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Tina Ramirez, Founding father of a Main Hispanic Dance Troupe, Dies at 92

Tina Ramirez, who founded Ballet Hispánico in New York on a small budget more than 50 years ago and grew it into the nation’s premier Hispanic dance performance and education troupe, died Tuesday at her home on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. She was 92.

Verdery Roosevelt, longtime executive director of the Ballet Hispánico, announced the death.

Ms. Ramirez, who came to New York from Venezuela as a child, was a dancer herself when, in 1963, she took over the studio of one of her teachers, flamenco dancer Lola Bravo, and turned to teaching. Many of her students came from low-income Latino households, and she saw dance transform them.

“The kids started concentrating better and collaborating better with other people,” she told The Democrat and Chronicle of Rochester, NY in 1981. “You just need to feel better.”

Hoping to reach more students, she arranged some money from the city’s Office of Economic Opportunity and in 1967 started a summer program called Operation High Hopes to introduce children to dance and other arts. The program’s dance performances proved popular, and in 1970, when some of these youth were in their teens, Ms. Ramirez founded Ballet Hispánico with a $20,000 grant from the New York State Council on the Arts.

“I wanted to give Hispanic dancers employment,” she told The Democrat and Chronicle. “I didn’t want them to have to dance in nightclubs. They were serious dancers and deserved the opportunity to be treated as such.”

She also wanted to make the cultural influences she was familiar with accessible to a broader public.

“In the early days, I just wanted Hispanics to have a voice in the dance and for people to get to know us as people,” she told The New York Times in a 2008 article marking her retirement. “Because, you know, you went to a ballet and there was someone squatting in a sombrero, and that’s not us.”

The “ballet” in the troupe’s name sometimes threw off people expecting classical ballet. Mixing styles and influences, her company leaned more towards Latin folk and modern dance.

“Ballet means everything with action and music,” she once said. “That doesn’t mean pointe shoes and tutus.”

In the beginning, the troupe had limited resources and performed wherever they could – in prisons, hospitals and often outdoors, in parks and on the streets.

“Those were the days when the streets were burning,” Ms. Ramirez said. “It was so bad that if you looked the wrong way, you could start a riot. But we toured everywhere.”

The company grew in prestige and reach, eventually touring the country and Europe and South America.

Ms. Ramirez “was very proud of her heritage and her community,” Ms. Roosevelt, the company’s longtime executive director, said via email. “She had a great eye for choreographers who could combine dance forms, music and aesthetics from the Spanish-speaking world with contemporary dance techniques. When she started, there was nothing like it.”

Just as important as the company’s achievements were its educational efforts. It had its own school and also sent its dancers to schools in New York City or wherever it stopped on tour. Joan Finkelstein, former director of dance education for the New York City Department of Education, witnessed the impact of Ms. Ramirez firsthand.

“Tina understood that Ballet Hispánico could not only edify general audiences, but also instill pride and appreciation for Latin dance and cultural heritage, and empower all of our children for future success,” Ms. Finkelstein said via email.

Ernestina Ramirez was born on November 7, 1929 in Caracas, Venezuela. Her father, José Ramirez, was a well-known Mexican bullfighter by the name of Gaonita. Her mother, Gloria, who was from Puerto Rico, was a homemaker and community leader.

Her parents divorced when she was young, and her mother took the family to New York, where she remarried and became known as Gloria Cestero Diaz for her advocacy for the city’s Puerto Rican people.

Beginning in 1947, Ms. Ramirez toured for several years with dancers Federico Rey and Lolita Gomez, whose show was often dubbed the “Rhythms of Spain.” From 1949 to 1951 she lived and studied in Spain.

When she returned to the United States, she began performing with her sister, Coco. In 1954, the pair took the stage at a St. Louis club with comedian Joey Bishop and singer Dorothy Dandridge and performed a flamenco routine. In 1956, a headline in the Louisville, Kentucky Courier Journal of a touring theatrical production proclaimed, “Two Daughters of Famous Matador Will Play Princesses in ‘Kismet,'” and they did so for years.

When that show was playing at the Meadowbrook in Cedar Grove, NJ, in 1960, Carole Cleaver wrote in a review for The Wyckoff News, “Tiny Tina and Coco Ramirez dance themselves to exhaustion as the difficult Ababu princesses and bring the house down.”

Mrs. Ramirez is survived by her sister, Coco Ramirez Morris.

Alongside her studies with Ms. Bravo, Ms. Ramirez studied with classical ballerina Alexandra Danilova and modern dance pioneer Anna Sokolow. She was able to bring these influences to the Ballet Hispánico, which presented new works and interpreted older ones through the lens of Latin American culture. In the beginning it was an identity yet to be formed.

“When I started Ballet Hispánico in 1970, there was no dance company that represented the Hispanic people,” she told the Times in 1984. “Back then, people didn’t know what Hispanic meant — not even Hispanics.

“I’ve been criticized for naming the company Ballet Hispánico,” she continued. “People said I should name it after a country or a city or a place. But I said no because we are 21 nations, all Spanish speaking – and we should all belong.”

Among the myriad of dancers who studied with Ms. Ramirez early in her career was Nelida Tirado, who has enjoyed an acclaimed career as a flamenco dancer.

“Tina Ramirez taught us to be proud and to commit to excellence regardless of our line of work,” Ms. Tirado said via email. “She taught us the importance of preparation, discipline, hard work and living bravely from the mundane to the stage. Because opportunities don’t come easily to us – but if they do, they should be seized.”

