Lyric Opera 2021-2022 Issue 7 Fire Shut Up My Bones

Lyric Opera of Chicago | 37 Co-director’s note Contributing my voice to Terence Blanchard’s beautiful and haunting music, creating movement language for Kasi Lemmons’s libretto, sharing the story of celebrated writer Charles M. Blow, and co-directing with James Robinson has been a dream. It has also been uniquely challenging, because I joined the Fire Shut Up in My Bones project at the height of the pandemic, five years after work began on the original production. Not only did I have to choreograph, I had to find my directorial voice, among a team that had been collaborating for years. It was daunting, thrilling, and overwhelming to play catch-up. I started with what I know—dance—and approached the piece the same way I approach all of my creative work— asking questions, investigating, and listening. How could I make sure that the gestures and movements stayed true to the intentions of the composer? How could my direction amplify the voice and the heart of this piece? In the director’s seat, I wanted to play with abstraction and time travel, capturing the psyche of Charles, his inner turmoil, and his tussles with Destiny and Loneliness. We treated each scene as though it were one of those aged Polaroid pictures—static in time, with the only breath being Charles, walking us through his journey, the pictures shapeshifting as we follow him along. Isolated both spiritually and physically, it was important to show Charles’s struggles, his longing for peace, and his search for a savior—only to realize that his savior was himself, the younger version of himself, giving him grace and resolve. Two phrases within the show resonate with me: “Sometimes you gotta’ just leave it in the road” and “I bend, I don’t break, I sway.” They speak to the specificity of the Black experience but also call upon a universal theme of determination and the need for personal resolution. Charles experienced a traumatic childhood event, which changed his life. He ultimately finds the strength and motivation to “leave it in the road.” Past traumas can either haunt us or heal us. Charles’s story empowers us with the understanding that Camille A. Brown the devastation of the past does not have to define our futures. We too can give ourselves the grace to let go. Fire also illuminates themes of perseverance and resilience—both hallmarks of the Black experience. We don’t break, we sway. We never give in. Our light will never go out. To honor this, I wanted to find a way—amid the struggle—to elevate the stuff of the Black experience that celebrates us. That heals us. That shows us off. Terence has created a percussive score that is complex and nuanced, and I have tried to add to that my original artistic expression in movement, bringing to bear the many influences and elements that make up my individual style. What I found so thrilling was that I could use step to embody triumph, pain, and the joy of life, and create a rhythmical score for this powerful “opera in jazz.” Step is a social dance rooted in African American history and culture, tracing back more than 200 years to West Africa, transformed by enslaved people throughout the Americas. Stepping is energetic, visceral, urgent, and powerful. It is also embedded in the fabric of Black fraternities and sororities, which were intentionally created as safe spaces when white Greek- letter organizations would not let Black men and women join them. It has always been historically important for Black people to create safe spaces for themselves. What has emerged from that has been extraordinary: Black people creating community for themselves everywhere—in the Church, at the jook joint, and at historically Black colleges and universities. In these safe spaces, we converge to share all that is messy and radiant in our lives, in our relationships, and in our humanity. I am humbled and honored to be a part of this show that is inviting audiences into a vulnerable and poignant story. At one point in history, Black people were not allowed to perform on stages like this one and, even more so, were not able to authentically portray our own narratives. The full spectrum of our real lives were unseen. But we did not break. Once invisible, now beautifully and vibrantly visible. Past, present, and future, we sway. —Camille A. Brown Reprinted courtesy of the Metropolitan Opera Photo: Josefina Santos for NYT