Seraphic Fire premieres in Pasasalamat by the Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARDP) Aug. 1, 2025, an invitational event at the new Proscenium Theater at Rockwell Makati.
AT 91, American choreographer Norman Walker is still adding new chapters to a career that has shaped generations of dancers. His creative partnership with National Artist Alice Reyes, forged during her Ballet Philippines years, has endured for 54 years.
Norman Walker (foreground) at recent casual gettogether with former CCP Dance Company members and National Artist for Dance Alice Reyes (6th from left, clockwise) (Courtesy of Edna Vida)
Now, he returns with a new work for Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARDP), set to premiere in Pasasalamat on August 1, the first pre-opening performance at the new Proscenium Theater at Rockwell.
Arriving in Manila at dawn early this July, Walker brushed off jet lag with a midday modern class and hours spent observing rehearsals, eager to understand the company’s movement. Since then, his energy has barely flagged. He leaves the morning after the premiere for Tucson, Arizona, where he resumes teaching at BC Dance: The Ballet Conservatory, a post he has held for two decades.
ARDP dancers rehearsing for ‘Seraphic Fire’
Walker’s new work, Seraphic Fire, unfolds in four movements, each showing a different side of angels. The first, bold and expansive, captures the Seraphim’s commanding presence. A quieter, more reflective second section offers a glimpse of their spiritual core, briefly swelling as the full ensemble returns. In the third, two duets reveal the contrast between male and female angels, each surrounded by same-gender groups and led by a central male figure whose authority is calm and assured. The finale, a “playground for angels,” bursts with jumps and quick, playful exchanges, a lighter counterpoint to the earlier solemnity.
Throughout, upward-reaching arms remind us of a constant, unseen connection, the dancers inhabiting a cosmic realm beyond Earth or Heaven.
Teaching and choreographing, Walker believes, are what keep him sharp at his age. “There’s never been a year, since I’ve started choreographing, that I never choreographed,” he says.
Over seven decades, he has created some 300 works. Known for his command of classic modern technique, he insists on teaching ballet as well, especially with a Pagdiriwang program that includes Bam Damian’s C’est La Cie, danced on pointe.
His creative mind rarely rests. When not in the studio, Walker writes unproduced scripts, listens to music for his new works, and sketches costume designs, always analyzing how fabric interacts with a dancer’s body.
In Seraphic Fire, he points to Monica Gana’s skirt, which becomes part of the choreography: She slides onto the stage, folds to her knees, then, with a deft turn of fabric around her leg, pushes herself upward as if buoyed by the music.
Physical discipline also underpins his longevity. Walker set aside dancing in midlife when it left him aching, replacing it with tennis. “Playing tennis is good because you have to run. You have to stop, run. You have to go forward and back. The whole body is in motion. You’re using the spiral movements and the strength of the arm. There are so many things in tennis that are so like dance, that continued my ability to keep my body going,” he says.
Teaching and choreographing, Walker believes, are what keep him sharp at his age. ‘There’s never been a year, since I’ve started choreographing, that I never choreographed’
Born and raised in Manhattan, Walker grew up steeped in the arts, singing in a church choir before entering the High School of the Performing Arts to study drama. He later trained with May O’Donnell and Gertrud Shurr, both alumnae of Martha Graham’s company, and studied ballet with Robert Joffrey and other Russian teachers. His choreography bears their imprint, grounded in modern dance yet softened by the fluidity of ballet.
Walker danced with O’Donnell’s company from 1953 to 1955, eventually rising to principal dancer. He admits he lacked the innate gifts of a virtuoso, but brought other strengths nonetheless: at 6”1, he commanded attention onstage, learned roles quickly by memorizing the parts of entire casts, and possessed an instinctive musicality that shaped his phrasing.
Walker giving corrections in a classic modern dance class
Walker remembers a lecture-demonstration where O’Donnell’s husband, composer Ray Green, taught percussion for Suspension, one of her seminal works. Green had Walker play live from under the piano, surrounded by an array of drums, cymbals, and other percussion instruments. Matching each beat to the dancers’ timing, Walker impressed O’Donnell so much that she recorded his performance; that recording became the standard accompaniment to the piece.
Drafted into the US Army in the 1950s and sent to Germany, Walker quickly earned a weekend pass and discovered the Army’s touring musical revue company, which performed for US bases. He auditioned in Nuremberg and, thanks to his jazz and partnering skills, was transferred into the troupe despite his captain’s reluctance. When the resident choreographer finished his tour, Walker was tapped to replace him. Pressed about his tap credentials—a style he had never studied—he improvised an “army-boot routine” on the spot, convincing the director he could deliver.
The post launched his choreographic career that was built on instinct, invention, and sharp musicality.
In 1960, he established his namesake company, which performed extensively in the US and Europe for 11 years. Its schedule allowed him to choreograph and teach for other companies. In 1969, Walker was appointed artistic director of Israel’s Batsheva Dance Company because management wanted to hire him to organize the US tour. Walker’s tenure as artistic director was marked by creative breakthroughs and mounting tensions. One choreographer’s inflated ego led to constant clashes over rehearsal time. Meanwhile, festering rivalries among the male dancers boiled over when one, feeling overlooked, physically attacked Walker. Saved by fellow company members, Walker fulfilled his commitment by securing an American tour, then left the company soon after, choosing not to return.
When Walker’s company made its debut in Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival, founder Ted Shawn, a pioneer of modern dance, was struck by Walker’s choreography, stage presence, and crisp articulation before the class. The company became a regular in the festival, where Walker also taught, and Shawn saw him as a natural successor. It would take until 1975 for Walker to be appointed director, a position he held for five seasons.
Walker’s ties to Alice Reyes’ company began in 1971, and over the years, he would return often, even serving as ballet master on the company’s foreign tours
His ties to Alice Reyes’ company began in 1971, when he flew economy on a circuitous route to Manila and arrived exhausted. Over the years, he would return often, even serving as ballet master on the company’s foreign tours. His first work for the then Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) Summer Dance Workshop, Season of Flight, premiered in 1971, followed a year later by dances featuring a rising Rafael “Nonoy” Froilan. Walker was drawn to Froilan’s ability to grow into movement, creating works that showcased his expressive range.
Among Walker’s most enduring works is Songs of a Wayfarer, set to Gustav Mahler’s autobiographical songs of unrequited love, which became Froilan’s signature piece.
Also slated for revival in Pagdiriwang is The Satan Soliloquy, an emotionally demanding male solo first originated by Conrad Dy Liacco, known for his suspended leaps.
Excerpt from ‘Seraphic Fire’
Choreography, for Walker, is as much about the subtle motivations behind movement as the steps themselves. His theater background shapes the way he coaches dancers, urging them to understand why a gesture happens, not just how. In rehearsal, even the smallest moments—an extra step before a partner’s shoulder tap, a turn that leads to a shared sequence—carry intent.
Once the dancers grasp the structure, spacing, and musicality, he turns to nuance: the weight of a fall, the sharpness of a phrase, the flow of a movement unbroken until a single accent lands. Some dancers take longer to internalize these details, but he sees the work evolving, knowing each performance will deepen the dynamics and the meaning he seeks.
That attention to detail extends beyond movement. His eye for design began with a childhood contest that earned him a scholarship in art school, where he mastered pencil, ink, and watercolor. Though he never trained in oils, drawing became integral to his creative process.
Over the years, he has designed many of his own sets and costumes, from early works such as Season of Flight to his newest creations, guided by the instinct he honed as a young artist—imagining how color, line, and fabric can shape the dance itself.
Decades on, his pursuit remains the same: to make every gesture, every design choice, breathe with purpose.
