DDP Talks To
"The Devil Ties My Tongue" by Amy Seiwert performed for the SKETCH Series, 2013. Photo by David DeSilva. Courtesy of Amy Seiwert's Imagery
July 31st: Community Engagement Artists and Creatives Grant, December 31st: New England Presenter Travel Fund, December 31st: Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet Scholarship, December 31st: 24 Seven Dance Convention, December 31st: National Theater Project Presenter Travel Grant, December 31st: Breck Creek Artist-in-Residence Program
×"The Devil Ties My Tongue" by Amy Seiwert performed for the SKETCH Series, 2013. Photo by David DeSilva. Courtesy of Amy Seiwert's Imagery
DDP will cover stories from the corporate, for profit world regarding issues surrounding pay equity and transparency where relevant, such as other industries with low representation of women: tech, the sciences, venture capital, the entertainment industry, etc. to examine parallels between these male dominated spheres where informal hiring and word of mouth is the norm.
20 July 2020
Troy Powell has been removed from his position as Artistic Director of Ailey II following an independent investigation into alleged acts of sexual misconduct. This investigation was launched in early June after two videos accusing Powell of inappropriate behavior were posted on TikTok, the popular video sharing app.
The first video involved dancers dropping scraps of paper as a message appeared: “When you wanna be in Ailey II. But guys gotta sleep with Troy Powell.” The second video involved an unidentified dancer accusing the Ailey organization of housing a known sexual predator. After these videos were removed from TikTok, the Ailey organization placed Powell on leave of absence. His name and most-recently choreographed ballet were also stricken from Ailey’s June 11th Virtual Spirit Gala. The gala was an online substitute for the company’s traditional spring gala event, which Powell choreographed last year using students from the Ailey School.
Online outrage to the allegations included denouncements from Ryan Houston, a former apprentice with Ailey II—who urged dancers via an Instagram post to speak up about their experiences with Powell—and from Addison Ector, a former student of the Ailey School and soloist with Complexions Ballet.
In an Instagram video that was posted on June 29, Ector alleged that during his time as a student at the Ailey School, Powell sent him a text message containing an inappropriate photo of his anatomy. In Ector’s recollection, he was interrogated about the incident by a male director of the Ailey School. After being asked if Powell’s face was in the picture—it was not—Ector stated that he was told, “Well we can’t really confirm that it was him or not.” A Title XI investigation was not launched on Ector’s behalf. Instead, he continued to interact with Powell during the remainder of his time as a student.
Read the full article here.
Florida State University has shared a recording from the Current Perspectives in Ballet and the Arts: Examining the Relevancy, Recovery and Resilience panel from Corps de Ballet International‘s conference. The panel included the following leaders from the industry:
Melanie Person, Panel Facilitator; Co-Director, The Ailey School
Robert Garland, Resident Choreographer, Dance Theatre of Harlem
Stefanie Batten Bland, Choreographer, Ballet Arts and Jerome Robbins fellow
Ashley Bouder, Principal Dancer, New York City Ballet
Elena Comendador, Costume Designer & Ballet Faculty, Marymount Manhattan College
James Gilmer, Dancer, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater
Iyun Ashani Harrison, Creative Director, Ballet Ashani
Watch the panel at the link below:
By Joe Pinsker
9 July 2020
Child care is the immovable object around which so much else in family life orbits, and when the usual child-care options disappear, something else has to give. During the pandemic, with schools and day-care centers closed or operating at reduced capacity, many parents’ careers—particularly mothers’ careers—are getting deprioritized.
When Salpy Kabaklian-Slentz left her job in April because her family was moving to Southern California, she thought she’d be able to devote her days to job searching and then start working again soon enough. Three months later, she’s struggled to find any open positions similar to the one she gave up, as a local-government attorney.
Her main task these days is looking after her and her husband’s boys, two “bundles of energy” ages 6 and 4. Kabaklian-Slentz’s husband, also a lawyer, has mostly been going into the office, but when he works from home, he’s protective of his time. “He’s not only locked the office door but barricaded the sofa in front of it to get stuff done,” she told me. “Otherwise the kids pop in every two seconds.”
