James Baldwin Through Dance

James Baldwin, This Time!

                The last week of April was James Baldwin week in New York.  There were several events throughout the week commemorating and celebrating his life and work.  The culmination of these events was a Dance tribute at New York Live Arts.  Entitled “James Baldwin, This Time!” the show transposed two of Baldwin’s most famous works into dance.  The choreographers, Charles O. Anderson and Dianne McIntyre created two works: Restless Natives; and Time is Time respectfully.  McIntyre’s piece was based on a poem by Baldwin entitled, “Song (for Skip)” while Anderson’s piece was based on Baldwin’s novel Another Country.  Unfortunately, poor time management skills prevented me from viewing McIntyre’s piece.  However, I was moved by Anderson’s piece which seamlessly incorporated contemporary and tap dance with poetry and Blues.

            Restless Natives begins with the choreographer and a younger Black male dancer standing onstage.  An audio recording begins with a voice saying at first in mocking tone, “You Black Bastard.”  Anderson mimes the words and begins to point and jeer at the other dancer.  He stands with his back to the young dancer and turns and points.  He bends over and looks through his legs.  At the end of each exclamation he takes off into a short run and assumes another position.  The younger dancer, who is playing the character of Rufus, stands by smiling and laughing.  The effect is both extremely humorous and unsettling.  This type of jeering is not at all uncommon in most private Black spaces.  Family members, close friends and even acquaintances will often speak to each other this way as a means to remind others of their “place,” as it were, in society.  This place is not necessarily as one of inherent inferiority; but to remind others, particularly the young, of the glass ceilings and walls that are still very much in place.

However, after several minutes the tone of the voice changes from that of mockery to persecutional.  Rufus began to counter back, “I’m not Black.”  His movements are very gestural in the form of a hand toss towards the ground or a shift in direction away from Anderson.  However, the choreographer doesn’t let him off the hook that easily.  The voiceover changes dramatically from “You Black bastard” to “You white motherfucker!”  The tone changes again, this time to one that embodies both a sense of disbelief and mockery.  Again, these types of sentiments are not at all uncommon.  In an attempt to thwart racism, many Black people will resist the identity instead of the powers that try to confine it.  Rufus, however, is no longer in the mood to be teased.  He turns his attention away from Anderson to focus on a white tap dancer.  It is not clear whether or not the race of the tap dancer is meant to be in any way substantial or significant.  However, his whiteness did seem to be juxtaposed again the more traditionally African-American style of tap dancing.  This type of improvisational dance focused more on creating specific rhythmic patterns rather than performing or entertaining an audience as Broadway tap often did.  In a sense, these performers were much closer to musicians, particularly jazz musicians, than other types of dancers.  Again, there has traditionally been a strict divide between who performs this way.  The fact that this dancer is white may just have been happenstance.  There are not necessarily many people who learn how to tap on an advanced level in any style anymore.  So, the choreographer may have had limited options.  Yet and still, there is still a long history of African-American culture being inducted into mainstream white culture.  However, while the cultural idioms may have been accepted, African-American people are still left mostly excluded.  Unfortunately, though many people don’t realize this.  As is such, the acculturation is often referred to as positive as an example of a post-racial society.

Although, many people, including Anderson, are not quite buying into this idea.  As soon as Rufus turns away, Anderson desperately tries to get his attention back, but to no avail.  As Anderson waves his arms and jumps up and down, the rest of the “Restless Natives” enter the stage.  The audience is formally invited into a nightclub known as “Home” by a blues singing poetry spouting unnamed matron.  At Home everybody dances—to the sound of the jukebox.  Men dance with men and blacks and whites together with little difference towards social taboos about homosexuality or miscegenation.  At Home, Rufus is transfixed.  He shakes his hips and gyrates to the groove with everyone else, completely ignorant of the danger Anderson is sensing.

            Though the piece is danced beautifully in a vein that is very similar to the aesthetic of Kyle Abraham, its non-linear composition makes it difficult to understand.  The main question throughout the dance is who or what is the choreographer representing?  Before I realized that the dance was based on Baldwin’s novel another country, I assumed that the piece was based on Baldwin’s famous non-fiction work The Fire Next Time.  In which, Baldwin wrote a letter to his nephew warning him the dangers that await him in America when he grows up.  Though, the actual dance is based on a novel in which the male protagonist does not have a male mentor.  It is possible that as the choreographer is playing the role of Baldwin, but not necessarily as a mentor.  As Anderson and Baldwin are the creators of the dance and novel respectively, Anderson could have been acting as the “god” of his own piece.  As the designer, he would have been aware of what circumstances lie ahead for his protagonist.  He is also aware of when and why these difficult situations must occur.  However, simply because one knows how a situation will end, that doesn’t necessarily mean that one won’t still try to prevent it from happening.

