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Rites and Rituals

Even in stillness, there is energy. When the stage lights up on Cassandra Trenary, the dancer is already quivering, muscles tensed, as if gearing up for a fight. That is precisely what ensues. For one show only, the Joyce Theater presented two works by choreographer Molissa Fenley: “State of Darkness” (1988) and “Bardo” (1990), performed by Trenary and Michael Trusnovec, respectively. The two works are like opposite sides of the same coin—distinct in their use of kinetic force and expressions of pathos but equally exacting in their articulation and precision.

Performance

“State of Darkness” and “Bardo” by Molissa Fenley, performed by Cassandra Trenary and Michael Trusnovec

Place

Joyce Theater, New York, NY, July 19, 2026

Words

Rebecca Deczynski

Cassandra Trenary in “State of Darkness” by Melissa Fenley. Photograph by Julie Lemberger

“State of Darkness” is visceral from its first moments, with Trenary, dressed only in a pair of black leggings, breathing heavily—this is fight or flight. The piece, set to Igor Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring,” is appropriately ritualistic. This is conveyed through the repetition of specific movements. With one arm bent above her head, she swipes the other horizontally. She jumps into attitude derrière, birdlike, with her back arched gracefully. 

Trenary has the ability to occupy distinct registers simultaneously. Her balletic nature is clear in the way that her legs slice through the air in a piqué arabesque and grand battement. In between moments of more stark, almost supplicating movement—throwing her torso forward as a leg shoots back in attitude—there are small flickers of more refined grace. When she swirls her arms in circles, chasséing around the stage, or moves her elbows in their own individual orbits, she always maintains a sensation of being held, rather than letting go. Her loss of control is extraordinarily controlled.

Cassandra Trenary in “State of Darkness” by Melissa Fenley. Photograph by Julie Lemberger

Cassandra Trenary in “State of Darkness” by Melissa Fenley. Photograph by Julie Lemberger

Fenley’s choreography in this piece is relentless. That is, it’s a feat of physical and emotional stamina. At times, it appears that the Stravinsky score is happening to the dancer, rather that it operating as a true accompaniment. This is most salient in the more sonically vibrant moments. When Trenary walks backward, jutting one arm out to the side along to a percussive heartbeat, the simple steps have a dramatic impact. 

It’s impossible to watch “State of Darkness” without the context of Nijinsky’s original “Rite of Spring” creeping into the corners of my perception. The dancer, here, seems fully rendered into the Chosen One, dancing to her death. The music helps, of course, but so does Trenary’s attention to detail: the way she wags one leg when kneeling, or shudders almost imperceptibly, her torso caved in and her upper back rounded. In the more balletic phrases, leaping and turning, she sometimes takes on a slithering, serpentine quality. I’d be remiss not to mention her eyes, too, which animate her face through different emotions, from fierce indignation to fear. 

At times, her movement conveys the sensation of being possessed. The performance is entirely spellbinding and a little discomfiting. The applause, when it finished, is uproarious.

Michael Trusnovec in “Bardo” by Melissa Fenley. Photograph by Julie Lemberger

Michael Trusnovec in “Bardo” by Melissa Fenley. Photograph by Julie Lemberger

“Bardo” operates in a wholly different register, though Fenley’s choreography philosophy is legible in this solo, which she created for the artist Keith Haring’s funeral at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in 1990.

The work’s name refers to a concept in Tibetan Buddhism, the stage that comes after death and before rebirth. Choreographically, this is translated, in the simplest sense, to a crossing of the stage in diagonal. In this way, it reminded me of Lucinda Child’s “Geranium ‘64,” another measured journey of space.

The steps that Trusnovec takes to get from point A to point B are extraordinarily limited. His limbs transition from one pose to another slowly; I could imagine the overplayed directive to “move like you’re in molasses” being used here. But this isn’t quite an adagio. Instead, there are notes of the pedestrian made celestial.

At first, the score, “Mantra” by Somei Satoh, sounds to me like a chorus of cicadas or sifting grains of sand. As it progresses, voices cascade in, harmonizing in an outpouring of breath. It’s the kind of music you’d hear during savasana in a yoga class. Near the end of the work, synths amplify it to a more epic sensation.

All the while, Trusnovec paces himself. He finds himself, frequently, in a careful fourth position, from which he may rond de jambe one leg backward, keeping the top of his foot on the floor, or raise an arm up, parallel to the center of his chest, his back well engaged. Frequently, he presents a hand or a heel forward with great care. In relevé, he may rotate his torso in contrapposto or descend into grand plié.

The work builds in its continuation, rather than in an escalation of movement. The simplicity of Trusnovec’s graceful and calculated bends, reaches, and twists compounds to create, in its entirety, a complete journey to the other side. 

Rebecca Deczynski


Rebecca Deczynski is a New York City-based writer and editor publishes the newsletter Mezzanine Society. Her work has appeared in publications including Inc., Domino, NYLON, and InStyle. She graduated from Barnard College cum laude with a degree in English and a minor in dance.

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