Sanja Grozdanic, seen here, co-created "Permanent Trespass" which was performed on Friday at the Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center at Rensselaer.

Watching “Permanent Trespass” is like standing on shifting sand. The viewer is forced to ask onto what he can cling, to whom does he look to in this shadowy, shattered world and to whom should he listen to in this dialogue of poetry in which feelings of dread and sadness linger.
 
The work, subtitled “Beirut of the Balkans & The American Century” and performed at the Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center at Rensselaer, is a mystery, one that pours from the inquisitive hearts and minds of artists Sanja Grozdanic and Baseem Saad. The two come together to try capture the sense of wars in Lebanon and the former Yugoslavia and how geopolitical forces step in to impose their solutions. And how those reinventions, from the powerful U.S. and the European Union, resonate.
 
Needless to say, the topic is, sadly, forever timely.
 
The stage is set in what appears an aftermath of a recent destruction – papers and books are strew about a table, nearly wilted flowers bend their blossoms and a spotlight – like one on a power generator -- illuminate just a corner of the stage. In the chaos, two women sit on a covered couch, talking about an estate sale Grozdanic will manage. Yet the talk quickly evolves into something more – poetry that hints at its meaning, that circles in nonlinear patterns but is not landing at an open end.

The two cast themselves as eulogizers and professional mourners. Their lyrical dialogue moves about the stage as they talk at themselves in a mirror – reflecting back their words and their faces – thus amplifying it all. At one point, Saad speaks at a podium, both a eulogizer and authority. And they also speak of the arc of justice that they theorize might turn against itself, away from fairness and equality.
 
They also touch on how wars become forgotten, how money is dastardly entwined and how religion hovers over it all. And ultimately, how war is beyond senseless – it's an absurdity that words can't define.
 
“Permanent Trespass" is punctuated by films of historical footage of wars throughout the 20th and 21st century as well as video of the two walking abandoned streets and war crime museums. The images are fascinating, but it is not enough. The two leave the audience wanting and searching for meaning in what they call a moment of clarity that is later stalled by a stasis of confusion and loss.
 
This work, that stands about 45 minutes, could easily be developed further. It's also one of those pieces that can be viewed over and over as new slivers of nuance certainly would be revealed.
 
Regardless, “Permanent Trespass” ultimately gives its viewer a sense that the world is slipping into an abyss, one in which we will all be fleeing, forcing us all into a permanent trespass.

Eisenhower Dance Detroit performed Stephanie Pizzo's "State of Mind" with students from Union College on Friday night at The Egg.

Before Friday, I have never heard of Eisenhower Dance Detroit. Nor have I ever heard of its Artistic Director Stephanie Pizzo or its choreographers like Micaela Taylor or Marc Brew. But after seeing them at The Egg, I won’t soon forget them.
 
After a four-day residency at Union College, this sleek ensemble of nine performed a hypnotic program of five works that showed off their strength, artistry and daring and demonstrated the coasts are not isolated on the American contemporary dance map. Detroit rocks too.
 
That was obvious in the very first piece, “Legacy Island,” choregraphed Norbert De La Cruz III. When the curtain rises, the dancers appear like underwater sea creatures, undulating with the currents. The music, a compilation with Sun Electric’s “R-Gent” as well as music from Dario Marianelli, Thomas Azier and Peter Gregson, starts off serene, drawing us into a peaceful nirvana. And then comes a crash that clears the stage and a new world emerges, where love and struggle entwine; and how community, togetherness and unity is the ultimate support in the scuffle.
 
The work, like everything Eisenhower Dance performed, drew the audience in with its seamless fluidity. Where the dancers went, so too did our eyes and interest. And then they repeated it with four other works – that though different — show a company striving in breathless realms to break through the noise of the contemporary dance world.
 
Probably, this was best represented by Christian Denice’s “See Me.” In it, dancer Alex Hlavaty, illuminated by a spotlight, dresses in a black suit before getting sucked into a world where everyone looks alike as they pursue their dreams. The piece draws from the universal experience of literally outfitting oneself to move outside the doors – but cautions that conforming is hardly satisfying. In the end, he stripped down – his core and his happiness finally revealed.
 
The audience, many from Union College, were the cheerleaders for the performance that also including a finale with six dance students from the college. Their featured piece,” State of Mind,” was by Pizzo. While not the strongest work in the repertory, Pizzo incorporated the dancers with a harmonious flow. Like the works before it, fearlessness is the key sensation. Running, climbing on top of each other, pumping their fists or falling flat to the ground, the dancers’ high energy keeps everyone engaged.
 
That’s their superpower – drawing and keeping all attention to them. Of course, it helps that the dancers are stupendous – as strong and versatile as anyone performing with Paul Taylor or David Parsons.
 
Eisenhower Dance Detroit is a company is certainly one to watch and remember.

One of the jobs of a choreographer is to make his or her dancers look good because no one wants to watch a dancer who can’t do what they are asked to do. It’s awkward for the dancer who struggles. As for the audience, it's unbearable.
 
