5 Solos ; An Intimate Portrait

Co. Erasga, LikhaPH, and WhyNot lured me to the heart of Makati to witness a rare gathering of artists. I couldn't make it to the show entitled 5SOLOS, so instead I caught their dress rehearsal last February 19, 2026, at Karivin Studios. An appropriate show to be launched during Arts Month, it featured five dancer-choreographers who were encouraged to present a piece that could, in their words, “present a unique perspective on how body and dance can liberate, transcend, and redefine gender, power, and sexuality.” And in my head, I remember thinking that the statement was incredibly vague—something that could easily apply to almost any contemporary work without a clearly defined arc. So that was not really the ultimate draw for me. The real draw was the artists themselves. 

 A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen 

The show united contemporary dancers representing different generations and a broad range of styles. Each is established; their names alone attracted me. The main draw was them performing their own pieces. The thought of Manila's contemporary Filipino choreographers, each of whom has made their mark through their respective companies, performing their own works naturally aroused my curiosity. What they would present would surely reflect more of their souls and their art than what we normally see through the lens of their companies. From the get-go, it felt like this show—one that appeared to come out of nowhere—would become a significant and intimate portrait of these five men. 

Joining the all-male roster were Rhosam Prudenciado Jr. (LikhaPH), PJ Rebullida (Galaw.CO Dance Theatre), Al Garcia (UP Dance), Michael Que (Mari Dance Company), and Alvin Erasga (Co. Erasga). The only name missing from this roster for me would have been JM Cabling, founder of Mari Dance Co. I was told he had indeed been invited to dance in this space, but could not participate due to calendar conflicts. I simply couldn’t say no to an invitation to see these well-known choreographers dance again. I also couldn’t miss the opportunity to see how they now work with their own bodies after being the curators of their respective companies for so long. The black box was an intimate setting. Two large planks reflected light and projections, serving as the central visuals for all the pieces. Choreographers collaborated with Bimpoman, a visual artist and photographer, whose work accompanied all five pieces.

 Intimate Portraits

Michael Que began the evening with his piece As It Melts Another Blooms. He initiated the performance at the back of the plank, showing only the shadow of his movements in a kind of monologue of emotions. It almost felt like he was talking to himself, navigating his feelings through movement. As he slowly moved forward toward center stage, the quality of his movement carried a melancholic vibe. Then he gently held a piece of women’s clothing. And suddenly my heart was stirred because it was a scene that felt all too familiar—when you lose someone dearly, and you’re holding on to a piece of clothing for that familiar scent, that brush of texture that lets you relive memories. That ache that makes you hold on to something because it almost feels like she’s still there with you, embracing you. The imagery ruffled me a bit, reminding me what grief was all about. It brings me to that familiar resolve not to forget someone so important in your life—the fear of forgetting them and seeing others forget about them, too. Admittedly, though, when I watched the piece, while I emotionally associated it with grief, not having read the program, I thought it was about losing someone, anyone. 

The backdrop supported the aesthetic beautifully. Michael Que would often look upon the screens where vivid dreamlike images seemed to unfold—potent visuals of orange koi and beds of flowers. Que moved as if he were suspended inside all these lingering colors. 

What made the moment especially stirring was seeing Que show a vulnerability I hadn't seen in his earlier pieces. His works always had a strong point of view, but the materials he chose—at least from what I have seen—were rarely this intimate or internal. So seeing him explore this space so openly felt almost like looking into a page of his diary. Beautiful work. 

Rhosam Prudencio Jr., known for his stylized linear fluidity, has not danced in public for quite some time, so it was a real thrill to see this gifted performer share his art again. His theme was a snippet of his own life. Prudencio has a degenerative back condition, and for a dancer, this is the kind of obstacle that could easily sway you to drop everything and quit. This reality became the core of the piece he presented. 

He began chained to a mold—a back brace that restricted his movement. Still confined, he moved his fingers and arms with urgent desperation, clawing for space. Breaking free, he met the floor and moved as if orchestrating the air, slowly reclaiming control over his destiny. But the most sentimental moment came when he stopped and looked at the screen. An MRI image of his spine appeared over his photograph. At that moment, reality seemed to hit him. He began push-and-pull movements, as if taking two steps forward and one step back. The struggle became clear until, exhausted and exasperated, he disappeared into the darkness. What I loved about the piece was that Prudencio reestablished something both simple and powerful: the will to dance is a strong impetus. The work went beyond showing an individual struggle; it quietly shone a light on the life of a dancer. It is a life filled with uncertainty, where health and opportunity can shape destiny, sometimes more than talent. Though I’m not injured, the piece still resonated deeply. All bodies have limitations, but, as the work suggested, the will to dance can sometimes overcome them. This was a dancer’s story that resonated with me. 

