same subject; then the room clears and the conversation that remains is amplified by default, whether or not it actually is the most important talk out of the 24, whether it draws any conclusions, whether it sums it all up, whether there’s anything to sum up at all or whether it’s just one more conversation that slowly fades away.

Dallas Blagg and Beatrice Sebelin in "Extremely Close," photo by Julie Shelton

Dallas Blagg and Beatrice Sebelin in “Extremely Close,” photo by Julie Shelton

The duet is quite delicious, though, and not just when Sebelin clamps on to Blagg’s jawline with her mouth and they’re falling together in slow-motion. There’s an undercurrent of vulnerability and blind hurt that made me think of how we act when we don’t know the other’s weak places, how we dodge and nip in the hope that the other can be gentle with our own. The two go through a pattern together, then do it again with one more movement that bittersweetly completes the thought. They block each other; they open up like gates. Again, it’s true to life, and this duet is smart and compact and emotionally textured in ways that were barely hinted at in the ballet’s first half. I’d rather do without the ending (Blagg puts his hand on Sebelin’s face and she sinks to her back, then he reaches down to grab a black edge of fabric that turns out to have been underneath everything, and pulls it upstage collecting her, him, feathers, memories) which feels awfully angsty following that breath of intelligence. Cerrudo’s going to be interesting to watch, with his fine intuition for what pieces it might take to make a poem. The ballet doesn’t quite fully deliver on its potential, but it comes … extremely close.

(A little note on style. TB’s dancers this season are hard-working and focused, not a centimeter anywhere of wasted effort. I’d like to see a little more looseness in their dancing, especially in their throats in these contemporary pieces. Ballet training specifies keeping the head balanced firmly on the top of the spine, the chin perhaps ever so slightly tucked, and these dancers do a good job of letting their heads follow their spines in this choreography, but I feel a resistance from clavicle to chin, one more place of freedom for them to investigate as they continue to explore these hybrid ballet/modern works.)

Christopher Bruce's "Rooster," photo by Julie Shelton

Christopher Bruce’s “Rooster,” photo by Julie Shelton

Christopher Bruce’s “Rooster” is comfortable terrain for TB theatrically, though the movement is occasionally demanding in its extreme shifts from air to ground. It’s made to be a crowd-pleaser, and it was, particularly Jose Antonio Checa Romero’s almost cartoonishly bravura solo (the technique on this boy … Vaganova, baby). The men wear ruffled-front shirts and ties (an odd line, there) and the women short black dresses with red accents. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be hotter than Chelsea Keefer, but lean and scruffy Andrew Silks managed it in his “outsiders” duet with her, his taut reflexes trained right on her bubble of personal space. Each section had one or two really juicy moments, which were typically repeated at least once, and though the rest of the choreography felt like mostly filler the dancers pushed into each moment with determined energy. A palate cleanser after two very differently complex flavors: leave ‘em happy, but leave ‘em challenged, too.

Tulsa Ballet ends this season with “Off the Floor: Creations in Studio K,” its series of new contemporary ballets created especially for the company and its intimate house. Since 2008, when the series began, “Creations” has premiered work by Ma Cong, Nicolo Fonte, Douglas Lee, and many other up-and-coming choreographers (including the late Tony Fabre, beloved here for his stagings of Nacho Duato’s work). This year’s edition features new pieces by Cong, Young Soo Hue Simon, and Jodie Gates (with whom I got to speak about her choreographic process and product here). For the third year in a row, local companies will perform as opening acts for TB during the second week of performances. Just another example of how contemporary dance in Tulsa would be far poorer without the perseverance and creative thinking of Angelini and his team. Cheers, thanks, and keep it coming….

It’s Going! A Personal Progress Report

This is the story of two days in the life of one dancer, four great teams, and four works in progress….

