REVIEW: Radio Waves

By Lisa Traiger

Mysterious dreams and ominous nightmares pervade Children of Babel, the compelling evening-length journey to the past and the unknown created by Colette Krogol and Matt Reeves and the company members of Orange Grove Dance. This third installment in a planned tetralogy titled 4 Recurring Dreams, Children of Babel delves into a dream-land, drawing from stories, half-remembered and half-imagined, from Krogol and her mother, who emigrated from Cuba as part of the Mariel boatlift of 125,000 Cubans to the U.S. four decades ago.

Reeves and Krogol, joined by designer Peter Leibold, have laid out a sandy beach on the rear of the Dance Place stage. In the shadowy foreground toppled wooden chairs hint at a battle or a hasty exit, perhaps with a nod to Pina Bausch’s Café Muller. Throughout, Reeves’s environmental sound design blends crashing waves, windstorms, staticky Spanish radio, and rumbling explosions all in surround sound and roving speakers that enlivens the theater with aural verisimilitude.

A lone woman treks through the sand. Stooped, in the dim light her walk is arduous. Dancers enter, populate the chairs, bear them on their shoulders and backs, like a weighty load. The eight dancers move through the shadowy spaces that Liebold’s lights carve, stumbling, collapsing to the floor, the sand, and into each other. The sense of heavy physical release they embody builds in the foreboding atmosphere. Lined up in the now-upright chairs, they parse out semaphoric gestures in sharp unison, a mysterious sign language signaling an unknown message. Clad in everyday t-shirts, denim, and hoodies, they tumble, occasionally cling to each other and fall away.

The sharp, distinct Afro-Cuban clave rhythm beaten on sticks reverberates throughout Dylan Glatthorn’s musical score. The music and sounds become a character, populating the work with disparate voices, noises and music that builds on the dramatic arc of displacement, disconnection and yearning. Particularly, when the refrain, “Tu. Tu te quieres? Tu te quieres ir?” repeats, asking, “Do you love yourself? Do you want to go? Do you want to leave Cuba?” the sense of dislocation hangs in the air. Likewise, Leibold’s lights and the props – including portable posts with rows of headlights and a battery-operated fluorescent light stick – carried by the performers become beacons, warnings, headlights, streetlights, the outline of a distant city seen from the sea, perhaps. The superb integration of lighting, sound score and choreography throughout the 75-minute work offers rich textures and multiple layers that reflect the inherently intense emotional arc the creators mine.

Initially wooden beams propped against the white cinderblock wall recall ships masts, until the stage darkens and dancers drag and move them to reveal rows of bulbs, which shed light and shadow on various parts of the stage space. At times light pierces the darkness in singular beams or near-blinding rows, like a semi-truck speeding toward the audience. The movable and carried lights allow dancers to disappear, and mysteriously – magically – reveal themselves. At one point a performer wields a beam with bulbs and it appears to rain. Another moment shadowy fingers and hands undulate and wave so subtly and dimly, you may second guess whether it occurred. As Children of Babel builds, movement accretes in intensity – athletic solos, particularly from Reeves and lanky Shanice Mason, dancing in the sandy landscape -- heighten the energy. Then the company returns to the seated gestural language, rooting the viewer back to the beginning. The sound score, too, intensifies to anxiety-inducing levels, with rumbles, explosive pops, a multiverse of Spanish voices, and then the piece cycles back – to the clave, to the voiceover questions, to the early walking with chairs. Have we come full circle? Returned to the beginning? Entered a new space?

The indeterminacy, the heightened mystery and anxiety, the elemental sense of displacement and dislocation continue to haunt, until only darkness and the sounds of the sea remain.

Photos: Orange Grove Dance, courtesy Dance Place

REVIEW: Capitol Movement Goes Out With a Bang

Capitol Movement Reimagined: A Tribute Show
Capitol Movement, Inc.
Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival
Washington, D.C.
February 28, 2020

By Valerie Oliphant

Capitol Movement Reimagined: A Tribute Show exploded with energy, performing 19 pieces in 90 minutes. Nineteen! Friday night’s sold-out performance at the Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival was a bittersweet celebration of 15 years in the DMV and the companies’ last full concert season. Capitol Movement was founded by Amber Yancey and Stephanie Jokokian to overcome socio-economic barriers to elite-level dance training. Jokokian is also the director of the Washington football team’s cheerleaders, who made several appearances in the show. The theater filled to the brim with an enthusiastic audience who shouted encouragement to their loved ones and clapped along.  

