Life as a Modern Dancer

Julie Crothers’ "Holy Crap": Blessed is the Skilled Performer

Julie Crothers in "Holy Crap." Photo by Hans Holtan.

Julie Crothers’ "Holy Crap": Blessed is the Skilled Performer
June 23-24, 2023 at ODC Theater, San Francisco
By Molly Rose-Williams

Shortly after the lights come up, so does the music—and then we’re in church. Christian Megachurch, to be precise. The mega-vibes music, high drama lighting cues, and gravitationally-magnetic smile of Julie Crothers make a portal of San Francisco’s ODC Theater. And then Crothers begins to speak.

Like the suavest of TV ministers, Crothers welcomes us in a round, smooth, and supremely inviting voice. Her body takes up space like an optical illusion, filling the stage though she barely moves. She begins to tell us a story:

God is always watching. Imagine a guy with millions upon millions of tiny television screens—that’s God. And each television screen? That’s us. Every single one of us has a direct line to God, and he’s keeping an eye out.

Did I mention Julie Crothers is a magnetic performer? We’re less than 5 minutes into the show, and already the back of my neck is tingling with the excitement and tension of the opposing forces roiling inside me. One one hand: a guttural uneasiness in the face of Crothers’ uncanny transformation into the body and voice of Evangelical America, a culture that represents for me one of the most violent and oppressive forces in modern US society. On the other hand: a yearning to lean closer. And closer. And closer. Crothers-as-minister is honey-warm; her presence is utterly compelling.

Over the next hour, Crothers takes us to church and back; to personal memories from Jesus Ballet Camp and her first gay crush—stories told with a delightfully engaging mix of words, physicality, honesty and humor; to expertly-physicalized evocations of the spiritual leaders that make up Evangelical America; to visions of a God that once meant everything to her, and the pain and confusion of losing her absolute faith through the process of coming into her adulthood and her queerness. 

Dancing weaves in and out of character monologues, audience participation, and confessional soliloquies, and ranges in style from hip-hop-inspired choreo, to modern dance moves, to ecstatic improvisation, and a nostalgic ballet number that she dances while relating a story from her Jesus Ballet Camp days. Sometimes it accents her words, and sometimes it becomes the words. Throughout, her absolutely virtuosic skill as a performer acts like a North star, bringing me along for a ride so compelling I almost forget to notice the craft of the show we’re riding.

Julie Crothers. Photo by Hans Holtan.

A few highlights:

• JC with the wrench. Soon after Crothers introduces the concept of the TV-watching God, she introduces Jesus: the ultimate spiritual mechanic. While God watches us on those screens, JC makes sure they don’t break—he’s back there patching wires and busting nuts just to keep us visible to God (that’s his sacrifice). And he’s a badass! Crothers brings him to life with a hilarious boyband-like song and dance that evokes a vision of JC worthy of being Justin Bieber’s original inspiration.
• The Flesh and Spirit balloons. “Who is ready to let the spirit in?” Crothers asks the audience about 20 minutes into the show. “Is there anyone ready to let the spirit in?” A single person descends from the audience onto the stage, where Crothers stands with a helium balloon that she’s already explained represents the Spirit. “All you have to do,” she explains, “is let the Spirit in and then ask JC to fix your screen.” The volunteer nods, and Crothers makes a small incision in the helium balloon which she hands to the volunteer. Bringing the balloon to their mouth, the volunteer takes a deep breath in, and then with an impossibly high voice: “Please JC, come fix my screen.” The absurdity and humor of the moment glows like a small nugget of gold.
• Teenager prayer journals ballads. Towards the end of the show, Crothers reveals that throughout her childhood and young adulthood, she kept prayer journals—small paper notebooks filled with heartfelt, yearningly earnest reflections on her faith, hopes and fears. “I turned a few of the entries into songs,” she admits. “I would love for you to sing along.” A short me-then-you teaching session later, the entire theater has erupted in song. Here I am. I want to fly, try, grow. The moment is heartbreaking, ecstatic, and absolutely electric.

Throughout the show, I’m struck over and over by the power of a good performance. Though the elements that make up Holy Crap are so wide-ranging that at times I’m almost surprised I’m still watching the same show, Crothers’ excellence in performance allows her to switch from storyteller, to dancer, to singer, to preacher, to midnight confessional, and back again with ease. In turn, I follow happily, incredibly grateful to be along for this eclectic, joyful, heartfelt, and praise-worthy ride.

Molly Rose-Williams is a Bay Area-based performer, writer, producer, and maker. When she’s not dancing or writing about dance, she works as a creative producer for The Nocturnists podcast, and teaches cooking and science. See more at www.mollyrosewilliams.com.

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Containing Multitudes: Reflections on Megan Lowe Dances' "Gathering Pieces of a Peace"

Megan Lowe Dances presents "Gathering Pieces of Peace." Dancers (far left, then clockwise): Melissa Lewis Wong, Malia Hatico-Byrne, Clarissa Rivera Dyas, and Megan Lowe. Photo by Hewitt Visuals.

Containing Multitudes: Reflections on Megan Lowe Dances' Gathering Pieces of a Peace

By Bhumi B Patel

When I attended Megan Lowe Dances’ Gathering Pieces of a Peace at ODC theater on September 1st, the audience was abuzz with opening night excitement. Friends greeted friends, audiences took in the installation in the lobby, and everyone waited with anticipation. Walking to the theater, audience members stopped to take in the altar that greeted us, images of elders in the flickering candle light. The work is host to mixed race AAPI artistic collaborators and brings together their individual yet complex histories in fragmented vignettes that trace each of their desires to find connection and belonging through song, movement, and storytelling. 

As the lights dimmed and the performance began, the dancers, Clarissa Rivera Dyas, Malia Hatico-Byrne, Melissa Lewis Wong, and Megan Lowe, appeared in pools of light of different colors and textures. Each pool its own portal to the stories we were to follow each dancer through. As the performance continued, we were met with stories of gardens and tattoos, mahjong games and grandparents, wood carvings and tropical fruit, all telling the stories of how, as one of the song lyrics reminds us, our bodies are an archive. And no matter how fragmented that archive may be, that archive is a place where we can understand where and how we belong.

The audience was swept into a journey of tracing the portals that were being opened and exposed by the dancers through their creative use of the entire theater space. They swung their crouched bodies under the railings as they danced up the staircase in the middle of the audience; they crossed rows of seats by stepping onto the armrests; they created rhythm by pushing down the empty seats on which they stood; they swung effortlessly from the beams and that criss crossed the wall of the theater. These feats are hallmarks of Megan Lowe’s choreography, yet they creatively extend the stage into the world of the audience.

Megan Lowe Dances presents "Gathering Pieces of Peace." Dancers Clarissa Rivera Dyas, Malia Hatico-Byrne, Melissa Lewis Wong, and Megan Lowe. Photo by Hewitt Visuals.

Watching the hour-long performance, I was struck by the importance of acknowledging that it is not only okay, but it is beautiful to be more than one thing at one time and still be full in all of the parts that make us up. I kept thinking about Gloria Anzaldúa’s space alien consciousness, and how the spirit of that consciousness kept coming through in the work. The space alien, Anzaldúa theorizes, contains endless possibilities and multitudes, available to form solidarity across identity, and lives always at an intersection of many places at once. The space alien is an infinite border crosser. The space alien carries curiosity, and this curiosity was something that came through with the movement, the songs, and the stories that the dancers vulnerably shared.

