The Flood of Possibilities: An Interview with Michelle Pearson

Michelle Pearson was the project leader for the four North Carolina residencies of the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange’s "Hallelujah" initiative. They took place from April to June 2002 in Asheville, Raleigh, Boone and Greensboro. This interview took place on August 8, 2002, at the "Hallelujah" finale at the University of Maryland in College Park. —LB

Dance Exchange company members Michelle Pearson (r.) and Elizabeth Johnson. Photo by Linda Burnham.

Linda Burnham: I wanted to ask you about North Carolina and how you felt the whole thing went.

Michelle Pearson: I think it went incredibly well, given that they were to be smaller "Hallelujahs." I think the impact was larger than expected and the consistency was good. The work we made in each site was longer and richer and deeper than I imagine people expected. We thought we would be taking many pieces from other places and filling in moments from North Carolina. And the exact opposite happened. Instead, we created tons of new material in each site and had the luxury to edit, weave, craft and then add moments from other "Hallelujahs" that supported the new work.

I think Greensboro was really interesting given the work that we did there. We had fewer people in numbers, but thematically we worked with the fact that it was a gate city, with people coming in and out and the trains and the traveling and not knowing the stories of hundreds of people who pass through daily. And this is not just today or even the railroad era. Before that there were Native American trails and before that there were prehistoric trails.

We [Pearson and Peter DiMuro] brought [to Greensboro] all our students from the American Dance Festival [the two teach together each summer at the festival in Durham]. We needed them visually and we needed numbers, and we wanted to allow them to experience the work. They were all so excited, but it almost worked against us. We have a way of working that is perceived by the outside eye as really quick. It’s not. Peter is one of those few people that has 30 hours in every day, and we work all of them! Also, we have a nine-year history together and are both able to multitask without good communication. Every year we teach at ADF we make a rep piece and they’re always anxious and nervous, they don’t understand, they don’t see it coming together. Then the piece is done and they’re overwhelmed because it’s fabulous. This time we got back to ADF and no one was anxious or nervous. And we’re like, "You guys, you need to be a little anxious. We have a lot of work to do!" And they’re, "Oh, but you’re so good, you’ll just put that stuff together." And they had no worry, and we’re like, "Worry, people, worry."

LB: Was that your favorite North Carolina piece, the Greensboro?

MP: I don’t have favorites. I have favorite moments in every piece. My favorite is always the one that’s newest. There’s so much special that happened in Boone, there’s so much that happened in Asheville.

LB: Remind me what was the general feel of Asheville.

MP: Everyone kept saying, "We’re a diverse place, proud to be aware of, angered at, enriched by, separated from, living with peoples of differing colors, values, beliefs," and we had all these stories, but we didn’t know how or why to connect them. Then on a too-cold-in-the-studio day to dance with a small group of senior women, I led a writing exercise. An hour later, we all huddled together to share our words. Ellen, with fine snow white hair, began to read about lace. I watched a warm smile spread over the face of Mary, another woman in the group. I, too, felt the beauty of Ellen’s words and had made a few scribbles in my journal. I wrote about the idea of lace, these fine lines that are capturing the light and air of the place. The idea of the fine lines of each person’s story, and there is something, whether it be visible or not, that connects them. I had also just learned (in an "unrelated" workshop) that the tensile strength of a spider’s web is stronger than steel. Ellen agreed and said, "Oh yes! Spiders are the best lace makers around." These thoughts were shared with the company and "put to dream" for four months.

LB: In Greensboro, you worked with a lot of immigrants?

MP: Yes, with the Montagnards and others. The immigrant women we worked with, I was really sad they couldn’t perform, but they informed the project so much. They all had night jobs, but they were at every single day workshop. They were the ones who would sing the lullabies, the fast, fast lullabies, and that reminded Peter of jostling a baby to sleep, as opposed to silently tiptoeing out of the room. That rhythm, like on a bus.

LB: You know what’s interesting about that is the idea of carrying a baby while you’re traveling, relating to the "traveling" theme. So, how many women were there?

MP: I think we knew they were a transient folk There was Elga, from Ghana, with the filed teeth and the dark tattooing, and her daughter Anna and her granddaughter Rose, and then there was Priskilla, who was from Sudan, and one from Sierra Leone, one from Afghanistan and a group from Kosovo. The thing they could share was the lullabies. It was so lovely. It got to the point where we thought the teacher at their ESL school wasn’t going to want us to come so often, but she was like, "Come every day." I really felt they would inform the work and the project, even if they weren’t on stage.

