Don't Dare Underestimate Camille A. Brown
Camille A. Brown is on an impressive streak: In October, the Ford Foundation named her an Art of Change fellow. In November, she won an AUDELCO ("Viv") Award for her choreography in the musical Bella: An American Tall Tale. On December 1, her Camille A. Brown & Dancers made its debut at the Kennedy Center, and two days later she was back in New York City to see her choreography in the opening of Broadway's Once on This Island. Weeks later, it was announced that she was choreographing NBC's live television musical Jesus Christ Superstar Live in Concert, to air on April 1.
An extraordinarily private person, few knew that during this time Brown was in the midst of a health crisis. It started with an upset stomach while performing with her company on tour last summer.
"I was drinking ginger ale, thinking that I would feel better," she says. Finally, the pain became so acute that she went to the emergency room in Mississippi. Her appendix had burst. "Until then, I didn't know it was serious," she says. "I'm a dancer—aches and pains don't keep you from work."
It is a testament to her strength: In a situation that could have been fatal, she literally never missed a beat. She is the unsinkable Camille A. Brown.
Like the old graffitied subway cars that rumbled through her hometown of Queens in the 1980s, Brown's work is tagged with cultural identifiers. Her strong technical modern dance foundation merges with African, topped with the social and theatrical dance that were staples in her home. (Her father teaches salsa; her mother loves musicals.) Hip hop, tap and step round out her distinctive choreographic portmanteau.
Growing up, Brown wanted to choreograph since before she even knew the word for it. "I always put things together, made up dances to cartoons," she says. She began training in neighborhood schools (Queens' Bernice Johnson Cultural Arts Center and DeVore Dance Center), then became a scholarship student at The Ailey School while also going to the famed LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts.
She was a standout: Her senior year she won a YoungArts' Presidential Scholar in the Arts award, the Young Artist Award and the Helen Tamiris Award, all for performance. But it was in composition classes at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts that she learned the language for the dancemaking she had been doing.
Hailey Kilgore in Once on This Island. Photo by Joan Marcus, courtesy Boneau/Bryan-Brown
Almost as soon as she came on the scene, she started turning out work that was recognized at the highest levels—four Princess Grace Awards, a Bessie Award, a Doris Duke Award, a TED Fellowship, residencies at places like Jacob's Pillow.
In the early years, her It-girl status generated a great deal of jealous "hateration." From the outside it looked like grants and commissions were being handed to her. Few knew the depth to which Brown descends into personal, artistic and cultural wellsprings to mine her choreographic gems.
Maybe she is underestimated because of her diminu-tive stature and distinctive, high-pitched voice. But she is a woman who knows her mind. There is nothing happenstance in her career or her creations. Audience members often assume the work is improvised, due to its spontaneous feel; she takes umbrage at that thought—every moment is carefully crafted.
"People have no idea how hard she works. She has always been willing to try, and unafraid to fail," says longtime dancer Juel D. Lane. Urban Bush Women artistic director Jawole Willa Jo Zollar, who commissioned her work early on, agrees: "She has a voice, a point of view. It's distinctive. You can see her dance history, all the techniques, in her vernacular, and it's compelling and original."
As a black person, watching her work feels highly personal, like you're sharing a secret, or reading a love letter. She escorts the beauty of our dance culture into a space where it has often been excluded—that of high art. In the vein of a Dunham or Ailey, she cuts us slices of life.
Brown and her company members in Mr. TOL E. RAncE. Photo by Christopher Duggan, courtesy Brown.
Mr. TOL E. RAncE takes us behind the mask of minstrelsy to reveal the weight of double consciousness. In BLACK GIRL: Linguistic Play she makes us recognize black girls as children, exposing their humanity and the genius in their play. Her newest work, ink—the last in the trilogy—reclaims ritualistic African-American gestural vocabulary, and highlights positive male relationships and black love.
Along the lines of television producer Shonda Rhimes and film director Ava DuVernay, Brown is a part of a cultural movement of black female artists who are redefining how African-American stories are told: with humanity, sensitivity, depth and intellectual sophistication.
Each of her evening-length works comes out of a one- to two-year process that includes extensive research and the composition of an original score. To foster a deeper under-standing of black history and culture, Brown offers reference guides in the programs and post-performance dialogues. Seeing, hearing and interacting with the artists make her dancers not just objets d'art; they have voices that she encourages them to share.