Ms. Ramirez’s company has garnered good attention from the start.

“Tina Ramirez’s Ballet Hispánico of New York is a company of 13 dancers from the city’s barrios,” Jennifer Dunning wrote in a 1974 Times review, “and on Saturday night they brought the Clark Center for the Performing Arts their very youthful Vibrant energy and charm.”

Ms. Ramirez was an energetic woman who, after a day working with dancers and taking care of administrative matters, often spent her evenings in the audience of dance shows scouting new choreographic talent.

“It’s very important to me to connect to what’s happening right now,” she told the Times in 1999. “I think that’s why audiences everywhere are so drawn to us. We reflect on what they know about life – the difficulties and the joys.”

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At Lincoln Heart, Hooked on Swing and Again on the Dance Flooring

Three summers ago, on a mid-July evening, Margaret Batiuchok was teaching the basics of Lindy Hop on an outdoor stage at Lincoln Center when her microphone went dead.

It was the final night of Midsummer Night Swing, a tradition spanning more than 30 years that saw New Yorkers obsessed or just curious about partner dancing flock to a massive dance floor on the Upper West Side.

Batiuchok switched to a megaphone, but it quickly became clear that the problem went beyond technical difficulties: part of Manhattan’s West Side had lost power and would not regain it for several hours.

The dancers were asked to disperse before sunset that night, and some are now joking that the 2019 blackout was a bad omen.

In 2020, the coronavirus pandemic hit the city, forcing Lincoln Center to cancel Midsummer Night Swing for the first time since it began in 1989. It was canceled again in 2021.

Lana Turner, 72, a Harlem resident who has been dubbed the doyenne of Lincoln Center’s swing dance community, recalled the days when she and her fellow dancers didn’t have their usual summer spot.

“There was a lot of pent-up energy,” Turner said.

In June, that energy was released again: the dance floor returned to Lincoln Center and regulars reunited with friends and familiar faces. They didn’t necessarily know each other’s last names, but they were long-standing fixtures in each other’s lives.

“You realize you care about them even though they’re semi-strangers,” said Mai Yee, who has danced with Midsummer Night Swing for more than 20 years. “It was like, ‘Oh my god, you’re here — we survived that!'”

One of the people Yee usually only sees dancing is Turner, who started attending Midsummer Night Swing around the same time. Yee remembers Turner hitting the ground running year after year, always wearing something exquisite. (Turner’s flashy fashions once caught the attention of New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham.)

On a tango night this summer, Yee and Turner, wearing a floor-length yellow peacock-print dress, chatted with other longtime participants and discussed how far they would go to partner dancing during the pandemic. Some held one end of a ribbon or rope while their partner held the other so they could connect without touching. Some attended classes virtually, and once they were able to dance in person with others, they wore gloves and masks for protection.

“It’s not an addiction; I can stop anytime!” said Anahý Antara as couples hugged and danced the tango around her.

Back when she was dancing five nights a week during Midsummer Night Swing, which typically lasted three weeks, Antara said she had a voicemail message that simply said, “You know where I am.”

The event to which the dancers returned was different from previous times. For years, the Midsummer Night Swing took place in Damrosch Park; This year, the dancing was back in the square where it began 33 years ago when a big band anniversary party at Lincoln Center became an annual tradition. (It moved to Damrosch Park in 2008 due to construction work on the square.)

For the program’s grand return, Lincoln Center hired Clint Ramos, a Broadway costume and set designer, to create a performance in the plaza between the grand buildings that house the Metropolitan Opera, the New York City Ballet, and the New York Philharmonic to create eye-catching outdoor dance hall. Dubbed the Oasis, it featured a 10-foot diameter disco ball, a mirrored stage, and an electric blue dance floor that drew passers-by, many of whom preferred to sit on the sidelines sipping wine and watching the spectacle.

“It’s more like a party, like a celebration,” said Batiuchok, the ultimate Midsummer Night Swing veteran, after performing at the first two events with swing dance champion Frankie Manning.

Another important change this year: Admission was free. Originally, visitors who wanted to dance on the ground floor paid an entrance fee, while others could dance salsa and rumba on the sidelines while the band blasted music into the park.

The free dance events, which ended Aug. 6, drew more people than in previous years, not all of them serious dancers, leading to some grumbling among regulars that it was harder to find qualified partners. Lincoln Center estimated this year’s attendance at 54,000. In 2019, Midsummer Night Swing drew around 15,000 ticket holders to the dance floor, with an additional 23,000 people on the periphery, the organization said.

And perhaps the biggest change: the name Midsummer Night Swing has disappeared, at least for the time being. This year, ballroom dancing was part of Lincoln Center’s Summer for the City Festival, which also included workshops for children, orchestral concerts and poetry readings.

The dance styles were still diverse. Among this season’s offerings: Lindy Hop, Afrobeat, House, Salsa, Zydeco, Disco, Merengue, Tango, Flamenco, Freestyle and Ballroom.

The dancers came with all sorts of backstories: a 67-year-old woman who convinced her husband to move away from Paris so she could dance with the salsa greats of New York City; a 24-year-old doorman who began attending events with his church friends; a 53-year-old mother with stage 4 cancer who dances to find joy and calls it a “life force”.

They danced to connect with their cultural history.

“Having a dance created by our community, created by our ancestors, is a form of resilience,” said Taneeka Wilder, 41, a Bronx resident who started dancing lindy hop, a form, about six years ago , who was born in Harlem in the late 1920s .

