Dance Dance Revolution

The questions that the choreographic duo known as Baye & Asa—Sam “Asa” Pratt and Amadi “Baye” Washington—set out to answer in their in-progress work, “At the Altar” may or may not be rhetorical: Who or what do we worship? How do we worship? Who are the righteous? Who are the blasphemous?

Performance

“At the Altar” by Baye & Asa and “Alien of Extraordinary” by Sun Kim Dance Theatre

Place

Works & Process at the Guggenheim Museum, New York, NY, January 12, 2025

Words

Rebecca Deczynski

Sam “Asa” Pratt and Amadi “Baye” Washington in “At the Altar” by Baye & Asa. Photograph by Elyse Mertz, courtesy of Works & Process

For now, at least, there are no answers. Speaking at the Peter B. Lewis Theater, nestled within the Guggenheim Museum, the two shared how they are figuring it out as they develop the piece, commissioned as a part of the Democracy Cycle at PAC NYC and co-commissioned by American Dance Festival. This evening, programmed by the independent non-profit Works & Process, was one centered on the state of the American experience, with Sun Kim and her eponymous company closing the staged program with selections from “Alien of Extraordinary,” her 2025 dance theater piece about her personal experience with the U.S. artist visa system.

It was an apt theme to approach at the start of 2026, the year that marks the United States’s Semiquincentennial, an event that—along with narrowed restrictions for National Endowment for the Arts grants—has prompted myriad US-centric programming at arts institutions across the country. This night, however, opts for contemplation and rightful criticism over celebration. (Though a dance party in the Guggenheim rotunda led by Sekou McMiller & Friends’ Afro-Latin dance extravaganza, “Palladium Nights,” which followed the performances in the theater, provided an opportunity for attendees to get on their feet and end the evening with some joy.)

When Pratt and Washington take to the stage, both wearing utilitarian white button-downs and trousers, they move synergistically, evoking the other’s gestures without directly echoing them. The overhead light chases them, the variations in highlights and shadows lending their fluid yet unpredictable movements a cinematic feel. This prelude isn’t quite Edenic—there are gestures that connote strife and others that suggest they are suiting up in armor for some forthcoming battle.

Jordan Demetrius Lloyd, Frances Lorraine Samson, Elan Zafir, Sam “Asa” Pratt, and Amadi “Baye” Washington in “At the Altar” by Baye & Asa. Photograph by Elyse Mertz, courtesy of Works & Process

Pratt and Washington—who have worked together professionally for more than a decade—play an ambiguous role in “At the Altar,” which becomes clearer, and more complex, in the following three scenes they present with performers Jordan Demetrius Lloyd, Frances Lorraine Samson, and Elan Zafir. Their working titles: “News Desk,” “Prison Cell” or “Interrogation,” and “Funeral.”

When this evening-length work premieres in full, a set designed by production manager Sumaya Jackson will include an “altar,” where these scenes unfurl. Pratt and Washington dance outside of it as observers, who may be angels or children learning about the world or some other undefined kind of Greek chorus. Right now, the choreographers say, they’re open to ambiguity.

“News Desk” quickly calls to mind the opening of Kurt Jooss’s 1932 anti-war ballet “The Green Table,” which depicts a group of diplomats having a discussion around a table, which turns to violence. Here, the three performers pantomime the employees of a broadcast news statement, flipping between TV-ready smiles and aggressive gestures. It’s surprisingly effective.

“Prison Cell” or “Interrogation” takes a darker turn, as a single lightbulb hangs, cinema noir-style, above a chair. The performers take turns playing the roles of questioner and questioned, slipping through one another in acrobatic partnering sequences. “Funeral,” the most plaintive of the scenes, takes the performers upstage, as they pass through gestures evoking funereal rites: at one point, Lloyd and Zafir hold Samson aloft above their heads.

Throughout these scenes, Pratt and Washington have a reactionary role, overwhelmingly expressing a feeling of anguish in their quick, relational movements. Most stirring are the times that they slow down and linger in their expressions, particularly in “Funeral.” In this small performance space, the ambition of Baye & Asa’s latest project is clear; with a more realized production, it promises to leave an emotional impact.

“Alien of Extraordinary” by Sun Kim Dance Theatre. Photograph by Elyse Mertz, courtesy of Works & Process

Sun Kim, who was born in South Korea and moved to New York City in 2011, shares a difficult experience with countless other artist immigrants: that of applying—and receiving a rejection—for an “alien of extraordinary ability” (O-1) visa. Her full-length work, “Alien of Extraordinary” tells Kim’s personal story through a voiceover script and popping, the style of street dance defined by quick contractions and accentuations, glides, and mechanical isolations. For this production, Kim condensed “Alien” into its most essential parts to share a complete narrative with a total of eight dancers.

The first scene is a pantomime: Sun, wearing an Easter Island-esque mask, has a meeting with a lawyer, a dancer wearing a fully covered balaclava with an abstract design, to discuss her visa application. The dancers’ movements are robotic, visually replicating their characters’ voices. Eventually, another masked dancer emerges, shadowing the steps of the lawyer. Here is where it starts to feel more layered and less like a kind of lipsync.

Throughout the selections of “Alien,” different dancers don the Easter Island-style mask while all the others appear in the simpler knit face coverings. This is a piece, Kim said before taking the stage, about feeling displaced between worlds—being an alien in multiple senses of the word.

The simultaneously smooth and angular construction of the choreography becomes particularly mesmerizing when all eight dancers fill the stage; exact unison is a powerful thing. The most affecting part of the piece comes at the very end once Kim, the character, learns that her visa application has been denied.

The full troupe of dancers, now all wearing the mask of the “alien,” come together into an anemone-like cluster, popping their limbs sequentially. Moving closer, their formation is evocative of the first movement in Alvin Ailey’s “Revelations”—the closeness of their bodies and the staggering of their extensions create an entrancing architecture.

They do separate, and spaced out on the stage—with lights changing dramatically—their precise flicks of shoulders, elbows, and wrists leave a big impression. In popping, the smallest movements can be the most profound. This is clear, when the piece ends: all dancers lined up, remove and lift up their masks in canon. The last dancer on the end, presses their hands to theirs and trembles, their body reverberating as the stage goes to black.

Rebecca Deczynski

Rebecca Deczynski is a New York City-based writer and editor publishes the newsletter Mezzanine Society. Her work has appeared in publications including Inc., Domino, NYLON, and InStyle. She graduated from Barnard College cum laude with a degree in English and a minor in dance.

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