Tariq Darrell O’Meally is a Washington, D.C., based artist, curator, and educator. He is the founder and artistic director of Tariq Darrell + the Unum Collective, as well as the Visiting Artist Series program guest curator at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center at University of Maryland College Park. Holding a BFA in dance and choreography from Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, he has taught at such institutions as CityDance School, Dance Institute of Washington, Hollins University, Coppin State University, and many more. O’Meally was recently selected as an artist in residence at Dance Place for the 2020-21 season.
I was struck by this quote in the “About” section on your website:
[Tariq’s] work focuses on being a Contemporary dance artist striving to transition into a post-contemporary context. That is to say that if Contemporary work interacts with the fierce urgency of now; then post-contemporary exploration integrates what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen, intersecting these concepts with the vulnerability and necessity of being human.
What happened in your past work? What is happening currently in your work? What do you think will happen in your work-to-come as you navigate this post-contemporary framework?
An article in the Huffington Post about post-contemporary work by artist and writer Daniel Maidman says the three tenets are creativity, skill, and empathy. Nothing that we do is new, but how we do it is, so that’s creative. Knowing your craft, having the skill to see what its boundaries and limitations are, and being able to weave that creatively. Then empathy--understanding how that exists in the world, and how art is for people to engage with, understand, and find meaning inside of that--will enlighten their experience. This is my interpretation of what these things mean in my physical practice.
I always think about the first lesson I learned: our job as artists is to pass it on, which is something that Ann Reinking said. And I thought of this notion of being constantly of service; the black women I’ve been raised by have all been social workers in some formal capacity. When I start thinking about what titles I give myself, it goes: social worker, then educator, then curator, then choreographer, and dancer is last. Above all I think, “How can I be of service?”
Tell us about your curatorial practices and projects that you’re working on right now.
Curatorially, I’m into this notion of citizenship and what I’m terming “neo-legacies.” If what is past is prologue, how do we build futures that don’t look exactly like our past? I’m thinking of history or legacies as a vehicle and not a coffin. As a curator, especially thinking about this idea of time with post-contemporary work, I’m interested in what legacies have been grounded for the last 30, 40, or 50 years in American concert dance. I don’t know, whether because of scarcity of resources or access, if we’re building in the same way that Graham, Ailey or Horton built (organizations that we would call grassroots organizations). They built these things that transformed the world in tandem with other things happening around the globe. As a curator, I’m interested in what legacies we’re building; how are we starting new ceremonies that are turning into traditions; and how do those traditions live and grow into legacy?
I’m curious about curation as a mode of selecting what you feel will be the most impactful. Can you tell us about any moments where you felt like things aligned in your curatorial practice or moments where it didn’t go where you wanted?
The interesting thing about this selecting thing–it’s a very different power dynamic to be in, especially as someone who is still a vulnerable artist in my own right. So, hopefully for next season, there’s space to think about what makes the most sense for the time and moment that we’re in.
What does the community need? What does the artist need? And more importantly, to your question, what is the service we’re providing and who is it in service of? In that context, this season I specifically focused on emerging, millennial artists of color. I wanted to create a platform both because I’m still very much a practicing artist and have now stepped into this position where I’m trying to create as many jobs as I can with the power that I have. I’m allocating resources to give to people who don’t normally have access to them, and I’m planning and considering what the future of the field should look like by investing in artists who work with that in mind, both in product and process.
Going back to your list of job titles, what does being a social worker/caregiver look like from your perspective as a dancer, performer, and curator?
I think the form shifts. When I think about the idea of a container, I’m struck by the way that the contents often take its shape. So, in terms of social work or taking care of people, it’s not always on a one-on-one basis, but what is the care that you’re giving to the many people that you’re interacting with?
I think American concert dance has been negligent in a broad, generalized sense, but everything is in such a scarcity mindset that the idea of giving is not the same. Who is investing in training or apprenticing people now? Who is taking the time to craft the next generation? How are we, in educational institutions, thinking about viable and tangible professional development. How are we making work not just about how we feel, but about communicating and making someone in the audience feel seen even though they don’t know anything about anyone else. I’m starting to live by the quote, “What is understood doesn’t need to be explained.” I think so much of dance right now is simultaneously understood, but not, somehow. We need to do the work of considering the entire ecosystem right now.
When I think of social work, I think of my mom working in Northwest D.C. taking care of homeless people who are also HIV positive and all of these different vulnerable communities, and bringing them home for dinner consistently, or watching my family members bring people in and support them at the drop of a hat. God rest her soul, one of my best friend’s mother and grandmother, back when my stepdad left us, came over with all of this food for me, my mother, and my sister. That care, support, and showing up was profound. No one asked for it and I’m not sure they even had it to give in the first place, but they saw a need and did the best that they could. As an artist and curator, I’m trying to do my best at being intentional and purposeful in the work I make, the words I use, and the work that I bring in because whoever did that for me previously saved my life.
That’s so interesting because I feel like it’s going to change now that the world is dealing with COVID-19.
To that point, I’ll offer that it’s too early to tell what those changes are going to be. We’re too inside of it right now. I would encourage everyone, especially those who have the space--and I recognize that not everyone does--to really take a moment to reflect on what the lesson is. I don’t know what it is yet for myself. It’s massive, dramatic, completely out of my hands, but I may be able to step back and go, “Okay, what am I supposed to learn in this moment?”
Do you see the possible effects of COVID-19 flattening out the entrenched hierarchies of arts organizations?
If we think of the dance ecosystem as a body, COVID-19 cut the body open and revealed that there was already cancer spreading in the heart, lungs, and bones. What has been exposed in the response of organizations to this emergency in relationship to artists is very telling. Seeing how treacherous contracts have been for cancellations, which I understand to a degree, but it makes it so the artists don’t even get a percentage, despite the fact that the work they do starts long before they are presented.
I think this crumbling of these larger organizations is important. The anarchist in me is like, “Dope!” But it’s important to remember that the people on the board, or the people in charge, are not the people on the ground who have lost their jobs and who actually do the day-to-day work that they’re passionate about. You teach people how to treat you; I think dance has taught people that “We’ll do everything for free; we’re about the work.” We have not trained to be our own advocates on a legal level. These organizations are crumbling, which is terrible in one respect, but, in another, if the sky opens up, it doesn’t fall. There has to be this clear reformation and reimagining of what wasn’t working and how we can do it better in the future. I think American concert dance was on life-support to begin with. We’re in a moment of time-of-death--death as in transformation. But how do we transition? How do we pick up the rubble and build a new house?
How would you define the moment that you find yourself in?
Transparency. Struggle. I’m in space of recommitting to why dance is important; examining it and being clear with myself about what that is. I’m leaning toward a space of stillness, reflection, and contemplation. Although I do feel burnt out in this moment for trying to think of different ways to help, when those moments arise, I continue to ask how many people can be helped and what can be offered. I’m a bit adrift and I think that’s okay.
Articles talk about how the world is grieving because whatever the world was prior to January is now gone. Just like 9/11 was transformative, we’re shedding a different layer of innocence or naivety about what life is, especially in the American context. It’s time to look at what that was, grieve, be sad and angry, and then let go. I’m trying to be available and not attached to what I think needs to happen, what should happen, or what will happen. I hope others are giving themselves the time and space to cope and adjust. Grief is like a giant lake: you can only swallow one cup at a time, but if you try to drink it all at once you’ll drown.
Photos: top, Hollins University, second and third by Chris Frenzi
Editor’s note: The opinions and views expressed in this article are the author’s and subject’s and do not reflect the opinions and views of Dance Metro DC, its board or staff.