LB: That happens in most of the "Hallelujahs," that not everybody makes it on stage. So, which "Hallelujahs" were you in?

MP: The four North Carolina ones.

LB: You didn’t go to any of the rest of them?

MP: I saw "Animals" way back when it premiered in D.C. It was the first one.

LB: Before 2000? Does that count as a "Hallelujah"?

MP: Yes, it included "Gates of Praise," and then there was "In Praise of Animals and Their People." And they had the D.C. people performing, the fathers and daughters, a bunch of our Dance Exchange kids and the local people and the Fly Dogs. That was the first "Hallelujah" project. It was like the very first little one, not a trial, but "Let’s go ahead and make a piece." We don’t exclude ourselves from this process. If you’re going to be going around the country and asking people what they’re in praise of, and asking them to make dances, then you should do it, too – if not do it first – to understand and then allow it to continue to grow. And some of the "Hallelujahs" can travel, like "Animals" can travel, and you can teach people their roles really quickly. And it’s primarily company. "Fertile Fields’ is just company, and it travels. But it wouldn’t have been made without the people who envisioned it and told their stories.

LB: Were you residing in D.C. when that was made?

MP: No, I left at the end of "Shehechianu," the end of 1997. I was pregnant. We had been doing that difficult work and I was pretty wiped, pretty tired. It’s so funny, the first thing last Sunday was Liz’s introduction of "Hallelujah," going back to "Shehechianu." I can see how that led us to needing "Hallelujah," and that’s why I’m glad I’ve been a part of "Hallelujah" the way I have.

LB: How does it lead to that? What state were you guys in ?

MP: The task was to take the "Shehechianu" prayer [she recites it in Hebrew] and translate it as: "Isn’t it amazing that given our histories, we should be in this moment together." We made company work, and at the same time we were making work in the community that we called "Sustenance Projects." Our work continued to deepen and grow as the Sustenance Project did, but we asked people, "So, how did you get to this moment? In moments of difficulty or trial, what sustains you, what enables you to go through that?" You as you Linda, or you Linda and your family, or you as a white female in America. So, this is what we were doing in the community, and we were hearing about people’s most difficult times and what sustains them. It was a hard, difficult project. When we would look at where our histories intersected, so much of it was sad. One of the dancers said to Liz, "Every page of history has something really ugly. Like, pick a page." So, here we were working on how to sustain yourself. We were tired, we really worked, we had just received a lot. I think when I saw "Gates of Praise," I said to Liz that I loved that we started with everyone’s hardships, but you walk through the gate and now come the "Hallelujahs." You got to hear the story of the "Hallelujahs," and the hardship was a given.

LB: While we’re on this topic, we’re in a particular historical moment right now [August 2002] where everything is incredibly tense and we were all sitting in the middle of a "Hallelujah" when the towers went down…What do you think "Hallelujah" is doing right now this moment?

MP: It’s funny, because, for me, we went from all the Sustenance work about these moments of intersection when you can’t figure it out, to "Hallelujah," which was, "You know what? Let’s not wait until we figure everything out. Let’s find a reason to praise now!" However, since September 11th, I think we have found a place that is somewhere in between sustenance, working for the future, and being incredibly aware of the moment. Maybe it’s because I’m a Libra, but saying yes, there was another bombing, yes, we had an epic ice storm and were without power for days, and yes, I know someone who is hungry and yes, there are people having babies and people making love. And I got these flowers to grow for the first time in my yard and yes, I’m generally happy and yes, my brother is bipolar and will always have a conflicted life and yes, we can know and love each other. Somehow, through the "Hallelujahs" the permission to emotionally multitask, to be sad, and accept the delightful kiss of my four-year-old, to get frustrated to the point of tears as another part of my brain recognizes the amazing scenery on the Blue Ridge Parkway. That one feeling does not lessen the other, or make it go away. I am human and allowed to own a contradictory thought, wishes, desires, regrets – Hallelujah! I think I am starting to see the world differently and how I imagine my place in it.

LB: It’s a complex idea.

MP: It’s like understanding there’s all of that all the time. And it’s a matter of picking and choosing what you want to turn the flashlight on. My mother is this beautiful, fit, intelligent woman. She’s always smiling. She’s the oldest of six, the mother of four. And someone at her work said something about, "Oh, you’re always happy, you’ve had it easy." And her three friends knew her and they just looked at this woman and it was like, "You have no idea". Like any other human, my mother has had her share of hardship – a son who is bipolar, a father with Alzheimer’s, a single mother of two for many years. I grew up watching my mother cry at her father’s funeral, crumble with my brother’s admission to a mental hospital, and rejoice in the birth of my daughter. She’s able to cry but she was also able to begin learning how to play the piano when she turned 50. I grew up with that. She dyes her hair, yet her finger has arthritis and it’s turning crooked. It’s a balance of hardship and "Hallelujah." That I can see, and put to work.