Instead they go to her, preventing her from getting the sort of uninterrupted time that a job search, as a well as a job itself, demands. She doesn’t yet know how or when schools in her area will reopen, and thus whether she’d even be free to start a new job in the fall, if an opportunity were to open up. “It sucks,” she said. “Being a stay-at-home parent was never on the radar for me.” It wasn’t on the radar for many other parents of young children either, and yet here they are, even those in households with lots of resources, leaving their jobs or reducing their hours.
Read the full article online here.
By Emma Goldberg
8 July 2020
They might depict scenes from decades past, but movie sets featured in films by the director Ava DuVernay are starting to look a lot like the United States today.
For “Selma,” her 2014 film about the 1965 marches for voting rights and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s part in them, Ms. DuVernay directed hundreds of Black and white actors in a restaging of civil rights protests. “When They See Us,” her mini-series on the wrongful conviction of teenage boys known as the Central Park Five, released last year, had her grappling with the injustices Black men experience at the hands of the police. And her Netflix documentary “13th,” from 2016, traces the legacy of American slavery to the present day criminalization of Black communities.
As hundreds of thousands across the United States march for Black Lives Matter, Ms. DuVernay’s films about Black histories and experiences have come to feel more essential than ever.
But there aren’t enough Black directors telling those stories.
For decades, few Black women have had access to the resources and platforms to make major motion pictures. In 2018, Hollywood saw a record high number of top films from Black directors — and it was only 14 percent. Only one of them was a woman, and she was Ms. DuVernay.
The calls to break up Hollywood’s entrenched disparities are building. Five years ago, the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite put a spotlight on the industry’s lack of diversity, and its following has since continued to hold Hollywood to account for its lack of representation. Two years later, the #MeToo movement erupted and dozens of women exposed the film titan Harvey Weinstein’s sexual abuses.
Today, industry leaders are listening to people of color protesting films that romanticize the slavery era. For a brief moment, “Gone With the Wind,” the highest-grossing film of all time when adjusted for inflation, was removed from HBO Max. (It was later restored with additional videos offering historical context.) Filmmakers, like Ms. DuVernay, are working to ensure the momentum does not subside.
Last month, Ms. DuVernay’s media company ARRAY introduced the Law Enforcement Accountability Project in the wake of George Floyd’s killing while in police custody in Minneapolis, with the goal of commissioning, funding and amplifying works from Black and female artists that focus on police violence. One of the goals, she said, is to consider who is writing the history of this moment.
Ms. DuVernay spoke with In Her Words about the role she sees for artists in a time of widespread unrest, and whether problematic films — like problematic statues — should be removed to make space for new voices.
Read the full article here.
MEET ELIZABETH “LIZA” YNTEMA, FOUNDER AND PRESIDENT OF DANCE DATA PROJECT®. A GLOBAL RESOURCE FOR THE STUDY AND ANALYSIS OF MAJOR NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL DANCE COMPANIES, VENUES, AND CHOREOGRAPHIC AWARDS. SHE IS MEMBER OF THE BOARD OF TRUSTEES FOR WTTW/WFMT, THE ADVISORY BOARD OF THE TRUST FOR PUBLIC LAND IN ILLINOIS AND THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF THE CHICAGO SHAKESPEARE THEATER.
Who is Elizabeth Yntema? Define yourself
Introvert/extrovert, a woman with huge amounts of energy but a shameless napper. Poetic and pragmatic, stubbornly moderate in politics and life. Recent science tells us that we are literally different people by age 60 than the person we were at early adulthood.The joy of not being one of those vaunted “old souls” is that this present moment, this life, is teaching me all the time. What brings me the greatest pleasure, is being of use, and making unexpected connections.
I am terrible at math, but have become fascinated by quantum mechanics and string theory, now dipping into science as well as art journals, silencing the voice in my head that tells me I am not worthy, not smart enough, but choosing to gingerly explore the cosmos anyway.
How were you as a kid?
