Hope Boykin embodies the seamless transition from acclaimed dancer to visionary choreographer. A two-time Bessie Award winner and former Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater company member, Boykin has emerged as a powerful creative force in contemporary dance. In her latest work “Finding Free,” she collaborates with blind musical prodigy Matthew Whitaker, weaving classical Ailey movements with contemporary innovation. Following the recent passing of her mentor Judith Jamison, Boykin reflects on legacy, artistic evolution, and the continuous journey of self-discovery through dance.
[Editor’s note: This is a truncated transcription of a longer video interview. Please see the video for the extended version. Some errors may occur.]
How does it feel to be on the other side of your career as a director and choreographer?
While I was at Philadanco, I was making work—small things—but always in the studio working to hone my voice. When I joined the Ailey Company in 2000, I had an opportunity in 2004 when Miss Jamison put up a notice asking who would like to choreograph. Two dancers—Matthew Rushing, who’s interim artistic director of the company, and Abdu’ra Rahim Jackson—and I created a piece called “Acceptance and Surrender.” That was the beginning of putting my work on a large stage like the Ailey organization. Over time, it made me realize there was nothing I couldn’t do. I was already in preparation for the transition when I was ready to stop dancing.
How has Judith Jamison’s recent passing influenced your artistic journey?
Ms. Jamison—she would tell us to call her Judy—was my mentor and my boss. She was a truth teller who never shied away from telling me when she thought I could do better. We went to movies, shows, spent quality time together. I feel her loss greatly, but I also feel responsible for continuing to remind people of who she was—not just because of her honors or awards, but because she was human, because she was honest, because she laughed. A legacy, a life well-lived, is supposed to be told and shared with the future so we can build on the work she’s done.
How do you stir creativity in your choreography?
I write what I call moments. I think a moment lasts longer than a second. You can remember what it tastes like, what it felt like, how it smelled. The way I write is the way that I move. When I’m not sure about the direction, there’s a spark of an idea, I get to writing. The steps, the movement is abstract. I can reach my hand to you slowly—that might mean love. I could be forceful, turn the palm. None of that really matters until I give it context through music, lights, costumes. If I know the why, which comes from the writing, then I can figure out what I want to say.
Your titles seem to be based in cultural moments. How do you develop them in the creative process?
They usually start with the words in some way. Finding Free, for example—the writing that came from that is not about removing the obstacles or trials. It’s about the strength and endurance we have to actually learn how to carry the stuff that’s heavy. Unless I’m making an abstract work, I try to find this clarity because I realize that I’m talking to myself. If you’re watching and you don’t get it, that’s okay. I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just trying to make sure that I’ve done the job I set out to do.
How did your collaboration with Matthew Whitaker come about for “Finding Free”?
The idea came through Barbara Brandt, who suggested Ailey should do a piece to Matthew’s music. After some time, Robert Battle, artistic director at the time, saw Matthew perform and then asked me to make this ballet. Being surrounded by Matthew’s genius and kindness, this old soul who can play any hymn—he sees more clearly than a lot of people. Today, we had our first rehearsal with his band and the dancers. The first two performances in New York are live, so they’re not just hearing it in a monitor—it’s in the floor, they’re swelling there, actually dancing duets and trios with these musicians.
What is Matthew making of all this?
He’s not afraid of any new opportunity. He’s already been musical director for his church, has albums, he’s scored and been musical director for an off-Broadway show. When you bet on yourself, you win. Whether it’s the outcome you really thought it was going to be, no matter what, you win. You’re not in competition with anyone else. He’s got jokes, he’s whimsical, but he can hear when something’s not right. Like quickly. And I feel like he’s a version of me.
What different dance components did you incorporate in “Finding Free”?
I am a part of all these incredible people—Judith Jamison, Tally Beatty, Ronnie Favors, Masa Zumi Chaya, George Faizon. I watched Debbie Allen my whole life. If I try to pretend like I’m making something brand new, then I’m lying. I take all those ingredients and footnote everyone who’s influenced me. No one has my exact tone of voice, so how I say it is how I say it. We’re just adding to this course that we’re on, adding to this road and this map.
What do the pauses in your choreography represent about finding freedom?
Still, rest, hold, wait, stop—they’re all action words. Even though we might be planted and not moving, we’re still in action. We’re thinking, observing, taking it in, learning to be responsive, not reactive people. Sometimes we have to stand still. No one wrote the book before Judith Jamison wrote it. Now that I’ve read it, it’s not a revision that I’m making. I’m making my book and she is the chapter in my book.
Looking at your website photos from your dancing days—those legs were “legging,” as they say.
They were legging! Those pictures last, don’t they? I was cute then.
Your website mentions sharing experiences and continuing your search for hope. As an artist, do you ever arrive?
We never arrive. When you arrive, you should call it quits. Even with the awards, the applause, the accolades, there’s always more. When we have enough to give at our lowest, we have enough to give at the mid, at the high. And we start again. Ms. Jamison said in “Hymn,” “Go to the wall. If you don’t take it to the wall, how are you going to find out anything?” Our here becomes a there, but once our there becomes a here, it’s time to get a new there.
What would you say to a young artist who’s dreaming of following a similar path but wrestling with self-doubt?
Add to your list of awesome. Don’t worry about checking off all the things you want to accomplish. Write out what you’re excellent at and add to that list. If you get a no, the no should lead you to yes. The no is not the door closing—it’s “That could be better” or “How are we going to work on that?” I wish I’d been more proud of who I am, loved myself more, loved my shape, my thickness. I’m trying to get young people to love who they are, how they’ve been made, because they are fearfully, perfectly, wonderfully made.
