Andy McShea, front with fellow Whim W'Him dancers in Dolly Sfeir's hard times for dreamers. photo @ Jim Coleman, courtesy Whim W'Him
One of the pandemic’s upsides (you read that correctly, there were a few) has
been the opportunity to see artists with new eyes. Or at least, eyes that have
had a protracted break from live performance.
Last weekend I was happy to be in the Erickson Theater audience for the opening night performance
of Seattle contemporary dance company Whim W’Him’s 13th artistic
season.
I’ve followed artistic director Olivier Wevers and his dancers since their first show at On the Boards. Like so many performing arts groups, Whim W’Him
pivoted to digital presentations during the pandemic, and I watched those. Although the company returned to
live shows last season, I only attended one in person, so this season opener
gave me a chance to renew my admiration for Whim W'Him's very fine dancers.
I
was so happy to see two veteran company members, Karl Watson and Jane
Cracovener, back on stage, along with five other talented dancers. But, to borrow a phrase
from the publication Seattle Dances, I have a brand-new dance crush on Andrew
McShea.
Andy McShea photo @ Allina Yang
I’d seen McShea perform before the pandemic shutdowns, and I
watched him in Whim W'Him's streamed offerings. But I can trace the
start of my new crush to August 10th, when WW was part of an evening
of wonderful dance presented free at the renovated Volunteer Park Amphitheater.
That evening McShea performed a solo Wevers had choreographed for him. You know those social media posts, the ones with little
arrows drawn on a photo to grab our attention? Watching McShea dance, I felt as
if somebody had highlighted his body in flashing lights: Look at this dancer,
Marcie!
I’m pretty sure it was the first thing I told friends about
that evening.
Anyways, back to the Erickson Theatre, where Whim W’Him’s Fall
2022 program opened on September 9th.
As I mentioned, it was wonderful to see Watson and
Cracovener. Nell Josephine and Michael Arellano are back this season, and
equally adept. I was also struck by new company members Leah Misano and Kyle
Sangil (who we actually got to see last May when Josephine was stricken with
appendicitis). Everyone was great. But I couldn’t take my eyes off McShea.
To be fair, in the first dance, created by Nicole von Arx,
the dancers’ heads were covered in black balaclavas for much of the time, so I
wasn’t always sure who I was watching. Believe me, I did spend some time trying to figure out who was who. But in Dolly Sfeir’s hard time for dreamers, the final work
of the evening, the masks were off, the dancers were distinctly visible and McShea just mesmerized me.
Michael Arellano, left, Jane Cracovener and Andy McShea photo @ Allina Yang
hard time for dreamers, theatrical and slightly absurd in a Pina
Bausch-esque way, is set on and among a collection of early 20th
century furniture, with costumes reminiscent of that same era. The three women
wear brightly colored dresses with puffed cap sleeves and waist sashes,
designed by Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Mark Zappone. For the men, Zappone
created suits and vests cut from wide patterned plaid fabrics, paired with a
variety of hats, from straw boaters to bowlers.
Sfeir, who is also a filmmaker,
gives each dancer a character to inhabit. Josephine was a sort of haughty socialite; Sangil, a tough. McShea was a sort of bittersweet
clown.
I was gobsmacked by his ability to seemingly melt his
bones. One moment he’d be upright; the next, his body had dissolved to the
floor, his legs and arms heading in directions that defied anatomy.
Andy McShea, photo @ Jim Coleman
McShea has sharp, high cheekbones, and an intensity in his eyes that contrast with his
body’s fluidity. It was fascinating to watch how he paired those with the singular
qualities of the other company members, qualities that transcend the dances they perform, like character traits that define us as individuals.
That's been one of my favorite things about watching Whim W’Him over
the years. We may never meet Wevers’ skilled dancers one one one, but we get to know them
because they bring their full selves--and their considerable technical and artistic gifts--to every work.
Jim Kent, center, supported by Whim W'Him company members in Olivier Wevers' This is Not the Little Prince, photo courtesy Whim W'Him
Dancers' performing lives are short, so we’re
constantly meeting new artists at Whim W'Him and every other dance company. It's bittersweet indeed. The great Jim Kent left Whim W’Him last year
after almost 12 seasons; Liane Aung departed last spring and both of them will
be sorely missed.
Liane Aung, photo @ Bamberg Fine Arts
But where wonderful artists leave, new talents step up to fill
the void. I look forward to getting to know the new company members, and to
stoke my dance crush on Andrew McShea.
