San Francisco Ballet - "The Blake Works"

San Francisco Ballet
The Blake Works
February 28th, 2026 (matinee)
War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco

It is hard to believe that this week we usher in the month of March, and that San Francisco Ballet is already mid-way through their 2026 season. I wasn’t able to catch the company’s first two bills but was back at the War Memorial Opera House this past weekend for Program 3 – The Blake Works. And what a program it was! Perhaps my favorite SFB event in recent memory. Choreographed by the iconic William Forsythe to a riveting score by British musician James Blake, The Blake Works enjoyed its complete SFB premiere on Friday night (the company had previously danced one of the sections a few years back). There are simply not enough superlatives to describe this piece. The entire experience was a transport to a dazzling realm. The Blake Works is pure joy of movement, marrying technical ballet vocabulary with a contemporary modality that only Forsythe could envision. I don’t often feel this way after a ballet performance; it reminded me of how I felt the first time I saw Joffrey’s incomparable Billboards.

Joseph Walsh in Forsythe's Prologue
Photo © Chris Hardy

A multi-chapter composition, comprised of a Prologue, a short film, The Barre Project and Blake Works I, the program captivated from first steps to final curtain. In simple, short black unitards, Luca Ferrò and Dylan Pierzina took the stage for Prologue’s opening postures. Quickly this first duet grew into a pas de cinq for Katherine Barkman and four men and later, a duet by Madeline Woo and Fernando Carratalá Coloma. A number of influences were present, including Balanchine. While I wouldn’t categorize Forysthe’s composition as neo-classical, many of its physical shapes brought this genre to mind. Deep lunges; pressed, flexed hands; parallel passé. There was also the use of the demi-pointe space alongside clean, strong, unfussy positions. And of course, that special connective punctuation between the choreography and score - Blake’s ambient, tonally complex music that for me, had a brilliant hint of 80s Brit Pop. In addition, the stage’s atmosphere was neo-classically deconstructed, allowing the movement and music to shine unencumbered. Simple lighting. No backdrop. Practice-like attire. For those SFB patrons who’ve been feeling (and frankly, complaining a bit) about being under-Balanchined over the past few years, go and see The Blake Works. It’s not Balanchine, nor is it trying to be, but I think you’ll be impressed! 

An interlude of sorts, the brief film that followed showed dancers placing their hands on the barre. Over and over again, they elegantly and purposely made contact with that sacred dance entity. A place of comfort. Of stability. Of remembrances. But also, of egalitarianism. Every ballet dancer of every age, every ability, every level of talent has participated in this ritual and understands its significance.  

The lights rose on The Blake Works’ next chapter, the center curtain drawn to reveal a ballet barre. Over the next twenty minutes, The Barre Project paired grounded technique with Forsythe’s unique flair. And it worked beautifully – a tethered foundation brimming with possibility. Framed by Blake’s pulsing EDM, precision reigned supreme. Simultaneously, the body inhabited so different angles and there was such freedom in the spine, hips and shoulders. Nothing was rushed or flashy. Instead, the tone abided in a deliciously unassuming place. Sasha De Sola’s textbook passé. Joshua Jack Price’s slow attitude turn, melting into a stunning arabesque. 

San Francisco Ballet in Forsythe's Blake Works I
Photo © Chris Hardy

And finally, Blake Works I. The space was bare; the huge ensemble cast clad in dreamy balayage blue. Over seven episodes, strong shapes once again imbued the unison and cannoned movement phrases. Off-centered-ness was juxtaposed against an erect spine. Elizabeth Powell, Victor Prigent and Simone Pompignoli began their variation with a picture perfect effacé. Brisés and soubresauts glided across the stage. It was sweeping, athletic, physical and so much fun. Near the end of Blake Works I, the cast broke into a dance party upstage while different soloists took turns in the center. Returning to the idea of influences, that moment felt straight out of a Jerome Robbins’ ballet. An abundance of youthful energy and a palpable sense of community kinship.  

