by Karen Backstein
Even with two male choreographers, the accent seemed on women at the Paul Taylor Dance Company. A show last November at Lincoln Center closed with a Taylor favorite, Company B, but began with a tribute to an early female pioneer of solo dance followed by another woman’s solo. Resident Choreographer Lauren Lovette contributed a dance from 2022 as well for a program that felt not only balanced, but gave us a varied look at women’s work.
Jody Sperling created Vive La Loïe! “in homage to Loïe Fuller,” the groundbreaking dancer/choreographer turned toast of Paris for her innovative lighting and rivers of fabric. Though far less known now than her contemporary, Isadora Duncan, in her time she was equally influential and probably more popular. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec created posters of her performances at the Folies Bergère.
Sperling used a single dancer, Jessica Ferretti, to bring Fuller and her visual effects to life. (David Ferri did the lighting, which was nearly an equal partner.) Standing on a platform, Ferretti controlled volumes of white material connected to her arms almost like wings. She began manipulating it, whirling, sometimes spreading one arm out to the side, sometimes moving both. A rainbow of light suffused her, as the fabric billowed into a tornado-like funnel. Then, while the stage was bathed in red, Ferretti slowed, raising her arms. She knelt, rose, or did barrel turns, swirling the material as the light shifted to turquoise, then purple. At the height of the piece, dancer, dress, and light all became one, the woman metamorphosing into a mysterious fluorescent being made of diaphanous silk. It may have seemed simple on the surface, but it demanded incredible skill and stamina to make the effects magical. If Helen of Troy was the face that launched a thousand ships, Fuller was the body that launched a thousand imitators, many of whom became the subject of early cinema. (Before color film, the images had to be hand-painted.) In fact, it was the presence of so many copycats that likely dimmed her light. It became difficult to focus on her invention and artistry, even if she was first and best, when others were creating knock offs.
In some ways, it’s impossible to recreate or even imagine the impact Fuller made both socially and artistically – especially on a large stage such as this, which left so much space uncovered by fabric and light. Electricity was relatively new when she began working, and her appearance at the Paris Exposition Universelle in 1889, at the same time that the Eiffel Tower was unveiled, signaled an exciting modernity. The sculptor Auguste Rodin even claimed she “paved the way for the art of the future.”
In an attempt to copyright her own Serpentine Dance, Fuller even ended up changing the law: her initial attempts were rejected because at that time a dance had to tell a story to qualify for protection. Hers did not. While she lost her case, her lawsuit ended up changing the rules for later choreographers. Recently, she has begun to get her due, with several excellent studies, including one by the scholar Ann Cooper Albright, as well as a 2023 documentary, Obsessed with Light. Aside from her choreography, the fact that she was a fairly open lesbian (for the period) intrigues many present-day feminists.
One solo led to another. Robert Battle made the rhythmic solo Takademe in 1999 for the Parsons Dance Company. Originally for a woman, he has since revised it several times, including changing it into a group dance for the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. But here Payton Primer performed it in its original form, a woman embodying another woman’s music. Battle noted that he choreographed Takademe in his living room, where the limited space affected its structure. But if the dance didn’t push across and through space, it traveled vertically and found propulsion through speed and syncopation.
Primer leapt straight up, foot flexed, spun, and exploded into sharp flurries of movement. As Sheila Chandra’s music grew faster and faster, Primer hurried to maintain the speed. Her breaths were almost visible. At times the movement resembled Indian dance, though for a brief moment it morphed into something like a samba before shifting again. Primer’s head bobbed and shook, she rose into a split jump, did a few hip bumps, and fell to the ground as the music stopped.
If Takademe demonstrated a different, more overtly muscular type of female power than Loïe, it was as much of a tour de force. That extended to the music. Chandra is a British-born singer of Indian ancestry who composed using her own vocalizations. Although rooted in classic Indian forms, she approached and combined them in her own style. Years after this recording illness silenced her, taking away her voice. Still, she stands as another example of a woman who created new paths.