April 23

9-11 a.m.: A Sunday deadline looms for my second rehearsal with Rachel Johnson (in Tulsa) and L. Brooke Schlecte and Sarah Newton (in Texas) of Out on a Limb Dance for our collaborative dance game titled “If Then, What.” We each have our tasks — seven of them, each with several descriptive words attached — which we’re to work out on our own before meeting via FaceTime to proceed to the next level of the game. (The next level involves rules about speed and repetition and spacing, which each of us must memorize because at any given point in the dance one of us will be the “leader,” having been tagged by the previous leader, and will be the one to give the rules for that iteration.) I gathered the movement notes I’ve made so far and did some gentle exploration (in my kitchen) of the tasks I’ve been unsure about. It’s like writing a difficult letter to someone: putting something, anything, on the paper takes some of the intimidation out of doing the big work. Making two movements for one task, say, instead of trying to complete the whole task at once.

12-1:30 p.m.: Met with Rachel and Jessica Vokoun at the University of Tulsa to start planning a site-specific piece for the Oklahoma Dance Film Festival screening at Crystal Bridges in mid-June. Ari Christopher of TuMM will also join us for this project. We’ll be working in Walker Landing, which looks like this —

Walker Landing at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art

Walker Landing at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art

— and sports a jaunty Keith Haring sculpture, some interesting little alcoves, and a gorgeous view of the water. We started talking about action painting (because of the museum’s strong Abstract Expressionism collection), thinking about the dripping and scraping and splattering done by artists like Jackson Pollock. Jessica discovered some concrete steps at the tennis courts on campus and suggested they can approximate the steps at Walker Landing as we begin to make some movement for that space. Site-specific inspiration, long-distance location. A challenge!

6 p.m.: Class with Rachel (a rare opportunity!). Sweaty. Momentum. Dynamics. Weight. High-speed direction-shifting. Oof. Awesome.

7:45 p.m.: Tulsa Modern Movement rehearsal. Spent an hour cleaning a chunk of Ari’s “Self-Storage,” a deadly syncopated complicated chunk! We’re discussing a possible change to this section that would have me taking Ari’s part and her taking mine … editing, editing, with a conversation about how our shifting places might change the dynamics of the section in ways that interest Ari, due to the different qualities of our movement.

9 p.m. brought a moment I’ve been waiting for for some time — visitors! — but not just any visitors — sound engineer, musician, and composer Scott Bell and writer Amy Page, who are tandem-collaborating with me on “Envelope,” the solo I’ve been making for/with TuMM dancer Aleks Weaver. I say “tandem” because we’re each working more or less independently, with me giving them little doses (mostly through conversation) of what I’m doing and inviting them to take those drops and create their own alchemy with them. So the poem Amy’s writing is “inspired by” my choreography only loosely, just as Scott’s sound score will be. They bring their own inspiration, their own history of craft, to the project, and I want that to be very present in the final product. This was the first time either of them had seen the piece (Amy had seen video of part of it). Our creative “agreement” is more one of sensibility than of specifics. I’m lucky to have as friends such intuitive, trustworthy, adventurous artists.

Amy and I have been talking for a while about how to incorporate the physical and literary “tellings” together in the staging of the piece. Her poem has its own life, as does the choreography, but it’s important to us that it not be simply laid on top of the dance. It’s also not a narration, or a set of directives to the dancer. As our time together ended, an idea emerged about having the reader onstage alongside the dancer, almost as a shadow, or perhaps a guide, possibly even interacting with elements of her costume. We have a lot of imagining to do! And since I choreographed this piece to no music, I’m going to let Scott surprise us with the score the week of the show. Just for fun. (Sorry, Aleks!)

April 24

9:30-11:30 a.m.: Back to “If Then, What.” For this work I have very little input from the other dancers about what they’re doing (though I have seen a little of Brooke’s work-in-progress). Which means I’m not measuring what I’m coming up with against what they’re coming up with, not comparing, not trying to do something distinctive or something that will blend in. Just whatever I like, whatever comes up for me when I start physically researching the words “connected,” “half-moon,” “escalating,” and so on. It’s a pretty radical freedom — lots of space — but also defined and bounded by the rules. A refreshing process: ice water for the creative brain. In this session I culled from the improvisations I’ve done, making some final choices for the phrases I’ll share with the rest of the team on Sunday. Here’s some video of one of those improvs, toward a one-minute phrase based around these elements: hair, trochanter, elbow, simultaneous.


