These episodes were cut, refracted, and/or amplified to the point of reverberation. Several times I wondered if my experience as a viewer following this solo mirrored Cuyjet’s multi-disciplinary approach to decoding the life of her great aunt. The dynamic collaging was not easily legible but could certainly be felt, often due to the Cuyjet’s sheer magnetism as a performer. She has danced for and collaborated with many modern dance choreographers, such as Jane Comfort and Niall Jones. Last December, she was a force running through Tere O’Connor’s “Rivulets.” In 2021, she won Bessie Award for her solo work, “Blur.”
She scribbles the names of body parts, interspersed with qualities of being, on scraps of paper illuminated by the projector—lip, heart, eye, art, sass, ass, circle, bottom, hag—before presenting herself to us. In a rocking walk, reminiscent of the cotillion videos, Cuyjet emerges from the square to join us on the other side of the screen. At the midpoint, she is backed by a projection of great green waves as her body ripples in apparent exaltation. She is both the presumed swimmer and swimming, a reference to earlier in the solo but also to earlier works that have explored Black bodies in the water and her relationship with the sport. She disappears around the corner and I can no longer see how she moves on her way back. Strobe lights meet her as she re-enters her space; her body bangs around with rage and abandon as ever bigger waves crash.
In the quiet wake of this exorcism, she sings a version of Nina Simone’s “Ain’t Got No, I Got Life,” inserting the words scribbled earlier into the medley that defies material lack with spiritual abundance. Her voice is clear and strong, accompanied by steady stomps. The song is remixed as two images appear, both presumably Marion: an older woman dressed up and a young woman in a swimsuit. In the final sequence, they grow out of the frame. We are left to zoom in on and contemplate the parts that make up this whole and complex being.
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