One of the highlights of the work for me is how each of the dancers’ embodiment of their individual voices and narratives shined through. Both their stories and their movement spoke to each performers’ individuality and unique histories. As I left the show into the cool night air of San Francisco, the performance left me wondering about the power of mixed-raceness as a borderland from which there are endless possibilities for being and being seen. You have two more chances to see the show at ODC Theater in San Francisco on Friday, September 8 at 7:30pm and Saturday, September 9 at 7:30pm. 

 

Movement artist and writer Bhumi B Patel directs pateldanceworks and is a queer, desi, home-seeker, and science fiction choreographer and PhD Candidate (she/they). In its purest form, she creates performance works as a love letter to her ancestors. Patel moves at the intersection embodied research and generating new futures, using improvisational practice as a pursuit for liberation.

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Related posts:

One Good Quote: "Tangram" with Megan Lowe Dances (December 2021)

Still Lingering: Reflections on “Action Potential," Six Months Later

 

Biba Bell Breathes Life into Art: Deviating from Traditional Structures of Performance

Cities of the Interior (2021)

 

Biba Bell Breathes Life into Art: Deviating from Traditional Structures of Performance

By Camryn Eaglin

Biba Bell morphs the shape of the artistic box that many of us feel expected to exist in. The standard forms of performance are nothing but a thing. As Biba breathes life into her artwork, she incorporates her surroundings such as nature, architecture, and lived experiences—past, present, and future—in order to create atmospheric and experiential performance environments for herself and audiences. For the artist that finds themselves stuck in a pool of dead-end ideas or feeling uninspired, there is always inspiration to be uncovered, redefined, and repurposed. Biba Bell shows us that.

Who is Biba Bell? 

Detroit based artist, dancer, choreographer, and writer Biba Bell is a tenured associate professor at Wayne State University in Detroit, Michigan. She teaches and develops work on her collegiate dance students while simultaneously creating pieces within her community. As a diverse mover, how would Bell describe her individual movement style? It’s quite an eclectic mix. Bell describes it as “highly physical movement, [which] could be full-out, full-bodied, vigorous dancing or subtle, intensely attenuated, [and an] internal experience.”

Throughout Bell’s career she’s trained with various teachers in styles such as Cunningham, Limón, contact improvisation, Horton, somatics oriented ballet and Afro-Haitian—just to name a few. She credits her educators such as Silvia Martins, Blanche Brown, Mel Wong, Ellie Klopp, and Barbara Mahler—she noted a list of great teachers—as the sources for her movement vocabulary. This has developed into her classes being centered around the amalgamation of said styles. For Bell, she says teaching allows her to spend time with her past teachers in some respects. She explained how she’s constantly “evoking them through exercises and movement explorations, and honoring the embodied knowledge that have been transmitted to [her] from and through many incredible teachers, dancers, and artists.” She uses various methodologies to create a fine blend that is a unique, fluid way of moving.

Through this, she hopes her students will connect their movement with the culture, history, and somatic feeling embodied through such styles. She wants her students to “consider their work outside of the studio context and in the world.” Bell says her classes are a space to play with hybridity. As a former student of Biba Bell, I can attest that her classes were a refreshing wild card. We moved our bodies differently each day, taking time to reflect on our movement, where it comes from, and the idea of intentionality. 

Photo by Christine Hucal

Out of the Black Box, and into the World.

To Bell, a performance space is right beneath her feet. She has previously made performance spaces out of  gardens, stairways, rooftops, overpasses, fields, and people’s homes. From the most mundane spaces, to the most extraordinary, to those overlooked, for Bell there is always a story to be unearthed or translated into movement. Site-specificity is one of her favorite performance spaces of choice; limits hardly exist. “Working within specific sites opens up the senses to incorporate context, history, practices, and somatic feel of the work in ways that are, for me, sometimes less fulfilling within a black box or white cube context,” Bell says.

How can one take a seemingly ordinary or even an extraordinary occurrence in nature and shape a performance around it? From the curvature of the roadsides, to the archway of the bridge, the texture of the grass, the swaying of the trees, and the view from a rooftop. These places live in existence all around us. But do we take the time to breed context and connect it back to our being and the world around us? She does. With her PhD in performance studies, she researched performance in regards to architecture, community, environment, as well as social and personal aspects of our lives. Within her dissertation, “Dancing There: Spaces of Contemporary Choreography,” Bell also researched embodiment in relation to memory, archive, practice, and identity. She pulls from such ideas when cultivating work. From concepts, texts, music or sound, textile, or narrative, Bell finds the world around us as the heartbeat, the life source for her art.

Also as a collaborator, she has worked with artists in other disciplines such as visual artists, musician-composers, theater directors, and architects. She enjoys the learning curve of crossing mediums and the difficulty to “translate and get lost in translation.” She’s keen on being present with other creatives. For Bell, collaboration brings ancestral perspectives that can enhance the next person’s voice.

Nowhere Near Twilight—What’s Next for Biba Bell?

Her creativity is still in bloom and her dancing desires are far from waning. “At 46 years old, I don’t feel like my dancing body is anywhere near twilight. I will be dancing as long as I’m living,” says Bell. For her, creating concrete, long term plans hasn’t always been her M.O. Her next steps tend to flow based on the people and environments around her. However, she does hope to cross international space and teach abroad one day in order to mix cultural experiences. She says another uncharted territory for her would be choreographing for an opera or musical theater production. Choreographing for large scale productions would be a welcomed challenge to expand on space and aesthetic movement.

More recently, her current project in development will be titled, “Tree Dances: Epiphytic Choreographies and (Para)sites of Eco-activism.” In Bell’s words, “The piece focuses on choreography, activism, and ecology through practices of tree-sitting.” It will explore the natural relationship between epiphytes—air-plants who live in trees—and parasites and how they support sustainable ecosystems. Set in the forest, this work delves into the complexity of colonial and indigenous histories. Bell is also collaborating with visual artist Meg Heeres. Heeres’ artistic medium is creating sculptures and paper out of invasive plants. Bell will share a performance event during Meg Heeres’ exhibition. This will take place at the Simone de Sousa Gallery in Detroit, Michigan and will be held late summer 2023.

Photo by Georgios Kontos

To keep up with Biba Bell’s artistic endeavors be sure to check out her website here: https://www.bibabell.com/ 

Camryn Eaglin is a professional dancer,  dance teacher, writer, and creative, with experience in video editing and graphic design. Eaglin is a Wayne State University graduate with her Bachelor of Science in Dance and a minor in Broadcast Journalism. When she’s not dancing, she’s still creating, seeking out all of the creative experiences that exist around her.

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Reflection on “Drifter” by Keith Johnson/Dancers

Reflection on “Drifter” by Keith Johnson/Dancers

By Molly Rose-Williams

In the talkback after his newest show, “Drifter,” Keith Johnson said he hoped the work would provoke conversation. In my experience, it has. But I don’t think they are the conversations Johnson intended to provoke when he created the work. 

At the center of most of these conversations has been the question of “Why?” Why create this work? Why share it with audiences? What was Johnson hoping to get out of presenting this material publicly? Of course, these questions could be asked of any work (and, one could argue, should be as part of any creative process). But in this case, the most urgent question for me became: What responsibility do we hold to our audiences as artists when our work holds real potential to cause mental, emotional, and psychological harm?