Tiny, uncertain, solitary, with a surfeit of energy. My mother, who worked as a full time professional (unusual for the time), put me in ballet to wear me out and because it was socially acceptable for a young lady (no Title IX back then). Testing revealed ADD, physical activity has always calmed me down and allowed focus and reflection. I loved the discipline, the slow progression, the community of dancers.
Of course, like so many wanna-be ballerinas: I starved myself to dance, and my family grows late in life. So, in 8-9thth grade for example, I was 4’11 and 89 lbs. Everyone else was developing, and I had buck teeth and a bowl cut. I leave it to the imagination how that went. Let’s just say things didn’t change much in high school. However, Winsor School in Boston saved me. All girls, proudly fiercely intellectual, it gave me wonderful academic training and a community of incredibly smart women. I am proud to serve on their Corporation.
You were graduated from the University of Michigan Law School, where you were awarded the annual prize for Outstanding Contribution to Social Justice. Why did you choose that course of study?
To be honest, I went to law school for two reasons: First of all, I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Enrolling in grad school seemed to guarantee respectability and allowed me to delay for 3 more years figuring out what “I want to be when I grew up” (still haven’t worked that one out) Secondly, I came from a highly academic family, extremely distinguished, opinionated. Our dinner table was not about catching up, it was full on, constant “point counter point.” The positive was the discussions were high level and never ever about extraneous surface chitchat. Even as a small child, I was allowed to engage with the adults. The negative side was that even at 9 or 10, offering an opinion meant you were fair game: without proof for a statement, you got shredded. I wanted to understand and be able to use the “language of power.”
I have been “making trouble” since the age of 15. Law school presented an opportunity for advocacy, but as I look back, I wish there had been a focus less on case law, or even trial clinic, and more on dispute resolution. While injustice has always made me absolutely nuts, I also don’t like tearing things down and apart. It’s much harder, but I would prefer to invest in solutions. Once I got to law school, while I was intellectually intrigued by some of it, I pretty much knew after the first year that I didn’t want to practice. But, if you do well, and I was then at the third highest ranked law school in the US, one gets sucked into the prestige, are recruited and end up in a cubicle. My original intention, before I met my husband, was to go back to the DC area and work in an agency or for a Congressional committee, which I think I would have very much enjoyed. Instead I followed my husband to Chicago, knowing no one. My volunteerism began as a way to engage, make friends.
You served as an attorney and lobbyist. After staffing the Tech Review Staff of Speaker Michael Madigan, you enjoyed a stint in public relations/issues management and served as the Director of Governmental Affairs for the Chicago Area Chamber of Commerce, how did you jump from to that point to found your company Dance Data Project®?
Mike Madigan is considered by many to be the single most powerful state wide politician in the US. While mayors and governors have come and gone, he has endured. While I don’t agree with most of his policies, and he is commonly referred to as on a level with Voldemort (He Who Shall Not Be Named), I had an incredible experience working for his Tech Review Unit. I literally loved every second of the experience, and he was a great boss, totally fair and zero issues with women. He just wanted the work done, and I delivered. Getting an insider’s view of “the sausage being made” was invaluable. He actually let me draft legislation, and this is back in 1985, for “parental” not maternity leave. Dealing with an avalanche of bills coming in over the transom, with about 30 seconds to read, decode/flag, and determine what to do, was superb training, as was briefing legislators who had no interest or background on a bill, bringing them up to speed as quickly as possible by laying out the salient facts and where their interests lay.
I wasn’t happy toiling away for a big firm, so jumped off the law firm path before many of my contemporaries then worked for what is now the Chicagoland Chamber of Commerce as well as Edelman Public Relations. After children, I moonlighted at a not for profit think tank. Great experience, loved most of my colleagues, got to decide in great measure where to focus priorities, and learned more about interacting with the media and doing in depth governmental budget analysis.
Read the full interview here.
