Sorry, Sean. You're stuck with me.

The not-very-Merli wedding bouquet I was gifted pre-Ubering.

Not long after getting engaged, my friend Jenny set us wise to the wonders of engagement events hosted by venues throughout Boston as a ploy to lure young couples into their pricey grasps. One such event—at a venue I’ll refrain from revealing—threw quite the impressive shindig, complete with full buffets on every floor and open bars around every corner. Having been kind to the florist in attendance, Sean and I were handed their display flowers at the end of the night: a boutonnière for an already dapper-looking Sean, and a luscious bouquet for me. Hugging Jenny goodnight, we hopped into the back of our Uber shared ride, and proceeded to head to the driver’s next pickup. An older woman soon climbed into the front seat, did a doubletake at the two of us—dressed to the nines and flowers in hand—and finally asked “I’m sorry but…did the two of you just get married?” Sean laughed and shook his head as I immediately blurted, “It’s so funny you ask! I was just telling Sean we’ve got the flowers and look amazing…why not get married tonight?” “Well what are the odds,” our stranger replied, “I’m a minister!” “And I’m a witness,” chimed in our otherwise grumpy driver.

At this point, I apparently turned wide-eyed to Sean who, ever the voice of reason, calmly reminded me that “everyone we know would kill us.” Recognizing defeat, I thanked our fellow passenger, and continued to smile in the dark at the thought of a spontaneous, cost-free wedding.

...

Over the years, I’ve seen friends post their thoughts on weddings, be it their own or in response to society’s view of them in general. Some view it as a chance to realize their childhood fantasies of the “perfect, magical day;” some deem it a religious necessity; and others argue that getting married isn’t an “accomplishment” and should not be exalted as such. Whatever your own views may be, here are my own: I agree that marriage is not an accomplishment, but I do view it as one of the most important commitments one can make (or not make, if that’s your choice!). It is the formal recognition that not only have you found someone you value to the point of sharing your life with them, but also that you agree to be their partner emotionally and physically from this day onward.

Personally, I never dreamed of my wedding. I never crooned over wedding dress magazines or thought about how I’d style my hair. In fact, I downright laughed when one popular wedding website (who bought my email from who knows who) sent me an Urgent Reminder! that my wedding was only 365 days away and in order to stand any chance of looking beautiful for my ceremony, it was imperative that I start my wedding beauty regimen now! Can you imagine? 365 days of torture! But I digress… No, for me the perfect marriage—I thought at the time—was a quiet, simple, meaningful elopement, sharing my vows with Sean and Sean alone, outdoors surrounded by the sounds of nature and the eyes and ears of only the one marrying us. My fiancé on the other hand, was the one who had selected his groomsmen back in middle school; had visions of me walking down the aisle in a white dress; and represented our friends and families' pleas for a traditional wedding.

My view from the barn, early Saturday morning. Those gorgeous deep blue-gray clouds soon drifted away before returning at the end of the ceremony.

They say marriage is often about compromise, so compromise we did. I got my outdoor ceremony (on an alpaca farm, no less!), and everyone else got the rest. Yet the kicker is this: I loved every minute of it. Maybe it was the quiet Vermont setting, or the last-minute drop in numbers on our guest list, but our ceremony actually did feel quite intimate. I found myself turning to my friends standing by me and my family and framily in the rows along the lawn, laughing as Sean and I displayed our clear differences as people—him: earnest, meticulous, and at times, cautious; me: gregarious, spontaneous, and at times, impatient—and choking up as Sean revealed his secret ability to kick my ass at writing vows. 

The totally-Merli wedding bouquet I was thrilled to carry. Shout out to Fast Pony Flowers for creating the most insanely stunning bouquet I've ever held, and for answering my initial outreach email with "Haphazard is my specialty." Thank you, Melissa!

So although I didn’t have my Uber-ride elopement, I did have the perfect wedding. Sean and I made a good team, from site visits to tastings to décor planning, and those who attended or sent their love from afar made the weekend that much more powerful. Even Mother Nature gave us each what we desired: for Sean, a rich blue sky with a few puffy white clouds (his exact request), and for me, a sudden deluge of rain as our guests raced inside the reception barn, while Sean and I laughed our way through fields and covered bridges. Compromise at its finest.