These questions were prompted most intensely by the fourth work in the evening, a piece exploring the experiences of the “Manson Girls”—the women closest to Charles Manson who perpetrated many of the murders associated with his cult. All four pieces that made up the work explored some aspect of the 60’s—the hippie generation, JFK’s assassination, the Vietnam War, and Charles Manson—but this fourth piece so blatantly violated my expectations of what I anticipate experiencing when I come to a dance show in the Bay Area that it has largely eclipsed my impressions from the first three.

That said, in the spirit of honoring the creative labor the artists put into bringing the entire evening to life, I’ll start by reflecting on the first three works of the night. I return to the questions posed above later on.

The first piece in the evening was a lyrical quartet that read like an homage to the hippie generation. Four dancers (Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh, Rogelio Lopez, Tara McArthur, and Andrew Merrell) dressed in identifiably 60’s garb looped in and out, up and down, peeled open and spun like dandelions in the wind. The choreography was intricate, sweeping, and beautifully-danced. The music was gentle and classical-feeling, adding to the gentle nostalgia of the piece. At times the soft piano felt synergistically intertwined with the movement, and at times it felt as though the dance was beholden to the music—it’s gentle-ness, it’s length.

The second piece was a solo by Paul Matteson. The music was a meandering song by Bob Dylan laced with references to images and events around JFK’s assassination. Paul Matteson’s dancing was articulate and expressive, sometimes directly mimicking the images Dylan evoked in his lyrics—drawing his finger across his throat at “straight on into the afterlife,” creating the image of a crucifixion at “killed him like a human sacrifice,” and aping Marilyn Monroe’s coquettish airs when she was mentioned—and sometimes weaving in and out of Dylan’s words with greater abstraction. 

I found myself curious why the creators (Johnson, Matteson, and Alyssa Forte, according to the program) had chosen to engage so literally with the lyrics. Was it some form of nostalgia? It felt as though it rested heavily on the assumed ability of the audience to directly reference the richness of the allusions based on personal experience. As someone who was not alive during this time period and was unfamiliar with many of the images evoked, I was most struck by how violent most of the literal movements were. The result—watching standard modern dance choreography interspersed with depictions of a hanging, someone’s throat being sliced, and a crucifixion—felt jarring, as if there were some layer of meaning I was supposed to understand, but was missing.

Andrew Merrell. Photo by Scott McArthur.

 

The third piece was a solo danced by Andrew Merrell. The soundscore was an edited interview with a Vietnam veteran describing the atrocities of his personal experience in the war—both things he witnessed, and acts of violence he perpetrated. His voice was textured and numb, filled with emotion it seemed he was unable to express. The images he described were gruesome, specific, and upsetting. Merrell was stunning, moving like the understory to the horrific and stunted words. He flew around the space with a kind of exquisite focus, moving as though every sensation were an emotion expressed physically. His physicality felt imbued with an undeniable queerness (in his physical tone, the expressiveness of his hips, his absolute vulnerability when he looked at us…how do you quantify “queerness” in movement??), which juxtaposed the hyper-masculine culture expressed by the speaker. 

Though I was blown away by Merrell’s performance, I wondered why this particular interview had been chosen and edited this way, to intentionally emphasize the gruesome acts perpetrated by this soldier (as opposed to choosing another, equally-affecting interview with less gruesome descriptions, or layering multiple narratives around the experiences of post-traumatic stress by Vietnam vets). “Bearing witness” was the phrase that most immediately came to mind—that we hold a responsibility to bear witness to the suffering and injustices of the past. That in bearing witness we both honor those who have come before us, and learn from the past in order that we might more intentionally move into the future. But if this was the frame behind the choice to include such upsetting content, I felt the piece fell short of successfully bringing me there.

Merrell’s performance offered us the opportunity to hear the speaker as fully and fallibly human, even in light of the atrocities he had committed. It also highlighted the intense trauma so many of the people affected by the war endured. But I didn’t feel that the piece overall offered me a perspective or way to digest the audio beyond that. I didn't feel it justified the labor that being “ambushed” by the gruesome images asked of me—nothing that came before it prepared me for descriptions this graphic, and nothing that came after supported me in digesting or making sense of what I had heard. Instead, it bordered on trauma porn for me. Johnson recreated the soldier’s inability to reflect on his emotional experience in his own directorial choices, asking his audience to witness the trauma and violence of the war without metabolizing it into something that could be understood in a new way.

Left to right: Haihua Chiang, Courtney Ozovek, and Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh.

If the third piece bordered on trauma porn, the fourth felt to me like it crossed that line. Moments that stood out to me: three women (Haihua Chiang, Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh, and Courtney Ozovek) running and flinging themselves at the wall over and over while sirens blared and lights flashed; detailed audio descriptions of graphically violent murder scenes; a presumed audience member (Andrew W. Palomares) jumping up from a seat in the front row a few minutes into the piece and physically threatening the audience; Charles Manson (Palomares) beating and strangling one of the women before throwing her to the ground.

It wasn’t just that it was graphic. It was that there was no frame of any kind for making sense of what we were being asked to witness, either internally to the show, or externally. For one, there was no warning that this show would be highly unusual in its depictions of violence (particularly violence against women). As someone who regularly goes to see dance in the Bay Area, I was completely unprepared to see anything this violent, and my surprise at what I was witnessing made me tense up and internally retreat. My attention became vague, and when the sirens started, my physiological recoil was so intense that I had to focus on taking deep breaths to calm my nausea, even further removing me from the work. 

By the time the last part of the work came around—a simple solo to the testimony of one of the mothers of the girls killed in Manson’s cult—my attention was so far removed that I didn’t even fully process what I was seeing. I have heard from others that this ending offered some small form of relief and catharsis for the violence that had come before. But I was already tuned out. Violence on stage can be an incredibly effective and powerful artistic choice, but in this case, it removed me from the work. 

Internally, the piece lacked any frame of reference to help me understand why I was being asked to watch this violence. Was there something I was meant to understand through this re-staging of trauma? What value or perspective was being offered on the story of Charles Manson? What did including a “Charles Manson” character in the piece offer beyond simply re-enacting violence that had already occurred and evoking fear in the audience members who felt physically threatened by him? And why restage these brutalities through a dance/theater lens specifically? Nothing in the movement or directorial choices in the work helped me understand what I was seeing as anything more than descriptive of past traumas, and so that also led me to tune out. By the end I was shaken, slightly nauseous, and angry at the emotional, mental, and psychological asks that had been made of me without a legible offering in return.

The greatest surprise for me came in the talkback after the show—learning how connected and safe the collaborating artists felt throughout the process. If this work is to continue, I recommend finding ways of bringing that forward in the work itself. It also seemed as if the process of creating the work had offered Johnson some form of catharsis, or way of processing personal trauma and its legacies in his life. In the future, I’d be interested to see how that potential for catharsis may be translated to an audience that isn’t immersed in the creation process and potentially didn’t live through the period of time the work examines. 

We don’t need to relive and recreate traumas from the past. We need to find ways of processing them so that we can move forward with greater agency and intention around enacting the power we each hold for the futures we desire. Thoughtful and courageous art plays an irreplaceable role in that work. And part of that is knowing what you’ve made so you can know what you’re asking audiences to engage with.

