Smuin Contemporary Ballet - "Spring Point"

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

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

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

Charmaine Butcher in Babatunji's Society
Photo Maximillian Tortoriello

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

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

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

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

RAWdance - "There and Back"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Mark Morris Dance Group - "MOON"

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

January 25th, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

Mark Morris Dance Group in MOON
Photo Xmbphotography

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

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