UNA Projects

Ships and Salsa

co-presented by UNA Projects and ODC Theater

ODC Theater, San Francisco

October 2^nd, 2015

A stage washed in light blue. White folding chairs around the perimeter. Water sounds. A soloist, Jayne Paley, begins dancing center stage as Catherine Ellis Kirk and Lauren Kravitz slowly creep into the space.

With these initial images, Ships was underway, a mystical trio by Artistic Director Chuck Wilt and New York-based UNA Projects. Wilt has partnered with ODC Theater to bring two differing programs over a single weekend. This was Program B – a dual bill of twenty-first century contemporary dance.

The term ‘twenty-first century’ is a purposeful one, not just a descriptor that places the work in a certain time period. Ships and UNA Projects’ second work, Salsa, were keenly of this moment. Narrative themes were broad, yet not simplistic. Movement was accessible, though not at all pedestrian. Structure and form were varied and clear, never haphazard. Theatrical tools were incorporated, but the dance and choreography still took the lead.

From the dancers’ gait, their intention and their relationship to space, Ships had an instant mystery and deliberate indeterminance. The dancers were searching, curious about each other and their environment. Issues of control were at play – being controlled versus exerting free will. And the empty chairs provided a spooky underscore; it seemed like they were being watched, but by an invisible something or someone. Ships’ enigmatic atmosphere oozed from Wilt’s choreography – calm walking was suddenly met with wild flailing episodes; flowing arms were interrupted by locked positions; slow steadfastness gave way to whirling allegro. It was as if Kirk, Kravitz and Paley were going in and out of a hypnotic state.

Salsa, an ensemble work for the entire company (the three women plus Wilt and Kyle Filley), emerged directly out of intermission while the house lights were still up. A hotel pool image was projected on the cyclorama and the dancers took various positions as part of this scene, complete with Adirondack chairs, arm floaties and pool toys. As the lights dimmed, Salsa began with a social dance-inspired duet. But then it quickly evolved into an expression of youthful community, of togetherness. Designed like a mini-suite of dances, Wilt explored the complexity of youth through a series of movement sets - innocent flirtation, free expression, social insecurity, vulnerability, one-upmanship, and pure joy. And towards the end, a slow motion, unison, gestural movement phrase brought the focus to mindful self-awareness in the midst of a community. This was a collective, but it was made up of different individuals and personalities. Salsa was not too long, not at all. Having said that, there were several moments in the last third that felt cadential, like the conclusion of the piece. And so, the material that followed seemed like a bit of an afterthought. Some of the choreographic intricacies were also a little difficult to see from time to time. Upstage dancers occasionally used their upstage leg or arm while another dancer was standing directly in front of them. It didn’t happen too many times, but Wilt’s choreography and UNA Projects’ movement is compelling; it draws the viewer in, so you definitely want to be able to see it all.

Photo: Jake Saner

Poetics of Space

Poetics of Space

presented by Z Space and Joe Goode Performance Group

Joe Goode Annex, San Francisco

September 26^th, 2015

The last few times that I have been to a performance at the Joe Goode Annex, the place has been transformed. And, with Poetics of Space, Joe Goode’s newest full-length interdisciplinary composition, it has been transformed once again. This one was perhaps the most spellbinding conversion to date. With an intricate set of curtains, platforms and a catwalk (envisioned and created by collaborating scenic designer Sean Riley), the huge open room became a life-size dollhouse. In Poetics of Space, Joe Goode Performance Group revealed a meticulously devised collection of scenes, rooms and interactions, ranging from comforting to creepy.   

Poetics of Space was another example of the ‘mobile performance installation’ model, where the audience moves throughout the work. In this particular piece, that movement was partially guided. Sometimes the viewer was led from one space to another and sometimes they were left to make their own decisions, choosing what to watch or how long they might stay with any given vantage point. This seems to be the structure of the moment in contemporary performance art; very popular and very prevalent. That’s because if it is done well, it really works. And it worked here.

Goode began the piece from atop a metal scaffolding ladder - a preamble in which he contextualized the experience that would follow and introduced two narrative ideas. The height gave his speech an extra measure of authority. But Goode’s costume and makeup communicated something more. With tattered clothing, dark eyes and a ghostly white face, his character was definitely speaking to us from the beyond. Amidst this dark, foreboding and penetrating visual, first he challenged some general considerations about space – how do we inhabit space; what is space; what happens in various spaces. Then, Goode also explained that Poetics of Space would convey a tragic (and I’m assuming fictional) story of a young person named Logan. Both narrative themes drew you in. And though they were never at odds with each other, the through line connecting the two did prove elusive from time to time.

