Is the work accessible? It’s a question that asks who this work is going to be legible to–both culturally and physically. This Saturday, Velocity presented their Research in Performance bill which explored similar questions. Showcasing new works from a selected group of faculty as part of their Seattle Festival of Dance + Improvisation, the show provided an avenue for each artist to share a glimpse of their current research to the community in a relaxed environment. This year featured new works from New York based artist Kayla Hamilton and Washington based artist Corrie Befort. Moriah Evans was originally scheduled to perform as well and was unfortunately unable due to health reasons.

Befort’s Iris Dance/quartet features Befort alongside Hannah Turner, Hendri Wa, and Mary Margaret Moore. Moore enters in all grey with chalk in hand, drawing two perpendicular lines on the floor. The chalk glides smoothly across the marley, creating sharp white lines that divide the stage into quadrants. Befort enters next wielding a long cylindrical tube wrapped in fabric, tied together with string. Shaking the stiff and sculptural object, its edges stretch past her reach and wobble up and down. Traveling towards the center, she lands in a quadrant and begins rolling the tube on the ground like a rolling pin. On her knees, she rocks and thrusts her upper body forward and back. Her ponytail flips in the air as she counts each roll out loud. Wa comes out from the opposite corner in a pink polo, stroking the front of his neck. His hands create reaching and gestural movements as he passes across the chalk lines with ease. Turner pushes and sweeps their legs across the floor on a low level, creating grand circles across the stage. After spiraling across the floor, they land in a quadrant and balance calmly on one leg. Standing tall like a mountain, they look around with their eyes, the lower body balances quiet and still.

With all the dancers introduced, they begin playing, returning to their individual movement motifs and occasionally making contact. Moore and Befort connect at the pelvis traveling across the stage, as Wa lies on his side watching. Turner traces a small box in their hands, moving evenly. The dancers engage with the chalk structure with no clearly defined rules. Sometimes staying within a quadrant, passing over the lines, balancing on them, or brushing them with their feet. Standing alone on stage at the intersecting center point, Moore thrashes on all fours, crawling and reaching like an animal. A sense of calm washes over, they begin turning evenly with small steps. Arms raise to the sky slowly. Befort unearths a long scarf resembling a wooly texture the color of dryer lint. She wraps the fabric around Moore, as they continue stepping and spinning softly. With open arms, Moore stands like a sculpture draped in cloth.
As the lights went out, I found myself craving resolution and a deeper desire to understand this world. Like the boundaries we construct and fabricate in land, the boundaries of the chalk lines felt almost arbitrary. I longed to understand their significance or if there were corresponding rules within the score about engagement with the props or each other. The long scroll-like fabric roll disappears without understanding. No other dancers engage with the scroll and it is never visually revealed to the audience what is inside of it, aside from the grey fabric used at the end. By the end of the piece, the chalk is scuffed and worn, but holds an ephemeral trace of what has happened in the space.
Hamilton’s new work Nearly Sighted / Unearthing the Dark, features Hamilton and two collaborators, August Honey and Nicole McClam. Hamilton extends a folding white mobility cane and begins shuffling around on the unlit stage. Dancing in the dark, we catch glimpses of Hamilton’s light colored clothing swirling softly, while hearing the auditory sensation of the cane swirling, clicking, and swiping across the floor. Hamilton is creating a sensory solo experience that mirrors that of a visual impairment. Now lit by the stage lights, Hamilton begins performing an expressive phrase full of sweeping limbs, flexing biceps, and twisting hips. As she dances, Honey and McClam sit on the side and describe out loud what they are seeing in Hamilton’s movement, as an ASL interpreter relays their descriptions. Hamilton repeats the phrase now describing the movement while dancing. The audience gets a glimpse into the thought process behind the choreography as well as Hamilton’s live thoughts and feelings while dancing. Hamilton’s personal thoughts move from the sensations of clothing or the desires she had while making the phrase, rather than direct reflections of the motions. The descriptions of the movement function not only as a method of making the work more accessible, they simultaneously add to the work itself. The section is layered and earnestly amusing, as Hamilton plays with accessibility as accessory to the work, rather than setback.

Honey glides across the stage on a rollator walker like a figureskater. The three playfully take turns reading out loud and responding to movement prompts like “loud fingertips” and “pregnant horse.” They respond to each other not only with their movement, but also vocally with laughter and sweetness. After modeling this exercise to the audience, they extend the invitation to the crowd. The three call out new prompts and ask the audience to try on the moves staying in their chairs, also noting that participation isn’t mandatory because “we do believe in non-compliance.” As the audience wiggles in their seats, a sea of fists swirl and pump to the prompt “party knuckles.” Seated legs float into the air after the call for “gravity constantly changing.” The three cheer encouragingly. The artists invite a sense of agency to the audience, as well as an accessible entry point. This exchange feels warm as if they are saying with their bodies “come as you are.”
The lights go out again and Hamilton makes a candid ask to the crowd, “I need help finding my mark, can someone use their phone flashlight and help me find it?” Audience members jump to pull out their phone flashlights, shining them towards the stage like a tender moment at a concert. Two people step onto stage and help Hamilton find their green “X” marked on the marley. Hamilton makes sure they get back to their seats safely. A spotlight comes on and Hamilton begins dancing in the light. Quickly, the spotlight shifts to across the room and Hamilton follows, reemerging across the stage in the new pool of light. This escalates quickly as the light keeps shifting like a cruel trick, as Hamilton chases after the light, becoming increasingly frustrated. The work ends with the lights finally coming up, as Hamilton dances with ease in the golden light. The ask for care at the beginning of this section feels deeply honest and powerful. Watching Hamilton ask for care and watching the abundance of people jump to help reminds me that care is not as scarce a resource as we make it out to be. Contrasted quickly, by the chase to become visible, I feel like I am watching the build up of exhaustion and fatigue cumulate from not having one’s needs met.

Hamilton’s work stands out to me as deeply accessible on a multitude of levels. The scenes shared are equally playful and powerful. She demonstrates the frustration of navigating a world not designed for her as well as struggling to make the invisible visible in the final scores. This is contrasted by the earlier scenes inviting the audience to practice care, access, and self determination. Agency remains a common throughline across both works. Following the idea of non-compliance, the dancers in Befort’s work move with an arbitrary randomness. Both of these works tackle agency and desire through very different avenues.
Research in Performance took place Aug 8, 2026 as part of the Seattle Festival of Dance + Improvisation, produced by Velocity Dance Center at 12 Ave Arts. Featured photo: A photo of Hannah Turner in a brown tank top and long dark pants, dancing with arms extended out, standing in a quadrant formed by perpendicular chalk lines on the marley. Photo by Jim Coleman.