As for the actual physicality in the piece, the movement quality is intensely grounded with obvious roots in African based dance.  This is chiefly apparent in the small isolations throughout several different parts of the body.  Shoulder rolls, wrist twists, small gestural articulations married with more traditional linear extensions.  In one section in particular, during what seemed to be a dream sequence one female dancer seemed to express every intonation in a blues song with her body.  While extending her right leg in a développé a la seconde, she shrugged her shoulder upward and reverberted the movement upwards until it ended in a twist of her wrist.  She maintained this postition until the singer had completed the note.  As blues music is notoriously stylized and powerfully sung, it was quite a show of strength to see the dancer sustain that position, on relevé for less, while moving other parts of her body.

            The dream ends, however, rather abruptly when Rufus falls to the floor while clutching his chest.  At first, the Restless Natives continue dancing still oblivious to the reality that surrounds them.  They exit off the stage leaving Rufus and Anderson alone.  This, it seems, is what Anderson was worried about.  After a while, the Restless Natives return, this time in funeral garb.  They surround Rufus and call to him, as he lies lifeless onstage.  They literally clap and shout at him, while the mistress sings out the blues.  Amazingly, he revives and the party continues.

            After his resurrection, it appears that Rufus finally becomes aware of Anderson again.  During their duet, the other natives stand off to the side and watch.  Anderson dances with a furor and vigorousness that his feet and limbs seem to be slapping the ground.  Rufus counters Anderson’s groundedness with an aerial fluidity.  In every sense, Rufus seems determined to avoid the confines of race that are embedded in Anderson’s more Africanist movement quality.  They battle over and over, seemingly past the point of exhaustion until Rufus falls again.  This time, however, he does not regain consciousness.

            Again, the corps returns with the mistress at their heels.  She wails the blues while they seem to proceed almost in slow motion.  Each dancer takes their time with Rufus’s body.  They touch, rub and hug him.  They do so for the most obvious reason, to say goodbye, and in order to be certain that he is really gone.  As the funeral procession removes Rufus’s body from the stage, the mistress warns us about the dangers of believing in a post-racial society.  It can be argued that by essentially ignoring race, one is also ignoring history, culture and personal identity.  This imposed ignorance would in turn result in the sacrifice of personhood for people of color.  Rufus’s death is an example of this sacrifice.

The Principal of it All...

Currently, there are no Black female principal dancers in any of the world's major Ballet companies.  Does that sound surprising?  Well, to be honest it shouldn't.  Though, I grew up in Ballet for most of my life, I actually hadn't realized how whitewashed it was--until, well, until I noticed the increasing notoriety on Misty Copeland.  For those who do not know, Copeland is the first Black female soloist with the American Ballet Theater in over 20 years.  She has been featured in television shows, newspaper and magazine articles and online publications.  And next her name was always placed her title "soloist."

Soloist, I thought to myself.  Well, that's nice, but is she a principal?  Why is she getting so much attention if she isn't a principal?  Though I never for a second doubted her fabulousness, I thought it odd that she seemed to be getting the type of notoriety usually reserved for dancers at the pinnacle of the ballet pyramid.

In the major ballet companies, there are generally three categories in which dancers are placed.  There is the corps de Ballet, the soloist (sometimes, first and second) and the principals.  The members of the corps generally move as a unit and serve as the background dancers for the principals.  The soloists are in the second tier and perform, well, solos.  The principal is the highest level which a dancer can achieve in the world of ballet.  Principals are essentially the stars of their respective companies.  As is such, they are the highest paid and maintain the highest job security of all the dancers.  For loose comparison, one could say that a principal dancer was like a tenured professor, while the rest of the company is made up of adjuncts and lectures.

Though I grew up in Ballet, the only company that I had any real knowledge about was the Dance Theater of Harlem.  My mother gets the credit for that.  As a result, ABT, NYCB, San Francisco, The Royal Ballet, were all vague notions in my mind that I never gave much consideration to.  Of those, the company I was most familiar with was New York City Ballet.  But that was because in nearly all the fiction books I read about aspiring ballerinas, all seem to hold Darci Kistler in the highest esteem.  Kistler, said to be the last muse of George Balanchine, had become the youngest ever principal of NYCB at the age of 17.  Even if one has absolutely no knowledge of the Ballet hierarchy, one has to admit how impressiveness of that feat.  So impressive, that she made her way into mainstream consciousness.  And into the imaginations of aspiring young dancers.    

