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What can one say about a producer who schedules four programs with a total of 20 world premieres and gives four evenings to choreographers, two of whom the audience most certainly has never heard of? At the very least, this shows guts and a willingness to trust the artists who’ve been engaged.
Joan Lazarus, the longtime force behind the WestWave Dance Festival, has always embraced risk. She has also shown a singular commitment to local dance, which has not always paid off. For the past few years, the event has struggled to find a new identity. But for this year’s 16th annual fest, Lazarus hit pay dirt. It had been a long time since WestWave attracted such diverse, enthusiastic audiences. Some organizers complained about the paucity of local dancers in the audience. But isn’t this exactly what you want in a festival: to reach beyond the usual crowd?
Not all of the new works, of course, will stand up to repeated scrutiny. If Martt Lawrence’s Rogue Conviviality was embarrassingly amateurish, Kerry Parker’s Aine hit the jackpot in banality. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Marina Fukushima thought that giving her dancers crutches and milquetoast movements would make Dancing to Dis/ability viable. Also disappointing was Paco Gomes and Chimene Pollard’s On Our Way to Somewhere Else. In the past few years, the Brazilian-born Gomes has shown himself to be a technically competent and fluid dance-theater maker with a distinct voice. Here he was treading water. Leslie Stuck, a well-respected composer and first-time choreographer (using movement material suggested by the peripatetic Alex Ketley), should probably stick to music. His Digression was disjointed and badly in need of a trajectory. But then, that’s often what risky behavior is all about.
WestWave featured four full-evening programs, each by one choreographer. The success rate was about par with the rest of the festival. The one real miss was by Christopher K. Morgan, apparently a substitute for a local choreographer who dropped out at the last minute. Morgan is a genially handsome performer with something of a knack for inhabiting characters, as evidenced in the otherwise maudlin The Measure of a Man. As a choreographer, however, his approach to transutf8g material with themes including race and gender into dance theater proved stupefyingly naive. Monica Bill Barnes’s short program hardly qualified for a full evening. However, her astute talent for creating deadpan gestures for two sad-sack women who stumble into Dean Martin’s lugubrious world marks her as a savvy comedian. Her Suddenly Summer Somewhere brimmed with pathos and laughter, a rare gift in dance.
No local comes close to approaching Amy Seiwert’s gutsy approach to new ballet choreography. During her first full-evening program, it was easy to appreciate how her reach has expanded and her artistry deepened in less than a decade. Seiwert showed two world premieres. Beautifully refined, Carefully Assembled Normality was indeed just that. Spooling off into separate trajectories, melting into unison, riding partners on, from, and above the floor, three couples wove through Kevin Volans’s score with the grace and ease of friends at play. Double Consciousness excellently set Charlie Neshyba-Hodges’s stocky virtuosity against the rhythm and the content of Marc Bamuthi Joseph’s poetry.
Formally, the original Kate Weare is a minimalist; she choreographs short solos, duets, and the odd trio. Yet emotionally, she paints on a large scale, exploring love, power, and womanhood. Intricately structured, her pieces started innocently but quickly turned gothic. A tango’s entanglements imprisoned both partners. A loner who thought he had the stage to himself was felled by three female ghosts. The discordant tones in the tender new Duet for the tall Weare and the tiny Leslie Kraus were hardly noticeable, but they were there. The second premiere, Trio, started in a silly, teenybopper mode (hops in unison, wiggled butts, flipped skirts, belly pats). But almost imperceptibly, the game turned nasty as one of the girls became the victim of a vicious play for dominance so vicious it got to the point at which it was almost hard to watch. Weare should try tackling larger forms.
WestWave’s second set of programs offered a mixed repertoire of four approaches to dance: ballet, international, dance theater, and modern. The genres were loosely interpreted; nevertheless, they offered a pleasing, shape-giving frame to each evening’s quintet of works.
Setting his lovely In Fugue on five men and two women allowed Mark Foehringer to reverse common gender relationships. For once, the men starred, and the women supported. Though it started on a strutting, macho note, the piece quickly shifted to a mode of congenial partnering between equals, reminding us that men elegantly dancing with one another is common in many parts of the world. Also intriguing were Christian Burns whipping through seductive yet artificial beauty in Beneath Your Sheltering Hand; Kerry Mehling’s fiercely combative duet, Are You Emotionally Involved; and Stacey Printz’s spatially and emotionally nuanced Birds, Bees and Other Metaphors. The collaboration between video artist Austin Forbord and Brittany Brown Ceres, Corps de Co., resulted in a virtuosic and cheeky game about speed, scale, and timing.