Leah Terada, rear, looks over Liane Aung's arm in A Liminal Space photo @ Henry Wurtz, courtesy Seattle Dance Collective
When the pandemic started two and a half years ago, I (like
many fans of live performance) wondered what it would be like to live without the
very particular thrill of settling into my seat, alongside fellow audience
members, collectively anticipating a new dance, a new play, a new concert.
Somehow, we all adjusted to art’s new digital delivery
system. The dance world offered up everything from older recordings of live
shows to odd Zoom pastiches. As the pandemic dragged on, artists adapted to the
new norm, moving beyond simple video captures to create ingenious new work for our
small screens.
This fall most performance venues are welcoming back live
audiences, but Seattle Dance
Collective’s latest film offering, A Liminal Space, conceived
and directed by Henry Wurtz with choreographer Bruno Roque, reminded me, first,
that digital offerings are here to stay. Second, that they can be as evocative
and satisfying as a live performance.
Leah Terada crawls out from the white fabric cube photo @ Henry Wurtz
A Liminal Space begins inside a white cloth cube.
Dancer Leah Terada lies on a bed of soil, her off-white pants and sweater
covered with dark loam as she rolls and writhes. She rises from the dirt and
spots a pinpoint of light, ripping through her fabric enclosure with the help
of fellow dancer Liane Aung, who is just outside. Together they dance on a wide
Puget Sound beach, their curved arms seemingly gathering in the sun and
salt-water breezes as they revel in their freedom.
The film moves both the cube and the dancers onto a grassy
meadow, then into a lush forest grove. Aung and Terada are dressed alike, in light
slacks and sweaters, their dark hair styled into identical single braids that
hang down their backs. Are they doppelgangers? Mirror images of the same
person? As Fabian ReimAir’s original score builds in momentum, the two women dance
in unison, circle one another, lie side by side, fingers lightly brushing up
against the other’s body.
Terada and Aung working together to escape the cube photo @ Henry Wurtz
The concept is simple, maybe even simplistic: here’s what it’s
like to be caged up, then released. We all remember how it felt when we first
emerged from pandemic quarantine; how we felt when we first met up with
friends, family, even strangers, after months of enforced social distancing. We
were confined in our own versions of the white cube; slowly we were freed to
experience the wider world and to enjoy human interaction again. Roque’s choreography
performed by these two dancers, plus the magnificence of a Pacific Northwest
summer, combine to give A Liminal Space more heft than it might have had
in the hands of lesser artists.
Liane Aung, who left Olivier Wevers’ company Whim W’Him this
spring after several seasons, is a standout dancer. She imbues each movement
with a crisp clarity that draws the viewer’s eye. Leah Terada, a corps de
ballet dancer with Pacific Northwest Ballet, has a softer approach to Roque’s choreography,
although she’s no less compelling to watch. Together they create a physical
harmony that elevates this short film.
Leah Terada, photo @ Henry Wurtz
Terada is having a moment of sorts, emerging from the
relative anonymity of PNB’s corps. Two years ago, she danced on a dock with
fellow PNB company member Miles Pertl in a lovely short film The Only Thing You See Now, another
Seattle Dance Collective commission. Terada was featured in several PNB
offerings last season, giving ballet audiences a chance to see her versatility.
And I was awed by her complete dedication to her art form while watching her
earlier this summer as she performed choreographer Eva Stone’s punishing solo,
one of a series created for Stone’s site-specific Sculptured Dance on
Whidbey Island.
The joy of a dance film like Wurtz’ A Liminal Space
is that we get a close, even intimate, view of Terada and Aung. We savor the
expression on Terada’s face when she first escapes her white cube, watch them
watch each other as they start a duet. We see how Aung gives a physical weight
to Roque’s choreography, the way she angles an elbow or crouches low into her
knees. Meanwhile Terada almost seems to float above Aung, her version of these
same movements seemingly weightless. These are details we’d miss if this dance was
performed live. In fact, A Liminal Space could never be live; it’s a
piece of art created by a camera intended for a screen. It’s beauty is
fleeting, like the tangy scent of the salt water carried on the breeze.
One of the many lessons the pandemic has reinforced is the
myriad ways performance can pack an emotional wallop. I now cherish each
opportunity to sit in a darkened theater, the tingle of anticipation before the
stage lights come up on a live show. But as I watched Terada and Aung whirling
on the sand in the early morning sunshine, I felt a different kind of joy. I’m
grateful for the way artists adapted to changed circumstances, the way they
found new ways to illuminate our collective human experience. Thanks to Seattle
Dance Collective for making a space for this to continue.