Another shout out to our incredible weather-defying photographer Somerby Jones!

In the end, I am grateful. Grateful to Sean for committing to a lifetime of shenanigans with me, and for pushing me to include our incredible network of friends and family in this important life event; grateful to my family for making it financially possible for us to spend an entire weekend visiting with our guests (nothing felt rushed, and no one felt missed); grateful to our amusingly renegade officiant Wayne for balancing humor with solemnity; and grateful to all those closest to us who took the time out of their busy lives to travel to middle-of-nowhere Vermont and celebrate this commitment. Truly, I could not have asked for a better partner, nor a better way to legally kick off our partnership.

To everyone in my life: Thank you. To Sean: Let’s do this!

Hooked

I’m hooked.

On what?, you might ask. On glass.

There are so many elements of glass that excite me: How its texture can vary from silky to rough to sharp; how it can take a beam of light and dissolve it into an array of colors; how it can magnify or minimize; how it can encapsulate air bubbles; and how it’s actually an amorphous solid. All of these properties captivate me, and have for years.

Marblehead, MA.

My brother shows off the perfect gradient rainbow of colors he's found in one afternoon, including the ever-sought-after red sea glass. 

In trying to pinpoint when it began, I realize now that I can’t quite find a start. Was it when playing with my dad’s case of telescope lenses, overlapping the different circles of colored glass while carefully avoiding touching the surface? Or was it while looking for sea glass on the beach with my family in the summer, learning the chemistry (and more importantly the history) behind every color, every piece? Or maybe it was watching it being worked with for the first time, sitting on a bench in the sweltering studio at Simon Pearce in Vermont, studying skilled artisans as they turned glowing orbs into smooth, crystalline stemware.

Now we are here. Co-choreographed by Merli V. Guerra and Kimberleigh A. Holman, 2012. Photo: Jim Coleman.

Throughout my professional career, I’ve used glass as both a medium with which to work and an inspiration from which to conceptualize—from the glowing bulbs of Andromeda to the finger-smudged window panes of Now we are here. Now, as I head into a new project with the Fuller Craft Museum, I have been given an opportunity to create a "breathing installation" of dance and art that revolves solely around glass itself.

In an effort to research this topic up close (and because she knows me and my interests better than nearly anyone), Kim surprised me with possibly my favorite gift to date: A glass blowing class for two, and a scribbled note about how the person I brought didn't have to be her. (Please! As if it wouldn't be.)

Three months later, there we were: standing awkwardly in a class of four as our chill instructor casually meandered through us with a slowly dripping glob of molten glass on the end of a metal tube. As beginners, we were given the options of garden ball, paperweight, or pumpkin. I found myself staring into the intricately detailed swirls of color trapped inside each paperweight, as if tiny planets sitting on a shelf, and knew I had to create one. So did Kim, though her interest seemed to be focused more so on the satisfying feeling of rolling the paperweight around in her hands. (Again, as if this wouldn't be the case.)

Having both chosen to create a paperweight, I was struck by the heat I felt not only from the ovens but from the glass itself. My knuckles felt uncomfortably close to burning as I held a board against Kim's glass to help her shape it into a sphere, much like reaching just a little too far into a campfire to toast that last marshmallow.

As for color, we were surprised to find large buckets of tiny colored chips that we would roll our clear glass through. Our instructor helped us determine the right proportion of chips to give us the different looks we were aiming to achieve. Taking mine out of the kiln, I was a bit over zealous when told I could add air bubbles and twists with a large pair of tongs next to me—I was just so eager to witness for myself how malleable it was! Cooling quickly, the glass went from feeling like a chewed piece of gum to crystalized honey, and it took surprising effort to pry it into shape.

Two days later, it was time to head back to the studio in search of our fully cooled paperweights. The results speak for themselves:

Kim's "Ursula-the-seawitch-the-paperweight."

Merli's "Earth, as seen from the atmosphere."

So here we are, a few weeks later, and I'm still thinking daily about what could be next in my glass explorations. I'm 100% smitten with the medium, and only half-joking with Kim that one of us should build a kiln in the basement (perhaps the one who doesn't currently have a security deposit?). From broken on the floor, to fully formed on my shelf, to washed ashore as glowing pebbles, glass always catches my eye with beauty, light, and intrigue.

