Through Philippine folk dances and an open-style segment choreographed by FDC members and artistic director Michael Barry Que, the company will present a collection of stories of Far Eastern University’s “unseen” community, or those who contribute to FEU in essential ways yet remain in the background. 

A frame highlights an image, draws attention to its details, and emphasizes its significance. In the concert, frames will symbolize the windows through which the narratives of the unseen will be witnessed. Like a moving gallery, frames will highlight each performance as a captured moment. 

A key goal of the concert is to amplify the stories of FEU’s unseen heroes, to “elevate” their visibility as an expression of gratitude and empowerment. Says artistic director Que: “It’s not about creating perfect pieces, but making honest ones to authentically highlight the stories being told through the language of dance.”

Part I of the concert features rarely performed Philippine folk dances under the overall direction of Que and FDC folk dance coach Zahreen Sadia. Part II is devoted to open-style pieces that capture the unseen stories of the FEU community, with choreographies by Xyron Apostol, El Bautista, Jaztin Correa, Ronieth Dayao, Alliana Dionisio, Arianne Dumol, Johann Jabrica, Eadward Lladoc, Jaina Noble, Tonnie Padayao, Akira Padilla, Norberto Martin Pascual, Rose Adelaine Perez, Radiance Sta. Ana, Amadeus Sto. Domingo, Joseph Torres, Caroline Vasquez, and Que. FDC alumni are participating with choreographies and staging by Jeffrey Inocencio and Julius Quitalig.

Tickets to “FRAMES: Elevating the Unseen,” at 6 p.m. on March 28 and 29 at the FEU Auditorium, may be purchased through Ticket2Me and the FEU Dance Company’s official Facebook page. Prices are at P100 for the FEU community, P200 for those from outside FEU, and P300 for Loge seating.

The post FEU Dance Company presents concert honoring university’s unseen heroes appeared first on CoverStory.

The hours are arduously long because a ballet dancer “can’t take much time off,” points out Alice Reyes, National Artist for Dance and ARDP chair emeritus. “They must be active as much as they can.” 

Reyes is responding to a question on how the dancers are preparing for “Pagdiriwang” at her company’s press conference at Blackbird in the Nielson Tower. Standing like the ballerina that she is, her feet in first position, she explains that ballet is a demanding career. There’s the physicality of the art that takes a toll on the body—from injuries to simply age sneaking up on a dancer, leading to retirement. 

Retiring may seem problematic for dancers, but apparently they’re merely moving into new roles in their careers. “We train new dancers at ARDP. We recall older dancers and choreographers to teach them,” says Reyes.

ARDP artistic director Ronelson Yadao chimes in: “Choreographers don’t forget dance steps. They remember them because of muscle memory, which retains the nuances that video recordings don’t.”

As for role suitability, precision is key to casting at the company, where a slight change in a dancer’s appearance can mean losing a role. In an earlier chat with former ARDP dancer Richard Yadao, he said dyeing the hair, for instance, was not allowed when he was still dancing. Seemingly rebelling against ballet’s stringency, he now sports blondish hair. “I’m free!” he exclaims, chuckling. 

For Monica Gana, it was a rough learning experience. At the Q-and-A session, she said she felt overwhelming regret when she lost a role she had so wanted because she cut her hair short.

Choreographer’s vision

Reyes says that in restaging the works of local and foreign choreographers, ARDP always honors their vision. It’s a sacred rule on top of the casting criteria of ability and role. In “Amada” (last staged in 2017), Reyes pictures the aristocratic Doña Amada with long, flowing hair. The ballet takes off from “Summer Solstice,” a short story by Nick Joaquin, and Reyes juxtaposes traditional male dominance with Tadtarin, a women-only summer-solstice ritual.

“Hair is part of choreography,” says Reyes, who has no qualms recasting a role if the dancer does not fully satisfy the criteria. (She replaced her first choice for Amada back then when the selected ballerina showed up with a shorter hairstyle.)

In the preview of “Amada,” Gana’s long black hair ripples and flips in the air as she leaps and twirls. The body and hair movements highlight the tension between authority and opposition. Gana is pinch-hitting for the guest artist, Filipino ballerina Candice Adea, who is to star in the title role in April.

Reyes and Adea worked together in 2017. “Pagdiriwang” marks their second collaboration which, as Ronelson Yadao puts it, is a way of “taking advantage” of watching Adea—an important figure in Philippine dance, he stresses—dance on Philippine stage again. Adea recently retired from the Western Australian Ballet as soloist.

Seven dances

The presentation of excerpts from the four dances shows the ability-and-role rule in action. Bare-chested and in loose white trousers, Dan Dayo is a holy person in Kun-Yang Lin’s “Moon” (last staged in 2021). Dayo pays homage to the omniscient deities through a meditative yet vibrant dance of supplication.

Energy explodes on Blackbird’s cordoned-off space with the ARDP dancers—led by Sarah Alejandro, Ejay Arisola and Gana—dancing “C’est La Cie” by Augustus “Bam” Damian III. It showcases ARDP’s trademark vitality and combined classical and modern dance techniques. “C’est La Cie” is Damian’s first new choreography after a hiatus; it is his gift to ARDP.

The frenetic pace slows down to a melancholic rhythm in Norman Walker’s “Songs of a Wayfarer” (last staged in 2017). In between bites of scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, we watch Arisola grieve over his love’s marriage and wander through the fields (in our minds) where he, in sheer exhaustion and depression, falls into a deep sleep under a tree. (Apparently, the ballet is based on Walker’s experience of unrequited love when he was young.)

The other three dances are “Glinka’s Valse” by Adam Sage with music by Russian composer Mikhail Glinka; “Muybridge/Frames” by Denisa Reyes, inspired by British photographer Eadweard Muybridge’s photographic studies of movements; and “Nocturne” by Carlo AC Pacis, a dance duet of Oberon and Titania’s reconciliation from Shakespeare’s comedy play “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Commitment

ARDP is honoring the arts through the seven dances of varying genres—classical, neoclassical, modern and contemporary—and its commitment to elevating Philippine dance, says its president, Tats Manahan. “We don’t stick to the nice, linear ballet,” she says.