Now for the bad news. WestWave’s budget was so tight this year that the festival could not pay any of the dancers. (Previously, participants shared the house.) Once again, it’s the artists who are the biggest supporters of the arts. Also, fest producer Lazarus has had it; she quit. Is she tired of dance? Of course not. Is she sick of fighting the money battle? You bet. One doesn’t like to think it, but if WestWave should fold for financial reasons, summers in San Francisco will be ever drearier than they so often already are. *
› culture@sfbg.com Who says you have to leave the days of building forts and wearing play clothes behind just because it’s time to "grow up" and get a "real job"? Not Barbara Butler, play professional. The Bay Area artist makes her living building fanciful castles, pirate ships, and tree houses for kids all over the world. And she says her work is just as much fun for her as the results are for her clients. Plus: her office wear? Faded jeans, hiking boots, and a purple T-shirt that says, "Go Outside." So how exactly does someone end up designing miniature lighthouses and two-story play sets as a career? Butler’s fascination with the architecture of play began during her "uproariously fun" childhood in Watertown, New York, where she lived in an eccentric turn-of-the-century house complete with speaking tube, secret hiding places, and seven brothers and sisters (she’s number six) with whom to explore. Much later her two contractor brothers introduced her to the construction trade. And in 1986 in San Francisco she and a friend founded Outer Space Design, a business specializing in creative landscaping and deck design. But it wasn’t until Bobby McFerrin (of "Don’t Worry, Be Happy" fame) commissioned her to build a unique playhouse in his Noe Valley backyard that Butler’s true path became clear. Butler so enjoyed creating a space for McFerrin’s two children an endeavor that combined her love of sculpture, building, color, play, and the outdoors that she decided to do it for a living. "Everyone said that I was crazy thinking I could turn this into a real business," she says. But with the help of her family, she has indeed transformed the art of play into a profitable endeavor. Her sister Suzanne is a company partner and the business manager. Her husband, Jeff, whom she met on the job, coordinates materials, deliveries, and installations. Her brother James does all the drafting, and her niece Gabriella is the resident bookkeeper. With this team behind her, she’s now building 60 custom residential commissions a year, plus two or three public-use projects. Originally, Butler and crew built everything from scratch and on-site. But they’ve since streamlined the process. Butler now has several standard designs for castles, forts, and theaters, as well as play features such as secret escape hatches, jailhouses, two kinds of slides, fire poles, zip lines, climbing walls, and a clubhouse with a mail slot and a who-goes-there peephole. She also has a "template wall," which is filled with irregular shapes and cutouts for achieving her trademark "wicky-wack" look. "Carpenters and builders are great at making right angles but it drives me crazy," she says. The modular redwood and metal structures are assembled by Butler’s team in her 9,000-square-foot South San Francisco studio before being broken down and shipped in flat-panel packs all over the world. The process starts when Butler meets with her pint-size clients (and their generous parents). She likes the experience to be fun from start to finish, so initial meetings tend to be lively and exciting, with everyone talking at once. "No idea is too wild or crazy at this point," she says. Families discuss whether they’d like extras such as a drop table and bench, a double-barrel rotating water cannon, a ship’s wheel, a pulley bucket, a secret safe, or a flagpole with three different flags. One of Butler’s favorites is a wiggly bridge with boards at off angles so you feel like you could fall through (even though you can’t). "It takes some nerve to walk across," she says. "A lot of my designs are about creating illusion and disorientation, which are key to kids." Next the family chooses one of 60 shades of nontoxic stain to be used on the structure. And finally Butler takes a closer look at the space and budget and begins to prioritize. "It’s a very collaborative process," she says. Butler also keeps in mind that kids won’t stay kids forever. She encourages clients to consider a structure with an enclosed clubhouse, for when kids outgrow the slides and swings and enter the "hangout" stage. She’s also designed the playhouses to be bolted into the ground for easy installation and when the kids are gone and the parents want to reclaim their backyard removal. (Though Butler’s team refurbishes, sells, and delivers used play structures to recipients on a long waiting list, most of the playhouses are passed from generation to generation.) Of course, not all of Butler’s structures are just for the kids. She recently built a tree house 18 feet off the ground in Santa Barbara, a commission from a grandfather who confessed to Butler that while it was for his grandkids, he also wanted to be able to read his newspaper up there. "The whole time I was designing, I had this image of an overstuffed leather chair in the corner," Butler says. And as a way of making sure that every structure is as safe as possible, Butler builds according to the same code she once used for decks. "I always say that whatever I build should be able to handle a bunch of drunk adults at night," Butler says. Still, her real joy is in making autonomous, safe play spaces that kids can call their own. "It’s amazing how little interest I have in building adult structures," she says. "If they wanted things like good lookouts and secret passageways, I might consider it."* BARBARA BUTLER (415) 864-6840
Careers and Ed: Working for play