Martha Graham Dance Company

Cal Performances presents
Martha Graham Dance Company
Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley
February 14th, 2026

Cupped hands. Airplane spins. Spirals. Contractions. What do all these movements have in common? All are tenets of Graham technique, the dance language pioneered by modern dance master Martha Graham (1894-1991). The entire Graham physical library was on full display this past weekend as her titular company returned to Cal Performances as part of their 100th anniversary celebration tour. Two different bills unfolded. There were Graham classics. And newer works from fresh choreographic voices. If you were at Zellerbach Hall on Saturday night, it was the combo of 1947’s Night Journey, 2023’s Cortege and 1936’s Chronicle that sparked awe and buzz. As Artistic Director Janet Eilber alluded, the Valentine’s Day program wasn’t going to be hearts, flowers and chocolates. Eilber was indeed correct, it wasn’t a particularly romantic two hours, but it was so powerful. An evening where shocking mythology was unraveled and the ravages of war were mined.

Blakeley White-McGuire in Night Journey
Photo Brigid Pierce

The mythological Oedipus narrative is about as tough as it gets. So rather than relaying the gory details, let’s just say there’s a horrific prophecy and an attempt to escape it, which is ultimately unsuccessful. And in Night Journey, Graham seeks to relay that tale through the lens of the Queen, Jocasta. Anne Souder as Jocasta and Lloyd Knight as Oedipus were potent and tortured as the doomed pair ensnared in a terrible prediction. Cupped hands were everywhere, which my Graham teachers explained like this. Cupped hands expose the veins of the wrist, directly connecting to one’s heart and soul, laying bare truth or evil. A description that I can still recall from decades past. 

Though the principals were phenomenal, for me, the triumph of Night Journey has always resided in the corps, the Daughters of the Night, led at this performance by Marzia Memoli. They appear and disappear throughout the ballet, cycling through untamed, severe movement sequences. But at the same time, the group displays a curiously stern regality. Do they serve as Jocasta’s memories? Do they enter the space to stop and interrupt the course of events? Are they present to judge and condemn? Or are they simply witnesses? Maybe all four.

It was terrific to see newer works planned for both Cal Performances programs, crafted by contemporary choreographers over the past few years. It is no surprise that much of the company’s performance repertory is pure Graham. But a simultaneous commitment to new commissions, new dances and new choreography is what will propel any troupe forward into their next chapter. Saturday night brought Baye & Asa’s 2023 Cortege, which was noted to be inspired by Graham’s 1967 Cortege of Eagles and “to consider groups under attack in our time.” I can’t say that I really saw the latter. Rather, the dance felt to be abiding in that same world of mythology, abstractly investigating the underworld and the voyage to it. 

A tunnel of black material unveils each of the eight performers, almost like they were traveling to Hades via ominous waterslide. Marching rhythms (score by Jack Grabow) rang through the air. And the intensely physical vocabulary, which looked great on this company, gave snapshots of the unknown, with all its trepidation, fear and aggression. But there were also moments when the cast cradled each other, tenderly providing care and comfort. As Cortege concluded, the black shroud was back covering the cast as they continued their journey. I get where things were going with the lighting design (by Yi-Chung Chen). The stage was dim and shadowy, just as one might imagine that particular sojourn to be. But at the same time, there were whole segments of the piece that were lit very lowly and a bit hard to see. It was a tad distracting. 

Leslie Andrea Williams in Chronicle
Photo Melissa Sherwood

The oldest work of the night closed the program, Graham’s Chronicle (1936), which as the notes shared, “was a response to the menace of fascism in Europe.” Broken into three chapters and danced by an all-female cast, Chronicle was weighty, compelling and (at least for this viewer) hopeful, full of all-encompassing emotion and full body physicality. Part I, titled ‘Spectre-1914,’ blends deep despair and lament in one dramatic statement. Leslie Andrea Williams embodied the solo with such raw ferocity. Her hands oscillated from splayed palms to clenched fists. Her solar plexus prayed heavenward. She crumbled to the floor. And her leg moved in slow motion, circling from second position to attitude derrière- a desperate attempt to turn to new page or open a new door. 

