Zoe/Juniper's "Begin Again"

Zoe Scofield, foreground and Ariel Freedman, promotional photo for "Begin Again"
photo courtesy On The Boards

Let me start with the obvious: Zoe/Juniper's "Begin Again" is stunningly beautiful.

From the moment the audience entered the theater at Seattle's On The Boards, we were enveloped by the world these artists created; a world that was simultaneously filigreed and almost feminine, yet somehow fierce and a bit menacing. It's a world that has lingered in the days since I saw this performance, and it has provoked me to ponder whether we ever really can begin from scratch. "Begin Again" for me was as much about memory as it was about the birth of something new.

Zoe Scofield and Juniper Shuey are creative and life partners, a duo whose collaborative performances bring audiences equal parts visual art and dance. Scofield is the dancer/choreographer; Shuey the visual/video artist. They are among the few who successfully meld artistic disciplines into something larger than either would be on its own. "Begin Again's" magic started with the set: two huge curtains billowed at either side of the stage, over beds of what looked like the kind of cedar bark you'd use in your garden. On one bed, a dancer lounged inside a plaster cast of her body. Beyond the curtains and the bark beds was an expanse of unlit unknown. As the audience found its seats, a faint soundtrack played: chants punctuated by cricket-like chirps. Above our heads, banks of lights slowly dimmed, brightened, then dimmed again in a subtle pulse. Finally, slowly, the theater went dark, and "Begin Again" really did begin in earnest.

Paper wall by Celeste Cooning, video images by Juniper Shuey from Zoe/Juniper's "Begin Again"
photo by Juniper Shuey

Three dancers emerged, lit so faintly from the wings that we could hardly trust our eyes that we'd seen them before the lights went out. But we heard a rhythm they continued to beat out with their feet, and despite the darkness, we knew these dancers were real, not an illusion. The billowing curtains became screens for Shuey's delicate videos: what looked like flocks of blackbirds swooped across pillows of grey Northwest clouds. Silvery dancers stood still, then moved across the curtains, even interacted with the live performers. Shuey's videos never detracted from the action on stage (which is so often the case at multi-media performances). In fact, sometimes it was impossible to tell if we were watching the dancers or projected images of those dancers.

Scofield and her choreographic and performance partner Ariel Freedman were dressed in short, almost lacy grayish tunics. Slowly, they flexed their feet, toes splayed, then raised bent legs up from the floor, extending those legs straight behind them, only to snap back to their original, neutral positions. It was as if they were auditioning new ways to move their bodies, bravely daring something new, only to retreat from that frontier. Dancer Kate Wallich entered for a slow solo, and she, too, moved slowly across the stage, venturing a movement, then quickly retracting it. Each woman began again, over and over, the way we all do when we learn something new.

Paper wall by Celeste Cooning, from Zoe/Juniper's "Begin Again"
photo courtesy Juniper Shuey

The black expanse at the rear of the stage, ultimately, was lit from behind, and revealed itself as a huge cut paper mural, designed by Celeste Cooning. At its center were the lacy silhouettes of two dancers, women kneeling to face one another. The light streamed through the cutouts, imparting a celestial glow from above onto the live dancers. (Kudos to lighting designer Amiya Brown.) Scofield and Freedman moved through what looked like classical ballet exercises: first position to tendu, ronde de jambe to arabesque, including all of ballet's pointed toes and rounded arm positions. Then, as if overtaken by some external force, their balletic poses gave way to angular legs, flexed feet, bent waists. Was Scofield retreating to her ballet past, or building on that foundation? For a brief moment, she seemed possessed by anger, as she wrestled Freedman onto the bark bed. It was a jagged shard in this almost misty dreamscape.  It passed as suddenly as it appeared, and the two women stepped back onto the smooth black floor.

