Ballet at the Quarry: Light and Shadow, West Australian Ballet

Quarry Amphitheatre, Perth, February 7

A woman climbs, higher and higher, on a path made by the bodies of other dancers. Later she will descend and fall, but her head will be caught by an enigmatic figure in black. Here, and at every point in Graeme Murphy’s deeply affecting Air and Other Invisible Forces, there are intimations of death, loss and grief but there’s transcendence too. Love blooms, life continues its inevitable cycle.

One of Murphy’s great attributes is that he never shies away from emotion. There are repeated motifs of cradled heads, arms encircling bodies, individuals enclosed protectively or physically supported by the group. A woman nuzzles a man’s back; he walks his fingers towards her. This is what being truly human looks like.

Chihiro Nomura and the dancers of West Australian Ballet in Air and Other Invisible Forces. Photo by Sergey Pevnev (3)

Chihiro Nomura and dancers of West Australian Ballet in Graeme Murphy’s Air and Other Invisible Forces. Photo: Sergey Pevnev

Made in 1999 to Giya Kancheli’s moving lament Mourned by the Wind, Air and Other Invisible Forces still goes straight to the heart, even in the reduced form seen in West Australian Ballet’s 2020 Quarry season. There will be an extended staging (although not the complete work) in Perth mid-year, with the added bonus of Gerard Manion’s gorgeous designs that were no less than another dancer in the piece.

It will be a rare treat. I can’t think of another Australian company that has programmed dances Murphy made originally for SDC, apart from selections performed by The Australian Ballet in its 2018 Murphy tribute.

The Murphy extract opened the Quarry triple bill, followed by the world premiere of Dutch choreographer Wubkje Kuindersma’s Architecture of Hope. It’s a good-looking, well-constructed piece for four couples to the music of Ezio Bosso, although somewhat old-fashioned in its view of gender roles. I don’t really want to see women lie at men’s feet or flung over shoulders as if unconscious. But it’s still relatively early in Kuindersma’s career and she clearly has lots of good ideas to go with the more time-worn ones.  I particularly enjoyed the bounteous curtseys to the audience, the most obvious expression of Kuindersma’s thesis – that choreography “creates a space in which human connection is established – not only between the dancers themselves but also between the dancers and then audience”.

Matthew Lehmann and Dayana Hardy Acuna in In Light and Shadow. Photo by Sergey Pevnev (3)

Matthew Lehmann and Dayana Hardy Acuña in In Light and Shadow

Krzysztof Pastor’s In Light and Shadow is a rip-snorter to the music of Bach and an uplifting end to the evening. After a lovely pas de deux to the aria from the Goldberg Variations, 16 dancers whizz about joyously to the Orchestral Suite No 3, contemporary ballet and the baroque finding a whole lot in common and having the best time.

On opening night the WAB women shone brightest. Best of the best were Dayana Hardy Acuña, Candice Adea, Carina Roberts, the ever-striking Polly Hilton and Glenda Garcia Gomez superb in what will always be thought of as the Janet Vernon role in Air. Chihiro Nomura was divine in Murphy’s and Pastor’s works. Her artistry just grows and grows.

 Ballet at the Quarry ends on February 29

Grand Finale, Hofesh Shechter Company

Sydney Opera House, January 31.

Death is ever-present in Hofesh Shechter’s deeply moving Grand Finale, and so is an unquenchable lust for life. The two conditions are irrevocably twinned. We are born and we die, of that much we can be certain. As anyone who has seen earlier Shechter works will know, the Israeli-born choreographer is not one to take things with a shrug. Here he storms and rages against the dying of the light, to which designer Tom Visser gives such eloquent substance in Grand Finale. Shechter’s indomitable band of men and woman are as often as not seen as indistinct figures in a sulphurous vapour, frequently pulling a body to who knows where.

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Hofesh Shechter Company in Grand Finale. Photo: Prudence Upton

When they come together as a group they move with desperate energy and breath-taking ferocity. The language is that of folk dance, redolent of community, heritage and tradition, but in this context there’s also danger. Fists are shaken at the sky, arms and legs pump like pistons and breasts are beaten. From time to time the group freezes like a herd of gazelles scenting lions on the hunt, but you can feel in this stillness an air of exaltation too. Nothing is ever simple.

