​Demetrius Burns performs in Ronald K. Brown / Evidence's "The Equality of Night and Day." (Photo by Christopher Duggan)

Despite loads of accolades over decades, Ronald K. Brown / Evidence didn’t always convince me of its greatness. While loving some of his dances, often for the choice of music and the joyousness they wrought, I found there to be a sameness to his work.
 
And while I do think his African-inspired dance vocabulary is not as wide as some, I must admit I’m now a true believer in the power of Ronald K. Brown / Evidence.
 
The transformation came during his company’s appearance on Thursday night at Jacob’s Pillow. This was one of the most electric I’ve seen at the dance haven in 30 years. The dancers of the company were his most accomplished – technically searing and engaging – offering up the clearest take on Brown’s vision of a compassionate, humane world. Obviously, two years of COVID-19 shutdowns when the dancers spent more time in the studio than on the staged have honed their skills to a point where Brown’s expressions are unclouded.
 
Not only that, his message of the absurdity and damage inherent in the racial divide was relevant and urgent. One couldn’t ignore its power in the world premiere of his “The Equality of Night and Day,” that plays at the Pillow through the weekend.  The work is set to music composed and played live by jazz pianist Jason Moran. His emotive music was intermingled with the voice of activist Angela Davis who described a society in which Black people are labeled criminals and sent to prison as another form of enslavement.
 
The piece is also timely, as it speaks to conservativism, which is today reassembling our country – stripping away women’s rights and regulations on the environment while ensuring more guns can be concealed on the streets of New York. It’s a frightening time and Brown’s dancers reflect that in their compelling movement in which can be seen as a both an interpretation of reality and a desperate plea.
 
“The Equality of Night and Day” begins with a single dancer, Joyce Edwards, taking center stage. In a costume that flows about her arms and legs, she appears to be moving through water, swiftly reaching for firm ground to stand upon.
 
The ensemble joins in a stark formation, like an army protecting her, as Davis’ talks about the indignities and injustices heaped onto people of color. One of the most powerful sections is one in which, Demetrius Burns is singled out and the ensemble encircles him, emphasizing the cage that surrounds young men of color.
 
Moran’s playing is fresh, at time, anxious and understated – likely the state of mind that many Black people maintain to survive.
 
All together, this was an impressive and moving work that will only grow in stature as the years progress.
 
Brown’s offerings at the Pillow also include his energetic “Gatekeepers,” a nod to ancestors in the afterlife, which earned a mid-show standing ovation. The evening concluded with “Upside Down,” a section of a larger work that also stunned with a vibrant glow.
 
Ronald K. Brown / Evidence is sure to please and, more importantly, to think.
 
This program will be repeated at 2 and 8 p.m. July 2 and 2 p.m. July 3.

Dormeshia pays homage in female tap dancers who came before her in "Unsung Sheroes of the 20th Century" on opening night of Jacob's Pillow's 90th season. (Photo by Christopher Duggan) 

It’s been nearly three years since Jacob’s Pillow audience have been able to enjoy a performance in the august Ted Shawn Theatre.
 
Yet now that the COVID-19 restrictions has eased, dance fans have returned, just in time to celebrate the festival’s 90th anniversary. And on opening night, Wednesday, June 22, the audience got a seat in the newly renovated and expanded Shawn Theatre, which now features air conditioning and an orchestra pit.
 
Audiences also saw a program that was designed to reflect one of theater’s earliest programs – one meant to mirror what dance in America looked like.
 
The new theater’s inaugural program, “America(na) to Me,” tried to do that by providing a compilation of dance in America today. And while it was sweeping with everything from Bharatanatyam to salsa to tap to ballet, the program was uneven and not fully satisfying.
 
Still the audience left joyful thanks to Dormeshia, the tap dance phenom who closed the show with her wonderful “Unsung Sheroes of the 20th Century.” With a crew of four other tappers, she surveyed the women who came before her including Juanita Pitts, who she gleefully portrayed with her light and dazzling rhythms, rapidly written by her fleet feet.
 
The musical trio accompanying her, led by pianist Idris Frederick, laid out songs by Nina Simone, George Gershwin, Fats Waller and Count Basie. Brinae Ali was also a standout as a singer and dancer whose voice commanded. Eyes and ears were absorbed in the stories of the women she told.  
 
