Lonna Wildinson gives her dances titles guaranteed to make an audience insecure. The recent works that Wilkinson and a small collection of dancers presented this weekend at the Dance Place had names like "Through Two" and "White Line" which may be private jokes, anagrams or puns, for Wilkinson uses words as randomly as she uses steps.
With the exception of the 1980 "Reflect Flash Effect," a wryly witty peice about dancers and mirrors and trial and repetition, Wilkinson's dancers seemed deliberately to be without point or pretext. In "Through Two," one of the program's two premieres, three dancers moved slowly through the intricate web of choreography that Wilkinson constructed and the d dance was interesting only as a puzzle. In her two solos ("The New White Line" and the 1980 "Perfect Piece"), the slim, proud Wilkinson projected an aura of stately serentiy, whether doing a sexless shimmy in "Perfect Piece" or fearful crawls and karate stances in "White Line."
The problem with Wilkinson's dances, earnest and solidly constructed as they are, is that there is little inherently interesting or memorable in the actual movements. Dances which could, and do, begin and end anywhere tend to look alike, one unto another.