Molly Rose-Williams is a Bay Area-based performer, writer, producer, and maker. When she’s not dancing or writing about dance, she works as a creative producer for The Nocturnists podcast, and teaches cooking and science. See more at www.mollyrosewilliams.com.

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Related posts:

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days Until "Drifter" with Keith Johnson/Dancers

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: One Day Until "Drifter" with Keith Johnson/Dancers

Artist Profile #100: Keith Johnson

40 Years of Dancemaking: An Interview with Nancy Karp

Nancy Karp

In December 2022, I had the opportunity to sit down with Bay Area choreographer Nancy Karp on Zoom. This fall Nancy celebrated a huge milestone - 40 years of Nancy Karp + Dancers.

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Jill Randall (JR): Congrats on this major milestone! I hope you have been savoring it since the performance.

Nancy Karp (NK): I was thinking just this morning about how fast time goes by. I have had my studio (which you see behind me on the Zoom) since 1980. I think about all of the dances made here, and all of the people who have been part of the process of making this work. 

JR: To be able to have that imprint, and memories! 

NK: The energy is still here! There is always a sense of dancemaking in the space, even if the dancers are not physically present.

In August 1980 I moved into this live/work studio at the Emeryville Artists Cooperative and built the sprung floor, in the hope of being here for a while. 

JR: What has kept you inspired and making art year after year? People, spaces, ideas keep percolating…

NK: It is not just one thing. I think for me, looking at art is major, living in our contemporary world and keeping my eyes open is another; being open to new experiences and new people. And, I have this drive. Making dances is what I do best, and what I deeply love. 

The dancers and the new possibilities they can bring to the work inspires me. They play an integral and major part of the process. Where a piece starts and where it ends up, is because of the dancers. They are my true loves.  

"Kristallnacht," 1993. Dancers Robert Saito (left) and Peter Foster (right). Photo by Marty Sohl.

JR: In recent years, how do you find dancers? What do you look for? What are the qualities?

NK: Often I find them when dancers come to dance company performances, and share, “I like your work. I want to work with you.”

It is also through the dancers who are working with me that I will meet other dancers, and I also see a lot of performances. 

I don’t do auditions anymore. I used to do these, but found that they weren’t very effective.

When I am interested in someone, I invite them to the studio for a cup of tea to get to know them as people. There is no room for divas in my work. 

JR: What would you say - when you look at the past 40 years - what are some of the biggest changes in modern dance? Aesthetics, process, money…

NK: The character of dance companies has changed. In the past it was a solo figure or choreographer, with a particular aesthetic or style. Now more recently in the past 10 years or so, there is more of a collective spirit. We see different voices within the same ensemble or company. 

Also, I see more artists socially connected to the social-political climate. These are major concerns for many artists and have become the thrust of their work. 

Thinking about technique - the type of dancing is not just one historic style as in the past - but a true combination - for better or worse. I see brilliant fusions, and I see a lot of things that are arbitrary, undefined and lacking in meaning. 

I see a mix of gender and generations in companies which I think is fantastic; bolder and more adventurous than even a decade ago. 

JR: What were some key decisions you made over the years that helped you stabilize, sustain, or expand the company? 

NK: I have always been deeply involved in the administration of the company, mainly because of financial limitations. From early on, in 1981, I created a nonprofit, the New Arts Foundation, and CA Lawyers for the Arts was a tremendous help. I did this from the onset of the dance company to be eligible for national and statewide funding.

The non-profit started out with 3 board members and gradually expanded to members from the community with different talents. The board has pretty much always been a “working board” with a CPA, an attorney, a digital marketing PR person, and so forth to lend their guidance and expertise. 

One thing I decided most recently was to initiate annual board retreats with an organizational consultant, and it has really brought the board together this past year. It has helped us focus on board responsibilities and also the limitations.

For several years, I have had paid administrative interns from local colleges and universities. They have often moved into positions as staff members - most recently with Bhumi Patel. Bhumi has helped with grant writing and concert management. She is now busy pursuing her own artistic work, and I am grateful to have Chelsea Marie Hill working with me now.

JR: I am thinking about Sarah Wilbur’s amazing book Funding Bodies, which is a deep dive into the history of the National Endowment for the Arts. Did you ever receive NEA funding?

NK: I was fortunate, early on in the 1980s to receive NEA funding support. I remember one year being overwhelmed. The dance company received a project grant, I received a choreography fellowship, and we got an Inter Arts grant as well. I think that was 1985. We continued to receive several years of funding until the Jesse Helms disaster; support then started primarily going to the major institutions.

I have always paid my dancers, and remember asking the dancers in the early 1990s…what would happen if I did not receive NEA funding. I clearly remember asking, “If I cannot pay you at the same level, can you still dance with me?” They were amazingly loyal. We found other sources, but did suffer at that point.

Back in the 1980s the head of the NEA came to the Bay Area to talk to the community and to help folks apply. He said, “You deserve a grant just for completing the grant application form.”

JR: On the topic of relevancy. How do you stay relevant in the community, and in the broader field?

NK: Being attentive to the world around me in a global sense, not only in the dance world. My concerns for the world are universal concerns. 

Just living in this contemporary world and my response to it through my work; albeit in an abstract aesthetic rather than a narrative linear way of expression.

My work has a lot to do with community. There is something to that - being attentive to the community.

The work ends up being about the dancers. I may come in with some ideas and images, but it is their interconnectedness that I find fascinating and compelling that I want to work with.

"piano piano," 2020. Dancers Sonsherée Giles (left) and Chris Black (right) in the foreground and Nick Brentley, Katie Kruger and Amy Lewis on the stairs. Photo by John Hefti.

JR: What other artists have deeply inspired you in recent years, or over the years? 

NK: I am very much moved by music. Contemporary music by living composers draws me in. 

And, I recently saw exhibitions of both Lee Krasner and Joan Mitchell. Their lives, their persistence, their style of work, and the way that they worked inspires me.

In terms of choreographers - I am drawn to a lot of European choreographers. Sasha Waltz and Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker, I find compelling. Trisha Brown over the years, I absolutely loved. That kind of abstract, articulated work I have always been drawn to.

Also, William Kentredge’s work, a South African artist. His work is coming to Cal Performances in March 2023. I appreciate the way he works with dancers and actors. He is a visual artist by background. A few years back, he had an installation at SF MOMA which included a video surrounding you in the room with dancers and actors integrated into his animated footage. I think he is absolutely brilliant.  During the pandemic, there were several videos about his multi-layered process of making work.

JR: How do you want to support the next generation of artmakers? Literally, or through things like this interview and posing questions.

NK: I love seeing new work and the next generation making it. Sometimes I am invited into rehearsals to give thoughts and questions. I love participating in that way. 

It was wonderful being a part of Margaret Jenkins’ CHIME project early on and being really hands on.

Many of the dancers who work with me are also choreographers. Some of it is learning by doing - seeing the process and all of the questions I ask of myself and of the dancers. I think that is also a way of passing on, a way of thinking, a way of working.

I encourage younger generations to do more questioning. Bring in more people of their generation, to have a look before it is presented. I think quite often a lot of art is put out there without much editing or consideration. I am wondering if a little more rigor in making work would be useful. 

I used to do that regularly - to bring in peers to look at the work when I was two-thirds of the way done with a new piece. Of course, you always have to consider the source from the feedback being given! 