Sarah Pasch, center, with Elle Macy, left, and Chelsea Adomaitis in Twyla Tharp's Waiting at the Station, 2013. photo @ Angela Sterling
When dance journalists write about ballet, we’re usually
focused on the choreographers or the principal dancers, the orchestra, or the sets, costumes and lighting.
We note new creations, exemplary performances, on-stage partnerships
and the like. I think of us a bit like magpies, lured from one bright, shiny
object to the next. When a beloved ballet star gives their last performance,
we're likely to note their departures in a multitude of media outlets. The accolades are usually well-deserved; unfortunately, we’re not quite so attentive when other
hard-working dancers decide it's time to leave their performing careers behind.
And
that’s too bad, because I think of the corps de ballet in particular as the hardest
working, often least recognized, group of dancers in show business. This week Pacific Northwest Ballet says goodbye to two corps members: Guillaume Basso and
Sarah Pasch. The company also bids farewell to elegant PNB soloist Joshua
Grant.
Joshua Grant-Montoya, left, with his husband Christopher Grant-Montoya and canine family members in their new school, Dance Conservatory Seattle. photo courtesy Joshua Grant-Montoya
One minute to recognize Grant, who has appeared in
everything from new work by David Dawson to Jean-Christophe Maillot’s Romeo
et Juliette, where his Paris unsuccessfully wooed a reluctant Juliet.
Joshua Grant as Paris in Jean-Christophe Maillot's Romeo et Juliette. photo @ Angela Sterling
But Grant,
a veteran of Les Ballets Trocadero de Monte Carlo, was just as arresting as
Mother Ginger in George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker, both for his
facility mincing along on stilts supporting a 60+ pound costume that hides a troupe of kids and his brilliant comedic timing.
Joshua Grant as Mother Ginger with PNB school students in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker photo @ Elise Bakketun
But back to the corps de ballet, dancers who are
particularly indispensable when a company like PNB mounts big productions like Nutcracker
or Swan Lake. While our eyes may be glued to the Sugar Plum Fairy
(or Mother Ginger), or to Odette and Siegfried’s doomed love story, we can’t
help but be awed by twirling Snowflakes, or the amazing bevy of swans who take
the stage in Swan Lake’s Act 2, hopping in from the wings with
precision and unity. It’s hard work, physically and mentally. Odette and
Siegfried get several night’s rest in between performances, but those swans grind out shows every night.
PNB corps de ballet members in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker, 2018. Sarah Pasch is at far right. photo @ Angela Sterling
Leading PNB’s pack (or should I saw flock?) this year with
her trademark elegance and poise was ten-year corps de ballet member Pasch.
“It was my fourth time around with this ballet,” says the 31-year
old. “I still love it.”
It will be one of many memories Pasch savors next fall, when
she trades the Marion Oliver McCall Hall stage for an elementary school
classroom. While the dancers were sidelined during the pandemic, Pasch used her
time to complete a Bachelor’s degree from Western Governor’s University, and to
focus on her now two-year old daughter Etta, who she’s raising with her
husband, PNB soloist Ezra Thomson.
“The pandemic actually kind of worked in my favor,” Pasch
explains. “I had planned to take time off school and work when Etta was born
(January, 2020). Things changed, and I wasn’t dancing (because of the
pandemic), so even though I had a newborn baby at home, I did have time to
do school.”
Last fall, Pasch needed a few more months leave from PNB to complete her
student teaching. She told her boss, Artistic Director Peter Boal, that she’d
be back for Nutcracker, but would retire from the company this summer.
“I kinda used it as a consolation prize,” Pasch laughs. “If
you let me do this, I’ll retire and you can hire some younger dancers!”
Sarah Pasch as the Stepmother in Jean-Christophe Maillot's Cendrillon. photo @ Angela Sterling
In the meantime, Pasch has used her position as one of the
senior corps members to help guide some of PNB’s newer dancers.
Boal says Pasch’s grace and unobtrusive but steady presence in the studio has
earned her the respect of her peers, and her boss.
“Every company has undesignated leaders like Sarah, who see
the bigger scope of the rehearsal process.” Boal wrote in an email. “She knows
what needs to be fixed and how to fix it. She will be missed.”
Sarah Pasch with Dammiel Cruz-Garrido in Ulysses Dove's Red Angels, 2018. photo @ Lindsay Thomas
Pasch leaves PNB on a high note. She’s scheduled to dance in
Ulysses Dove’s Red Angels with fellow corps member Dammiel Cruz-Garrido
in the company’s Encore
performance June 12th. She first saw this ballet when she joined
PNB School’s Professional Division in 2009.
