Over the weekend, the Painted Bride Art Center hosted a rare retrospective of the Kun-Yang Lin/Dancers (KYL/D) as they set out to mark the five year anniversary of their relocation from New York to Philadelphia. In a relatively short span, this group of brilliantly gifted movers and makers created a home in the Philadelphia region, settling into a new city that welcomes and nourishes their expression and intensity as only the City of Brotherly Love can. This much is clear when witnessing the group’s newest productions completed in Philly, and even when looking back on the explorations of their older work through the lens of this unique and vibrant locale we all play a part in.

The show began with a powerful piece of choreography that Lin created 20 years ago: “Moon Dance.” A solo dancer takes to the stage, initially in silence, robed in flowing sheets of white fabric. As an introduction, this arrangement is ideal – it is stern and flexible, but also taciturn. The occasional stomp against the stage or hissing exhale provides an audible accent outside of the music, and also to dancer Liu Mo’s muscles, which flex across his back in sharp complementary blue and orange hues. All throughout the night, the lighting was particularly riveting and, using this performance as a foundation, the narrative elements slowly build upon “Moon Dance.”

Vuthy Ou and Evalina Carbonell in Kun-Yang Lin’s “Run Silent, Run Deep…” Photo by L. Browning Photography

Working their way through the sensual energy and power play of “Run Silent, Run Deep…,” two dancers slowly free themselves from their red neckties and struggle with one another in an exchange that is sometimes as arousing as it is somber. “Butterfly” sees a dancer in the throes of what appears to be injury or physical impedance, her dress dangling from her shoulders like so many bandages.

Jessica Warchal-King in Kun-Yang Lin’s “Butterfly.” Photo by L. Browning Photography

Ending the first half saw the world premiere of “to dust” choreographed by KYL/D performer Olive Prince. The heavy electronic soundtrack pushes forward while the performers themselves, clad in sooty gray and bleach-spattered tops, cling along for the ride. The bodies on stage sometimes withdraw and change their speed or direction, oftentimes nearly missing one another in the tumult. These interrelated rhythms, paired with the stop-and-go feel of the pacing, release a complex crossfire of figures that rattle and dart before inevitably coming to rest. Representing the short, clawing struggle of all life from crustacean to human being, we soberly recall that we shall each eventually return to dust.

Brian Cordova and Liu Mo in Kun-Yang Lin’s “The Song that Can’t be Sung.” Photo by L. Browning Photography

Starting the second half we find a beautiful pair of male dancers in “The Song that Can’t be Sung.” Their tenderness and apprehension presents the audience with a scenario that unmistakably examines the trials and triumphs of same-sex love in a world where it is often scorned or marginalized. Shortly afterward, we encounter “Renaissance,” which was perhaps the pinnacle of the show. A lone dancer slowly births herself from a twist of crimson mesh fabric as mingling voices and deep bells churn from above. The otherworldly sounds and fiery shades are almost demonic, but alluring, as the performer makes her way into her final, wholly human form. Over the course of the short but sharp climax, she both succumbs to and overcomes her restraints and the din to rise from the ashes.

Rhonda Moore in Kun-Yang Lin’s “Shall We…?” Photo by L. Browning Photography.

Diverging from much of the work that KYL/D typically presents, the last, and longest, piece “Shall We…?” visits a cast of characters in a dingy tango bar, drinking the night away. This production is far more theatrical (and comical) than the fare, actively engaging in monologues and also breaking the fourth wall. Objects like booze bottles, chairs, and malfunctioning suspenders add to the drunken romp that seems more like Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” mixed with a steamy jazz club than the non-narrative movements that best exemplify KYL/D.

By pulling the audience from the physical, into the breakdown of the body, through trials, death, rebirth, and finally toward the collapse of the very art form itself and its expectations, the Kun-Yang Lin/Dancers spread decades of artistry into one evening, and this is no small feat. In an attempt to summarize an experience that spans time, place, and countless individuals, KYL/D expresses its gratitude to the Philadelphia community in the best way that they can: their music, emotions, and – most signifcantly – their movements.

 Kun-Yang Lin/Dancers is located at 1316 S. 9th St., Philadelphia; [email protected]; kunyanglin.org.