Ensemble:
Taja Will  / choreographer, performer (They/Them)
Margaret Ogas / performer
Marisol Herling / performer
Eric M.C. Gonzalez / Live music, sound composition
Sequoia Hauck / Video

04/25/24

Entering to see Taja Will’s Dearest Liberator, DISASTER! DISASTER! DISASTER!  at Red Eye Theater, you are handed a colored folder, with a script inside. A few steps into the space, an ensemble member meets you with a piece of “nature”, as they lead you to your seat. They remind you it is not a “take home” object, instead one of which you are able to hold, interact with, or take care of during the performance. Inside the folder lies a script from which you are to read aloud, when the time is revealed. In these few moments before the show you discover a new type of viewership. One in which you are not solely attending a performance to witness, but one in which you are asked to be a participant. Asked to engage with what is to unfold. There are moments of preparedness, layered energies, and relief throughout this 60 minute experience. 

Thursday night had ASL interpretation, with set expectations throughout the four night run. Expect that doors open early, but the show will not start on time (as is customary for dance performances), loud sound, so there are ear plugs available if needed, and an open dialogue if there are any accessibility needs. These expectations and preparedness though seemingly not part of the work, is part of the experience Taja embodies as both community member and artist. Taja reminds us in the pre-show speech that the work ahead asks you to take care of yourself: to shift, move, take a break, or stand as long as you are aware of those in space with you. A reminder from the artist within the world they created and beyond. 

There are elements, figuratively and literally in this world. Gold, hot pink, neon colors, strips of lights, a mattress. Videos traversing from cold icy wet terrain (water), to vast dry landscapes (earth), through polluted gusty clouds (air), and slow dense heat (fire). The human and natural elements intertwine through sound, movement, and abstraction. Taja tells us we are breathing “cold, shiny air”. Eric’s guitar draws us to the “Wild West” with barren notes. A quick sequence of movements from Margaret and Marisol in a diagonal creates residual wind we can feel. The shaking and rubbing of thermal jackets creates energy and the humor/nostalgia of being on a hot lava floor by using objects to step on, reminds us of the danger of fire. With costume changes (from black pants to black shorts, from hooded hot pink tops to neon bikini tops), a lopped pedal mic stand, live guitar, video, and pre-recorded audio, one is almost lost in the stimuli occurring in space. Breath is reminded for us, as is reminded within the piece.

“Get it together. 10, 9, 8, 7…” Taja says without a microphone. With each number there is a calming factor of slowing down despite the chaos. Disaster is an occurrence, or occurrences as the videos by Sequoia remind us. Still, prior or post these catastrophic images, there are moments of stillness, a moment to reflect, a moment to gather our own thoughts and “get it together”. We are still able to empower ourselves to take care of those bits of nature in our hands or next to us. Even more, to gather our voices and hold each other accountable. Declare how to protect our decency as humans. An image of the moon closes this experience, as we find relief from maximalism. To clarify, relief is not passive in this world. Rather an active exhale by the echo of voices declaring a stance together, protecting the moon.

04/26/24

“What does my body need right now?” Taja inquires for themselves as I meet them at their home for coffee. Offering me the comfiest chair, I opt to sit on the couch as they sit on the floor to stretch and move with the attention their body desires 14 hours post their second performance. Reflecting on their second performance they share a good run Wednesday and an anxious one yesterday (Thursday). With seasoned dance makers in attendance, they felt a higher nervousness in having the ASL interpreters on stage with them and the ensemble. Taja clarifies having them part of the performance was never an afterthought. Rather a continuous effort in Disability Justice and reset on “audience etiquette”. 

Maria Dively and Bee Valentino are ASL interpreters who fully engrained themselves in the work of Dearest Liberator, DISASTER! DISASTER! DISASTER!. I reflect on their presence in interpreting and in being on stage with the performers. Their commitment to show up dressed in costume, sharing the script to audiences so they may follow along on their personal devices, or fully capturing the nuances in notes being played on the live guitar. More collaboratively, their feedback as to how they navigate the performance space, moving from different places while remaining both present to when they’re interpreting and not pulling attention from the performers in space. Taja shares Maria’s commitment to blocking in space as to not remain static, but to align with the world which Taja created for the work. Actually, with the expectation, freedom, and autonomy to allow anyone to shift and move through the space as they need. 

