bahia watson in ‘shaniqua in abstraction’, Photo by Roya DelSol
“I expected life to be more fair.”
This fatal flaw is confessed by a version of shaniqua who has been convicted of a crime and now facing a life in prison—a future cut off “at her nose.” What does that look like? An amorphous nothingness and non-personhood. We don’t know what she’s done or to whom, but we can imagine; we’ve been fully primed by an episodic series of vignettes depicting Black womanhood and its pressure cooker mental headspace.
shaniqua in abstraction is bahia watson’s poetic and pointed exposé. This solo show, presented by Crow’s Theatre in association with paul watson productions and Obsidian Theatre Company, takes us on a journey with the titular woman who, despite the white gaze impositions of media producers, contains multitudes.
We open on a casting call. shaniqua shows up, dressed in a defiantly bright orange and pink tracksuit, and she’s raring to go! On panel screens behind her, the iconic red dot video recording indicator lets us know her audition is being captured for future scrutiny. With the only sides to work with being a clichéd “hey, girl!”, she is encouraged to be more “sassy,” give it more “personality.” And as she contorts herself, delivers increasingly colourful renditions of this single phrase, that red dot expands. It pulls her into an abstracted space—while also releasing a multifarious essence from her—and transports us all into her fraught psyche.
From here, shaniqua exists expansively through a torrential flood of varied and interconnected personae: a woman surviving an abusive relationship; a office worker negotiating a toxic environment in which her assertions of selfhood are deemed threatening; a talkshow host mediating a heated discussion of shadeism; a comic headlining at a venue called SISTAHOOD, calling white women and Black men out for some bullshit before spiralling into a unvarnished, guttural rant; a slave caring for her masters’ baby, fearing any slight misstep and anticipating the husband’s lustful eyes, getting lost in an exhilarating daydream of flight—her fanciful and heartfelt expressions constantly interrupted by the powers that be instructing her to stick to the script.
Director Sabryn Rock’s production highlights the performative aspects of shaniqua’s existence. Choreographer Jaz Fairy J has watson constantly moving, embodying a gestural language of propulsive strides, always shifting and adapting. A cacophonous media swirl intruding on her already overburdened state of mind is manifested in Laura Warren’s video designs for the background panel screens, intersecting yet systematically fragmented. That red dot becomes an emblematic motif, a visual siren call of social objectification.
Audiences are a strange beast and their collective dynamic contributes greatly to a show’s vibes. One of the disconcerting aspects of the performance I attended was the audience’s reticence to demonstrably react. watson’s energy is heady and expansive, a compelling fluctuation between aggressive tirades and plaintive professions of anxiety, frustration and despair. Other than a spattering of chuckles, the audience was lulled into attentive reverence. We were predominately middled-aged and white, though not exclusively. I wonder if a more even mix would have significantly altered the climate. Though I can’t and shouldn’t, of course, experience it, I’m very curious what the communal dynamic will be during the Black Out performance.
shaniqua in abstraction
running April 9 to 28, 2024
Streetcar Crowsnest, Studio Theatre (345 Carlaw Ave.)
running time: 85 minutes (no intermission)
bahia watson in ‘shaniqua in abstraction’, photos by Roya DelSol & illustration by blackpowerbarbie