The stage is a blank canvas in Kyle Abraham’s playful, unpredictable ‘White Space’

CARRIE SCHNEIDER

Olivia Wang and Destin Morisset dance in Kyle Abraham’s “White Space.”

Choreographer Kyle Abraham had some surprises in store for fans attending the local premiere of his clever new dance “White Space,” which his company, A.I.M., presented at Montclair State University’s Alexander Kasser Theater on Sept. 17. As the piece opened, imperceptibly transitioning from onstage warmup to performance, Gianna Theodore appeared with a shiny white globe nestled in the crook of her arm. She appeared to be holding a balloon, like one we had already seen released. Instead of floating up into the rafters, however, this round, white object turned out to be an exercise ball, which Theodore proceeded to roll firmly back and forth.

Abraham is teasing us, but also making a point. Things are not always what they seem in this sly postmodern dance co-commissioned by Montclair’s Peak Performances series. No one should make assumptions, particularly when dealing with an artist as slippery and unpredictable as Abraham.

Seeing the title “White Space,” for instance, woke viewers might imagine an environment hostile to people of color. This time, however, Abraham is imagining another kind of privilege — the artist’s freedom to untangle himself from politics and allow his imagination to roam where it will. This “white space” refers to the blank canvas on which a creative individual traces his fantasies, generating ideas that bubble up and fly away, unfettered as balloons.

As the piece opens, folding chairs line the sides of the stage, anticipating the presence of an audience. Whether the dancers will be performing for us, for themselves, or for one another remains an open question, however, as “White Space” blurs the boundary between offstage behavior and formal presentation. Like the choreographer, the dancers know they are being watched; and the image of a person turning his head to look over his shoulder becomes a recurring motif. Yet Abraham is determined to foil our expectations.

CARRIE SCHNEIDER

Mykiah Goree with Niya Smith in “White Space.”

Early on, during the “warm-up” section, Abraham joins the cast, tumbling unexpectedly out of a chair to strike a dramatic pose — yet he will not be in this dance, when the cast returns in costume. Much later, Olivia Wang lies prone on the floor, and Donovan Reed approaches her, only to be turned away. This rejection is a set-up, so we are surprised when the group that has been watching with indifference suddenly jumps in to assist Wang and catch her when she falls. When dancers enter or exit jogging backward, Abraham makes it impossible to predict where they are going.

One thing we can be certain of is that Mykiah Goree, who rests luxuriantly on one hip awaiting his cue, is going to be fabulous. Shifting position and sashaying cooly around the perimeter of the space, Goree presents a suave foil to Theodore, who later performs a wobbly solo that unseen viewers critique while snacking noisily on junk food. Singled out in their blue costumes, while the other dancers wear black or white, Goree and Theodore are likely stand-ins for the choreographer. When Goree balances gingerly on one foot, stealing attention from the activity around him, he shows us Abraham’s confidence in his power to focus our gaze. When Theodore staggers and drifts, we see another side to the art of making dances — a crisis of self-doubt and uncertainty.

So much for “process.” White Space is certainly playful, but it isn’t all navel-gazing. The piece never seems to address us directly, instead offering a series of imaginative, quickly transiting scenes that highlight solos, gentle duets, and juxtaposed groups. Floating movement ideas like balloons, the piece features luscious dancing. Wang clutches her knee and then expands in a deep lunge and balletic arabesque. Faith Joy Mondesire captures our attention with a raised gesture, curls over, and then presses her body forward in a heroic profile.

CARRIE SCHNEIDER

Destin Morisset in “White Space.”

Often the movement unfolds with lyric delicacy, but Abraham gives William Okajima a solo in which he hurls himself through space and sweeps the floor.

Bodies shiver and dancers mark rhythms by flexing their shoulders. Sudden freezes correspond to the mysterious silences that punctuate the original score by Jason Moran and Nico Muhly. This eclectic composition blends live piano music with recordings, and ranges from rap to belly dance rhythms to Schubert impromptus. Dan Scully’s lighting subtly tints and shades the gleaming white set, at one point splitting the scene between a yellow backdrop and a light-green floor.

Toward the end, a bunch of colored balloons appears, and the dancers heap the folding chairs in a disorderly pile. Gradually, the warm-up clothes return, replacing Reid Barthelme and Harriet Jung’s semi-sheer performance couture.

For now, the fantasy has ended. But “White Space” leaves us wondering, as we anticipate Abraham’s next creative moves.

For more on A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham, visit aimbykyleabraham.com.

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