They danced for their health.

“At 72, my blood pressure is excellent,” said Joanne Swain, who has been dancing since she was 14, as she sneaked into the Palladium nightclub on East 14th Street. “My doctor said to me, ‘Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.'”

And they danced for human connection, something many felt deprived of during the height of the pandemic. It’s normal here to take a stranger’s hand and let yourself be carried away for a song or two. (Even these reporters were lured onto the dance floor.)

“During Covid, I realized that apart from the human touch, what I missed the most was dancing,” said Veronica Cabezas, 42, who was beaming with excitement at a salsa night last month. “It puts you in a state of readiness to meet a new person.”

Few attendees wore masks at the events, and everyone agreed: Zoom couldn’t compare himself to dancing under the stars, nor could he dance at home with a broomstick as a partner, which Swain recalled doing at their house in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn.

On one of the final nights of the season, just days before the Oasis was demolished, swing dancers gathered for the Harlem Renaissance Orchestra, the same group that was performing in 2019 when the power went out.

WR Tucker, 88, whose dance name is Tommy Tucker, courted partners in a cream linen suit and matching fedora.

After moving to New York from Florida in 1954, he was a regular at the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem. Tucker, who has attended Lincoln Center’s social dance events for about a decade, credits the dancing with keeping him “out of trouble.” He hasn’t stopped during the pandemic, even if he had to do it alone at home.

“New York was dying, but I was dancing in the house,” Tucker said. “Being here now feels like a new life.”

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Transferring Over: A Powerhouse of Black Dance Is Retiring (Principally)

Are they Black?

No. White. I had to school them.

Does Kim run the school also?

Well, the school is not part of the company. The first 10 years the company was housed in the school, but when we purchased the building, we reversed the roles. The school pays rent to the company. I kept the school for profit so I would be guaranteed an income as a single parent.

You know, the String Theory School wants to build a new location, a charter school, and call it the Joan Myers Brown School of the Arts.

Wait, they’re naming a school after you?

Yes, and they want me to develop a curriculum, so I put Ali [Willingham, artistic director of Danco3] there because he teaches the way I like people to teach — know the craft, break down the movement, demand growth and not show off. Our youth are caught up in getting the applause and not learning the craft, so when I find the ones that really want to learn, they have someplace for classes and performing opportunities.

The Black Lives Matter movement isn’t new to you, is it?

I experienced that in 1962, 1988 and 1995. Every time white folks in charge throw money out there and say, “Y’all got to help Black people,” they help us, but when the money’s gone, they’re gone. Have you noticed how every ad in Dance Magazine has a Black person? It’s like they are saying, “Look, I got one!”

Did you envision I.A.B.D. conferences as a home base for the Black dance community?

You know, the first few conferences we were a mess, but we were happy to be together. Cleo [Parker Robinson] is from Denver; Jeraldyne [Blunden] was Dayton; Lula [Washington], Los Angeles; and Ann [Williams], from Dallas. And each time we learned something about our own organizations, about others doing the same thing, and how we can help each other. Mikki Shepard pulled us together, and people said we set the plate for DanceUSA. I was on the board of DanceUSA then. I said, “I got to get away from here and start my own thing because this ain’t helping Black people at all.”

The younger members want to ignore the things we learned, and their opinions are valid, but I say experience teaches you something. I.A.B.D. was a gathering to bring us together and share stuff, now it’s a full-fledged service organization.

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Sequins and Soul-Looking within the Aggressive Dance World

One of the few black people in leadership roles in the industry is Sonia James Pennington, a founder of the National Dance Showcase competition. “I watch colored studio directors come to one of our events and see that I’m African American and there is a feeling of, ‘I can breathe out,'” she said. “If we could normalize diversity at all levels, everyone would benefit.”

Lately some established competitions and congresses have taken small steps forward. Break the Floor Productions, which hosts some of the biggest events in the industry, has launched an educational YouTube series highlighting black dance artists. The trophies for the winners of the New York City Dance Alliance national competition no longer mention gender. Large-scale reform, however, seems a long way off.

It was this slow pace of change that led Olivia Zimmerman, 23, to develop the Embody Dance Conference. Starting this weekend, the new dance convention – whose competition will debut next year – aims to create “a safer and more inclusive dance community”.

Zimmerman grew up at competitions and congresses and worked as a competition director for a dance studio. Embody, who started out as her college job, is thoroughly ambitious. This weekend’s event at Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut will feature seminars for dancers on anti-racism, mental health and gender. (TikTok dance star Charli D’Amelio will discuss the effects of social media on mental health.) Cogliandros the Dance Safe will lead workshops. Classes will not divide students by gender, and students will give their pronouns. Accommodation will be provided for dancers with disabilities.

The faculty will include transgender artists, including Frederick; several colored people; and mental health professionals including dance artist and therapist Breanna Myers. And – perhaps most revolutionary of all – while Embody is currently a company with a not-for-profit arm, Zimmerman plans to eventually run the entire company as a not-for-profit organization.

Only a few hundred people signed up for Embody’s first convention. But Zimmerman hopes to pilot a model that other events can then customize. “It’s not proprietary,” she said. “We’re not trying to make money by ‘being the change’. I want everyone to follow suit so that in five years we will only be one convention. “

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A Supernatural Dance Explorer’s Artwork and Wanderings

BERLIN – In a scene from his video installation “The Wanderer”, the artist Choy Ka Fai, who has traveled thousands of kilometers to a spiritual gathering near the city of Ulan-Ude in Siberia, kneels at the feet of a shaman, his head bowed, eyes closed. A shaman’s assistant introduces Choy.