The commitment is seen in the dancers, too. For Arisola, it’s all about ballet 24/7. Gana is more philosophical: “There are times dancers are prepared and not prepared. [Dancers] should arm themselves with knowledge of where they are in their dance lives.” Also, she listens to her mentors’ reminders to do research (look at the book, film, and dance versions) and character analysis. Alejandro draws from her experiences outside (interactions with people) than from the “inside (read: techniques), specially when it comes to story delivery and interpretation.”

“Personalities have flavor because of their experiences,” says Alejandro. “Also, it’s important for me to have a clear message of the dance.”

“Pagdiriwang: Sayaw Alay sa Sining” goes on stage on April 4 and 5 at 2:30 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. at the Globe Auditorium, Maybank Performing Arts Theater, BGC. For tickets, visit www.ticketworld.com.ph. For inquiries, email [email protected] or call +63 967 153 6173.

Read more: There’s more than dance in ‘Juan Tamad’ by Alice Reyes Dance Philippines

The post Alice Reyes opens 2025 with ‘Pagdiriwang: Sayaw Alay Sa Sining’ appeared first on CoverStory.

Near the rear of the Metropolitan Theater as you turn left from Dr. Basa Street in Ermita, Manila, there’s a long, wide studio with open windows facing a wall of mirrors. The dancers of Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARDP) are trying on their animal costumes for the first time.

Krislynne Buri, playing Paboreal (peacock), gets into the blue glossy bodysuit, with the train made of tufted layers of tulle inlaid with sequins. “Try practicing with the train on,” National Artist for Dance Alice Reyes, serving as artistic consultant for the new ballet production, tells her. 

The other dancers are still fixing their costumes with the wardrobe crew, some sitting on the matted floor, cutting open the fabric by the toes of their footed bodysuits so they can put their ballet shoes on.

Paboreal turns, looking at the wall of mirrors at our back as we sit on benches, watching her watch herself while she practices her dance. The peacock train is secure, tied around her waist and trailing behind her without falling apart despite her big and complicated movements, but it keeps wrapping around her leg and she has to kick it aside to do her routine. Reyes observes her dance closely, as well as choreographer and storyteller Erl Sorilla.

“Be careful,” Reyes tells Buri as she clears a few quick steps across the floor.

“Just hold the train,” Sorilla says as she performs a kind of arabesque.

After the initial fitting, the company rehearses segments of the dances with the new costumes on. Paboreal practices her duet with Buwaya (Earl John Arisola) in a routine made tricky by the peacock train, but with a level of skill that allows them to pull it off despite some slight graceful fumbles. (A non-dancer, or even a dancer who doesn’t do ballet, cannot imagine dancing that dance and not tripping on the train every few seconds.)

“You’ll have to work out the peacock train in the dance,” Reyes tells Sorilla.

ARDP trainees rehearse both their segments as Kuneho’s friends, wearing pure white “cheerleading” clothes, and as the Gamu-gamu, with their textured costumes of burnished brown-gold open-face bodysuits.  

Later, Reyes initiates a company call and the dancers sit on the floor.

“We thought it was so cute with the rabbits,” Reyes says of the modification in the Pagong versus Kuneho race, where the cheering rabbits were initially meant to be cheering Taumbayan (townsfolk). “And if Erl agrees, we will make you wear regular clothes rather than Maria Clara [type of clothes] and the regional costumes.”

“Because they look better,” Loy Arcenas, who heads the set and costume design, adds, further suggesting specific clothes that the cast can wear when they’re playing Taumbayan. More colorful and flowery. Someone wearing a knapsack. Maybe even someone wearing earplugs.

“Still in the ’50s era?” Sorilla asks, to which Arcenas replies: “No. Not anymore. They can wear jeans, shorts, shredded pants. And let’s see what you can come up with. If we have to, we can buy colorful tops from Divisoria. But we can do that after we’ve seen them [dance in the regular clothes].”

They continue discussing the costumes, with artistic director Ronelson Yadao pitching in once in a while. The company then takes a break before a complete rehearsal run later at 6 p.m. Other guests are coming.

Beginnings

“It started with the idea that it was going to be a children’s finale that the CCP (Cultural Center of the Philippines) was going to produce,” Alice Reyes tells CoverStory.ph, recalling the production’s inception in part originating from her worry that today’s kids are not exposed enough to theater designed for them. “Whatever they watch on television, I thought since this company is very creative, and we’re always making dances, why don’t we design one for children?”

Reyes tapped Sorilla to conceptualize the new dance’s story and head its choreography. “I always feel that [ARDP choreographers] should be given as many opportunities to work,” she says. “And this was a golden opportunity for Erl to sink his teeth into. So he has taken the lead; we’re just in a supporting role.”

Sorilla is in charge of the story and its telling—that is to say, its choreography—and the selection of the cast. During the production’s development stages, he decided on Juan Tamad, the classic Filipino folktale of the lazy boy who is always made a moral example of, and the story most likely to be “translated into dance.” He thought the laziness of the body, too, could be a form of dance.

“It’s kind of interesting, because who would think that?” Sorilla said. “I thought, ‘I can play around with that concept.’”

In the development stage, Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad became a fantasy-adventure interwoven with other popular children’s fables that Sorilla found equally “translatable” into dance: Pagong at Kuneho, Ang Gamu-gamu at ang Lampara, and Buwaya and Paboreal. He would synthesize it into the main story where the interwoven stories would flow seamlessly together in the script.

“So each dance is different,” Sorilla said, “and of course each fable has its own moral lesson and something that [Juan] would carry on to his journey.”

But why is Juan Tamad so lazy? Playing the titular character, lead dancer Renzen Arboledo began to explore this question, with encouragement from Sorilla, as a way to more effectively embody Juan’s character. He wrote his own character analysis to put more color into the character, looking beyond the known sloth.

“It’s not final, but I started with his childhood, because you know how our upbringing is very crucial in how we’re shaped into who we are,” Arboledo explains in a mix of English and Filipino.