The dance equivalent of a short-story anthology, each piece had a different choreographer with their own style -- Afro-Caribbean, lyrical, hip-hop, Broadway jazz, contemporary ballet, and even cheerleaders-in-training. Pieces alternated between the Capital Movement Dance Company (CMDCo), Capitol Movement Pre-professional Company (Pre-Pro), CMI Kidz, the Redskins Cheerleaders Training Program, and the Rockin’ the Heels Dancers group. Song choices were as varied as Bette Middler, Lizzo, and Ed Sheeran.

The variety sometimes gave me whiplash. A group of adult women in lingerie and army print pants gyrated to “American Woman” with Carmen Electra-inspired moves. Directly after, six-year-olds bopped to Daddy Yankee. Next, a highly synchronized, jaunty contemporary piece with adults in bright-colors evoked the musical T.V. show “Glee.” The common thread was high energy. Every dancer was dancing their hearts out, no matter their age or skill level. 

“TBT,” choreographed by Sabina Henry and performed by CMDCo, was one of the best in the show. Six women in ’90s style hip-hop denim jeans and jackets and big hoop earrings rocked fierce attitudes and strong movements. Their energy was infectious as they competed in a twerk off, tongues sticking out, and sang along to the hip-hop mash-up of Chingy, Nicki Minaj, and Kanye West. They emitted a masculine energy as they grabbed their crotches then popped their knees while lifting their heels. 

Contemporary piece “Gravity” examined gun violence as school girls in purple polos and black skirts walked in straight lines around the stage while Toddrick Hall’s anti-gun anthem “Defying Gravity” urged: “Point your coward guns/Taking loved ones everyday/Something’s gotta change.” One dancer pulled another out of line and repeatedly shoved her to the ground. She was held back by the others, who lifted her while she kept trying to run, then cartwheeled over while they held her arms in place. 

The cheerleaders were fun, but tonally incongruent. It was odd that a group of women in daisy dukes and see-through white crop tops, clearly aimed at the male-gaze, opened with Diana Ross’s infectious “I’m Coming Out!” a song that has become an LGBTQ anthem. They went on to slap their own butts and wind their hips to lyrics like “this club so packed, these hoes so drunk,” maintaining perfectly plastered-on smiles. 

The crowd whooped as CMI Kidz, ages 5 to 13, brought back popular ’90s dance moves like the Kid-’n-Play kickstep, Salt-’n-Pepa’s push it, and the Milli Vanilli. Other highlights included an unfortunately uncredited but stunning soloist with amazingly clean pirouettes in a Broadway jazz number to Bette Midler’s “Stuff Like That There,” and an emotionally-charged lyrical performance to Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me.” 

For the finale, all of the dancers (minus the cheerleaders) erupted in a huge dance party, each showing off their best moves. Keeping a dance company and studio afloat is difficult, and it was with sadness that Capitol Movement announced this would be its final show. The organization will be closing its studios and moving to an “on-demand” structure of requested appearances and workshops rather than regular classes and performances. The technique and enthusiasm Capitol Movement imparted to their students was truly remarkable, and a loss for the D.C. dance community. 

Photos: top, by Tony Powell
bottom, by Diana Adams

REVIEW: The Tie That Binds

Nocturne
Therese Gahl and Elizabeth Gahl
Le Notre
Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival
Washington, D.C.
February 27, 2020

By Valerie Oliphant 

Therese and Elizabeth Gahl brought innovation, mastery, and whole-heartedness to contemporary ballet with their three literary-inspired premieres Thursday night at the Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival. Their first-ever collaboration, Nocturne, focused on the importance of family.

The curtains parted to reveal two barefoot women in burgundy leotards and gauzy wrap skirts, arms draped casually over their heads. This heartwarming piece began with a reading from Jandy Nelson’s book The Sky Is Everywhere discussing the strong and loving bond between two sisters, before transitioning to a lilting Yann Tierson song from the Amelie soundtrack. Appropriately named “Two Sisters,” sisters Therese and Liz Gahl melted into deep plies, rested their heads on each others’ shoulders, and playfully pranced around the stage. 

