Not all athletes are dancers, but all dancers are athletes.
Review: “Prefix RE:” by ALA Dance in Atlanta
ALA Dance Promotional
Loud, explosive, and energetic music fills up the room. The dancer double spins before landing purposely and softly on her left toes barely making a sound. Simultaneously, she kicks her right foot back like a horse defending her space. Her fingers drive her hands explosively into the air. Her neck elongates and her eyes shoot a penetrating stare to the sky.
An elaborate sequence of movements is done over again. And again. Matching the rhythm and amplitude of the music.
The music suddenly slows down. She stops. Sits still. Not a blink. Not a move. Not a tick.
Thick sweat drops roll down from the side of her ears, making way through her neck, and into her fast-contracting chest.
Dealing with the loss of his father, Atarius Armstrong, Creative Director of ALA Dance, created “Prefix RE:”, an intimate representation of how chaos and grief are cyclical. Combining his experience in engineering and passion for dancing, Armstrong offered us a series of well-structured and coordinated movements.
ALA Dance is a growing multidisciplinary movement company in Atlanta making its mark as a home for athlete dancers from all paths of life and experiences.
Taking place at the artist cooperative The B-Complex, this was my first performance in-person where masks were not mandated. However, the 6-feet distance was strongly enforced in the. seating. This also meant fewer chairs and people. What was done as a safety measure also enhanced the experience giving a strong sense of intimacy and community.
With no stranger sharing the armrest with me, or chit chatting right behind me, I felt isolated with my own feelings, in a room full of people. A strangely familiar feeling one experiences during grief.
ALA Dance’s performance focused on repetition and the way we do things repeatedly. Armstrong was inspired to show how repetition takes place in a state of grieving and processing. “Thoughts keep coming up. You think about it over and over again,” said Armstrong answering an audience question at the end of the performance.
At the same time, he said, repetition is an opportunity for great impact in a performance for a dancer. Repetition is used to stress a point with movements done continually creating a way to a pivot point.
Repetition throughout the performance felt like listening to one of Carlos Santana’s solos on the guitar where he builds it up and then gets “stuck” playing the same notes while everyone holds their breath feeling each vibration in their body, and anxiously waiting for the pivot point of the next explosive notes. This anticipation created terrific energy.
Grief comes in different forms, and I appreciated that the show was not depressively shoving us into a dark place. Throughout the five performances, grief evolved through various stages. Dancers went from wearing black head to toe on the first performance, to finally finding some earthy colors by the finale. The movements become big and fluid. The tight facial expressions softened. Little by little.
The dancer portrayed a confidence that can only come from within. Physically and emotionally the dancers were present. Transmitting feelings of sorrow, pain, and struggle through what we could see, and what we could only feel. The performers made it seem easy. Seamless. Effortless. A kind of trick that only a mind and a body well-trained can pull off.
As beautiful as the movement was for the eye, the sounds created by the body of the performers were key. From the raw smacking of the palms against their bare legs to the stomping of their feet at various levels and speeds, it all played a role.
The showstopper was the performance of “1221”. Kicking it off with audio clips of actual news reporting of Black Lives Matter recent events, a black man and a black woman owned the stage. One could feel the tension in the room. The audience paid closer attention leaning forward to watch the couple fill up every corner of the stage with their strong and wide movements. Many of us placed our elbows to our knees holding ourselves like a parent leaning forward to listen to a child who is about to tell us something important.
The phenomenal performance portrayed physical and mental strength. The black dancers running from one side of the stage to the other, looking around, looking at each other. Holding each other. Moments of tension, grief, anguish, and uncertainty were felt across the room by the look in their eyes.
As an audience, we knew we were in the peak moment of the night. Holding each other by their intertwined legs, the dancers balanced their bodies in a perfect “T”, throwing their arms in opposite directions. Some in the audience reached for their phones to capture the moment, while some of us just stood in awe afraid to blink and miss it.
The stomping on the floor was more than just an accent for emphasis and emotion, but also as an echo to Armstrong’s desire to communicate the importance of staying grounded to one’s authentic self, “as the best method to weathering the world around you,” as he mentioned in his introduction.
Daniela Cintron / ALA Dance “Prefix:” Performance
As the show advanced, the hair of the dancers became a beautiful choreography of its own. Graceful long hair flowing through the stage at a perfectly aligned choreography by the last performance. I could sense the freedom as if I was the one with long blonde curly hair running around the stage.
We saw with the performance the place where physical strength, strategy, and art meet. It was perfect. It was beautiful. It was seamlessly impactful. You can’t help comparing yourself to the dancers, who are just as human as we are but move in more beautiful ways.
After seeing ALA Dance performers in action, it is clear to me that not all athletes are dancers. But all dancers are athletes. Have you tried carrying a woman in slow circles who is only holding on to your neck with one hand?
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