Ever since Lovette became the company’s first resident choreographer (other than Taylor himself) four years ago, she has been prolific in making new works for the repertory. She’s in a unique position, not just a female dancemaker, but one that moved in a direction other than usual. Performers go all the time from ballet to modern dance. Choreographers don’t. Since then, it has felt as if she was trying hard to balance her ballet background with Taylor style. Slowly, she’s begun to negotiate the differences. Solitaire, from 2022, has as its description, “A gem set alone.” That describes the multiple meanings embedded in the title: a solitaire as a stone and solitaire as alone, perhaps also a game. Even alone has multiple connotations. It can suggest loneliness but also solitude. How were these different meanings reflected?
The gem here was Alex Clayton, a solitaire set within a corps of 12. Starting in the center, he wound his way through the organized groups of dancers. They linked hands, creating attachments, and leapt and fell together. Once they all left, Clayton touched the ground, tracking shapes on the floor with his fingers. He pivoted in a forward attitude, his arms in the air, until he dropped and contracted, before walking on his knees. The movement was laborious, slow and effortful, not just a step but a state of mind. The rise and fall became a motif in his choreography, as were a series of lyrical, measured gestures. Everything he did showed beautiful balance and a sense of weight: the turns, the arabesques, the low jumps. Before he finally exited, he walked backwards on his knees until he stood and left. He gave every shape clarity, both physically and emotionally. The other dancers took over from there. The women hewed closer to Lovette’s home base of ballet, as one revolved in arabesque and two other women flanked her, like the Three Graces. Then the men entered, partnering the women — they twirled each other, kicked, and dragged themselves playfully across the floor – before breaking apart to do their own thing. Once the music quieted again, Clayton returned, but this time everything felt more joyful. Lovette has grasped the art of the Taylor ending, with its quick entrances and exits, runs and jumps, where everyone gets their moment to shine. But if it seemed like a happy conclusion was on its way, with Clayton smilingly surrounded by a friendly group, it shifted as he ended up alone again, facing the back.
An evening that started by taking us back to the turn of the last century ended with Taylor’s own reflection on World War 2 America, Company B. With its nostalgic sheen and relatable humor, this jukebox filled with hits by The Andrews Sisters is the Taylor piece most likely to turn up in other companies’ repertories. But this is its home turf. The cast had the right weight and energy, and captured the spirit of the social dances that Taylor incorporated. Clayton was once again a standout in Tico Tico, kicking, somersaulting, and sliding, punctuated with little shimmies and shakes. Lee Duveneck was terrific as the focus of female attention in Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh! Amidst the leaping and strutting, he still caught the ladies literally throwing themselves at him. Ferretti was poignant in I Can Dream, Can’t I? one of the many tunes that alluded to a distant lover. John Harnage jumped eight to the bar for Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy – and his technique was almost too good as the height of his split jumps slowed him down.
Even though the piece seems lighthearted at first glance, it’s filled with the shadows of war. The dancers enter in silhouette, men drop like fallen soldiers, and women mourn a love far away or lost. Even lighter songs, such as Rum and Coca Cola, have a nasty edge when you listen closely. The calypso lilt of the melody can’t disguise what “mother and daughter, working for the Yankee dollar” means. Primer slunk her way through the song, leaving no doubt as to her mission.
Even with two male choreographers, it felt like a woman’s night. Women created both Loïe and Solitaire, with Sperling honoring a too-often ignored figure. Takademe showcased a female dancer and singer, while Company B, thanks to The Andrews Sisters, provided a woman’s perspective on an era marked by conflict and loss. We bounced from the 20th century to the 21st and back. We saw so many aspects of women’s work: as creator, the explosive interpreter of another woman’s voice, the one patiently waiting at home. We even saw a woman on a pedestal – literally. But the one role we didn’t see for a change was… object.
Copyright © 2026 by Karen Backstein
Vive La Loïe!, Takademe, Solitaire, Company B – Paul Taylor Dance Company
Lincoln Center, New York, NY
November 12, 2025
Cover: Payton Primer with Paul Taylor Dance Company in Company B. Photo © Ron Thiele.
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