Artist Otobong Nkanga will be joined by six performers to activate Cadence installation on April 27 (photo by twi-ny/mdr)
Who:Otobong Nkanga and others What:Installation activation Where: Marron Family Atrium, MoMA, 11 West Fifty-Third St. between Fifth & Sixth Aves. When: Sunday, April 27, free with museum admission, 10:30 am – 5:30 pm Why: Describing her MoMA atrium commission Cadence, Nigeria-born, Belgium-based artist Otobong Nkanga notes, “Once I’d visited MoMA, I was interested in creating a tapestry work for the highest wall in the atrium, which would allow for a way of looking into the world from a different perspective. I wanted to create the notion of falling: a fall of things, a certain shift, a certain rhythm. The tapestry opens up to a more three-dimensional space, with sculptural pieces made of clay, smoked raku, and glass hanging from ropes and sitting on anthracite rocks, and a sound piece integrated in the sculpture that relates to the notion of teardrops, which is another kind of fall. . . . I wanted to make something that explores different rhythms of life. You might also feel that it’s a world that is beyond this one, like the universe somehow. It’s a mix of different worlds — from the underworld and the mining of minerals, to the surface and the soil, to the atmosphere and the heat of the sun, into outer space — all collapsing together in one place. That’s what creates the cadence of life. That’s what creates, actually, a world, because you cannot separate what is happening in the universe from what is happening underneath the soil in the core of the earth.”
On April 27 from 10:30 to 5:30, Nkanga and six other performers — Holland Andrews, Keishera, Muyassar Kurdi, Anaïs Maviel, Miss Olithea, and Samita Sinha, in costumes by Christian Joy — will activate the installation, incorporating sound and movement to interact with the piece. “What if a teardrop actually had a voice? What would it say? How would it say it? The work is really looking at that teardrop, and the emotions that go with it,” Nkanga says of the live performance, which is free with museum admission. Cadence is on view through July 27.
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]
Isaac Julien, detail, Once Again . . . (Statues Never Die), 2022 (photo by Ashley Reese), a highlight of the 2024 Whitney Biennial
WHITNEY BIENNIAL: EVEN BETTER THAN THE REAL THING
Whitney Museum of American Art
99 Gansevoort St.
Sunday, August 11, free with timed tickets, 10:30 am – 6:00 pm
212-570-3600 whitney.org
According to Ligia Lewis, the eighty-first Whitney Biennial is “a dissonant chorus”; that’s an apt description of the exhibition, which features more than seventy artists contributing painting, sculpture, video, live performances, and sound and visual installations. Organized by Chrissie Iles and Meg Onli with Min Sun Jeon and Beatriz Cifuentes, this edition is themed “Even Better Than the Real Thing,” with works that delve into the sociopolitical aspects of AI, personal identity, and marginalization.
The biennial comes to a close on August 11 with a free day of special programming as part of the Second Sundays initiative, including tours, workshops, and storytelling. Navigating the biennial can be a daunting task; below are ten recommended highlights, followed by the scheduled programs.
Nikita Gale, Tempo Rubato (Stolen Time): The keys of a seemingly haunted player piano are not connected to wires, so the sound made is just that of the pressing of the wood. Lights dim as the visitor contemplates whether what they are hearing is music and what constitutes an original composition.
Isaac Julien, Iolaus/In the Life (Once Again . . . Statues Never Die): British filmmaker Isaac Julien invites museumgoers to wander around multiple screens hung at different angles and sculptures by African American artists Richmond Barthé and Matthew Angelo Harrison as a film depicts conversations with Alain Locke (André Holland), the influential Harlem Renaissance writer, philosopher, educator, and first Black Rhodes scholar, and white chemist and art collector Albert C. Barnes (Danny Huston).
Seba Calfuqueo, Tray Tray Ko: Chilean artist Seba Calfuqueo makes her way through the sacred landscape where the Mapuche people live, walking amid trees, rocks, and a river, draping herself in a long train of electric blue fabric.
Carolyn Lazard, Toilette: A mazelike conglomeration of mirrored medicine cabinets filled with Vaseline, a by-product of oil and gas production, brings up thoughts of the price of self-care and caregiving as the corporatization of the health-care industry and the decimation of the rainforest get stronger.
Julia Phillips, Mediator: Hamburg-born, Chicago-based Julia Phillips examines pregnancy and motherhood in a piece composed of two chest casts with partial faces separated by a microphone, evoking a spinning game one might find in a public playground.