Yet the audience is not afforded an emotional release. For instance, in Mr. TOL E. RAncE, her use of disturbing images of minstrelsy set to the awards show "Who You Be, N****...That's Me!" makes viewers shift in their seats. In naming a show BLACK GIRL she was highly aware that she might well be shooting the production in the foot.
"I mean, it was a risk," she says. "People might not have wanted to book it, or see it because of a preconceived notion about what a production called 'Black Girl' was going to look like."
Beatrice Capote and Fana Fraser in Black Girl. Photo by Christopher Duggan, courtesy Brown
In recent years, Brown has been steadily laying track for a dual career in theater. Her first major theater commission came in 2011 when director Daniel Aukin tapped her to interpret the music of the '70s for The Fortress of Solitude. "I didn't know what I was looking for, but after I'd seen a bunch of Camille's choreography, I knew I'd found it," he says. "Her work is fierce, deeply personal, socially engaged and witty."
Brown quickly learned that musical theater is a different animal than concert dance. "In theater you have to be able to give the director options on the spot," she says. "It's not about your first idea, it's about your eighth. Concepts are constantly changing and you have to ride with the tide."
She also has to factor in more than the dancing. "Early on I helped her navigate jurisdiction of the director/choreographer roles in theater," says Broadway veteran Rickey Tripp, who's worked as her associate choreographer. "I'll also remind her, 'Okay, remember they have to sing after doing this.' " Theatrical lessons like always serving the story have only deepened her concert work.
Today, in addition to directing and performing in her own company, plus choreographing for Broadway, she also has developed two programs of civic engagement: The Gathering, a convening of women of color in dance; and Black Girl Spectrum, an initiative that works to establish "safe spaces for black girls to live as creative citizens."
Brown is very aware of what she represents to younger black women. "Most of the time we don't see ourselves in the front of the room, in power. I want to normalize that," she says. "I feel that when you get that door open, it is your responsibility to keep it open for others."
Brown in ink. Photo by Christopher Duggan, courtesy Brown
Her team—CABD's managing director Indira Goodwine, manager Lakey Wolff, concert agent Pamela Green and theater agent Michael Moore—works like air traffic control around her, performing a constant dance of scheduling. "There is no way I could do any of this without them," Brown says.
As she's hit her stride, she has decided to pull back on commissions. "Look, I don't have a million ideas for pieces, but I do have a million ideas that can fit into one work!" she confesses. Right now, the place she wants to put most of those ideas is into her own company and theater work.
She speaks frankly about being black and female in the world, the struggle to be seen and acknowledged, embodying the old adage about having to be twice as good to get half as much. However, she represents the by-product of that imbalanced reality in her endurance, ingenuity and creativity.
A thought that anchors her latest CABD work, ink, is a quote from the transmedia art project Question Bridge: Black Males in America: "I see black people as superheroes because we keep rising." This encapsulates Camille A. Brown: She keeps rising, unsinkable.
On May 18, 1919, Margot "Peggy" Hookham was born. She would grow up to become Dame Margot Fonteyn, England's first homegrown prima ballerina. She joined the Sadler's Wells School in 1934 and was performing principal roles with the precursor to The Royal Ballet the next year. Fonteyn was a company-defining figure, dancing Aurora for the re-opening of the Royal Opera House after World War II, creating numerous roles with Sir Frederick Ashton and forging a legendary partnership with Rudolf Nureyev.
The way we create and consume dance is changing every day. Now more than ever, the field demands that dancers not only be able to perform at the highest level, but also collaborate with choreographers to bring their artistic visions to life. Dancers who miss out on choreographic training may very well find themselves at a disadvantage as they try to launch their careers.
Memorial Day is notoriously one of Chicago's bloodiest weekends. Last year, 36 people were shot and seven died that weekend. In 2017 and 2016, the number of shootings was even higher.
When Garley "GiGi Tonyé" Briggs, a dance teacher and Chicago native, started noticing this pattern, she was preparing her second annual Memorial Day workshop for local youth.
The event's original aim was simple: "I wanted the youth of Chicago to have somewhere they could come and learn from different dancers and be off the streets on the South Side on this hot holiday," she says.