The permission to come and go comes from Taja’s experiences in Disability Justice. Conversations on how abled and disabled bodies can continue to show up when spaces are not fully designed to support the needs, accommodations, or clearly communicate autonomy to listen and act on what the body requires is always present for Taja. The hard exhausting work as they experience means advocating in spaces where it isn’t the norm to say what one’s needs are. It means having conflicting access needs and having intimate conversations on how to navigate options for everyone. Taja describes an example of having worked through various versions of bathroom breaks for them*. In creating ensemble work, they reflect on the intention for the work to always continue despite them not being in the room. Conversely, it means creating space for the people they share the room with to also exit and take care of themselves. Audience and performers alike. I inquire how they prepare for audiences who may need to exit or shift, especially when Taja is in the work or perhaps not present. “A well informed person is in the room”. A network of people who can support the ensemble, the audience, the space; a learned way of designing an experience to accommodate anyone who may need to feel safe and heard/seen. 

I note a connection between Taja’s intention in resetting “audience etiquette” by engaging fully with a performance and taking breaks as needed with their own way of creating ensemble work. This work has been in the works over the last 2.5 years, with an open sharing last year. The preconception that they have been working since, is a reflection on the capitalist mentality. Taja welcomes periods of rest. Perhaps an extension of what they may need as an individual, but also cognisant of what it creates for themselves and others. “Capitalism hustle does not promote creativity. There is authentic presence by working less in daily life, allowing attention to be in a more generative place. We massage social dynamics. Deciding together. We play, giggle, rest, map energetic bodies, or decide we need battements together.” In hearing Taja describe this method of creating where vigor has less priority than rest or permission to listen to oneself and others, I am reminded of their comment in vocalizing their needs in spaces. A practice to let the brain hear it aloud, to believe it, reevaluate it, or simply model it for others. A way to create dialogue and as I believe, continue to shift how we redefine structures that no longer serves what we may need today as individuals. 

*Taja is an artist with multiple disabilities and chronic illness, including Interstitial Cystitis, a condition which targets the bladder and pelvic floor.

2/9/24
During my time with Val (flexible pronouns):

I was trying to remember the first time I met Val. I thought it was through an audition for Choregrapher’s Evening in 2021. Or a Red Eye Theater event (as has been the last few years). A dance event is also likely. Though two hours of thinking of this (and not bringing it up over breakfast) I am 90% confident it was over an application to her residency program at MOVO, run with Morgan Thorson. Whatever moment it was, it surprisingly has taken today to actually sit down with them to talk about anything. 

Unsure if it was part for this writing practice centered on BIPOC dance makers, or to simply have a moment together, we simply roll into topics ranging from: my move to Minneapolis, the freedom and stress of travel, the weight of money, the joy of doing what we want, and the ungraceful act of machines on Mars spewing to gather information/to do what they need to do. All of these things exist simultaneously, without ignoring our own relationship historically and potentiality hereafter. 

In this evolving writing practice where I have seen the work and then met with the artists to reflect about it, I left open the possibility of what this “reflection” looks like with Val. Partly because I know they welcome a lot into their ether and another because I want to practice letting go and not knowing more often. Realistically, because their work premieres three weeks from now, so this moment is not really a reflection of the dance. However, I welcome any part of the process by the artist to inform this writing. So we sporadically speak of the work before I see its final version. 

Val spends time on each of the three main collaborators: Sam, Judee, Pramila. A recollection of 10+ years working/knowing Sam and a version of this work commenced in 2019 when he shared a material to exist in that work. One of Val’s methodologies is to experiment with material already available in a collaborator. From there it may continue to feed the process, become part of the performance, or exist at a “subterranean layer”. In this vein, Sam had a familiar phrase from Trisha Brown’s “Set and Reset” available. The intersection, information, and possibility of this material to make its way through time, the body, and in context, sparked Val to reimagine all its possibilities. Something of a “burying” as the material is asked to emerge from the spine, to go backwards, etc. parallels Val’s experience being neurodivergent. Accepting, welcoming, and fulfilling curiosity is part of this dance. 