By Emma Goldberg
26 June 2020
“I admitted to myself that I couldn’t do it all.” |
— Ellen Kuwana on quitting her job in scientific communications |
Women have shouldered more child care and housework responsibilities than men since long before the coronavirus era. But with schools, day care centers and camps closed, the Covid-19 pandemic has highlighted and exacerbated that disparity. Even with men pitching in more, women are scrambling to balance their work with household obligations.Patricia Cohen and Tiffany Hsu, business and economics reporters at The Times, have written that the effects of the pandemic on working mothers will last far beyond this period of crisis. Their reporting showed that a generation of working women will experience setbacks that may have lifelong consequences for their earning potential and career opportunities.
Some of the women they interviewed are balancing child care and jobs by working late-night or early morning shifts. Others have reduced their working hours or have quit their paid work altogether. One woman interviewed left the highest-paying role she had ever had: “I admitted to myself that I couldn’t do it all.” Not surprisingly, the pressure is heaviest for single mothers who are the sole income providers for their families. Those who have lost their jobs have had the cumbersome task of seeking unemployment benefits and applying for new work while simultaneously helping their children with remote learning. I asked Cohen and Hsu to share what they had learned in the course of their reporting. While some of the economists they cited had grim predictions, the reporters also shared some of the possibilities they see for reforms promoting work-life balance and workplace parity in the long term. Read the full article here.
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17 June 2020
By Lucy Cohen Blatter
At a Black Entertainment Television Black Girls Rock! event two summers ago in Newark, N.J., Misty Copeland presented Judith Jamison with the Living Legend Award, noting her “virtuosity in dance” and describing the modern-dance giant as a “dancer, choreographer, author, spirit.” Before handing the lifetime achievement trophy to Jamison, Copeland bowed, in a move reminiscent of the ballet bow known as “révérence.”
While the two women broke through in the dance world decades apart—Jamison, 77, as a modern dancer and later the creative director of AlvinAiley American Dance Theater, and Copeland, 37, as the first African-American female principal dancer with the American Ballet Theatre—they’ve both managed to break the proverbial glass ceilings in their disciplines, inspiring those who look like them and those who don’t.
Neither dreamed of being professional dancers, they told Penta, partly because they didn’t see any role models who looked like them. Describing how she came to dance, Jamison says, “I can say it in one sentence: I was having fun. I was an overactive child, and I was put into a ballet school at 6 years old.”
For Copeland, too, her discovery of dance—and ballet in particular, though later in life—was surprising. “I had never heard of classical music, and I didn’t know what a ballerina was. The dream that I can most vividly remember was at 12, when I decided I wanted to be a cheerleader in the drill team at my middle school. There was nothing before that at all. It fell into my lap at 13, and I happened to be really good at it.” And, she adds emphatically, “I had mentors who led me to this profession.”
Among the mentors and inspirations Copeland names are “Lauren Anderson, Alicia Graf Mack, Virginia Johnson, Aesha Ash, so many black women….There’s no true record of the history of black dancers who came through. When I became a soloist, I only knew from word of mouth. The press releases said I was the first black soloist, but I wasn’t. Everyone had a part in some way.” Copeland says she has “followed the lead of so many leaders, whom the world isn’t aware of,” citing that as one of the reasons she’s working on a book about black ballerinas.
“ I’ve lived through these experiences, so I can lead the next generation in the right way. ”
Jamison, too, says she got where she is by being “lifted” by trailblazers and mentors such as Alvin Ailey, Pearl Primus, Carmen de Lavallade, Katherine Dunham, Mary Hinkson, and many more. But none of these disrupters, she says, were household names or faces when she first happened upon the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater in 1965, about seven years after it was founded. “Very rarely did you see black people on television at the time,” Jamison says.
As soon as she first saw the company perform, she tried to imitate them. Then her big break came when she met and auditioned for Ailey—the dancer, choreographer, and activist who founded the company in order to tell the African-American experience through modern dance.
Jamison catapulted to stardom after performing in Ailey’s Cry, a dance he had dedicated to his mother and to “all black women everywhere—especially our mothers.” (The dance was performed by the troupe during this year’s traveling show, which was cut short by the coronavirus pandemic.)
Ailey, Jamison says, was a true disrupter who aimed to use modern dance to convey and celebrate African-American culture and experience.
Read the full article here.