“Cinderella” featured classical ballerina Eleonore Dugue, hip-hop b-boy Karim “Pepito” Ahansal, and flamenco bailaora Rosa Herrador Sousa. Their three distinct styles allowed for creative partnering work, Dugue holding classic poses like an arcing fish dive while Ahansal clutched her around the middle in a more utilitarian, less balletic way. The combination gave the pose a feeling of intimacy and urgency. 

Sousa, dressed in yellow pants, a white men’s shirt, and dark red lipstick, began with a slow deliberate walk to center stage. She sensuously slid to the floor, bowing low to hit the ground with a yellow fan before flicking it open. Ahansal pop-and-locked a pantomime tightening of his tie and smoothed out his blue button-down, left open over a white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Dugue, in a white slip and pointe shoes, looked like Bambi trying to stand for the first time, her legs wobbling as she attempted to rise after tripping into the spotlight. 

Dugue and Ahansal, dancing the parts of Cinderella and the Prince, emitted innocent joy and playfulness as they chased each other in circles, balanced on an imaginary tightrope, and rolled across the stage like children barrelling down a grassy hill. Reminded of the time, Dugue dashed off. Ahansal desperately clutched at her foot, then air. 

As he searched for his lost love, Ahansal’s hand seemed to operate on its own. It dodged through trees and careened down rivers, pulling his body along after it. His waving arms comically transferred to his arching eyebrows. His knees knocked inward as he sunk to the floor, then he kicked his legs out like a Russian Trepak dancer before spinning atop his head, legs akimbo.

Sousa reappeared in a huge hoop skirt with over two dozen pointe shoes tied to the frame. She moved with such deliberateness that we were spellbound as she took a slow ten seconds to raise her arms. 

Predictably, Cinderella and the Prince were happily reunited. After using the pointe shoes to make various patterns on the stage, Dugue lovingly picked them up. She stared at each one reverently, then tucked it into her arm until she was cradling a bouquet of two dozen shoes. Miraculously she danced without dropping them, extending her leg up overhead as her torso dipped low. As she slowly walked backward, she let one escape. A spotlight shown on the lone pink satin shoe as the curtains slowly closed. 

Dylan Thomas’ words, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” echoed over the sound system as soloist Therese Gahl stood amongst seven black stools of varying height. Projected against the backdrop, ink splats slowly unfurled in water. The heaviest piece of the three, “Do Not Go Gentle,” detailed how the loss of a loved one forces you to confront your own mortality. 

Gahl draped herself over the first stool, gently traced its contours with lingering fingers, and flipped it on its side to precariously balance along the edges of its legs. Another dancer approached and pried the stool away, carrying it to the back of the stage. Gahl danced around, over, and on top of the stools, fruitlessly trying to protect them as one-by -one they were carried off. When all the stools had been removed, male soloist Peter Green picked the grief-stricken Gahl up off the floor. When she collapsed again, he held onto her foot as she effortlessly swung around him like an ice skater. 

As the poem ended, the music changed to haunting instrumentals. A tight group of eight dancers exploded into a large X facing every which way, each contracting into a hunchbacked gut-punch. With linked arms, the dancers spun so fast one was suspended by momentum, her back arched, feet reaching toward her head. 

Gahl’s creative choreography incorporated many pleasing elements of surprise: the lines of one dancer’s extended arms beautifully parallel to her partner’s extended legs; another dancer caught midair in a stag leap. Gahl adeptly tailored movement to each dancer’s strengths.

“Do Not Go Gentle” was filled with memorable images, including the final tableau: Green held Gahl high in the air as she desperately reached for the departing dancers, pain evident on her face, she extended an arm out in longing.

Therese and Liz Gahl’s passion and mastery of ballet technique brought familiar stories to life, showcasing a well-honed cast of international dancers and familiar D.C. area faces from companies like Motion X DC, Gin Dance Company, and Bowen McCauley Dance Company. The sisters’ complementary choreographic styles knit seamlessly together, celebrating family and connection. 

Photos: top, Therese Gahl, Glenn Cook Photography
middle, Courtney Papenta and Elizabeth Watson, photo by Ruth Judson
bottom, Patrick Green and Therese Gahl, photo by Ruth Judson

REVIEW: The Fate of Choice

The Fate of Choice
Motion X Dance, in collaboration with Copper Note design
Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival
Washington, D.C.
February 22, 2020

By Leslie Holleran

In this multi-media dance work choreographer Stephanie Dorrycott and graphic designer Lindsay Benson Garrett, also known as Copper Note Design, address a duality that’s been around as long as people have: choice vs. fate. My interest was piqued by that premise alone. Could contemporary dance/art reveal something new or different about an ages-old question that philosophers have long wrestled with?