“He’s from Singapore,” says the assistant. “He is a supernatural dance researcher.”

Choy, who lives and works in Berlin, took on this title when developing “CosmicWander: Expedition”, an ambitious, immersive exhibition that arose from his research on shamanic dance practices across Asia. Presented for the first time by the Singapore Art Museum, where it opened in January, the exhibition can be seen until August 22 as part of the annual Tanz im August festival at the KINDL Center for Contemporary Art in Berlin.

In the center of a large gallery that is shown on six screens, “The Wanderer” circles a vibrating platform with a pink carpet on which the audience sits. Its five chapters correspond to the five countries Choy visited over 18 months: Taiwan, Vietnam, Russia (Siberia), Singapore and Indonesia.

The 42-minute work begins with a 3D game prototype inspired by his time in Taiwan – where he took part in a nine-day pilgrimage for the Taoist sea goddess Mazu – and then switches to documenting ghost channeling rituals, with the text providing some insight into their complex story. In addition to other video and costume pieces, the exhibition contains interviews with religious practitioners from “The Wanderer” on topics such as the origins of some shamans and their daily work. (One is a cook, another is a tour guide.)

Trained as a video artist and with a Masters in Design Interaction from the Royal College of Art in London, Choy, 42, often explores the relationships between technology and the body. His works, which can have a satirical edge, have been published by Sadler’s Wells in London, ImPulsTanz in Vienna and earlier editions of Tanz im August. This year he is part of a stripped-down version of the Berlin festival, which offers a mix of indoor, outdoor, live and online events: an effort to remain flexible for live performances in a precarious time.

“This hybrid was very important to us,” says Andrea Niederbuchner, curator and producer of Tanz im August. “We really wanted to do something that we don’t have to cancel.” If everything goes according to plan, Choy’s “Postcolonial Spirits”, a stage work that deals with the Indonesian trance dance form dolalak, will be premiered on Thursday at HAU Hebbel am Ufer.

“CosmicWander” is not the first project that Choy is leading through Asia; for “SoftMachine” (2015) he interviewed more than 80 independent dance artists in five Asian countries. In our most recent interview, he spoke frankly about his position both as an insider – “an Asian who is going to Asia,” he said – and as an outsider who is sometimes viewed with skepticism. A work that he presented at the Taipei Arts Festival last year under the umbrella of “CosmicWander” drew the accusation of cultural appropriation.

“That is the eternal anthropological question,” says Tang Fu Kuen, the artistic director of the Taipei Festival, who also comes from Singapore and works with Choy as a dramaturge. “How can an outsider enter a foreign culture and see it with new eyes, different perspectives?”

“He’s not exploitative as people think,” added Tang. “They think, ‘Ah, he just walks around, enters different countries and takes himself away from the culture.’” But from Tang’s perspective, Choy’s work is more about honoring and learning from those he meets. “It is always attuned to its own understanding while being respectful and loyal to the voices he encounters.”

Before the opening of “CosmicWander” at KINDL, Choy took a break from installing the show to talk about his path as an artist and where his wanderings have led him. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

What was the first thing that moved you to dance and work with your body?

I studied video at the art school and later did theater performances, working a lot with dancers and musicians. I’ve drawn more and more to dancing because I always find a problem with language. It’s ironic though because there has been a lot of talk in the last 10 years of my dance work.

But it really started when I went to London in 2010 to study design. I left my comfort zone and everyone I worked with. Back then I was playing with muscle sensors and only had myself, my laptop, and a few sensors. I became like a DIY scientist in the bedroom electrocuting me and trying to stimulate muscle movement.

You describe yourself as an artist in exile. Why did you leave Singapore?

I was exhausted from the infrastructure there. In order to meet certain funding requirements, I had to produce and produce. There was no time to think. I went to have more headroom.

Her work “SoftMachine” focused on independent dance artists in Asia. What led you to shamanic dances from there?

It started with a piece called Dance Clinic in 2017. I was working in West Papua [on the island of New Guinea] with a folk dancer trained in contemporary dance. I was playing with this brain wave sensor and had the question of what happens to the brain wave when you go into a trance, when the body becomes possessed or when it enters a heightened state of consciousness.

I started to wonder if I am putting this motion capture sensor on top of a shaman and the god is coming into the body while he is performing this dance ritual – if I record this digitally, does that mean I am recording the dance of God? This was basically the opening line of my suggestion for “CosmicWander”: What would happen if I could digitize this immaterial divine presence? It expanded from there.

One of the rituals you attended for “CosmicWander” took place in Singapore. Did you learn something new about your own country?

In Singapore I saw this mixture of Chinese and Indian shamanism, Taoist and Hindu. The nuances are so interesting. You can actually put this Indian flower garland on top of a Chinese god. When I saw this I thought, why are artists in Singapore so afraid to express themselves? These shamans freely express whatever is possible.

I came up with the theory that religious practitioners in Singapore are more liberated than artists. Because artists worry about censorship or self-censorship. The arts in Singapore are heavily subsidized by the state; Many artists survive with government funding.

Do you think they are afraid to criticize –

They fear that if they take a wrong step, they will lose their funding. But nobody knows where the line is. There are cases when the government or [arts] Council believes your art is having a negative impact on the people of Singapore, they will stop your tax dollars.

