Troy Schumacher's Translation

With his latest 3-night performance, Translation, Schumacher contemplates digital technology, and how that has affected communication between people. Merging science fiction, visual arts, and music composition by Julianna Barwick, Translation takes a multidisciplinary approach that adds a depth to ballet that has rarely been seen before. Ahead of the Translation opening, office sat down with Schumacher to understand his feelings towards digital communication, and learn why BalletCollective upends every notion of ballet as you know it.

What made you start BalletCollective?

Really the idea behind it is that when you bring together forward thinking artists, working in different forms, you start a conversation. It's a really fascinating thing to figure out where that leads. As art forms become more and more institutionalized, there's less and less of a conversation. When different artists can come together, it sparks new ideas. Because what one person might see as a convention in their form, an artist can come in and really turn it up on its head. And it's really about invention because ballet especially is an art form that really needs to be relevant again.

What’s it like transitioning from your work at NYCB to BalletCollective?

At NYCB I still dance, I still perform [in addition to choreography]. People always ask how do you do both of those things at the same time, but I think choreographing and dancing use completely different parts of your mind and body. So it's actually really refreshing to switch back and forth. When you're creating work for a place like NYCB, it's perhaps the greatest dance stage in the world. And at the same time it's a very large scale, you have to thing large, stakes are higher. At BalletCollective we start something, and none of us have any idea where it's going to lead. And that's both a really scary thing and a really exciting thing.

What about physical movements? Do they change between the projects you work on?

At BalletCollective I tend to do some different styles, and I try to create a varied repertory. For me I fell in love with dance originally because of the training element. I loved the athleticism, how challenging it was, it was something that was really great to see yourself progressing in. Self-gratification is fantastic in ballet, because it's so hard and it takes so long to reach these little baby steps.

At the same time for years I really had trouble relating to it as an art form. I think a large part of that has to do with the way people relate to one another on stage in a lot of the works. A large percentage of the ballets that are performed are from 40, 60, 80 years ago. The way people relate to each other in those ballets is not the same as people relate to each other now. And they’re masterworks and should continue to be performed, but for me when I watch dance I try to watch it in somewhat of a social context, and I try to understand what is happening and why they are dancing, and if I can't answer those questions as an audience member I can't relate. So it's one thing that I really try to do in BalletCollective, we come together and it's actually a quite cerebral process, and we're having these really intellectual conversations, but what we're trying to do in the end is produce something that is really relatable but has these different levels of understanding.

In Translation, the faces are hidden and the viewers are limited to the figures, which allows them to engage with the movement more.

I really thought it would be a fantastic thing to choreograph the ballet that was in silhouette. Because one thing that I've been feeling is that everything is so fast paced, and we're all so busy, and we're all so connected. And I think that the more-special moments for me in the past year have been these situations where I'm just sitting down on the ground with my dog and just watching leaves falling. I wanted create a work that was about the physical form of the body, but more about the shapes that multiple bodies and silhouettes can make, and to really slow it down. Because when things are in silhouette you're forced to slow it down, or else the mind strangely cannot comprehend what is happening. So you stop looking at them at a certain point in the work, because you're looking at them as forms and you stop worrying about what their facial expressions are, and it becomes really about an abstract physical expression between these two bodies.

Translation is inspired by a science fiction story you read, right?

I read a really fantastic story by Ken Liu called “The Paper Menagerie,” and that is actually not really sci-fi, it's a magical realism story, and you read this story, you just start crying at the end of it. He's a really prolific author; I read about where he comes from and why he writes science fiction, it was kind of about taking social constructions and blowing them out of proportion. And part of that seems like such a beautiful idea about ballet. He had written this essay about writing science fiction, why he also enjoys the act of translation, and there was one sentence he wrote that I thought was really beautiful, about how we take all of these chance occurrences in our lives and we ascribe meaning to them by telling stories. And we're all so self-centered, and we're constantly trying to comprehend what goes on around us, and we translate that into a story. And so he wrote a short piece of prose for us that focuses on that idea, a lot of it's about how we what we call the present from neurological perspective is really not that. The piece was actually filled with all these great ideas for dance.

Is it easy for you to convert these vague concepts into dance?

It happens sometimes and sometimes it doesn't, and when it happens it's really exciting. And thing about dance, it's such a time based medium. Music is the same too. But there are certain things in dance that can be conveyed in two seconds. There are other ideas that can take 10 minutes to convey.

Many people have ideas about digital communication and its many woes. But for someone who has grown up with it for much of your life, what was most interesting to you?

I think a lot of it has to do with the amount of translating or parsing we have to do in our day-to-day basis in our communications. Things are much less explicit as you're talking about meaning, or really understanding what people are saying, or what they are insinuating. And the art of that has become so nuanced, and it's also something that is so personal between people.

Many people have ideas about digital communication and its many woes. But for someone who has grown up with it for much of your life, what was most interesting to you?

Do you find yourself responding to political or social changes in the world through dance, the same way many other artists are responding?

I think this too is about how many alerts we get, whether that's social or whether that's the New York Times or the Washington Post, how unnerving that can be, and this urge to remain connected, both socially and what's happening around us. For me what I'm trying to create is somewhat of an antidote to what I'm feeling. Right now I'm having trouble watching anything or reading anything that's too intense or too serious, because you can only really take so much. And sometime you need art to uplift you, sometimes you need it to make you cry in a bad way, in a good way, and there's certain ideas that can be conveyed really well through dance and other ideas are more challenging. And whether that's exploring new relationships on stage—I think one thing in dance that is so overwrought is this strong man/weak woman relationship, and that's something that BalletCollective from day one, that's something that we've really tried to explore, is how to progress these gender relationships in ballet much further.

You wouldn’t normally think of those types of gender roles in an art form like ballet.

In some ways, it's an art form that traditionally has been progressive, but also can be stuck in its ways for a long amount of time, because it is, in a lot of venues, a very traditional art form.

So do you feel BalletCollective is bringing the medium to a new audience? And breaking down the barriers that are often associated with it?

I think there are many facets to this question and this problem. One is an economic issue, on both sides, because performing arts, they cost more money to produce than people are willing to pay for a ticket. So for us, at BalletCollective, if we wanted to break even and just do it through ticket sales, then we would have to charge at least $150 per ticket average price, and that's not what we want to do. With our pricing scale [we’re] always making sure there are $20 tickets for people to buy, because I think that when people come to our shows, what they are expecting to see when they see the word ballet, and what is actually being presented is often not the same.

Ballet, in a very underutilized way, has the potential to bring all of these [art forms] together, and needs all of them to exist. If you're able to curate these collaborations in really smart ways, the end product can be extremely accessible, but then also really intelligent at the same time.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

Culture

Real Slick, Jack: Psyche Organic Arrives in New York

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Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.