As the production work began, each character’s story began to unfold into different interpretations primarily rendered through dance—a Pagong (John Ababon) who thinks he’s fast because everything around him moves in flashes, and a Kuneho (Monica Gana) who has known only hyperactivity brought about by her speed; a Juan Tamad who is seen as lazy because he is uniquely connected to nature with his ability to communicate with animals (in fact he chooses to be with animals, especially with his best friend Matsing, instead of with other people who seem only to ostracize him). This is also partly why the show is not strictly just dance, as most of ARDP productions usually are. Although sparse, there are spoken lines, too, as Juan Tamad talks to the animals he encounters.

“The distinguishing characteristic that makes him Juan Tamad is his gift of being able to talk to animals, so it only makes sense that I would speak [as Juan Tamad] to talk to the animals,” Arboledo says. On the other hand, this posed quite a challenge for the dancer, who describes himself as “not a professionally trained actor.” They do act, by way of their body movements and facial expressions, but projecting the voice and conveying the emotions behind the speech is a different skill altogether.

“Mostly, I think it helps that I loved role-playing in school,” Arboledo notes. “Though I won’t say I’m that great, I do enjoy role-playing, so maybe naturally, I get that familiarity in what I’m doing, at least.”

For Sorilla, the voice is a part of the body that the dancers can tap into with the same skill as controlling the body. He adds that the dancers can “speak up,” supplemented by the acting workshops they take for their roles.

Song and dance

Sorilla is sitting on the bench against the mirrors with a tablet where he plays the songs. At the center of the matted floor are Arboleda as Juan and Dan Dayo as Matsing. Arboleda stands in a relaxed pose, and seems to be figuring something out.

“Let’s take it to the tail-end of the ‘Gintong Niyog Challenge,’” Sorilla says, tapping on the tablet to play the last few seconds of a song so the performers can take their cue.

All at once, Arboledo moves with much energy to the side, right by Matsing who sits with his folded knees tucked to his chest, the soles of his feet firm on the floor, turning to follow Juan’s movement with a clownish look on his face.

Juan is holding something like a lustrous shell hanging on a string like a necklace. It’s a piece of the gintong niyog that would drive Juan and Matsing’s adventure into the woods. Before he goes on his search for the gintong niyog meant to seek approval from his darling Maria Masipag’s parents and win back her hand, Juan laments his task to Matsin and the seeming futility of it all in the vast forest. Matsing makes monkey noises and gestures for Juan to pray.

Juan obliges and slides down to his knees, praying to God that he may survive his ordeal. Here, an acoustic guitar is playing on the speaker—the beginning of the next song: “Mariang Masipag.”

And then the lead dancer moves to the sound of his own singing pre-recorded on a track, with accompaniment from some of his fellow dancers. The song is uncomplicated, its simplicity a reminder that this performance is meant for children.

“Yeah, so for context,” Arboledo explains to CoverStory, laughing a little, “what they had planned initially was for the show to include singing and dancing.” Because the show is not like any other musical where you can dance and sing at the same time due to the level of complexity, intensity, and difficulty in the dancing, they decided that the singing be recorded instead—but still with Arboledo doing the singing.

“Because some of them can sing,” Sorilla says. “It’s still part of the range of what’s possible with dance. So, why not use [their] voices? That’s why I made them sing.”

Sorilla had Arboledo meet Toto Sorioso, the show’s composer, asking the musikero to make sure the songs wouldn’t be too difficult for the dancers to sing. Some dancers  were made to audition to capture their range, and Sorioso composed the songs accordingly.

“It doesn’t remove the authenticity, because even though it’s recorded, it’s the dancer who’s actually singing,” Arboledo says of his recording experience.“ But I’m not really a singer.”

Later, in another segment rehearsal before the 6 p.m. complete run-through, Reyes hears the recorded track of Arboledo singing, and notes that “may tono si Renzen (he can carry a tune) .” She calls out to him directly: “Renzen, you can sing!”

But they will not sing live—yet. Arboledo says there are no plans for that for now, as he and the other dancers have yet to be technically trained to sing (even if they sing on karaoke).

“That’s why it’s also a challenge for me. And it helps that there’s autotune,” Arboledo says, laughing. “But I just said to myself, I can’t give what I don’t have, so I’ll just give what I’ve got. I did get guidance, too, and I’m really grateful for it. It turned out great, despite my not really being a singer.”

Sorilla had thought of making the show “multi-disciplinary,” which is incidental to the fact that he played on many concepts for the children’s theater show.

“For me, it’s also quite tiring if it’s just dancing,” he says, finding that the singing/speaking was doable for the performers although “our main language is really dance.”

It was also an opportunity to work more closely with Sorioso, the production’s primary creative process being anchored on collaboration.

“We’re all putting our hands together,” Reyes says while the wardrobe crew works on the costumes in the other room across the hall from the studio. “I mean, [costume designer Arcenas] is a multi-awarded New York designer, and yet he is open to whatever I want to contribute.” Later, they would move the materials to the studio to show the choreographer Sorilla and the artistic director Yadao.

“Always collaborative,” the National Artist continues. “There are some people who don’t collaborate. [But] I’ve always found that drawing on other people’s expertise makes sense… That recipe works.”

This value in collaboration also leads to an openness to what works and what doesn’t along the way, all the while making sure that the clarity in the story-telling and the expression of ideas come through.

“What you might see today during these open rehearsals, you might look for on [Nov. 10]”—the date of the show’s premiere—“and not find it because we have changed it,” Reyes says. “Because if there’s a better way, if the story-telling gets to a point where it’s not clear, then you [have to] say, ‘What are we going to do to make it clear?’”

For instance, the metaphors. Buwaya, with his huge fork and knife that he would wield during the culminating scene with Juan and Matsing, represents greed, and Paboreal, with her shining tulle train and many jewels, represents pageantry. These are easy to interpret, but are still open to more, so that despite being made for children, the show is for everyone to enjoy.

“It’s a bit campy, actually … It’s larger than life, but you have to go to the children’s level and play a little,” Sorilla explains. “There’s subtlety. But it still has to be fun. You shouldn’t really take it seriously [even with the metaphors)]”

In the moment

Karla Santos, who plays Maria Masipag, keeps that clarity and synergy in mind before beginning her routine.

