Jaamil Olawale Kosoko (they/he), a multi-spirited Nigerian American author, performance artist, and curator of Yoruba and Natchez descent, is originally from Detroit, MI. In Fall 2020, they were appointed the 3rd annual Alma Hawkins Visiting Chair in the Department of World Arts and Cultures/Dance at UCLA. Additionally, they are a 2020 Pew Fellow in the Arts, 2019 NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellow in Choreography, 2019 NPN Development Fund Awardee, 2019-21 Movement Research Artist in Residence, 2018-20 Live Feed Artist at New York Live Arts, 2017-19 Princeton Arts Fellow, 2019 Red Bull Writing Fellow, 2018 NEFA NDP Production Grant recipient, 2017 MAP Fund recipient, and 2017 Cave Canem Poetry Fellow. Their creative practice draws from Black study and queer theories of the body, weaving together visual performance, lecture, ritual, and spiritual practice. Their recent media work Chameleon (The Living Installments) premiered virtually in April 2020 at EMPAC/Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Previous works: Séancers (2017) and the Bessie nominated #negrophobia (2015), have toured internationally, appearing in major festivals including: Tanz im August (Berlin), Moving in November (Finland), Within Practice (Sweden),TakeMeSomewhere (UK), Brighton Festival (UK), Oslo Teaterfestival (Norway), and Zürich MOVES! (Switzerland), among others. Season 1 of their interview-based podcast, American Chameleon, can be found on all podcast platforms.

Kosoko is the author of two chapbooks: Animal in Cyberspace and Notes on An Urban Killfloor. Their poems and essays have been included in The American Poetry Review, The Dunes Review, and The Broad Street Review, among others. They lecture regularly at Princeton University, Stockholm University of the Arts and Exerce Masters ICI-CCN in Montpellier, France. Learn more at jaamil.com or on IG @jaamil_means_beauty.

Tislarm Bouie was born and raised in Brownville, Brooklyn. He attended Professional Performing Arts School and received his B.F.A from the University of the Arts. His theater credits include Gary a Sequel to Titus Andronicus on Broadway. Film/TV credits: In the Heights (2021), Saturday Night Live w/ Coldplay, Mrs. America on FX, Live from Lincoln Center and Manhattan Love Story. Regional: Annie, The Bodyguard, Swing! and Blueprint Specials. He has also danced with Alicia Keys, Ronald K. Brown/ Evidence Dance Company, Norwegian Cruise Line. His commercial credits include Estèe Lauder, Toyota, Samsung, Cadillac and Champ Sports. Tislarm’s choreography has been featured in Dance Magazine, New York Theater Barn and Young Choreographers Festival. 

A Conversation over Zoom:

Hello, Good morning. My name is Adanna Kai Jones. I am a black woman, of Afro-Caribbean descent, from Trinidad and Tobago. I teach Dance and Dance Studies at Bowdoin College. My research is around winin’ and the Trini-styled Carnival. I specifically look at the ways that this dance called winin’, mediates a lot of different political identities from gender, sexuality, nationalism, as well as emotions, including love, lust, anger, hate […] the whole gambit of it. So, essentially, I look at how winin’ is culturally embedded in mundane practices as well as spectacular practices. So things that happen in the privacy of one’s home, all the way to things that happen on the streets of Carnival.

So in looking at the questions that Raja Feather Kelly sent, the first question you ask is: How did we come to this? And I’m like, which “this”? There are so many “this-es” happening right now. From deaths to multiple pandemics. And not just COVID, but also the continued pandemic of anti-black racism.

Then you ask: how did we get here? Well, we have always been here. *Laughs* We have always been here. *Dramatically Pauses* It’s just that when you have emergencies, like a pandemic or people dying by the thousands, in addition to a public reckoning (with regards to anti-black racism), things feel more dire, futile, and agonizing. So that’s a conundrum for folks who weren’t thinking about the way power and racism go hand in hand. If the problems are “brand new” to you–i.e., if it’s never been in your consciousness–then you might be shocked; but, if it’s your everyday life, the problems feel just like “same shit, different day.” Sad, I know. We black folx have always been saying that the problems are here, and have always been yelling, screaming, and saying, we need to change the problem. We can go back hundreds of years, and we will find black folks yelling out: “this is a problem!!” And it seems that this country does not even know how to begin to address the problem. *Pauses* Step number one is to say, “I am part of the problem.” And that’s really hard for people to do. So, yeah. How did we get here? We’ve always been here. Now we just have to hold ourselves accountable to changing things, and I think that’s the scary part for folks.

Okay. The next question you have: Would you say more about what “now” means to me? So now, right now we are in December of 2021; and when COVID officially became “labeled” as a pandemic, it was March of 2020. So we’re almost two full years into pandemic mode. In the middle of 2020, I remember being hopeful and believing that we would be returning to something that reminded me of a normal past. To quote Sam Cook, I believed that a ‘change was gonna COME; from the end of COVID (as a threat to our livelihoods) to racial justice, I was here for it to change! People who were CEOS and presidents of major institutions, kept putting out statements in support of “Black Lives Matter.” And I was “Here for it!” I believed that they were ready and willing to hold themselves accountable. You know, it was all of these moments that made me believe that people were ready to galvanize and make change! So, again, I remained. “Here for all of it!” You know?

I remember still being really hopeful well into the beginning of this year (2021). And I was working HARD to implement change! I was on the Dance Studies Association Programming Committee as one of the chairs of the Programming Committee. I was also one of the faculty members in a working group for my college, working towards changes that specifically addressed anti-black racism. As members of these committees, I continued to feel hopeful and was like, “let’s do it! We’re making all these changes and we’re shifting how we interact with each other. We’re going from a hierarchical model to a communal/collaborative model. YES! I AM HERE FOR IT!” (Here, I’m bringing in the philosophy of Ubuntu, which is “I am, because we are; we are, because I am.”)

And then, […] And then […] you get burnt out! And I feel like that’s what most of 2021 was about, recovering from the exhaustion of trying to answer the questions like: “what does it take for this change to actually be successful? What does it look like? What does it need to look like? Who needs to do what? Are they willing to do that? Are they even ready to do what it’s necessary? Etc. etc.” Ok. The fact remains, institutions are made up of people, so it’s the people who have to do the work. And in order to get there, let’s call it the promise-land, you’ve got to work on yourself. How you are inserted in this system of power, how you are perpetuating it, how you are using it, how you are navigating it, and how that impacts others in the system. So like what harm it might cause. What good it might cause. What problems it might cause. Are you upholding a system that is always already problematic?

So yeah, 2021 was like, *Laughs* recuperating from the burnout. And this moment, right now in December 2021, is about reflecting, stepping back, taking stock of all the things that we have accomplished, of all the things that we tried to accomplish, and of all the things that we are still trying to accomplish. Taking back and taking stock.
*Breathes-in and then slowly exhales*

So the next question is: Are you thinking about the future? I’m thinking about the future all the time. And would I expand on that? So in terms of the future, I really want to continue diving into the philosophy of Ubuntu–from the Bantu people in South Africa–into that space of collaboration. I’m not into hierarchy. I’m not into, you know, the bottom line is “x,” and everybody then should squeeze themselves into “x”. I’m really into building an understanding of communal collaboration and what that could look like. And that means that everybody has to be in the room. So if you’re not in the room, you’re not going to be represented or heard. And I don’t believe that somebody else should represent your voice. Your voice, your experience is unique. Nobody could truly understand where you are coming from. They could only really understand it from a, “if I was you in that situation, X, Y, and Z would be my truth;” you know? So, yes, for me Ubuntu is really the future I am moving towards.

My prayer is that we reach the promised-land, in a way that does the least amount of harm. With that said, we will be uncomfortable. But we must be willing to shift and mold in order to get there in a way that allows us to create different ways of existing. Um, that’s more than just, you know, um, men do this women do that, you know? Or that theater looks like “X” and dance looks like “Y”. I just think we must imagine expansively about what exactly it is we are trying to put out there in the world. What messages? Which voices? Whose faces? And what are the multiple ways we can do that?