“I was out in the audience,” says Pasch, “and I was like, ‘I
have to do that role!’”
Boal cast her in it several years later, which she says was
a big deal for her; as a corps dancer Pasch hasn’t had regular
opportunities to perform solo roles. She considers Red Angels to be
one of her career highlights, along with a stint in George Balanchine’s Rubies.
Sarah Pasch, center with, from left, Chelsea Adomaitis, James Yoichi Moore and Elle Macy in 2013 production of Tharp's Waiting at the Station. photo @ Angela Sterling
Another highlight was originating the role of Golden Girl,
one of a trio featured in Twyla Tharp’s Waiting at the Station, created
for PNB in 2013. The ballet is one of three Tharp works that make up PNB’s
final program of this artistic season. Although COVID forced the company to
cancel opening weekend performances, Pasch is scheduled to reprise the role
this weekend (June 9-12), if the virus allows the shows to go on.
“It feels like full circle,” she says. “To have a role
created on you is so cool. It feels very precious to me, and I’m so excited I
get to dance it again.”
This summer, Pasch will tour with PNB to New York
and Los Angeles before stepping away from professional ballet for good. She acknowledges her life will
be different come September, when her husband heads back to the ballet studio while
she takes her place in front of a classroom. Pasch is eager to begin this new career, but
says ballet will always be with her.
“I’ll really miss that magic of the curtain coming up, being
onstage in costume. There’s nothing like it,” she acknowledges. “I’m just
grateful for the audience here, the career I’ve had, this home I’ve created at
PNB.”
Lesley Rausch as Odette in Pacific Northwest Ballet's past production of Swan Lake photo @ Lindsay Thomas
Early Spring sunshine streams into a small Pacific Northwest
Ballet studio, casting shadows on two dancers, one in dark sweat pants and a
tee shirt, the other dressed in a purple leotard, stiff white tutu and pointe shoes.
They’re rehearsing a pas de deux from the classic ballet Swan
Lake, under the watchful eye of PNB Artistic Director Peter Boal. Veteran
company member Lesley Rausch portrays the famous White Swan, Odette. Her partner,
James Kirby Rogers, is Prince Siegfried, smitten by Odette’s beauty when he
encounters her with a flock of fellow swans on a moonlit lake.
Boal starts a recording of Tchaikovsky’s familiar score, and
Rausch and Rogers begin a delicate courtship dance. They circle one another,
warily at first, then spiraling closer. At last, Rogers steps behind Rausch and
wraps her in his arms, gently folding her limbs across her chest. When they
pull apart, Rausch’s arms extend behind her, like a swan’s wings, her fingers
fluttering like feathers in a breeze. Rogers lifts the ballerina up over his
head, once, twice and a third time, as if she weighs no more than, well, a
bird.
When the ethereal seven-minute duet ends, both dancers bend over, gulping
in air through the black face masks they wear to ward off Covid.
For so many ballerinas, dancing Swan Lake’s Odette
and her evil doppelganger, the Black Swan, Odile, is a career pinnacle. It’s
not simply that the roles are technically demanding, a tour-de-force when
performed well; it’s also the fact that the ballerina must learn the
choreography and then distinguish each role dramatically for the audience (if
not for the love-sick Prince who, somehow, mistakes Odile’s flamboyance for the
gentle grace of his love, Odette).
James Kirby Rogers and Lesley Rausch in Pacific Northwest Ballet's production of Swan Lake
Lesley Rausch and her husband, former PNB dancer Batkhurel Bold, in Swan Lake photo @ Angela Sterling
Four years ago, when PNB last presented this ballet, Rausch had
the opportunity to perform Odette/Odile on opening night. “That was the
fulfillment of every childhood dream I ever had,” she says. “I didn’t even
realize it until it was happening.”
Two years ago, when COVID forced the world to shut down,
Rausch wasn’t sure she’d make it back onstage, let alone get a chance to star
in this ballet again.
Of course, ballet dancers weren’t the only ones affected by
the March, 2020 pandemic closures. All but people deemed to be essential
workers were sent home to puzzle out how to set up offices at their dining room
tables; to squabble over laptops and internet bandwidth with their family
members.
While many of us were able to conduct business as (almost) usual,
ballet dancers floundered, wondering how to keep their bodies and minds ready
to perform if and when they were called back to work. PNB offered daily Zoom classes
to its company members, but Rausch and many of her peers sometimes found it
hard to muster the enthusiasm for remote dancing.
“I have a lot of good self-motivation normally,” Rausch
says. “But there were times I just couldn’t make myself do ballet.”