Chronicle’s second movement, ‘Steps in the Street,’ saw ten women entering the space, walking backwards. As their hands transitioned from shoulders and hips to flexed palms to strong fists, they bravely navigated the space behind them; a path that they couldn’t quite see but were willing to traverse together. Each woman walked with strength, purpose and resolve - a community of power and resistance. This reverse traveling recurred in Part III’s ‘Prelude to Action,’ though the tone of this final section felt different. Still incredibly strong, but also with a sense of grace. Perhaps a message that resistance needs so many different things: power, determination, courage, and also love and advocacy. And Chronicle’s finale brought yet another note to the table. As the ensemble erupted in turning attitude jetés, there was an added buoyancy, energy and forward propulsion.  

Smuin Contemporary Ballet - "Spring Point"

Smuin Contemporary Ballet
Spring Point
ODC Theater, San Francisco
February 13th, 2026

Friday evening at ODC Theater was all about newness. Four world premiere dances. An event that actually started on time! Curtains around the city are consistently being held for close to fifteen minutes in anticipation of latecomers. It’s getting tiresome, so a show that begins when it says it will feels like a new experience. And, of course, the launch of Spring Point, the newest choreographic platform at Smuin Ballet. As Artistic Director Amy Seiwert explained to the packed house, Spring Point is designed to foster emerging choreographic voices as they navigate the complex journey from early studio performance towards (hopefully!) a main stage. It was a lovely night showcasing a collage of divergent work, danced impeccably by Smuin’s company artists.

Costumed in matching white and taupe, eight dancers took seats around the perimeter of the stage to kick off Julia Feldman’s Wallflower. Alone, in pairs or in groups, they would take turns inhabiting the open middle space. The cast cycled through a unique physical vocabulary, marrying classical ballet technique, contemporary twists and present-day style. Gestural sequences abounded, as did port de bras from ballet’s positions of the body (croisé, efface, écarté). Straight flying arms matched with the bird sounds in Wallflower’s score. And Tessa Barbour’s developpé in 2nd was a thing of beauty. Feldman’s phrase material had such a circular, breathy feel – expanding in space with every inhalation and cascading with the exhale. Though where I think Wallflower particularly excelled was how it showed support, camaraderie and celebration of a community. Each dancer was afforded time and opportunity to share their individuality while also harnessing a collective energy when the full ensemble danced together. And with the presence of the chairs, it was poignant how Feldman explored that each cast member was simultaneously a performer and a witness. 

Charmaine Butcher in Babatunji's Society
Photo Maximillian Tortoriello

The sextet for Babatunji’s Society entered the stage, dressed identically. Slowly trudging across the space in long black trench coats with stiff high collars (costumes by Erin Yarbrough Powell), the mood was heavy, angsty and foreboding. Over Society’s six chapters, dancers would shed this ominous outerwear in an attempt to break free from the mold of the group. And they did so in a very Dance Theater container, where numerous theatrical devices were employed. Lighting, music, scenework, characters and text conversed with Babatunji’s highly physical movement. Movement that was full throttle and high-octane, full of acrobatic flips and rolls, as well as martial arts, breaking and percussive dance influences. Desperation was palpable, but so was persistence and success.

Another multi-episode contemporary ensemble work, Cassidy Isaacson’s Chapter 3 is inspired by “a moment of personal change and deepened awareness,” as shared in the program notes. With equal parts groundedness and soaring, Chapter 3 was full of highly kinetic and athletic syntax, harkening to various movement traditions. Pilates was present, as was yoga. A Horton tilted side turn. Ample partnering. In fact, Isaacson’s partnering passes had the most interesting points of contact and support, almost like the material that might have arisen out of Grand Union’s contact improv practice. And with the recurring notion of spinning and rotation, each turn transported every performer somewhere new.