Till the next time, Glass...



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A Pivotal Moment: Performing at the Boston Opera House

Apologies in advance to my readers: This post takes a more rambling approach than I tend to use, but one thought led to another, and it felt too circuitous in the end to force it into a more linear format. Enjoy!

People often ask me where my love of dance originated. To be honest, it seems to have lived inside me since the moment I could freely move my limbs. When I was old enough to talk, I repeatedly concerned my parents with a straight-faced story about my true identity being a professional dancer who lived in a pink house, and that my "real" family missed me. Alter ego aside, my dance career did start young, and was encouraged by a supportive family (yes, my actual one) and a network of mentors with whom I still keep in contact and thank for their help along the way. 

A glimpse at a time when performing made me feel timid, rather than charged.

Despite this encouragement from the outside, I was always aware of the fact that fulfilling my goal of becoming a professional dancer/choreographer would be a challenge to say the least. I started taking formal dance classes at the age of six, which—sadly—is considered "late" in the ballet world. Yet as I grew, I discovered both my set-backs and my strengths. What I lacked in turnout and height, I made up for with stage presence.

"Stage presence." What an interesting term. The dictionary defines it as "the ability to command the attention of a theater audience by the impressiveness of one's manner or appearance," and this is certainly true, but for me the term is two-fold. Whenever I perform in a new space, I find I have not one favorite moment, but two. Who doesn't love that instant when the stage lights rise, heating your skin, your face, as you connect with the viewers in the dark abyss through the intricacies of movement? Yet equally powerful is the moment just prior, when the tech crew has shifted its focus away from the performers; the performers have wandered off to eat, change, and apply their makeup; and the stage just sits there, not as a magnificent focal point, but as an insignificant structure awaiting the production.

That is the moment I love most. When the only "stage presence" left in the theater is the presence of the stage itself.

Kim and I pry ourselves awake for our first meeting with TEDxCambridge, at the very non-Luminarium hour of 8am.

In February, Kim and I received a call from TEDxCambridge, inviting us to open for their spring 2016 TED Talks. The call could have gone a far less glamorous direction, but instead we soon found ourselves creating a newly-commissioned work for the single largest TED event in the world (even larger than the original TED Talks in Vancouver), performing for an audience of 2,600 viewers in our city's most celebrated theater, the Boston Opera House.

Wandering around the block, we spy our event featured on the Boston Opera House marquee. Photo: Merli V. Guerra.

The process was as exhilarating as it was daunting, but in the end, Kim and I found ourselves walking around the block—exhausted, excited—chatting about how solid we felt about the work we were about to debut. It was our first commissioned work of this magnitude coupled with our first time co-choreographing in four years, and we had successfully created a piece that the full company felt proud of, allowing ourselves to work somewhat commercially without compromising our artistic integrity.

Kim feet and my feet, standing on this monumental stage.
Photo: Kim Holman.

Our walk ended back inside the theater, standing on the stage. And thus my "stage presence" moment began. Here was this mighty, famous, historic theater whose gilded walls gleamed in the light. But who was she really? I took a moment for myself to commune with the space—a spiritual pre-performance ritual of mine—feeling the weight of the people whose energies graced this same spot over the years. The floor creaked under my feet in patches, while others pushed back against my legs. The ceiling mural somehow felt farther away now, and I wondered who painted it—were they as scared of heights as I am? The backstage opened up to reveal a colossal, cool cave of inspiration—what set design couldn't one build in here? And as Kim and I exited to return to the group, I marveled at how quickly all the backstage passages had become second nature to travel.

Soaking it all in, and fully embracing the evening to follow. Photo: Kim Holman.

A few weeks before the production, I brought my mom to see Boston Ballet for her birthday, and we made a whole day of it. Amusingly, it wasn't until halfway through the performance that she suddenly realized which theater we were in, and that this was the same stage Luminarium would be performing on in June. The conversation shifted back to one of my earliest memories of seeing Boston Ballet perform—back then at the Wang Theatre. My dad had brought me and my friend Ginny to see Swan Lake. I remember sitting in a booster seat, peering down at the dancers, completely mesmerized. Even more vivid, I remember my dad sneaking us around a corner in the lobby—as the adults laughed and mingled, sipping their wine—and surprising us with our own intermission beverage of choice: Juicy Juice, with a snack of Teddy Grahams.

