Ballet Hispanico’s Vanessa Valecillos, Christopher Bloom and Johan Rivera Mendez (kneeling), rehearsing Show.Girl. All photography by Moris Moreno.
“Being a Latina informs my ideas of femininity, of romance, of family. Growing up watching telenovelas shapes your ideas of drama.”
The template for dance theater has long been a European one, staked out by experimenters like Pina Bausch. Shaped by her Miami upbringing and Latino background, Rosie Herrera offers a new, intrinsically American vision of the genre. The American Dance Festival has been fostering Herrera’s work since 2009, commissioning pieces from her for several summers and presenting her New York City debut last year.
Though she has a BFA in dance performance from the New World School of the Arts, Herrera’s dance life includes hip-hop stints, choreographing for drag houses and dancing on the MTV Video Music Awards. The daughter of a Cuban immigrant father and Nuyorican mother, Herrera, 30, grew up in Hialeah, a Miami-Dade city that’s almost entirely Hispanic. Her ease with pop, club and Latino culture animates surreal pieces like Various Stages of Drowning: A Cabaret, where a woman in a poufy dress has a horrifying encounter with elaborately frosted cakes, and Pity Party, which features a nightclub-heaven sequence.
Herrera drew on a teenage stint as a showgirl in a Little Havana cabaret—strutting in feathered headdresses, acting in salacious skits—to create Show.Girl. for Ballet Hispanico, her first major piece for a company besides her own Rosie Herrera Dance Theatre. Jordan Levin spoke to Herrera as she prepared for the Miami premiere.
You were only 16 when you started dancing in a cabaret. What was it like?
It was a huge risk for me. I was crazy shy about my body—a little hip-hop girl with cornrows and Malcolm X glasses. You were in a bejeweled bikini, but there were a lot of powerful female role models. There were all these Cuban jokes and references that were an education for me about my culture. In this context it wasn’t about female exploitation, it was about glorification of the female form. You were literally creating a goddess.
Above: Herrera, a former showgirl herself, demonstrates a move.
How did it affect your dance theater work?
It taught me a work ethic and the basics of being an entertainer. High-quality craft can be transformative. Awareness of the audience is really important to me—to invite them into your process. Cabaret taught me the power of humor and how you can utilize humor to manipulate the audience.
What are you trying to explore in Show.Girl.?
In the context of these cabaret shows the woman is a vehicle to display the costume, to frame other images or situations onstage. They are never the subject of what’s happening. If you think about what it means to constantly be framing something in service to something else—that presents an idea about femininity and feminism I find really interesting.
Your pieces can be quite visceral—shocking to some. Where does that come from?
I’m a surrealist. I can be like a child, very giddy and happy, and I can be very dark. You can’t have one side without having the other. It’s not something I save for the stage; it’s how I see life.
Above: BH’s Jamal Rashann Callender.
Is Pina Bausch an influence?
When I was starting to create work at New World, I had long hair, I was doing pieces with gowns and my teacher was like, “You’re so Pina, baby.” I’m really honored by the comparison. But you could not have two more different people than Pina Bausch, this skinny ballerina from Germany, and Rosie Herrera, a big-booty hip-hop girl from Hialeah. I wouldn’t say I’m influenced by her. But I’m grateful because she opened up and redefined the space for what is dance.
What did it mean for you that Ballet Hispanico is a Latino company?
It’s like my second home in New York. Everyone speaks Spanish or broken Spanish. One of the things we talked about was how our parents would sing us English lullabies in their bastardized Spanish. The fact that the company focuses on Latino artists is really important because we’re such a humongously misrepresented group of people in the U.S. There was an article about one of my films where the reviewer talked about how it depicted my journey coming here on a raft from Cuba. I’m American! I was born here.
Above: “The BH dancers are real pros—they get it, they do it, they’re ready to go,” Herrera says.
Jennifer Kahn knew the theater industry could do better. As a professional stage manager for 17 years she worked on regional, off-Broadway and Broadway shows. Nearly each time a show closed, something unsettling happened: "I would watch them throw away our shows. All of the beautiful artwork by my friends in the paint shop would go in the trash." The elaborate backdrops? Gone.
But she had an idea: What if the material used in the backdrops and legs could be upcycled into something new? And what if theater lovers could literally keep a piece of a beloved show?
"The show must go on" may be a platitude we use to get through everything from costume malfunctions to stormy moods. But when it came to overcoming a literal hurricane, Houston Ballet was buoyed by this mantra to go from devastated to dancing in a matter of weeks—with the help of Harlequin Floors, Houston Ballet's longstanding partner who sprang into action to build new floors in record time.
For decades the name Alicia Alonso has been virtually synonymous with Ballet Nacional de Cuba, the company she co-founded in Havana in 1948. Alonso died on October 17, just shy of what would have been her 99th birthday. In recent years, she had stepped back from day-to-day decision-making in the company. As if preparing for the future, in January, the company's leading ballerina, 42-year-old Viengsay Valdés, was named deputy director, a job that seems to encompass most of the responsibilities of a traditional director. Now, presumably, she will step into her new role as director of the company. Her debut as curator of the repertory comes in November, when the troupe will perform three mixed bills selected by her at the Gran Teatro de la Habana Alicia Alonso. The following has been translated from a conversation conducted in Spanish, Valdés' native tongue.
New York City Ballet principal Sara Mearns wasn't sure she was strong enough. A ballerina who has danced many demanding full-length and contemporary roles, she was about to push herself physically more than she thought was possible.
"I said, 'I can't. My body won't,' " she says. "He told me, 'Yes, it will.' "
She wasn't working with a ballet coach, but with personal trainer Joel Prouty, who was asking her to do squats with a heavier barbell than she'd ever used.