Are you a religious person yourself?

I am Christian. I believe in Jesus. But I stopped going to church. That’s a different story.

Somewhat more personal: Before I went for a walk with the sea goddess [in Taiwan], I was in a bad mental state.

What happened?

It was the low point of my private life. I had just broken up with my partner. We were together for almost four years. That moment didn’t make me believe in all of the things that I used to believe in.

I’ve already researched them all [for “CosmicWander”]. Then this happened and I wasn’t sure if I should continue to be an artist. Then I thought, “I got the funding, so I’ll go and go with God.” That’s why I picked myself up. And the experience was quite transformative, mentally and physically.

Has “CosmicWander” restored your belief in being an artist?

It restored my belief that there are many wonderful things in life that I have yet to experience. I think that’s an easy way of putting it.

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Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater Proclaims In-Particular person Season

The upcoming season of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in New York City Center will celebrate Robert Battle’s tenth anniversary as artistic director, the company announced on Wednesday. After the difficulties of the past 17 months, Battle is more open to the opportunity than it otherwise would have been.

“Being part of the problem-solving that took place and getting us through this way has, in a way, made me feel a bit better at those 10 years,” he said in an interview. “There’s something going through that makes me think, ‘Hey, if I go through this, I’ll definitely take the good and I’ll do it.'”

During his tenure with Ailey, Battle founded the New Directions Choreography Lab, an initiative to support aspiring and medium-sized dance professionals, and named Jamar Roberts as the company’s first resident choreographer. “When I started creating, I was fortunate to have David Parsons to speak for me,” said Battle. “I’ve always wanted to pay for that.”

His support has paid off. Roberts has created several critically acclaimed dances since taking office in 2019, including “Members Don’t Get Weary” and “Ode”. his farewell performance on December 9th was announced along with the season’s slate.

Two dances that debuted online will be performed live for the first time as part of the three-week City Center engagement. Battles “For Four”, a piece for four dancers to a jazz score by Wynton Marsalis, will make its full stage debut on December 3rd with Roberts’ “Holding Space”.

New productions of older works will also be on view throughout the season: Ailey’s “Pas de Duke,” which Jacqueline Green and Yannick Lebrun performed for a dance video in the Woolworth Building in 2020; “The River,” Ailey’s 1970 collaboration with Duke Ellington; an Ailey solo, “Reflections in D”; and “Unfold,” a recent work by Battle.

Looking ahead, Battle said he would like to focus more on preserving and sharing works by underrated choreographers: “The idea of ​​being an archive for historical works really interests me, really promoting it.”

Ticket sales begin on October 12th. More information is available at alvinailey.org.

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When Dance Shut Down, These Administrators Banded Collectively

Last summer, Jonathan Stafford, artistic director of the New York City Ballet, felt isolated and fearful. It was a few months after the pandemic and the weirdness of the lockdown and riot and urgency of the protests against Black Lives Matter were on his mind.

City Ballet’s performances, programs, and plans had come to an abrupt halt – as had performing arts organizations across the country. Nobody knew when and how the theaters would reopen. Many dancers had fled to relatives or friends outside the city; most did not have enough space to maintain the vigorous exercise required to keep in shape for performance.

The artistic director of a dance company promotes dancers, designs and plans seasons and tours and maintains close contact with all departments, from fundraising to marketing to costume construction. Now what was the role of an artistic director?

Stafford called Robert Battle, artistic director of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, for a chat. “That’s great,” said Battle after they had spoken for a while. “I wish we would speak to other art directors.”

Battle named Eduardo Vilaro from the Ballet Hispanico. City Ballet’s assistant director, Stafford and Wendy Whelan, named Virginia Johnson of the Dance Theater of Harlem and Kevin McKenzie of the American Ballet Theater. On August 7th last year, the six directors of some of New York’s most famous dance groups had their first online meeting, and they have met almost every Friday since then.

As new close colleagues and friends, they exchanged ideas, problems, strategies and solutions and will present a series of performances together for the first time – the BAAND Together Dance Festival, free shows starting Tuesday on the open-air stage of Lincoln Center in Damrosch Park.

“There was a light at the end of our tunnel,” Johnson said in a recent video interview with the other directors. “It’s not a marketing initiative. It’s something real that emerged from the time we spent together and want to give something back to the city. “

In a broad discussion, punctuated by laughter and a bit of teasing, the directors spoke about their pandemic concerns and the Black Lives Matter movement, and how they think the dance world has changed. Here are edited excerpts from the conversation and follow-up emails.

When you first started meeting online, a lot was still unknown about Covid-19. What were your worries then?

KEVIN MCKENZIE At first we just tried to take the pulse: is that as bad as I think? Each of us had plans that screeched to a halt, and we were all in a triage state. We asked ourselves: How do you deal with your artists? With instructions from the Center for Disease Control? With reinventing the way we could perform?

JONATHAN STAFFORD Eduardo organized us; he made agendas and gave us homework. We realized early on that the purpose of talking is to evoke action. We asked ourselves what is our goal for this group? How can we use our collective power to make a real change in the whole dance field?

What were some of the strategies or approaches that emerged from the meetings? How did they help you

WENDY WHELAN Learn how to create bubbles so that a group of dancers can work together in isolation and then perform. Kevin did a lot of it because he’s Mr. Kaatsbaan [McKenzie was a founder of the Kaatsbaan Cultural Park in upstate New York, in 1990], and we had no experience with it.