The program started out with the invigorating Warwick Gombey Troupe from Bermuda – an ensemble that traces its roots back to New England Native Americans who early Americans shipped off to the remote Atlantic island. They maintained their heritage, lively drumming and dancing in colorful costumes, in a tradition that remains festive. It was wonderful to see.
 
The evening proceeded with the gorgeous and precise Bharatanatyam ensemble that recast the tale Shiva and Kali’s dance competition in “Ar / DHA” or “Half.” The music, especially the vocals, mesmerized.
 
That detailed dance was followed by a solo by Alex Tatarsky that was both funny and deeply disturbing. In her “Americana Psychobabble,” she portrayed a clownish character that spewed a torrent of buzz words and phrases connected to issues that divided our nation – immigrants, the economy, guns, race. Tatarsky literally put herself out there, on the edge of the stage, twisting the political language that left the audience both stunned and amused.
 
The remainder of the show was disappointing. “Dime Quien Soy,” choreographed by Nelida Tirada for a sextet of Latinx dancers, dragged on too long, taking many minutes to even begin after the first dancer stepped on stage. The ending was uplifting, but the first 10 minutes should probably be cut.
 
“Gershwin Sweet!” featured the well-loved and respected New York City Ballet stars Sara Mearns and Gonzalo Garcia with Gilbert Bolden III. The piece, choreographed by Joshua Bergasse, was a jaunty foray into Gershwin song in which, not surprising, Garcia excelled. But the piece seemed under rehearsed and constrained.
 
Jasmine Hearn’s solo “Trinity: Child, You Lost Water” was also unfortunate as it was too obtuse to resonate. On a dark stage, wrapped in tattered tulle, she seemed to be escaping from an unseen enemy. Twirling and twirling, she would stop in front of a microphone where she repeated “you.” At the end, she left the stage and called “freedom.”
 
At that point, I wanted freedom from the theater too. But Dormeshia and company saved the night, sending returning audience home with a smile.
 
“America(na) to Me” will be repeated at 2 and 8 p.m. Saturday, June 25, and 2 p.m. Sunday, June 26.

 There is no ballet more charming than American Ballet Theatre’s version of “Don Quixote.”
 
As seen on Saturday afternoon at the Metropolitan Opera House, it’s funny, flashy and fast-moving and a tonic for that ails us.
 
As staged by Artistic Director Kevin McKenzie and Susan Jones after the Russian original, the classic is based on a snippet from the epic novel about a dreamy chivalrous soul who desires to make all things right with the world. The Don finds meaning in aiding the impetuous lovers Kitri and Basilio, the true stars of the show, whose romance is foiled by her father, Lorenzo, who promises to marry her off to the wealthy but ungainly Gamache.
 
This sets up an amusing adventure for the cast through Seville, its countryside (dubbed a “gypsy camp,” a term which should probably be reconsidered by ballet directors worldwide), into a tavern and back to the city where the sweethearts, after a little trickery, marry.
 
This is a perfect ballet on many levels — because it combines gorgeous sets and costumes with a story line with romance and humor. But mainly, "Don Quixote" wins admiration for its breath-taking dancing throughout (not just the finale) that set viewers aback.
 
Let’s start with Sklyar Brandt as Kitri and Herman Cornejo as Basilio. They are ideal as the delightfully defiant lovers who take Lorenzo and Gamache on a chase that the Don and his faithful assistant Sancho Panza stumble upon.
 
Cornejo is a superb partner – strong, attentive and invested – able to hoist Brandt high with one arm, time and again, with one fluid flourish.
 
He’s there for Brandt who is supremely capable in her own right, bounding through high kicks, a stream of steady balances, precise pointe work and impressive double fouettes.
 
The two are obviously relaxed and having fun exchanging kisses in these playful, but very demanding roles that include the most technically difficult pas de deux in classical ballet.
 
Also impressive was Cassandra Trenary as both Mercedes and the Queen of the Dryads. She holds all eyes with her seductive abilities to enchant in both roles.
 
“Don Quixote” is, however, a ballet made for men to show off their machismo, making room for the virile toreadors and campers, led by the amazingly dynamic Elwince Magbitang who flies in tour de force spinning jumps. And then there is Espana, the golden matador, danced by Gabe Stone Shayer, personifying bravado.
 