Here’s what Brooke has to say about this part of the process: “I like how the set phrases feel like tasks I can check off my to do list, like baking a cake. The idea that we are all doing this separately and could potentially do it at the same time and space on stage is the most exciting part. It feels like a forum where we each give our opinions on a certain subject, through movement. This process is hard because it takes self-discipline to get the work done on time. I feel like I’m in school again.”

I’ll check in again soon with more progress! As always, your contribution is very welcome. Let me know how you’re working on what you’re working on!


So Many Kinds of Making (Part 4): Tulsa Modern Movement


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This last installment of my series on Tulsa dancemakers focuses on Tulsa Modern Movement (TuMM), which unveiled in 2011 with a site-specific performance on the Arkansas River. The choreographer of that piece, Ari Christopher, is now the company’s Executive Director, and I serve as its Artistic Director, with both of us also continuing to dance and make new work for the company.

TuMM has had another season of diverse events, beginning in September with “Unbound,” a collaboration with composer/violinist Karen Naifeh Harmon and photographer Nathan Harmon. “Unbound” was the fruit of almost a year’s worth of discussion (starting in the afternoon pick-up line of the school our kids attend). It was Karen who had the idea in early 2013 to launch an international call for compositions for “Unbound”; it garnered 150 submissions, five of which were chosen for our show. I got to create movement for these gorgeous pieces of music over the summer, and August saw us working with a small chamber ensemble and with Nathan’s giant cantilevered camera on wheels to create an intimate, multi-perspective evening of dance at Living Arts of Tulsa on September 6, 2013. I’m very proud of “Unbound,” both the collaborative effort that created it and the end result, and I’m happy to announce that TuMM will present it again June 7 and 8, 2014, at the gorgeous Studio K, as part of Hold, the company’s season-end show. (I’ll share more in the next month about the process of revisiting the piece to be shown on Studio K’s stage, much larger than the gallery space we made it in!)


Ari Christopher and Alicia Chesser in “Unbound,” photo by Nathan Harmon

Fall and Winter 2013 saw TuMM hosting Contact Improv jams and Gaga classes for the community and relishing another chance to invite our audience to get up close and personal with our process at the company’s second annual Works in Progress Showing. (Y’all are good observers, askers, imaginers.) In January, Ari took another trip to Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art for a foray into dance film with the museum’s Sara Segerlin, on the anniversary of Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring.” You can see their film here!

All season both Ari and I have been at work on new projects for TuMM’s season-end show. Ari is creating “Self-Storage,” a six-part experiment for five dancers in different ways to hold memory, and a look at how those ways of holding (or rejecting, or integrating) affect our identity, our sense of self. Some of the music is being composed by Michael Christopher, Ari’s dad, inspired by movement Ari has already made — a much different process from choreographing to pre-set musical structures and moods. Ari works often with movement motifs, and in “Self-Storage” you’ll see memory and identity evoked through rolling, plucking, stretching, throbbing, depositing, carrying, stacking, making space … all visual/physical evocations of a highly elusive mental/emotional reality. TuMM will perform excerpts from “Self-Storage” when it opens the May 11 performance of Tulsa Ballet’s “Creations in Studio K.”


Ari Christopher (photo by Alicia Chesser)


Ari Christopher and Aleks Weaver (photo by Alicia Chesser)


Ari Christopher, Mona Hatter, Katelyn Yeary, and Aleks Weaver in rehearsal (photo by Alicia Chesser)

I’m making something for the June show called “Envelope,” a solo for one of our dancers, Aleks Weaver, with original text by Amy Page and a sound score by Scott Bell. (If you haven’t noticed, I have a certain enthusiasm for working with artists in other disciplines. Still a kid at heart, I suppose: “Hey, you’re cool. Wanna make something with me?” There’s nothing I dig on more than sharing an idea with another artist and hearing where they imagine they might go with it. Ideas bouncing back from the extraordinary creative people in our community only get more beautiful upon their return.) I was inspired first by Aleks’s own unbelievably grounded, tumbling, round, powerful movement (she came to us from St. Olaf College in Minnesota, where she got her degree in dance) and by some personal investigations into various kinds of containers (houses, bodies, relationships, boxes I put myself in … ). I began by literally thinking about an envelope — how it’s cool and white on the outside but holds a warm message, how it’s got sharp edges and corners and a waiting center, how it travels, how it folds and closes and opens — which took me, with Aleks’s constant feedback and inspiration, into thoughts about being boxed in by one’s own need for self-protection, and about how that box might be softened, about how what’s at the center of it might be allowed to reach and open the edges.