17 June 2020
Performing Arts Alliance
SBA Issues PPP Flexibility Rules! Reminder: Loan Application Deadline June 30.
The Small Business Administration has released new rules implementing the provisions of the Paycheck Protection Program Flexibility Act, available here. For those that have already received a PPP loan, many may be nearing the completion of their loan period and should be aware of significant changes regarding the loan forgiveness application process. The SBA is also currently revising the PPP loan forgiveness application form. While more guidance may soon follow, the rules include some helpful clarification, including confirmation that borrowers with less than 60% of expenditures dedicated to payroll will be eligible for partial loan forgiveness. With more than $100 billion remaining in Paycheck Protection Program (PPP) resources, any potential applicant should take note that the opportunity to apply for a loan closes on June 30, 2020.
SBA Re-Opens Economic Injury Disaster Loan Program for New Applicants.
The SBA announced yesterday that it has reopened its Economic Injury Disaster Loan (EIDL) program, offering long-term, low interest assistance for small businesses with fewer than 500 employees, including non-profit organizations. EIDL assistance can be used to cover payroll, pay debt, or fund other expenses that are not already covered under a Paycheck Protection Program loan. Additionally, the EIDL Advance will provide up to $10,000 ($1,000 per employee) of emergency economic relief that does not have to be repaid. Loans are administered by the U.S. Treasury, and applications are made directly to the SBA. Further information is available in the SBA press release and the EIDL loan application portal.
Main Street Lending Program for Nonprofits Proposed by Federal Reserve; Comments Due June 22.
The Federal Reserve announced yesterday that it is inviting public comments on a Main Street Lending Program, specifically designed for nonprofits. Partners in the nonprofit sector and leaders in Congress have called for implementation of loan opportunities for nonprofits since such a program was authorized under the CARES Act. The minimum loan size for the 5-year loans is $250,000 while the maximum loan size is $300 million. Principal payments would be fully deferred for the first two years of the loan, and interest payments would be deferred for one year. Eligibility requirements related to liquidity, limitations on the percentage of revenue from donations, and other requirements may exclude many potential loan applicants. Further details regarding the proposed terms of the loans are available in the Overview of New Nonprofit Loans and in the Federal Reserve’s press release. The Federal Reserve says “public feedback is being sought to help make the proposed program as efficient and effective as possible.” The nonprofit sector is mobilizing to weigh in and feedback may be submitted via email here until Monday, June 22.
By Jenesis Williams | 17 June 2020
I am a public speaking champion. I am the captain of a top-five debate team. I have nine national titles and am ranked fifth in the nation in informative speaking by the National Speech and Debate Association. I wield my voice like a weapon, but the only place I remain silent is the ballet studio.
At my first summer intensive away from home, at age 14, I was injured and unable to participate in class, so our teacher decided to play a “game.” I had to record every combination and correction throughout the class. Easy. Except before the first combination started, my teacher asked me if I knew how to spell the steps I had written down. I nodded, but that wasn’t enough. He looked at me, expectantly. His icy glare effectively communicated that he wanted me to spell the entire combination. So I did. I stood up and repeated the combination back to him, spelling out each step.
By the time I had brushed it off, it was time for the next combination. He looked at me again. I spelled out every step, spelling bee style, taking up valuable class time to prove to him I was smart enough to know the steps I had practiced every day for the past five weeks. It evolved into a cycle: write down the combination, stand up, spell it for him, repeat. His eyes widened as I proved capable of spelling out more complicated steps— I was mortified, but I didn’t falter. When class ended, my friends and I talked about how weird that was. Why me? What was wrong with him? Why did he think I couldn’t do it?
What we didn’t talk about was the fact that I was one of two black girls in the class. I didn’t say that this was just one of the many microaggressions that I had to accept as a Black girl who does ballet. I am one of the best speakers in the country, and when the time came, I said nothing.
The ballet world does not give Black students a safe space to speak, to dance, to simply exist. The decisions of white boards, teachers, directors, and choreographers trickle down into the studio where Black students are ultimately told that ballet was not built for Black bodies. Until I watched Misty Copeland’s documentary, I believed that it was physiologically impossible for a Black ballerina to have nice feet— it was what I had been told. I jammed my metatarsals under the piano in my studio daily, telling myself that maybe five minutes of pain could defy genetics. I know I am not alone.