Pictured: Felipe Barrueto-Cabello and Marit Brook-Kothlow
Photo: RJ Muna

The entryway into the Annex was covered in leaves and vines; dancers (in futuristic costumes) emerging out of walls and doorways, like spirits. It was kind of A Midsummer Night’s Dream meets Studio 54. We then moved onto a text/choreographic duet that acquainted us with different parts of a single personality. A complex individual who was struggling for each part to be known and valued. We followed one of these characters into a tent vignette (we were inside a tent fort with her). Through an intuitive and intimate soliloquy, she questioned the self. How does one treat one’s self? How does the self reconcile appearance versus reality? We meet the other character, a boxer, in the next scene, a domestic living room. Through a boxing lesson and a gestural movement phrase, he tackled the notions of toughness, power and dominance. In these early sections, Poetics of Space established itself as a dance play – an interwoven story of tension and truth, combining movement, spoken word, vocals and ambience. It was about human existence, relationships and interactions, told through a literal and symbolic spatial framework. Making space for reactions; making space for sadness; making space for mistakes. A story of illumination.

As the curtains were drawn and the room opened up, the audience moved about more freely. Performers appeared on several levels/platforms and in different locations, reciting text. These recollections quickly morphed into a set of vignettes in the center of the main floor. Here we saw inner voices - some inviting, some soothing and some dramatic in a diva sort of a way. An ensemble choreographic sequence then emerged, full of release and suspension; balance and counterbalance; and movement that initiated from the xiphoid process.

One pitfall of any mobile performance is that the audience doesn’t really see the whole piece. Individual segments happen simultaneously in different locations, and you can’t watch them all at once. But in Poetics of Space, there was an awareness of ‘the other’, of what you couldn’t see. Goode and Riley smartly placed all of the action in a single large room. Yes, curtains sub-divided the space and there were specific designated regions. But you could hear the scenes that were outside your viewpoint. You could sense their significance and absorb their ambient contribution. And because of that, you didn’t walk away from Poetics of Space feeling like you had missed anything.

Fire of Freedom

Lenora Lee Dance

Fire of Freedom

Fort Mason General’s Residence, San Francisco

September 12^th, 2015

Lenora Lee Dance’s Fire of Freedom opens with twelve simultaneous preludes. Upon arrival, each audience member was assigned to a group and right before the piece started, led to that group’s designated space in the General’s Residence. This was where they would view one of the twelve preludes, which would serve as the beginning of the dance for them. Once that introductory vignette had concluded, the instructions were to roam freely around the building, including the outside grounds. And so, every person would experience Fire of Freedom differently, each with a unique perspective of the world premiere work.

While I cannot speak to what others saw, here are some thoughts and observations based on my own journey through the space and through the dance.

A site-specific, mobile, mixed discipline project, Fire of Freedom was a tapestry of interwoven stories and chapters. They unfolded over the course of an hour, overlapping each other throughout the house. Scenes depicted assault and struggle; rage and aggression; battle and shock. But there was also desire for peace, for hope, for clarity, for rest. For her eighth anniversary season, Lee has crafted a robust narrative work. Fracture and fragmentation were Fire of Freedom’s primary themes, but there were also glimpses of repair and renewal.

My group began on the upper floor of the General’s Residence. Costumed in a long white gown, a woman sat at a dresser staring into a mirror. She then cycled through a frenetic choreographic phrase, a combination of whirling, spinning, crawling and writhing. She seemed alarmed and afraid. Perhaps of what awaited her in the next sequence downstairs. As the entire company (and the audience) gathered in the ballroom, a Rite of Spring type scene developed. The bride figure was thrust around the room from one person to another, with no personal agency and no control over her situation. She appeared to initially protest, but eventually submitted to her imposed circumstance.

Pictured: Lynn Huang and SanSan Kwan
Photo: Robbie Sweeny

Then, as the cast began to disperse and scatter into various locations, the audience followed suit. In one room, a dancer performed flowy, circular vocabulary while a video of a couple was projected on the screen behind her. Was this a juxtaposition of reality and fantasy? Did it represent two different points in time? Maybe both; maybe neither, but there was definitely a sense of fragmentation. A second video (this time of physical fighting) was shown on the outside of the building while a soloist clung to the handrail and stairs. It seemed as if she was desperately trying to ground herself amidst a chaotic fractured environment. In the final choreographic sequence, the company reassembled, in what appeared to be a moment of repair. Though I wouldn’t describe it as peaceful, the unison movement had a calm meditative intention that felt very aware and mindful.

What struck me most about Fire of Freedom was how Lee managed to embed the narrative into the installation’s structure. By not directing the audience to any particular dance or any specific place, the sense of fragmentation and fracture was heightened. So many different things were happening all at once and no one could predict what was going to occur, or when, or where. From time to time the audience looked almost disoriented, wandering around, not knowing where to go next or what to focus on. This is not a criticism; rather, it shows how carefully Lee wove the narrative into everyone’s experience, including the viewer’s. This is what happens when one is fractured – they are disoriented and don’t know what to do. So not only were we watching fragmentation, we were feeling it too.

But there was also a drawback to this free mobile structure. You end up getting caught up as the whole group tries to move together. Or you stumble onto choreographic segments as they are concluding. What I saw of the choreography was impressive, and the narrative was strong and powerful throughout. But without some form of guidance, I feel like I only viewed a small fraction of Fire of Freedom, and missed much of the dancing.