Ultimately, we should really use this opportunity to just really think expansively, and see how we really are deeply connected to each other. Again, I keep going back to Ubuntu because we […] we need each other […] we need each other. We need to be in communication with each other so that we can value and understand our differences. We could create powerful alliances that allow us to be expansive in what our field can look like, what dance can look like. And then we can create multiple modalities of expressing ourselves through dance, of presenting it, of funding it, of supporting it, etc.

Because we are aware of all the different voices that are out there, uh, we’re making space for, or each other to, um, be heard and be seen in, in, in our fullness. Right? Not be seen in what I could use you for, you know, or I need a Black thing, or I need an Indian thing, or I need an Indigenous thing. I’m just gonna use you for that. But rather, what kind of presentation needs to happen if we come from the logic of indigeneity? what does that then create?? What kind of resources are possible, where do we need to be, and how can we support getting us there? You know?

Next Question: What do I want, and who’s responsible for the future? For me as a pedagogue, I really want critical thinkers out there in the world. I want my students out there asking questions, doing research; I don’t want them to perpetuate problems. So creating students who can hold themselves and hold the world accountable. And these people, my students, I want them to be responsible for the future. And again, I keep coming back to Ubuntu Ubuntu Ubuntu! We’re all living in, in these different, um, relationships to power. And all of that has to now be addressed. We really have to be in community with each other. I have to take care of myself, not just for my own health, but because other people’s health is now my responsibility, in a way that is real and felt, and not in an abstract way. So COVID kind of made us all “family” in that kind of way.

So what role do I play now or in the future? I believe I am a source of inspiration. Just thinking of the work that I did in curating the programming for Dance Studies Association Conference this past fall, which happened at Rutgers University in October. I created a different way of gathering, synthesizing and collaborating ideas, together. For example, we crafted an opening ceremony that included African libations and prayer and dancing. The intention was to bless the space so that we could participate in the conference as our whole selves.

Next question: Do I have a community? Yes! I would say, the Un/Commoning Pedagogies Collective is my community. It is a group of seven of us, all in academia. So, just to name who makes up the Un/Commoning Pedagogies Collective: it’s Dasha A. Chapman, J Dellecave, (myself) Adanna Kai Jones, Sharon Kivenko, Mario LaMothe, Lailye Weidman, and Queen Mecca Zabriskie. From newly tenured faculty to junior and contingent faculty, we are a cohort of artist-educators committed to centering dance, embodiment, and social justice via our pedagogical work. We really, really ground ourselves in that philosophy. We teach across the intersections of diverse fields: Anthropology, Sociology, Black and Africana Studies, Gender, Sexuality and Women’s Studies, Dance, and Performance Studies. We meet often to workshop what our teaching in academia can look like, especially when it comes to anti-racist pedagogy that centers the moving/thinking body. It’s important for us that the body is centered because the body is very smart, and the body has a lot of thoughts around things that we often don’t give a voice to. As a group, we meet, talk, and workshop problems that come up in our classes; we workshop ideas that we’re trying to implement into our classes. We think about how things land in/on our bodies and how we can make space in the classroom to talk about it. And not just our own bodies, but our students’ bodies as well. We also write together. Right now we are working on two co-authored articles that will be published next year (2022).

*Pauses*

Oh! And we also dance together. We create movement together, based on the ways this hard work lands on our very own bodies. Acknowledging the gnarly ways politics of race, gender, sexuality, nationalism, etc. get sewn into our muscles, drained into our blood, and pressed into our physical beings. By dancing together, we process all of these things and create new/different ways of being together and apart. I mean, being with these folks feels really powerful. They are an important support system for me, especially during these really mentally draining times. This community has been especially helpful in the moments when I need cheering. Like sometimes we do great things that for us might not feel so great. This community is so great at saying, “actually, let’s celebrate that!” Or, “We love you.” And, “We’ve got your back; you are doing great things.” So, yeah, these are my peoples, and being with them is a game-changer!

*Breathes-in. Breathes-out. Pauses. Takes in and accepts these moments of joy.*

Next Question: What do I think about the imagination? I think the imagination is paramount. I always tell my students that they don’t know what jobs are going to exist in the future. So they should lean into their passions and see where it takes them. Remember, before 2005, social media was not a thing. And now you have all these jobs in the field of social media. We are at a point where the world is dramatically changing. So instead of asking, what job should I train for; ask yourself, what are the skills do I have? And then, lean into that. Create so much energy behind it, that when you come out into the world, there are a bazillion things that you can do because you are so clear about who you BE. In fact, this allows you to be the one who even creates the new job that nobody else had even imagined. This can only happen if you really lean into your passions, your skills, and the belief that your contribution to this world matters. So, yeah, I believe that imagination is absolutely necessary!

Okay. I will pause here and then come back to this later. *Chuckles* Part two […] coming soon.

Adanna Jones is an Assistant Professor of Dance and Dance Studies in the Department of Theater and Dance at Bowdoin College. She received her Ph.D. in Critical Dance Studies at the University of California, Riverside, and her BFA in Dance from Mason Gross School of the Arts—Rutgers University. In general, she uses dance as a strategy to both generate critical research questions and grapple with the contentious embodied politics of blackness and anti-blackness across the Diaspora. Currently, her creative, research, and scholarly endeavors remain focused on Caribbean dance and identity politics within the Diaspora, paying particular focus to the rolling-hip dance known as winin’. 

7 Years

A Haunting Deadline, and Some Ideas for Continuing Forward Anyway

It was a weekday afternoon, early on in the almost three years working with Parsons Dance as first a development temp, then an office assistant, and finally the Programs Associate. I sat beside David Parsons in his office in Times Square, surrounded by the stale pink walls and and posters of some of the innumerable shows his company has performed over a more than 30-year history. It was around my third year in New York City, and consequently, the third year of leading my own company, Kizuna Dance. When I mentioned my company to him, I had no idea that David’s reply would haunt me for years. The way he saw it, most companies only last for seven years. Over that amount of time, the founders become jaded with the state of the arts and with the burden of constantly providing, or you fall out with the friends that were the company’s founding members or those friends move on to greener pastures (other more financially capable companies or other industries entirely, find themselves married, choose to go back to school, etc) as an existence as a struggling artist becomes less and less appealing, or perhaps the company’s management simply makes a decision that maintaining the company is no longer fiscally feasible. In the past couple of years, as the coronavirus tore through our beloved community, we can all think of companies, large and small, who have closed their doors or downsized considerably. 

My journey through the New York arts scene has taken many forms. I’ve been an arts administration intern and programs manager for multiple nonprofits, a front desk receptionist, a stage manager, a marketing associate, an adjunct professor and visiting lecturer in dance, and a dancer in touring companies. And, until recently, I’ve spent way too long as a restaurant server. The only entirely consistent part of my artistic career has been the management of my company, founded in 2014, which in 2021 has now reached that feared seven year benchmark. (Whether the 1.5 – 2 years that COVID shut everything down counts toward a company’s run time could be up for the debate, but based off how many places are so eager to jump in full force back into things, on paper those two years still count. How many times have you been asked by [peers, presenters, applications], “So how did you keep making art during the pandemic? How did your art change in that time as the world crumbled around you?)

As I’ve witnessed the dance scene change around me, even in the short time I’ve been in New York, the idea of the seven year timeline has continued to haunt me. This is mostly because it seems to actually be a deadline, by which companies (or their artistic directors) must find their work elevated from that of an emerging artist to that of a “mid-career”/otherwise nebulously titled artist. The definition of the latter being that the company has reached the invisible point at which its work becomes popular and more widely known, and most importantly, more consistently funded by prominent foundations. This achievement could be spearheaded by the artistic director’s receipt of prestigious awards (Bessie, Princess Grace, Doris Duke), sizable grant awards that increase a company’s organizational capacity enough to hire development staff, or just be a group of anonymous donors….. What drives me crazy — and I’m sure directors of smaller companies everywhere — is the idea that there’s a point at which your work is deemed worthy by some external force. Worthy of being seen on larger stages, worthy of having your art widely supported. 