She also mentions Judee’s history of learning K-pop dances from Youtube. A a coincidence or recall of “K-pop” is remembered during her time in Singapore as she was accompanying her mom’s chemotherapy; the reality and evolving moment of grief with seconds of external stimuli like K-pop dance videos being fed through the geographical algorithm on her phone. How can these two things exist at the same time? Something so personal and felt with something lighthearted and fun. Many things can exist at the same time. 

Devotion formed by lineage, seen through the body. The outpour of energy from the chest onto the gesture of fingertips making contact with each other and highlighted by the eyes supporting them in space. Val recalls this manifestation from Pramila. Presence is something dancers may be subject to “learn” in school. Though openness to life, people, and observance of each other informs one’s carry in any given time. An idea cemented by a recollection of Sam and Pramila watching Judee embody a phrase in March of 2023. A task to learn moments of it was homework. Now, the material has had time to grow and the people in the room have been subject to life outside of it to see it anew. “Can you teach us that?” “We will just learn it and you (Val) can make a decision if it appears in the final version or not.” This moment, I find in our conversation to highlight the magic of dance process. Months to develop not a product, but a joy of seeing each other and leaning into the truth of who we are at any given time. 

“Vastness as the cultivation of availability, for possibilities.” Val mentions of their decision to not have a promo picture of a landscape, but rather of people and gestures. The potential we all have is something we are both drawn to as artists and humans. Where I live in the future or past, Val perceives the present to be recurring, in new forms. “I grieve the form I knew”, she says when speaking of her mom. Though, she finds her in any moment and those moments are the part of the present she welcomes. “Vastness” is listening to how the material or the immaterial exists.

“Vastnessess”
by Valerie Oliveiro
March 1-9, 2024
Show Details

From my time with Val: 

I carry over Val’s indulgence of their fascination with birds. Our last subject over breakfast, we depart as I cross my way though Powderhorn Park. 

I walk home without earbuds this time. To let my time with Val settle, and stay open with the idea of vastness, possibility, and present. The birds are singing loudly. A crow is calling. The way through the park is longer than it has to be. Different paths curve and go further than what logically makes sense. I welcome the illogical to observe the quick level changes of the park. I recognize turning right instead of left. I recognize letting the illogical idea go. I cut through, diverging from any concrete path. The level change welcomes clarity in that crow. Making its way to others as the singing of birds is gone. It has moved. I have moved. I feel like this could be a dream, where I can hear things from afar, but not see them. Vastness.

I passed a baseball field, where a dance existed months ago in Morgan’s project. I remember that present two months ago, and it is now present again. That dance exists now, in the same field but with different conditions. Less sun. More wind. More mud. Moving through this vastness created by Val. I arrived home, with the intent to sit and watch a version of it recorded in January. To see if my imagining of the dance is somewhat close to the materialization of it. To see if the image of Sam’s soft and direct limbs through space exists. To see if that image is juxtaposed with Judee’s quick, gestural, and energetic movement. To see if Pramila has a reflective presence among a large room.

Before entering, I see glimpses of Margaret (Marggie as I know her) through a hole covered wall, warming up through light sways as the pre-show music plays throughout the space. Soon after she enters the space directly going to the standing mic. A description of water, “swishing” and “swirling”. She is alone in this recollection. 

Two other dancers join, Ashembaga (Ashe) Jafaaru and Judith Shuǐ Xiān (Libby Herrmann absent due to sickness, but a collaborator in the work). All three shuffle on the perimeter of a carpet on the floor. Indenting, tracing, creating heat. The latter possibility is enforced by the developed arm gestures through time. They are soft and gestural, a contrast in energy. The hips, chest, neck, and head become involved. A sort of awakening. Or rather, slipping into a new state. This is supported by Dameun Strange’s soundscape involving clear voices which then muddle and overlap. 

A shift in sound finds us with the first solo by Judith. Clear, direct, angular gestures of the arms are remembered by the interruption of her hip rocks and undulating spine. The soundscape invites the audience to momentarily join Judith in this club groove. Marggie’s voice enters us into the piece and continues as each dancer recalls moments: Ashe takes us through the laughter, joy and melancholy of waiting for a sunkissed basketball player to take notice of the narrator, the presence of scorpions inside a home, and a countdown from 100 in an energetic pulse.