"Begin Again" ended with a haunting song, chanted at center stage. I couldn't make out the words, but it left me with a wistfulness, a longing for something that I couldn't possible name. Scofield and Shuey have told other media that "Begin Again" represents a creative reboot, a new way of making art. Perhaps, but the peformance left me thinking about the ways we transform ourselves, how we incorporate our pasts into our presents, either consciously or unconsciously. Can we ever truly shrug off the experiences and circumstances that shape us? They almost always linger deep within, emerging at the least expected moments, like the fleeting images of young girls that Shuey superimposed on his flocks of birds, or the way Scofield's years of ballet training made a cameo in this piece.

I have always been impressed by the beauty of Zoe/Juniper's performances. With "Begin Again" they have moved me, touched me, in a way I haven't experienced before with their art. I am left to contemplate the delicate shreds of my own past, and how I have woven them into a new shape for my future. And I linger over the memories of ephemeral beauty this duo brought to life.

Zoe/Juniper's "Begin Again"
photo by Juniper Shuey, used by permission of the artist

The Memory That Really Glows

Pacific Northwest Ballet company members Andrew Bartee and Leah Merchant in Alejandro Cerrudo's "Memory Glow."
photo by Angela Sterling, courtesy PNB

I meant to write about Alejandro Cerrudo's new dance "Memory Glow," which premiered at Pacific Northwest Ballet as part of the Director's Choice program March 14-23, 2014. I really did. I saw it twice, just so I'd be certain of what I wanted to say. I meant to devote a whole post to this dance. I had the best intentions, but Molissa Fenley took over my brain. I'll tell you why in a second. First, "Memory Glow."

Alejandro Cerrudo, the choreographer-in-residence at  Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, created a lovely piece for the PNB dancers. Three women and seven men, clad in shades of cream and gray, with socks on their feet, move across a stage backlit by more than a dozen floor spots. "Memory Glow" starts with a duet (Andrew Bartee and Leah Merchant one night; Bartee and Elizabeth Murphy on another). Then the men enter. Bartee and Ezra Thomson in particular held my attention with their deft performances of Cerrudo's choreography. Repeatedly over the course of the dance, they hold one palm to their foreheads. Are they trying to forget? To remember? It's a poignant gesture.

PNB Principal Dancers James Moore and Rachel Foster (lovely in early pregnancy) really stole the dance. Contemporary choreography particularly suits Foster. She winds her body around Moore, hooking a long leg over his shoulder then suspending herself, head to the floor. Moore grabs her by the abdomen (I had to avert my eyes: she's pregnant!), swings her high into the air, then sets her lightly onto the stage. Foster seems lighter than a feather; Moore anchors her to this solid earth.

I truly enjoyed this dance, but as I mentioned, Molissa Fenley had already stolen my brain. "State of Darkness" preceded "Memory Glow" and it's a far more resonant piece. Fenley made the solo for herself in 1988. In the PNB production, it's set to a live performance of Igor Stravinsky's powerful 1913 "Rite of Spring." On opening night, Principal Jonathan Porretta poured a ferocious intensity into the 36 minute dance. As I've already written, Porretta brought his years of artistic and life experience to it, and his performance was masterful. On March 21st, I got the chance to see the solo in an entirely different way, performed by young corps de ballet dancer Angelica Generosa. The end result was equally intoxicating.

Generosa has never performed anything like "State of Darkness" on the McCaw Hall stage (at least not for a paying audience). Dressed in black, footless tights and a flesh-colored camisole (Fenley performed the solo bare-chested), hair scraped back into a tight knot at the back of her head, Generosa began the dance almost tentatively. "State of Darkness" is physically grueling; perhaps she was trying to pace herself for what she knew was ahead? However, as Stravinsky's powerful, rhythmic music built, Generosa began to unfold: she extended her long arms above her head, then swept them in huge arcs behind her as she circled the stage in a loping pace. It was as if she was preparing to catapult herself into the air. A tightness seemed to melt, and Generosa began to make this dance her own.

Where Jonathan Porretta knifed the air in front of him with straight arms, fingers held together, Generosa's fingers were splayed, each seeming to flutter independently of the others, the way Thai or Balinese dancers use their hands. Porretta conveyed a barely contained primal energy. He was a tight coil ready to spring loose at any moment. Generosa's performance was more deliberate, her energy meted out over 36 minutes. Porretta was wild, Generosa less feral. That didn't make her performance less rewarding.