The Fate of Choice, a second collaboration for D.C.’s Dorrycott and Benson Garrett of Virginia, premiered this past Saturday at the Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival. These two creators first teamed up on “Altered Archives” for the Capital Fringe Festival in 2015. This new work was their first opportunity to work together again.

The first section of the hour-long piece focused on choice. Seven female dancers took the stage in a line while a projected image, a curtain of countless strands, provided a backdrop. The line of dancers then staggered and dissolved into smaller groups frequently entering and exiting. Similarly costumed in fitted, neutral-toned pants with sheer white tops, the dancers shared a related movement vocabulary, too – limbs fully extended, hiccups of balletic jumps with arched feet, smooth descents into the floor and backward rolls.

With no identifiable patterns in the group formations, “choice” had a random feeling echoed in the projections. After the strands, came projected folds in the shape of ribbon candy. Generally speaking, no matter what shapes filled the screen, there were many of them. On her website, Garrett refers to these projections as “abstract video illustrations.” An exception was her video of a single long, waving piece of orange fabric.

“Fate” was the focus of the second section. In one movement of seven in total, the fabric limited a dancer’s movement choices. She could go under the fabric, go around it, or get bound by it, not to mention, the liberating option of tossing it away. The fabric, as used by the performers, created apt metaphors for fate. Rather than getting trapped – bound up -- by fate, it’s possible to circumvent or even escape.

At the talkback following the performance, a dancer remarked about the fabric: “The choreography is set, but the fabric has a mind of its own.” That observation served as a great reminder for human experience -- try as we might to make certain choices in hopes of a particular outcome, things don’t always go as we’d like. Sometimes forces are beyond anyone’s control. Perhaps, that’s where the work’s title, “The Fate of Choice,” comes in.

Those who missed Motion X’s premiere of “The Fate of Choice” will have a second chance to see it. The encore presentation will be given April 18-19, 2020, at Joy of Motion Dance Center’s Jack Guidone Theater.

Photos by Ruth Judson, courtesy Motion X Dance

REVIEW: The Village Voices

A Black Storybook
The Village Dance Project
Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival
Washington, D.C.
February 23, 2020

By Krystal Leniece (@Krystalgems__)

Seats quickly fill in the sold-out Sprenger Theatre, the anticipation growing for artistic director Rachael Sutherland’s first ever production of an evening-length work. The sounds of light jazz and buzzing conversations bounce off the walls. This is a crowd of people connected; hugs and warm acknowledgements are shared, a dance between tonight’s village has begun.

A Black Storybook plays out just like the title suggests: an episodic storytelling of Black life and the intricacies of intercommunity. In the program, which has the feel and look of something straight out of a Black church, Sutherland opens up about her realization that the life she had grown to understand -- a loving two-parent household and many mentors -- is neither a universal, nor universally acknowledged, experience.

The work is divided into nine vignettes, the program reading like an order of Sunday services. In the first episode, entitled “Intro,” eight bodies emerge from the wings in a succession of saunters. In “The Community,” moments of camaraderie are danced with rhythm and poise. A repetitive slide, more complicated than The Wobble, seamlessly unfurls before our eyes.

Soloist Andre’ana Miller captivates the audience in “The Conversation.” Miller virtuosically snakes between balletic lines, an undulating spine, and a groove so grounded the ancestors have no choice but to wake up. House music blares as the dancers entice us with their sweeping turns and sustained movements. I was longing to see them give into the rhythm. Finally they did! They sank into the pocket of the beat and connected to the earth. 

In the interlude before “The Aels,” Sutherland delicately passes out flowy white jumpsuits and, in a moment of rawness and transparency, the dancers change onstage. They float to the edge of  the stage, standing in one horizontal line. This piece takes a contemporary liturgical spin. The classic undulating torso of liturgical dance mixed with skillful, dancerly athleticism.

The night breezes by with five more short stories to close out the anthology. Sutherland mourns, writhes, and contends with how one's village can only protect Black boys from so much before the world shows them its dark side. We see another break-out soloist, Jada Spriggs, who jumps, melts, and shares her soul with precision and ease. The dancers move as one unit, one village with exactitude: quick moving feet coincide with the joyful gospel music. 