Centered in space as Judith and Ashe approximate on the floor crossed legged, Marggie effortlessly fulfills the last solo. Her limbs extend through space with direction while softly retracing to gesture with precision. She knows where she is as a dancer and when to end as a choreographer. All three lay down, to sit, to turn, to awake, and repeat. In the center away from the edges from where they began the piece.

A parallel to the last 3+ years Marggie has spent creating dream dances. A sort of reflection or escape, but also a “tool for imagining and catalyzing a different world.” In this way, “Moonquakes” allows questions, memory, and non-linear narrative to exist simultaneously. Everything makes sense. Everything is allowed. Everything has weight because we can allow ourselves to interpret and make sense of the things we find important. Much like a dream, memory and reality are blended. This one night only performance embraces that kaleidoscope.

PROGRAM

Producer. Choreographer. Dancer. Multiple hats filled by Marggie as we sat to dive into the “How do you feel?” question; notably less than 24 hours ago and as we debate if more caffeine at 1230pm is a good idea. We cross our fingers that by the time we’re finished with an upcoming rehearsal (a piece we are both in) the caffeine will have worn out and we can get a full night's sleep. So we sit with an exhale to reflect her accomplishment in self-producing for the first time. 

She shares feeling relieved that everything went well, with notable credit and support from Sequoia Hauck to help manage the technical components of “Moonquakes, a role she did not have to take on. Especially as she stepped into the self-production role, raising the “Am I forgetting the dance?” question. I tell her she seemed very much aware and grounded throughout, especially in her solo. Which to my surprise says was improvised. I follow-up asking how she approached the length of it, given the soundscape seemed very open with minimal support cues. Part intuitive and part the framing by Judee and Ashe as they inched closer to her. She continues sharing her process of shaping their respective solos. 

Beginning in October with intermittent rehearsals with everyone, the seeds grew from a writing practice. A memory, a dream, or an imagined story all made it into the final piece. With each dancer she approached the movement materialization by working on scores, bouncing ideas with the dancer, or simply letting the dancer lean into their creativity. This to me supports her comfortability in the learned experiences of her “dream dances” since 2020. Notably solos.

Of course I inquire more.

Marggie shares the same experience of starting a career from mostly solos due to lack of funds. Years later though, she reflects on the comfort and depth she has been able to dig into. A level of knowing her interest to then be able to share and guide others into the world (“Nightquakes” through Red Eye’s Work in Progress Program and “Moonquakes”). I ask her about this dream world, whether she has ever wanted to pivot away or how she has remained curious. “A lot to mine still” is her response. She has committed to “developing the scale” from: solos to ensemble, use of projections, working with a composer, and using live voice vs voiceover. All she has accomplished and remains ambitious about. Without asking “What’s next?”, she shares the planted seeds to create a full evening length, completing the dream dances and shifting into something new. A two in one evening. I follow-up as to how she plans to approach this distinction. Particularly being the choreographer and dancer in sync and wanting to shift her thematic practice in the same evening. She circles back to the knowness over the last 3+ years and being able to let it exist on other bodies. “It is important to have other voices” she expresses. 

This sentiment echoed in her gratefulness in a particular moment of “Moonquakes”. She recalls the beautiful accident in Judee’s countdown, forgetting the number 11 and falling off the beat of the music. She applauds Judee’s professionalism in being able to play it off by completing the countdown in staccato. A parallel to the loss of consciousness seconds before sleep. When I ask if there is anything she could have done differently, she leans into the memory of some audience members moving throughout to have a different view. Given the space, she says she wonders what it would be had there been no seats and audiences were given full flexibility to move throughout. Yet, she recalls the stress of having a lot of RSVP’s and dealing with the seating, ASL interpreter, and videographer choreography. With only dress rehearsal in space, I’d say she managed well. 

Being unable to reframe the “What’s next?” question, I simply ask it. “Rest and extended reflection.” are on the list for Marggie (somewhere in between the two projects she’s in through March).