Generosa's body knew the choreography from start to finish, but the longer she danced, the less it seemed she was carefully remembering, the more she seemed to give herself over to Stravinsky. At one point, Generosa bit her lower lip in concentration as she poured everything she had into this difficult solo. As the last notes faded, and the lights dimmed, the audience leapt to its feet with cheers and applause. Generosa beamed a huge smile: in celebration of her accomplishment, of course, but perhaps in relief as well.

PNB didn't make any public photographs of Generosa's performance. That's just as well. Dance is ephemeral; it's of the moment and of our memories of that moment. Perhaps that's the 'memory glow' that Alejandro Cerrudo refers to in the title of his world premiere? I don't know, but I do know that I carry the memories of Molissa Fenley's "State of Darkness" with me, and their glow hasn't diminished. How I wish I could have been in the audience in 1988 when Fenley brought this piece to life for an audience for the first time! For now, I have to content myself with the memories.

It's not "State of Darkness," but here is Angelica Generosa rehearsing for Twyla Tharp's "Waiting at the Station"
World premier, PNB, September 2013. Photo courtesy PNB

Nice Choices, Mr. Boal!

Pacific Northwest Ballet's Jonathan Porretta in "State of Darkness,"
choreography by Molissa Fenley, photo by Angela Sterling

Every March, Pacific Northwest Ballet Artistic Director Peter Boal and his company present a program called "Director's Choice." It's usually a mixed repertory, with a healthy dose of contemporary choreography on the bill. After watching the opening night performance of this year's edition, my friend turned to me and said "tell Peter Boal for me, good choices, Director!" Amen to that, sister!

Four dances were on the evening's bill, all made within the last 25 years, including a world premier by Hubbard Street Dance choreographer-in-residence Alejandro Cerrudo. (More on that after I get a chance to see it a second time). The four works were vastly different from one another, from Susan Stroman's jazzy crowd pleaser, "Take Five...More or Less," set to Dave Brubeck's jazz standard, to Molissa Fenley's intensely powerful solo "State of Darkness," danced on opening night by Jonathan Porretta.

"Take Five" is breezy and upbeat, and featured a lively opening solo from Kaori Nakamura. Scene stealers Kiyon Gaines and Lesley Rausch got an ebullient response from the crowd. "Take Five" is bubbly and fun, but it was Jonathan Porretta's work on opening night that had me up on my feet.

PNB dancers Lesley Rausch and Kiyon Gaines in Susan Stroman's "Take Five...More or Less"
photo by Angela Sterling

Molissa Fenley made "State of Darkness" for herself in 1988. She was inspired by Igor Stravinsky's 1913 masterpiece, "Rite of Spring." Fenley writes that, at first, she played a recording in her studio and simply moved to the music. Then she realized she was creating a full blown dance. The PNB performance is accompanied by a live orchestra. The lush, full sound is an interesting juxtaposition to the solo dancer onstage, bare-chested and dressed in a simple pair of black capri-length pants.

Fenley is very slim, and in a videotaped performance from 1992, with her hair cropped short, she presents an androgynous, almost elfin persona. PNB's Jonathan Porretta, on the other hand, is solid and compact. With his dark hair hanging loose almost below his ears, Porretta commands the stage with a barely contained ferocity. Sometimes it was like watching a caged, semi-feral animal as he kicked his legs and slashed his arms to Stravinsky's percussive passages. In the dance's gentler moments, Porretta pulled back inside himself. He seemed to withhold his intensity for a few minutes, (and maybe gather more energy) only to unleash himself later on.