EMPLOYEES That kicked our butts a bit and we thought, OK, we have to do this. We also talked a lot about tests and vaccinations. City Ballet mandates vaccinations for our staff and it has helped us get support from other dance companies and know that we weren’t an outlier. There won’t be a single guideline here, but it was very helpful to share.

EDUARDO VILARO One special thing was that we joined forces during the elections. We have written a message about the importance of choosing and the importance of choice to our community. It was the first time that the five organizations brought something out together, and we left out the word “participation”!

VIRGINIA JOHNSON The biggest concrete result is of course the BAAND Together festival. It was so much fun programming with other Artistic Directors; Usually you are on an island with this assignment!

ROBERT BATTLE As well as specific outcomes like electoral politics or these performances, I feel that the meetings really helped by giving us a space in which to say, “I have no answers”. This can be terrifying when you’re the one who’s supposed to know what to do. It was good to take the pressure off that and discover that if you ask the right questions, you might have answers.

The death of George Floyd and the explosion of the Black Lives Matter movement came as their organizations closed and dancers dispersed. What were your conversations about at the time?

VILARO We understand that we are very different organizations and that we need to approach these issues differently. But we were able to talk openly with each other and that was very helpful in deciding which approaches to take.

EMPLOYEES We asked ourselves how do we talk about it? It wasn’t about being colored or not, it was about having the difficult conversations we’ve never had before about becoming an inclusive art form. We have to do better: how are we going to do this?

JOHNSON We could be completely honest with each other. There were a lot of conversations that were very nice.

Have you changed in the way you approached the lockdown and the challenges it posed for you and the dancers?

JOHNSON We are different types of institutions and different sizes. I think Dance Theater of Harlem is the only non-union company in this group so it was interesting for me to hear how the unions approach things.

But there was a lot in common: We were basically all in a situation where our income was being destroyed and we had to ask ourselves how we keep our dancers motivated and in shape, how do we keep our art going, how do we keep ourselves healthy? It was helpful to collect different approaches to hear what is possible.

ROBERT BATTLE When dancers are devastated, as a director you sort of take on that. That kind of situation, when psychologically trying to fly the plane, was a common experience.

Let’s face it, you can talk to other people in your organization, but there’s nothing like sitting in that particular seat. These meetings allowed us to say, okay, we’re a little scared and gave us the space to breathe and do the work we had to do. For me, the mental health part was so important: it was like therapy.

What was your take on streaming appearances? Did any of you have any reservations about publishing free content or were you discussing how to make money from it?

MCKENZIE I would say it was very important for us to develop a digital content strategy when we were still a little shocked by the extent of our situation. At some point we understood that it was the only medium we could rely on for the foreseeable future.

WENDY WHELAN We knew we had no choice and we discussed it a lot. At City Ballet, we’ve been very fortunate that we’ve been capturing ballets on film every year for nearly a decade to get clips for marketing purposes. But we also knew that we had to stay creative and find ways to film our dancers in the current time.

We hope to keep some form of streaming and digital creativity alive; We know how important this year was in developing and building a wider global reach for City Ballet.

JOHNSON Digital was definitely a departure from the live performance focus of our normal lives. I think this group wasn’t about monetizing online content. It was about keeping the dancers dancing, strong, beautiful and challenged, without being in the studio.

There was a moment when everyone in other places was having endless conversations about budgets and payrolls and I thought, wait a minute, we’re artists. That has to move us forward.

Has the dance landscape in New York and beyond changed irrevocably as a result of the pandemic?

MCKENZIE I would say we don’t know yet. What we do know is that each organization will come back as a very different entity. For Ballet Theater, we learned a lot about digital delivery and how important it will be. But the experience also underscored the thirst and gratitude for performing live. So far it has only been outside, we haven’t been with strangers in the dark again. We don’t know how this will feel.

JOHNSON Yes, we cannot assume that this work is possible. You think things are going to go on forever and that made us realize that sometimes they can’t or can’t. We can now measure the sheer joy of doing this work and creating something magical and beautiful.

BATTLE Maybe innocence has been lost. The wonderful thing about being a dancer is creating that magic outside of the realities we have to face. The pandemic has made it clear what can go wrong, what can be lost. Not sure if you can just turn things on again and everyone will be fine all of a sudden.

WHELAN With our group it feels like a hardened shell has been cracked by our organizations and a new flexibility and energy has emerged. Throughout the pandemic, we’ve looked at ballet culture – so many dusty, old habits and outdated traditions that held us back. Bad habits and unhealthy power dynamics built into the system and passed down from generation to generation have not been effectively addressed until recently.

We still have a lot to do, but we’ve made progress over that time. Most importantly, we are mutually committed to moving forward and advancing our art form – together.

VILARO The gift of this group was the alliance that has developed between us and will help bring about change in our field. We have broken down silos that were hierarchical structures in the past. We don’t hoard information, we share.

So are you planning to continue meeting?

JOHNSON Naturally. It is so much fun.

WHELAN And we do that on Fridays and talk about cocktails.

Have you already met in person with cocktails?

WHELAN Eduardo is working on it.

EMPLOYEES It’s been a year. We really need these cocktails.

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Entertainment

The Joyce Returns, With a Sometimes Eclectic Dance Menu

This fall, the Joyce Theater will present its first live dance season since it was forced off in March 2020. The season, announced on Tuesday, runs from September to February and includes 18 ensembles, including some such as the British hip-hop ensemble Far From the Norm, which is performing in the theater for the first time.