24 years later, here I was. Sipping cocktails at the Ritz Carlton after party for the event's VIPs; chatting with corporate sponsors; and laughing with my company members, my friends, about the last-minute trials of the performance a few hours earlier. I wonder what that little girl would have thought—sitting cross legged on the floor, sipping her juice box and enjoying her snack—if a young woman in a black dress suddenly turned around, winked, and with a reassuring smile said "This will be you someday. You'll perform on the same stage as Boston's finest; your work will be shown to the region's smartest audience; and you'll be surrounded by artists you admire and who support and admire you right back."

What would she have thought...

Backstage, the company huddles together one last time before the show begins. Photo: Luke Fogel.

Below are two videos from this mile-marker event in Luminarium's evolution. The first is a 5-minute documentary giving viewers a look into the company's experience behind-the-scenes. The second is the beautiful, professional footage taken of the performance itself.

Many thanks to all who were involved in the creation of this work and to all who encouraged us throughout the four months leading up to its debut!

From Old & Battered to Farmhouse Chic

Later this summer, I'll be making an important move. For the first time in my life, I'll be sharing a home not with a roommate, but with Sean! My new "forever roommate," if you will. As we prepare for the move, and I continue to sort through all my belongings—donating everything from dresses to furniture—I recently found myself staring at the ugly banged up dresser shoved in the corner of my room. That's what I need, I thought, I need a shiny new dresser for the new move!

After a month of casually searching the internet for dressers, I quickly became discouraged. For a few hundred dollars, you, too, can be the owner of an Ikea-style faux-wood dresser; and for real wood, double or triple that price! That's when I eyed my dresser with new appreciation. Despite being an old, gauged up, terribly stained garage sale find from my first move, at least it was wood. With new determination, I decided to try my hand at refinishing it to something a little more Pinterest-worthy.

And how happy I am to see it was worth it! For a mere $48.20 of supplies (new knobs, stain and polyurethane, wood filler, sandpaper, and some brushes), my $40 yard sale salvage is now a piece I'm proud to place in Sean and my new home this August.

Enjoy these before and after photos, and maybe you'll find there's something in your own home that needs a refresher this summer...

Before:

The first thing I did was remove that terrible baseboard. The moment I did, the whole piece became so much airier and lofty.

By far the dumbest move I made was deciding to sand down the entire piece by hand. For anything being painted, the process of sanding was meditative and rewarding. Yet that darn top, with its deep cuts and thick stain, proved to be quite the challenge.

At one point, I looked down after an hour of forceful sanding to find a resting alpaca staring up at a forest. Maybe the wedding is too much on my brain these days.

After:

Bring on the August move!

The Wayside Inn: Early Sketches

Each season I push myself to chronicle the development of the major projects I embark on through Luminarium. It's amazing how quickly a few still images floating across my mind turn to active ideas, planning, and physical motion. Even in the one month since sending Kim my first sketches, I am now further engaged (and steadily en route to being fully "entrenched") in the project. Thus, let the documenting begin.

It's probably getting old by now to read this sentence, but for those just joining, every season I create and lead Luminarium's Cultural Community Outreach Project—using dance and art to highlight a local cultural or historic landmark. Past examples have taken me to Concord (Celebration of Preservation, Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House, 2012), Lowell (Threading Motion Project, New England Quilt Museum, 2013), Arlington (Night at the Tower, Arlington Reservoir Water Tower, 2014), and Amherst (Amherst Storybook Project, Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, 2015). This year marks the monumental fifth iteration of this annual endeavor, and—thanks to a grant from the Sudbury Cultural Council—will highlight the 300th anniversary of the historic Wayside Inn of Sudbury, MA.

So much has already begun to develop since my initial concept of presenting three new works, each one celebrating the Inn's 300 years while focusing on an integral aspect of the landmark: The Inn, the gristmill, and the land. The project began in September with a cold call to the Wayside Inn; the grant application was then submitted in October; funding was awarded in January; and in February I sent Kim the following preliminary notes and images darting through my mind for the event:


The Film
(Focus on the mill)

Either a piece filmed inside the mill, or projected onto various parts of it—including potentially the waterfall. 