“There should be acting, but it’s more than that. The story should be very clear,” Santos tells CoverStory. “It shouldn’t be too scripted; I should be fully in the moment. If I was there, how would I be sweeping? If I was there, how would I be looking [Juan] in the eye?”

On the other hand, she also thinks about which parts she has to be attentive to in the story-telling, so that despite enjoying her portrayal of the charming and energetic Maria Masipag—mixed with the excitement of playing a role molded specifically for her—she still looks to her colleagues on how to act, how to express emotion correctly through face and body movements. (She and the Masipag parents, played by dancer couple Lester Reguindin and Sarah Alejandro, do not have speaking lines.)

The character of Maria Masipag is what essentially makes Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad a love story. Sorilla had the idea to further challenge Juan’s seemingly “permanent” reputation of laziness, and catalyze the most effective way for someone to want to change themselves: when they fall in love.

“At first, it was all kilig-kilig,” Santos says of Juan and Maria’s thrilling love story. And then: “The feelings were deepening, and then the parents would catch her, and she couldn’t understand at first why they wanted to separate them.”

She particularly found the “lullaby” segment lovely, but tricky to perform. It was the part of the story where Juan was at a challenging point in his journey, deeply missing Maria but uncertain if he would win her at all.

“I found it difficult,” Santos says of the supposed unreality of the situation and the complexity of the emotion that needed to be conveyed bodily. “I knew how to play kilig, but I initially didn’t know how to approach that part.”

In this dance, Maria walks slowly toward Juan, and they move briefly to his singing in the background. Lampara then “replaces” Maria. Like a dream, Juan imagines her to be there although he is still in the middle of the jungle now surrounded by the Gamu-gamu.

For all its camp, the dancers seem to move to the feeling of this scene against a simple song played by acoustic guitar—as though every lift, every step and turn were natural and not precisely choreographed.

Improv

There is much openness to improvisation in the creative process. But there is an underlying structure that they follow for the most part, story- and style-wise—something like a thesis, a common ground.

Sorilla explains their process: “At first, we had to break down the scenes. We played around, a lot of improvs in what can happen in this situation, this scene. And then we just edit it. That’s our process. We already have the structure of the story, but the moment they come in, we have to see how they can play around in that context.”

It was apparent during the 6 p.m. complete rehearsal run, which, despite there being portions slightly unrefined—especially because some dancers had just started rehearsing in their new costumes, and the choreography is yet to be modified to work around some of the costumes—the overarching themes and the story-telling itself were clear-cut.

“It’s still quite raw,” Sorilla noted after the run, although what simply remained now were the polishing and the adjustments. As Reyes said, there is no telling what would change, what would remain, and what would be removed. It’s for one to find out on premiere night.

In the original folktale, Juan is portrayed as lying under a tree, indolently waiting for the fruit to fall into his mouth. In this show, he has come a long way, continually changed by the creativity and dedication of others, and open to what he can be. As obvious and cheesy as it may sound, how else do you become masipag?

It’s always because of love. 

Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad by Alice Reyes Dance Philippines will premiere on Nov. 10 at the Samsung Performing Arts Theater at Circuit Makati.

Read more: ‘Ibalon’: powerful display of love in dance and music

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“Pangalay,” aka “igal” and “pamansak,” is one such rich dance form of the Sama, the Badjaw, the Tausug, the Jama Mapun and the Yakan of the Sulu Archipelago. 

But a living artifact such as the pangalay must be danced constantly, or it dies. Auspiciously, in the first quarter of 2024, the Year of the Wood Dragon, a dream came true: “Pangalay at Maskara 2024,” which I had conceptualized in 2003. 

This production of the AlunAlun Dance Circle, undertaken in cooperation with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, proved challenging for the fresh batch of pangalay/igal dancers trained in the Amilbangsa Instruction Method. The young dancers are from the Marikina Dance Guild and the Philippine Barangay Folk Dance Troupe.

“Pangalay at Maskara 2024” demonstrated how the ancient pangalay connects past and present in new choreographies set to traditional percussion, pop, and selected music works of National Artists. Utilizing the compositions of National Artists Lucrecia Kasilag, Antonio Molina, Felipe de Leon, Francisco Feliciano and Antonino Buenaventura in pangalay choreographies paid tribute to their artistic genius and enriched pangalay’s significance as a living heritage. With the use of Asian devices such as masks, puppets, and other properties, the AlunAlun Dance Circle’s new choreographers created innovative steps and movements that are appealing to various audiences, especially the youth.  

The young audiences, generally unfamiliar with the pangalay/igal tradition, experienced the spellbinding quality of traditional postures and gestures ingeniously choreographed to the varied musical selection. The innovative choreographies were presented in disparate stage facilities from Feb. 2 to March 7: the De La Salle University Manila’s Teresa Yuchengco Auditorium, the Miriam College Nuvali Covered Court in Laguna, the Marian Auditorium of Miriam College Loyola Heights, and the Manila Metropolitan Theater. 

It was delightful to see the enthusiastic response of the throngs of young people regaled by the provocative fusion of tradition and innovation. Importantly, “Pangalay at Maskara 2024” marked significant milestones: the 24^th anniversary of the AlunAlun Dance Circle; the culmination of the National Arts Month in February; and the observance of the International Women’s Month in March.

Mabuhay! Something good is always a joy to remember.

The post ‘Pangalay’ takes young audiences by storm appeared first on CoverStory.

PBT artistic director and choreographer Ronilo Jaynario takes off from the Bicolano epic and reimagines the love story of Handyong (the warrior) and Oryol (the cursed creature) against the backdrop of Philippine mythology. He creates nuances and plot twists for a powerful display of love in movements, hoping to captivate his audience with colorful dances from Luzon, the Visayas and Mindanao. 

This story is told with original music by Paulo Zarate, who explains that his approach is an exaggeration of what the music must have sounded like in ancient times. Taking into consideration that Filipino instruments then were more percussive and rhythmic, he has added bold and moving melodies, incorporating Filipino elements that he researched on, to produce truly epic music to sweep the audience into the love story of Handyong and Oryol. 