LB: In making the "Hallelujahs" for North Carolina, did you come up with any stories like that?

MP: We think that the post 9/11 "Hallelujahs" are different. The pre-September 11 ones had more of a party kind of feel. And the post September 11s have a somber, what I call a deep happiness. Maybe happiness isn’t the right word. Instead, I noticed a this quiet kind of accepting peace that would radiate, as opposed to this fiery, explosive happiness, jubilation. The peace happiness kind of radiates out. I think the North Carolina "Hallelujahs" were more like that. When you think of the image of the woman turning at the end of "Lace" and being filled with the beauty of her own story. She had no idea it was so beautiful. She began to cry during the dress rehearsal… she said she just wasn’t’ aware of the significance of her story…And then the river of hair and Grandfather Mountain. I don’t want to call them bittersweet, but they are. Thomas was separated from his granddaughters, yet they both have these same profiles. And he says look at me, "I used to be big, now I’m small. I’m an old man, I’m smaller," but he goes [puts on a deep voice] "That’s not bad." They’re beautiful ancient mountains there in Boone, but they are getting smaller.

LB: And the Montagnards. Two weeks ago they were across the ocean in a camp, and here they were, their first experience of America is "Hallelujah." All these beautiful young things flitting around. Their eyes were like that. They were so happy.

MP: And they were so scared the first night. They walked in and I accosted them and sat in the corner with them, and it’s the same thing we do with people who speak English, but with English it’s actually harder because you can’t pretend that you don’t know what they’re saying. With the Montagnards, we know what they’re saying, they’re saying "No, no, I can’t dance. No, no, stop, let me just watch." And you smile and act like you don’t understand them because you don’t speak their language and give them a gentle nudge and they’re there, because they don’t know how to say no in English.

LB: Did you know anything about their personal stories? Did they contribute anything?

MP: They did. One told the story about how one of them was given a choice: If you stay, we’ll kill your family. If you leave, they’ll be safe. I also remember Peter telling me one man’s name was "Here." The realization of this caused both Peter and I to smile broadly with tears in our eyes.

LB: Is there anything else you want to say?

MP: One of the radio people who was here asked me, "So, this is the end. How do you feel about that?" I just looked at her like, "Are you crazy? There is no end to a project like this. It’s just starting other things constantly. I think about Portsmouth, New Hampshire…

LB: Those project participants are still meeting.

MP: They’ve done "Lullabies and Reveilles," they’ve written a whole town play, they have a poet laureate. They are constantly continuing on. I feel like "Hallelujah’s" the same thing. It was just the beginning of something for a lot of different people.

LB: In North Carolina, do you know about a lot of legacy pieces happening?

MP: I’m going to Boone pretty soon for something "Hallelujah" related. It’s the Boone crowd that’s been saying, "This has been fabulous. We loved the piece, we loved the work and we want to go back now with this information and start that process again in a different way, without the pressure of performance." I may go back to Boone and do that, and I’ve asked each of the presenters to think about that, to say we started with an easy kind of process, we got people excited, and then came crunch time, we edited, we made a beautiful performance at each site. They were happy. Everyone said it’s not what I expected, it was so good. Now that their expectations might have shifted, let’s go back and learn what they understand now.

LB: Look at how the North Carolina people arrived here: filled with happiness, knowing what the process was going to be like, totally prepared, and they’re just zooming. So, the same thing will happen back there. Going back and doing it again with a bunch of community people who have already done it, now there’s a real experiment.

MP: It’s one of the reasons I left the company.

LB: Tired of starting new projects from zero every time?

MP: Yes and no. I will never tire of meeting people and sharing that amazing first-time experience of the artistic process – the discovery, the meaning, the flood of possibilities. But I also can imagine – What if I did a project with a group of people and it was fabulous, then what? Next year, another dance with the same group of people, then what? Then what? Then what? As each work is made, skills are gained, vision broadened, and perhaps a trust that will enable more risks to be taken, voices to be strengthened, and the pursuit of quality art continually raised. I would like to be a part of that.

Linda Frye Burnham is the co-director of the Community Arts Network.

Original CAN/API publication: January 2003