Kyle Abraham has been “in his feelings” lately. And it’s coming out in an evening-length commission for the Park Avenue Armory in New York City called Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful, running December 3–14. Throughout the creation process, the MacArthur Fellowship recipient and Dance Magazine Award winner has been deeply investigating his own “anxieties and fears and the change that I’m always hoping for,” he says. It’s such personal material that he couldn’t imagine not performing in the work himself, though he’ll be joined by an ensemble of 16 dancers. We recently caught up with the choreographer to learn why he says this work feels more vulnerable than any he’s previously made.
Tell me about Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful. What inspired it?
We are in this kind of murky period. Some people consider it post-pandemic, but, you know, it’s still very real. I was drawn to try and make something that was addressing how I’m feeling in the present. A lot of my work has been, in some ways, a reflection on a previous time. But this work, it’s how I’m feeling now, and my fears and anxieties around possible futures. I’ve been reading a lot of Richard Powers, The Overstory, but also thinking about nature and our environment and my relationship with my own aging. And these questions around “after.”
Is it different creating something about the “now” versus something that looks backward?
Oh, yeah. I feel a different type of vulnerability. This work is constantly tingling on me. It keeps me in my feelings. Especially knowing that I’m dancing in it, how do I encapsulate the narrative that I’m interested in? Thinking about that keeps it all kind of bubbling on the surface.
Kyle Abraham in his Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful. Photo by Alex Sargent, courtesy Park Avenue Armory.
What made you decide to perform it yourself?
I didn’t know if there was another way, honestly, because it’s such a vulnerable work. A lot of these are my fears and questions that I’m asking and trying to process myself in my body. I don’t think I would have been able to transfer what I’m hoping my role to be to anyone else at this current moment.
How does your role relate to the rest of the ensemble?
Part of having a larger cast is to really make the sense of loneliness that much more pronounced. So, yes, there are large group moments, but they’re meant to accentuate and highlight those solo moments all the more. I mean, I live in these major cities. I’m in New York. I’m in Los Angeles. And I can feel very alone in these spaces.
How are you balancing your roles as dancer and choreographer?
I don’t feel comfortable the majority of the time working on any of my solo moments, taking up time and space, when I’m in a large group rehearsal. But Risa Steinbergwho works with me as an advisor, is like, “You know, Kyle, it can be informative for the dancers to see what you’re working on and how it relates to what they’re doing.” So I try to push myself to give myself that time and put my solo moments into whatever run-throughs we have. But it’s tricky. I have an amazing rehearsal director, Jessica Tong, and I really rely on her eyes. Also, hopefully, I’ve established a relationship with the dancers as collaborators and any of my collaborators to tell me what they’re seeing.
Where does the title come from?
It’s a lot to do with my anxieties and fears and the change that I’m always hoping for. Part of it is a hope for a change in this world. Some of it is also a change in myself. The lack of sleep that I get wondering whether or not I said something the wrong way or how I could have done something better on a daily basis…Every year I’m like, “Will I ever find someone who will want to be with me and actually show up for me?” Part of my loneliness feels outside of my control. So I think that’s part of this title and these things that I’m struggling with.
Donovan Reed and Stephanie Terasaki in Kyle Abraham’s Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful. Photo by Alex Sargent, courtesy Park Avenue Armory.
Is the “Dear Lord” meant to be religious at all?
No, it’s more in the spiritual sense of praying, meditating, whatever it is. I do all of the things, hoping, wishing for something better.
What do you hope the audience gets out of the work?
I hope that they can feel the emotion in the work. I hope that these connections that I’m interested in show up even though I’m approaching them in somewhat of an abstract way. It’s not like I want everyone to leave the theater in tears, but I do hope that they can get a sense of what’s been in my spirit for some time.
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