"Abide." Photo by Jeanne Mam-Luft.

"Stranger Than Fiction." Photo by Jeanne Mam-Luft.

  

When pebbles fall, balloons bobble and feathers fly, what else can it be but concept art? Texas Dance Theatre offered only balloons Friday night in Fort Worth; Muscle Memory Dance Theatre at the Dallas Hub Theater on Saturday went far better.

Of the three works on a program—"Stranger Than Fiction: A Series of Rocks and Feathers"—The Rubber Room best hit the mark.

The inspiration came from a narrative relayed on National Public Radio about six New York City teachers detained in "The Rubber Room." Officially known as the Detention Center, the Rubber Room brings in hundreds of teachers each year whose misconduct results in suspension at full pay. Call it the Purgatory of bureaucrats.

While the story itself is surreal, this dance drama was easy to decipher. Dressed in clever outfits, including cummerbunds, short skirts, wraps and abbreviated tops, the dancers sidle in, take a seat, slump over, leap and wave arms like helicopter blades. One teacher is in the Rubber Room for throwing a chair at a blackboard, another for being overheard mouthing an obscenity. Others have no idea of their infraction, and no one has any idea how long he or she will remain in limbo. To while away the time, they play cards, give Spanish lessons, watch a movie on their laptops or form a book club. Mostly, observes one, "They punish you with boredom."

At first, the spoken text almost overwhelms the dance, but as time goes on, the movement takes over. Teachers push red plastic chairs, upend them, fight to claim them, step on top. At times they form a human chair, and engage in a shoving match. One teacher lies down to sleep; another nods off, struggling to stay awake.

Lesley Snelson-Figueroa approaches this sad tale with clinical detachment, making it all the more compelling.

A grainy, black and white film covers part of the stage in Lauren Guyer’s The Cigar Box, setting a tone of dream-like suspension. A face is barely visible against grass, lake and sky. The floor is strewn with pebbles, with the cigar box in the middle.

One by one, Sonja Howard and Braulio Cruz-Ortiz emerge, and in a flat voice say things like "I miss my home," "it’s too dry here," or "maybe," while picking up pebbles. They engage in strange movements—sideways leaps, rolls to the floor, a jerking thrust of the hands, a cartwheel.

At the end, the screen shows a door shutting, while the pebbles drop. Without the program notes, you might not guess that this is a ritual about forgotten memories and bones weighted like rocks.

Of course, that is the purpose of conceptual art: to keep you guessing.

And guess you did for Amy L. Sleigh’s surreal Abide, featuring six scenes created by three choreographers. Balloons are abundant, along with vintage suitcases and a backdrop of a staircase. In "Plasticities," six dancers stride onto stage purposely, outfitted in party dress and high heels and trailing suitcases. They mill about and disperse as Sleigh, head bobbing with a balloon, eyes them intently. The others reappear in "Surface," heads also tied to balloon ribbons and now clad all in white.

And so it goes though "Solstice," "Bellows" and "Kindred," moving sometimes with balletic grace, other times rolling over to sleep, forming a circle, breaking off into solos and hopping in a jaunty mood.

The program notes are little help, other than offering words like "Prophetic Dreams. Awaken. Unfold. The soul within me begins to melt."

The dream ends with a dancer popping a balloon, and from it feathers flutter to the ground. It’s a surprising touch, and makes you wish for more of the same.

►Margaret Putnam has been writing about dance since 1980, with works published by D Magazine, The Dallas Observer, The Dallas Times Herald, The Dallas Morning News, The New York Times, Playbill, Stagebill and Dance Magazine.