Conductor Charles Barker absorbs the mood, vigorously leading the orchestra in the grandiose Ludwig Minkus score.
 
For those who have never seen a ballet, ABT’s “Don Quixote” is the ideal introduction. No ballet is more appealing.
 
Therefore, I am forever grateful to McKenzie, who prepares to step down from his leadership role at ABT,  for bringing it to the stage. I know it will endure. 

A Saturday matinee visit to Lincoln Center to see New York City Ballet has me thinking about endings – picture perfect ones that linger.
 
That was the case with both George Balanchine’s “Serenade” and Jerome Robbins’ “The Goldberg Variations,” which were paired on a “Masters at Work” program. The first has one of the most memorable finales in all of ballet – a standing ballerina held aloft slowly yielding to her fate in a deep backbend as the curtain descends. This beloved ending has been viewed as a religious experience, divinity in the flesh.
 
But it is “The Goldberg Variations,” a ballet that I frankly avoided for years because of its hefty length, an 1 hour and 24 minutes, that alerted me to how much those two works have in common.
 
It’s long because the Robbins ballet has a lot of music to cover — the popular and pleasant Johann Sebastian Bach’s piano variations, which on Saturday were beautifully performed by Susan Walters.
 
The piece is Robbins’ way of lifting the veil of time between court dances of the 16th and 17th century and contemporary ballet and modern dance. He starts it off with a couple (Miriam Miller and Preston Chamblee) in a sarabande, wearing elegant attire reminiscent of the dancing days at the palace. The dancers hop, circle and side skip to each other as the music rises, carrying them off.
 
After they depart, the dance turns modern with groups of men and women reflecting the music passages in ways that are sometimes playful, sometimes peaceful, sometimes passionate, but always unfolding in ways that are pleasing to the eye. (Each of these variations could easily stand alone.) Throughout, their movement emphasizes ballet’s courtly roots are ever present.

Then the piece has the dancers reverts back to the ruffled historic dress and the line through the centuries continues in the opposite direction.
 
There are 30 variations, and at times, the ballet does seem unending. Only a deep appreciation for the music can keep the mind keenly focused on every note.
 
But back to the ending. Like “Serenade,” it has a false finale. (In “Serenade,” on first viewing, most applaud at the end of the third movement but then the central woman, on Saturday it was Sara Mearns, falls to the floor and the fourth movement begins.)
 
In “Goldberg Variations,” it comes when the ensemble beautifully assembles itself into a wall. With some kneeling, some standing and some rising on others’ shoulders, they tightly gather and extend a hand in the direction of the pianist. And while they are posed there, the clapping begins. But then one sees Walters continue to move her fingers over the keyboard, a signal more is to come.
 
The group dissembles and the original couple returns, this time in modern dress for the final sarabande as the curtain comes down. In the future, I won't be avoiding "The Goldberg Variations."

Ellen Sinopoli Dance Company in their eye-popping costumes by Kim Vanyo worn at the Opalka Gallery.

Over the decades, I have concluded that the best Ellen Sinopoli Dance Company shows are not in your typical theater setting. Her meandering works are well-suited for out-of-ordinary locations — playgrounds, store fronts, city streets and art galleries.

Perhaps it is the size of her contemporary dance ensemble – five to six dancers who are well-served in an intimate setting. Regardless, her return to the Opalka Gallery at Russell Sage College on Friday night, where she was a regular but held at bay by the pandemic, was a welcome sight.

And is always the case, Sinopoli’s dances there were a duet — a choreographic conversation with an artist — this time around it was with Judith Braun and her graceful and psychedelic paintings.

The Braun’s works are large splashes on unframed canvases, mostly black and white designs that feature swirling and straight lines, eyes and words that make one stop and pause. Hanging from tall stanchions on dollies, these works of art became rolling dancers — joining the ensemble to augment Sinopoli’s smart-looking quintet.

For the evening, Sinopoli created four, untitled dances. The first to blues guitar from 1920s had a mischievous feel. The dancers’ feet and calves were the first to appear behind the paintings, moving them as if the paintings themselves had legs. The dancers were also dressed in neon unitards by Kim Vanyo that popped in contrast to the black and white backdrop of the paintings.

But the costume design also complemented to the work with its black accents that trimmed an open back and squiggled down one side. Their boldness also tapped into the hints of color — pink, lime and orange — that Braun occasionally added to her symmetrical works.