Rausch felt detached from the online classes, and she didn’t
have the studio space at home to move the way she wanted and needed to. Beyond space
issues, like so many of us, Rausch found the daily pandemic news to be
emotionally grueling. Although she felt fortunate to be financially stable, and
that PNB continued to provide health insurance to all its workers, seeing the
toll Covid was taking on so many people around the world was sobering.
PNB’s pandemic closure dragged on through the summer of 2020,
the longest non-dancing period Rausch had experienced since she started ballet
lessons as a little girl in Columbus, Ohio. She practiced Pilates daily, trying
to keep her muscles toned and healthy. And she relished the time with her
husband, retired PNB dancer Batkhurel Bold, who works in the hospitality
industry now. Together, they explored Seattle on foot, trying to make the most
of their downtime together. But dancing a full-length ballet requires specific
stamina and training. The longer Rausch was away from the studio, the more
concerned she became about how she’d regain what she was losing.
Batkhurel Bold with his wife Lesley Rausch. Photo @ Angela Sterling
Although the pandemic maintained
its grip on us, by mid-2020, PNB had decided to go ahead with a new artistic
season, albeit digitally. Most (but not all) of the dancers returned to the Phelps
Center studios, where they were segregated into small pods of four to six dancers.
Everyone was—and still is--masked, and tested for Covid on a regular basis, but
they were dancing again, which Rausch didn’t take for granted.
(By the way, the
challenge of dancing in a mask can’t be overlooked. Imagine how you feel when
you take a brisk uphill walk in your mask; sometimes it feels like you just
can’t take in enough oxygen. Now think about dancers, who spend hours each day in
strenuous activity, constantly masked.)
Lesley Rausch relaxing at Seattle Center, September 2021 photo @ Marcie Sillman
Although Rausch was thrilled to be back in the studios, even
masked, it was by no means ballet as usual. Covid protocols dictated that only
dancers who lived together could touch one another in the studio or onstage, or
do the kind of partnering a ballet like Swan Lake requires.
“We’re very used to touching all the time,” she says. “It’s
a building where people hug frequently, where corrections are hands-on. This
(Covid protocols) was a seismic shift, and it was scary for us all.”
Lesley Rausch and former PNB partner Jerome Tisserand rehearsing Swan Lake in 2018. photo @ Lindsay Thomas
Beyond the Covid protocols, the journey back to back to ballet-readiness
wasn’t easy, particularly for older dancers like Rausch, who turned 40 in late
2021. The art form’s physical demands frequently force dancers to leave the
profession by their late 30’s. A few, like Rausch’s former colleague Noelani Pantastico,
hang on into their 40’s. (Pantastico retired this February at age 41).
Rausch
found the work to retrain her body to be grueling; after a day in the studio,
she often went home and just cried from the pain of, for example, building back
the strength in her feet.
“You know, when I was younger, I could walk in off the
street, slap on my pointe shoes and go right into rehearsal,” she muses. “I
can’t even imagine that now!” Rausch is far more aware of her body’s strengths
and weaknesses than she was 20 years ago, and much more cautious about
potential injuries, so she’s been slow and methodical about her re-training.
Eight months into this artistic season, Rausch is nursing a
sore back, which kept her out of two productions earlier this year. Bolstered
by a brace, she’s thrown herself into Swan Lake rehearsals, determined
to be back onstage in the coveted dual role.“Every day is different,”
she muses. “Some are better than others.”
Every morning, before she even arrives at PNB’s Seattle
Center studios, she spends a couple of hours preparing her body for the physical
toll the full day of rehearsals will exact on her. “I take a very, very, very,
hot shower,” she laughs. Rausch then runs through a series of Pilates exercises,
focusing especially on her back. But she also relies heavily on the expertise
of PNB physical therapist Boyd Bender and Laura Bannister, a PT at Avant Studio.
“I feel like I’m stronger after a year and a half away. I’ve
tended to old injuries,” Rausch says. “I definitely feel more confidence that
I’m able to do my job.”
Beyond the physical re-adjustments, Rausch found PNB to be a
very different dance company when she returned in August, 2020. More than a
half dozen of her contemporaries decided to retire or leave Seattle during the
pandemic, including her longtime stage partner Jerome Tisserand, who danced her
Prince Siegfried in PNB’s 2018 SwanLake production.
Tisserand's departure was wrenching for Rausch, who had built up a level of comfort and
trust with him after years dancing together. Now she’s working to build that
stage relationship with James Kirby Rogers. In rehearsal they work on small
nuances: how Rogers can help her into a turn, or where he should hold her waist
when he prepares to lift Rausch into the air.
