Adrienne Abdus-Salaam and Corrine Karon during the opening moments of “Where Heaven’s Dew Divides.” (Photo: Nathea Lee)
Only within the open space created by dialogue, whether conducted with our neighbors, with history, with nature or the cosmos, can human wholeness be sustained. We are not born human in any but a biological sense; we can only learn to know ourselves and others and thus be trained in the ways of being human. We do this in the immersion of the ocean of language and dialogue fed by the springs of cultural tradition.”
– Daisaku Ikedu
Germaine Ingram describes what this past year’s project has been for her:
I’d say that I’d been working with an extraordinary group of dancer-choreographers, and people who are really diverse in background and dance style, and nationality, aesthetics, sensibility, age. But what we have in common is an interest in improvisation. We’re interested in history, memory – collective memories especially – and issues of social justice. And this was a space for the twelve of us to really undertake a process of raising questions related to our shared interests. And working together not necessarily to find answers, but to perhaps ask bigger questions, or just undertake an open exploration that didn’t have an expectation of some type of performance or presentation at the end. It was just an open, exploratory space where we could discover; where we could let go of old habits; where we could intersect and have bombardments with one another, because of our different styles or whatever, in order to find new avenues, new ideas, new spaces for work and for our practice. It didn’t even start with any idea of creating some kind of performance piece, but, in fact, we did create several performance pieces, and a whole production… So it was a wild and open process, and it was only because we had people with great talent, and who were willing to invest in the process, and who were capable of contributing to a community of trust, and capable of trusting, that we came out the other end of this journey with, I think, just an extraordinary sense of accomplishment.
Corrine Karon discusses breaking out of particular dance genres, and developing trusting relationships with dancers in different communities:
It was really interesting to me to work with some of the people I was working with, who were really, you know, prominent in their own disciplines. But I find that we get into these little bubbles – tap dancers stay with tap dancers and modern dancers stay with modern dancers – and you don’t frequently cross over. So that opportunity to be in a rehearsal space for a year – not once or twice – but to really create a community, a family, and be able to trust people and do whatever you want to do with people in different disciplines, I never would’ve had that opportunity… You really get an appreciation for other people’s art when you’re in it, and you’re not just watching it from the outside.
Hui Wilcox of Ananya Dance Company describes the preliminary work the company did in order to grapple with large social justice issues. For two years, the woman in the company their own shared histories – convergent and divergent – in order to turn their collective gaze outward:
I feel like it’s important for us to look outside of our circle, and hear different perspectives. But it’s probably equally important to look in the circle, and learn about each others’ histories. Because that was one of the biggest challenges when we started Ananya Dance Theatre. We are a women of color company, but we’re divergent. “Women of color” is not one thing. We have different histories: Asian Americans, African Americans, Latinos. We didn’t even know each others’ histories; we didn’t even know how to relate to each other. Because we live in this society where everything is mediated through whiteness. So it was a really long and hard journey for us. I don’t think we ever arrived at any point; we’re still working it through. So that was a really important part. Early on we did storytelling sessions among ourselves. It was just a really powerful experience.”
Interviewer Toni Shapiro-Phim ask Adrienne Abdus-Salaam what she thought Where Heaven’s Dew Divides was saying. Here, Adrienne frames the significance of Heaven’s Dew within her own resonant experiences she brought to the production.
It was a lot for me, because I am Christian. I did grow up in Church. My father was a minister – Southern Baptist. So I am very familiar with the roll that females have played, and not been allowed to play, in the church. So with that being a major subject matter in the piece, that really hit home. I’ve been in situations where I’ve wanted to—we talk about ministry, and talk about worship—you know, my ministry is my dance. But I’ve been in churches where they’ve shunned it because it’s inappropriate. Women were not allowed to sit in the front pew because it’s distracting to men. I mean, to me, if you’re a messenger of God, that should be your focus. You know what I mean?
I have been in situations where I have been in church and I have needed to nurse my baby, and I had a cover up and everything, and I was asked to leave. You know, and it’s like, “Should I apologize for breast feeding? God gave me breasts, God gave me milk.” You know? “My child needs to eat. I don’t wanna leave because I do want to continue to receive the message.” You know, and if other people are distracted, then maybe they should look at how committed they really are to what’s happening. So for me, we just hit there: there was a lot. So I could definitely connect to this sort of persecution or injustice.
And then as a woman of color, you know, the funny thing is, having grown up in the South, I did not experience any racism growing up there. I just didn’t. My first experience with racism was actually when I moved to Philadelphia, which nobody ever believes me when I say that. My people are from Georgia and Alabama. I didn’t experience any – none. And being in this place, to me it is very divided. People say, “Oh, we have this and we have that.” Yes, but they’re living here, and they’re living here, and they’re living here. And it’s very clear that you’re in somebody else’s territory. And, you know, you migrate to other places. So this whole idea of you not being able to be a part, or not being able to be completely engulfed or invited into a community because you are something else – that whole story with Richard Allen and Absalom – that really touched me. Not so much in my upbringing, but when I came to Philadelphia. You know, I’ve been in situations where I felt like, “Should I leave?”… So when you have these characters who are asked to leave, and then they decide to form their own [church] out of necessity more so than choice, it’s made me recap on those experiences I’ve had here.
And honestly, me finding African dance. You know, being in this black dancing body, looking the way that I look: I’m not a stick figure, I lock my hair. I don’t always fit into that concert, modern dance model. When I first came here it was really just Urban Bush Women, and if maybe you could make it to New York to do some other things. But in terms of the Philadelphia community, I felt like you’re either looking at ‘Danco, and they look a very particular way. Although there are women of color, they have to be [holds up pinky finger] what you have to be. Or you had the African dance community.
So for me, I found African dance. My love and my allegiance is modern. But who will employ me more, quite honestly? And who accepted me, and my body, and wasn’t trying to make me starve myself, and be apologetic for making the choice to have a family and all this kind of stuff ? It was the African dance community. So it kinda pushed a lot of people in that direction. So I can kind of connect with these people needing to go and find their own and kind of forge together.
So for me it was just a lot. I didn’t know initially that all that stuff was going to be there for me. When I was first reading the email and the subject matter, I was like, “Okay… African Methodists? It’s not really connected to me…” Honestly! I really couldn’t find the connection at all. And it wasn’t until I began to start the work and really dig and do character studies.”
Chitra Vairavan:
I just want to say, part of that “specialized practice of love” is also knowing each others’ stories in the space, like knowing that it’s not just a body you’re dancing next to. And that’s really involved in creating that safe space. When you understand each others’ history, your own personal experience in your story, you relate better to this bigger picture of the work that you’re trying to sustain yourself in. It will help you specialize the love… See, that’s part of the process. We will discuss our emotional narrative within the movements. So, the movements are choreographed, and we’re discussing what it means for us to be doing those movements within the scheme of the whole show. So we have our own stories within the piece as well. It’s kind of convenient, because we can talk about how we’re connecting to the movements. So it’s part of our own connection, as well as how we’re feeding into playing these characters through it.”
Dew Crew Memoirs 