Now to the dances. The first was fun with Laura Teeter appearing to gossip with a giant head and Erin Dooley hiding her eyes from another. There was a bit of a cartoon feel, but also a grand Busby Berkeley style spectacular as the dancers moved the painting in and around each other in what became a kaleidoscope of moving images.

The ending was also memorable – the dancers and the paintings aligned on a diagonal — all taking their bow.

In the second work, to music by Wayne Shorter, the pieces were rolled off to the side and the dancers ate up the space with rollicking jumps, reels and falls. Here, Sara Senecal captured the imagination with her attack and zest.

Then the audience picked up their chairs to turn their point of view to the other room where Dooley performed a cat-like solo that was steeped in snaky movement and sudden stops, showing off her mettle as a dancer.

The evening ended with a group work that Sinopoli said was inspired by thoughts of the Brazilian rainforest. To music by Dino Saluzzi, it had an exotic feel with the four female dancers moved symbiotically in duos while Andre Robles filled up the room with his larger-than-life joy.

Here's to wishing the company’s next visit to the Opalka isn't another year away.

From left are Berit Ahlgren, Ashwini Ramaswamy and Alanna Morris-Van Tassel in "Let the Crows Come" at University at Albany. (Photo by Jake Armour)

​Differences don’t have to divide. Rather classical Indian dancer Ashwini Ramaswamy showed that differences united can create something moving and beautiful.
 
And on Sunday night at the University at Albany Performing Arts Center, that something was Ramaswamy’s shimmering triptych “Let the Crows Come” — a homage to the transformative power of crows, which took flight with a trio of disparate, but divine dancers.
 
Bharatanatyam devotee and choreographer Ramaswamy gathered Gaga-trained modern dancer Berit Ahlgren and Afro-modern mover Alanna Morris-Van Tassel for this hour-long work that explored the mysterious nature of the brilliant black bird. And while I was often baffled by the story they told, their movement kept me intrigued, wondering how this beckoning of birds will take flight.
 
The piece, with music composed by Jace Clayton, Prema Ramamurthy and Brent Arnold, was, as the program notes, based on the Hindu epic poem Ramayama, about a prince who must rescue his wife from a demon.
 
While the Odyssey-like trials were not obvious, the dance did take its audience on a journey. Divided up solos, beginning with Ramaswamy, the strength and abilities of each dancer commanded the stage that was decorated with one item — a large bowl piled high with rice.
 
Like many polished Indian dancers, Ramaswamy is a study in gesture. She began with her undulating fingers, dipped in red, and her circling wrists to create the vision of a bird flying off. And while at first pleasantly at ease, her prominent and striking eyes, along with the stomp of her heels started to relate another tale — one of fear and distress. She dropped down low in a stance of attack and pounce, a fighter for an unseen war.
 
As she departed, Ahlgren took her turn. Bent backward, keeping watch on the sky, Ahlgren’s persona was large and feisty. As her music turned more percussive and confrontational, she matched it, becoming, as her arms shaped like wings told, a large bird herself. She shot arrows and flew.
 
Morris-Van Tassel took it home with her generous solo. Bent low, she looked to be gathering a harvest, a bountiful meal, in a focused but contented manner. In her, there was a sense of relief and happiness as she appeared to honor the beloved. In her, all things lovely came to the conclusion sealed by a kiss she blew.
 
In the end, the trio met up at the bowl, scooped it up a handful of the rice and let it slide through their fingers in a cascade of release and abundance.
 
Where did the crows, symbols of transformation, lead? It looked to be nirvana.

Mark Morris Dance Group performed its uplifting "Gloria" on Friday night at The Egg in Albany.

In times of trouble, there is nothing more delightful than a richly musical cavort from the Mark Morris Dance Group.
 
It was a great pleasure to see this fine ensemble at The Egg on Friday night, performing as smartly as ever in a show that was rescheduled and rescheduled again and again because of the pandemic.
 
The fairly large crowd saw two jewels — “Words” from 2014 to music by Felix Mendelssohn played live, and the glorious “Gloria” from 1981 to Vivaldi in D, a work that offers hope of redemption for all of humanity's sins. Sandwiched between the two was “Jenn and Spencer,” a duet to music by Henry Cowell, also played live by a crackerjack duo, Georgy Valtchev on violin and Ryan MacEvoy McCullough on piano.
 