Sadly, that was the case with the New Chamber Ballet. The New York City-based ensemble presented Miro Magloire’s “Quadrille,” a work that was to honor the paintings of Guillaume Lethiere. The event at The Clark Art Institute on Sunday afternoon was to celebrate the closing of an exhibition that explored the life and works of this little-known artist of late 18th and early 19th century. As seen at The Clark, Letheire’s paintings and drawings were outstanding depictions of Roman power and Greek mythology fueled by exquisite  portraiture.
 
Intoxicated by the exhibition, one expected something that could reflect the beauty and brutality that Lethiere handily displayed. But what one experienced with the New Chamber Ballet was a shaky, timid group of six women who looked like students who were brand new to the stage. But they were professionals who looked uncertain and flat-out fearful of the choreography they were asked to execute which comprised of impossible lifts that they were unable to uphold.
 
Thus, instead of relaxing afternoon witnessing beauty unfold, the audience is grinding their teeth, hoping no one gets dropped on their head. Needless to say, it was tough to watch.
 
Aside from their inability to embrace Magloire’s choreography, the stage was also an issue. It was so small that letting loose was also an unviable option. 
 
Aside from the unwieldy lifting, the dancers mostly knelt and waved their arms. At one point, near the end, they bursted forth in a tiny circle within a small circle. This was the only time that they looked self-assured.
 
It did appear that Magliore was aiming to portray the serenity and dangers hidden in the vast oceans. These waving dancers – dressed in iridescent leotards with what appeared to be fishnet jumpsuit overtop – undulated like sea creatures crashed about by wave that swirled around immovable rocks. But without the bodily instruments, Migliore’s vision drowned.
 
The company was accompanied on stage by cellist Thea Mesirow who played the Tania Leon’s “Four Pieces for Cello” and composer Alyssa Regent’s “Fortis Meam,” which was commissioned by The Clark for this occasion. The music did spark some interest as the composer called for the cellist to slap, tap and scrap her cello. But it seemed a horrible shame that The Clark, the epitome of refined taste and class, invested in something so halting and weak.
 
None of it was nearly enough to keep interest in mediocrity. The audience was left adrift, grateful for its end.

Dana Michel performed her three-hour solo "MIKE" on Friday night at EMPAC in Troy.

There are a couple of rules in dance that are indisputable -- every dance is too long and solos are even longer. Basically, time, along with space and some decent movement and conceptual ideas, is everything in dance.
 
Thus it was with some trepidation, mainly fear of boredom, that I ventured out to the Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center at Rensselaer on Friday evening. There, Canadian dancer and choreographer Dana Michel was offering the New York premiere of “MIKE,” a three-hour long solo – a feat that is basically unheard of in the dance world.
 
But time is the thing in “MIKE.” And while solos are typically framed by a stage, Michel kept our attention and curiosity peaked by trailing her solo into every nook of EMPAC’s theater – the corners, elevators, bathrooms, staircases, outdoor patios and hallways. The audience, provided with chairs and blankets, tried to follow her trajectory. Even with designated guides placed on three floors, it seems at times impossible with audiences’ members, including me, asking “where is she now?”
 
While the everyone tries to keep up, Michel is revealing her intent – to explore what eats up most of our daily hours – working. And her character is one that labors manually – moving mechanically while two small cases streamed music and sounds, from Beethoven’s “Fleur de Lis” at the start to eerie grunts, pants and groans at the end.
 
Dressed in white floppy socks and a brown suit, with pockets on her vest to carry all of her tools, she appears like a UPS worker – one who is unenthusiastic but gets the job done. She begins her hours long, laborious journey by kicking around her case and two phones while brushing her teeth. She’s getting ready for the day that will include sticking her head under water in the bathroom sink, visiting the water cooler and wrapping and taping a wad of paper and an office chair in brown shipping paper. All this is accented by an occasional, and reserved two-step.
 
Michel’s partner is the work that she appears to take no pleasure in. At times her work/dance seems so strenuous that audience members have to hold themselves back from helping. But the third wall holds up even though the audience is often an arm’s length away.
 
As Michel is in the public spaces of the theater, bystanders often play a part. A jogger runs between the dancer and audience and children skip along behind her making it seem like real life, not theater.
 
“MIKE” also requires Michel to improvise as these real people – like those in the audience – take up chairs she uses as props or they stand in the way of her path forward. She does that seamlessly.
 
Michel’s biggest problem is the ending. I like that she ultimately shipped herself off in a box, symbolizing she is trapped inside the work life. But no one could tell it was over. She finally had to pop her head out of the box, ask the time, just like a real worker might, and tell the audience that was all she was going to do. Maybe it was purposeful, but I don’t think so.
 
One detail that I’m sure most missed – she addresses her wadded ball of paper and office chair to Scotia McLeod – a wealth management firm — a clear sign her labor benefits someone other than herself -- a depressing, but real postscript of our times.

"MIKE" will be repeated at 2 p.m. Saturday, Oct. 5, at EMPAC in Troy.