Grand Finale is suffused with loss and anguish, although this being Shechter there are flashes of mordant humour. Near the end of the first half the score – of Shechter’s own composition, and it’s thrilling  – comes up with a surprise in the form of Lehár’s Merry Widow Waltz. To this point there has been a potent mix of live playing from a roving five-member band of five and recorded sound, the former offering the consolations of melody and the latter drenched with foreboding. And then there’s that waltz, injecting a dose of sentimentality, or perhaps it could just be ordinariness, into this blasted place. It’s a very Beckettian touch. 

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Hofesh Shechter’s Grand Finale. Photo: Rahi Rezvani

Grand Finale does have a few unexpected, most welcome, touches of tenderness and connection and there is even fun to be had when the dancers mill around the musicians as if at a party. Nothing can stop the fade to black but there can be moments of grace and acceptance. One mental picture keeps returning to me, that of two men bowing elaborately and then falling. It might be the end of days but at least you can go down with a flourish. Grand Finale’s darkness is almost absolute but salutary and Shechter’s company of dancers exhilarating. It is a soul-stirring experience.

Ends February 2.

Colossus, Stephanie Lake Company

Carriageworks, Sydney Festival, January 16

The short Sydney Festival season of Stephanie Lake’s Colossus has ended but the show is by no means over. Next month it will be seen at the Perth Festival and very likely beyond. Lake has said there are possible international engagements to come. Colossus premiered at the Melbourne Fringe in 2018 and last year featured in the Melbourne International Arts Festival program. This, obviously, is what gets known as a festival piece; something ambitious that needs the resources of a large organisation behind it. Colossus was choreographed for more than 40 dancers. No further explanation is needed. Well perhaps a little explanation. Colossus is usually described as having 50 dancers but it’s a handful fewer according to the cast sheet. 

Colossus. Credit Mark Gambino (1)

The Melbourne cast in Stephanie Lake’s Colossus. Photo by Mark Gambino

Whatever the number, it’s a lot. It’s rare to see an independent choreographer have the luxury of such forces at her disposal, although Lake has previously shown she can handle them. Her terrific piece for Queensland Ballet’s 2017 Bespoke program,  Chameleon, proved that. Not that she’s any slouch with small forces either, as Double Blind showed in 2016.

Colossus starts in stillness. As the audience enters the dancers are already present, lying motionless on their backs, arranged in a circle. There is a thunderous clap and scores of arms and heads are raised in unison. Energy transfers from Robin Fox’s heartbeat-like score to the bodies and from one body to the next. Everyone is part of the pack, a separate being and at the same time a collective entity, like a flock of birds in flight or a herd of zebra on the move, the one member of the group always knowing where the others are in relation to themselves and acting in concert.

Their black attire looks self-effacing against the bright white surrounds and even though each costume (designed by Harriet Oxley) is different – a dress here, shorts there, meshes, cutouts, straps and so on – the overwhelming sense is of anonymity. Yes, some figures are taller, shorter or more muscular than others but one will never really know these people, even when Lake pulls a single person or a couple from the mass. They emerge and are then subsumed. 

Colossus. Credit Mark Gambino (7)

The Melbourne cast of Colossus. Photo by Mark Gambino

Several times Lake’s formal organisation of dancers into circles and lines explodes into a kind of chaos one could perhaps designate as freedom, but it looks as chilling as Colossus’s highly structured mass movements of people obeying disembodied instructions, ferocious marching, a mob chasing one person. 

Lake does allow a few flashes of independence. In one brief section in the middle of this 50-minute work the dancers suddenly break ranks to mingle and chatter amongst themselves, as if taking a short breather. It’s a reminder that they are indeed human, doing what comes naturally, delightfully relaxed and cheerful. And as the piece nears its end, with the simplest of means Lake changes the atmosphere to one of understanding and acceptance within the group and, finally, individuality. 

Colossus. Credit Mark Gambino (4)

The Melbourne cast of Colossus. Photo by Mark Gambino

Integral to this optimistic conclusion are Fox’s sound design and Bosco Shaw’s eloquent lighting. Fox’s electronic scores are often uncompromisingly tough and spiky. Here there’s a more human quality, particularly in the incorporation of the dancers’ breathing and the percussive possibilities of their bodies. From Shaw there is a design that from time to time softens the harsh glare of black versus blinding white with illuminations that throw ghostly shadows. It’s a beautiful effect, but more than that. It speaks of the spirit within, no matter how oppressive, regimented or controlled life may seem.

Perth Festival, February 19-23

Hansel & Gretel, Royal New Zealand Ballet

Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre, Auckland, December 5.