“We had a few priorities of rebooking and canceling shows the companies that were scheduled to perform here last year,” said Joyce CEO Linda Shelton, “as well as reaffirming our mission to promote diversity.”

Another consideration, given numerous travel bans and the difficulty of obtaining visas for performers amid changing waves of Covid, was “who can actually reach us when all these borders open and close,” added Ms. Shelton. As a result, only four companies arrive from abroad, Far From the Norm; Malpaso from Cuba, whose show was canceled last year; LEV from Israel; and the Colombian ensemble Sankofa Danzafro, whose piece “Accommodating Lie” deals with stereotypes of Afro-Latin culture.

The season kicks off on September 22nd with a visit to the prestigious Minneapolis-based Ragamala Dance Company, which performs the evening-length work “Fires of Varanasi: Dance of the Eternal Pilgrim”. The piece uses the classical Indian dance style Bharatanatyam to explore themes of life and death through the lens of Hindu rituals.

Choreographer Caleb Teicher, who was scheduled to perform last year, presents the delayed debut of their Lindy Hop and Swing program, created in collaboration with a team of dancers and choreographers including LaTasha Barnes from “Jazz Continuum” and the Ballroom and Lindy Hop specialist Evita Arce. This show, titled “Swing Out” (October 5-17), will be accompanied on stage by a live swing ensemble, the Eyal Vilner Big Band.

Other highlights include Lucinda Childs’ 1979 minimalist juggernaut, “Dance,” set for Philip Glass (October 19-24); and Ayodele Casel’s cheerful tap and live jazz evening “Chasing Magic”, which had its virtual premiere in April of this year, will be premiered live from January 4th to 9th.

Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, the cross-dressing ballet troupe, will hold their usual holiday run (December 14th to January 2nd). Among various sharp-eyed parodies of famous ballets – and the ballet itself – there will be a new work, “Nightcrawlers”, based on Jerome Robbins’ portrait of three couples dancing to Chopin Nocturnes, “In the Night”.

The theater will decide at a later date whether to require actors, staff and viewers to be vaccinated.

Tickets for the fall-winter season will go on sale on August 9th.

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Entertainment

This Summer season’s Dance MVP: The Weatherman

Further north, the Williamstown Theater Festival in Williamstown, Massachusetts is also hosting its first full outdoor season on found stages this year, including the Clark Art Institute’s reflective pool, which stars Grace McLean on “Row”. The musical lost nearly 60 percent of its outdoor rehearsal time due to the weather, and six of the first seven scheduled performances were canceled. “It was just disappointing and frustrating because we weren’t doing our job,” she said.

The sky was dreary, gray and damp on the day before “Tillers of the Soil” – Weinert’s adaptation of a dance originally choreographed by Ted Shawn and Ruth St. Denis in 1916 – premiered in Jacob’s Garden. The dancers spread straw on the soft, wet floor before the performance, but their feet still got muddy and soaked as they danced. “We could still be in the moment in everything that was happening,” said Brandon Washington, a dancer. “In the end it was super sunny and beautiful.”

For dancers, weather, especially rain, means being ready to be frustrated – or ready to move on to the show in difficult circumstances. On July 3 in Little Island, a new park on the Hudson River in Manhattan, Hee Seo, a director of the American Ballet Theater, didn’t know until the show whether her solo “Dying Swan” was going to happen. Even then, the rehearsal and show were delayed, and when Seo started dancing, she could feel raindrops. “But we didn’t stop,” she said. “I continued. I’ve finished my piece. “

Artists and audiences were hungry for performances, even if the cancellations are increasing. The Trisha Brown Dance Company canceled their performances on June 8th and 9th at Wave Hill in the Bronx due to rain. The director of the company, Carolyn Lucas, said the dancers rehearsed in the drizzle until they stopped working. “After this Covid year everyone is missing so much dancing and performing,” she said. “They were very flexible about doing something a little more extreme just to get the show out on the streets.”

It is unlikely that there will be another summer with this particular mix of circumstances. And at Jacob’s Pillow, they hope there doesn’t have to be another outdoor season. But always adaptable, dancers will continue to make the most of what is thrown at them. As Washington said of his performance in the garden, “With everything that happened in the run-up to the performance, the wet floor was the least of our worries.”

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Entertainment

Aunts Is Again, Turning Metropolis Blocks Into Dance Flooring

The barricades were not only pink, but pink too: terrifyingly lively, unabashedly cheerful. On a hot June evening, these barricades were placed at either end of a block in Long Island City, not just to stop traffic but to mark territory. For the next few hours this was an aunt-only zone. And while it can be difficult to describe exactly what Aunts is – it’s not an institution with a home base – it’s easy to say what it creates: a space for dance.

On June 6th, Aunts emerged from the pandemic with new organizers and Aunts Goes Public !, the first of three summer events presented as part of Open Culture NYC, in which dance artists take over a city block. In typical Aunts fashion, the performances bleed from one to the next, transforming a long street into a sensual landscape of movement and sound. Kirsten Michelle Schnittker and Tara Sheena, whizzing onto the sidewalk, echoed each other’s hops and swirls in a meditative, architectural arrangement that held their bodies tightly and delicately in space.