P. Staff, Afferent Nerves and A Travers Le Mal: A long room bathed in an ominous yellow contains an abstract self-portrait of the UK-born, LA-based artist, with a live electrical net hovering overhead, inviting visitors into what P. Staff calls “a particular trans mode of being that exists in the tension between dissociation and hypervigilance.”
Kiyan Williams, Ruins of Empire II or The Earth Swallows the Master’s House: A reflective aluminum statue of Black trans activist Marsha P. Johnson, holding a sign that declares, “Power to the People,” watches as the north facade of the White House, topped with an upside-down American flag, sinks into the earth in this outdoor installation. Viewers are encouraged to walk through and look closely at the impending death of a once-powerful building constructed by enslaved laborers.
Constantina Zavitsanos, All the time and Call to Post (Violet): Take a seat on the carpeted ramp and get lost in the blue-violet light as captions projected on the wall share such thoughts as “The universe is made of abundance” as you feel the infrasonics of modulated speech reverberating underneath you.
Holland Andrews, Air I Breathe: Radio / Hyperacusis Version 1: Sleeping Bag: Brooklyn-based composer and performer Holland Andrews has created two pieces for the biennial, Air I Breathe: Radio in the stairwell and Hyperacusis Version 1: Sleeping Bag, located in the elevator, works that incorporate music and found sound — in the latter, some made by the elevator itself — that offer a respite from visual overload.
Sunday, August 11
15-Minute Tours: Highlights of the Exhibition, multiple times
Artmaking: Magnetic Mosaic, 11:00 am – 3:00 pm
Artmaking with Eamon Ore-Giron, 11:00 am – 4:00 pm
Story Time with NYPL in the Gallery, 11:00 am, 1:00 pm, 3:00 pm
Double Take: Guided Close-Looking through Intergenerational Dialogue, for teens, 1:00
Recorridos Familiares, 2:30
Recorridos de 15 minutos, 3:00
[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]
Who:Molly Lieber & Eleanor Smith, James Lo, Tatyana Tenenbaum What: Streaming performance and live virtual discussion Where:Baryshnikov Arts Center online When: Live Zoom discussion January 19, free with RSVP, 5:00; performance available on demand through January 24 at 5:00, free Why: Molly Lieber and Eleanor Smith, who have been creating dance works together for more than fifteen years, debuted their latest piece, Gloria, made during the pandemic, outdoors at Abrons Arts Center this past May. The indoor premiere is scheduled for April 8-9 at New York Live Arts. In the meantime, you can catch an extensive rehearsal of Gloria — a name shared by Lieber’s baby — as part of Baryshnikov Arts Center’s excellent digital programming. In the ninety-minute work, Lieber and Smith redefine female objectification, incorporating microphones and mic stands, large mirrors on wheels, and folding chairs as they move about BAC’s rehearsal space, asserting control over their physical form as women. The soundtrack evolves from a long silence, interrupted by screams from Lieber, Smith singing “Getting to Know You” from The King and I, and Lieber mumbling Dan Hill’s “Sometimes When We Touch,” to snippets of patriotic marches, traffic, birds, and Laura Branigan’s 1982 hit, “Gloria.” (The wide-ranging sound design is by James Lo.)
Molly Lieber and Eleanor Smith’s Gloria rehearsal excerpt continues online through January 24 (photo by Maria Baranova)
At one point, Lieber puts the microphone all over Smith’s skin, giving voice to her body. “It’s too much,” Smith repeats later, reflecting on the expectations of others. Lieber and Smith entwine themselves on the floor, take off and put back on their costumes, morph into emotional positions that often evoke sexual contact, and dare the patriarchal system to question who they are and what they want out of life, determined to survive amid all the maelstrom, especially the mass grief caused by the coronavirus crisis. As in such earlier works as Body Comes Apart,Basketball,Rude World,Tulip, and Beautiful Bone,Gloria is emotionally and physically exhausting as Lieber and Smith push each other to the extreme — and then keep going.
The piece was filmed and edited by the extraordinary Tatyana Tenenbaum, whose previous virtual work for BAC includes Holland Andrews’s Museum of Calm, River L. Ramirez’s Ghostfolk, and a celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of Merce Cunningham’s Landrover.Gloria is available for streaming through January 24 at 5:00. On January 19 at 5:00, Lieber and Smith will take part in a live discussion over Zoom, joined by Lo and moderated by Tenenbaum.
