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Limón, Past and Present

I can’t take my eyes off the men. Stephen Haley, Joey Columbus, and Ian Debono each have solos in “Mazurkas” that emphasize the Limón posture full of elegance and pride. When they step both feet together in relevé, weight tilted forward, chin tucked, I almost expect a red toreador’s cape to unfurl. The torso twists just enough to show a well-muscled back in a crisp white shirt; black trouser and jazz shoe finishing a line that drips all the way down from a hand raised to the sky. It’s a posture I recognize not only in Limón’s work, but in the way his aesthetic has influenced choreographers ever since. I see it in West Side Story, Saturday Night Fever; from Fosse to Ohad Naharin.

Performance

Limón Dance Company: “Mazurkas” by José Limón / “Join” by Aszure Barton

Place

The Joyce Theater, New York, NY, October 6, 2026

Words

Karen Hildebrand

Limón Dance Company in “Mazurkas” by José Limón. Photograph by Ben McKeown

For its fall season at the Joyce, Limón Dance Company continues to celebrate its 80th anniversary year with a revival of “Mazurkas” from 1958, and “Join,” a new piece by Aszure Barton based on Limón’s description of a lost work by his mentor, Doris Humphrey. Taken together, these two works set the past and present neatly side by side, like snapshots in a photo album.

Limón’s inspiration for “Mazurkas,” for four women and three men, is the traditional folk dances he observed in Poland after World War II. The performers enter to a stage strung with glowing lights that suggest a summer night open-air market. They greet each other with little bows. Linking elbows, they begin circling in a simple waltz. In this 1950s world, men pair off with women, who wear knee length pastel dresses with skirts that twirl. 

Limón heightens certain familiar folk dance gestures. For example, his version of men raising their fists in jubilant celebration is to clap the elbows together in front of the chest—like a book opening and closing. Quick staccato. The men lunge forward, slap their thighs, and hop on one foot to a syncopated rhythm as musician Michael Scales plays live Chopin’s suite of piano mazurkas. At the end of a trio, the men each give a military salute, in canon. 

The petite Mariah Gravelin introduces a recurring shape made by clapping her wrists together in a diamond shape above her head. When Haley repeats the same move, he looks enormous in comparison. A lanky Columbus charms us in the final moments of his solo by narrating a surprising two-note musical afterthought with a head bob, hand twitch, and flirty smile. 

Limón Dance Company in “Mazurkas” by José Limón. Photograph by Ben McKeown

Limón Dance Company in “Mazurkas” by José Limón. Photograph by Ben McKeown

At the heart of “Mazurkas” is Debono’s solo. With slicked back hair, he brings the slow burn of a tango, with a hop on one leg, the other in attitude to the rear, arms arced overhead. He bends to touch the ground with one hand and one leg slides out, then the other. Elegant and precise, he moves with a yearning quality, slowly enough to imprint on my cerebral cortex every move of Limón’s vocabulary in pleasing repetition.

When waltzed around by their partners, the women’s dresses look like chrysanthemums in full bloom. Jessica Sgambelluri joins Olivia Mozie, Mariah Gravelin, and Lauren Twombley for a quartet where they intertwine to form a tender knot. Haley and Twomley, move separately around the stage, keeping an eye on each other—flirting, perhaps, but with a respectful regard. There are some beautiful lifts in this section. 

In the finale, Sgambelluri is the odd women out, with the others coupled up. She directs the group as they move in two lines of shifting shapes and patterns. Is there a suggestion of the Chosen One in “Rite of Spring” when the three men lift her overhead? Alone centerstage at the end, she strikes a tangled asymmetrical sculptural balance. 

Limon Dance Company in “Join” by Aszure Barton. Photograph by Ryan Prado

Limon Dance Company in “Join” by Aszure Barton. Photograph by Ryan Prado

“Join” begins with the ensemble staring down the audience from against the blank dark rear wall like a police line-up. They pace forward and back, holding hands and raising and lowering their arms, then intertwining into a grapevine and twisting their facings. The effect is a pattern of latticework on a garden trellis. Eventually they form a caterpillar like shape, standing one behind the other. Or maybe it’s more of a dragon puppet from a Chinese New Year parade. In a taste of Barton’s cheekiness, Johnson Guo ambles in after the fact, like a delinquent school boy, to take his place at the tail. At the caterpillar/dragon head, a man and woman embrace. The segmented creature sways and pulses. A couple drops away from the middle and the caterpillar spills out to strains of a violin with music composed specifically for this work by Ambrose Akinmusire.

One way to think about “Join” is that Barton shows us how Limón might be working in 2026 were he alive today. Gone are the gendered waltzing couples of “Mazurkas.” She freely mixes men and women with physically challenging partnering. “Join” captures Humphrey’s movement aesthetic (an interest in gravity as expressed in her signature fall and recovery concept) rather than the dramatic narrative of Humphrey’s unproduced 1930s work. I can feel the sweep as dancers repeatedly step forward in unison, then back, to balance with a knee lifted. Barton’s playfulness and whimsy lend a fresh, contemporary tone.

As in “Mazurkas,” Ian Debono’s performance is riveting. Here, he’s a disruptive jester who corkscrews, bounces, leaps, goes upside down in a handstand. Joined by Mariah Gravelin in a mission of wild kinesis, the two become the tail ends of a crack the whip action. The centrifugal force lifts them off the ground to fly. The group clusters to hold a dancer vertically above their heads, swooping her into a swan dive, then catching her as she falls backward. 

“Join” ends on a quiet note, with a duet between Gravelin and Savannah Spratt, the caterpillar taking shape once again behind them. Barton plays with the size difference of the women as they share each other’s weight. Could they be a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis? Gravelin arches over Spratt’s knee, then allows herself to be cradled. The final image is of Gravelin balancing atop Spratt’s prone figure, a pose that satisfyingly echoes the sculptural ending of “Mazurkas.” It’s a terrific evening.

Karen Hildebrand


Karen Hildebrand is former editorial director for Dance Magazine and served as editor in chief for Dance Teacher for a decade. An advocate for dance education, she was honored with the Dance Teacher Award in 2020. She follows in the tradition of dance writers who are also poets (Edwin Denby, Jack Anderson), with poetry published in many literary journals and in her book, Crossing Pleasure Avenue (Indolent Books). She holds an MFA from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Originally from Colorado, she lives in Brooklyn.

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