Songs of Freedom - A reflection
I remember really struggling to dance at the beginning of summer - mainly because I felt like I had fallen into a malaise because of everything going on in the world. I've spent the weeks since in conversation with artists from across the United States as part of the ICAPS 2020 Online Mahotsavam series.
I honestly did not expect the amount of inspiration and delight I would find through these interviews. To have vulnerable, open conversations about learning, performing, and pursuing arts is like leaving a different part of your soul out of the world than the part that is seen on stage. I think it’s very easy to idolize and put artists on pedestals solely based on their performances and public presentations. To hear about the smaller triumphs, struggles, aspirations, and motivations has been even more so galvanizing.
It also helped to hear how everyone was navigating the uncertainty that has come with these current times. As someone who hasn’t even set foot in a grocery store since March, I definitely felt very unmoored from the day-to-day rituals that regulate a person’s life.
What took me longer to figure out how to use dance to make sense of the unrest happening across the country, including right here in Richmond (which, as multicultural as it is today, was the capital of the Confederacy). For that, I need to credit one of my former professors at William & Mary, Francis Tanglao-Aguas. I remember him asking me “Why aren’t you dancing” nine years ago, when I first talked to him in his office, in the Spring of 2011. He wouldn’t accept my protests that I was practicing (and driving every weekend for our students’ rangapravesam rehearsals!), and he firmly reminded me to art is meant to be out in the world.
This summer, he called me at another pivotal moment and asked if I would join the cast for the show was directing - “Songs of Freedom - A Civil Rights Concert in Honor of Rep. John Lewis.”
I couldn’t say no.
And I saw a path through the fog.
I knew I wanted to choreograph a piece specifically for this occasion, even though I’ve never presented an original choreography in public. Langston Hughes was calling my name. And I had the words of one of the artists I had interviewed running through my head: “I want to call on people to be the best versions of themselves.”
With God’s grace, my health cooperated. Unlike my first pregnancy, which resulted in a medically forced hiatus from dance, this time around, I wasn’t told to stop.
And an incredible vocalist agreed to sing for me, specifically for this piece.
And I got to present this piece alongside an incredible cast of performers from across the United States, each at various stages of their careers and with varying artistic paths.
It was another reminder: There is no single path when it comes to art, and there is no single right way. There isn’t something wrong with me because I haven’t had the single-minded focus on dance that I’ve seen with others. There are others too, who love and carve out crucial spaces for arts, along with other passions, and they’re successful artists too. Success just looks different for them.
The important thing is, when an opportunity arises, you need to be able to say yes - if you want to say yes.
At the beginning of the summer, I really couldn’t figure out what came next, and the stark difference between the hectic final months of my Masters program and the sudden stillness imposed by COVID-19 felt stifling. Now, I still can’t say I know much better what the future will look like, but I’m not worried. Because even if just through the screen of my laptop, I know there’s a community of artists out there, and I can say that I belong in that community as well - something the Spring 2011 version of me couldn’t even fathom.