It is no small thing to make a full-length narrative ballet that wins its place in a company’s repertoire. Many are attempted and many end up as red lines on a balance sheet unless sets and costumes can be sold or repurposed. Most happily, Loughlan Prior’s Hansel & Gretel for Royal New Zealand, his first full-length commission, looks like a keeper and justifies artistic director Patricia Barker’s appointment of him last year as RNZB Choreographer in Residence.

Southern hemisphere companies are certainly not averse to a season of Nutcracker at Christmas time but few – Queensland Ballet is an exception – want to fill a precious slot every year with a winter-wonderland ballet in summer. (QB’s artistic director, Li Cunxin, was at the opening night performance in Auckland so don’t be surprised if Hansel & Gretel turns up in Brisbane at some point.) It’s safe to say, though, that companies definitely want a family-friendly production leading into the festive season and Hansel & Gretel fits the bill. Purists may tut-tut that Prior excises the familiar, ultra-dark seam of cruelty embedded in later versions of the Brothers Grimm tale. The decision robs the narrative of the enlivening frisson of fear and there’s no denying it’s a loss. The upside? No nightmares for the little ones.

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Kirby Selchow as Gretel in Loughlan Prior’s Hansel & Gretel. Photo: Stephen A’Court

All would agree that Kate Hawley’s designs look a million dollars under Jon Buswell’s lighting. Life in town is seen in moody monochrome and the enchanted forest where Hansel and Gretel take their rest after running away from home glows gently in gauzy tones. After interval Hawley ups the ante, and how, as Gretel and Hansel (which is what the story really should be called) fall into the clutches of a Witch whose effervescence is boundless. All those luridly coloured cakes and sweets to blame, no doubt.

New Zealand composer Claire Cowan’s new score is scrumptious enough to eat too, with a big, swelling film-score quality that supports the framing of the ballet as a silent movie. Cowan’s writing is as colourful as Hawley’s designs. It features unusual combinations of instruments and flavours drawn from eclectic sources – tango, Weimar cabaret, jazz – and combines them to make music that’s occasionally too rich for the blood but has all the adventurousness, romance, vigour and humour the story demands. Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra sounded wonderful with Hamish McKeich at the helm.

Prior’s choreography is most conventional in the first section, in which the good fortune of elegant townsfolk is contrasted with the poverty of Gretel and Hansel’s family. The parents are deeply loving, as a long – too long – pas de deux shows. It’s attractive but doesn’t fully earn its keep. When the children find their way to the forest things get more interesting choreographically, even if again dramatic balance would be better served by shortening the Dew Fairies’ dances.

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Hansel and Gretel, The Sandman and Dew Fairies. Photo: Stephen A’Court

Once in the Witch’s lair, however, Prior has a firm grip on what is arguably one of dance’s most difficult assignments: to make ballet genuinely funny. It’s beautifully controlled mayhem all the way with the limelight-hogging diva and her entourage of Pink-Iced Gingerbread Men, chorus-line witches and slinky Food People. There are even jazz hands. Bless.

The company looked in tip-top form at the Auckland opening. Mother and Father were in the expert hands of Nadia Yanowsky and Joseph Skelton, Kirby Selchow’s Gretel was an engagingly sparky girl and Shaun James Kelly’s Hansel an inquisitive lad who still needed the comfort of his toy bunny. Katherine Precourt hammed it up hilariously as The Ice Cream Witch (that’s how she gets lures kids)  and Paul Mathews as her gleefully black-hearted true self, The Transformed Witch, could have a glittering career in panto in the future should he wish. In a ballet that offers women the strongest roles, Mayu Tanigaito swept all before her as the virtuosic Queen of the Dew Fairies with Forsythesque attack, drama and danger while Allister Madin, on leave from Paris Opera Ballet this year, endowed King of the Dew Fairies with sleek POB elegance.

And speaking of sweeping, there was a delightful cameo for children as the birds who ruin Gretel’s marking of the way back home. Here the breadcrumbs weren’t eaten. They were cleared away with brooms wielded by youngsters with adorable beaked hoods.

Hansel & Gretel transfers to Bruce Mason Centre, Auckland, on December 13 for three performances, ending December 14.

New Breed, Sydney Dance Company

Carriageworks, Sydney, December 6

The mysteries of dance and dancemaking are great. What drives the need to watch this person closely and not that one? Why does a work speak to something deep within while another is superficially entertaining? How is it that one is engaged intellectually and emotionally with one piece of dance while finding another pleasing enough in the moment but forgotten shortly after?