Bill T. Jones’s Deep Blue Sea is set within an illuminating, immersive environment at Park Ave. Armory (photo by Stephanie Berger)
DEEP BLUE SEA
Park Avenue Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
September 28 – October 9, $40
212-933-5812 www.armoryonpark.org
Bill T. Jones is in the midst of yet another well-deserved moment, culminating in the spectacular Deep Blue Sea, continuing at Park Avenue Armory through October 9. During the pandemic, the legendary dancer, choreographer, Kennedy Center honoree, and activist, along with his troupe, the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, streamed a reimagined version of 1991’s Continuous Replay. In May, after a one-month delay because of a Covid outbreak in the company, they staged Afterwardsness at Park Ave. Armory, a socially distanced and masked production that addressed racism, police brutality, classism, and the pandemic itself. In July, the documentary Can You Bring It: Bill T. Jones and D-Man in the Waters was released, a thrilling look at Jones’s seminal 1989 piece, D-Man in the Waters, exploring intergenerational tragedy and loss while drawing comparisons between AIDS and other crises.
Delayed a year and a half due to the pandemic, Deep Blue Sea is a one-hundred-minute multimedia meditation on being Black in America. As the audience enters the Wade Thompson Drill Hall, which features a large, rectangular central space with ten rows of rafters, starting about ten feet high, on all four sides, Jones, dressed in his trademark black, is moving determinedly across the floor, almost robotically. Some people recognize him; others walk right past him to their seats, oblivious. It’s Jones’s return to performing for the first time in ten years, when he appeared (nude) in a 2011 iteration of Continuous Replay at New York Live Arts. On every seat is a long sheet of paper with writing on both sides, in Jones’s handwriting; it reads in part: “Thank you, Mr. Melville! / Thank you for the Pip / Thank you for his music / Thank you for his fragile fear / Thank you for his loneliness in the ocean . . . / Thank you for not letting him drown. / Thank you for this floor we are moving on. Thank you for the ocean just now pretending to be a stage. / Thank you, Dr. King! . . . Thank you for words that I can shred, misunderstand, mangle and still they meet the air like singing.”
Bill T. Jones stands in the middle of it all in multimedia Deep Blue Sea (photo by Stephanie Berger)
The sixty-nine-year-old Florida native soon starts a long monologue in which he explains that he was disturbed to discover that, upon revisiting Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, he had completely forgotten about Pip, the young Black cabin boy aboard the Pequod. “Pip was invisible to me,” he recalls. Using that as a metaphor, Jones, joined by ten dancers, delves into the lack of inclusivity in the word “we” in contemporary society. He incorporates text from W. E. B. DuBois’s The Souls of Black Folk, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, Kendrick Lamar’s “Never Catch Me,” and Moby-Dick, with live gospel, blues, and hip-hop performed by vocalists Philip Bullock, Shaq Hester, Prentiss Mouton, and Stacy Penson in red costumes and Jay St. Flono in more colorful African-inspired dress. (The costumes are by Liz Prince.) The dramatic score was composed by musical director Nick Hallett, accompanied by an electronic soundscape by Hprizm aka High Priest, Rena Anakwe, and Holland Andrews.
Choreographed by Jones, Janet Wong, and the company — Barrington Hinds, Dean Michael Husted, Jada Jenai, Shane Larson, s. lumbert, Danielle Marshall, Nayaa Opong, Marie Lloyd Paspe, Jacoby Pruitt, and Huiwang Zhang — Deep Blue Sea immerses the audience in a breathtaking visual environment designed by Elizabeth Diller, of Diller Scofidio + Renfro, with award-winning projection designer Peter Nigrini (Here Lies Love,Beetlejuice); the superb lighting is by Robert Wierzel. (You can watch an artist talk with Diller, Nigrini, and Hinds here.) I suggest wearing a white or light-blue mask for an added bonus when it gets dark.
The surprises are many, from a black spotlight following Jones to white spotlights on the other dancers that merge into amorphous bubbles, from mirrors that turn the space into a kind of three-dimensional infinity room to the appearance of a calming, gently rolling ocean. Snippets of text roll beneath the dancers. The face of a boy representing Pip dominates the floor, blinking up at us. Jones refers to the dancers by name several times, giving each their own identity and voice. Wearing everyday clothing, they run across the stage, form into a tight group, and line up on their backs, asserting themselves as individuals and a close-knit group. Jones expands the idea of community with an overly long though visually engaging conclusion in which ninety-nine local people share personal statements that begin, “I know . . . ,” after which the audience is encouraged to come down and mingle, becoming an ever-expanding “we.”
“[Pip] saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad,” Melville writes in Moby-Dick. “So man’s insanity is heaven’s sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God.” At one point in Deep Blue Sea, the phrase “You can’t turn back” is projected onto the floor, Jones’s uncompromising approach to providing a way forward through indifference.