“Envelope” brainstorming (photo by Alicia Chesser)


Aleks Weaver and Alicia Chesser (photo by Ari Christopher)

In addition to these projects, TuMM has been working this season with the Harwelden Institute, taking an original production called “Afternoons with Emery” into public schools throughout Tulsa. “Emery” was conceived and created by Ari Christopher and Jessica Davenport, and features amazing props, shadow puppets, and a lot of wild imagination. Sharing this show with kids has been one of the most fun things I’ve ever been part of. (And getting to do this tour with Ari, Missye Campbell, Katelyn Yeary, and the one and only John Cruncleton of the Nightingale Theater ain’t bad, either.) Ari has taught movement and theater to around 3,000 students in schools all over the Tulsa area this year as part of the Institute’s education outreach program.


Letters to TuMM from kids after seeing “Afternoons with Emery,” via the Harwelden Institute

This weekend, on April 19, TuMM is hosting its first fund- and friend-raiser, The KiCKER, at the Arts & Humanities Council of Tulsa’s Hardesty Arts Center (AHHA), in support and celebration of its 2014-2015 season. The event will feature food from some of Tulsa’s coolest restaurants, plenty of drinks and desserts, a silent auction, and a live performance by TuMM’s dancers. Hope to see you there!



Flashback: Celebrating “Merceday”

img-mg---merce-cunningham-7_135612106743It’s Merce Cunningham’s birthday! Today on the blog I’d like to give a bow of respect to one of the most fascinating, original, maddening, endearing, and brilliant artists of the last hundred years, a creative genius whose twinkle-in-the-eye dances took me gently by the face and shook me to smithereens when I saw them for the first time. In homage to him and his extraordinary company, today I’d like to share a review I did for the Dance Insider (under my maiden name) of their Spring 2001 season opening performance at City Center in New York.

I haven’t seen a piece by Cunningham live in many years now. But these images are as fresh in my imagination as if I’d seen them yesterday. Merci, Merce.


Merce’s Trance Dance: Events that Bear Attending to
By Alicia Mosier
(Copyright 2001 Alicia Mosier)

When you come out of a Merce Cunningham concert, familiar sounds sound more articulate; walking takes on new dimensions. Cunningham, now 81, has been presenting his alchemy of movement, nature, time, and space for 54 years. The huge ovation that greeted him when he came on stage last night at the opening of his company’s season at New York’s City Center was another testament to the world’s continuing affection for him and for the things he has shown us.

Things like, for instance, that there need not be an “incident” or a purposeful action for there to be an event that bears attending to, or that movements can be stripped of almost everything recognizably dance-like and still work as dancing. Or, that movement and nature and time and space, in their infinite reverberations, are so beautiful. Throughout the evening, sentences like this kept popping into my mind: “You see the phrase as its parts,” and, “The same thing two ways.” Such Koan-like thoughts are what occur to you when you are utterly absorbed and your mind is just letting things in and out, which is the state into which Cunningham’s pieces draw you in their perfect objectivity.

223170490_a85571bd63When New York City Ballet performed “Summerspace” (1958) last year, and they did it so well, there was a dramatic impetus to the piece; I found myself looking for images, for meaning. In the performance the Cunningham dancers gave last night, I was looking at elements: balance, velocity, spatial relationships. There are probably no other dancers in the world with more control than these (it comes from low in the pelvis) and more calm in their bodies. Jennifer Goggans had me rapt from her first moment on stage, a warm, serious spirit coming through her modest, powerful, unbelievably controlled movement. She did everything like it was nothing at all, and somehow that made it all the more important to me to take in everything she did. (Later, seeing a child halfskipping down the sidewalk, I had the same reaction.) Paige Cunningham, Daniel Squire, Koji Minato, and Jean Freebury (great in a long, daunting essay on balance) were all just as fleet and aware and wonder-inducing.