Nowadays, I videotape everything and scrutinize it endlessly between rehearsals. 

JR: My last question. Modesty aside - to take a moment to celebrate your longevity and endurance in the field. What are you most proud of? 

NK: I am most proud of the collaborations I have been able to develop; bringing some exceptional artists together and shaping work with me. A lot of these projects were long projects, not just made in a few months. Several were a year or two years in the making. These were the most meaningful to me. Visual artists, composers, and designers….I feel so fortunate to have worked with these people, and that they were willing to work with me. 

I have enjoyed taking chances with new collaborators. Most recently I worked with local composer David A. Jaffe. His work was unbelievably gorgeous. It challenged him, and it challenged me.

There is a lot to trust. It’s always a fabulous surprise. 

"fly through the night, and land near dawn," 2022. Dancers Calvin Thomas (left) and Anna Greenberg (right). Photo by John Hefti.

 

 

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: One Day Until "Drifter" with Keith Johnson/Dancers

Seated: Andrew Merrell. Standing dancers, left to right: Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh, Rogelio Lopez, and Tara McArthur.

 

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: One Day Until Drifter with Keith Johnson/Dancers

By Jill Randall

Today I share Part 2 of my virtual interview with choreographer Keith Johnson and his collaborators. Check out Drifter Friday and Saturday night at the Joe Goode Annex in San Francisco. 

Today we hear from Keith Johnson, Haihua Chiang, Andrew Merrell, Courtney Ozovek, Andrew Palomares, and Tara McArthur.

*Updated note on Saturday, March 4, 2023:
Content warning: This performance contains scenes of violence, loud noises, and disturbing historical transcripts. Please take care of your own needs and honor your body while viewing.

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Jill Randall (JR): What are 5 words or phrases to describe Drifter?

Keith Johnson: Thought-provoking, uncomfortable, self-reflective, physical, and historic.

JR: Which pieces are premieres?

Keith Johnson: Drifter is a new quartet that opens the dance. It was created during a residency at Shawl-Anderson pre-pandemic and will be a premiere. Camelot (Mourning Glory) is a new solo created with Paul Matteson two years ago and is also a premiere. The other two - My Vietnam and Family premiered in 2022 and 2019 respectively.

JR: What excites you about engaging with a new audience, especially coming out of pandemic times?

Haihua Chiang: I’m so excited to perform live again, and feel the energy from the audience and be able to feel the feedback right away. 

Tara McArthur: Being back in the Bay Area to present Keith’s work is exciting because his work has been such a throughline of my professional dancing life, from college to now, almost 15 years later. We have all been changed by the pandemic — both as performers and audience members. I think there is a profound need for connection with one another and live art. It is deeply fulfilling to engage as an artist in this way again. 

JR: Which pieces are you in? What are you focusing on and exploring in these works right now as a performer? 

Andrew Merrell: I am performing in the quartet Drifter with Rogelio Lopez, Tara McArthur and Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh, three incredibly important people in my life beyond dance. The piece has a softness that allows me to focus on clarity of movement and be present within the swirl. It is so beautifully crafted that I feel responsible to just perform the piece simply and specifically. The piece has an overarching melancholy that feels very real when sharing a beautiful but fleeting moment with three people who you love deeply. 

I am also performing a solo called My Vietnam, that 5 other dancers in the show know and have performed previously, which adds a certain kind of pressure! The movement is specific and challenging and requires of me major focus. The solo is set to a deeply disturbing sound score of an interview with a Vietnam War veteran describing atrocities that he had committed, and asks without asking, how are "we" (society) responsible for creating an impossible and hellish situation that is war. Performatively, it is a fine balance of letting the movement speak for itself and giving oneself over to the emotional rollercoaster of the work. A certain combination of defiance and shame.

Haihua Chiang: I’m one of the dancers in Family. It’s a very intense work both physically and emotionally. In the work, I’m focusing on finding the connection with the ensemble and how to present the character in the background of the story.

JR: Can you share a bit about risk and rigor in the dances you will be performing in a few weeks?

Andrew Palomares: For my role in the performance, I’m attempting to emulate the energy of Charles Manson. For me, having grown up in a domestic violence household, the performance of physical abuse & control of other dancers has a triggering effect that I must manage while performing. The RISK lives in that it can also have an emotional impact on the dancers I’m working with as well as audience members who may have experienced similar traumas. The RIGOR lies within my ability to embody & live through that energy while reminding myself that it is still a “safe space” on stage.

Courtney Ozovek: I will be performing in Family, as a part of Drifter. As a member of the premiere cast, I have enjoyed the development of the piece since its inception. This twenty-four minute piece challenges the dancers' stamina not only on a physical level, but mentally and emotionally as well. Working with a topic as heavy as this only adds to the physical demands of heaving your body multiple times towards a stationary barrier while taking the journey through the confessions of those who committed such a horrible crime. When the tables are turned, and you hear from one of the victim's mothers, the emotional tone shifts and we are left to question the concept of forgiveness. What I love about this piece is the risks it takes in conceptual content, the physical rigor it takes to sustain the journey through the piece, and the capacity to awaken a sense of reality to our current human condition. 

JR: How has your mindset changed or clarified due to the pandemic and the past few years? What is your dream of the audience? What do you wish to offer, and how do you wish to engage? 

Courtney Ozovek: The pandemic definitely shifted a lot. On a personal note, I had a baby at the beginning of the shutdown, which catapulted into a lengthy period of solitude. However, what I appreciate even more now is the ability to share our stories in a space with live human beings. Being together amplifies the kinesthetic visceral experience that is shared with the observers and performers. I hope that the audience is willing to engage in the journey of the entire evening of performances and share in the joy of creating.

 

Check out Drifter at the Joe Goode Annex on Friday, March 3rd and Saturday, March 4th at 8pm. Sima Belmar will lead a Q and A Friday night. Purchase your tickets here.

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Related posts:

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days Until "Drifter" with Keith Johnson/Dancers

Artist Profile #100: Keith Johnson

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days Until "Drifter" with Keith Johnson/Dancers

Rogelio Lopez, Andrew Merrell, and Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days Until Drifter with Keith Johnson/Dancers

By Jill Randall

Keith Johnson/Dancers comes to the San Francisco Bay Area for the first time this coming weekend with its production, Drifter, and a cast of eight. Drifter will be onstage at the Joe Goode Annex in San Francisco.

It is an honor to spotlight Keith’s work on Life as a Modern Dancer today. Keith was the inspiration to create this website 10 years ago! Read the background story here.

Today I share part one of a “virtual interview” I did with Keith and the cast in recent weeks.

*Updated note on Saturday, March 4, 2023:
Content warning: This performance contains scenes of violence, loud noises, and disturbing historical transcripts. Please take care of your own needs and honor your body while viewing.

—--

Jill Randall (JR): Keith, give me the elevator pitch in a few sentences please! What is this show about, and what is it exploring?

Keith Johnson: Drifter explores the decade of the 1960s and the sense of hope and change that was imminent. It also explores the turmoil, confusion, distrust, and disappointment that occurred. Was it all an experiment? What happens when you peel back the layers and see more clearly the undertow of the decade? On a personal level, it explores Family, Forgiveness, Redemption, Hope, and Destruction.

JR: What really excites you about Drifter?