PNB Principal Dancer Jonathan Porretta in Molissa Fenley's "State of Darkness"
Photo by Angela Sterling

Porretta lends a vast quantity of charisma and drama to any material he performs. (Go see him dance the role of Mercutio, for example, in Jean-Christophe Maillot's "Romeo et Juliette.) In "State of Darkness," he undulates from mid-torso, steps gently in circles, forcefully swings his head down and up, whipping his hair across his face. Fenley has created a series of precise arm and hand movements for this dance. At times, Porretta extends his arm toward the floor, his hand palm up, then flipped down, then up again, as if he's a farmer sowing seeds. At other moments, Porretta dances laterally across the stage, facing the audience. The movements evoke the images I've seen from Nijinsky's 1913 Paris version of "Rite of Spring."

As the musical energy builds, you hold your breath, waiting for Porretta to let loose one of his technically dazzling jetes across the stage. And you keep waiting, because Fenley doesn't give us that release until later in the dance. The tension escalates, the caged animal paces, then finally explodes with a burst into the air.

PNB's Jonathan Porretta in "State of Darkness", choreographed by Molissa Fenley.
Photo by Angela Sterling

"State of Darkness" demands endurance: it's 36 minutes long. It also demands intellectual concentration. Jonathan Porretta delivered both on opening night. At times, he surveyed the audience, his dark eyes almost ferocious, daring us to keep watching him. Porretta is an audience favorite: his technical abilities coupled with his dramatic skills make him stand out on stage. But with this performance, I felt like I was watching an artist who had marshaled all his training, his life experience and his talents.What a transcendent dance experience!

Also of note for all PNB fans: opening night of "Director's Choice" marked Carla Korbe's return to the stage, after months of recuperation from an injury. Korbes and fellow Principal Dancer James Moore performed Susan Marshall's "Kiss." It's an all-too-brief, poignant duet, with the dancers harnessed to sturdy ropes that are anchored high above the McCaw Hall stage. Moore is smoldering and sexy; Korbes, as always, shimmers like an ephemeral shooting star. The audience welcomed her back with ecstatic and sustained applause.

Pacific Northwest Ballet Principal Dancers Carla Korbes and James Moore
in "Kiss" by Susan Marshall. Photo by Angela Sterling

 I know this program probably isn't everybody's cup of tea when it comes to ballet. Some of you may read this and say, "wow, was she at the same production as me?" But, seriously, the 2014 edition of "Director's Choice" rocked. You'll kick yourself if you're the only one in town to miss it.

She's Too Fat To Dance! Or Is She?

When I was five years old, I wanted to be a ballerina more than anything in the whole world. Me, and probably half the little girls in America. The other half wanted to go horseback riding.

I don't know when or where I got this urge. I grew up in Detroit, and believe me, there was no ballet company in residence. I do remember being taken to see the Kirov when they came through on tour. Or maybe it was the Bolshoi? Russian/Soviet, in any case, and a really big deal.

Alas, my ballerina dreams were shattered not long after my mother enrolled me in a dance class in kindergarten. This was more than half a century ago, but I remember the day of the recital very clearly. My group was dressed as bumble bees, little black leotards and yellow headbands with antennae attached. Through the wispy curtains of time, I still recall the sense of humiliation I felt when I looked at the other little girls. They were slim and reedy. My chubby tummy bulged out. Even at that age, I knew I was too fat to dance.

Several years ago, chief New York Times dance critic Alastair Macauley kicked off a shit storm when he wrote of New York City Ballet principal dancer Jenifer Ringer that, in the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy on opening night of "The Nutcracker," Ringer appeared to have "eaten one sugar plum too many."

The dance world responded immediately, most defending Ringer and challenging the assumption that a ballerina had to have a particular body type. Macauley defended his original column.

Jenifer Ringer told me that after an initial feeling of horror upon reading Macauley's scathing words, she took a deep breath and relaxed. In 2010, Ringer was self confident in both her dancing and her body. If this had happened twenty years earlier, though, Ringer would have been devastated. It turns out that Ringer suffered debilitating eating disorders at the outset of her professional career. She was hired at NYCB at the age of 16, one of four students from her class at the School of American Ballet who were offered jobs with the company. Ringer was acutely aware that her curvier body type was rounder than those of many of her fellow company members. She stopped eating, then became anorexic. A year or so later, still almost paralyzed by negative self image, Ringer started to binge-eat junk food, balancing out each quart of ice cream with frantic exercise.