But now, so has Misty Copeland. And she is fabulous dancer and has had a remarkable life.  She will even get her own posting on my little blog.  However, let us not forget again that there are no Black female principal dancers in any of the world's major ballet companies.  None.  Not one.

Why is this?  Well, one could say that many Black female dancers don't receive training good enough to prepare them for the extremely competitive ballet world.  Another form of reasoning could be a lack of interest on the part of many Black female dancers to pursue ballet to the professional level.  Instead, one could say that, they simply choose other forms.  But the last reason, I would argue is the intersection of racism and sexism exclude Black women from the type of femininity that ballet dancers epitomize.

The Ballet aesthetic is one that is both linear and graceful.  Professional dancers are renowned for their long lean muscles.  This leanness, in fact, which betrays their actual strength.  In most forms of dance, but especially in ballet, the goal of the dancer is to make their movements appear as effortless as possible.  From a very young age, dancers are taught to extend their energies past their limbs.  This projection and release of this energy gives the dancer the appearance of grace.  Traditional ballets combined this aesthetic with heteronormative gender roles and dramatic trials romantic love.  The type of woman epitomized in these ballets had an asexual, almost childlike beauty.  And again, despite the tremendous strength of the actual dancer, there was often an element of fragility seen in the characters.  Suffice it to say, asexual fragility does not lend itself well unto the perception of the Black female body.      

It almost goes without saying that Black women in this country historically have often be viewed as hyper-sexual and hyper-strong.  Generally, these criticisms are attributed to the personas of Black women.  But in the dance world, everything is embodied.  Black female dancers often say that they have been criticized for having bodies that are muscular and/or too curvy.  Copeland herself has admitted to being a recipient of these criticisms.

Thankfully, this hasn't gotten in the way of her ascension up the ABT hierarchy.  But let's be sure not to give ABT more credit than it deserves.  There is still a pinnacle to be reached, and a glass ceiling to be shattered.   If and when Copeland or some other Black female ballerina does so, she will hopefully dismantle some stereotypes as well.     

The Minstrel Show pt.1: A Backdrop

Despite the efforts of many anthropologists, academics, artists and historians specializing in Afro-dance forms, in many senses, it is still difficult to engage in a discourse about Black dance and dancers. There are myriad of reasons for this.  One that cannot be discounted is that most people in the West are not as familiar with movement arts as they are with visual, theatrical or musical arts.  For most people, dance is seen as a companion to the latter two art forms, as merely entertainment, or as an elitist form that they have little access to.  As someone who is currently seeking out a graduate program that incorporates both academic and physical dance studies, I can attest to how difficult it is to enter into this space.  However, as with most things in America, what ever is true in general, is especially true in regards to Blackness.  With the rare exceptions of the premier Black dance companies and artists, Black dance is generally seen as abjectly anti-intellectual.  And one of the main reasons for this is the uniquely American context in which Black dancers were first seen--The Minstrel Show.

Due to Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, Black bodies long been viewed as commodities in the West.  Initially, Black bodies were viewed solely as a means of field or domestic labor production.  As a result, during slave markets the enslaved were inspected and valued on how much money they would bring to their new masters.  As is such, the usefulness of Black bodies in slave holding spaces was based solely on how much the enslaved could perform.  However, in many non-slave holding Northeastern states, black bodies and cultural idioms were viewed with curiosity.  Concurrently, America was searching to create a cultural identity.  One in which both the common man and the gentleman were encompassed.  This was accomplished in the creation of a wildly popular and distinctly popular art form—The Minstrel show.  

Minstrel shows were comedic productions in which mostly white artists would paint their faces Black and perform songs and dances “authentic” to Black people.  These characters were universally portrayed as slow and dimwitted buffoons who existed for the sole purpose of entertaining their white audience.

And it was here at the Minstrel Show that the white audience found their common ground.  After the Revolutionary War, the common men in the rural parts of the country wanted to create a culture that rejected the pretentious European forms.  Instead, they favored literary characters whose ruggedness and humility were featured.  Davy Crockett was a favorite among this sort.  

