In “Until the Lion Tells the Story…,” Lacina Coulibaly walks in his ancestors’ footsteps.
In his solo “Until the Lion Tells the Story…,” the dancer and choreographer Lacina Coulibaly is the only observable person onstage, a riveting presence in quiet command of the space. But he doesn’t think of himself as alone.
“I am with a lot of people; I am with all my ancestors,” he told the choreographer Bill T. Jones in a recent video conversation for New York Live Arts, where the 45-minute work premiered on Thursday. “I think for sure they will guide me.”
A sense of channeling the past, of being guided by something or someone greater than oneself, runs deeply through this compact yet ambitious dance, which Coulibaly, who is from Burkina Faso, describes as “a manifesto for Africa in seven scenes.” As each of those scenes unfolds, a summary of sorts is projected on the back wall of the stage.
“Evoke the spirit of self-determination, trust and unwavering confidence,” reads the text for “Scene Two: Warrior/King (Queen).” “There is no shame in walking in the footsteps of our ancestors, who were creators, innovators and guardians of our heritage.”
More potently than the words — though they serve as a helpful compass — it’s the body that communicates these ideas, through Coulibaly’s dexterous merging of traditional African and contemporary dance forms. In a recurring gesture, he raises his chest and face to the sky, arms open, as if summoning energy that will determine his next steps. At other times he similarly beckons the ground, crouching low as if to feel or listen to what’s underneath. The percussive musical soundscape alternates between impressionistic and invigorating, a collage of recordings by the Senegalese drummer Doudou N’Diaye Rose and the American-Gambian duo Jack DeJohnette and Foday Musa Suso, with sound design by Kimathi Moore.
The work’s title is half of an African proverb: “Until the lion tells the story, the hunter will always be the hero.” Coulibaly embodies that message of reclamation. He first emerges from the wings with his torso draped forward, fingertips skimming the floor, progressing along the perimeter of the stage, which is lined with plastic water bottles. A garment on the ground catches his eye; when he puts it on, a vest with leonine markings that matches the fabric around his waist, he seems imbued with a newfound power and responsibility. (The costume design is by Oumar Ouedraogo, and the set by Coulibaly and Sylvester Akakpo.)
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