Right out of the gate, with her first evening-length production, Sutherland cements her place in the lineage of dance artists unpacking the specificity of Black life in America. A Black Storybook displayed the range of the cast, as they marry storyline with abstract movements. Sutherland leaves room for wonder, leaves room for the village to stretch their minds and check themselves. From the balletic steps to the complicated hip-hop-like footwork, each dancer is showcased beautifully. 

This autobiographical work is filled to the brim with an exemplary display of just how crafty dance can be. In the very last moment of the piece, the cast encloses Sutherland in a heart warming embrace stirring up a rather urgent reminder: in our life’s journey no one does it alone: Find your village, reconnect with your village and love on them while you still can.

Photos courtesy of Rachel Sutherland 

REVIEW: Dissonance Dance Inspired by the African-American Diaspora

By Ramona Harper

“Is it necessary to go to Europe for balletic inspiration when we can find it right here?” And with that cogent and inspirational quote from founder, artistic director and choreographer Shawn Short, he pounds a powerful punch to traditional notions about ballet. Dissonance Dance Theatre’s fleet-footed evening of contemporary ballet, Diaspora, part of the Intersections Festival at the Atlas Performing Arts Center, demonstrated how ballet can be more inclusive and draw inspiration from contemporary urban sources.

A diaspora represents a scattering of peoples, their cultures and communities from a place of origin to a new land. Dissonance denotes a lack of agreement or discordance in beliefs. In Diaspora, an ambitious slate of eight energetic works, Short merges the two ideas to create a powerful program that moves ballet to new horizons of cultural fusion, dispelling any singular notion of how ballet should be expressed. 

Envision contemporary ballet that’s prestissimo — fast, quick and light-footed in execution with leaping splits, high leg kicks, acrobatic lifts as jazz hands reach to the sky and, most of all, an incredible energy that enthralls. “Silo,” the opening piece, with music by the iconic Earth, Wind and Fire, makes you hold onto your seat for a ride that never lets up in excitement and vigor requiring pure stamina for Dissonance’s hard-driving dancers.

The emotional impact of all eight works in Diaspora quickens the pulse with a thrilling kind of anticipation. But there are moments when you do need time to catch your breath in this fast-paced program.

“When October Goes” and “To Joshua with Love” are more mellow pieces that can slow down your racing heart with romantic vocals by Nancy Wilson and instrumentals by J. Redman and YoYo Ma.  

Short choreographed every piece in this eclectic program and there’s a soothing sameness in the lyricism of its repetitive movements in quick turns, flowing carriage of the arms, and beautiful partnering. Floor straddling splayed limbs and outstretched arms appeared ever romantic but methodical and precise.

Diaspora melds contemporary ballet with modern dance and jazz. It’s as elegant as a swan in motion with a Caribbean essence and American street-dance cool.

A strong ensemble of female dancers shimmies en pointe to a Lindy Hop beat in “Big Band Suite (Movement 1-3).” Then male dancers sensuously swivel their hips to a calypso cadence in “As the Sun Rises” with the full ensemble expressing the Junkanoo joy of a Carnival street parade.

Ngoma Center students from the training arm of Dissonance Dance Theatre perform in “Relax, Relate and Release.” These talented budding ballerinas and modern dancers are terrific and their exceptional synchronicity of movement is commendable.

What impacted me most about the works in Diaspora is choreography that uses the whole body of the dance and the dancers with no part standing out from the rest. The entire ensemble effortlessly moves into focus and then individual dancers exit the stage. They magically reappear as duets or sure-footed soloists who again surrender to the ensemble creating a sense of being connected in an intensely organic way. 

Dissonance Dance Theatre remains the only nationally recognized, Black-managed contemporary ballet company between New York and Atlanta, according to Short. For the past 13 years, under Short’s dynamic and committed guidance, the company has been making an important contribution to the dance community of Washington, D.C.

Photos courtesy Dissonance Dance Theatre

REVIEW: Broadening Horizons With Gin Dance Company

By Valerie Oliphant

Unveil

Gin Dance Company
Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival
Washington, D.C.
February 22, 2020

Gin Dance Company’s Unveil, presented the first weekend of the Atlas INTERSECTIONS Festival, explored storytelling, perspective, and connection. Founder and artistic director Shu-Chen Cuff's background in ballet, modern, jazz, Chinese folk dance, and Chinese opera movements blend together to create Gin Dance Company’s unique East-meets-West style.

