Kyle Abraham leads a large ensemble in Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful (photo by Alex Sargent / courtesy Park Ave. Armory)
DEAR LORD, MAKE ME BEAUTIFUL
Park Ave. Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at Sixty-Seventh St.
December 3-14, $75-$170
www.armoryonpark.org
www.aimbykyleabraham.com
As audience members enter Park Ave. Armory’s massive Wade Thompson Drill Hall to experience Kyle Abraham’s Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful, they are greeted by Cao Yuxi’s (aka JAMES) stunning set, a large backdrop that spills out over the floor, approaching the seating; projected on it is a pixelated image of Abraham’s head and shoulders, immersed in a naturalistic environment that evokes leaves, flowers, grass, and trees. It’s like a living version of a Kehinde Wiley portrait, except instead of celebrating the subject, in this case he eventually disappears. It’s a poignant evolution that is made even starker when Abraham, who has not danced with an ensemble in nine years, emerges onto the stage, running around in a circle again and again, at first fast but then slowing down until he has to stop and catch his breath.
In the program for the awe-inspiring armory commission, the forty-seven-year-old Pittsburgh-born dancer and choreographer explains, “I’m saddened by delayed positive progressive change in this world and frightened by the chaos of pandemic debris. I’ve never felt so deeply inclined to make something so attached to how I feel in the present. . . . I move through this world full of fear and a newfound fragility. . . . I dance in remembrance of the innocence of my younger self. And I dance in the present day, with sadness and fear of an unknown future, and a fading hope and prayer for imaginable change.”
Abraham is soon joined by a talented troupe of dancers that he has worked with in the past and present — Jamaal Bowman, Amari Frazier, Mykiah Goree, Tamisha Guy, Alysia Johnson, Catherine Kirk, Faith Mondesire, Riley O’Flynn, William Okajima, Morgan Olschewsche, Jai Perez, Donovan Reed, Keturah Stephen, Stephanie Terasaki, Gianna Theodore, and Olivia Wang — who break out into solos, duets, trios, and quartets, lifting, jumping, and interacting to a powerful live commissioned score by yMusic, a chamber ensemble featuring Alex Sopp on flutes and voice, Mark Dover on clarinets, CJ Camerieri on trumpet and French horn, Rob Moose on violin and guitar, Nadia Sirota on viola, and Gabriel Cabezas on cello. Sound, image, and movement come together in exquisite ways as the abstract shapes and colors continue almost microscopically morphing on the screen, providing an alternative to the muted earth palette of Karen Young’s costumes. The immersive sound is by Sam Crawford, with lighting by Dan Scully.
In the sixty-five-minute piece, Abraham, who choreographs for his own company, A.I.M. (Abraham in Motion), as well as New York City Ballet, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, Paul Taylor American Modern Dance, Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, the Royal Ballet, and the National Ballet of Cuba, wears his emotions on his sleeve as he explores aging, fear and anxiety, and loneliness. He was inspired in part by Richard Powers’s 2018 novel, The Overstory, which deals with Americans’ connection to the natural world, especially trees; the book’s narrative is divided into four chapters: “Roots,” “Trunk,” “Crown,” and “Seeds.” The circles Abraham runs could be like the rings of a tree, but in his case he thinks he is running out of time. In addition, he was affected by his father’s early onset dementia at an age only a few years older than Abraham is now.
Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful is exhilarating and propulsive as well as meditative, with only touches of foreboding. It’s also the kind of work that could only happen at the armory.
In the program note, Abraham asks, “Where will the world be in 5 years?”
It’s a loaded question that is impossible to answer, given the number of wars going on, the growing dangers of climate change, and the rash of international political extremism, but with more works like Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful, it will be a better place regardless.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]