Keith Johnson: I'm excited about this show because the dancers are remarkable. We made it before, during, and after the pandemic and never gave up on it. It has changed because the dancers in the works have changed too. Things resonate in different ways for them and myself after coming back to the studio to put it together. It also helps me to understand my childhood.

JR: For collaborators, how long have you been working with Keith?

Rogelio Lopez: I met Keith in my MFA program, and he became my mentor. I was honored to be in several of his pieces during graduate school. A year after my MFA graduation, I joined his dance company in 2015. I’ve been involved in his work ever since.

Paul Matteson: Keith and I partnered together in Terry Creach’s choreography 25 years ago. I then danced in Keith’s work in 1999 as part of a three-week intensive alongside the Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company in Salt Lake City, Utah. We rehearsed six to eight hours a day to make an incredibly physical dance, Running/Still/Life. And at the end of each day, we traveled back to a small hotel and played board games and laughed. 

I love the physical heart in Keith’s work. There is raw humanity and some unshakeable sadness buoyed by a willingness to keep on trying again. In rehearsals, the phrasing and details emerge over time. His processes are rigorous and satisfyingly relentless. There are landings of meaning that happen each day which provide the process with the same sequential momentum as his movement style. 

JR: Rogelio and Bahareh, can you share a bit more about what you also love about the work, and the process?

Rogelio Lopez: Keith has an artistic vision that inspires me to pay attention to my movement vocabulary and the costumes, lighting, and sets. He focuses on letting the movement speak without the addition of unnecessary face gestures, over dramatization of feelings, etc. The work is pure and poignant. His process offers prompts for us to investigate, and in turn he directs us and brings our strengths forward.

Bahareh Ebrahimzadeh: What I have always loved about Keith's work is that the process is very much a part of the work that is ultimately created. You don't just show up and learn steps. You build together, you contribute, your history matters, and how you approach movement matters. He looks at each body as an individual and weaves their rich history into the work. 

He does the same thing with his own life. Every piece has some bit of Keith in it, and now that I have worked with him for 16 years off and on, I feel like I can see him on stage with every work. I also love that no matter what the work is about he loves to see the body move and articulate so you'll always see some very interesting movement and partnership between dancers. He is a master of moving human bodies through space together.

Check out Drifter at the Joe Goode Annex on Friday, March 3rd and Saturday, March 4th at 8pm. Sima Belmar will lead a Q and A Friday night. Purchase your tickets here.

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Reflections on “Water in the Kettle” by MoTor/dance

 

MoToR/Dance performs "Water in the Kettle." Photo by Dean Bosche.

Reflections on “Water in the Kettle” by MoTor/dance

By Molly Rose-Williams

“Put the water on…Put the water in the kettle…” The performers’ voices swoop around the space, weaving in and out of one another as their bodies rock, walk, slap, and stomp in time to the song. I’m seated on the left side of a large semi-circular audience in a lofty wooden auditorium, immersed in the sounds of this corporeal orchestra. The performers move up and down the aisles, pulsing ever closer to the kettle at the center of the stage like raindrops running along the spokes of a wheel. “Put the water on…Put the water in the kettle…” The words leap from their rhythmic bassline like a request, a demand, a statement of intention, a call to arms. By the time they reach the kettle, my body is electric. 

I’m at Rhythmix Cultural Works watching the world premiere of “Water in the Kettle” by MoTor/dance, directed by dancer, musician, and body percussionist Evie Ladin. This show has been years in the making. (They started the process pre-pandemic.) This extended “simmer-time” is unmistakable in the clarity and intention with which the show has been constructed, and the precision and energy with which the cast performs it.

Structurally, the show feels like an expertly-crafted set list. Each scene weaves from one to the next with the unique magic of non-linear logic. The show doesn’t rely on any specific narrative or “plot,” but instead finds cohesion through the investigation of a central theme—experiences of “womanhood,” particularly for women at or moving towards middle age. There are full ensemble numbers featuring original songs that weave together incisive lyrics with Appalachian and African-diasporic polyrhythmic beats; awe-inducing steel guitar and banjo solos; "trios" between bodies, voices, and instrument; spoken monologues based on performers’ real experiences and reflections on womanhood, motherhood, and female-ness… and the list goes on. 

Throughout, the performers demonstrate a virtuosic command of the interplay between physicality, rhythm, and musicality to poke, prod, interrogate, and propose perspectives on what it means to be a woman—often with a delightful dose of dry humor. One of the most memorable numbers for me comes about a third of the way through the piece, when the performers all come out wearing dresses that seem taken straight from a 50’s housewife’s closet. They form a large clump behind a wooden table, and begin to tumble and pour over one another towards the audience, each vying for a single spot at the front. As they claw and push one another aside, they sing in a sweet-voiced cannon, “Thank you for talking over me.” Their voices drown one another out even as they create the sweetest of harmonies. The perky melody, their too-bright smiles, and their ruthless struggle for attention create a hilarious and biting satire of the struggle so many women face in simply being listened to or taken seriously.

In a more earnest moment, performer Tammy Chang performs a monologue based on real conversation with her mother. “Mom, were you in love with Dad when you married him?” Chang’s first questions come in a casual, conversational tone. “Why didn’t you go to university like you wanted to?” “Why did you leave Taiwan to come to America?” For each of her mother’s responses, Chang follows up: “But why? What did you really want?” The conversation ends with her mother hitting the table with open palms: “Stop asking me if I wanted to do things, we just did them, ok?!” The theater is quiet as Chang leaves the stage—an unexpectedly profound moment amidst a generally more humorous show. I’m touched by the honesty in this moment, and impressed with how seamlessly the performers are able to move between emotional tenors without missing a beat.

As the show goes on, I find myself noticing how much fun the performers seem to be having. More, they seem to truly care about what they’re doing. Their full-hearted commitment especially shines through in the impressive precision of the choreography. In this show, movement is sound and sound is movement, and so every moment of synchronicity or syncopation is not only visible, but also audible. More often than not, the performers smile while they move, and their power and clarity feels contagious. 

Throughout, the performance continues to refer to the kettle, and the motif accumulates meanings. On a basic level, “putting the water in the kettle” feels like a reference to traditional gender roles—a nod to domesticity and the expectation that women play the role of caretaker in the home. But “putting the kettle on” also begins to take on a new meaning: changes are brewing. Things are about to boil over, if they haven’t already. By the end of the show, as they sing the kettle song one last time, Ladin makes her way upstage with the ensemble clustered around her. She holds the kettle high above the table, and then lowers it ever so slowly. All eyes are on the kettle. The kettle hits the table, and then the lights go off. I am left with the sense that not only is the kettle already on—the water is boiling.

Big thank you to Evie Ladin and her collaborators. I’m already eagerly awaiting their next show!

 

Molly Rose-Williams is a Bay Area-based performer, writer, producer, and maker. When she’s not dancing or writing about dance, she works as a creative producer for The Nocturnists podcast, and teaches cooking and science. See more at www.mollyrosewilliams.com.

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Related post:

"Water in the Kettle": Five Questions with Evie Ladin

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"Water in the Kettle": Five Questions with Evie Ladin

Left to right: Valerie Gutwirth, JJ Hansen, and Tammy Chang. Photo by Dean Bosche.

Water in the Kettle: Five Questions with Evie Ladin

By Jill Randall

The other day I got to catch up with Bay Area artist Evie Ladin on Zoom about her upcoming evening length work with her group MoToR/dance, Water in the Kettle. The performances are February 3-4, 2023 at Rhythmix Cultural Works in Alameda. Tickets here.

