Super Nothing
In the world premiere of Miguel Gutierrez’s “Super Nothing,” the quartet of performers fly through the vast, empty black box theater at New York Live Arts, small forms cast out like particles of light.
PlusWorld-class review of ballet and dance.
In the Upstairs Studio at Dancehouse, Rosalind Crisp hands me a small card which invites me to “Please sit where you want and move wherever you want.” She motions to the small light fixture on the wall, should I need it, to illuminate the printed text. I hold my card up to the light, following the person before me, and read the second sentence which grounds the first: “while I made 23 contemporary dance pieces for the moment we extinguished 23 Australian bird species for ever . . . ” A warm welcome note with a sobering tail, it sets the tone for an ‘of sorts’ retrospective by one of Australia’s most rigorous and significant dance artists.[1] “The real time it takes,” heralds the promotional material, promises to be celebration of “40 years of relentlessly undoing dance” by the “Mick Jagger of Australian dance.” On opening night, a series of lines from extinction risk status to legendary status hover in the air, and all before I’ve found a place to perch.
Performance
Place
Words
In the world premiere of Miguel Gutierrez’s “Super Nothing,” the quartet of performers fly through the vast, empty black box theater at New York Live Arts, small forms cast out like particles of light.
Plus“Well, it’s big,” Seattle ballet fans were saying as they headed into McCaw Hall’s sleek sanctuary of velvet settees and shiny metal staircases.
PlusNever forget!” With the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz and International Holocaust Remembrance Day both having been recognized last month, these words, although unspoken, coursed through Melissa Barak’s first evening-length ballet, “Memoryhouse.”
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