Eventually, Jenifer Ringer gained so much weight that, ultimately, NYCB asked her to leave the company. Ringer says she had to hit that bottom to figure out how to gain some control over her mental health and her eating. The story has a happy ending: through her religious faith, and the help of a fellow dancer who she later married, Ringer worked her way back to her professional dance career. In her new memoir "Dancing Through It," Ringer chronicles that period of her life.

Ringer's experience reminds me of a visit I paid last year to All That Dance, a multi-generational dance school in Seattle. Every fall, the school suspends regular classes for "Love Your Body Week." It's a chance for teachers to talk to the students about body image, healthy eating, and potential eating disorders. The large mirrors in the studios are covered with butcher paper; by the end of the week, that paper is covered with dozens of handwritten notes. The students scrawl things they love about their bodies, or what their bodies can do in the dance studio.

All That Dance founder and director Maygan Wurzer doesn't keep data to track what happens after her students leave. She has no proof that making kids, in particular, aware of potential eating and body image issues will prevent crippling disorders like Jenifer Ringer suffered. But Wurzer says over the years she's watched kids who grow up attending her school; she's observed how they behave. Wurzer's convinced they have a healthy awareness of and attitude toward their bodies.

Jenifer Ringer says these days, New York City Ballet actually has counselors available for the dancers. But she's not sure whether people seek out help. Ringer says 20 years ago, she lied when people asked her what was wrong. She thinks that some professional dancers may do the same thing today, despite the availability of help. More to the point, Ringer says as a society, we still value thinness, and we expect it in particular from professional ballet dancers. She doesn't think things will really change until general attitudes about beauty and weight change.

So, will we ever see plump ballerinas in the mix at professional companies, like New York City Ballet or Pacific Northwest Ballet? I can't imagine it, and that's partly because the physical demands of the profession keep dancers fit and lean, for the most part. Might we see a different mix of body types: women with bulkier muscles, for example, more womanly hips and breasts? Part of the change will have to come from those of us who watch dance, and write about dance, and think about what's beautiful onstage.

The ever-beautiful Carla Korbes in Pacific Northwest Ballet's "Swan Lake"

I think back to my five year old self, to my ballet dreams. I know now that I never would have made it as a ballerina, not only because I was too fat. Turns out, I'm a klutz; I'm far more aware of my thoughts than my body's position in space. That was true then, and it's true now. These days, I live vicarious ballet dreams. That's fine with me.

Fandom Redux

Figure skater Kim Yu Na 

Yeow, I hit some kind of nerve with my last post about the difference between sports fans and arts fans. Or maybe it was just because I used a photo of the great quarterback Russell Wilson that so many of you read the post. I was pondering the reason that so many people love sports, relative to arts love. Some of you commented that the reason the arts don't have a larger fan base is, at its roots, financial. Agreed, the arts receive a microscopic percentage of the entertainment dollars spent in this country. Maybe better funding would help build up artistic institutions.

And what about arts literacy? Are we really teaching school kids to not just analyze poetry, but to recognize its inherent beauty, and its importance as a conduit to our emotions? Forget dance education! When I was in elementary school we had square dancing. I don't recall any conversation about historic dance leaders like Martha Graham or Merce Cunningham.

But the recent Winter Olympics got me to thinking about accessibility. Most sports are easy to grasp, right? Football is about scoring touchdowns; ski racing, or track or rowing or cycling, are all about speed. The winner is the first to cross the finish line. Then there are the less transparent sports, like figure skating. Why did a young Russian win the gold medal, when so many thought South Korean champion Kim Yu Na delivered a lovelier and more artful performance? The judging is subjective. In other, triter, words: beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

With art, it's not necessarily about beauty, but about the artistic intent of the work. How important is it that audiences grasp that intent?  Personally, I like to have some idea why I'm listening to or watching something. And often, I really am at a loss. I'm not saying that artists need to be less subtle, or more simplistic. I just have to find a way in somehow, even if it's just a consciousness of my response to something. I'm curious about entry points into art. How important is that at the outset of the artistic process? How important should it be? And would it help develop the arts audience?