It is, of course, the job of the critic to analyse these matters and build an argument. It’s important, too, to convey a sense of the occasion so the reader may come away thinking they’d rather like the piece the writer did not rate highly, or would rather remove their own appendix than endure the work so lavishly praised.

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Holly Doyle (foreground) in Creeper by Lauren Langlois. Photo: Pedro Greig

A program such as Sydney Dance Company’s New Breed (or Queensland Ballet’s Synergy, or The Australian Ballet’s Bodytorque) bring these thoughts into even greater focus than usual. This is where new work is presented, sometimes by experienced choreographers and often by relative or total neophytes. It’s a given that all pieces are danced spectacularly well by company members. The works may not have much – or anything – in the way of sets but they will be professionally lit and costumed. Nothing will last more than about 25 minutes and some much less. There are always four or sometimes five works on the program, often coming from incredibly different directions. Variety is a given and because the viewer is unlikely to be deeply familiar with any choreographer’s work the element of surprise can be great. You’re not necessarily going to like everything but almost certain to come away satisfied that you got your money’s worth. Which, because New Breed tickets were $35, you most certainly did.

Repertoire building is not the primary goal of these programs – their focus is on giving choreographers an opportunity to develop their craft – but bringing more experienced independent choreographers to a wider audience can be beneficial to both sides. New Breed is where SDC artistic director Rafael Bonachela found Gabrielle Nankivell’s Wildebeestand Melanie Lane’s WOOF, which he then put into mainstage seasons. On the development front, Bodytorque is where TAB nurtured Alice Topp, now a resident choreographer, and before her Tim Harbour, ditto. Rising star Jack Lister got his start at QB in its studio presentations, he recently choreographed for Birmingham Royal Ballet’s main program which was seen in Birmingham and at Sadlers Wells, and is now transferring to Brisbane’s Australian Dance Collective (formerly Expressions Dance Company) where he will be both dancer and choreographer from next year.

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Chloe Leong in In Walked Bud by Davide Di Giovanni. Photo: Pedro Greig

So what of this year’s New Breed? There are four works, two by SDC company members Davide Di Giovanni and Ariella Casu and the others by Lauren Langlois and Josh Mu, both of whom are old hands in the independent contemporary dance scene.

Di Giovanni’s In Walked Bud, a dance for two women and a man to the music of Thelonius Monk, looked sophisticated and fun. Guy Hastie dressed Holly Doyle and Chloe Leong in to-die-for black unitards with cheeky pink fringing on one leg, Alexander Berlage lit the stage with expanding ovals of light, unlit it with a handful of blackouts and threw shadows with backlighting. Doyle, Leong and Luke Hayward were Hollywood glamorous and were almost enough compensation for a lumpy structure that had audiences at sea about whether the piece had ended or was continuing.

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Sydney Dance Company in Ariella Casu’s Arise for New Breed. Photo: Pedro Greig

Casu’s Arise was clearly heartfelt but its territory is well-worn. A group of nine dancers was at first aggressive, frantic, robotic and impassive in tight shiny hoodies (Aleisa Jelbart designed, as she did three of the four New Breed works). When they shed this dark upper garment it was if they were reborn into a state of innocence and unworldliness.

Josh Mu’s Zero, which ended the program, was danced to the energising beat of Huey Benjamin’s electronic score. While it perhaps didn’t fully convey Mu’s theme of humanity teetering on the edge of existence, the large group of 11 dancers made the piece zing from go to whoa and hyperactive Chloe Young, intriguingly hiding much of the time behind a long veil of hair, threw herself into the moment and consumed space and energy as if there were no tomorrow. Emily Seymour’s superbly controlled rotations while lying on the floor were less easy to fit into the picture but were quite magical.

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Sydney Dance Company in Josh Mu’s Zero. Photo: Pedro Greig

Which leaves Creeper, by Lauren Langlois. At 25 minutes her piece for four women was the longest (by a few minutes) of the evening’s works. It was also the only one that to me felt fully formed and realised. Only in Creeper did I feel any curiosity about who these people were and what they felt.