Five words to describe Water in the Kettle:

Inviting

Lush

Communal

Complex

Emotional

Can you offer the elevator pitch about your show?

It has a few different angles to it. First of all - it is a body music show. We are doing self-scored choreographies. Music and dance and choreography are all coming from our bodies. There is singing in harmony, and percussive movement. 

Thematically, Water in the Kettle explores American foundational ideas of freedom and equality and the disconnect between the country’s claim to these values and its actualization. Also, it is from the perspective of women. With my foundation in Appalachian cultural arts, those arts are a mix of Black, Brown, and White cultures. They are the first syncretic arts in this country. The country is founded on the ideas of freedom and equality but on the backs of genocide and slavery. 

We are using the metaphor of “water in the kettle,” and this phrase comes from a song a friend wrote. Think about all of the times we put water on to boil: the first thing you do when you are greeting somebody, when you need solace, when you sit down to talk, when the activists get to work. There is so much more work to do - so put the kettle on. 

What was the seed/inspiration to develop Water in the Kettle, and your first evening length work with MoToR/dance?

I thought this was going to be about 18-20 minutes in total, with 3 sections. In 2020 we were going to debut the first section at an International Body Music MiniFest (which was canceled with the pandemic). We had 3 performances planned in 2020 to premiere the 3 sections.

During the pandemic, we kept practicing and workshopping and developing as an ensemble. Over the course of it, I started realizing that it was becoming its own thing, a much bigger thing thematically. I was scared to develop it - partly because I come from a more traditional perspective where “meaning” is not so much the goal. It’s a different approach to creating art. 

I was inspired by the International Body Music Festival, but I wanted to see more choreography. I started workshopping African diaspora polyrhythms on the body to explore them and learn them more deeply, as foundational in the Appalachian tradition. Layering on Appalachian songs felt very natural and connected. 

With this project, I had an intentional theme and narrative. 

Art as you experience it - does it move you or not? The more the work took shape, the more confident I became. 

Can you share a little window into the dancing and singing? Set material? Improvised?

It is mostly set and scored. I spent a lot of time arranging the music on us, feeling how it moves, and then moving people in space. 

Arranging is a process of back and forth with the music and the dance. The development of choreography from a sonic perspective. When are things being sung, when are they harmonized? Who is singing when? How are they moving? 

Lara Weaver wrote “Water in the Kettle,” but we completely re-wrote the verses. All of the rest of the lyrics and melodies are public domain. 

Who are the performers and collaborators? Talk a bit about the cast. 

I had been developing the work with whoever was interested. Some are more dancers, some are more musicians. A lot of them are mothers. Conversationally there is a lot of shared experience. 

I held auditions in January 2020. Then Covid hit, and I lost a third of the group to moving, career changes, etc.

There is a core group of 7, really seasoned performing artists. I added two people who are more musicians and three as chorus members. The age span is 27-59.

It is a phenomenal cast of 12 women. I have great respect for them.

Lisa Berman, Heather Arnett, Cynthia Mah, Kristen DeAmicis, Evie Ladin, Amber Hines, and Keira Armstrong. Photo by Dean Bosche.

 

Ruminations on "We Are All Friends Here" by Molly Rose-Williams

Molly Rose-Williams. Photo by Molly Rose-Williams. Photo by Chani Bockwinkel.

Ruminations on We Are All Friends Here by Molly Rose-Williams

By Melissa Hudson Bell

 

Delightful. That is the word that continues to come to me as I ruminate on Molly Rose-Williams’ latest show, entitled We Are All Friends Here.

And I mean delightful in a certain sort of way…
Delightful in a substantive, engrossing way, rather than a fleeting or flimsy way. 
Delightful in a transporting, life-affirming sort of way.
Delightful in a lift your spirits, tickle your funny bone, get coerced into giving yourself an impromptu rub down, sort of way.
Delightful in an all-consuming first crush, first romance, first meaningful hand-hold-with-a-sweetheart sort of way.
Delightful in a balloon-dropping, clowning around but only kinda joking sort of way.
Delightful in a still-comforted-month-later-by-the-feelings-the-show-evoked sort of way.
Delightful in a way that reminds me why I first fell in love with live performance.
Delightful in a way that stops time.
Delightful in a way that excites.
Delightful in a way that, well, delights.

As I venture to dissect what exactly delights about the whole experience of attending this performance, I offer up three concrete, delightful examples from the show. I owe much of my understanding of delight to the reading and rereading of Ross Gay’s 2019 Book of Delights (if you haven’t read it, go get a copy). It is clear that what delights varies from person to person, and in this show delights were so plentiful that I imagine that if you asked a different audience member what delighted them, you’d get a slew of other possible answers. Key to delight for me is some element of unexpected pleasure, some pocket of joy in which I can nestle. Delights also seem somehow to linger, sticking around even as they morph with the passing of time.


Example One: Build-a-phrase

This first delight may be especially delightful for folks, like myself, who are well-versed in techniques for crafting contemporary dance phrases. One tried and true choreographic technique is to build a phrase by creating a gradually increasing chain of gestures or movements. The original gesture gets revisited and elaborated, often becoming the audience’s anchor in a sea of sometimes seemingly unrelated movements. When well executed, the watcher gets to see a dancer deepen in their embodiment of the chosen movements, and the movements themselves get richer through repetition rather than expected and dull. 

Molly Rose-Williams, the sole performer in this show, has undoubtedly had countless experiences with this build-a-phrase choreographic technique. She also (lucky us) possesses exceptional prowess as a performer. She is grounded and articulate, and somehow both generous and sly. She is expressive in a way that belies her training in the circus arts, which attends acutely to the experience of the audience. It is clear that she yearns to connect, and the distinct ways in which she holds time and space invite this connection. 

So, when she employs this build-a-phrase choreographic tactic early on in the show, (arcing sideways, turning around herself, reaching downward) it is a pleasure to watch her move through what is an identifiable technique… AND the pleasure is doubled by how she complicates the mechanics of it with a gradually building urgency of purpose, as well as the inclusion of language, namely “I” (hands to her chest) and “you” (pointing to the audience). One of the repeated gestures is a full bodied wrestling with some heavy object, some weighty concern, that it is necessary to lift up, and presumably, to examine more closely. 

The full effect, which I’m finding it hard to capture in words, is that of watching someone struggle to unearth something that resides not just in the mind, but in every cell of her dancing body. She employs the sequencing technique to communicate something that is still somehow forming, somehow just bubbling to the surface. 

What, you may ask, is it that is laboriously being unearthed, worked out through repetition, pulled up from the depths, patched together?? The icing on the cake, and somehow the cake itself. It’s an admission of the heart, followed by a bashful, but not coy, sort of gaze around the space. A whispered “I have a crush on you” (hands on chest, hands pointing at person in the front row). It’s delightful.

Molly Rose-Williams. Photo by Chani Bockwinkel.