With PBT’s rising stars Matthew Davo as the warrior Handyong and Jessa Tangalin as the cursed princess Oryol, and with Jaynario and Zarate melding something new with something old, the telling of Philippine ancestral stories promises to come alive with music and dance.

PBT’s “Ibalon” runs on July 28 and 29, 2023, starting at 8 p.m., at the Samsung Performing Arts Theatre. All proceeds from the July 29 show will benefit the fundraising campaign for the 65th anniversary of the Ramon Magsaysay Awards.

For ticket inquiries and reservations, interested parties may contact 86711697 (landline) or 09688708887 (mobile), Ticketworld at 8891-9999 or ticketworld.com.ph, or message their social media platforms on Instagram and Facebook Page.

The post ‘Ibalon’: powerful display of love in dance and music appeared first on CoverStory.

The festival, now on its 18^th year, has “Piglas Sining” as its theme—a breaking free from the confinement and isolation imposed by pandemic restrictions. How audiences will respond to this year’s events will be interesting to observe as the CCP management expects “14,000 warm bodies.”

“We are breaking away from the notion that the CCP is just the building. We are emphasizing that CCP can be anywhere,” CCP artistic director Dennis N. Marasigan said in a media statement.

In prepandemic times, about 80,000 people thronged the Pasinaya traditionally held at the CCP Main Building on Roxas Boulevard in Pasay City. But because the 53-year-old structure has been closed since January for renovation and retrofitting, festival activities are being held at the CCP Front Lawn, Liwasang Kalikasan, Tanghalang Ignacio B. Gimenez (Black Box) and its surroundings, and the parade ground of Vicente Sotto Street, as well as in 13 museums in the city.

On Feb. 5, the basement of Tanghalang Ignacio Gimenez will come alive with booths of arts organizations as part of the festival’s “Palitan” or Arts Market component. Various groups will also perform there. 

‘Pangalay’

In dance, the AlunAlun Dance Circle collaborates with the Marikina Dance Guild and multiawarded theater playwright and actor Rody Vera. Using the indigenous “pangalay” in traditional and innovative choreography, AlunAlun will demonstrate the versatility of this Filipino dance form. 

This is the first time AlunAlun will perform in the Pasinaya to present the meditative pangalay movements based on breathing, which are known to aid in wellness and healing from adversity or disease.

The pangalay’s rich movement vocabulary is exhibited in “Pangalay Medley,” a dance composition exhibiting male and female movements using various props and traditional costumes. The choreography accompanied by traditional kulintangan music will be performed by the two dance groups whose members have been training under the guidance of pangalay guru and AlunAlun artistic director Ligaya Amilbangsa. 

Vera recites “Sa Kabataang Pilipino,” a translation of Jose Rizal’s poem “A la juventud filipina,” during the performances. This piece was performed by AlunAlun at The Broad Stage in Santa Monica, California, last September. 

The pangalay offering for the Pasinaya is a collaborative participation, joining hands with the rest of the art community to bring back the eagerness and fervor for Philippine art and culture, and continuing the CCP’s tradition as a free and creative space for artists and audiences.  

Donation price

The CCP has announced that for the donation price of P50, Pasinaya attendees may go in and out of the festival venues to attend the 30-minute workshops in various art disciplines conducted by leading artists, resource persons and teachers, or watch as many shows, screenings, and activities as they choose.

Registration starts today, Feb. 3, at the Bukaneg side of the Front Lawn and at Vicente Sotto Street. A “Pagtitipon,” an invitational gathering of the Kaisa sa Sining (KSS) regional partners, will be held. There are 59 regional partners from Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao in the KSS network, with three new partners joining. 

The KSS, a program of the CCP’s Cultural Exchange Department, aims to further strengthen CCP linkages and cooperations with local organizations nationwide.

“Palihan” and “Palabas” will be held on Feb. 4 and 5 at the CCP Front Lawn. Attendees may join the workshops and watch the shows featuring more than 3,000 artists from different fields.

Festival programmers and art groups will meet in Palitan on Feb. 4 and 5 onsite at Tanghalang Ignacio Gimenez and online via Zoom. 

The Pasinaya is partnering with galleries, museums and art spaces in Metro Manila “to put the spotlight on communal artistic spirit and collaborations,” says the CCP. Shuttle vans from the Paseo Museo will go around the arts spaces to provide free rides on Feb. 4 and 5.

With the Pasinaya, the CCP seeks to “provide a platform for the artists and cultural groups to showcase their talents while nurturing the broadest public and creating new audiences through interactions and performances.”

Follow the official Cultural Center of the Philippines’ social media accounts of Pasinaya 2023 on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and TikTok for the latest updates.

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The Covid-19 pandemic affected all aspects of our lives, not just our physical health. The lockdown and stay-at-home policies closed businesses, cancelled social gatherings, and caused shifts in working and studying setups. 

As the pandemic is more than a health crisis, we strived to be well holistically, taking care not only of our physical bodies but also of our hearts, minds, relationships, and environment. Holistic health is the goal of wellness, a concept that pertains to an individual’s pursuit of quality life through self-awareness, self-integration, and lifestyle decisions.

‘Ginhawa’ 

In the Philippines, the Tagalog term ginhawa is an indigenous concept related to wellness.

Maginhawa, or having ginhawa, means “comfortable, easy, tranquil.” The linguist Consuelo Paz found that maginhawa means “to breathe” in other Philippine languages, such as Hiligaynon, Romblonon, Cebuano, Kapampangan, and Waray, to name a few.

Beyond breathing, ginhawa pertains to a comfortable life and being free from physical, social, financial, or environmental difficulties. One may see ginhawa in a bountiful harvest, harmony in the community, restored relationships, and cured illnesses. 

Lacking ginhawa in one’s life may be seen through expressions such as naghahabol ng hininga (gasping for air) that could lead to paghihingalo (death at one’s doorstep) or having the huling hininga (final breath). 

As ginhawa is breath, it is also the life we have and the life we share with others. Ginhawa is healing beyond the physical, emphasizing the integration of body and mind and the interrelation of people and nature. Ginhawa is personal and communal.  