It can be hard to keep your morale up. In this contemporary environment, where dancers are rightfully asking for more (read: what they deserve) than what they have been offered in recent years for their artistry, sweat, and time, independent / emerging / young directors of companies are facing and will be faced with the question that just grows more pressing each year: how the hell do we make this work? When those feelings of defeat combine with the harsh realities of the limits of what you can provide at any moment, how do you conquer that sense that you’ve just been running in place? Even as the demands on what it takes to sustain a company and the morale and artistry of those artists within it increases, my funding capabilities remain the same — if not less if I forgo a service industry job. Now imagine if I want to increase to two weekly rehearsals….What about that dream of rehearsing multiple days a week with your company, investing in a deep and extensive rehearsal process that creates something meaningful for those involved and consequently lasts for years, instead of creating “what you could” with the limited time and finances you had? 

How the hell does this work? Do we all wait patiently / compete internally / perform interpretative rain dances in our small apartments for some donor, institutional or individual, to come along and deem our work worthy of being funded? Do we kick the same $5 around amongst ourselves on Kickstarter — we give you $5 so your show can go up next month, you give it back to use for our show next year? 

Like I said, it can be hard to keep your morale up. I commend you if you’ve made it this far. The sentiments above are ones I shared with and heard from peers, mentees, and even mentors over the years. We all want the time to discover with the people we’re working with, to to experiment, to give dancers time to be curious and explore. I, for one, wouldn’t mind an office in Times Square either. 

So, where do we go from here? 

I have no idea. Hit me up if you do. 

I would argue though that these seven years have actually been a necessary development time, instead of a deadline. It can, for some, take that long or longer to understand and build up to the ideas and projects that will hold your interest. For me, who started a company just a couple of days after graduating college, these seven years have been a lot of bumbling in the dark. While you fumble around, you often hear suggestions like, “trust your gut”, “believe in the process,” or “your time will come”. But I know you do and know all that already, and despite how much that does ring true, it can be frustrating to hear at times. So, here are some more concrete ideas for other emerging companies/choreographers for where you might go from here, as you envision from afar, approach, or pass your seven year mark. These are some things that have enabled me, even as a self-funded company, to begin to provide more for my collaborators:

The Classic: Focus on Teaching

I’ve certainly been teaching consistently before and throughout the pandemic, setting work and teaching masterclasses virtually and in-person. Teaching as an adjunct lecturer or spending a semester creating a work for college students can be an incredibly fruitful time that offers you a chance to explain your craft and aesthetic to students with very different training or backgrounds. For week- or two-long residencies, you can often receive a fair stipend, though many colleges still send checks out after residencies end which can take time to receive, so it still requires being very clear on payment dates and budgeting on your end. 

As you develop more works capable of being toured, having confidence in your teaching ability will make you just that much more marketable as a choreographer. I have often traveled to a college by myself to teach on a smaller scale, and then used that as a jumping off point for the same college to sponsor a residency for the full company a year or two later. 

I’ll add a note here for my fellow BIPOC artists, for when you’re asked to make that work about racial justice on a group of white students: you’re under no obligation to make those trauma porn works for their fall dance concerts, unless you choose to engage with those concepts. I would go so far as to say my teaching engagements doubled as things turned virtual earlier in the pandemic. While I’m grateful, it’s hard to ignore that as a Black male artist, the sudden increase in virtual and in-person engagements directly correlated to the number of Black bodies being shown lifeless on the news at that time. That desire by institutions to “make good”  will last in some areas, and in others, it’ll be another fad that will slip away. Make the art that heals you. 

The Often Overlooked: The Old College Try

I often recommend for choreographers to reach out to their alma maters to schedule residencies and performances. Besides the obvious connection you have there, working the college circuit (especially in the Tri-state area) has proven to be an incredible way to subsidize the cost of creating and rehearsing work in New York (though this could be applied anywhere). For example, a weeklong residency at a college might include daily rehearsals, a few masterclasses, and a culminating performance. While at the residency, the college is supporting the company by covering housing, food, and teaching / performance fees. Make sure you pay yourself in the fee requirements you give to colleges! 

College and universities often plan far ahead so that departments have time to apply for funding from various sources both on campus and off, so it’s best to reach out way in advance. For example, I’m talking with colleges about Fall 2022 and Spring 2023 right now. This also gives you a chance to book your dancers far in advance, and have ample time to plan the logistics of travel. 

The Basic: Solo Shows

Oftentimes, as young choreographers, I feel like we are just trying to get the piece we’re working on off the ground, out of our imaginations, and onto physical bodies. If you’ve been creating for a couple of years, you might have a few different works under your belt. Why not string those works together to create a full evening (anywhere from 40 min to 1hr 30min)? For colleges with larger theaters, and for presenters, it’s great to have an option for an evening-length solo show on deck. You don’t have to maintain a roster of dancers who know all these works at all times if that’s not what you’re interested in as a maker, but when that opportunity presents itself, or you have that elevator conversation with just the right person, it’s good to know what you could present. Combine this with the educational options from tip #1 and you’ve got yourself a full artistic package ready and primed for the college circuits. 

The Constant Challenge for Dancers: Just Ask

Continue to ask for what you deserve – as a dancer, choreographer, whatever. Not all young choreographers will be able to give you everything you want, but the best ones will keep trying to provide in every possible way. 

The Constant Challenge for Choreographers: Just Tell

Be upfront with what you can offer, and when. Be honest with yourself and your crew about what you can handle. 

The Act of Rebellion: Curation

Resist the urge to say yes to everything (it’s hard, I know) and challenge yourself to really curate your artistic endeavors, whether they be commissions, performances, or other activities. Practice saying no. Practice saying “not now, but let’s try for later”.

The Way of Hey: Get into CRM

Most smaller companies won’t have a CRM (customer relations management) database like Salesforce under their belt, or have any staff to help track the people you meet, receive donations from, etc. So it falls to you. I keep a fairly simple excel spreadsheet that I update every couple of weeks with names, email addresses, titles, and relationship to me or the company (ex: John Johnson / john@gmail.com / Presenter / John’s Theater / Met at APAP 2021). This isn’t for every single person you meet, just for the ones you feel it’s important for you to remember. The next time you find yourself out of town, check the list and see who’s in your area. Invite them to the show you’re presenting or to coffee. Just being able to remember the people you’ve interacted with and why can go a long way, as we know how small the dance world is. 

The Gateway 501c3: Get a Fiscal Sponsor

Obtaining a fiscal sponsor means a larger nonprofit organization offers you / your company / your specific project its legal and tax-exempt status. For smaller companies, this means you can apply for some larger grants that might require being a full 501(c)3 nonprofit through the fiscal sponsor. You can also receive donations through them, and not only will the money stay in your account with them (separate from your personal funds), it will also be tax deductible as a result of the fiscal sponsor’s full nonprofit status. I, personally, have been with Fractured Atlas for years, but The Field, New York Foundation for the Arts, or another nonprofit that is familiar with your work would also be viable options. 

The Underestimated: Help the Homies

Create opportunities for each other. I often tell students in college talkbacks that even though I apply for a whole range of things, I get the most opportunities from my peers — and from their peers. Looking up the dance funding gods is all great and good, but it’s your peers who will eventually be deciding factors in festival circuits, or chairs of college dance programs, or maybe even the future heads of foundations. 

How can you help? It doesn’t always have to be hiring them for a show or connecting them to a presenter. Send applications for festivals or funding to people that work for them. See a festival application for female-identifying artists and you identify as male? Send it to people in your rolodex who might be interested. It takes two seconds to forward an email. You might even have others send things your way from time to time. 

The Financially Responsible: Keep it Small 

If you’re looking to start a company — or emerging from the pandemic and beginning to return to making work — you can always start small. When I moved to the city, I had a company of five dancers in less than a week — before I even had a steady place to live. Soon I had eight dancers in the company, and it made the stress of coordinating, paying, and rehearsing all those people so much greater, as a choreographer with limited experience and understanding of the dance scene I was joining. Like I said earlier, there was just a lot of bumbling my way through. These days, I’d recommend starting small, if that’s what you can manage. Work with two dancers – or one. Create that magical duet or solo that’s easy to tour — you can apply to international or out-of-state gigs and just take yourself. That’s definitely a way of introducing yourself to different communities that could commission your company later. I performed two solos at a festival in the UK before they finally brought the entire company out. 

