Green Space and Dance Entropy recently started (Un)Common Ground, a program that brings together BIPOC choreographers who have shown work in Green Space’s artistic programming series. We recently asked Leah Tubbs to expound on her discussion through this series:
“I had the great opportunity to be a part of (Un)Common Ground, a series of conversations led by black artists who presented work in Green Space’s Dance Series. It was a joy to chat with Nia & Ness, a beautiful, loving couple that encompass a dance and spoken word collective who hold space for LGBTQIA+ artists, especially black lesbian women. As I prepared for this conversation, I began to reflect on my journey navigating the dance field as a black woman. I am grateful to have had a black woman as my first dance teacher, a woman who owned and led her own dance studio. Within this space she managed to seamlessly mix and share her enthusiasm for dance with her deep appreciation for our history and culture. Planting the seeds of self-love and self-worth inside of every black & brown student whose lives she welcomed in. Thankfully, this nurturing, this safe environment would begin my journey and would be my foundation. Regrettable, and not surprisingly, these values, my very artistic base would face a continual stream of tests and challenges.
I knew at the age of four, from the moment my parents drove past this particular performing arts school, that I would someday be counted amongst its students. This school was affiliated with our regional ballet company, and even held community auditions for their upcoming production of The Nutcracker. I begged my parents to take me to the audition so I could experience what it was like to be in the school where I knew I would one day attend as a dance major, leading me closer to my dream of being a professional dancer. The day of the audition arrived and I was there. I felt somewhat uneasy, as there were very few other Black & Brown girls in attendance. I found a corner where I could stretch and focus before my number was called to audition. Then I heard it, my number was called, it would soon be my turn. I, along with a few others went into the next studio where we learned a combination from the soldier's section in the fight scene of Act One. We then were called to perform this phrase. And shortly following this I received a package of papers to give to my parents acknowledging that I was selected and would be performing as a soldier in The Nutcracker. The choreography was age appropriate and full of different formations to utilize a large theater stage. My costume was a cherry red army-inspired jacket with gold buttons and tassels on the shoulders over a black leotard, black tights, and black ballet flat shoes. I wore a tall black hat with a red rim and gold trim and a red felt circle on each cheek to look like a ‘real’ toy soldier. This moment, this achievement, that was supposed to fill me with joy and excitement, felt quite the opposite. In all of the rehearsals and in the dressing room of the theater I sat alone because, well, I was in fact alone. I looked different from the rest of the students in my soldier’s group, and my white peers were loudly vocal about our differences. These elementary students coming from predominantly white dance schools couldn’t wrap their heads around dancing with someone who was black like me. I never forgot that moment of feeling distanced though surrounded by others.
This story, my story, is far from uncommon. In fact, if you are a black or non-white person in the dance field, it’s likely that you’ve had a similar experience. And I’ve had many experiences like this first one as I studied and trained as a young dancer. I was the only black dance major in my seventh-grade class. I was even the only black dance major my freshman year of college. And although I came from a strong infrastructure of training spearheaded by a black woman, years of challenges and micro-aggressions tested my patience, fortitude, and tenacity as an artist and as an individual. Even outside of the dance studio, as a teenager, I found myself being all too frequently followed by white clerks while I shopped in stores, and racially profiled by the police while I drove.
Despite what felt like society’s desire to hold me back, I stand tall. It’s because of these experiences, these challenges, along with my deep south upbringing, I am the person that I am: strong willed, tenacious, and unapologetically black. I normally would only share these memories with other black & brown colleagues, associates, and individuals within this community. However, true and lasting change can only happen if more BIPOC are fully honest and transparent about their experiences. And if white people would not merely listen, but be audaciously proactive and unflinchingly receptive to the necessity of racial equality and the shifting of the socio-economic deficit that has plagued our world for centuries. I know that this change won’t happen overnight, maybe not even for a very long time, however these (Un)Common Ground conversations are a good starting point of a greater shift towards a better world. Let us, together, begin.“