James Kirby Rogers with Lesley Rausch, Otto Neubert in background photo @ Angela Sterling for Pacific Northwest Ballet
Like Rogers, most of PNB’s new company members are much
younger than Rausch. Although she’s one of only a handful of veterans at
the company, Rausch isn’t ready to step away from a life that has defined her
since childhood. She decided to be a ballerina when she was 10 years old, and
her commitment hasn’t wavered. “I had a five-minute solo,” she recalls, “and I
had this moment of just feeling like, ‘This is it!’ I just felt alive.”
She feels the same way today.
Aside from family, ballet has been the one constant in her
life for more than 35 years. “It has been with me through the good and the bad,
the ugly and beautiful. I think it starts to become even more cherished when
you contemplate that it won’t be part of your life much longer.”
A year ago, Rausch wasn’t sure what the future held. She’s a
certified Pilates instructor, and she’s been building her own business, but Rausch wasn’t quite ready to jump into this new pursuit full-time. When she
learned that Peter Boal had included Swan Lake in the company’s current season
line-up, it was the signal she needed. Rausch signed her contract, and prayed
that her body would be up to the task ahead.
Her gamble seems to have paid off.
Not only does she get another chance to star in Swan Lake; she and
Rogers will dance on opening night. It’s the opportunity Rausch could
only dream about two years ago.
“Now I just feel gratitude for my body, that it can still do
the things I ask it to do.”
And, while no one can predict the future with any certainty,
Rausch is betting both on her body and her artistry to carry her into another
year with PNB. Last month she decided to return for her 21st season
in the company, to help celebrate PNB’s 50th anniversary.
Before then, audiences can see Lesley Rausch perform
Odette/Odile on opening night of PNB’s
production of Swan Lake, choreographed by Kent Stowell. The ballet
runs April 15-24 at McCaw Hall.
Dancer and choreographer Amanda Morgan, photo @ Jessamy Lennon
Last week Amanda Morgan was tapping her heart out in the
Pacific Northwest Ballet production of Justin Peck’s sneaker ballet, The
Times Are Racing. This weekend, Morgan is at the helm of a new show she’s
producing under the auspices of her own venture, The Seattle Project.
The show, truth be told, includes three dance films and three live dances,
including a duet Morgan created for Marco Farroni and her PNB colleague,
apprentice Zsilas Michael Hughes.
Morgan launched The Seattle Project at the end of 2019, just
before the pandemic hit. She wanted to provide a creative outlet for her own
work, and for that of other BIPOC and Queer artists. Although the Project isn’t
limited to dance, Morgan cheerfully admits that, as a dance artist, she
gravitates to the art form.
Morgan describes her latest choreographic effort as “more
experimental” than work she’s made in the past. This new duet is literally split in
two: Hughes and Farroni spend 2/3 of the performance separated from one another, on the
different stages--one a platform built directly over the main floor, accessible
only via a steep wooden ladder.
Farroni, an experienced performer (including
work with Spectrum Dance Theatre and choreographer Dani Tirrell) starts on the
upper level, while Hughes first appears directly below Farroni, seated on a
stool. Eventually, the two dancers join forces, and when they do, their
distinctly different movements converge as well.
This weekend’s show also features
work by Akoiya Harris, Devin Munoz, Christopher D’Ariano, Leah Terada and the Seattle
premier of a film by Nia-Amina Minor, called Without Ever Leaving the Ground
(She Flew).
Because Morgan holds down a demanding day job with PNB, she
doesn’t schedule Seattle Project performances very far in advance. Look for her this
summer on the Seattle waterfront, and presenting work with the Art in the Parks
program. Morgan says audiences should expect the unexpected when it comes to
her choreography. She’s always eager to try something new, even if it falls short
of her imagination.
“At least I made stuff,” Morgan says. “At least I used my
voice.”
The Seattle Project’s truth be told debuts at the
Northwest Film Forum on Saturday, April 2 and repeats Sunday, April 3.
Pacific Northwest Ballet Principal Dancer Lesley Rausch as Dewdrop in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker. photo @ Angela Sterling
When I heard the news about Covid's Omicron variant a couple of
weeks back, my body just clenched up. “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” I asked
myself.
These are dark times, literally and metaphorically, as we
hover near Winter Solstice with so few hours of daylight, and news reports of rising infection rates and
ongoing political strife crash ashore endlessly.
I always struggle in December, so it’s become my practice
to seek out moments of joy wherever they present themselves; simple pleasures--holiday lights emerging like mushrooms on houses and shops across the
city, glowing like beacons in the long stretches of darkness. Or baking for
friends, with KING-FM on in the background.