As with all Morris works, musicality soared with every note and nuance getting a nod of acknowledgement. But it is choreographic structures that Morris creates that won the evening. The 16 articulate dancers enthralled with their spot-on interpretations of Morris’ architectures that the eyes love to meander through.
 
“Words,” which opened the program, was a suite of dances that started out small with duets that were shielded and then revealed by a cloth held up by passing dancers. As the number of dancers grew in each little piece, the work told a story of independence, unity, joy and sorrow.
 
Morris drew from his background in folk dancing, thus reeling minds to the situation in Ukraine. And the piece of cloth emphasized that, we the viewer, can only see and thus understand a partial story. We are beings in the dark.
 
Our difficult relationships are depicted in the duet “Jenn and Spencer,” in which a couple tangles and is unable to reach a détente. The work is a back and forth between the two that is encapsulated in their stilted walk. Danced on Friday by Karlie Budge and Brandon Randolph, it’s a tense work that ends with the woman running off, the strain between the two is never resolved. Though true-to-life, “Jenn and Spencer” can be difficult to watch.
 
All is forgiven in the magnificent “Gloria.” It begins with a couple: one with a hobbled walk and another inching forward on his belly. As a recording of Vivaldi’s sacred chorale composition filled the theater, the ensemble of 10 dancers rose from crippled to healed, from sinners to saints in an uplifting and gorgeous display that Morris frames superbly.

David Dorfman Dance in the moving "A(Way) Out of My Body." (Photo by Jack Beal)

David Dorfman describes his “A(Way) Out of My Body” an exploration of the “fraility and power of the body” along with collective will and the past.
 
But what I saw on Friday night at the University at Albany Performing Arts Center exploded that nugget into a quest to hold on — hold onto ourselves, our hearts and our humanity.
 
Maybe it’s just the times, divisive and hateful, but Dorfman’s work, both frantic and surreal, had me contemplating how we can grab hold of each other, in a loving embrace and not let go.
 
The piece is still a work-in-progress, with Dorfman introducing it the audience by saying many bits of the dance were refined that very day. However, it is one of the most polished unfinished works I have seen with gorgeous electronic and vocal music, composed by Sam Crawford, Zeb Gould, Jeff Hudgins and Elizabeth de Lise, and performed live by Crawford and de Lise. It also features strong, unforgettable visuals.
 
The work features six, including Dorfman, who are all dressed in white slacks and tunics that reference 1960s Nehru jackets. Designed by Oana Botez, the white gives the impression they are angelic beings, already on the other side of life. The style brings thoughts of another turbulent time.
 
It begins with a dimly lit vision of the dancers, arms raised and wrists pinned together. They look suspended like tortured prisoners whose toes barely brush the floor or hanging sides of beef.
 
The stage brightens and they race in the Dorfman’s signature erratic fashion that is disorienting. High kicks, tilts that upend dancers torsos and spins surprise and warp time and space. Seemly bound wrists are released, hands become claws and scratch the air as dancers appear to be poised for battle.
 
Then the tone shifts again to tender. Dancers uphold each other, connecting in nonsensical conversation on a stroll, carrying each other and catching yet another as she stumbles. There is another beautiful section in which the dancers appear to be floating underwater.
 
Dorfman also tells a story of his mother’s struggle with multiple sclerosis and the moment he tried to reach for her hand just as she stumbled down a marble staircase. And then it all clicked. As dancers stretched diagonally across the stage, reaching for each other, touching some and not others, we have the distressing realization we can’t save all.
 
The only rough spot is the awkward duet with Jenn Nugent and Dorfman, both seeming uncommitted or uncomfortable with the intimacy required.
 
The ending was gorgeous, however. As de Lise’s divine voice rises, Kellie Ann Lynch and Myssi Robinson struggle on the floor, pushing and hugging. But in the end, they hold each other tight in a long, almost desperately forgiving hug.
 
Then lights go out, leaving the view to contemplate a moving, personal and instructive journey that holds out hope that brotherly love will prevail.

Albany Berkshire Ballet's "Nutcracker" has a gorgeous set design by Carl Sprague. 

"The Nutcracker" is the backbone of the holiday season. And more importantly, for countless ballet companies — big and small — it's the foundation of their financial health.