Al Garcia has just settled back in Manila after a long, productive stint in Taiwan. He clearly drew from his foreign experience and influences. He presented Lore, an exploratory piece that carried emotion. It was also unmistakably cerebral and reflective. It turned out to be the most engaging and memorable piece for me. He began the work standing amidst the audience and suddenly blurted out AI questions: “Where did Philippine myths originate?” An AI voice answered, and he responded instinctively with his body. As he danced through the conversation—initially from a theoretical standpoint—it slowly progressed into something more physical. His second prompt asked AI: “Can you choreograph a solo for me showcasing the Filipino Austronesian roots?” And the voice began explaining influences from countries within the cultural sphere, such as Taiwan. What followed was compelling. The blend that emerged was beautiful and, as I later discovered when I did a little research, hilariously accurate. 

He asked AI about the myth of the sky, and AI explained that there were so many different versions from the Philippines and Taiwan. A Taiwanese narration followed—and Garcia used a string and a bayong of clothes in the piece. As he danced, he dressed himself in traditional Taiwanese clothing while moving in a way that still felt distinctly Filipino. He regressed and stripped down to the bare minimum, and by the end of this piece, his concept was fully communicated. 

Artificial intelligence—the mind-blowing technology of our time—became the perfect medium for making this point. AI is often regarded as the new encyclopedia, the new Google, the answer to everyone’s questions, and the new expert opinion. But even with all its potential and power, it can never fully capture the essence of an evolving human being. The intricately researched and layered work seemed to celebrate the human body and soul as an archive that cannot be replicated. We are products of everyday life, products of values, products of lived experience and memory. The body itself is a work in progress. It absorbs the cultures around it, owns them, and eventually blurs those influences into a single human body of unique experience.

 Interestingly enough, I found out that Garcia actually stayed in the Paiwanese community. The costume was crafted by their elders, and the sounds were sung by the community. So this piece is reflective of a lived experience layered with details that make it seem ready for a bigger audience. While the work stands on its own, it also made me think Garcia could easily develop it into a series. The last work I saw from him was Lao Wai Lao, a contemporary piece exploring the effects of diaspora. The title translates to “foreigner,” and the work reflects on finding oneself in a new land. In that sense, the two pieces feel like companions. Both suggest that countries are connected in ways we do not always see. Even if you remain rooted in your culture and ethnicity, it changes you. Your story will not be the same. You may stay true to your core, but the influences around you quietly shape the life you live. 

With Bimpoman's poetic visuals, you could see Al Garcia as a colorful piece of art blending into a sea of influences. 

Filipino-Canadian contemporary dancer Alvin Erasga’s piece, "Offering", was the most straightforward of the evening, yet it was far from lacking in intent. It was an excerpt from a meditative dance work created during the pandemic—a response to all the noise. In contrast to the concert's heavier themes, his calm and grounded presence offered a refreshing space for the audience to pause and center. With tantric yoga-inspired articulations of arms and legs, he drew us in, inviting a sense of stillness and awareness that felt almost contagious. 

PJ Rebullida’s piece, Under the Rock, was also an excerpt from a previous work and featured live collaboration with musicians, who I would assume were improvising alongside him. He began with sheets of paper, moving through them in gestures that seemed to enact inner thoughts or voices. I won’t pretend I fully understood the material, but it felt like a navigation of the body’s inner landscape. Abstract as it was, it captured my attention, and his artistry shone throughout. It would be a disservice not to praise the visual art. 

Bimpoman, who collaborated with the artists on the visual elements, contributed quietly provocative work. As a photographer myself, I was particularly struck by the depth and sensibility of his pieces. While visually striking, they went beyond aesthetics, drawing me in and lingering long after the performance ended. 

 Artists’ Freehand 

 Overall, I was grateful to be invited to a show that pushed its artists forward. This is not a performance for everyone; at times, it felt heavy, but it was undeniably inspiring. It reminded me that artists should always value platforms where they can flesh out their work without compromise. It’s not always about the commercial gain; it is also about creating art that encourages others to find their voice and find the people who will love it and appreciate it.