CONCLUDING IN COMMUNITY

From the moment I enter the Lee Center for the Arts, the performance has already begun. I sit at the edge of the Hedreen–Seattle University’s art gallery that also serves as the theater lobby. Thirteen dancers flock together and independently, filling the gallery. The posters of past theater shows hang as the backdrop. The dancers hum and whistle together, executing mirrored gestures. Choreographed by Cameo Lethem and Nia-Amina Minor, A Score for Remembering: a farewell to the Hedreen Gallery and Lee Center for the Arts feels like a tuning ritual, similar to how musicians in an orchestra prepare before a symphony begins. The moment feels somber, shaped by the dancers’ physical connectivity and soft ambient music by Nala Sinephro. It captures the mood of many theatre arts majors, who are mourning the loss of their “home” in the wake of Seattle University’s plan to tear down the building. Gradually, the dancers guide us into the theater. A quote greets us on the floor as we enter: “The possible has been tried and failed. Now it’s time to try the impossible” – Sun Ra. And we are ready to blast off for Cornish Dance Theater Spring 2026.

The lights come up. Bryce Elazier stands in a green pool of light, his arms draped over the rail of the exposed catwalk. His back is to us. He’s cool, in control, and demands attention with his presence alone. Seven more dancers enter the space—in the rafters, on the stairs, and on the floor. Their focus is direct and confident. The pounding rhythm of the pop soundtrack makes me feel like I’m in a club or at a rave. The energy is electric. I can’t help but bop in my seat. I’m ready to see what unfolds in A365AgainandagainPartygirl365Fallin,SoltreatHimlikeA.Againandagain.365PartyGirl, choreographed by Cameo Lethem. 

The dancers let the music take hold of them. Bodies thrash, pony tails whip, and hips shake as the dancers lose control to the rhythm. I wonder if this movement is the same for every performance or if each dancer responds differently each time. Jackets, gloves, and shirts start to fly off the bodies of the dancers, as if they must shed these layers in order to get free and keep moving. The energy in the room swells as the dancers charge the floor as one, sliding in and out of sharp arm clicks and grounded swings, giving all of themselves.

The lights dim to transition us to the next section of the piece, coming up to reveal Bri Holmes sitting, leaned over and smoking a cigarette like they just finished a 12-hour shift, and I relate to the exhaustion of existing. The exhaustion seems to subside as Holmes turns on a boombox and pumps iron, literally. This scene brings joy and laughter into the audience as the other dancers rejoin on stage. As the music transitions into a more melodic piece, the community of dancers feels reflective. Embracing each other in hugs, closeness, and long looks. They seem less possessed by the music and more in tune with each other, seeing each other, witnessing each other. A sense of care connects them all. It leaves me feeling hopeful that community is still the ultimate power. 

Head to the Sky, choreographed by Nia-Amina Minor, begins as one by one 8 dancers enter the stage. With their gaze skyward, they look up in search of something, even shielding their eyes sometimes as they survey this world they now inhabit. The medley of music by Sun Ra, Marvin Gaye, and Earth, Wind & Fire drives the dancers’ groove. The dancers zigzag between weighted rocks, angular turns, and grounded knee lifts, initiating the choreography. The virtuosity of the movement fills the entire room, in conversation with the layered music. Quick footwork keeps the energy of the piece upbeat, and the joy the dancers bring gets the audience verbally activated.

In a bit of reprieve from the up-tempo, the sonic score goes more orchestral for a moment. I am briefly transported back to the preshow and that tuning feeling. The dancers weave in and out of each other as they lift three different dancers towards the sky. I wonder what made Minor and the dancers decide on this moment to break the rhythmic groove and flow of the choreography. In a way, it replicated the upward gazes from the opening of the piece. But this time felt direct and self assured. 

In a circle at the corner of the stairs, the group watches as several dancers enter the center for a solo moment. Looking on with intent, sometimes even replicating the movement of the person in the center. This moment feels tender as the community of dancers watches in support. They gently come together, layering their hands one on top of the other. But then a voice in the music prompts the dancers to begin searching the theater, coming into the audience and asking if we know where that is coming from. I am not sure what they are looking for, and judging by their different reactions I don’t think they did either. This brought joy and laughter as they charged toward the front of the stage with the rhythm and groove they did in the beginning. This time, it feels bolder, more confident in their command of the layered, intricate choreography and understanding of the moment they are in. The dancers start this piece looking towards the sky with uncertainty, but they leave the piece hand in hand, looking toward each other for the support and care they now have.

Cornish Dance Theater Spring 2026 took place April 10-11,2026 at Lee Center For The Arts. For more information, visit the Cornish College of the Arts at Seattle University Website. The program can be seen HERE. Featured photo by Joseph Lambert.