#black choreographer

[negrolicity]

The Harlem Nutcracker on Vimeo

I thought I would bring this back for the holidays.

[yourdailyqueer]

Sasha Mallory

Gender: Non binary (she/they/ze)

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: 6 August 1988

Ethnicity: African American

Occupation: Prof dancer, choreographer, reality star

[rush-the-stars]

oh god ballet au with vash and nai oh god oh no

[sestrahulk]

Tatiana Maslany talks about her new crowdfunding film Next In Line with writer, director and co-star Danny Dolan.

Next In Line is a queer dance horror film set in the cutthroat world of Los Angeles choreographers.

After losing out on the job of a lifetime, one choreographer's attempts at self-care are hijacked by an unhinged and malicious rival.

Tatiana will play Willow, a washed-up, faux-spiritual choreographer, whose choreography is a visceral expression of her inner mayhem, who becomes unhinged when she learns that her rival Travis (played by Danny Dolan) received good news from his agent.

If the film reaches its $50.000 goal by December 6, it will be filmed for 3 days in February and released by the end of spring 2025.

SUPPORT THE FILM HERE

[tunastime]

Hi I’m never leaving you alone with these prompts—Ingo and Emmet (with an Apricot, if it works) in Unova + “look at the moon…” ? I’m being vague with this one to see where you may take it, but I hope it sparks somethin in your brain :>

HI myke! So I completely disregarded your prompt in favor of doing what you asked me in my dms LOL (something along the lines of putting our ocs/my oc in with the twins). So, happy belated birthday, here's this finally posted! (1182 words) (x)

Like two nesting wingull, Apricot and Marlow huddle together in the empty stands of the practice stadium. It's well after closing now, though the floodlights still cast their white-silver across the length of the astro-turf and chalk field. Apricot blows into his cupped hands, trying to warm his cold-numbed fingers. Marlow, on the contrary, looks content in his parka, scarf wound tight around his nose and mouth. Apricot grumbles.

Below them on the still-crunchy grass, Ingo and Emmet chatter among themselves. Apricot watches them knock into each other playfully as Emmet pats the massive form of Eelektross beside him. Haxorus shuffles beside Ingo, sniffing his jacket collar as the two pace back to their imaginary starting points. Apricot sinks back in his chair, still trying to warm his hands.

"You look cold," Marlow laughs. "Why didn't you bring gloves?"

Apricot frowns. "I didn't think it would be that cold, alright?" He hunkers into the fabric of his scarf, throwing a squinting glance over to Marlow. Marlow laughs, throwing himself back.

"It's not your first Unova winter, Apri!"

"That doesn't matter!" He squeaks. "It feels colder than Hisui. Maybe if my clothes were better insulated."

"Maybe if you wore gloves," Marlow hums, looking back to the field below them. The lights reflect off the white of Emmet's duster as he darts around. "Or a hat?"

Apricot grumbles. Instead, he watches the twins below shuffle around each other, throwing out barely heard words and jeers as Haxorous and Eelektross throw electric sparks and mud back and forth. Eelektross shudders out a bolt of electricity that Haxorous barely dodges, and Apricot barely restrains the groan of frustration that bubbles up in his chest. It seems that, in the midst of his complaining, he'd forgotten the real reason he and Marlow are here. He pulls his knees up, going quiet for a moment as he peers over them at the practice field below. Marlow’s expression softens in his peripheral vision. He tilts his head as he watches Ingo and Emmet, the crackle of energy and elements a few yards from the two of them. 

Only a handful of days prior, the two were sprawled out on Apricot’s living room rug, a stack of magazines and costume patterns between them as Marlow pitched outfit designs half-heartedly. It was late—maybe that was half the reason Apricot had even gotten the idea in the first place—but all at once, he had flopped onto his stomach, and said, mostly into the carpet:

“Would it be a good idea for us to ask Ingo and Emmet?”

Marlow sat up, dog-earing a magazine page.

“For what?” he asked. “For—not for outfit inspiration, right?”

“No—” Apricot squeaked. “No, not that. For—we’re having trouble syncing up, right? So why not ask the two most in-sync people we know for tips. So we can get our moves to look good.”

“Two strongest people we know, too,” Marlow hummed. Apricot peered an eye at him, half-obscured by the crush of his cheek and hair that had pooled over his shoulder. Marlow shrugged, nodding slightly.

“Do you think they’d let us shadow a practice?” Apricot asked. Another shrug, but this time, more curious and less contemplative. 

“It’ll probably be really early in the morning,” he said. “If you can stand to be up that early.”

He prodded Apricot with a socked foot, jerking back, snorting when Apricot swatted him away.

“I’ll be fine,” Apricot grumbled. 