Kyle Marshall (right) has a busy June with Stellar at BAC (above) and two live performances at the Shed
Who: Kyle Marshall, Charmaine Warren What: Dance film, virtual discussion, live performance Where:BAC online, the Shed When: BAC Zoom talk Wednesday, June 16, free with RSVP, 7:00; Shed performances Friday, June 25, 7:00, and Saturday, June 26, 8:00, free with RSVP Why: In a May 2018 Movement Research Critical Correspondence talk with performer, historian, consultant, and dance writer Charmaine Warren, dancer, teacher, and choreographer Kyle Marshall said about working with Myssi Robinson, Mimi Gabriel, Nick Sciscione and Dare Ayorinde, “So it’s the five of us and we’ve known each other for a long time and so coming together, that sense of community I’m realizing is important to my work. The people in the room and that personal investment has to be there and that’s something I’m realizing going into new projects. But with Wage as opposed to Colored, which was a celebration of a black identity, I think with Wage I’m looking at white supremacy and capitalism and how it kind of fits within our bodies and how our bodies are victims of that cycle and perpetrators of that cycle. And how through making Colored I realized I had white supremacist thinking in my own body, about myself, about other people. And so this work came out of that thinking. I’m working with two male-identified dancers, two female-identified dancers, two black dancers, and two white dancers. I’m interested in how these binary things collide and the tension of these things. I’m curious about how bodies are seen and how bodies learn things, and how that history and learning comes into the room and also as a viewer, how do you see a performer as an archetype, as a stereotype. And also themselves because we’re both but we see each other as both and that kind of messy gray area, it’s a lot.”
Marshall continues to explore “that kind of messy gray area” in his Baryshnikov Arts Center commission Stellar, streaming for free through June 21. In the twenty-two-minute piece filmed at BAC’s Jerome Robbins Theater, Marshall, Bree Breeden, and Ariana Speight, in colorful, artistically designed hoodies (by Malcolm-x Betts), float about the space, lifting their arms, kneeling on the ground, clapping, running in circles, and staring into an ominous darkness, set to an electronic score that incorporates jazz, Afrofuturism, and percussive and other sounds by Kwami Winfield. Filmed and edited by Tatyana Tenenbaum, who previously shot Holland Andrews’s meditative Museum of Calm at BAC, it’s a poignant piece that furthers what Marshall was talking about with Warren three years ago.
Marshall and Warren, who last July spoke about creating dance during the pandemic in a “Black Dance Stories” episode, will be back in conversation on June 16 at 7:00 in a BAC Zoom discussion about Stellar. Marshall, who released the dance film Hudson in January, is also part of the Shed’s “Open Call” exhibition, performing live at the Hudson Yards venue on June 25-26, presenting a “dance honoring the spirit of humanity and sacredness of gathering”; limited free tickets are available, and the first show will be livestreamed as well.
Performers move throughout Park Avenue Armory’s Wade Thompson Drill Hall in Afterwardsness (photo by Stephanie Berger)
AFTERWARDSNESS
Park Ave. Armory
643 Park Ave. at Sixty-Seventh St.
May 19-26, $45 www.armoryonpark.org
Bill T. Jones and Janet Wong have given us the first great indoor, in-person, live dance presentation of and about the pandemic and the social justice movement. Running May 19-26 at Park Avenue Armory, Afterwardsness takes place in the building’s massive fifty-five-thousand-square-foot Wade Thompson Drill Hall, where one hundred audience members are marched in formation to their seats, arranged six feet apart from one another throughout the space. In the center is a large rectangle bordered by yellow tape, evoking caution, while a twisting path in blue (representing police and authority?) is situated on the floor around the chairs, ensuring the performers keep a safe distance from the viewers. (Part of the armory’s Social Distance Hall programming, the production itself was postponed last month when several cast and crew members tested positive for Covid.)
The sixty-five minute show, named for Sigmund Freud’s concept of “a mode of belated understanding or retroactive attribution of sexual or traumatic meaning to earlier events,” is a complex web of physical and emotional pain and fear, performed by eight masked and barefoot dancers wearing sweatpants and T-shirts or tank tops — Barrington Hinds, Chanel Howard, Dean Husted, Shane Larson, s. lumbert, Marie Lloyd Paspe, Nayaa Opong, and Huiwang Zhang — along with Vinson Fraley Jr., who is dressed all in white from head to ankle, as if he were a kind of spiritual leader or ghostly apparition; all are members of the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company. They run, roll, jump, walk, tumble, squirm, wriggle, grasp their hands behind their backs, and raise their arms above their heads like they’re under arrest, never touching each other nor making eye contact with the audience. There’s so much happening at any one moment that it’s impossible to take it all in, as if you’re at a protest rally, not knowing where to look.
