After more than 20 years of dancing other people’s dances, Hope Boykin is not only making her own dances but also setting them to her own words. In her new evening-length concert work, States of Hope, words spoken by Boykin from the back of the house and by seven dancers on stage cascade in a virtuosic entanglement – backed by an elegant score by composer and jazz percussionist Ali Jackson that sometimes consoles, and at other times provides intriguing counterpoint to the tumult of emotions.
Each performer is meant to represent an attribute of Boykin’s personality as she navigates the transitions and sacrifices in her life as a dancer. It’s an absorbing assignment for each of the strikingly individual dancers, who include a lone man. The Determined is alternately interrogated, teased, baffled or heartened by the Cynical, the Worried, the Angry, the Conformist, the Convinced, and the Daughter of Job. Their verbal skirmishes touch on loneliness, the striving for approval, body image anxieties, and the joy of discovering that “some times I’m just right.” They frequently interrupt each other, speak over each other, while skimming across the shiny surface of the stage floor at the Joyce – as if skating on a frozen lake, their figures practically glowing in the splendid, austere lighting design. It’s chaotic yet disciplined, a captivating and provocative demonstration of Boykin’s resilience in the face of an industry which systematically undermines and commodifies Black artists, female artists, artists whose presentation doesn’t fit the fossilised body ideals of the dance world.
States of Hope begins, intriguingly, at the end – that is, at the end of every dance, in which the dancer discharges her final obligation to an audience. The Determined (Jessica Amber Pinkett) runs through a gamut of bows and gracious nods, beaming at the audience before asking “when will it end?… the ongoing cycle of same.” In this display of a dancer whose thoughts may be drifting to retirement is also the suggestion of a system spinning its wheels.
Dance is largely about achieving a heroic refinement under extreme physical stress, but in this telling it seems the wheels may actually be coming off. The Worried (Terri Ayanna Wright) can’t fully express her fears without lapsing into counts. She cowers as she reels off another “5-6-7-8” that has been haunting her from her last rehearsal – it’s almost as if she is being shelled by counts. The Conformist (Lauren Rothert) runs around eagerly asking “What would you like?” as if to an invisible panel of grantmakers or artistic directors. She then attempts to make a thumbs-up gesture but her hand strangely refuses to cooperate. The wise and compassionate Daughter of Job (Bahiyah Hibah Sayyed) reminds the crew that “Peace is not easy, it requires work” but amid a general flurry of activity, the regal Cynical (Fana Minea Tesfagiorgis) turns her back on all and passive-aggressively assumes the lotus position atop a cube.
Occasional verbal impasses are marked by eruptions of dance that convey anguish, vulnerability and steadfastness with great fluency, power and, often, humour. Sayyed in particular has a couple of eloquent solo turns in which she sculpts big shapes and curves out of the air; she repeatedly brings a taut, outstretched leg back in toward the body as if inviting someone to shelter. The Angry (Martina Viadana) flings herself about magnificently and seethes as she shadow-boxes, but she also spends a great deal of time moving large white cubes (the only physical set element) around the stage: it seems that organising space is a task that the Angry gravitates toward. At one point, the group climb atop the white cubes and disport themselves like a bunch of Winged Victories on the bow of warships.
Boykin was a mainstay of the Ailey company for two decades; while the brilliance of that training and repertory has clearly grounded her, her frank assessment of the hurdles she had to overcome throughout her career, her effervescent wit and magnetic presence make her a compelling commentator on the current state of the art form. Toward the end of States of Hope, it dawns on Pinkett that maybe “making the work is the work” – and in this work about making work, other dancemakers in the audience may recognize, with amusement or chagrin, aspects of their own creative process.
Boykin’s words are most forceful when she delivers them herself – sheer poetry that slides effortlessly between banter and incantation. Her actor-dancers’ lines in contrast often sound like well-worn aphorisms, their delivery somewhat stilted. The movement invention, on the other hand, is unflaggingly gorgeous, abetted by the soaring, minimalist jazz-and funk-inflected score. The laidback but insistent percussion, piano, trumpet, sax and bass were in some moments the only voices needed.