Certainly, the COVID-19 pandemic has dealt a painful blow to companies around the nation and to audiences who adore the experience of being dropped into a young girl's fantasy.

Thanks to vaccines, ballet companies and their audience don't have to endure another year without the magical holiday tradition.

But with several versions of the Tchaikovsky classic in the Capital Region, it may be confusing to choose. Here's my tip: Go see Albany Berkshire Ballet's staging because it's consistently winsome, grand and inspired with a ​touch of humor.

As seen on Saturday at The Egg, the ballet, as staged by Artistic Director Madeline Cantarella Culpo, was as sparkling as always.

Here are some of the reasons ABB tops my "Nutcracker" list.

The curtain opens to partygoers with personality. So often, the first act Christmas party is just a gathering of well-dressed and well-behaved guests, leaving all the antics and attention to Herr Drosselmeyer, the  eccentric toymaker (here danced by Charles Paquette) who carves a special gift for Clara, a nutcracker. But in Culpo's version, each guest arrives with a dash of something special — gentility, fussiness, exasperation. It's fun to watch how they all intersect as the night moves on.

The set designs by Carl Sprague, unveiled in 2000, are still some of the most beautiful seen — an elegant drawing room for Herr and Frau Silberhaus, a wintery countryside for the Snow Forest and a palatial classical European garden for the Kingdom of Sweets.

Aside from all that, the dancing is good. Among the most engaging is Lisa McBride who enchants in the Arabian dance, Ruslan Sprauge who thrills in the Russian trepak, Allegra Holland who is vibrant as Dew Drop and Danny Gonzalez who is a twirling marvel as the Cavalier.

There was one oddity on Saturday afternoon. The music, and therefore the dancing, for the Sugarplum Fairy's solo was cut short, and the fairy herself, danced by Danielle Troyano, appeared tired. Let's hope she recovers before Sunday's encore performance at The Egg.

ABB's 47th annual tour of "The Nutcracker" ends on Dec. 18 in Springfield, Mass. at Symphony Hall. 

Kris Seto intrigues in his "The Tip of the Tongue" at the University Art Museum at the University at Albany. (Photo by Patrick Dodson)

Striving — we all do it. For money, for security, for recognition.
 
But what happens for the Asian-Americans who aspire? Or for that matter, any others who can’t easily blend into white America hegemony?
 
That is the question that dance artist Kris Seto posed on Thursday night in their site-specific “The Tip of the Tongue” at the University Art Museum at the University at Albany. In the solo dance, performed in the museum and amongst the neon art sculptures of Michelle Young Lee, Seto was a tortured soul, compelled to sell themselves in a world that gives preferential treatment to one’s own.
 
The dance is brief, just 25 minutes, but it wastes no time, immediately proclaiming to the small audience that this journey is thwarted by an invisible hand.
 
First appearing on the balcony of the museum, Seto is dressed in an exaggerated business casual shirt and tie (one so wide it covers half their chest). Red paint accented their eyes, perhaps signaling an awakening.
 
They (preferred pronoun) picked up a brief case and began to walk forward. But as they did, they are thrown back, their limbs in a tumbling tangle, again and again and again.
 
When able to stand still, they looked down at the audience in a stiff plea. They let loose a silent scream and then their hand gnarled into claws before they stepped down the staircase to the floor unimpeded. Yet any move back up the stairs was a struggle. The symbolism was clear.
 
When Soto presented themselves to the audience, seated near Lee’s trio of neon art — a Hello Kitty giving the bird, a plastic bag with an electric red Thank You, and a hand with a rose that hides a fist — they was vulnerable.
 
The closeness to the audience broke the fourth wall. Soto was in our world, we, in theirs and they used it, looking directly into our eyes as a way to demand we saw the humanity.
 
They then opened their briefcase and a light emitted forth like a pot of gold. They pulled from there a bag of candy that they tore open and tossed about, showering the audience and even massaging their chest with the packets. But clearly, it was for show. The candy man was tortured, spreading sweetness to dull an empty slavery of feeding consumerism.
 
After suspending themselves upside down, they then slipped away, an unappreciated, but temporarily seen voyager.
 
I like this thoughtful piece and I love the title “The Tip of the Tongue” too. It indicated something there but momentarily unattainable. Perhaps there was to be a message of hope here — strivers may eventually thrive.