Or annual holiday performances, a pleasure I took for
granted until last year, pre-vaccine, when the pandemic forced the cancellation or
the migration of live shows to online streams. We’ve learned to love, or at
least live with, digital performances, but for me there’s nothing like sitting
in an audience with other people.
I’ve written before about the giddiness I experienced upon
entering McCaw Hall to see Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Nutcracker. I had
a similar sense of glee this month at a performance of A Christmas Carol,
at ACT Theatre.
R. Hamilton Wright, Amy Thone and Nathaniel Tenebaum in ACT Theatre's production of A Christmas Carol. Photo courtesy ACT Theatre
Actor Nathaniel Tenenbaum’s pre-show speech started off with
a rousing “we’re back!” followed by a shout backstage to his fellow cast
members “they’re here in the seats!” I got goose bumps, and a bit misty eyed,
and filled with the familiar anticipation of the play about to unfold.
Julie Briskman, the Ghost of Christmas Present in ACT Theatre's A Christmas Carol photo @ Hannah Delon, courtesy ACT
As I watched the brilliant Julie Briskman, the Ghost of
Christmas Present, rise up from below the stage on a chaise, draped in green
velvet with a matching garland of greenery crowning her head, I broke into a
huge smile. Of course, it was under my mask, so nobody saw it, but I know the
rest of the audience was probably smiling too.
PNB company members with Noelani Pantastico as Dewdrop, 2016 photo @ Angela Sterling
What I didn’t realize was that, this year, performers are
relishing these moments too. Arts organizations here and around the world have
struggled to keep their heads above water through the pandemic, so reopening
with a holiday classic has new meaning.
Lesley Rausch with her Cavalier, Dylan Wald in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker photo @ Angela Sterling
“Sometimes, we get to Nutcracker and it’s like, ‘oh,
here we go again.”
Principal dancer Lesley Rausch is in the middle of her 20th
season dancing with PNB, so she’s performed her share of Nutcrackers. For
Rausch and her fellow company members, the chance to be on stage this December
is a return to business as usual, albeit with a twist.
“We’re testing every other day during Nutcracker,
with rapid (antigen) tests,” she explains. “There’s a little bit of fear every
time that what if this is the time that the virus slips through? It affects the
whole company.”
That fear is particularly acute now that Omicron is raging
through New York, forcing Broadway theaters to close down shows. As I write
these words, Puget Sound arts organizations remain open, but on high alert.
At PNB, everyone backstage is still masked, including the
dancers. The masks don’t come off until they twirl out from the wings. Which is
only fair, because all of us audience members are also masked. (BTW, that mask should cover your mouth and nose! It doesn’t do anything hanging over your
chin except make me want to yell at you!)
Lesley Rausch and Dylan Wald in PNB's 2021 production of The Nutcracker photo @ Angela Sterling
This year, watching Rausch and Dylan Wald take the stage as the
Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier touched me in a way that the familiar pas de
deux normally doesn’t. I like the choreography, and love the music, but I’ve
seen Nutcracker so many times that I’m often not completely present. This
year, though, Rausch and Wald created a magic that I’ve been missing; she truly
was a gossamer fairy in Wald’s arms, her descent to the stage from each leap an
evanescent, gravity-defiant shimmer.
Rausch says dancing in this year’s Nutcracker has
brought her a renewed energy for a show that can sometimes feel like an annual
grind. We may see it only once a year, but for dancers, especially those in the
corps de ballet, the four-week Nutcracker run can be grueling. This
year, though, Rausch treasures every performance.
“We’ve all just been craving it so much!” she says. “Thursday
night’s show wasn’t even full, but the audience was wild. I got applause for
just walking out on stage. I never had so much fun out there, it was a blast!”
PNB company members in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker photo @ Angela Sterling
In the darkness of a second pandemic winter, audiences are
grateful to be able to sit in theaters again, to savor holiday traditions. Sometimes
we need to respond with more than cheers and applause.
“I got a letter in the mail, from a little girl,” says
Rausch. “She told me how much she loved watching me as Sugar Plum and how she
wants to be just like me when she grows up.”
The girl included a gift for the ballerina--a home-made
holiday ornament, fashioned from popsicle sticks and covered with glitter.
Rausch’s big blue eyes fill with tears as she tells me this
story.
“I mean, cue the water works! We’re so removed from the
audience as performers, you forget the impact you can have on somebody’s life!”
When it comes to moments of joy and grace in the December
darkness, it doesn’t get brighter than that.