The curtain rises and falls on a whole world in this piece, with its eternal-summer pointillist backdrop and costumes by Robert Rauschenberg and its score, like crickets breathing, by Morton Feldman; it seems to exist long before and long after the dance is over. Nature in the theater, someone once called it.

You see nature, too, in “RainForest” (1968), in the yawning and standing still and gentle animal nudging that Cedric Andrieux, Jonah Bokaer, and Jeannie Steele engage in at the beginning. Here, though, they do it amidst dozens of Andy Warhol’s floating silver pillows and to a creaky score by David Tudor, played by Paul De Marinis and Takehisa Kosugi. While “Summerspace” has survived looking as fresh as the day it was born, this piece looks thinner and more dated. Still, in its endearing close duets and long, long solos (Derry Swan’s, with a bent over head-shake and a series of slow, sculpted side battements, was especially gripping), it showed us plenty. To speak of Robert Swinston, his fretful face staring into the black, is to speak of artistry of the highest order: massively focused, every move a question or an incantation.

1296837032-merce.way_stationIs Cunningham’s work investigation, or is it play? It’s both, of course. For over half a century he has brought experimental art and music vibrantly into the mix of his work, as well, which makes the exploratory mood all the more intoxicating. Charles Long’s sculptures for “Way Station,” which premiered last night, get you excited right away. You don’t know whether to laugh or boggle when the curtain goes up on five almost creature-like pods that look like they’re made of melting taffy or brightly-colored glue dripped down from a Brobdignagian art class above the stage. Each has three stringy legs and three puddled feet touching the ground (“Tripods,” actually, is the name Long gives to his decor).

That the tall, three-legged shape of these sculptures leaves a perfect space for people underneath is a nice conceit. The dancers complete the decor (just as in “Summerspace”: if no one was moving in front of that backdrop, maybe all we’d see would be dots). Daniel Roberts hangs out under the yellow tripod for several minutes at the beginning; later Lisa Boudreau does the same, leaning on one leg like she’s waiting at some dream bus stop.

Stepping around and in and out of these huge, delicate “way stations” is no problem for the 16 deadly-precise dancers. (I love the way they smile, and blink.) The good-looking costumes by James Hall — beige bodysuits with vaguely Native American-themed printing up the sides of bell sleeves or one pant leg, even a little fringe on a couple of people — add warm mauves and rusts to the fingerpaint colors of the sculptures.

Elements cropped up in the work’s first part that to Cunningham connoisseurs might seem familiar: one found oneself waiting for the trio to come in, for a slow balance on half-point, for a deep bend down and to the side as the spine torques against the legs, and there they were. This first part meanders a little, mostly in arrangements of twos and threes and fours and people stepping in from the sides at wide intervals, everything on curves and planes. There’s a lot of speed, then a lot of slowness. (As the dancers complete the decor, the decor gives continuity to the dance.) A lovely passage featured three couples with winglike pairs of arms and surprising lifts at the end. Holley Farmer of the beautiful feet and the perfect technique was a fascinating, sure, mercurial presence.

Takehisa Kosugi’s score (which he played live), earlier scratchy and staticky, develops a wonderful case of schizophrenia in the second half: in come whacked-out harmonicas, hints of a carousel, spurts of klezmer clarinets. Three men bound in with a spark of vigor; three women follow; and from here on in it’s energy-and-focus cubed, more dynamic in shape and variety. Everybody sits down for a while, then bolts up and off the stage. There is an incredible sustained passage of balances in plie and half-point for one woman (a lot happened on one leg in this piece), big leaps for the men, and a phenomenal triple duet that ended with the men hurtling the women into the air and dropping them down again into a spin.

“Way Station” seemed more “composed,” with less random movement, than the other pieces on the program. (I heard one
woman at the interval say, “I sort of wish there’d been more running around.”) But the aesthetic of its creator — the exploration, the pure unexpectedness, the thrilling beauty, the gentleness, the fun — came through loud and clear, and it sent the audience into an ecstatic trance.


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