Rennie Harris, Philadelphia PA, cont.

3/9

AP: Your existence as a Black man—how does it affect your work?

RH: It's an old story, but I think Black people are still pissed and angry. And I think that they don't know that they're pissed. And so what they do is passionate regardless of whether it's in the light or in the dark, they're moving in a passionate way because there's some force moving them. We either have not been taught or we don't have the same value system of what happened in the sixties. I remember all the stories—Martin Luther King (note 1), Malcolm X (note 2), and so on—but I can't remember actually watching the TV and seeing it. Some people can but I can't, and there are a lot of people who can't remember that process. Yet I'm aware of all that happened, but for some other reason something else is still there that I'm pissed about.

AP: Do you think that that awareness—despite the fact that you didn't actually witness it or you have no memory to draw on as a witness—affects your work?

RH: Yes. I think it is personal—because of the aesthetic of the culture and the energy of the culture. We're mad. And I think I know why we're upset: we're still fighting the same thing that people were fighting in the sixties. It's covert now but it's the same energy. It's like the example of a person who's been raped in their sleep. They know something happened to them but don't know what or why. So you have that kind of feeling, and I think that's what really affected my work. My angst and my anger and the other energy that I have, I feel, is somehow related to the issues in the sixties—the Black Panthers (note 3), Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Rosa Parks (note 4) and all those people who played a major part for Black people.

I feel like this is only hindsight and looking at my own shit. Affirmative action—that’s cool. I'm satisfied with that, you know, that's great. Always take some. Something's better than nothing. But recognize that we have not been taught correct English in this country. Recognize that we have a second language. Recognize that we still are not reaping equal status as minorities in this country. I'm talking about people of color in this country. Recognize there is a status quo, you know.

AP: Rennie, when you talk about your movement being simple, does that reflect your reticence to bring your identity as a Black man to the stage—or does it reflect your need to get the point across to people who aren't Black men?

RH: I think it reflects my need to get the point across. For me dancing ain't nothing. You could probably look at a dancer and say, "Boy, I'll write you under this table. Writing ain't nothing to me. I dream writing. I see words jumping over other pens when I'm sleeping." That's how I feel about dance—“Come on man that's not even a question. I can get down. And don't let me pull out my real stuff.”

And it's always been about me and my issue, and I hadn't realized that I was working on my issue. But I realize that’s what we do as humans. Whatever it is that we love—it is our worship to heal, to find communing with the higher spirit. This is how we move on—this is how we progress from the past, through our expression. Without experience we can't have expression. You have to have the experience of something to inspire expression.

And so through the work I realize it wasn't getting out there and then rocking. That's how we do things. You do your thing. But what was that piece about? Or people say, "I got it, like wow!" Or, "I got moved," or creating a sentence that isn’t just five words put together. “So that was a great show.” “Oh, man, the energy was fantastic.” And when I realized that it wasn't about the showboat, you know, or that we all want to be stars. We are stars in our own right. We've all got 15 minutes, as the man said, whenever we are in the limelight. No matter what we do—whether we go to the cooler or we don't go to the cooler, at one point we are in the limelight. And we are friends.

But we are also affected by experiences. And how do we express that? If we don't even get to express our experiences then we won't move on further. And I just think that through this dance and through what I'm doing now—and hip-hop just happened to be the vocabulary—I could have been born, you know, while we were doing modern dance or post modern dance. Who knows? It just would have been something else. But I think it reflects my experience as a Black man and reflects my experience in coming to know myself as a human beyond what is being categorized as culturally Black. I'm ready to get down with some serious ‘that’s the dope’ shit but also try to keep some balance. I'm not going to just perform totally for you guys. I'm going to give a little bit, but I’m still inspired to want to create a flow. I want to create a work so that when you look at it you'll know what it is. Matter of fact, people will probably say, "That's bad modern dance," or “Study modern dance,” because it's not hip-hop anymore. It's whatever I'm seeing. I want to create some kind of flow with the vocabulary of hip-hop choreographically—not necessarily as a way to do new hip-hop technique. That's what's interesting to me now—I want to see how dancers can move like a landscape.