A recent trip I took to Nashville coincided with the NFL draft. As we drove into town, my Uber driver was a fount of information on the subject.
I learned that there are 32 NFL teams and that the draft takes place over seven rounds. That the team that did the poorest during the previous season gets first pick. That during an earlier event called the scouting combine, the teams assess college football players and figure out who they want.
There is also the veteran combine for "free agents"—players who have been released from their contracts or whose contracts have expired. They might be very good players, but their team needs younger members or ones with a certain skill set. All year round, experienced NFL scouts scan games across the country, checking out players and feeding that information back to the teams. Players' agents keep their eyes on opportunities for their clients which might be more rewarding.
While I sat in the traffic of 600,000 NFL fans I got thinking, is there something ballet could learn from football? Could a draft system improve young dancers' prospects and overall company caliber and contentment?
It's not often that a promising choreographer gets to stage work in a world-class theater, on a skillfully-curated program with professional dancers, and with the possibility of winning a substantial cash prize. But at the McCallum Theatre's Palm Desert Choreography Festival, that's been the status quo for over twenty years.
Since Shea New, the festival's artistic director, founded the festival in 1998, she's worked tirelessly with McCallum's director of education and festival producer, Kajsa Thuresson-Frary, and stage manager and festival production manager Joanna Fookes to build a festival that nurtures choreographers, highlights high quality work, powerfully engages the local community and cultivates an audience base for dance in the Coachella Valley. The trio is backed by a strong team of professionals at McCallum and the brilliant volunteers from the local and national level who serve as adjudicators.
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Despite what you might think, there's no reason for dancers to be afraid of bread.
"It's looked at as this evil food," says New York State–certified dietitian and former dancer Tiffany Mendell. But the truth is, unless you have celiac disease or a gluten intolerance, bread can be a healthy source of carbohydrates—our body's preferred fuel—plus fiber and vitamins.
The key is choosing your loaf wisely.
It can be hard to imagine life without—or just after—dance. Perhaps that's why we find it so fascinating to hear what our favorite dancers think they'd be doing if they weren't performing for a living.
We've been asking stars about the alternate career they'd like to try in our "Spotlight" Q&A series, and their answers—from the unexpected to the predictable—do not disappoint:
"New York City Ballet star appears in a Keanu Reeves action movie" is not a sentence we ever thought we'd write. But moviegoers seeing John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum will be treated to two scenes featuring soloist Unity Phelan dancing choreography by colleague Tiler Peck. The guns-blazing popcorn flick cast Phelan as a ballerina who also happens to be training to become an elite assassin. Opens in theaters May 17.
The Brooklyn-based choreographer Gillian Walsh is both obsessed with and deeply conflicted about dance. With her latest work, Fame Notions, May 17–19 at Performance Space New York, she seeks to understand what she calls the "fundamentally pessimistic or alienating pursuit" of being a dancer. Noting that the piece is "quiet and introverted," like much of her other work, she sees Fame Notions as one step in a larger project examining why dancers dance.
What does Mikhail Baryshnikov have to say to dancers starting their careers today? On Friday, he gave the keynote speech during the graduation ceremony for the inaugural class of the USC Glorya Kaufman School of Dance.
The heart of his message: Be generous.
Launching a dancewear line seems like a great way for professional dancers to flex new artistic muscles and make side money. Several direct-to-consumer brands founded by current or former professional dancers, like Elevé and Luckleo, currently compete with bigger retailers, like Capezio.
But turning your brand into the next Yumiko is more challenging than some budding designers may realize.
When I first came to dance criticism in the 1970s, the professional critics were predominantly much older than me. I didn't know them personally and, as the wide-eyed new kid on the block, I assumed most had little or no physical training in the art.
As slightly intimidated as I felt at the time—you try sitting around a conference room table with Dance Magazine heavy hitters like Tobi Tobias and David Vaughan—I smugly gave myself props for at least having had recent brushes with ballet, Graham, Duncan and Ailey and more substantial engagement with jazz and belly dance. Watching dancers onstage, I enjoyed memories of steps and moves I knew in my own bones. If the music was right, my shoulders would wriggle. I wasn't just coolly judging things from my neck up.