Tess Lane and Maggie Carey in
Carey's In the Blue Hours of Morning
Photo Maximillian Tortoriello

Closing the inaugural Spring Point program was Maggie Carey’s In the Blue Hours of Morning, danced by a cast of eight. While I enjoyed every world premiere on the bill, this was my favorite of the night. Everything was so joyful - the banjo-filled Oh Hellos score, Carey’s sweeping choreography, Tess Lane and Yarbrough Powell’s flowing costumes, the demeanor of each dancer. So bright, so dazzling, so much happiness. Waves were a conceptual throughline. Canoned phrases rippled across ODC Theater’s stage. Bodies swayed from one side to the other. Arms undulated and cartwheeled, suspension and release informing step after step. And in Morning, many of the quick, complex phrases, particularly with the arms, directly punctuated the score, suggesting a foray into neo-classical ballet. 

RAWdance - "There and Back"

Kelly Del Rosario and Madison Lindgren in
Art is a Guarantee of Sanity
Photo Chani Bockwinkel

RAWdance
There and Back
ODC Theater, San Francisco
February 6th, 2026

A swinging beam of light. The hum of fluorescence. Two dancers in flowing white cycling through a physically complex duet that simultaneously broadcasted quiet restraint and total control. With every movement, small or large, they floated in space. 

So began Art is a Guarantee of Sanity, a Bay Area premiere and the opening dance on RAWdance’s latest ODC Theater bill, There and Back. A collection of three works choreographed by RAWdance’s Artistic Directors Wendy Rein and Ryan T. Smith, the evening was an utter delight. The pieces were strong, the performances, resplendent. And the program reminded Bay Area audiences why this company is a cut above, why it is so exceptional. They are committed to risk-taking, creative growth and experimenting beyond boundaries. These values have always been part of the RAWdance story. But for this viewer, what makes the company so special is that their work is deeply grounded in modern dance technique. That may seem like an obvious pre-requisite for any contemporary dance company, but it’s actually a lot rarer than you might think. 

As Art is a Guarantee of Sanity continued, it grew into a deliciously (and purposefully) precarious quintet. There was a constant search for balance. Dancers shuddered, their eyes darting around like something or someone ominous was following their every move. With a suspicious and creepy tone, they frenetically scooted across the floor. They pulsed, breathing erratically, and teetered on tiptoe. Yet, like the opening sequence, there was an equal sense of groundedness and calm. A side-plank series. A splayed palm reaching slowly heavenward. These opposing modalities gave that sense of the in between space. A moment where extremes could co-exist without erasing each other. And with the swaying overhead light, the billowy filmy costuming and the word sanity in the title, one couldn’t help but see some kind of hospital ward.

Coincidentally, Friday evening was also the opening ceremonies of the winter Olympic games in Milan, and one of my favorite disciplines to watch is figure skating. When the pairs events come around, announcers will often comment on how long a particular couple have trained and competed together. And with the lengthier partnerships, the viewer can really see and feel the shared journey. The trust, the confidence, the understanding that comes with and over time. The world premiere of Time Passed, a duet made and danced by Rein and Smith, definitely had that sense of deep embodied history; two performers who are truly known by each other (they danced together in college, going on to found RAWdance in 2004). The opening lifted spin turned gracefully like a clock, each shape elegantly and seamlessly transforming into the next. Remembrance, recollection and fondness imbued every moment of sculptural partnering; care, ease and effortlessness emanating from the stage. And the spinning phrase material that recurred throughout really had a pairs skating essence, a great prep for the next two weeks of Olympic coverage!