The Well-Known: Squad Up

Create a team of supporters and constructive challengers around you. It’s a common suggestion, but take it from someone who, for many years, prided himself on never asking for help. Don’t do that yourself. My advisory board — two people I’ve known for years, who work in the arts and in nonprofits, and have seen the company grow from a Facebook page with no likes — have opened some of the most amazing doors for the company over the last few years. Having mentors in this field is an incredible thing. If there’s someone you have connected with — a senior thesis adviser, for example — ask them to consistently review your work and offer their constructive criticism. Take them to coffee and ask about their views on the dance world as they were coming up and how they may have changed. Have friends outside of the arts review your grant and performance applications. Have them come see your show and tell you what they saw and felt. 

I’ll be the first to admit that even after all this time, I don’t have many solutions to the 7 Year Deadline. But isn’t it strange how dancers can feel so connected, but choreographers can feel so distant from each other? I think it’s important for other choreographers who are freefalling alongside me in this “emerging” stage of our careers that we admit our frustrations, share our victories, and realize that we’re not alone. When you’re racing to finish that application 15 minutes before it’s midnight closing time, know you’re not alone in this struggle. 

As I approach this seven year mark for my company, I am trying to look forward to a brighter future. I know I am not alone when I say I continue to give every part of myself to the dream of my company’s success. I have encountered untold hardships under the myth of the “struggling artist”. While I have met some of the best people and artists I know, I’ve also made friendship-shattering decisions in the name of the company’s growth. I’ve left jobs that demanded allegiance to their schedule over my company’s rehearsals. If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yeah, me too”, then I hope there’s a small bit of solace in the fact that it’s not just you chasing the elusive idea of a fully fledged company. I hope, in thinking about where we all go from here, that you remember that you are deserving and that your artistic voice is as beautiful as it is valid. Your success is my success is our success. 

Cameron McKinney, the Artistic Director of Kizuna Dance, is a New York City-based choreographer and educator. He was recently selected as a 2019-20 U.S.-Japan Friendship Commission Creative Artist Fellow to collaborate with renowned Japanese choreographer Toru Shimazaki and present work in showcases alongside the 2020/2021 Tokyo Olympic Games. He was a 2020 Choreographic Fellow at The School at Jacob’s Pillow, a 2018 Asian Cultural Council Individual Grantee, and a 2017-18 Alvin Ailey Foundation New Directions Lab Fellow. He has presented work in fifteen states and in Japan, Mexico, France, and the UK. His commissions include twice from the Joffrey Ballet School, twice from the Let’s Dance International Frontiers Festival, The Dance Gallery Festival, LIU Brooklyn, CREATE:ART, and SUNY Brockport, among numerous others. He is currently on faculty at Gibney Dance, and has taught for festivals nationally and internationally. Through Kizuna Dance’s Culture Commissions program, he directly supports emerging artists through commissions for new works created through research-oriented explorations into the Japanese culture. 

 

Email: info@cameronmckinneydance.com

I            WANT            TO            RUN            FAR            AWAY            FROM            HERE

I WANT TO RUN 

WANT TO RUN

RUN AWAY 

FAR FROM HERE 

HERE I RUN

HERE I RUN

 AWAY FROM I

I AWAY FROM I

I WANT I WANT

I WANT AWAY

I WANT I WANT

I WANT

 AWAY

I HERE FAR AWAY, WANT 

I HERE FAR AWAY, WANT

I WANT FROM WANT

I WANT FROM WANT

I WANT I WANT

I WANT I TO I 

I TO I TO I TO I TO

March         22nd      2020

The future seemed impossible at the beginning. Two weeks of quarantine became an endless fog towards forever. My body is a vessel made of histories, visions and inertia. I struggled to slow down and was no longer able to ignore the internal struggles this dance hustle, this city shuffle, channelled away. The shadows, silent and ignored, creeped in. Fear and uncertainty lingered as the walls that defined my art, livelihood, and home decomposed. I was burnt out at the start of the pandemic, triggered by the smallest spark.

I fell into the solitude. Covid-19 became a space and time for internal resetting. For the first time in my life, I took a break. I slept without judgment and ate nourishing food made from scratch. I slowed down, and learned to meditate to settle my moving mind. Before the pandemic, I felt disconnected from the joy of dancing. I questioned my relationship to this gift within my soul. Moving is magical healing. Lost concepts against the demands of training and industry. I went for long walks, discovering quiet spaces in my neighborhood. I biked and ran, trying to keep my heart open. I improvised alone in my home, in parks, courts and forests. Gradually, I began to find joy in the small ways of moving.  I felt embraced by the far out spirits of Alice and John Coltrane, Sun Ra and Albert Ayer as I moved in my pleasure without a gaze in the world. 

This resetting allowed me space to reconnect with my family. I assisted my siblings, Julius and Ellis as they learned from home. In turn, I learned from them, adaptability is key. They do not know life without the internet. They build universes online like life is a game. Julius and friends went to concerts in virtual worlds. Ellis knew Zoom before the 2nd grade. The internet is the infrastructure of our future. It is now necessary for our mental health. It is our link to the outside world. The keeper of our images and memories. A web for networking and maintaining community. A tool for and against ignorance. Like clean water, air, justice and food, the internet will be a right to fight for. Will we survive without it?

Octavia E. Butler’s The Parable of the Sower spoke prophecy to me. “God is Change” she said. We are never the same as before. Months of isolation shifted everything. It called for a new living space. I found love and partnership.  I got to know my family as my tribe. I lost friendships. I grew to have a deeper appreciation for the rituals of gathering and spaces to witness. Therapy helped me along this journey, as did making space for the spirit. Self love is a continual process I was happy to begin during the pandemic.

Through these waves of openings and closings, I lean into an aspect of my training, flexibility. Past plagues did not remove performance from our humanity, but it did change society. I was grateful for a moment to pause and question my relationships to life and dance. I step into today with the knowledge and faith found in isolation, there is meaning even in the most difficult circumstances. We will not be returning to our regularly scheduled practices that led to our industry’s burnout. I am in this strange new world with a greater respect for our divine labor. The future will always be uncertain, and there is nowhere to go, but through. 

Kyle Marshall // 8.7.21
Choreographer // Performer // Teacher

 

 

Choreographer and dancer Kyle Marshall is a 2018 Juried Bessie Award winner, NJ State Council on the Arts Fellow and 2020 Dance Magazine Harkness Promise Awardee. Founded in 2014, Kyle Marshall Choreography (KMC) is a company that sees the dancing body as a container of history, an igniter of social reform and a site of celebration. Kyle Marshall Choreography has performed at venues including: BAM Next Wave Festival, Jacob’s Pillow Inside/Out, Joe’s Pub at the Public, Actors Fund Arts Center, NJPAC, NYC Summerstage, Wassaic Arts Project, and Conduit Dance (PDX). Commissions have included: “Dance on the Lawn” Montclair’s Dance Festival, NJPAC and Harlem Stage. Kyle has taught masterclass and creative workshops at the American Dance Festival, Montclair State University, County Prep High School and Muhlenberg College. He has been a recipient of residencies from MANA Contemporary, 92nd st Y, CPR and Jamaica Performing Arts Center. Kyle dances with the Trisha Brown Dance Company. He has also worked with doug elkins choreography etc., and Tiffany Mills Company. Kyle graduated from Rutgers University with a BFA in Dance and resides in Jersey City.

 

Photo credit: David Gonsier

Raja : Hello

Charmaine: Hello

R: It’s so wonderful to have the one and only

C: Oh stop it, stop it, stop it. It’s so wonderful to be with the one and only… raja

R: Oh really

C: thrilling for me to be with, in the presence of, raja feather…

R: Oh, Charmaine

C: Kelly!

R: Warren!

C: Raja feather kelly, raja feather kelly, let me say it many times, raja feather kelly

R: Charmaine Mother Warren!

C: Stop it! Stop it! You can’t say it more than me!

R: *laughs* I’m gonna start using that as an explicative, like…. Ugh! Mother Warren!

*both laugh*
R: Gurrrrl! All these Mother Warrens out here!