The immediate impression was of a strange, unsettling place and restless, unsettled people. Berlage’s lighting (he worked on all four pieces) at first gave the stage a light green tinge and later a purply wash; eerie or sickly, depending on your interpretation. Jason Wright’s sound design was equally elusive and disorienting. The women – Jesse Scales, Ariella Casu, Holly Doyle and Chloe Leong, all memorable – stood apart from one another although the focus was on Scales, moving slowly as the others moved even more slowly, each apparently with her own thoughts. Staggering steps brought them together, stuttering, ungainly, awkward, even ugly, but affecting. This is what the internal conflict and anguish we usually hide beneath a polite exterior look like.

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Jesse Scales (centre) with Ariella Casu (and Chloe Leong in Creeper. Photo: Pedro Greig

The woman needed one another even as they also took their own paths, looking for – who knows what? It could be consolation in difficult times, the strength of the group, or the basic drive to survive even though the world is a blasted desert. In some ways Creeper could be a companion piece to Antony Hamilton’s unforgettable Keep Everything (2014), in which Langlois performed, brilliantly. There’s the same fractured, extreme physicality and interest in how technology challenges the whole of humanity and our personal interactions with others. That said, Creeper is very much its own work, with much greater emphasis on the possibility of emotional engagement. I could see it again and again, for the way the women huddled together for comfort; that repeated gesture of raising a foot behind them and brushing it with a hand; the phenomenal Scales’s intense upwards gaze that searched the universe; and so much more.

The Nutcracker, The Australian Ballet

Sydney Opera House, November 30.

The Australian Ballet doesn’t have an annual tradition of presenting The Nutcracker, although on present indications it could. The ballet doesn’t have as tight a grip on the public (or companies’ bottom lines) as it does in the United States but this year’s Nutcracker was pretty much sold out before it opened while other popular entertainments in Sydney are struggling.

TAB has two versions of Nutcracker in its repertoire. Graeme Murphy’s 1992 Nutcracker – The Story of Clara is a wonderful memory piece set during a hot Melbourne Christmas. For a more conventional take, TAB turned to Peter Wright’s 1990 Birmingham Royal Ballet version, giving the Australian premiere in 2007. Audiences loved it from the start, and it’s the Wright production currently packing out the Sydney Opera House.

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Benedicte Bemet as Clara in The Nutcracker. Photo: Daniel Boud

John F. McFarlane’s designs are delectable and are a huge part of the production’s enduring success. There’s inevitably a round of applause when a giant flying goose carries Clara to the Kingdom of Sweets and all the costumes, from Clara’s floaty white party frock to her mother’s spectacular red gown and the intense pinks and purples of the Flowers’ gorgeous tutus, greatly please the eye.

Wright plays a straight bat with the story. It’s Christmas Eve, the Stahlbaums give a party at which the magician Drosselmeyer entertains the guests with mechanical dancing dolls and a couple of tricks. Clara is given the gift of a Nutcracker doll, she falls asleep at midnight and the magic begins.

At 15 – the age is specified – Wright’s Clara is a little older than some. She’s by no means fully mature but has spark and a lively mind, brought to vivid life by newly minted principal artist Benedicte Bemet on opening night. A pivotal moment comes when the Nutcracker is transformed into the Prince at the end of the skirmish between giant rats and toy soldiers. He greets Clara with great courtesy; she views him with the wonder of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. One could say the Prince does very little here, except that he is opening the door to a world of life-changing growth and imagination. Senior artist Jarryd Madden was the epitome of grace and chivalry. He was less imposing in his grand pas with Amber Scott’s Sugar Plum Fairy, both dancing more correctly than radiantly. But ah, that earlier moment …

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Jarryd Madden in The Nutcracker. Photo: Daniel Boud

Other delights came with soloist Sharni Spencer’s all-conquering Snow Fairy and the appearance of TAB founding member Colin Peasley. He retired, sort of, when the company celebrated its 50th anniversary in 2012. Now 85, he played Clara’s Grandfather and looks to be on his way towards matching the late Frederic Franklin’s feat of taking small parts into his 90s.

One has to be happy that the Chinese Dance has been somewhat modified to remove the hideous finger-pointing and head-waggling that made it so distasteful but it really needs a complete overhaul. While it’s no longer insupportable, it is dull. Very, very dull. The slinky Arabian Dance, which presumably is supposed to conjure the sensual perfume of the mysterious Middle East or some such thing, could also do with a rethink.

