As a proud Auntie, I have faithfully been attending my niece’s end-of-year dance recitals for nearly 2 decades.
Since my oldest niece’s first recital more than 19 years ago, I do not believe I have missed a single end-of-year show that she, or later on, her younger sister participated in. Since each of their first tentative tutu-ladled toddler shuffles on stage, I have been there to see them grow and evolve as dancers. I wouldn’t have missed my eldest niece’s last elegant and athletic ACRO and Jazz performances before heading to university.
Each year, I am proudly teary-eyed and captivated as my nieces take the stage — awed by their grace, poise, and confidence. Or in the cases of their very first recitals, take the stage with tutus and wide-eyed stares!
Seeing my babies dance has filled this Auntie with joy.
In an act of divine timing, as my older nieces performed their last dance recitals, my newest and littlest niece began her dance journey. So of course at the end of her first year of dance, there was nowhere else I would have been. I sat in her recital hall and proudly anticipated her tentative steps to shake her tutu.
With nearly 20 years of dance recital attendance under my belt, as the auditorium lights dimmed and dancers walked on for their first performance, I thought I knew what to expect.
But this niece is registered in a different dance studio than my other nieces…
From the moment the curtain opened, and the stage lights rose, I knew I was in for something different.
The stage spotlight focused on dancers clad in black outfits who stood posed and silent on stage. Kids of all colors and shades of beauty stood stoically as a powerful voice began to play through the speakers.
The disembodied voice captivated this Auntie as it narrated a grounding history of dance. First citing the roots of Jazz as being firmly embedded within African rituals of celebration and Black joy, the narration deftly outlined the evolution of various dance styles through slavery and their later co-optation by “mainstream” North American culture. The story culminated in a powerful reflection on how dances rooted in Black joy and African ritual had survived the mainstream culture’s efforts to stifle them to ultimately play a foundational role in shaping and defining popular culture.
Whew.
I needed a moment after this introduction.
The power of having our story and history centered in this way was just not something I had experienced before.
As much as I have championed inclusive education and the importance of embedding Black history into Canadian history, I am sad to say I had very rarely seen it achieved and applied in real life. The welcoming narration set the stage by conveying to the young dancers and to everyone watching that they belonged and that their people’s history was indeed at the centre of this story, and not on the sidelines.
I knew I was in for something different than I had seen previously and what followed did not disappoint.
Instead of Hip Hop dances that walked a fine line between being on trend and culturally appropriative, and watching kids sway to more Taylor Swift, Imagine Dragons, and Avicii than seemed natural, this recital featured Run DMC, songs from Hamilton, and Beyoncé. After hours of old school, new school, and everything in between, I felt like I had been swimming in Black musical greatness and did not want to come up for air!
And the talent and passion of the dancers were riveting. They shone with authenticity, diversity, and pride. When the studio owner took the stage, it was obvious where this came from – she was like a really fit super-Auntie – ready to leap on stage in her leotard to support any group who was struggling or – in the case of some of the wee tots, just needed a grown-up to follow.
In one instance when mistakes were made on stage, their performance stalled and the glare of pre-teen dancers indicated they were ready to turn on each other, the director purposefully strode out on stage like an Auntie on a mission. As she faced the dancers, she raised a single hand in the air which had the effect of not only stopping the music and getting the attention of every child on stage, but of essentially silencing the entire auditorium. With no more than some corrective raised eyebrows and pursed lips, Auntie directed the children to their starting positions, gave a signal to restart the music, and with an affirming nod to the group, she and the kids completed the act.
Halfway through the dance recital, I knew this performance was the infusion of Blackity, Black, Blackness I had not known I needed.
There was something just so right, all-encompassing, affirming – simply welcoming at the center of a Black-led and culturally diverse and immersive dance recital.
Listen, there was never anything wrong with the dance recitals I had gone to before this one. They had talent, music, and – most importantly – my nieces. And yet, there was something just so right, all-encompassing, affirming – simply welcoming at the center of a Black-led and culturally diverse and immersive dance recital. Although we live in a world that constantly makes Black culture, history and experience seem as though it’s nonexistent or on the periphery, I’ve always known that normalizing and centering us would feel this good.
The show was not perfect and yet, the show was perfect. It was a show rooted in us, for us, by us.
I’d love to know more about Black-owned dance studios or culturally inclusive performance arts organizations holding and claiming space for our stories in dance and the arts.
Please share in the comments and let me know if this Auntie can add more dance recitals to my calendar!