Commercial arbiters in cinema, for example, believe the entry points are chase scenes, or gross jokes. Because the goal of commercial film is to make money. But what's the goal of a great painting, or dance, or symphony? The creators were inspired to use their media to say something. How much do we as audience members need to know to understand the artistic message? Or is it necessary at all? Honestly, I don't know the answer to this; I'd love to know what you think.

The Art Of Fandom

Seahawks Quarterback Russell Wilson

If you live anywhere near Seattle, hell, anywhere near the Pacific Northwest, you know it was almost impossible to avoid the hype that surrounded the Seattle Seahawks victory over Denver in the recent Superbowl. Impossible to avoid the hype, and nearly impossible to be unmoved by the regional euphoria that set in weeks before the big game. Blue Fridays saw everyone from toddlers to grocery clerks bedecked in Seahawks jerseys, sporting blue and green face paint and the ubiquitous "12" shirts: symbolic of the role of the fan, the 12th man.

12th man-dom transcended race, age, gender and even the stereotypical sports affinity groups. Artists and arts organizations were swept up in the glee. The Seattle Art Museum wagered the loan of artwork with its colleague institution in Denver. Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers donned wee football jerseys to pose with a large flag that sported the Seahawks '12'. I even saw a lovely pair of Seahawks inspired pointe shoes. As a painter friend remarked, "This is like a giant snow day!" And it was.

The effervescent fizz lasted through the victory evening, and a celebratory parade through Seattle's downtown core. The Seahawks rode atop amphibious assault vehicles, smiling and waving at the hundreds of thousands of blue and green bedecked fans who waited hours in atypical cold to greet their idols. Star player Marshawn Lynch had his own wheels. He lounged on the front of this Ride The Duck car, tossing his signature candy, Skittles, to ecstatic fans.

More than two weeks later, the 12th man flags still fly, and some folks surreptitiously sneak peaks at videotaped highlights of the big game, trying to hold that magic tight. But even the finest champagne finally goes flat. And cracks in the civic joy have started to appear. "It was just a football game," grumble some curmudgeons. More often you'll hear understandably jealous folks complain "You'd never see half a million people in the streets to celebrate art." Interesting point, that last one.

In fact, by all accounts, artists have enticed adoring throngs. Charles Dickens readings were massively popular. Singer Jenny Lind, dancer Anna Pavlova: household names during the height of their popularity, spoken of with the same reverence Seahawks fans utter the names Marshawn Lynch or Russell Wilson.
These days commercially successful artists enjoy the same kind of visible fame, the same passion, but what about the so-called fine arts? What's changed?

Pacific Northwest Ballet's "Concerto Barocco", photo by Lindsay Thomas courtesy PNB

I asked my hairstylist that question. He told me he thinks the gatekeepers make art "boring." Those gatekeepers include everybody from the teachers who tell their students how to "analyze" a poem, as well as curators who write dense and complex captions for their museum shows, to media types like me, who are on a constant search for the new, edgy artists we can elevate as the next "big thing." We write about these "finds" with little context or connection to artistic traditions we may not even understand ourselves.

A very wise arts administrator told me a few years ago why she thought football attracts legions where opera or ballet can't. "We grow up with football," she explained. Kids play it when they're little, maybe continue in high school or college, where they can watch it with friends on a sunny autumn day, or watch it every Sunday or Monday on television. Football, in America, is a life long experience. Art, not so much.

Little kids sing and dance with abandon. They paint pictures, tell stories, make theater that we call "pretend." Then, somebody tells them they're using the wrong color for the sky, or that their bodies are too fat or the wrong color to continue dancing. With the exception of PBS, there are no regular broadcasts of artistic performances. Even commercially successful musical theater barely gets a nod. How can you become an arts fan akin to a sports fan if you don't have ready exposure to art?