There will be no Nutcracker next year, which is artistic director David McAllister’s last (an announcement on his successor is expected by April). Interestingly, he ends his reign with something of a gamble, a new production of The Happy Prince, based on the Oscar Wilde story. It opens in Brisbane in early 2020, will be seen in Melbourne in August and September and closes out the year, and McAllister’s tenure, in Sydney in November and December.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way. Choreographer Graeme Murphy was scheduled to deliver The Happy Prince this year but illness prevented him from completing the work and a quick shuffle ensued. Perhaps it was the universe speaking. A new Murphy ballet to end McAllister’s two decades at the helm of TAB completes a circle: the first ballet McAllister commissioned was Murphy’s Swan Lake, a huge success that was performed nationally and internationally almost every year for more than a decade.

The Nutcracker ends in Sydney on December 18.

Expressions Dance Company becomes Australian Dance Collective

Brisbane’s Expressions Dance Company has a new name to go with its new leadership. Amy Hollingsworth, who became artistic director of EDC at the beginning of 2019, announced at her 2020 season launch that the 35-year-old contemporary company will be known as Australian Dance Collective.

Hollingsworth is the third artistic director in the company’s history, following Natalie Weir and Maggi Sietsma. The former leaders supported yesterday’s move, with Sietsma saying the company she founded with Abel Valls had “always been a collaborative venture”.  Australian Dance Collective chair Marian Gibney called the change a “natural evolution” for the company. “Amy is a passionate curator, with a clear vision around harnessing shared energies and imaginations to produce thrilling dance works and to nurturing a love of dance in our community.”

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Amy Hollingsworth, artistic director of Australian Dance Collective. Photo: David Kelly

The Expressions board raised the possibility of changing the company’s name when she started, Hollingsworth says. “We knew we wanted a name that was descriptive, not evocative. I feel very strongly that the way we can connect to society and capture the imaginations of many people is to have a really inclusive hive of diverse artistic voices. I believe the strongest kind of leadership is listening to the people you work with and including them in the decision-making.”

At the launch Hollingsworth in Brisbane said Australian Dance Collective was committed to being “collectively extraordinary”. “Working collectively gives us like-minded individuals and visionaries to debate with, ensuring our ideas are robust and that our collaborations crackle with artistic energy. I dream of creating an environment that generates exhilarating dance to capture the imaginations of many.”

“Contemporary dance has to evolve, it has to change and that’s a really, really healthy thing,” Weir says. “I think the new name Australian Dance Collective is beautiful and the idea of being ‘collectively extraordinary’ is a fantastic vision for the future of the company.”

Hollingsworth’s 2020 program starts with a triple bill that will be a permanent part of future programming, except in years when international touring may take precedence. “I have some big things in the pipeline,” she says. The triple bill will feature a local or younger artist, an established Australian dancemaker and an international work.

Next year’s choreographers are Jack Lister, Melanie Lane and Hofesh Shechter. Lister has made extremely well-received works for Queensland Ballet, where he was also a dancer. His departure from QB was announced recently. Lister’s A Brief Nostalgia, commissioned by Birmingham Royal Ballet, was staged in Birmingham in September and at London’s Sadlers Wells in October. From next year Lister will also dance with Australian Dance Collective. Lane scored a big success with WOOF earlier this year for Sydney Dance Company and will make a new work for Brisbane. Shechter is one of the biggest names in international contemporary dance; his early work Cult – a piece Hollingsworth has danced in – will receive its Australian premiere.

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A promotional image for Australian Dance Collective. Photo: Justin Ridler

Hollingsworth continues the Chinese Australian Dance Exchange Project established by Weir with, Hollingsworth points out, connections made by Sietsma. Next year Australian Dance Collective will work with Shenzhen-based Round House Dance Company. Shenzhen has been a sister city of Brisbane since 1992. Hollingsworth is also deeply committed to the company’s Youth Ensemble, a group of 30 people aged 15 to 18. It will have a work created for it and perform a piece with the main company.

Half of Hollingsworth’s complement of six dancers will be new next year. Jake McLarnon, Bernhard Knauer and Josephine Wiese remain and will be joined by Lister, Marlo Benjamin and former Australian Dance Theatre member Lonii Garnons-Williams.

“I love gathering around me like-minded people with whom I can have robust conversations about the work we’re going to do,” Hollingsworth says. “I want a home of true collaboration that’s vibrant, welcoming, and dedicated to shaping and nourishing the craft. I want us to energise each other.”

Australian Dance Collective’s 2020 season opens with the triple bill Three on April 1 at QPAC’s Playhouse Theatre.