Now, awake but cold, the tips of his ears red and nose running, Apricot sits in the stands, watching, eyes flicking back and forth between the two twins in a vain attempt to catch any sort of new movement, any sort of information he could to store away for their performance. Which is what it was, really, more than a battle. If the two of them could make a normal two-versus-two look like dance, rather than a display of strength, they would be more and more likely to look good in contest. When no damage had to be done, they could focus solely on looking the part, rather than being the strongest. From beside him, Buizel nuzzles her head into the side of Apricot’s leg, weaseling between his thigh and his shoulder. He lets her rest her large, warm head on his lap as he watches Emmet call out to Eelektross over the throw of Ingo’s voice.

Despite fighting against each other, the two seemed to move like the balance of a scale, tipping this way and that as they defended themselves. Marlow leans until they’re shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide and focused on Ingo’s movements. It isn’t long until the two are shouting over each other, promptly startling Buizel under the stand beside them. Marlow flings himself up as Haxorous manages to slam into Eelektross, and both pokemon go down in a heap. He cheers, shaking Apricot back and forth as Ingo jogs over to collect his pokemon.

With Emmet beaming and Ingo laughing to himself, the twins wander to the stands. Marlow meets them halfway, leaning over the small railing as Ingo rests his back against it.

“That was amazing!” Marlow says breathlessly.

“Is it starting to make sense?” Emmet asks, tilting his head toward Apricot. Apricot slowly unravels himself, shuffling over to the side of the bannister. Finally warm enough to unstick his shoulders from his ears, he grins.

“A bit—I was telling Marlow earlier, it’s… almost like a dance,” he starts, sticking his hands in his pockets. He blows away a tuft of hair as it threatens to fall in his face. “I mean,  you two know each other well enough to predict attacks and prepare for them, but even if we’re not really fighting in contest, we should probably do the same thing. Fight with each other enough to predict the next move.”

Ingo nods.

“You do a lot of fighting together,” he says, nodding. “But fighting against each other might help you cement some of your more typical move-sets. Or at least know how someone might respond.”

“Sounds like more double-battles,” Apricot snorts, elbowing Marlow beside him. “Maybe we can rope Chance and Damon in, too.”

“Sunny can ref,” Marlow grins. Apricot laughs, knocking his shoulder into Marlow hard enough for both of them to wobble. Marlow shoves back, until the two of them are leaning hard into each other as Ingo and Emmet look on. Despite the puzzles expression that crosses Emmet’s face, Ingo says:

“How about one more before we wrap up?”

Apricot beams. 

“My money’s still on Emmet,” he says, giving a weak, one-handed salute. Emmet returns the gesture enthusiastically.

“You two ready?” he asks as he paces back. With a wave of his hand, Galvantula weasels free of her pokeball, chittering happily as Emmet pats her large head. Chandelure swirls next to Ingo’s shoulder, her purple-blue lamplight throwing eerie shadows back against his face. Marlow finally slumps over the railing, still laughing to himself.

“As we’ll ever be,” he says. 

Taking their places once again, the twins start their battle. This time, Apricot tells himself, he’s going to take many mental notes.

[pro-royalty]

Victoria Monét & Sean Bankhead

on set of the “On My Mama” Music Video

[sonicandvisualsurprises]

1941

Excerpt from Carnival of Rhythm : A music and dance tribute to the peasants and workers of Brazil.

Katherine Mary Dunham (June 22, 1909 – May 21, 2006) was an American dancer, choreographer, anthropologist, and social activist.

Dunham had one of the most successful dance careers of the 20th century and directed her own dance company for many years.

She has been called the "matriarch and queen mother of black dance."

Source : Wikipedia

[jonathanrook]

when did my default response to stress become imagining myself beating up taz skylar

[justnotkrikkit]

this gala finale is the most benoit thing of all time

[sodacowboy]

every now and then I have a dream that makes me stop and think wait am I attracted to women?? and it’s like?? idk man

[blufox3542]

Pokotho is a theater kid who finds every person that isn’t him to be annoying and I honestly relate.

Also he’s an eldritch being beyond our comprehension so bonus points for that

[negrolicity]

The Blackest Berry: Dancing African Diasporas. A Blanket of Blackness

[yourdailyqueer]

Hollywood Jade (Jade Anderson)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Queer

DOB: 4 January 1984

Ethnicity: Afro Canadian

Occupation: Dancer, choreographer

[nachtfaust]

[sestrahulk]

Tatiana Maslany and Danny Dolan in a camera test for their crowdfunding project Next In Line, a queer dance horror film set in the cutthroat world of Los Angeles choreographers.

Filmed by Melissa Schade

SUPPORT THE FILM HERE

[saresmusings]

Martha Graham and Erick Hawkins, Bennington College, VT, Photo by Barbara Morgan, 1938