Attaining ginhawa differs from person to person. It may be through acquiring a material object or joining social or religious gatherings. Some have ginhawa in creative practices. In my case, I got through the pandemic and its consequences through pangalay, a traditional dance style practiced by ethnolinguistic groups in the Sulu Archipelago.

Mimicking the waves

In Tausug, pangalay means “dance.” Its movements—the slow motions of curved limbs and fingers—mimic the waves, wind, and birds. It is traditionally performed on special events such as weddings and birthdays. The fast rhythms of graduated gongs, called the kulintang, accompany the dancing. It is improvised, based on the occasion and the dancer’s movement vocabulary. 

Ligaya Fernando-Amilbangsa is the most prominent researcher of pangalay. She fashioned a mode of teaching it—the Amilbangsa Instruction Method, or AIM—from her 30 years of studying and dancing. The AlunAlun Dance Circle (ADC), a nonprofit organization aiming to preserve and professionalize pangalay through performances and workshops, uses AIM. 

I learned pangalay from the ADC. I joined its “Salimbayan: Dance for Wellness” in 2019 and the “Pangalay Quarantine” during the first lockdown in the country in 2020. When I encountered pangalay for the first time in 2019, I felt comfortable with my body while dancing. With such an experience, I decided to explore how pangalay gives me ginhawa through research that focuses on my experience with the dance, and that is also informed by ADC members’ experiences.

3 principles

I found that learning pangalay through AIM brought me ginhawa based on three principles. First, instead of counting, Fernando-Amilbangsa teaches that one should breathe through the movements of the dance to maintain a flow of energy. 

Breathing should be a purposeful expansion of the belly when inhaling and fully deflating it when exhaling. Such breathing relaxes the body and expels toxic carbon dioxide to yield the essential oxygen in our bodies. Deep and mindful breathing, in contrast with shortness of breath, is a practice of ginhawa. 

The second principle is maglingat-lingat, or the act of looking at one’s limbs while moving. Maglingat-lingat makes me absorbed in what I am doing, synchronizing my breath to my movements and feeling all the sensations in my body. It enables me to practice mindfulness, to focus on the present moment. It cultivates an attitude of gratitude that replaces worry, giving me ginhawa.

Lastly, pangalay taught through AIM values balance. The traditional way of dancing pangalay requires magdambila, or the act of doing the same movement on the left and right sides of the body, balancing the sensation in the body while recognizing the differences between each side.

Balance is also essential in achieving the seemingly floating body, which makes the dance more fluid. The idea is that when you exhale, the body goes down and the arms go up. In contrast, when inhaling, the body goes up and the arms go down. 

Furthermore, balance is also in a basic posture of pangalay: knees bent and the torso slightly leaning forward. The posture keeps the dancer grounded, stable, and peaceful, cultivating ginhawa.

Breathing gave me ginhawa the most. After all, ginhawa is all about the breath. Pangalay taught me how to breathe throughout the pandemic that distressed our breathing and life.

When we forget to breathe deeply and mindfully, we feel drained, anxious, and hopeless, which can eventually lead to death. And so, pangalay fosters ginhawa, teaching me to value the constant flow of breath in and out of the body, giving life to me and those around me. 

This essay is based on Rachel Siringan’s thesis “Stories from/of My Body: Pangalay in the Context of Ginhawa through the Amilbangsa Instruction Method (AIM).”  She graduated with a degree in art studies from the University of the Philippines Diliman. —Ed.

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I made history through research, documentation, and publication of the traditional performing arts and related folk artistic expressions of the Sulu Archipelago in the southern Philippines. 

To keep a dance tradition alive, it must live in a dancing body. Instinct guided me to nurture “pangalay”—“gift offering” or “temple of dance” in Sanskrit—in my own body, and likewise in those dancers who gained mastery through my method of instruction, regardless of age, shape, size, and gender. 

Frankly, there was no formal method of teaching the pangalay or “igal” tradition when I began learning it in 1969. Along the way, through countless workshops teaching pangalay/igal in the Philippines and elsewhere, I developed a systematic method of instruction: the “Amilbangsa Instruction Method (AIM)” published in 2019. 

A huge blessing

It has been 53 years since I first learned pangalay. In 1974, I organized the Tambuli Cultural Troupe in Bongao, Tawi-Tawi. What a huge blessing that I can still dance. Last Sept. 24, two weeks before my 80th birthday, I danced in a full-length concert titled “Pulse of Pangalay” at the 10^th-year celebration of the Malaya Filipino American Dance Arts (Malaya), and the 22nd year of the AlunAlun Dance Circle (ADC). 

This teamwork of Malaya and ADC was spearheaded by Peter de Guzman and Anna Lisa Gutierrez-de Guzman, the artistic director and executive director of Malaya, respectively. The venue of the concert was The Eli and Edy The Broad Stage adjacent to the Santa Monica College in California.

The ADC dancers based in the Philippines were Jimo Angeles, Levi Azarcon, Joy Ricote-Cruz, Rose Ann Jasareno, Abdul Mali, Nannette Matilac, and Manuel Siapno. Chloe Bernardo flew in from Las Vegas, Nevada, and Trini Derbesse from Paris, France. The traditional music instrumentalists were from Malaya and ADC and the songs were rendered by the Philippine Chamber Singers-Los Angeles. The lighting director was Anky Frilles, who worked in tandem with stage manager Grace F. Amilbangsa. 

Related: What’s a guy in his 70s doing trying to ride a bike?

A bold leap

Indeed, this first-ever show of pangalay in the United States made dance history. It was a bold leap_, a transformative coup which demonstrated the value of dance as living history. It informed those of Filipino ancestry of the beauty, depth, and versatility of an indigenous dance form tracing the Hindu connection before the advent of Islam and Christianity in the Philippines.

Wondrous music to our ears at the end of the dazzling performance was the thunderous acclaim, especially among the natives of Sulu and Tawi-Tawi who beamed with pride. We could have danced all night for the pleasure of our compatriots who lingered in the jampacked lobby afterwards. Enthusiastic students, administrators, and members of prominent dance companies in North America joined the well-attended pangalay workshop conducted by the ADC in Los Angeles a day after the concert.

