say my name when reading off names on the tickets. Instead of attempting to pronounce it, or asking me how, she bypassed my first name and called me by my mid- dle name, which is of European origin. As a person in an all white company with an “ethnic” first name, I felt singled out and ostracized in a way that I wasn’t pre- pared for. When I corrected the flight attendant, some company members said, “Well your name is difficult… maybe you’re just being too sensitive.” I am a person and an artist. And in art, there needs to be sensitivity, which is why I chose this career. My entire being—my body, my expression, my name—is under constant attack, institu- tionally, systemically, and artistically. And yet there is an expectation that I should be happy about it, or at least
As a Black artist I’ve often felt that my full range of emo- tion is not welcome in dance spaces. I should smile, stay pleasant, stay surface, maybe a little funny, and dance— tropes of minstrelsy. For example, after a 9am rehearsal, I was confronted by a director for bringing “animosity” into the room: “You don’t smile anymore in rehearsal,” they said. I had nothing to smile about: it was 9am and I was, yet again, offering choreography that I would not be recognized for. But I was there, sweating and working. No longer will- ing to do this emotional labor, I reclaimed my time, saying, “Thank you so much. I quit.” I didn’t feel like playing the “happy Negro” anymore. Prior to this last straw, when I was on tour with this com- pany, a flight attendant at the airport found it difficult to
pretend to be. Well, that’s a No for me. I’m telling this story because people of color can gaslight themselves. And I want us to be able to recognize it when it happens and say No. Practicing saying No is just as important as any tendu or plié. But due to the pressure to feel “lucky” to work and a culture of disposability, saying No isn’t easy. The first time I said No to a gig, I was afraid I would never be hired for any- thing again.
But that simply was not true.
I’ve booked literally dozens of gigs after that incident. When I framed my No as an attempt to preserve my well-be- ing, the weight of my decision became easier to bear. In fact, every time I have had to excuse myself from a toxic pro- cess, dancers in that process have reached out to tell me how much they respected my choice. The truth is, after your first No every No after that is so much easier. Dancers are curators of American culture. We are valuable and should be treated in high regard. If you are a dancer, I invite you to “reclaim your time” and energy, to begin to harness your No, so that when you finally say Yes you can give yourself fully to the artistic endeavor. ARVEJON JONES is a Black, Queer, Bay Area based, freelance dance artist. He has performed with multiple dance companies and has toured through- out the United States. He is a lecturer at San Francis- co State University, his alma mater. As an educator, he is passionate about relaying the Black origins of jazz to his students and the joy associated with his heritage.
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in dance SUMMER 2021 34
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