*both laugh*

C: Please don’t!

*both laugh*

C: Meanwhile, maybe I’m not gonna say it, because you know, we won’t be deleting… but, somebody called me Mother Warren– Mother Charmaine— Momma Warren not too long ago, and it wasn’t uh, somebody that should.

R: Oop! You were like… um? Well… okay?! Uhhh I’ll get back to you on that. I’ll get back to you on that!

*both laugh*
C: Mmmm… Like what are we doin…

R: Okay so I’m gonna try to, because you know we could get into everything, but we have put this time aside–

C: Right!

R: For Future Impossible. And so, I’m gonna jump right in.

C: Great.

R: Mama Charmaine. Because I can!

*both laugh*

C: absolutely! Abso-freaking-lutely.

R: I feel that in my bazonezees and in my tootsies

C: *laughs* ‘Cause we go way back.

R: I mean, look, I’m really gonna jump in because I’ve got my interview hat on. Speaking of going way back, um, and I know you are one of the youngest people I know–

C: Come on! Come on!

R: But let’s just talk about… devotion. For a moment.

C: Okay! Devotion, I’m with you. 

R: Because I’ve spoken to, and I’ve obviously curated this group of people to talk about the Future Impossible and if I am doing my job, I am just picking up where many people have left off, in the conversation, right? 

C: Mmhmm.

R: And a part of my interest, and I know is a part of your interests, is to create an anthology, to create a history, to create an archive, of like… Ya’ll people have been out here doing the work. And–

C: Wait! Can we put the word ‘Black’ in there? A Black Anthology. A Black Archive. 

R: A Black History. A Black Oral Communication. A Black Archive. 

*pause*

R: But you know, it’s always, this past year, this past becoming, has been people trying to meet the… how do I even say it? They’re like, ‘oh! It’s time to do the work.’ For which like, I don’t even know what that means. But what I do know is like, I’ve always been doing the work.

C: *laughs* Just sayin. 

R: And you have always been, and I mean, if I feel that way then I can’t even imagine how you would feel. 

C: *exhales* Exactly. 

R: It’s like fine time for people to play catch up.

C: That’s right. That’s right.

R: And so my first question to you is like, what have we missed?

C: Oh my gosh.

R: What have we missed?

C: And the we is err-body? Or?

R: It’s not me, although, I say we– *laughs* But you know in many ways there’s a couple different communities. I mean we as in the younger generation. But I also mean the people who might read this who are not me, who are not Black, who have not been doing the work, and who are coming to be like, ‘it’s time to do the work’. And I’m like right, but you will need to catch up. RIght? Like I spoke to Sydnie last and Sydnie helped me realize like, oh right, we’re already in the future. 

C: Okay.

R: So that’s why my first question is what have we missed?

C: Okay.

R: What have we missed?
C: Okay, so I don’t think the ‘we’, the Black folks, have missed anything. We’ve been on the other side of the tracks for a long time. And people who have not come on that side of the tracks have missed a lot. But we’ve been doing it. And as I said at the end of Black Dance Stories when they first, finally said federal, okay Juneteenth. Ya’ll better thank a lot of Black people. ‘Cause you don’t know that… you haven’t realized that we’ve been doing this for a long time and 99.9% of the art you’re making comes from the rich history… from when we came out of the womb… when we came out of the belly! We’ve been dancing! And because ya’ll people said let’s have a stage and now let’s have people to sit down and watch it! Come on. 

R: And you know something I have to say, Charmaine, I had a… I was mad a couple weeks ago on Juneteenth. And I learned a lesson. Because I… I don’t wanna be too crass. I called someone who was supposed to be doing some work for me. Let’s just say that. Someone I pay. Not an employee, but someone in the world who I pay to do some work for me. And their assistant had a voice message on that was like, “In observation of Juneteenth, we are out of the office.” And I was like, “why am I working?!”

C: Mmhmm!

R: I’m sorry… Why am I working?!

C: I worked on Juneteenth also!

R: I worked on Juneteenth!

C: Yeah!

R: While everybody’s taking their weekends and vacations and I was like it can be amazing how quick something so wonderful to celebrate immediately gets absorbed into something that now it’s like, we gotta… Did you miss the memo?

C: Okay, okay. What was the question? What have we missed? Hello. MLK Day? 

R: We missed the memo apparently! They missed the memo! I didn’t miss the memo. But, you know… yikes! I was a little like, and this is why we ask for more. This is why it’s like great, we have Juneteenth. 

C: Okay but it’s not asking for more, it’s taking though. Can we do that? We’re taking what’s been ours, and now it’s federally recognized. Come on, MLK had to get a federally recognized– the man had been working for us years– no, laboring, for us for years. And then you say, ‘him dead now. Let’s give him a day.’ What? Come on. So yes, I hear you.

R: And it’s like now we can all just stay at home and do no kind of remembrance, but just have a day where we don’t have to do work because–

C: That’s right.

R: It’s just so weird!

C: Because we gave you something, we gave you a little space. Stop it. Lift every voice and sing really loudly, because we’ve been doing this since the time we came out. Thank the Black people! From the time we came out of the womb… Thank the Black people!

R: If anyone was going to take a day off, maybe what they should have done, is like, and Black people can take a day off. Paid!

C: That’s right.

R: You know? Everybody else, ya’ll should go to work. 

C: Go to work!

R: You know?
C: And catch up! Catch up with what you’ve been missing. Catch up on what you’ve been missing.

R: Yeah, so um.. Is the future impossible, Charmaine?

C: No. You know why it’s not impossible? Because we are the leaders. Come on! We are the leaders and we make things possible. I’m not even going to use the word impossible. We make things possible. We make things happen. And you know you’re with me when I say it’s that idea… where you’re trying to sleep… I put my head on the pillow and I’m gon’ take a sleep! And all of a sudden the things in your head just start shakin’ and shakin’… there’s no sleep.

R: Oh… I am 100% with you. I had a conversation with two people recently where I read something and I was like these are my feelings exactly. And the quote was just like, someone was talking about their success and they were like, ‘my success is because I work while everybody else is sleeping.’ And you know I felt a kinship to that because you know, I only go to sleep when I do so I can get up and work. 

C: That’s right!

R: Like, let me go to sleep so I can get up and get some shit done. 

C: Right! And I have to take care of me, because I know it’s hard for me to go to sleep without having done that other thing. And also, when it’s time to go to bed and you’ve done the things that you’ve written down to do, then the things that you forgot to do, then you go, ‘oh, dangit!’ Now I’m up. And then you gotta finish it. And then my ass is so tired I’ll go to sleep.

R: Right. Yeah, my husband often makes fun of me because he says when (I) get up, I get up like that. Like I’m asleep and then I’m like here we go. 

C: Lets GO! That’s right.

R: Get up! There’s no like… I don’t do one of those that you see in movies. I don’t lift my hands up and stretch and roll over…

C: Okay but then I did have to stop… Okay here goes the old lady. Well no, I’ve been learning to take care of myself so that I can make the future possible, I did have to stop and say, every morning you wake up, take one breath, not two because that’s too many, take one breath and put your feet on the floor and say ‘I give thanks for today.’

R: Aw fuck. Now I’m gonna do that. You know I got to.

C: And you have to! You have to. And I just sit there and I do it. And THEN I do my practice. I do my yoga practice, or on my Fridays I do a mini class and then do what I need to do. I don’t even turn on the phone. I don’t do anything electronic. 

R: I feel like people have often asked, ‘what’s your secret?’ and I feel like you just told us all. 

C: Well….

R: You take care of yourself and you keep it moving. Inside and out.

C: And listen… old age. Old age. But that’s one of the things I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older, cause people will tell us, ‘aren’t you going to warm up before you dance?’ *laughs* Before you rehearse? Nah, I’m fine. Remember? 

R: Oh I remember. Oh I’m still one of those performers. I’m like…

C: Oh my god, leg! Leg!

R: But I also will say that I think a part of that is because we never rested. So we were just ready to go.

C: Right.

R: What do you mean warm up? I’ve started!