The premiere of “Breaking News” utilized the exaggerated storytelling techniques of Chinese opera movements to show the same story from multiple perspectives: four women involved in a shooting, a news anchor, and the two investigating police officers. The simple set, a park bench and a desk, allowed the dancers to create the environment through pantomime and dance. The anchor, danced by Cuff, began by plucking ideas out of the air, rearranging them, and fervently writing. Synthesizing her sources, she re-enacted the shooting, conveying a remarkable amount of information with only her hands and face.

The two policewomen embodied the Chinese opera movement principle of opposition, one moving her entire body all the way to the left in order to look to the right, the other rising all the way up on her tippy toes before crouching down to examine the ground, an enormous magnifying glass pressed to her eye. Chinese opera typically includes exaggerated pedestrian movements (there are 20 distinct beard movements alone) meant to communicate specific pieces of information to the audience. While there are more than 360 regional opera forms, they share the same three basic principles: balance, energy, and opposition and require a minimum of fifteen years of rigorous training.

Dancers Julia Hellmich, Na Dai, Courtney Lapenta, Elizabeth Watson, Hannah Church, Alison Grant, photo by Michele Egan

Between numbers, Cuff discussed her vision for the Rashomon-like piece: “You may think the story unfolds one way and the person next to you thinks it is completely different -- that’s the beauty of art. We are each telling our own story and each finding our own meaning.”

A contemporary ballet piece, “Infinity,” looked at spirituality and the afterlife. It featured delicate and flowing movements full of longing and reverence. Danced to Barber’s Adagio for Strings, seven dancers in nude leotards with floor-length gauzy grey ombre skirts floated between two sheer triangular pieces of fabric hanging from the ceiling. Cuff’s choreography excels at finding stillness within movement, creating a sense of awe and peace.

It was easy to see why the final piece, “We, The Moon, The Sun,” was billed as a fan favorite. A bright full moon filled the projected background as Cuff rolled her arms like the tide and a lone flute played. The movements took on a martial arts quality as a war drum joined the flute. Fast, fluttery high kicks followed arms windmilling in a blur. Six dancers joined her for the second section, soldier-stepping as a unit. They advanced diagonally across the stage, while the sound of sticks slapping together reverberated through the auditorium. Arms flew up as they inhaled in unison, retreating backward. Intricate hand and facial gestures followed sweeping rond de jambes, legs circling the dancers’ bodies like a compass. While the dancers displayed excellent technique, it was impossible not to watch Cuff when she was on stage with them. Her years of experience show in each detail -- a shoulder that lingers a touch longer, a spin that whips just a little faster. Emotions infuse her gestures, creating a spell-binding effect.

In her famous TEDTalk “The Danger of a Single Story,” author Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi says, “When we show a people as only one thing, over and over again, that is what they become. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.” GDC’s Unveil encouraged us to look at multiple perspectives, broadening our pool of stories and deepening our sense of community.

Photo: top, Shu-Chen Cuff, by Michelle Egan. Both photos courtesy Gin Dance Company

PREVIEW: Dancing Undocumented

By Lisa Traiger

Artist activist, choreographer, educator and performer Gabriel Mata moves in sweeping arcs. Diving to the floor, fanning a leg into a cartwheel, dipping into a deep and generous lunge, he divvies up the space to trace his life’s trajectory. Lanky and lean, with a shock of black hair, Mata moves with an unrestrained sense of athleticism that toggles between virtuosic and casually off the cuff. His latest piece, This is where/I Begin …, a meditation on creativity and living an undocumented life, opens at the Intersections Festival. Mata, an MFA candidate at University of Maryland College Park, speaks with arts journalist Lisa Traiger about his background, his inspiration and hopes for his work. Their conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

PREVIEW: This is where/I Begin …

Gabriel Mata Movements
Feb. 21, 2020, 8:00 p.m.
Atlas Intersections Festival 2020, Atlas Performing Arts, 1333 H St. NE, Washington, DC https://www.atlasarts.org/events/this-is-where-i-begin/

Lisa Traiger: Your newest solo This is where/I Begin … incorporates a great deal of your background. What can you tell us about yourself.