Digital sketch for Merli V. Guerra's upcoming project at The Wayside Inn, 2016.

​The Petticoat Piece 

(Focus on the inn within the greater context of the world) 

This is the piece I'm envisioning expanding upon (or if I finish it in time, simply re-showing) for our Feature Production. I've been culling through the inn's journal entries from 1920 onwards (will need to inquire about older ones), and I'd like to use snippets about the people who stayed, the greater context of the war overseas and some beautiful quotes from the inn keeper at the time about wishing everyone could feel the joy and peace felt at the inn. It was a meeting ground for people reentering the country, and those shipping off. Some really incredible stories passed through this space! 

Current Sketch (different petticoats to symbolize different eras) 

Digital sketch for Merli V. Guerra's upcoming project at The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Alternatively: Giving each dancer 3 (layered) slips, one per century to gradually reveal, from multi-hoop to single-hoop to pencil slip.

The Land
This is where I'm stuck. I don't necessarily think I need to stick to the idea of the land if I want to change it, but so far nothing's really struck me for how to move forward.

One extra or alternative piece
I have an idea for one piece: To have it be a comical, quick-paced rundown of the history of the place, good for kids. We'll see...

One month later, these thoughts have since expanded, brought on new creators, and rehearsals have officially begun. Kim felt inspired by the concept of the land and has since taken that work on, and Mali Sastri of the powerful band Jaggery will be joining us on this project as we create a new work coupling her impressive music talents with our choreography. All in all, the project is off and running!

In the meantime, Luminarium has since created that "extra" piece—portraying 300 years of history through a delightfully whimsical 3-minute performance piece—and last night held a special video shoot for the project. We've all seen plenty of beautiful photos of dancers capturing their kinetic energy through the use of flour, but we're tackling this genre from a new angle: The Wayside Inn is home to a 1920s gristmill, using 18th century milling machinery. It is now one of just three remaining operational gristmills in Massachusetts.

In honor of this mill, I'm now working on a new film that will merge dance and flour, to be projected onto performers during the event this July. I've since set aside the waterfall projection concept (though I'm sure this will return in future years). Take a peek at these film stills caught from last night's shoot—step one is now complete.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

Film still from Merli V. Guerra's upcoming film for The Wayside Inn, 2016.

View the rest of the image here, and stay tuned for further updates on this exciting project!

Luminarium at the Wayside Inn: 300 Years of History

Sunday, July 10 at noon, 1:30pm, and 3pm

The performance cycle will travel from the barn, across the field, along the brook, and end at the mill. Viewers are encouraged to join the journey at any point of this 30-40 minute performance.

This project is supported in part by a grant from the Sudbury Cultural Council, a branch of the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

Arts Advocacy in the Great Hall of Flags

Each season, I find myself marveling at an experience I never could have imagined back in 2010 when Luminarium first started. Back then, Kim and I were new to the world of Boston performance venues, to grant-writing, and to speaking on behalf of the arts. With each year that passes, we've continued to expand our experiences, knowledge, and reach—and this week brought a new highlight to the company's memory banks.

Six months ago, the Massachusetts Cultural Council (MCC) reached out to me to inquire if Luminarium would be interested in performing at its prestigious Local Cultural Council (LCC) Statewide Assembly. This day-long event is held every two years in the beautiful Massachusetts State House, celebrating the efforts of the state's 329 local cultural councils, while encouraging state legislators to help these councils fund and further the arts.

Matthew Kyle and Chun-Jou Tsai perform Merli V. Guerra's Phoenixial Cycle at the LCC Statewide Assembly
at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Merli V. Guerra.

We were of course thrilled to participate in this event, and immediately began planning. There were some amusing anecdotal hiccups along the way, but in the end, we were proud to present two of Luminarium's recent works: The opening duet from my own Phoenixial Cycle (with performers Matthew Kyle and Chun-Jou Tsai), and Kim's Getting There is Half the Battle (featuring a new cast of myself, Amy, and now Kim!).

