The Shed:
Nia, how are you feeling about opening night on June 3?
Nia O. Witherspoon:
What’s happening on June 3? [laughs]
Troy Anthony:
I’m laughing because I sent Nia an email this morning that said, “There’s a lot of work, and how do we get all of this done, and let’s regroup and think more about how this all happens…”
The Shed:
How did you two meet and start collaborating?
Witherspoon:
We actually met at the Open Call party way back when [in 2018], and we have a very close friend in common, Mei Ann Teo, who is directing Chronicle X and who introduced us. We had a ball and have ever since.
Anthony:
That’s true.
Witherspoon:
Then we invited you, Troy, to an open studio that we were doing for Chronicle X. Through that process we started vibing on work and friendship.
Anthony:
It all happened together.
Witherspoon:
It felt like an instant connection.
Anthony:
I remember going to that open studio. I love theater, and I had never seen anything like it. Nia was singing on a microphone from the back, there were three actors, there were chairs, they were on the floor, they were in a car…I had no idea what was happening. But, I was sold, I felt moved.
The Shed:
Can you tell me about the “Runway” section of Chronicle X that you’re working on together right now?
Witherspoon:
As a movement within the play, early on it was clearly meant to be a musical moment, and so Troy and I started dreaming up what it could be. It’s the moment in the piece when the goddesses Knowledge, Wisdom, and Understanding are birthed from the creator’s belly, and as each one is birthed, she has a moment of glory, and sings a song.
Anthony:
I thought, we’re birthing balls of stardust, how does that sound?! My favorite thing about working with you, Nia, is that when you say, “This clear musical moment,” there’s this exploration of digging in to understand what your vision is and how to contribute to it. As a kind of a veteran of this work now, it’s fun for me to watch other people come into the process.
At the beginning, I remember thinking to myself, Of course, there’s music here, and I know it’s Black. Working on this project has helped me understand the function of different types of music, R & B does this, and Gospel music does that. These forms exist with specificity. That lesson about unlocking form and building a universe will stay with me forever.
Witherspoon:
The sounds that you have gifted to the piece articulate that so beautifully, because we have this universe of Black sound that draws on these different technologies of Black music, that are embedded inside Black music. We don’t always have the opportunity to unlock them in such an intentional way, even though I think we’re always in conversation with them. When I turn on my speakers in the morning, I’ve got my Donny Hathaway situation, and I’m already inside of that. I’m excited to open these moments up inside of theater, inside of ritual.
There is a 4,000-year-old Yoruba story in Chronicle X that in the telling of it is already alchemical and that is combined with all of this contemporary Black sound across genre, time, space—the Black South, Yoruba, gospel, R&B, rap—all inside a sermon in a ritual structure for folks to proclaim and release this grief and rage that we’re feeling at all times being Black in America.
We don’t know exactly what we’re creating right now because we’re always pushing against that edge of the unknown or the edge of what we can actually make, which is a Black technology, as well, I think.
Anthony:
Mm-hmm, yes.
Witherspoon:
We’ve really been able to see what sound does. We started to feel the power of that music very early on, and it has become integral to Chronicle X. The vision has expanded in such beautiful ways by opening up all of those genres and disciplines and energetic channels.
The Shed:
Troy, have these discoveries influenced what you’re planning for your revival?
Anthony:
Yes, 150 million percent. When I met Nia I was a relatively young writer. I still feel like I’m trying to find my voice out here. Nia gave me definitions for ideas like spiritual technology. I use that term all the time now. There’s a technology that we’re using in how a song transforms you and takes you from point A to point B. That process is a spiritual technology.
I remember a brainstorming session where we were talking about revivals, asking ourselves what the revival does. In thinking about the form, I realized there are parts to a revival. The part where you come in and show gratitude, the part where you invite the spirit in, and then there’s the next part and the next. There is the larger ritual, and then rituals within it, like formal containers. There was all this knowledge that I had that I didn’t realize was knowledge. Recognizing that has allowed me to be more intentional in how I use certain styles of music and certain forms.
