It’s been another year of seeing and not seeing shows — and enduring the pangs of disappointment that come with missing out. I thought my first version of this list might also be my last, but just weeks into 2023, new shows I wished I’d seen were already accumulating. And so I return with my second annual round-up of regrets.
In all seriousness, this year has been a doozy, and at times I’ve had to really give myself the grace of slowing down. Often that meant staying home, or doing things other than seeing a dance show. This summer I took a solid month off from work, which I don’t think I had done in…15 years? (That reminds me: 2023 marked a whole decade since I left my full-time job for the more exciting and precarious freelance / adjunct life; I am proud of myself for making it this far!) The summer break was amazing, at least for my mental and physical health (less so, alas, for my bank account).
There’s also plenty of dance I didn’t miss, and a lot that was profoundly moving and surprising, which is why I’ve been considering a companion list of “Top X Shows I Did See This Year,” though this hasn’t come together in time for my self-imposed deadline of New Year’s Eve. It might still be on the way, or I might just release myself from the pressures of further year-end reflections in a public forum. We’ll see!
The shows below are listed in chronological order by opening date. I selected them based on how intensely I wish I’d been there when I recall that I wasn’t. Like last year, for simplicity, I’ve limited my selections geographically to New York City.
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Thank you for following along with me here throughout 2023. Wishing you an easeful transition into the new year.
Charles Atlas, A Prune Twin. This exhibition, at Luhring Augustine in Chelsea, was up for six whole weeks, just after I’d slept on another exceptionally cool-sounding Atlas show (The Mathematics of Consciousness at Pioneer Works). No matter; somehow I still didn’t make it. An eight-channel sound and moving image installation, A Prune Twin recasts material from Atlas’s trippy, iconoclastic 1980s film collaborations with the dancer and choreographer Michael Clark. In lieu of its immersive environment, I’ve settled for six minutes of excerpts that the gallery posted online (no match for the real thing, of course, but worth checking out).
Keely Garfield, The Invisible Project. Garfield’s latest, intriguingly informed by her work as a chaplain, was opening at NYU Skirball just as Mike, Gigi, and I were setting off on a road trip to Joshua Tree. (By the time the three-day run closed, we were already in Flagstaff, AZ; we made really good time.) There was no way around this scheduling misalignment, but I’m still bummed not to have caught the glorious cast of Paul Hamilton, Molly Lieber, Angie Pittman, and Opal Ingle.
Ballet West: Les Noces by Bronislava Nijinska. I try not to miss any opportunity to see the rarely performed work of Nijinska, or to soak up the expertise of the venerable dance historian (and Nijinska biographer) Lynn Garafola. This event at the Guggenheim would have afforded both, placing excerpts from the stirring 1923 ballet Les Noces — performed by dancers of Salt Lake City’s Ballet West — alongside conversation with Garafola and Adam Sklute, the company’s artistic director. My interest was further piqued by Marina Harss’s fascinating story on Nijinska’s obscurity (perfectly titled “Why Is Bronislava Nijinska Still Waiting In the Wings?”) A look back at my calendar suggests that a weekend deadline kept me holed up at home — not for the first time, and probably not the last.
Kyle Abraham / A.I.M. Abraham’s Joyce season included a couple of gems I was really hoping to see: his duet MotorRover, created in response to an excerpt from Merce Cunningham’s 1972 Landrover; and Bebe Miller’s Rain, a solo performed alternately by two stunning longtime A.I.M. dancers, Tamisha Guy and Catherine Kirk. Sadly a confluence of all-consuming deadlines that week (including for this close-to-my-heart story) made it hard to do much more than write and sleep. (The older I get, the more I treasure sleep — and pretty much fall apart without it.)
nia love, UNDERcurrents. One time in college, I ran into a beloved teacher of mine at Gibney (before it was Gibney; remember Dance New Amsterdam?) She had just finished taking class with nia love, and she lit up as she told me about it, sweaty and satisfied, with a radiance I’d never quite seen in her. After that, I always perked up when I heard love’s name. On the weekend of this participatory performance for Harlem Stage, end-of-semester burnout kept me from making the Bed-Stuy-to-Harlem trek. Not surprisingly, I later received a glowing report from a friend who attended, which made me wish I had powered through.
Lotto Royale. In this elaborate, chance-driven experiment, part of the River to River Festival, audience members and artists were paired via lottery for one-on-one performances — one artist, one audience member — in the vicinity of South Street Seaport. With smart, adventurous folks like Lauren Bakst, mayfield brooks, Moriah Evans, Mariana Valencia, and Anh Vo in the lineup, it sounded very fun. I was not, however, in a very fun mood at the time; otherwise I would’ve been there.
Here Lies Love. I think I assumed, and was not alone in assuming, that this unconventional Broadway musical — with choreography by Annie-B Parson, a dance floor for the audience, and, among its all-Filipino cast, the former New York City Ballet soloist Georgina Pazcoguin — would run for longer than it did. A lesson to never assume! (Relatedly, I regret not making it to Pazcoguin’s City Ballet farewell; the videos here give a sense of the energy in the house that day.)
Beach Sessions Dance Series. From the moment this was announced, I knew — and lamented — that I’d have to miss it, as I would be flying to Ireland for a family trip the day before. Beach Sessions, an annual performance series on the shore at Rockaway, is always alluring, but this year’s edition was extra-special, with a new arrangement of Merce Cunningham’s 1991 Beach Birds on the actual beach, alongside a response by Sarah Michelson. When I woke up from a post-flight nap and opened Instagram, it seemed like everyone I followed was there — and photographing the airplanes passing overhead, trailing all-caps messages across the afternoon sky: “DEAR MERCE CUNNINGHAM CAN YOU HEAR ME?” “DEAR MERCE CUNNINGHAM - YOU BUSY RN?” Honestly, the IG coverage was so prolific, I felt moderately OK about not being there in person.
Rachid Ouramdane, Corps extrêmes. The Van Cleef & Arpels Dance Reflections festival brought an abundance of international dance to New York this fall (some of which I wrote about). Of the programs I couldn’t squeeze into my schedule, I still can’t quite get over not seeing this one, a work of aerial dance inspired by extreme sports like highlining. By all accounts — including those of my Dance Criticism students, several of whom wrote about it — it was magical.
Okwui Okpokwasili and Peter Born, adaku, part 1: the road opens. Normally I’d be first in line for anything by Okpokwasili, a guiding light in dark times (in bright times, too). The week of this show, alas, was also my second week of recovering from a long-awaited surgery for the diagnosis and treatment of endometriosis (more on that saga over on Instagram). I tried to take a full two weeks off from seeing shows; I made it to 10 days. During a phase of feeling antsy, a friend who has taught me a lot about rest reminded me that I was on “an intentional break.” “No such thing as boredom,” she said, which was just what I needed to hear.