Matthew Kyle and Chun-Jou Tsai perform Merli V. Guerra's Phoenixial Cycle at the LCC Statewide Assembly
at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Merli V. Guerra.

Blanketed under the quiet glow of a gray afternoon, the company performed in the beautiful (and appropriately named) Great Hall of Flags to perhaps our most appreciative audience to date. We often pride ourselves on our accessibility, performing for audiences made up of art-lovers and new-to-dance viewers alike, yet to have this experience of performing in a room full of the state's top arts and culture supporters was as fulfilling as it was daunting. Fortunately, the energy in the room was palpable, and the hall echoed with uproarious applause following each piece.

Matthew Kyle and Chun-Jou Tsai perform Merli V. Guerra's Phoenixial Cycle at the
LCC Statewide Assembly at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

Matthew Kyle and Chun-Jou Tsai perform Merli V. Guerra's Phoenixial Cycle at the LCC Statewide Assembly
at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

l. to r. Amy Mastrangelo and Merli V. Guerra perform Holman's Getting There is Half the Battle
at the LCC Statewide Assembly at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

l. to r. Kimberleigh A. Holman, Amy Mastrangelo, and Merli V. Guerra perform Holman's Getting There is Half the Battle
at the LCC Statewide Assembly at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Chun-Jou Tsai.

l. to r. Amy Mastrangelo and Merli V. Guerra perform Holman's Getting There is Half the Battle at the LCC Statewide
Assembly at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Chun-Jou Tsai.

At the Assembly, I found myself wearing not only my performer/choreographer cap, but my speaker cap too, with the opportunity to engage in a discussion near and dear to my heart: How to further enrich communities through the arts. It's the topic that keeps my annual Cultural Community Outreach Project fresh with new ideas each season, and it's a discussion best had with those who are actively engaged in and/or funding the arts in their communities day in, day out.

Merli V. Guerra introduces her co-director Kim Holman and fellow Luminarium company members to keynote speaker
Sally Taylor. Photo: Mercure Photography.

For this event, I was told that I presented the perfect "trifecta" for the panel: As an 11-time LCC grant-winning artist, as recipient of the MCC's prestigious Gold Star Award, and for my recent work on the "ground floor" of the LCCs as Co-Chair of the Arlington Cultural Council. For these three reasons, the MCC invited me to speak as an active member of the LCC community whose reflections would serve to link the panel back to the LCC volunteers filling the room.

It was an honor and a privilege to sit on a panel comprised of Sally Taylor (musician and founder of Consenses), Scarlet Keys (Associate Professor, Berklee College of Music), and Ben Taylor (musician) as MCC Executive Director Anita Walker led the lively discussion as moderator.

Massachusetts Cultural Council Executive Director Anita Walker introduces the morning panel. Photo: Mercure Photography.

l. to r. Sally Taylor, Merli V. Guerra, Ben Taylor, and Scarlet Keys. Photo: Ed Cohen.

l. to r. Sally Taylor and Merli V. Guerra. Photo: Mercure Photography.

Merli V. Guerra speaks on the morning panel at the Local Cultural Council
Statewide Assembly, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

Merli V. Guerra speaks on the morning panel at the Local Cultural Council
Statewide Assembly, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

This panel invitation came at the perfect moment: After six years of working in the arts field, it was only in the past year that I finally acknowledged that the work I put forward extends far beyond myself, my company, and my immediate community. My work instead touches hundreds—thousands, at moments—through the very basic acts of encouraging young artists to grow and explore the world, acting as a mentor to new artistic entrepreneurs, and offering guidance to those entering the realm of grant-writing and government funding. No longer do I describe myself simply as an interdisciplinary artist, but—proudly—as an arts advocate as well.

My snazzy new business cards, kicking off 2016...

All in all, we could not have asked for a more receptive audience for Luminarium, nor could I have asked for a finer group of panelists and MCC staff to work alongside leading up to this event. Goodbye for now, State House... I wonder when we'll next perform inside your prestigious walls?

l. to r. Amy Mastrangelo and Merli V. Guerra perform Holman's
Getting There is Half the Battle at the LCC Statewide Assembly at the
Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Mercure Photography.

Luminarium Dance Company at the Massachusetts State House, 2016. Photo: Ed Cohen.