Onto the closing dance, the Bay Area premiere of Veneer, an ensemble work for eight. Veneers appeared everywhere on the ODC Theater stage over the next thirty minutes. A covering of an existing structure. A restoration of something chipped or decayed. A new surface. A veil to hide. There were literal veneers: three individual, modular tables that were sometimes pushed together, sometimes separated, sometimes stacked. The cast posed beneath these tables and walked across them. At one point, they became a backdrop for a solo, like a scenery flat. Costumes of polka dots, houndstooth, checkerboard, zebra print and stripes in a palate of black, white and scarlet conjured Alice in Wonderland, a story that is certainly steeped in veneer. A rowdy, somewhat angry shouting match broke the façade of silence. At the same time, there were instances where veneers were removed - an unmasking, a rediscovering of what lies beneath. Hands gently plucked imaginary layers from the head and the shoulders. A number of choreographic sequences repeated: a series of parallel and turned out sissonnes, a gestural passage where the chin was traced by the back of the hand. Dancers would engage with this phrase material only to break out of the mold and explore their own individual physicality. 

 

Mark Morris Dance Group - "MOON"

Cal Performances presents
Mark Morris Dance Group
MOON
Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley

January 25th, 2026

Outside Zellerbach Hall on Sunday afternoon the atmosphere was bright and clear, if not a little chilly. Inside the auditorium, however, the quality was much darker. Not ominous nor foreboding, but with a lens cast skyward - towards space, towards the moon. Mark Morris Dance Group had landed in Berkeley for their annual Cal Performances engagement, this time bringing the West Coast premiere of Mark Morris’ MOON. 

An ensemble work for nine performers, MOON was divided into short chapters or vignettes, each exploring aspects of the celestial, with many theatrical devices employed throughout. Choreography certainly, but also live and recorded music, props, moving projections, set pieces and text in an array of languages. Minus the genre’s typical angsty narrative, MOON seemed a work of Dance Theater, and kind of a departure for MMDG. A captivating one that mined the enormity of space. 

The opening piano tremolo (performed by music director Colin Fowler) bellowed from the pit, like a vessel being launched into the stratosphere. Stars arced along the cyclorama and the stage was marked with small astronaut figurines. The company joined the scene with stylistic marching, playing imaginary trombones and flutes. We were off to a destination far, far away from earth. 

Costumed in dual-sided jumpsuits (by Isaac Mizrahi), MOON’s choreography featured a fair amount of spinning and circles, just like an orbit. Chaîné turns with bent knees and hands on hips. Bodies twirled like figure skaters atop gliding stools. An energetic, community-filled square dance moment featured circular dance architecture. And a late chapter saw each individual cast member rolling on the ground while together crafting a round circuit.

Lilty low arabesques were also part of the physical picture, as were delicate weight shifts from side to side. Second position plié grew into a signature Morris side-tilt. One group sequence found the dancers scurrying through the space with stick straight postures and lightning fast parallel boureés. They looked just like space creatures from another galaxy. Wistful faces explored the stage’s surface. And several quiet, yet powerful, gestures appeared to be saying, “look what we have found.”

Mark Morris Dance Group in MOON
Photo Xmbphotography

An entire team (Wendall K. Harrington, Paul Vershbow and Kristen Ferguson) worked together to make MOON’s projections quite dazzling. There were starry scrims along with planets and orbits invading the backdrop. Living, moving images of the surface of the moon. A spinning record. An escalator to the heavens. A rising full moon. Rocket ships lined up, preparing for ascent. Every projection felt integral to the work. The imagery was not just there to frame the action; it was an active participant.

MOON’s score frequently abided in a delicious in-between state, oscillating between minor and major modes. Popular during the impressionistic era of the late 1890s early 1990s, this changeable tonality leads to a plethora of emotion. Uncertainty. Fascination. Depth. Surprise. And as MOON continued, one of the most famous impressionistic compositions sang through the air: Debussy’s Clair de lune, composed in 1905. The accompanying group dance scene was floaty, ethereal and unexpected, speaking to the qualities in both the music and to MOON’s concept. At this chapter’s conclusion, one dancer was left on stage, staring intently at a setting projection image. It was so beautiful and seemed a clear and fitting end to the piece. There was more to come, which felt a little odd after that perfect cadential moment.