The goal of the corps de ballet is to move as one, fluid body. Each dancer must be a part of a larger whole, standing out enough as to not be too replaceable while simultaneously fitting in. How am I supposed to fit in when my skin color stands out? Famous Black dancers like Raven Wilkinson were told to paint their bodies white to dance. Some, like Janet Collins, turned company spots down for this very reason. But, sometimes, in the shower when I wash off a long day of class and rehearsal, I think about what it would be like to look in the mirror and see the sameness ballet has taught me to desire. I immediately feel guilty. Then I’m angry. And then I go to sleep, only to put on pinkish-white tights the next day.
In class, we are taught that ballet should be an escape from everything outside of the studio. But you can’t escape Blackness, (especially not when your teachers crack jokes like “mosquito lives matter” when a student swats at fly during tendus) and there is nobody to teach Black students how to channel that into their dancing. It takes an educated, anti-racist teacher to find and share Black narratives in ballet with their students. Good luck finding them.
A former student at my studio reached out to the director recently because, despite taking multiple studio-sponsored trips to NYC, she never heard of Dance Theatre of Harlem until she ended up living right next to the company’s studios. She shared Arthur Mitchell’s Giselle with the director, suggesting a studio showing to promote diversity and awareness. I am still waiting for that showing.
Black ballet students deserve to feel like they belong. So please, support initiatives like ABT’s Project Plié. They grant scholarships to students, teachers, and arts administration interns of color, develop their outreach programs within ballet companies, and work with the Boys & Girls Club of America. Help Brown Girls Do Ballet, a nonprofit whose mentor and volunteer network and other initiatives are building the next BIPOC role models in ballet. Increase their impact via donations, sponsorship, buying merchandise, becoming an ambassador, or letting your dancer friends of color know about mentorship opportunities available.
I’ve been told that ballet is just a conversation between a dancer and the audience. If that’s true, it’s time we give young, Black dancers a voice.
A note from DDP: An earlier version of this OpEd listed Dance Theatre of Harlem founder Arthur Mitchell as “Arthur Miller.” DDP corrected this error on July 8th and appreciates Dance Theatre of Harlem for notifying us of the inaccuracy. We make every effort to be accurate, and therefore circulated this piece multiple times, both within our team and within our network of journalistic allies, for thoughts and revisions. We apologize for the unintentional misattribution. For more information on Dance Theatre of Harlem, the company’s legendary founder Arthur Mitchell, and its female leadership team (made up of Artistic Director Virginia Johnson and Executive Director Anna Glass), please visit https://dancetheatreofharlem.
22 May 2020
By Caroline Kitchener
If day cares closed because of the novel coronavirus, Aimee expected her family to fare better than most. She worked full time as the chief executive of a tech company while her husband stayed home. He’d been taking some time off from his own tech career, managing a rental property while considering his options. He could look after their 3-year-old son, she thought — at least for a while.
“That lasted a grand total of three days,” Aimee said. (We have withheld Aimee’s last name and her husband’s name because of threats made against their family.)
Once her son was home full time, she realized they’d need a different solution. She was holed up in the guest room, wielding dual-monitors at her desk. Her husband was exhausted. “I can’t do it,” she remembers him saying: “I can’t watch him for this long.”
Aimee, 46, had been logging 70-hour weeks for years — and she was proud of the work she’d done. When she started her career in San Francisco, she was one of two women at a video game company, buying nondescript jeans and hoodies so she could be “one of the guys.” Eventually she came to run a company she co-founded, building open-source websites for clients like Stanford University. Aimee, who oversaw software development, co-led a diverse team of 13 employees. She was intentional about hiring women, minorities and others who challenged the stereotypes about Silicon Valley.
Read the full article.
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"The Devil Ties My Tongue" by Amy Seiwert performed for the SKETCH Series, 2013. Photo by David DeSilva. Courtesy of Amy Seiwert's Imagery