C: What do you mean warm up? And nothing good about COVID. N-U-T-I-N. Nutin’ good about COVID. But it made us slow down. So…

R: Oh it did. Oh it did in such a way that now, I’m just like… I’m not doing that. 

C: Intentional, quote-un-quote, “coming back”. Intentional coming back. 

R: You’re like, oh, things will be fine. 

C: Right.

R: You know, I have to take the moment to acknowledge, like, I have my health.

C: That’s right.

R: I have a place to live, my rent is paid. And I have work. And you know, I think sometimes that as we have been taught recently like, oh the scarcity model! The scarcity model! Allow abundance! But abundance can also mean not doing too much. 

C: Oh my gosh… remember! We said it! We shut it down, then we put our head on the pillow, and there’s all that abundance going on in our head. Right? So we– 

R: I’m not lacking ideas. 

C: No! I got ideas. I have an abundance of ideas. So I have to slow myself down. So that I can recharge. Yeah, for sure.

R: I also wanna just say, people may miss some things, but I’m just excited that they will get to peer into how we are–

C: Aww.. 

R: Um but, my next question is… What… This is again like another future question, obviously, but I’m just kinda like… What do you wanna do that you haven’t been able to do? That you haven’t been able to do?

C: Give a LOT of money to young, Black artists, but specifically dance artists. But young, Black, artists. I want to give them a space where they can experiment for as long as they need to. And I want to, oh my gosh, I have been doing a little bit of mentorship, but I wanna really make a program where young Black artists, again, specifically dancers, will have mentorship at the touch of a finger. What’s the American saying? At the somethin’ somethin’

R: Yeah.

C: Just, at the tip of their fingers. Yeah, I want that. I want money for them, support for them, mentorship for them, and to help them with the next step. So once they get to, you know that nebulous word, ‘emerging’, whatever that always means. I get that. But, they do move on. Like raja feather kelly.

R: Who’s that? Who?

C: Oh, let me look that name up and I’ll get back to you!

R: Oh! Yeah yeah! *laughs*

C: I need a minute with that one!

R: Okay yeah I’ve been googling on a day-to-day basis who is raja feather kelly? 

C: *laughs*
R: Who is this kid?

C: Who is this kid? *laughs* See, and that’s the thing, the ‘emerging’ keeps going. Kid– whaaat? That’s what I wanna do. Oh my gosh that would make me so happy. And of course, bringing them together in community. So they can also support each other.

R: What’s in the way of that? Is there anything in the way?

C: Well of course Black Dance Stories helped to bring the community together, but now, real life. So COVID has been in the way, but before COVID it was a lack of finances.  There’s nothing good about COVID, but to bring the community together in that small space, the platform, that was satisfying. There aren’t that many platforms for this to happen. Harlem Stage is one. I’m not there any more, I’m supporting 651 Arts in the best way that I can and they don’t have a space right now so… I don’t know so much that something’s in the way, but I think financial resources are a big deterrent, I hate to say it, but it’s true.

R: Right. And it’s interesting because there is money out there. 

C: People keep saying that there is…

R: Right! There is money. 

C: Yeah but let me tell you, when you are Black. Oh gosh, Mikki Shepard was just talking about this last night, I don’t know if you watched. Oh maybe this was a post talk about how white organizations that have the money will look at our budget and say, ‘that’s all they paid for that?’ When you know… the 24/7 is real, laying my head on the pillow… that’s working. But they need numbers. I don’t always have the numbers. So when you turn in an application to the white organizations that are funding and they don’t see the numbers that they’re used to, because the white company has a development person, has a budget person, the list goes on. And our teeny tiny organizations are how many people? Two? Three? And what jobs do you hold? ALL of them. 

R: All of the jobs. All of the Mother Warren Jobs.

*both laugh*

C: All of them! So financially, money does stand in the way. Sadly, you can’t apply and say, ‘give me all the money that’s out there because you can’t prove that those non-working hours are working hours. Isn’t that crazy? It’s a dance.

R: That’s all I do. And I know it’s the same for you, all I am doing is thinking about strategy. I’m like, how do I figure this out? How do I get there? How do I figure this out? Okay. And I’m tired of talking to people and seeing things in action and I not be the recipient of, you know–

C: Because you’re strategizing all the time.

R: And it’s hard to get something to feel good. ‘Cause you’re like yeah, someone threw something at me, how great. I’m so fortunate. And it should feel better than that.

C: Absolutely. It feels like a little… good boy… what’s the word? What’s the American saying? Anyway, good on ya. Ya know.

R: Yeah.

C: Ooh! Yay! Yay! Not well-deserved…that’s the other part, it has to be sustainable…

R: It feels like a consolation.

C: Precisely. A consolation.

R: Yeah.

C: We’ve been here. We have been here.

R: Do you think that there is going to be a significant, measurable, visible, legible change post-COVID?

C: Ooh boy.

R: Because there was obviously a lot of like, ‘I feel! I see! I support! I stand!’ Do you believe that that’s going to last? That that’s going to be measurable?

C: No. No, no. Again, I’m quoting the elders last night, Mikki and Auntie Joan Myers Brown– she’s gonna be ninety. And she said, ‘I’ve done this many times.’

R: Right. We’ve been here.

C: We’ve been here! And then Mikki was talking about the movie that’s happening, that opens today, Summer of Soul.

R: Oh yeah?

C: Yeah. The then mayor of New York started that to quiet the riots that were going on. MacKenzie Scott is giving away lots of money, why? ‘Cause BLM. Right? We have to go through a tragedy for you to see that the work continues. We’ve been here. We’ve been doing the work. Just support us.

R: Right.

C: And yes, the work that we do will continue to say the things that are happening in our lives, because what better way to show life than through art?

*pause*

R: What next?

C: Mikki said, ‘Call me. I have ideas. Let’s talk.’ And what do I do? I just listen to all of them. Come on! You know that’s what we do. Our elders, we’ve been here. 

R: Yeah!

C: I mean, we too are now mentors. Right? We’re mentors now. But that’s it. When they say, alright let’s talk,’ we say yes!

R: Amen.

C: That’s all. More community work. That’s what I– in my little world say and do — more community work. More bringing the people, our people together. More responsibility and then of course, intentional change. Let people know, let people see. Those… we’re bringing it back to the beginning.

R: Show me measurable–

C: Measurable!

R: I wanna see, I don’t actually wanna hear nothin’. Leave the emails in the inbox, unsent.

C: Show me!

R: Show me! Show me, you ain’t gotta tell me. 

C: That’s right.

R: You know what I mean?
C: It speaks louder than words.

R: You don’t even have to tell me you’re doing it. I’ll just see it.

C: C’mon. Let’s go back to your first question, what have we missed? Show me what you’ve missed. And then let’s align with what’s happening now, and with the future that we already have planned. Or as Sydnie said, we’re already in.

R: Literally. Join us. Or don’t.

C: Join us! Exactly!

R: Join us!

C: Make that list of what you’ve missed. Make that list, compare it to what’s happening, and then we’ll bring you along, maybe.

R: We will greet you when you show up!

C: We will greet you! Hello!

R: We will greet you when you show up.

C: C’mon!

R: Maybe that’s, you know, as I say that out loud and as I obviously, you know, observe these institutions, these white institutions, there’s so much about this desire to be first, this desire to make something new, this desire–

C: That’s right.

R: And it’s like, the problem is, you’re not ready to be surprised when you think you’re building a door, and you open that door and we’re like, ‘hey!’ and you’re like, ‘woah woah woah! I thought I was building something!’ But we actually have been here.

C: That’s right. And this couch? We’re actually renovating now. ‘Cause it’s a little worn.

R: It’s worn out!

*both laugh*

C: It’s worn out.

*both laugh*

C: But good that you’ve come to join for the renovation!

R: Yeah yeah, it’s a good– oh, do you mind taking that out? Since you’re here? Will you bring in the mail? Since you’re here?

C: While you’re up!

*both laugh*

C: Since you’re just coming in. We’re not gonna stop–

R: Who’s in the driveway? *laughs* They think they done built something and we’re like, we’ve done been here.

C: Listen. We’ve always been here, and it’s nice that you’ve come to thank us.

R: So nice, so nice. Come on in, have a seat.