 

Liss Fain Dance - "End Point | Open Time"

Livanna Maislen in End Point | Open Time
Photo RJ Muna

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts presents
Liss Fain Dance
End Point | Open Time
The Forum at YBCA, San Francisco

January 23rd, 2026

The Forum at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts is one of my favorite spaces in the city to check out contemporary dance. It’s vast and airy; inviting and cavernous – a blank canvas, an empty container filled with possibility and promise. Sometimes a production set in this special place has a more conventional format with the audience facing a stage or designated performance zone. Sometimes viewers are seated in a square perimeter or in the round. One deeply special performance found each audience member with their own personal headset, controlling how the score interacted with the movement. Then there are the mobile, immersive dances where the audience is encouraged to traverse the room and choose their own adventure, engaging with the work in front of them at their own pace and in their own time. Liss Fain and her company of collaborators have long presented work of this last type, and on Friday evening brought their newest must-see world premiere, End Point | Open Time, to the Forum space. 

A two-part quartet unfolding over fifty-five minutes, Liss Fain Dance’s 2026 debut began with an introduction/prelude of sorts, End Point. Around the edge of a stunning installation by Matthew Antaky, each dancer appeared in one corner. Like a living board game, they explored the outside square. Slow, controlled, meditative motions gave way to stylized running and wing-like arms. They surveyed the horizon, while step ball changes revealed shifts in weight and intention. It was a strong opening sequence, providing a perfect opportunity for everyone to settle into the space and take in what was yet to come. 

Over the next forty-five minutes, a simultaneous collection of duets, solos, (occasionally trios and quartets) unfolded within the central installation structure. As noted in the program, Open Time harkens to an excursion Fain made to the Arctic, and Antaky and costume designer Mary Domenico certainly captured that essence. Four open rooms were separated by doorways and paths. Fabric slats, studded with wave-like designs in light grey, hung from ceiling to floor. The costumes flowed with dripping silver. It felt like a house made of snow and ice.

Because we were encouraged to move through the space, every member in the crowd had a unique and personal experience with the piece. You may have seen some sections fully, some partly and others, you may have been missed entirely. Sometimes you found yourself in front of an empty room, not knowing if and when a dancer may arrive. Fain created such beauty in this dualism – intense agency coupled with acceptance of emptiness and void. Over the course of Open Time, I opted to cycle through four different external vantage points. The audience was also invited to watch from inside the structure, but to be honest, at this particular performance, there were too many people present to make that a successful option. 

Like the evening’s overture, Open Time paired moments of quiet with high-octane movement phrases. There was stillness, repose and reflection: heads cradled gently, bow and arrow arms moving slowly as if through molasses, deep static side lunges. In contrast, we saw giant rond versés, where the leg circles to the back against a snaking spine. There were delicate, yet powerful jumps. Limbs cartwheeled through the space. Bent-kneed chaîné turns whirled like a centrifuge. It was equal parts containment and freedom. Whether staccato and angular or smooth and controlled, an undeniable sense of vastness and expanse was present in all of Fain’s choreography. 

Livanna Maislen, Elena Martins, Katherine Neumann and Isabel Rosenstock were onstage for almost an entire hour without a break and delivered the most captivating performances with such impeccable technique. Bravo to the cast!

The one disconnect for me was mood and vibe. End Point | Open Time’s physicality was deliciously varied. Similarly, Louise Glück’s framing text oscillated from desperation to happiness, fear to contentment. Such breadth of material. But the dancers’ demeanor stayed in one dynamic; never budging from an overwhelming held angst (at least not in the sections that I saw). A little joy or lightness would have been a welcome addition.