Bill T. Jones and Janet Wong’s Afterwardsnesstakes an emotional, powerful look at the last fourteen months in America (photo by Stephanie Berger)
The soundtrack is dazzling, featuring avant-garde jazz, snippets of familiar tunes (for example, “Dixie” and “Yankee Doodle,” which both deal with class and race issues), abstract sounds, brief quotes from Jones and members of the company that can’t always be understood, excerpts from Olivier Messaien’s 1941 chamber piece Quartet for the End of Time, written while he was a POW in a German prison, and occasional grunts and noises (and a nursery rhyme). Standing alone in the yellow rectangle, music director Pauline Kim Harris plays the gorgeous, elegiac 8:46 violin solo “Homage,” a tribute to George Floyd; clarinetist Paul Wonjin Cho and others perform from wooden lifeguard chairs; composer Holland Andrews contributes a new song and vocals, including stating the date, beginning with March 13 and continuing through May 19, in one corner with Cho, pianist Vicky Chow, and cellist Caleb van der Swaagh; and the score includes original compositions from Fraley Jr. and Howard, repeating powerful phrases about suppression and murder that echo through the hall. The immersive sound design is by Mark Grey.
Brian H. Scott’s lighting design is a marvel, shifting from bright and airy to dark and ominous. At times he lights only the straight and curved pathways followed by the dancers, tracing the blue lines. He uses spotlights to elicit giant shadows and creates small boxes that trap the dancers, capturing Jones’s strong choreographic language, which ranges from confinement and isolation to freedom and hope. In the grand finale, the performers grab chairs but are hesitant to merely sit in them and watch; their jittery energy makes the audience uncomfortable but fascinated. Afterwardsness is not a dire, depressing fugue for these past fourteen months; it is both a compelling reminder of what has unfolded across America as well as a beautiful yet urgent call to action.
AFTERWARDSNESS
Park Ave. Armory
643 Park Ave. at Sixty-Seventh St.
May 19-26, $45 (limited tickets go on sale April 1) www.armoryonpark.org
I’ve been tentative about the return of live, indoor music, dance, and theater, wondering how comfortable I would feel in an enclosed area with other audience members and onstage performers. Many of my colleagues who cover the arts are steadfastly against going to shows right now as things open up, while others have been having a ball going to the movies and eating inside. But when I received my invitation to see Afterwardsness at the Park Avenue Armory on March 24, I surprised myself with how much immediate glee I felt, how instantly exhilarated I was to finally, at last, see a show, in the same space with actual human beings. But my excitement was broken when it was announced that several members of the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company had tested positive for Covid-19 and the show, which had sold out quickly, had to be postponed. But now it’s back as part of the Armory’s Social Distance Hall season, running May 19 to 26; original ticket holders will get first dibs, with remaining tickets going on sale to the general public April 1. “Creating new, body-based work at a time when physical proximity is discouraged is no small feat,” Jones said in a statement. “However, as is often the case when artists are forced to push through limitations, this is when things get really good. Having the drill hall, this grand and glorious space to create and dance in, was quite liberating. The armory is a space like no other in New York City—and if it’s like no other in New York City, then it’s pretty unique in the world.”
The sixty-five minute show, named for Freud’s concept of “a mode of belated understanding or retroactive attribution of sexual or traumatic meaning to earlier events,” will take place in the fifty-five-thousand-square-foot Wade Thompson Drill Hall, where one hundred audience members will be seated in chairs nine to twelve feet apart in all directions as the action unfolds around them. The hall has been updated with air-refreshing methods that exceed CDC and ASHRAE standards; there will be onsite testing and strict masking and social distancing policies. The work explores the isolation felt during the pandemic as well as the impact of the George Floyd protests and BLM movement. The choreography is by Tony winner Jones, with a new vocal composition by Holland Andrews, whose Museum of Calm recently streamed through the Baryshnikov Arts Center. Musical director Pauline Kim Harris will perform the violin solo “8:46” in tribute to Floyd, and there will also be new compositions by company members Vinson Fraley Jr. and Chanel Howard as well as excerpts from Olivier Messaien’s 1941 chamber piece Quartet for the End of Time, written while he was a POW in a German prison. The lighting is by Brian H. Scott, with sound by Mark Grey. The inaugural program at the armory is now Social! The Social Distance Dance Club, a collaboration between Steven Hoggett, Christine Jones, and David Byrne that runs April 9-22 and gives each audience member their own spotlight in which to move to choreography by Yasmine Lee.