 The rich wanted to expand upon European high culture.  During the 19^th century, as the country moved more and more into urbanization, these two groups found themselves increasingly at odds.  The gentleman class thought the common man uncouth; the common man though the elite snobby and untrustworthy.  What both sides could agree on, however, was that neither were like the singing and dancing coon that stood before them on stage during their beloved Minstrel Show.  They weren't buffoons and they weren't black.  As is such, by defining “Blackness” they were able to create a contrasting image to define themselves.  

If Black was slow and dimwitted, white was intellectual.  If Blackness lacked self-awareness, whiteness epitomized it.  If the Black body moved instinctively to rhythm much input from the mind of the dancer; then the white body moved with dignity and grace without the structure of European dances, folk, court, or concert.  As is such, the Black performing body was encased in a level of racism so deep that we are still struggling to get out of it.      




Depiction of popular characters during minstrel shows.

I am a Black dancing body

 I have always been a dancer.  I was a dancer age of three when I bobbed around my mother's kitchen with a giant teddy bear to the effervescent beats of Janet Jackson's Escapade.  I was a dancer at age six when my mother enrolled me in ballet and tap classes.  Yet, somewhere in the 12 years of my ballet training my awareness of myself changed.  I wasn't merely a dancer, I was a Black dancing body in a white dominated space.

It practically goes without saying that the world of Western Concert dance is inextricably tied to a very specific physical ideal.  And generally studios are lined with mirrors so that the dancer's body can be analyzed from virtually all angles.  Traditionally, a proper dancer has a long limbed slender body with long legs and large highly arched feet.  While my prepubescent body barely fit this ideal, after puberty shot me full of estrogen, my body resembled more of that of a stripper or video vixen than a prima ballerina.

Although body concerns are a common issue for women in general, and many female dancers especially, my body image issues were compounded because my body was racialized.  Often, I was told not to "stick out [my] butt"from many well meaning teachers.  As an adult, it seems rather odd to me that none of them ever considered the fact that I hadn't been intentionally projecting my lower back.  Rather, my body was merely shaped slightly differently.  AS it were, this seemingly innocuous comment led me to become increasingly self-counscious.

As instructed, I began to tuck my pelvis underneath me in order to decrease the appearance of the arch in my lower back.  Although tucking my pelvis may have made for a better line, it also greatly impeded my dance training.  While there are times that one will find this pelvic contraction necessary, consistently holding the body this way greatly limits mobility and throws off the balance.  Suffice it to say, if one cannot move their limbs freely without feeling as though she will fall over, dancing in any style becomes virtually impossible.  

At other times, I was praised for my dancing but was told that I needed to "do something" with my kinky hair in order to advance into higher level classes.  My love for dance led me to try and conform as best I could to these standards, but it never fully worked.  Eventually, I just gave trying to fit into the ballet mode.  Instead, as an act of equal parts rebellion and self-discovery, I took up West African based dances.

For several years I studied Sunu, Wolosodon and Manjani and other dances from Senegambia and Guinea.  Instead of being merely a visual spectacle, I began to see dance as a form of communication between the dancer, musician and audience.  Simultaneously, I began to take Afro-Caribbean based dance forms.  As I learned Samba and the dances of the Orishas, I began to see dance as a form of embodied history.  While, I didn't recognize any of movements, some of the music sounded vaguely familiar to the praise breaks I heard in church while growing up.

As a grew further into young adulthood and began to make my way around the New York club scene, I added winding, and twerking movement vocabularies into my repertoire.  I was briefly introduced to the house dance vocabulary on my 26th birthday.  Initially, I couldn't seem to catch the rhythm, but after a few drinks, I began to embody the "fall and recover" style of moving; albeit without the fancy footwork. 

Last year, I learned how to combine many of these styles when I became a certified Zumba instructor.  Though Zumba is viewed by many to merely be a kind of Latin Jazzercise, I've discovered something else in it.  Every class, I watch as people shrug off their inhibitions, shut off their thought streams and connect with themselves.  

This is the type of space that seems to have always been the most accepting of the Black dancing body--where we are serving somewhat as entertainers and inviting others to explore themselves through our bodies.  And this isn't inherently problematic.  However, personally, I feel that the line between artist and entertainer lies in the intent of the performer.  Someone who acts to incite the excitment in others--to me, that's an entertainer.  Someone who acts to incite the joy in themselves--that's an artist. 

Last week, I came across this video of Omari Mizarahi and I was immediately transfixed.  As he himself explains, he embodies various forms of dance styles and model like poses in order to best express himself as a Vogue artist.  The result is an articulate, exciting, intellegent and insighful look at the Black dancing body.