Cast members, ACT Theatre production of "The Ramayana", photo courtesy ACT

That's one reason why I love flash mobs: those ditzy crowds that dance in train stations or shopping malls, musicians who haul their instruments out onto the streets or down into subway stations. The art is right in front of us, unavoidable and it always draws an appreciative crowd. And really, when you think about it, how different is Seahawks coach Pete Carroll from Seattle Symphony maestro Ludovic Morlot? Both men are charged with forging a team out of a disparate group of individuals. Carroll's goal is to get these men to move in tandem, to anticipate each other's moves, to make touchdowns. Morlot also must coordinate his troops, putting them in synch with one another and the composition they're performing. And I've been at symphony performances that elicit as much exuberant glee as any football game.

Zoey-Juniper's "A Crack in Everything", photo courtesy On The Boards

Loving art and loving sports are not mutually exclusive activities. And fans of each react in similar ways. I remember a blustery late autumn day in 1991. Thousands of people waiting in the rain and wind for their chance to come into the new downtown Seattle Art Museum for the very first time. They were as patient as the thousands who waited on a chilly February morning to celebrate the Seahawks. Next football season, tens of thousands will go to Century Link field. Thousands will also flock to McCaw Hall to see Pacific Northwest Ballet's "Nutcracker." It's not an either/or choice. Both sports and arts can enrich our lives.
But I confess, it would be great to have Monday Night Ballet, or Sunday Night Symphony. Where can I submit my resume to be the first play-by-play arts color commentator?

Shakeups At Pacific Northwest Ballet

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers in the Stowell/Sendak "Nutcracker" photo by Angela Sterling

The rumors are true. Pacific Northwest Ballet will say farewell to its long-running production of "Nutcracker" this year. Choreographed by former PNB Artistic Director Kent Stowell and designed by the late Maurice Sendak, "Nutcracker" will have a final run over the 2014 holiday season. PNB plans to replace it in 2015 with a new production of George Balanchine's Nutcracker, with sets and costumes by Ian Falconer.

The Stowell/Sendak production has delighted Seattle area audiences for decades. PNB Artistic Director Peter Boal performed in the Balanchine version during his days at New York City Ballet, Balanchine's company. We'll find out how Northwest audiences respond to the swap.

In other PNB news, last month the company promoted five dancers: Margaret Mullin, Elizabeth Murphy and William Yin-Lee move from the corps de ballet to soloist positions. Laura Tisserand and Lindsi Dec were promoted to principal dancer. Both of these tall, dark haired women are lovely performers, but I'm especially excited to see Lindsi Dec recognized for her work. In the past five years, Dec has exploded from the corps de ballet. She is elegant and precise, passionate and stately. It's delicious fun to watch her perform with her husband, Karel Cruz. Can you say sizzle?

Pacific Northwest Ballet Principal Dancers Lindsi Dec and Laura Tisserand in Balanchine's "Concerto Barocco".
Photo by Angela Sterling

And finally, PNB's 2014-15 season includes an all-William Forsythe program. It's called "The Vertiginous Thrill of Forsythe." On that March 2015 bill: "In The Middle, Somewhat Elevated," long part of the PNB repertoire, plus two local premiers: the 1996 dance "The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude" and "New Suite," a collection of duets that include "Slingerland Pas de Deux" and the pas de deux from "New Sleep", choreographed for San Francisco ballet in 1987.

Pacific Northwest Ballet Principal Dancers Jonathan Porretta and Carrie Imler in William Forsythe's "In The Middle, Somewhat Elevated." Photo by Angela Sterling

During his tenure in Seattle, PNB Artistic Director Peter Boal has tried to balance productions of the classical ballets like "Swan Lake," "Sleeping Beauty" and "Coppelia" with presentations of contemporary work by Forsythe, Crystal Pite, and Victor Quijada. Given that his company is the largest in the region, Boal bears the responsibility to both preserve the ballet tradition and to help push it forward. When it comes to new work, that's exciting for audiences. When it comes to retiring a beloved tradition like the Stowell/Sendak "Nutcracker," is Boal inviting the wrath of that same audience? We'll have to wait and see.