Chloë Engel, lithe in red pants, was everywhere – her body was a vortex of movement or still as she paused near a fence at the edge of a park. Jasmine Hearn, wrapped in sculptural cloth, was lost in her own world, seemingly conjuring ghosts on the sidewalk. Symara Johnson later waved an arm back and forth with gold tinsel on her ankles and wrists, sending out golden sparks. These and several other performances came in waves. Watching them was a bit like being pulled and pushed by the water yourself.

The next takeover of the aunts will take place on Sunday at 5:30 p.m. on South Oxford Street between Fulton Street and Lafayette Avenue in Brooklyn. The third is on September 19th. (An additional performance of Aunts in October will be a collaboration with the Skirball Center for the Performing Arts and the Chocolate Factory Theater.) Each event that ends with a dance party includes about a dozen performers, plus a DJ and barricade artist. With Open Culture NYC attendees having to purchase their own barricades to block the street, aunts decided to turn that into art as well. Jonathan Allen created them for the first event; Malcolm-x will do the honor to Betts for Sunday.

What can you expect on Sunday? I like to think of aunts as a roaming adventure through power and space. Aside from multiple cast members – including Alexandra Albrecht, Rena Anakwe, Edie Nightcrawler, and Ambika Raina – it’s unpredictable, a venue for intersecting performances and multidisciplinary work. An aunt event is a place to try something out or to show a finished work. It is malleable and artist-led, open and non-judgmental.

“You get the chance to try things out with a live audience and see what works and what doesn’t,” says Laurie Berg, a long-time organizer of Aunts. “It’s like, ‘Did you just think about it when you came over on the subway?’ That’s great. That’s OK.”

Over the years, aunt events have taken place on beaches, in museums and in lofts. There is no time limit for a performance; Artists can repeat their pieces during a two and a half hour event or perform only once. For the audience, it’s a different way of seeing a performance: they can get up close to the dance or watch it from a distance. You decide where to look.

Founded in 2005 by Jmy James Kidd and Rebecca Brooks – although there were always many organizers – Aunts was taken over by Berg and Liliana Dirks-Goodman in 2009. When Dirks-Goodman left New York for Philadelphia, Berg decided it was time to open up aunts to a new generation of organizers. Together with Berg there are now six: Shana Crawford, Kadie Henderson, Jordan D. Lloyd, Larissa Velez-Jackson and Jessie Young.

“For me, the definition of curator is janitor as opposed to taste maker,” said Berg. “I’m a caretaker for aunts. I am a host and an organizer. But I don’t want to be a gatekeeper. “

“If it looks very different at the end than it did at the beginning,” she added, “that’s fine because it can’t stay the same.”

Velez-Jackson, a choreographer and interdisciplinary artist with a strong improvisational base, said much of her work began at Aunts events. Her first appearance on one was in September 2006. “Working with improvisational material in front of an audience was the place where the research would take place,” said Velez-Jackson. “When you’re live in front of people, it’s much more real – you get better.”

And for many months these experiences were rare. At a time when so many performance opportunities have been lost due to the pandemic, aunts as choreographers have a new relevance to work in public again. As Young put it, “It’s a mercury, shape-shifting form of organization that can invade and invade spaces and challenge growth from within.”

And that’s a model – caring yet free – that she believes in. What strikes Henderson about aunts is the way they look after their artists. (For one, they get paid, and even get paid if the event is canceled due to rain; they also have the option to perform at the September event if the July event is canceled.) A movement artist and vocal improviser with nonprofit experience, she was new to Aunts, but soon realized that “it would be a great opportunity for me to expand the mentoring that I normally offer,” she said, “with this extra layer I can choose the artists I supervise” . . “

Henderson’s concerns were that she didn’t “want to be at another dance event and be the only black girl there” or “another dance event where we all do the same PoMo moves,” she said, referring to postmodern dance . “With serious faces in these funky Dansko shoes and gauchos.”

“That’s not my job,” she said. “And I was a little nervous talking about it, but they were really cool. They said: ‘Kadie, we understand that.’ “

With six organizers recommending artists to perform at events, Aunts is reflecting something different in this era of contemporary dance: diverse and diverse artistic voices both behind the scenes and on stage. “Can you have a sound performer next to a movement performer next to someone who’s got into hip-hop?” Said Lloyd. “I was amazed by a wide range of voices, all doing different things, and how this could create an exciting experience.”

For Henderson, this collective energy creates artistic abundance. In Queens she even had to step behind the microphone and sing. “To be part of something that brought comfort and to be able to create a space in which I could find myself – of course I am moved to sing,” she said. “I want this reservoir of, damn it, we did it! And so many people didn’t. It’s my way of showing gratitude. “

Being with aunts also means the joy that it brings. Crawford, a dancer, also works at the Chocolate Factory Theater and was the production manager for the recent River to River Festival. She is busy. But aunts, to them, is worth it – and the name is everything. Aunts “has that loving, hugging support that helps you grow, that gives you experience, but it’s not like your mother,” she said. “And it’s not like your child. It is this family member who is here to let you do your thing. “

And right now, Aunts has brought that ethos to the streets, not just for artists but for audiences as well; in many ways they move as one. The street, Young said, is different from a park where she and many dancers spent hours choreographing and taking lessons during the pandemic. “There’s something about the friction, the structure, the concrete, the energy of a closed road,” she said. “It sucks the energy out even more: It’s like an artery that is locked in for art.”

Aunts

Sunday at 5:30 pm on South Oxford Street, between Fulton Street and Lafayette Avenue, in Brooklyn; Check Instagram for weather updates.