What a way to celebrate the Filipino American Heritage Month in the United States. After more than half my lifetime immersed in the magic of dancing pangalay, who could predict what lies ahead in preserving, conserving, propagating, and popularizing such a captivating tradition beyond the next 80 years?

Ligaya Fernando-Amilbangsa is an artist, prime advocate and icon of the indigenous dancing of “pangalay.” She is also a cultural researcher and an educator. For her signature involvement in the study, conservation, practice and promotion of pangalay and other traditional dancing forms, she was presented the prestigious Ramon Magsaysay Award in 2015. —Ed.

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For the premiere of Alice Reyes Dance Philippines’ season, “Alay nina Alice at Agnes,” the two living National Artists for Dance celebrate the Philippine dance heritage by combining their notable iconic works. Alice leans heavily on the Martha Graham technique, utilizing it in her pieces that celebrate Philippine artistry, legends, history, and more. Agnes, on the other hand, steeps her artistry in the ethnic vein; her massive research, triggered by a passion to get experience first-hand, has brought her to obscure places and into the very heart of Filipino ethnic dances.

Being based in Davao and running her mother’s dance school have not stopped Agnes from creating. She has collaborated with musicians and fellow dancers to come up with well-rounded pieces based on authenticity tweaked with the hybridity of the neo-ethnic genre. Unlike classical ballet which demands that the dancer defy gravity, the neo-ethnic genre asks for the opposite: a downward mobility, the dancer bound to the ground. 

As Agnes explains, the dancer must project his or her affinity to Mother Earth. 

Related: ‘Ibalon’: powerful display of love in dance and music

Essence of ethnicity

Unlike ballet which requires stretched legs and soft landings, the neo-ethnic attack means landing on bent knees. As Agnes describes it, “bodies sway on top of bent knees. Shuffling feet are pressed on the ground. Creeping toes gather earth, and high jumps are always followed by crouching bodies often producing dry earth to rise like mist around the dancers.” 

It is the essence of ethnicity, in the absence of which there would only be a soggy imitation. She further explains that ethnic dances “lose their magic when performed away from the natural environment, so all elements related to the real tribal moves must be considered: costumes, music synchronized with movement, respecting the unique rhythms of each tribal sound, which are so unlike the usual eight counts to a dance phrase.”

Movement-wise, she realizes that ethnic moves are most productive in unison with modern dance techniques, instead of classical ballet. Admittedly, it has not been an easy task to reach a cross-breeding, thus the perfection she requires of a dancer’s technique. She has watched and dissected the original to come up with a “neo” dance genre without sacrificing the true spirit.

Most challenging pieces

For the opening season of Alice Reyes Dance Philippines, Agnes’ three pieces, by her own choice, are perhaps the most challenging; they are where dancers’ stamina, musicality and technique are put to a test.

“Igorot,” “Moriones” and “Elias at Salome” are a triumph of meticulous study translated into bodily movement. 

Of the three, the earliest is “Igorot.” Ironically, it was first performed by a foreign dance company, a commissioned work by Les Petite Theatre in Amsterdam for its very first performance in October 1987. Inspired by Swan Lake’s Dance of the Cygnets choreographed by Lev Ivanov, the synchronized movements of the cygnets, in Agnes’ mind, were akin to her observation of Igorot women walking in unison. The music was by Lucrecia Kasilag and sourced from the Bayanihan Dance Company. 

In 1988, the Philippines had its premiere of “Igorot,” featuring a mix of dancers from the Locsin Dance Workshop in Davao and scholars and company members of Ballet Philippines.

The year 1991 saw the premiere of “Moriones,” with an all-male cast dressed in the traditional Roman-centurion costumes of the Moriones Festival in Marinduque, with music by Philip Glass. The catchy, even tempo lends itself to the dancers’ athletic jumps and rolls, their high jumps and sculptural a-second-each-hold poses after running and jumping on each other’s backs, athletic catches, followed by robot-like head movements demonstrating the centurions’ search for Longinus. 

The search for Longinus—the centurion who pierced the side of the crucified Christ and who is said to have converted to Christianity—becomes the focus of the dance. As spectators at rehearsals, we, too, end up exhausted after this number. It’s a display of stamina (all caps).

The pas de deux from the full-length ballet “Elias and Salome” has the most melodious score, a guitar piece by Joaquin Rodrigo, Concerto de Aranjuez, in which love and passion could not have been more physically demanding. Based on characters from Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere, the dance duet intensely physicalizes not only the couple’s love for each other but also Elias’ love for country.  No words can describe what actions can only speak of.

Agnes’ eye

All told, at the start, dancing an Agnes Locsin does not leave dancers without a tear. But seeing and feeling how the minutest abdominal contraction or the slightest shift in position can affect a mood or a feeling, dancers sooner or later appreciate the value of Agnes’ eye, albeit with quick breaths and torrential sweat soaking their clothes. 

Hers is the ultimate example of pushing a fleck of a concept through intentional literary and experiential research, collaborations with musicians who share her drift, and, of course, the dancers who ultimately welcome the torturous stretch into a full-blown production worth the wait. 

Agnes’ moves I have labelled “Locsin-ish.” Despite the uncertainty the term may connote, it nonetheless stands for a full-bodied, definite piece of artistry—one to die for.

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Worse, many dancers found themselves displaced from their respective companies, which were not sure they could compensate the dancers without revenue support. Among the entertainment sectors, dancers’ fees fall way below those of other artists who work in other fields, despite the more rigorous training dancers put in to hone their art form. 

Just before the pandemic was officially announced, some 20 or so dancers already found themselves displaced from their company, Ballet Philippines, due to an internal conflict with its board of directors. They banded together because they were driven to continue dancing despite all else. They were encouraged by the fighting spirit and support of National Artist for Dance Alice Reyes, who chose to stay in Manila, foregoing her retirement in New York, to make sure they would succeed in their incessant quest to continue what they had started. 

Ms. Reyes, who founded Ballet Philippines in 1969, chose to go with the dancers’ sentiments despite her undeniable tight connection to and identification with the company.

