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After Ailey

Okwui Okpokwasili’s arms undulate, reach, and circle in the near dark under an oval projection of rippling water. Her arms babble out from her expressive back, capable of relating tales both epic and intimate. Notably, this is how I first encountered her work, nearly a decade ago, in “Bronx Gothic”—through her incredibly articulate spine and upper body coming into its own, conveying the metamorphosis of adolescence. In this moment, her explorations inside the framing of two steel concentric circles channel something else, a possible transference. Performers Bria Bacon, Kris Lee, and Katrina Reid, flank her on small stools, their faces veiled by wigs made of long strands of red beads. These headdresses are mysterious design elements, but they also function as part of the soundscape, becoming percussive instruments as heads swing side to side. Okpokwasili commands and conjures from the center and the ritual grows as, one by one, the performers migrate there to partner and then supplant one another.

Performance

Okwui Okpokwasili and Peter Born's “Let Slip, Hold Sway” at Edges of Ailey exhibition

Place

The Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, NY, February 6, 2025

Words

Candice Thompson

Okwui Okpokwasili and Peter Born's “Let Slip, Hold Sway.” Photograph by Maria Baranova

“Let Slip, Hold Sway,” created by Okpokwasili and Peter Born, premiered during the final days of the Edges of Ailey exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art, curated by Adrienne Edwards. The performative installation lasted a few hours and was the last live artwork included as part of this monumental homage to Alvin Ailey: the man, his dances, and his legacy. In addition to having the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in residence and presenting new live art works commissioned from a variety of contemporary choreographers responding to, and conversing with, Ailey—from Trajal Harrell to Bill T. Jones to Jawole Willa Jo Zollar— the exhibition included visual art from artists who were Ailey’s contemporaries as well as newly commissioned paintings from the likes of Jennifer Packer and Mickalene Thomas. And whether you were able to see it in person or not, there is a beautiful catalogue of the same name from Yale University Press. Along with performance photographs and images of the selected artworks from the exhibition, there are fascinating visualizations of the Ailey repertory over time and across the globe, essays, and conversations that extend from Edwards’s wide-ranging inquiry.

In her introductory essay to the book, “Such Sweet Thunder,” Edwards notes the two prevailing approaches to dance in museums: one balletic, stemming from Lincoln Kirstein; the other postmodern, evolving from Merce Cunningham and Judson Dance Theater. Until now, Ailey, however iconic and commercially successful, has been left out of fine art institutions. Edwards wanted a word. 

The result? An omnivorous approach that could be considered a much-needed third way.

Jack Mitchell, Alvin Ailey, 1962. Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture and Alvin Ailey Dance Foundation, Inc. © Alvin Ailey Dance Foundation, Inc. and Smithsonian Institution

Jack Mitchell, Alvin Ailey, 1962. Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture and Alvin Ailey Dance Foundation, Inc. © Alvin Ailey Dance Foundation, Inc. and Smithsonian Institution

Ensconced in the Whitney’s fifth floor gallery, Ailey was fully present: his papers and journals nestled among paintings from multiple generations, his influential dances projected on screens that wrapped around the tops of the gallery walls. The dancers, in all their virtuosity, hovered in a panorama above Maren Hassinger’s River, a snake like sculpture of steel chains and rope and Lonnie Holley’s Sharing the Struggle, a tangle of rocking chairs and fire hoses. The seeds of Ailey’s obsessions and mythologies were brought to life with art mining Black religious and music traditions, as well as revisionist histories like Faith Ringgold’s encyclopedic map of war and aggression in America United States of Attica.  

While the archival footage and visual art both told a comprehensive diasporic story, the intimacy and immediacy of Ailey’s journals and notes were the highlight for me. Notebook #72 with the all-caps message “WE TEACH PEOPLE TO FEEL—TO OWN THEIR OWN FEELINGS,” is displayed in juxtaposition to Glenn Ligon’s glittering, black painting Stranger in the Village #12. A sweet and encouraging note to dancers, dashed off in script, beckoned in a room full of company history. Thankfully, several are included in the book. Another delight was Ralph Lemon’s black scribbled knot, Alvin Ailey Dancing Revelations, next to Lorna Simpson’s two-channel video installation, Momentum, featuring gold-clad dancers, upright and turning en pointe—two living artists in a conversation Ailey presaged.

In blurring boundaries and connecting so many different artists inside Ailey’s archive, Edwards’ effort was careful not to lose the layers of his dances or the complexities of the man. Likewise, the choice to convene an artist committee to commission new live art works was a beautiful acknowledgment of Ailey’s fascination with different dance styles as well as the complicated nature of dance making in his shadow.

Lorna Simpson, Momentum, 2011. 2-channel video installation, color, sound, looped, 6:56 min. Courtesy of the artist. © Lorna Simpson. Courtesy the artist and Hauser & Wirth

Lorna Simpson, Momentum, 2011. 2-channel video installation, color, sound, looped, 6:56 min. Courtesy of the artist. © Lorna Simpson. Courtesy the artist and Hauser & Wirth

“We were also mindful of the fact that whatever a Black dancer’s artistic sensibility might be, they all must contend in one way or another, whether they want to or not, with dance in Mr. Ailey’s wake or, to put it another way, dance after Ailey,” writes Edwards.

Inside this ever-expanding universe—or “multi-verse” to quote Edwards—the word lineage seemed to lose all meaning. Instead, Ailey’s reach extended in all directions. 

Okpokwasili and Born channel this generative state with “Let Slip.” The audience is told there is no right time to enter or leave the installation. This sets up a feeling of continuity that is made manifest in its sacred circles and symbolic set: a round red mat on the floor, steel circles framing it, the dancers tracing the curves in their walking pattern, the audience seated on all sides, and a cosmic projection of red dots periodically spraying over everything.

In a looping structure, one dancer takes the mantle from the next, but not before finding as many points of contact with the previous dancer as possible: head to stomach, front to back like spoons, chins on shoulders. They grapple, cradle, push against, shake, and support each other, but ultimately, they give way, make room, and accompany each other like companions on a long journey.

Candice Thompson

Candice Thompson has been working in and around live art for over two decades. She was a dancer with Milwaukee Ballet before moving into costume design, movement education and direction, editing and arts writing. She attended New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, graduated from St. Mary’s College LEAP Program, and later received an MFA in literary nonfiction from Columbia University. From 2010-2021 she was editorial director of DIYdancer, a project-based media company she co-founded. Her writing on dance can be found in publications like Andscape, ALL ARTS, ArtsATL, The Brooklyn Rail, Dance Magazine, and The New York Times.

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