C: Come on in.

R: Can we get you something? You thirsty?

C: Yeah.

*both laugh*

C: What’s next for you?

R: I don’t know. I mean, you know, I feel like a listener and a vessel.

C: That’s really important right now. Listening and being a vessel. Absolutely.

R: So you know, I feel buzzy, I feel vibrations of like, that there’s something possible, that there’s like another corner to turn.

C: Mmhmm.

R: And so, if I know anything driving, you gotta kinda like press on the brakes–

C: Anticipate.

R: You can’t just like– *screeches* see that corner coming up and put the gas on.

C: No.

R: You gotta check your rear view–

C: That’s right.

R: Your side view, maybe check that everybody in the car is okay, lightly press–

C: Seat Belts are on. 

R: And you gotta take that corner and then accelerate.

C: Then accelerate.

R: You know, so…

C: Okay analogy!

*both laugh*
R: I feel myself approaching a corner, and so I am lightly, you know, punching that brake.

C: Yeah.

R: And then checking out, checking the rear view, what if I– what’s back there? Check my side view, what’s approaching? Checking that my team is all together. Maybe I’ll put on my indicator, as my grandmother calls it, put on your indicator.

C: I say it too!

R: So that everybody knows I’m about to take this turn, let me put on my indicator.

C: Indicator, yes!

R: You know? And then–

C: That’s better than a precipice.

R: Exactly! So you know I feel, and, as I approach this corner and realize I could turn right, I could turn left…

C: Mmhmm.

R: I could actually go to the next corner. I could park. You know?
C: Mmhmm.

R: You know, I’m feeling like there’s, I do believe I am living in the future, I certainly do believe that. I think that, you know I really love Sydnie, and I think that every time I talk to her I say things and then she asks me some clarifying questions and I’m like who’s interviewing who here?

C: Okay!

R: And then I’m like right, clear. Thank Black women. She was like, we’re in the future. And in some ways I’m like there’s no rush. You know?
C: Yeah.

R: Sometimes it’s like oh I gotta get there, and maybe I’m already there. So–

C: That’s right.

R: Take your time. I’m scared. And I’m excited. 

C: Yeah… there’s so much there. There’s so much… there’s so much out there, there’s so much in here, in each of our bodies. And I wanna make sure, like the driver, I wanna make sure that I absorb all of the things that I’m supposed to and share it out.

R: Exactly… open a window.

C: Open the windows. Yes!

R: You know, your air is my air.

C: And pull over and get a new passenger!

R: Yeah! Enjoy the sights.

C: Enjoy … c’mon.

R: Yeah. But that corner is coming, so–

C: Mmm. You know, as the sixty year old… and I don’t want to say precipice, because I love your analogy, but I think I’ve started the corner and I’m probably going to be starting more corners… I think. If I look out there.

R: A world tour! Take that world tour!

C: Okay! A world tour! But that’s because you’re at one of those corners. That’s because Sydnie’s at one of those corners. And I can’t help but get there. So that’s what I know for sure. There’s no waiting. There’s contemplating but I gotta keep going… keep going to the corners, and the next corner, and the next corner… ‘cause that’s how we do it. That’s how we build community.

R: Yeah. Maybe I need to pull over and pick up a bus…

*both laugh*

R: You know?
C: Yes.

R: It’s time to upgrade! So I can just, you know–

C: Yes! It’s not even a station wagon! It’s a bus!

R: Yes! It’s a bus. Get on the bus.

C: Yes!

R: Get on the fucking bus.

C: Come on.

R: And I’m taking everybody with me.

C: Yes. Duh, c’mon. Of course! And look, in Jamaica we wave down the bus. There’s no waving.

R: You better get on! You better get on! That’s a rite of passage.

C: C’mon.

R: Get on that bus.

C: You betta jump on the bus. Wait, what does the bus say on the front? 

R: I don’t know…

C: You better get on? Or, we’ve been waiting. Or… or… This is for you.

R: This is for you.

C: I don’t know.

*pause*
C: The future possible!

R: The future possible! That’s what it should say on the front of the bus! Or just, the future!

C: The future! That’s it. That’s what it says.

R: And you better jump, because we’ll keep going! You better jump… twist… there will be a few people with their hands out to grab you but you still gotta be ready!

C: Oh yeah!

R: Okay, I’m calling it otherwise we’ll just go for two hours.

 

 

Charmaine Patricia Warren performer, historian, consultant, and dance writer, is the founder/artistic director for “Black Dance Stories” and “Dance on the Lawn: Montclair’s Dance Festival,” Producer of DanceAfrica, and Associate Producer at BAM. She is the Director of dance at The Wassaic Project, curated E-Moves at Harlem Stage and danced with david roussève/REALITY.  Charmaine is on faculty at Empire State Colleges, a former faculty at Ailey/Fordham, Sarah Lawrence College, Hunter College and Kean University. She writes for Amsterdam News, Dance Magazine, and has served as a panelist for Robert Battle’s New Directions Choreography Lab.  Charmaine holds a Ph.D. in History/Howard University, a Master’s in Dance Research/City College, and Bachelor Degrees (Dance/English)/Montclair State College.  She is a 2017 Bessie Award Recipient for “Outstanding Performance” as a member of Skeleton Architecture Collective.   

At the risk of giving you too much information:

Raja and I spoke on a video call on June 18, 2021 around 3 in the afternoon. I was in my parents’ house in Baltimore for the first time in the pandemic — it had been 18 months since I’d last been there. These might be insignificant details or they might tell you a lot about this conversation when you’re reading it one day in the future. 

I could have edited for length and clarity, but instead I chose to break the conversation into 10 chunks. Each of the following headings is found in our dialogue. This table of contents reads as a found poem and that delights me.

Choose your own adventure when reading. Practice possibility.

Read Their Conversation

Sydnie L. Mosley is an artist-activist and educator who produces experiential dance works with her collective SLMDances. Through choreographic work, the collective works in communities to organize for gender and racial justice. Her evening length dances The Window Sex Project and BodyBusiness address sexual harassment in public spaces and the economics of NYC dance, respectively. Sydnie was recognized by NYC Mayor Bill de Blasio and First Lady Chirlane McCray for using her talents in dance to fuel social change. Sydnie is part of the Bessie Award winning cast of the skeleton architecture, the future of our worlds, curated by Eva Yaa Asantewaa. Other recognitions include: LMCC Creative Engagement Grant, The Field Leadership Fund, CUNY Dance Initiative, Dancing While Black Artist Fellowship, The Performance Project @ University Settlement, Create Change Fellowship with The Laundromat Project, the Gibney Dance Institute for Community Action Training, and the inaugural Barnard Center for Research on Women Alumnae Fellow. She earned her MFA from the University of Iowa and BA from Barnard College at Columbia University. Sydnie danced with Christal Brown’s INSPIRIT and continues to appear as a guest artist for Brooklyn Ballet. An advocate for the field, Sydnie sits on the Advisory Committee to Dance/NYC.

 

photo credit: Jamie McLean

Dance Conversations

COVID Talks with Raja and Dava

 

How did we come to this? 

????? No Idea? We live in a time where our industry of live performing arts has come to a grinding halt. It was unforeseeable before COVID that there would be a time where we would not be able to move and touch one another in the ways we are used to as dance artists. In some respects, we should have known something like this could be possible in terms of there being pandemics in the past. However, in other respects, how could we have known.

Would you say more about what Now means to you?

Hmmm….now means rebirth of the dance industry as we know it. Now means death to the dance industry as we knew it. In some regard, it is a fascinating time of reimagining creativity and rejecting aspects of the dance world that did not serve our entire population. Now means forging ahead in a way built on a context of understanding what was missing and what we need to strive for, like supporting the most marginalized individuals in our industry. Providing support for the most under-resourced of our communities and broadening the understanding of what it means to be a dancer and a dance artist, and removing the normalized whiteness of it all. Also, demanding equity and financial support that is representative of the value diverse communities bring to our field.

Are you thinking about the future?

I think about the future as much as I think about the past as much as I think about the present. The future that I imagine is more evolved in an equitable sense than the present. I would like to see the future where someone of my background is valued just as much as cis white able-bodied, upper class, Christian, anglo male’s background. 