Gabriel Mata: I was born in Huitzuco de los Figueroa, which is a small town in the state of Guerrero in Mexico. That's where my mom as well as my grandmother and great grandmother were. My mom decided to immigrate, obviously for a better life for herself and her children, and also to be able to help her family. I had just turned five when we immigrated in 1996. The first city we lived in, and the city that I lived in the longest, was Santa Ana in Southern California.

We lived there most of my childhood. That’s where I went to high school.

L.T.: When did you begin to dance?

G.M.: I started to dance at Santa Ana High School. Initially it was just to meet the high school arts requirement, but I really got into it. Our instructor at the time taught us dance history and nutrition and production and choreography; it wasn't just about moving in the space. It was really about engaging through all other forms of the arts, narrative and story. I wanted more.

When I graduated, I received several scholarships to the local community college, Santa Ana College, which had a really good program. I was very fortunate to get my ballet and modern training there. Within the Western American culture, I experienced modern and ballet training that exemplified what it means to be a good, developed American. So there I was trying to transition from this immigrant status into somehow realizing that I would become a citizen through dance. But this notion of a melting pot is really an illusion … it really ends up [projecting us] into the culture and demands of white Anglo America.

L.T.: You were undocumented?

G.M.: I still am. Currently I have DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals). I’m a Dreamer. Since I turned 21 in 2013, I applied for back action for DACA, which was enacted under the Obama Administration. That allowed me to access higher education, get a driver’s license, and to work legally … which is very important.

I was very fortunate to get a scholarship that paid for my tuition for my undergraduate studies at San Jose State University.

L.T.: This is where/I Begin … contains multiple layers of meaning that you peel away in the piece. You literally map your life on stage. Can you tell us about that?

G.M.: In the piece I look into where my body has been in the past, where I grew up, the space that I grew up in. That’s where I start. The beginning is the past, the ending is the future, in the middle I create a space where I’m navigating and forming something choreographic as an extension of my life. I repeat often that “I am making something.” I want there to be a duality between the dance and my life, between where I am and where I want to be in the future.

I look at future as being definite, securing my place in the space, saying this is where I’ll wake up in the morning, next to my husband and we’ll walk our dog. I always imagine myself and how I will continue living in the space, however that’s not definite. I’m showing my dreams and aspirations and hoping to cement them by beginning with my thoughts and just sending that out into the world.

When I repeat, “I am making something,” I interject with the type of interpretation the audience can take in.

L.T.: I love that moment because of the duality of meaning: You’re both making or building your life, but you’re also making something artistic. We see your creative process at work in the work. The piece deals with beginnings and trajectories, in life and in art.

G.M.: The last thing I say [in the piece] is, “I am making something and no one should ever be able to take that away from me.” I’ve been here for 23 years of my life and for someone to just be able to take that away from me …. I have the hardest time imagining that all of this can be taken away from me because I’m still not a citizen. I can tell you, as an active artist in the grant and funding process in the U.S., I would have no idea about how to access that in Mexico.

L.T.: How do you mark your identity and navigate this duality of two countries, two cultures?

G.M.: While I don’t have citizenship and this is the only country I know, I’m noticing that that doesn’t make me feel like I’m any less Mexican either because there’s such a dynamic way of identity. I’ve always been Mexican through the way I grew up, through the other language I speak, through my cultural inheritance and the ways I’ve been able to fully engage being Mexican without being in Mexico.

L.T.: Where do you want to see this work go?

G.M.: I would like to have provocative conversations [because of this work. Questions are constantly being generated by me. I write [them] down. I articulate [them], but [the questions] also end up coming out in my own performing body. It is part of my creative well. I'm in constant motion through thinking and through movement. Within my practice I try to surprise both of those spaces. I am a critical thinker within the theory, but also I want to give that shape and form and body.

While D.C. is my home now, it’s a Democratic [city]. I also would like to present this work to spaces that don’t accommodate that as well. I want to bring up questions and, as my piece does, question citizenship. We should also question who gets to say what citizenship is. It’s not a singular thing. As someone who doesn’t have citizenship yet in the only country I know, I would argue to someone who says, “Go back to your country.” I would say, “This in my country. It’s the only country I know.”

As for the piece, I feel like within the choreographic components, it could help facilitate artists who are not just dancers, but maybe writers or musicians …. I feel that there is a process within it that allows us to reflect on citizenship … and can also serve as a model for self-care and self-reflection.

Photos: courtesy Gabriel Mata, by Robert Woofter