Congolese dancer and choreographer Faustin Linyekula says the stories of Congo are hard to tell because they are made up of blood, mud and ruin. It isn’t easy to parse out the narratives of those who came before him, but he attempts to in “My Body, My Archive.”

Linyekula’s performance at CAP UCLA’s Freud Playhouse on Jan. 18 explores how the body can carry our ancestry. He approaches this through dance and an anatomical exploration that pulls the outside world into his skin, embodying it in quick thrashes and tender gestures. He started this process in 2017 with Banataba, a dance performance that traces his maternal ancestors by following the history of a Lengola statue at the Metropolitan Museum of New York. The latest excavation of his family tree results in very few answers, but that’s the point. The stories of Congo are hard to grasp, he constantly reminds us. Here’s his evidence as to why. Despite the often violent and erratic movement, Linyekula crafts a heartwarming journey through Congo.

Faustin Linyekula in his "My Body, My Archive" - Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

Faustin Linyekula in his “My Body, My Archive” – Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

The piece begins and ends with a video of a Congolese artist named Gbaga rowing through a river. First, he rows toward us, opening the door to Congo, and then he closes the performance rowing away. The stories Linyekula presents are just as fleeting. As he does in Bantaba, Linyekula tethers himself to objects. This time around, it comes in the form of sculptures by Gbaga.

In his search for his ancestral narrative, he realized the women of his clan are gone. “Where are the women?” he repeatedly asks. He asked Gbaga to create sculptures that represent what the women would have looked like. He has them with him on stage, carrying the wooden piece in his arms like a newborn baby. He then sets them on the ground covered in over 130 pounds of coffee, standing them up in various formations. His relationship to the objects transports the audience into his memory. Without words, a maternal connection is depicted. The sculptures keep the movement authentic.

Faustin Linyekula in his "My Body, My Archive" - Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

Faustin Linyekula in his “My Body, My Archive” – Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

His choreographic quality reflects much of what he talks about. It’s violent when he shakes his entire body, tossing his head back and forth and sharply jerking his pelvis. It reverberates through his spine and is enhanced by a layered garment made of a heavy-duty canvas tarp that accentuates each ripple. It’s controlled as he switches to a softer quality, slowly lowering his torso by bending one knee and extending the other leg to his side. He moves like his limbs are caught in the viscosity of mud.

He tells his story alongside trumpet player Heru Shabaka-Ra. As he plays, Linyekula changes clothing with pieces hidden behind a tarp upstage. At first, these moments of transition felt prolonged, like lulls in the emotional waves Linyekula creates. But soon, they serve as moments to take a breath. As he paints his skin with white dots (a sign of hope), he allows the stage to settle. Tension builds as Shabaka-Ra plays.

(L-R) Faustin Linyekula, Heru Shabaka-Ra in Linyekula's "My Body, My Archive" - Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

(L-R) Faustin Linyekula, Heru Shabaka-Ra in Linyekula’s “My Body, My Archive” – Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

He finally takes center stage, allowing the sculptures to watch. We have transitioned into a reflection of Congo’s ruin. Music, voices and the soundscape explored throughout the piece layers atop one another at full volume. Shabaka-Ra plays his trumpet over it all. After witnessing Linyekula’s excavation of his past, he is caught in the storm of memory. His movement is erratic once again — a clear motif that haunts him. He’s screaming, but it’s incoherent.

The sounds disappear, the trumpet is set aside, and all you can hear is Linyekula’s cries: “CONGO! CONGO! CONGO!”

Heru Shabaka-Ra in Faustin Linyekula's "My Body, My Archive" - Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

Heru Shabaka-Ra in Faustin Linyekula’s “My Body, My Archive” – Photo ©Sarah Imsand.

“My Body, My Archive” is Linyekula’s cry for help in search of a past he is still trying to grasp. The previous sections of soft meditation that occurred alongside archival video suddenly feel much more weighted than they were moments before. Linyekula masterfully translates his emotions and battles with delicate gestures and intentional grandiosity.

He packs everything into the same tarp upstage and lugs it across the stage. “My name is Faustin Linyekula and I am still stuck with the stories of Congo,” he says. He literally lugs his stories, which he infused into the materials and objects he brought on stage. The moment is heartbreaking to watch, but it’s important to witness these closing moments. He shows us that the story of his ancestry is difficult to sift through, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a story worth telling. The work is a hodgepodge of reflections that operates as documentation for a journey Linyekula is only beginning.

For more information about Faustin Linyekula, please click HERE.

For more information about the CAP UCLA Freud Playhouse, please visit their website.


Written by Steven Vargas for LA Dance Chronicle.

Featured image: (L-R) Faustin Linyekula, Heru Shabaka-Ra in Linyekula’s “My Body, My Archive” – Photo ©Sarah Imsand.