The revival is not the piece that I originally proposed to The Shed, though there are some common elements between it and Antioch Mass, which I originally put forth. When I realized my piece wouldn’t be in the black-box space of The Shed’s Griffin Theater, I knew I needed a less intimate piece for The McCourt. Antioch Mass tells the story of Jesus and Peter, and I also realized we don’t need that story right now; instead we need to remember who we are, and we need to find joy and celebrate. The only thing that I knew to do was a revival. The purpose of a revival is to bring people back to themselves, to help people find salvation, to honor our struggle, to surrender in this moment. I don’t know that I would have gotten to that realization without being inside of Nia’s process. I’ve learned a lot, even by digging into my own history and knowledge. I was given permission to do that by working on Chronicle X.
Witherspoon:
Troy, working with you also helps me see myself. So you have felt like a brother to me the whole time, and I think you know that already, but for the record, since we’re talking about our creative relationship.
I do want to cite Black women for the term “spiritual technologies.” Sharon Bridgforth trained me in ritual theater and supported my thinking and feeling about making art critical to our lives as Black folks inside of colonial empire. So, shout out to her—and to all of the foremothers of theatrical jazz, Ntozake Shange, Laurie Carlos, Dianne McIntyre, and all the Black feminists, artists, and authors upon whose lineage we all benefit greatly. Octavia Butler, Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston. There are so many names, but I’ll leave it there for now.
The Shed:
What turns a theater piece into a ritual play, to use this term, Nia?
Witherspoon:
For me, acknowledging this work as ritual feels like a shorthand for saying that we are multiple, that we exist inside of time and space and body in ways that don’t always align. That is to say that there are ways that we have to access that which is invisible, that which is humanist, and that which is beyond the way that we experience space and time as it manifests in corporeality…and that our ancestors knew all about that. There are ways that we have of being in our bodies that are in right relationship with mother earth, and in right relationship with our own divinity and with each other—and we are trained out of those relationships by white supremacy and capitalism.
In Chronicle X, we’re entering into a space that attends to the complexity of our bodies in time and space, in particular as Black bodies, as bodies who have been intentionally disinherited from that which is most potent about our inheritances. It’s a radical act and a radical invitation for anyone who has the courage to humble oneself to stand in that right relationship. Ritual is the way, and the aperture, to this space. I really miss being in live bodies and theaters.
Because Covid-19 has forced us to adjust to a new reality, we’re involved right now in the process of creating an immersive audio play installation that has the potential to open up the ritual aspects of the piece so much more, in fact.
My spiritual practice is integrated with what I create. I see all of it as channeled work that my ancestors want to be in the world, and so it’s not only up to me when I do what I do. I’ve been in consultation over the course of the past year and a half with an elder that I learn from and work with. When we got the reading, it was clear that this piece actually wanted and needed to be in the world now. Being inside of this hyper-extended moment of state violence against Black folks that continues unto this very second, the ancestors want this piece now. Chronicle X is a spiral that will continue, and a spell that will continue to be cast until it doesn’t need to be cast anymore. We were not to be limited by whatever restrictions the pandemic imposed.
The Shed:
Troy, I’d be interested to hear what you think about ritual in relation to The Revival as well as the Passing Notes performance you did with JJJJJerome Ellis as part of The Shed’s digital series Up Close.
Anthony:
I’ve learned that, for me, ritual is about the relationship between the piece, the people inhabiting the piece, and the audience. I’m not interested in a transactional theater based on a consumption model where, as an audience member, there are people performing far away from me on a stage, who are doing something for me while I sit here and unwrap my jolly ranchers. Instead, ritual is defined by the intention held by a song you sing, not how pretty it is. It’s about what I’m asking you in the audience to activate in yourself to try to make something new happen. That story I’m trying to get you to tune into is your own. We’re trying to move forward together in this moment. In The Revival I’m building a solid container for processing and digesting grief or anger or joy, depending on who is experiencing the performance. I have help from a band and a big choir, because my ancestors told me that I needed to do that and to have faith that something’s going to change [with Covid guidelines] to make all of this possible. Though sometimes I be like, Are you sure?