Would you expand?

I am thinking about how this new way of valuing all of us could lead to sustainability and financial security for emerging artists and dance organizations that are Blacklead, for example.

What do you want?

I want a trickle-up instead of a trickle-down economics structure where the larger granting institutions give to the smallest of us instead of trickling financial resources down to the smallest individuals/artists/organizations. I want to see our dance field thrive in a holistically equitable way. I want to see racism, sexism, misogyny, ableism, homophobia, and all the isms eradicated. That’s not too much to ask, right?

Who’s responsible for the future?

We are all responsible for shaping the future we want to see. I am doing my part and encouraging the people I am in community with to do their part. 

What role do you play in now or the future?

Utilizing my resources to empower and shape the younger generations of dance artists is part of my dance company’s mission. Some of the ways I do this is through my educational programming, through my horizontal reciprocal teaching philosophy, and my mentorship. Other methods are through my artistic programming, community engagement initiative, public writings, and speaking engagements. I try my best to lead by example and practice what I preach. That said, I am creating and promoting an equitable company culture where Davalois Fearon Dance (DFD) company members are appropriately compensated for their work, and their needs are at the forefront.

Do you have a community?

Yes

Who is in your community?

I have a vast web of a community that I engage with that includes DFD dancers, DFD administrators, DFD collaborators, DFD donors, DFD volunteers, DFD audience members, DFD funders, DFD donors, DFD initiative members, DFD Advisory board members, DFD Presenters, DFD interns, former and current students, colleagues, mentors, mentees, friends and family.

How do you maintain that community?

I make a conscious effort to communicate with all the folks I consider to be apart of my community. Communications come in many different forms depending on who it is. I am in touch with the DFD core team members (dancers, administrators, initiative members, volunteers, and interns) several times a week and all other community members at least monthly. Communications come in social media, emails, monthly newsletters, phone calls, texting, and zoom hangouts. 

What do you think about imagination?

I have been witnessing a crisis of imagination in some spaces I am a part of. I think there is an unwillingness of specific individuals in the dance community to let go of the old ways of doing things. The old ways in which we knowingly and unknowingly participate in a system of inequity. A crisis of imagination as it relates to building an equitable future, now rather than later. As if these inequities are so entrenched that we cannot imagine life without them.

How do you respond to the idea of radical imagination?

With excitement! I wish we all radically imagined the way some civil rights leaders dared to imagine an unsegregated America.

How do you respond to the prompt of explaining an ethical or moral imagination?

I think an ethical or moral imagination is one that centers the most underprivileged communities/individuals. To me, it’s collective imagining as members of society rather than individuals. 

How have you been processing the last nine months?

Accepting my limitations, creating new boundaries, and rejecting the pressure to produce as if we were not in a pandemic, especially given that we live in a culture that does not provide individuals grace and time to center their families and overall emotional and mental well-being. I have permitted myself to move at my own pace. I have embraced the time that I did not allow myself to have in the past just to be. I have reveled in the opportunity I was given to be with my daughter daily without having to commute hours away and be separated for 8+ hours daily. 

All that said, I have been in a state of mourning for the many lives lost to COVID. A form of fear of the disease and of losing friends and family. A sense of immense vulnerability as a Black woman knowing how COVID has disproportionally affected Black people. I am concerned about getting sick and, if so, getting adequately cared, due to the many instances of medical racism I’ve personally experienced and or witnessed. 

I have had check-in meetings with my dance company once a week since March 2020, and we have only taken breaks for holidays. We all have concluded that our weekly sessions have helped us process emotionally, mentally, and physically through dialogue, resource sharing, and moving what we have all experienced.  

What, If any, has the last nine months had on your art making?

The impact has been almost a year of not being in process with my dance company in person, which has been incredibly painful, frustrating, and saddening. It has brought up an opportunity to give back to the dancers in the form of supporting their artistic journeys as makers and educators and re-centering myself in my physical practice and movement discovery.

What if any are the last thing affects you imagine?

A virtual coming together. That will occur with or without COVID. I will always have virtual events and incorporate a virtual aspect of any future in-person engagement. The accessibility initiative that we are currently working on has pushed me to reimagine what dance making is with accessibility at the forefront rather than an afterthought. I am now in the process of creating a project that will begin with those ideas in mind. Working with the Lenape center to create a land acknowledgment is also something that I am taking into the future, no matter what the future looks like.

What is possible now?

Education! Folks should be learning about the history of America from the perspective of the oppressed NOW. We can all take the time to educate ourselves and learn how to decolonize our minds, our dance field, and society. The other thing possible now is bonding together with others to build towards the future collectively. Advocacy can be challenging, taxing, and sometimes isolating if done without community support, especially when in an unsupportive environment that may not value your identity. If you can push for a better future, you should, and you can start doing so NOW. I am pushing for change NOW because I have a community that will embrace and support me along the way and heals whatever aspects of harm I may have encountered during the process of bringing forth the future impossible. 

What role does performance play in a pandemic?

Performance is an opportunity for individuals to get together and have a collective experience. A multitude of individuals having a shared experience all at once can reduce feeling isolated. That has been my experience of doing the Davalois Fearon Dance Virtual Theater events.

What role does Performance play in a revolution?

Some performances can be an ignition to a revolution. When put in contact with the right audience member, it can be the match that sparks the fire of radical imagining. In my experience, individuals that have consumed my work have been inspired to shift what they are doing. Furthermore, some have been encouraged to seek ways to make the world a better place and participate in moving and changing others to do the same. Thus performance can be the seed of a revolution. 

How do we go to where we want to go?

Those of us with the capacity will drag the world kicking and screaming into our very possible future!

 

 

About Davalois Fearon:

2021-22 Jerome Hill Artist Fellow finalist and Bessie awardee, Davalois Fearon, was named one of Dance Magazine’s “7 Up-and-Coming Black Dance Artists Who Should Be On Your Radar.” Fearon is a critically acclaimed choreographer, dancer, and educator born in Jamaica and raised in the Bronx. She danced with Stephen Petronio from 2005-2017 and founded Davalois Fearon Dance in 2016 with the mission to push artistic and social boundaries. Her choreography is said to reflect a “tenacious virtuosity,” which has been presented nationally and internationally, including at renowned New York City venues such as the Joyce Theatre, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the New Victory Theatre. Fearon has been featured in prestigious publications such as The New York Times and Dance we Do: A Poet Explores Black Dance by Ntozake Shange. Among others, Fearon has completed commissions for the Bronx Museum of the Arts, Harlem Stage, and Barnard College and is a recipient of numerous awards, including New Music USA Project Grant, Map Fund Grant, Dance NYC Dance Advancement Fund Award, and the Alvin Ailey New Dance Direction Choreography Lab residency. She is a professor at Purchase College and the College of Staten Island.

SPACESUIT ON THE LEFT…

An Improvised Archival Mixtape-Manifesto by an Artist F.K.A Negro (Dead)

conjured by Nia O. Witherspoon

 

Read Article

 

About Nia Ostrow Witherspoon

Nia Ostrow Witherspoon is a Black Queer writer, multidisciplinary artist, cultural worker, and healing justice practitioner investigating the metaphysics of black liberation, desire, and diaspora. Witherspoon is the Multimedia Writer-in-Residence at Fordham University, a Creative Capital Awardee, a Jerome New Artist Fellow, an artist in residence at HERE Arts Center, BAX/Brooklyn Arts Exchange, and was a 2017-18 2050 Playwriting/Directing Fellow at New York Theatre Workshop. Her award-winning work (MESSIAH, Dark Girl Chronicles, Priestess of Twerk) has been featured by JACK, La Mama ETC, The Shed, Playwright’s Realm, BRIC, HERE, National Black Theatre, BAAD, Movement Research, BAX, Dixon Place, Painted Bride, 651 Arts, and elsewhere. She is published in The Journal of Popular Culture, Yellow Medicine Review, Women and Collective Creation, and Imagined Theatres. She holds a BA from Smith College and a PhD from Stanford University in Theatre and Performance Studies, and has held tenure-track professorships at Florida State University and Arizona State University.