Professional Artists Support Program 

Related: How ‘pangalay’ brought ‘ginhawa’ and helped me through the pandemic

Recognizing the situation of artists, Chris Millado, then artistic director of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, along with former Ballet Philippines president and current CCP president Margarita Moran Floirendo, and former CCP president Arsenio Lizaso, formed the Professional Artists Support Program, which guaranteed not only the dancers’ fees but also the fees of other artists in other sectors. 

The program also provided the dancers access to rehearsal space at the lobby of the CCP’s main theater; there, almost daily ballet classes took place, aside from online classes taught by the dancers. Within months, online performances titled “Dance On” were filmed by the dancers themselves on their phones and edited by another, tech-savvy, team of dancers. This initiative was named the CCP Dance Workshop. 

The succeeding months saw the emergence of fresh and new works by young and new choreographers, mentored by Nonoy Froilan, Alden Lugnasin, and Ms. Reyes as well. The new works showcase thought-provoking concepts, such as Erl Sorilla’s “Musa” that dissects questions on how one truly lives.  In John Ababon’s “In the Midst of Overcoming,” the ups and downs of life are examined. Inspired by environment activist Greta Thunberg’s speech at the UN Climate Action summit, Lester Reguindin created his work titled “Now.” In “I Wanna Say Something,” JM Cabling reimagines the mind of a quiet person. 

These new works were presented alongside a sprinkling of the classics, like the technically challenging pas de deux from Marius Petipa’s “Le Corsaire,” restaged by Victor Ursabia and danced by Victor Maguad and Monica Gana, and Jules Perrot’s grand pas de quatre, which was created in 1845 for the top international ballerinas of the day, Lucille Grahn, Carlotta Grisi, Fanny Cerrito and Marie Taglioni. 

The works were performed by John Ababon, Al Abraham, Sarah Alejandro, EJ Arisola, Luigie Barrera, Ricmar Bayoneta, Danilo Dayo Jr., Monica Gana, Boni Guerrero Jr., Gianna Hervas, Victor Maguad, Eugine Obille, Justine Orande, Ace Polias, Lester Reguindin, Katrene San Miguel, Stephanie Santiago, Karla Santos, Erl Sorilla, Joanne Tangalin, Jessa Tangalin, and Ronelson Yadao. All these dancers are worth a mention for the courage and tenacity they have shown for “Dance On,” as the omnibus title of their pandemic performances dictates.

Commemorative performances

Soon enough, the group started considering commemorative performances for special occasions.

In May 2021, to celebrate National Heritage Month and the anniversary of Manila’s founding as a city, Vibal Foundation invited the group to film some themed numbers for their online presentation. As the Christmas season approached in 2021, a more ambitious, full-scale filmed production aptly titled “Tuloy Ang Pasko” was conceptualized by Yadao with inputs from Ms. Reyes. A nostalgic lookback of four friends as they reminisced their childhood Christmases, with one friend now residing in the United States, the production consisted of a pre-taped portion of the older cast and the coverage onstage of the younger dancers. Film direction and editing were by award winning movie director Carlitos Siguion Reyna.

Up until that point, all the dancers remained “in barracks” at the CCP. On breaks, some spent time at the home of Ms. Reyes, learning how to cook under her tutelage. Their special dish for that season was eggs Benedict.

As performances reached regularity, Ms. Reyes felt the time was ripe to form a new dance company. She was initially reluctant to lend her name to the company, but she was soon convinced by those in the know that her name would resonate much strongly as a selling point for much needed support. Thus did Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARPD) come to be, with Yadao appointed artistic director. 

The selection of the board of directors eventually boiled down to a group of dance supporters who mostly “would have been dancers” except that other professions intervened: Greg Banzon, chair, is an award-winning varsity athlete who took dance lessons to complement his athletic skills; Cristina Santos Keppler, treasurer, is a forever dance subscriber and adult ballet class attendee; Leo Abuda, corporate secretary; Ricky Toledo, dance aficionado; Christ Upton, who practically grew up in the dance studio with his mother, Ms. Reyes; and yours truly, president, an early ballet school dropout who went back to ballet class too late to master the use of pointe shoes.

Year-ending season

ARPD has a full year-ending season in the offing, which began with an inaugural performance in Dapitan to celebrate the 130^th year of National Hero Jose Rizal’s arrival in that city to commence his exile. National Artist for Music Ryan Cayabyab, who had collaborated with Ms. Reyes on major dance presentations like “Rama Hari,” joined her and the company at the inaugural performance. 

With the support of the Professional Support for Artists Program, this year’s season opens on Sept. 30-Oct.2 with “Alay nina Alice at Agnes,” a presentation of works by the two living National Artists for Dance, Alice Reyes and Agnes Locsin. On Oct. 28-30, “Premiere and Encores,” a collaboration of the CCP with the French Embassy, will feature the works of renowned French choreographer Redha Benteifour, who will fly to Manila and stay for seven weeks for workshops, training and choreography. In addition to his works, three works of young choreographers Cabling, Reguindin, Sorilla, Ababon and Abraham will be performed.

The Christmas presentation is “Puso ng Pasko,” a collaborative work of Yadao, Sorilla, Ababon, Reguindin, Guerrero, Abraham and Dayo. It is an original full-length ballet with film direction by Siguion Reyna and music by Cayabyab.

In one of the filmed pandemic presentations, dancer and choreographer PJ Rebullida, a mentee of former artistic director Augustus “Bam” Damian, explained his work, “Light at the End of…” It was based on the Japanese concept of “wabi-sabi” — of “holding the life cycles of birth, growth, decay and death in equanimity…celebrating the life cycle and even [how] the darkest part of life can be a moment of celebration,” where with each day’s evolution,” we discover ourselves even more.”

What could have been the death of dance during this pandemic indeed proved to be a rebirth, surviving the odds in faith and conviction and emerging as a breath that gave new life. 

Liliane (Tats) Rejante Manahan is by profession a surface decorator and conservator of wall paintings. She spent 18 years as a writer and director for television and documentaries. She is the founding manager of Hotlegs, Dance, Stunt, Mime and Gorilla Training Troupe, and a founding board member of Fundacion Centro Flamenco Manila. She is the immediate past chair of the Heritage Conservation Society. At present, she is the representative of the International Council on Monuments and Sites at the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. —Ed.

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