Witherspoon:
That’s all so good, Troy. I want to cite another woman here. I started using the term ritual in relation to theater because of my mentor Cherríe Moraga. She created that term as far as I know. If anyone is reading this and needs to correct on social media, please do. But the first time that I encountered the term ritual theater came from Cherríe in her work on incorporating Indigenous Chicana ceremonial structures as a way to respond to theater in all of the ways that you just named, Troy.
Anthony:
It’s amazing to have you here to cite these thinkers. I’ve never studied them, but I feel like I’m in deep conversation with them. It’s always amazing to me how many influences are in my work that I don’t even know about or understand. I’m reminded that I’m part of a lineage and a legacy, and as much as I like to think of myself as a singular artist, I will always be a part of a continuum, which is so grounding to me.
The Shed:
What’s your relationship as artists to the specific place of New York City?
Anthony:
I came to New York with a purpose of being a certain type of artist, knowing that if I could figure out a pathway here that it would be possible for me to reach the highest version of my artistry. I’ve always found it special that so many people come here with that intention.
With my revival, I’m building this community choir, which I’m dedicated to doing in general. I think one of the greatest ways for people to practice collective liberation is in a choir. It’s not lost on me how special it’s going to be to have people from all over New York City coming together in this way, offering themselves.
The choir here will be different from a choir in Louisville, Kentucky, where I’m from, and will be different from a choir in London, when we can take this piece overseas…I’m just now speaking this idea into existence. It’s important to me to center the people of New York in this process and create something that’s really for them.
Witherspoon:
I love that, Troy. When I did my first show here, before I was living in New York full time, I was a devout practitioner at the time of Yoruba spirituality. One day, I took a cab to the water—to the Hudson River—to do an elaborate offering right before opening. During the cab ride, the driver asks me, “What do you want from New York?” Unprompted. New York is always asking that question of us: who we are, what we are doing, what we have come here for. The city has a deeply chaotic and creative energy that lives underground in the subways, and that lives above ground in the buildings, and I think many of us are reckoning and interacting with that energy when we’re here.
Of course, this place was also a central one for the Lenape, and so we didn’t invent that energy, we are in relationship with that energy. And we’re not always in right relationship with that energy. We didn’t invent it, we are inheriting it to some extent. Which means we must ask how to inherit it well, and what justice looks like in New York, understanding the histories of displacement that continue.
This demand for rigorous questioning feels in some ways like an invocation, or an invitation, for many of us who are creatives, and also queer. I think New York is also a space where a radical queer futurity felt possible to me in comparison to other places, even though we understand that this possibility is equally met with death. In that sense though, Troy, we need to say that, also, we can barely survive.
Anthony:
How much have we made out of scarcity? Even in this moment when we are trying so hard to radically transform our industry and how we center the roles of Black and Brown and trans and disabled artists, I have a complicated relationship to making art in New York. I’m thinking about who I’m giving my work to, and what I really need in order to make it.
Witherspoon:
I am, too. I have been having these conversations with other artists, as well, in particular artists that are inside of the communities that have historically been unsupported in the art world. Audre Lorde said, “We were not meant to survive,” and we were not meant to survive as artists, especially. In the past year about 50 percent of my creative community, which consists primarily of Black and queer folks, has left the city—and that’s not even to say that I almost left the city last month but stayed because I needed to be here to rehearse for this commission. Those of us that are left standing are still embattled, and we are fighting really hard for what we need for ourselves and for those of us who aren’t even here anymore, both not here anymore in New York and not here anymore in body.
Anthony:
And we’re the privileged ones.