PNB soloist Cecilia Iliesiu, center, and fellow dancers in George Balanchine's The Nutcracker. photo @ Angela Sterling
This past weekend Pacific Northwest Ballet opened its annual
holiday production of The Nutcracker.
After almost two years of COVID isolation that forced PNB to cancel last year's run, this opening is a big, big deal.
I’ve seen this version of The Nutcracker at least a dozen times since PNB debuted George
Balanchine’s 1954 classic six years ago, but sitting in McCaw Hall Saturday
night, watching Lesley Rausch and Dylan Wald perform the Sugar Plum
Fairy/Cavalier pas de deux, it was as if I was seeing this ballet for the very
first time.
Being able to gather
with a (masked) audience to share a live performance, to hear the full PNB
orchestra for the first time since February 2020, to watch a stage full of
dancers, was remarkable.
It was both comfortingly familiar, and yet a completely
new experience.
First, the masks. Nutcracker features a large cast:
PNB company dancers, plus dozens of students. To protect their health,
and that of the professional artists they perform with, the kids all wear masks, specially
designed to match their costumes.
It’s startling at first, but masking is now part of our
new normal as we continue to fend off succesive waves of viral mutations. PNB takes its COVID-19 precautions seriously. In addition to masks, audience members must show proof of vaccination status, or a negative COVID test. Even the
wildly popular second act appearance by Mother Ginger and her Polichinelle flock was transformed by health protocols.
Instead of sheltering all eight children under her
enormous skirts, Mother Ginger enters with only four young dancers hidden from view. The other four dance on
and off from the wings, the ballet equivalent of social distancing.
These health safeguards are only part of the changed face of this Nutcracker production. PNB has
made others the company hopes will help eliminate some of the art form’s
embedded racial and gender biases.
PNB corps de ballet member Noah Martzall makes a very natty Green Tea Cricket photo @ Angela Sterling
When Balanchine created his Nutcracker almost 70
years ago, mainly white audiences and critics most likely didn’t question why the
male dancer in the Act II “Tea” section was dressed as an ersatz
“Chinaman,” complete with a pigtail. The original energetic choreography also included movements that many Asian Americans have rightly called out as offensive.
Several years ago PNB changed part of that dated choreography to eliminate the racial stereotyping. This year, the character itself, with its costume, has been changed. Meet the “Green Tea Cricket,” complete
with bobbing antennae.
Corps de ballet member Amanda Morgan photo @ Angela Sterling
Beyond the Cricket, I noticed more racial diversity
among the entire cast. In the "Before Times," the majority of the professional company members were white. This year, it's more diverse than ever before.
In Friday evening's performance, two of the five Marzipan shepherdesses were young African American dancers. Someday
that won’t feel so remarkable, but more than a year after George Floyd’s murder by
Minneapolis police sparked an international outcry for racial justice, you
can’t gloss over the importance of onstage representation.
And that brings me to another, even more tradition-shattering change.
This year PNB hired two non-binary apprentices, one of
whom has trained to perform on pointe, a ballet realm that’s been reserved
for cis-gender women, outside of comedy drag troupes like Les Ballets Trockadero.
The Waltz of the Flowers ends Act I photo @ Angela Sterling
Watching this apprentice waltz their way across the stage
with their fellow Snowflakes, I knew I was witness to what I can only
call a seismic shift in a very hide-bound artform. My Gen-Z son shrugged his
shoulders when I pointed out what we’d seen; for him, ballet should reflect what’s happening in the wider society.
And that’s how this particular PNB apprentice put it to me in an online
exchange.
“It makes me so excited to see what is next not only for PNB
but for ballet, as the world keeps evolving and dancers like me become normal.”
I don’t know how many of my fellow audience members were
aware that they were watching history-in-the-making, because this
particular dancer blended so well into the full corps de ballet. And that's as it should be.
Sugar Plum Fairy Angelica Generosa, with her Cavalier Price Suddarth photo @ Angela Sterling
Meanwhile there I was, mask on, sitting at a relatively safe
distance from audience members I didn’t know, soaking in Tchaikovsky’s familiar
score, appreciating this old ballet in a new way. Beyond the pageantry itself, I was keenly aware of the many stagehands, costumers
and other staff working behind the scenes to restore a bit of normal to a world
that COVID-19 turned upside down last year.
As I said, this year's Nutcracker was comforting, familiar, and at the same
time, transformed by the calls for justice and change that have rocked our world. I
wept with joy, relief, and on this Thanksgiving weekend, gratitude, for a chance
to savor it all again.
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