The Weight of What Was

I walk into Yaw Theater and remember the theme of the choreographic work I am about to witness. I hold my breath in anticipation. Impossible Maps promises to be a ride through the unpredictable landscape of grief. Choreographed by C. Asa Call with contributions from the dancers, this evening-length piece examines the journey of loss, what comes after death, and the complexities of continuing to live through the midst of grief. As someone on her own grieving journey, I’m not sure if I’m ready. But in a way, it is exactly what I need.

At the start of the show, I feel a calmness wash over me as ambient drone-like music begins and rising lights reveal one dancer lying on their side before a tapestry-like backdrop created by Julie Alexander. Six other dancers enter the space in gathered and pleated dresses. There is no rush in their intent as they share slight touches and transport wooden boxes onto the stage with care.  A sheer parachute-style fabric connects them–a giant, billowing skirt worn by multiple dancers. I am taken back to recess, as the dancers run underneath the fabric and jump off the boxes. The music swells, and the ensemble’s jumps and quick footwork mimic the plucking of the strings. The stakes begin to feel higher as loud gasps from the dancers become frequent. It seems like they are trying to catch their breath before a panic attack.

In a striking moment, Madeleine Gregor is left alone on stage, her breath and jerking upper body motion manifest and bubble into full-on sobbing. And at that instant, my heart connects to Gregor’s. I understand the raw emotion. I feel the gut-wrenching, guttural depths of this sorrow. The wailing simmers and humming fills the air. She catches her breath, stares at the box, and softly whispers to it as she carries it close to her heart through the backdrop. I almost cry with Gregor because she portrays the experience of losing something you can never get back. The music changes, and the orchestral strings take over, the initial heaviness and despair briefly lift. The dancers slide and swoop between each other. Angular leg and arm positions followed by extended balances feel like a deep exhale and release. Sara Caplan traces across the backdrop in the arc of a doorway and walks through; to me, that symbolizes transitioning. Moving into whatever comes next.

A low moan fills the air. It feels like a mourner’s moan, filled with agony. Adorned with a pearl face piece and shining costume, Devon Muñoz stands in majesty atop the wooden boxes. Unfurling red fabric strips from under her eyes and palms of her hands— she is a deity or guide welcoming the dancers in. Munoz moves to the center of the stage and holds the fabric strips above her head as seven dancers circle with the ends. Like a maypole dance, the dancers wrap and unwrap the fabric around their waists. Fully immersed in this new place, the sadness lifts—but only for a moment. Half of the dancers let go of the fabric and move away, looking on with fear as the others stay attached, pulled away by Munoz.

The dancers reappear in the midst of fog, each draped with a sheer brown shroud, making me think of the afterlife. Joining together one by one in a line, they repeat a communal footwork phrase accentuated by hip motions and quick head turns. I feel I am witnessing a transformation. As the stage fills with haze, the dancers break away from the chain-gang-like phrase, crumbling to the ground. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, the dancers shed the fabric, performing heavy-grounded phrases emphasized with banging head gestures, inhaling gasps of air, mouthing out words like I love you. It is an intimate and personal moment getting to witness this unfold. I feel like they are remembering and connecting to the spirit of the person no longer physically here. Individually, they run to the front of the stage, taking in deep gasps of air, their hands reaching above them. They fall back into the ground, unable to catch their breath, to catch any kind of rhythm. With outstretched hands and irregular gasps from all the dancers, I am left feeling like they are doing all they can to make it one more breath.

This piece deeply resonates with me as I journey through grief. I am able to see the out-of-body feeling reflected back at me through movement. Grief is so uncertain. You feel like you’re watching it happen. You feel like you’re in a soap opera. Those moments when you’re just gut-wrenchingly crying or those moments where you feel like, What’s the point? What else is there? How will I make it? C. Asa Call represents that through this work. This piece shows the ebbs and flows of grief, how it’s not just a one-way journey where time passes and you’re cured. Grief is complicated–there are moments of love, reflection, and calm entangled along the way. Through movement and collaboration, Call and their performers crafted a moment to zoom into the complex emotional response to grief and the profound effect it has on you forever. 

Impossible Maps ran October 17-18, 2025 at Yaw Theater. Here is the link to the Digital Program.