Example Two: Unexpected Paths

“I’ll be right there,” or perhaps “I’ll come to you,” Molly stage whispers to the person seated in the front row. Molly is standing upstage in the corner of the charming black box space of NOHspace. She has just announced that she has a crush on the person seated next to the individual she is now addressing, and she is suggesting she approach the seated pair for intel about her new crush. The obvious thing to do, of course, would be to walk downstage to the front row, a feat Molly could undertake easily, in probably 10 or 12 of her huge, grounded strides. But, who actually ever finds out information about a new crush in a direct manner?? So, in a moment that got me actually laughing out loud, Molly drops to the floor and “climbs” her way horizontally across the base of the scrim that lines the back wall. She then plasters herself to the bricks of the side wall, shimmying along as if precariously balanced on the edge of a building ledge at great height. Then, she somehow melts into a puddle at the corner of the stage and propels herself across the floor on her stomach before casually standing as though it all was the most natural thing in the world. The epitome of cool. It’s clowning, but only sort of kidding. The circuitous path could not be more appropriate, the trajectory was utterly unexpected, and expertly executed. Net effect - delight.


Example Three: The Balloon

I should start by saying that I am not a person who necessarily delights in balloons. They are not eco-friendly and whenever my kids are in possession of them they fight over who gets to play with them and how. (Sidebar: my children thoroughly delight in subjecting me to “balloon squeal day” - thanks, Trolls Holiday Special - wherein they blow up balloons and then pinch the neck of the balloon so that the air passes through slowly, generating an obnoxious squeal. For them, delight. For me, torture. But, I digress…)

In We Are All Friends Here balloons seem to be everywhere, a whimsical symbol of relationships or, rather, our initial feelings about relationships that inevitably don’t last. There is a surprise balloon drop after Rose-Williams professes amorous feelings towards her chosen audience member. They fall from above, floating to the ground only to be kicked and hit and blown around by Rose-Williams’ ebullient dancing. She also hangs some of the balloons on the side of the stage somehow, where they remain throughout the performance, tauntingly magical as the mystery of how they hang there, suspended with no strings attached, lingers at the edges of our view. At the end of the performance Rose-Williams offers a single balloon to her crush in a gesture that ends up being both heartfelt and mischievous. But, the most delightful balloon moment for this audience member was when Rose-Williams herself embodied the character of The Balloon. The Balloon was the last in a line of four characters to whom we are introduced (Hands, Heart, and a teacher or leader of some sort being the other three). The Balloon seems to be the cynic of the bunch, or perhaps she is merely a realist. She has a heavy East Coast accent, and a demeanor that seems both sage and resigned. She quips in with one liners that effectively undercut any potential for sentimentality as the four characters stew over their own experiences of, anxieties about, and hopes for love relationships. She reminds that all balloons, while seemingly glorious in flight, are eventually grounded, losing their luster and creating a problem that we humans have to clean up. The character “The Balloon” cleverly renders what could be a simple metaphor into a multi-dimensional stand-in for the complexities of the show’s subject matter. This is a feat made delightful by Rose-Williams’ attentiveness not just to the idea of The Balloon, but to its embodiment. Complex, clever delight.

Molly Rose-Williams. Photo by Chani Bockwinkel.

This experience of delight is feeding me as I enter what is already feeling like a tumultuous new year. I feel comforted in knowing that works like We Are All Friends Here are being made and supported by entities like Shawl-Anderson Dance Center, FACT/SF, and others. I am attending to the ways that the initial delights of sitting in a room with others at the show still echo in my body. When the world seems to tighten up around me, and when I find myself tightening up to ward off the world, I’m trying to check myself and instead lean into the lingering sensations of delight… and then to dare to risk connection and vulnerability, to show up as the show encouraged.

 

Melissa Hudson Bell is a dancer, choreographer, teacher, researcher and writer who lives and works in Oakland, CA. More info at melissahudsonbell.com

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Related posts:

• Preview: "We Are All Friends" in the Studio
• Modern Dance Fan Club: RAWdance’s CONCEPT series: 28
• Blog Series: "Why improv?" (with Molly Rose-Williams)
• Review/response: We came, We saw, They conquered

 

The 2022 Recap: 10 Posts and Projects on the Blog and Beyond

Jill Randall. Photo by Tony Nguyen Photography.

The 2022 Recap: 10 Posts and Projects on the Blog and Beyond
By Jill Randall

Thank you for another great year on the blog and for your support and engagement. Looking back at the posts from the year, I wanted to recap and highlight some of the projects and key writing.

Contracts and Dancer Care
Emily Hansel is a San Francisco Bay Area artist and also on the leadership committee of DANC. She started the year off with an essay called Empowering Dancers through Contracts and just wrote in December another essay, Contingency plans that support dancers’ mental and physical health.

Improvisational Explorations and Teaching
Writer Bhumi B Patel has contributed numerous pieces over the years, and this year I appreciated her two essays towards our series on improvisational practices and teaching.
finding tiny freedoms
on teaching improvisational practice: dispatch from August 2022

A Graphic: On Teaching
I love reflection questions, and I also love a visual I can keep on the wall in my office. Dancer and designer Claire Calalo Berry helped make this one come together: On teaching dance: What we wish to hear, what we hope you feel as a student

Honoring 15 Years of the CONCEPT series with RAWdance
Back in March, I had the opportunity to have a Zoom dialogue with RAWdance co-directors Katerina Wong, Wendy Rein, and Ryan Smith. You can find the interview here. It is wonderful to honor and celebrate the company's 15 years of running this series. How can we make something last? How can we keep the project relevant?

In the Spotlight: 18 Pieces about Bay Area Dance (Previews, Reviews, One Good Quote)
Thank you to an amazing roster of writers who supported and spotlighted artmaking in the Bay Area this year, including: Melissa Hudson Bell, Sima Belmar, Garth Grimball, Bhumi B Patel, and Molly Rose-Williams. Writing included previews, reviews+reflection, and the One Good Quote project which captures audience responses. Check out all 18 pieces here.

Jennifer Perfilio Movement Works, “Small Dances.” Dancer Samuel Melecio-Zambrano. Photo by Hillary Goidell. Read more about it here.

Towards Reflection+Writing: A New Journal for Teens
After publishing 4 journals for use in undergraduate and graduate classes, I was excited to make a teen version this summer as well. The journal is free to download; there is also a PDF version in which you can type. "Dance/Reflect:" A New Journal to Use with High School Students

August Celebrations: 10 Years of Life as a Modern Dancer
In late summer, I celebrated 10 years of the website and 1381 posts! I am thrilled to reflect on the journey of Life as a Modern Dancer and what the platform does and can continue to do in the coming years. I just keep following interests, curiosities, questions, and offerings.

Another Graphic: Life as an Arts Administrator
I was excited to share a second graphic/visual offering this year about life as an arts administrator. Thank you to graphic designer Jenny Lederer for helping me put it on paper: Life+Work as an Arts Administrator Graphic

On Medium.com: An Interview with Molly Heller
Salt Lake City-based artist Molly Heller is a wonderful colleague and someone I have interviewed and worked with on many writing projects over the years. This fall I published on medium.com another dialogue,  Imaginative Teaching, Humility, and the Longview: A Conversation with Dance Professor Molly Heller.

New Books in 2022
Last, in late December, I enjoyed creating a list/compilation of 18 new books from the year. Check out the array of new offerings here.

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In 2022 every writer was paid, and I aim to offer a 5% increase for the roster of writers in 2023. If you would like to contribute towards the project, every donated dollar goes directly towards paying these incredibly dedicated writers. Thank you for donating via Venmo to Life as a Modern Dancer (@Jill-Randall-6).