Eisa Davis Photo by Daniel J. Vasquez

And that is the moment where Eisa Davis, in her multimedia collage attacking the constraints of essentialism, invites the Black women in her audience to go ahead and sing "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" as badly as they desire.

The evening I attended, you could see delighted patrons enthusiastically and loudly screeching flat notes as she cajoled, "So now, Black women get free, and everybody, everybody, lose your minds and sing BAD!"

"Can you be Black and not perform?" is a major theme of creator, director, and stage ceremonialist Davis' The Essentialisn't, a lively, unpredictable and discussion-worthy piece reminiscent of the socially conscious, abstract performance art that would pack small houses like P.S. 122 and Dixon Place in the 1980s, while infuriating members of the House and Senate in Washington D.C.

It all begins in the lobby of HERE Arts Center, where soundless vintage Hollywood film clips of Black women entertainers, most likely shot through the lens of white male directors, are screened on the wall. The audience is then led to small gallery, displaying a collection of books on Black experiences hanging from the ceiling, as if left there by an angry white mob. They're suspended alongside a pair of tap shoes as words of W.E.B. Du Bois, as spoken by Daniel Alexander Jones, plays in the background. There's also a participatory element to this exhibit, which will be explored further later in the evening.

As the audience enters the theatre, Davis is on stage submerged in an escape artist's water tank. As she bobs up and down, vocalizing to sound designer Rucyl Mills' loop of a Mende funeral song, video designer Skye Mahaffie supplies closeup projections of hair that simulate ocean waves.

After climbing out of the liquid (Is it a birthing? Is it an escape?), two young Sovereigns (Jamella Cross and Princess Jacob) pop out from underneath comforters made from wigs and hand her a dress made from hair. (Peter Born is the scenic and costume consultant, and James Gibbel is credited as costume fabricator). Though their name suggests authority, for the most part, the Sovereigns are there to assist, giving the appearance of proteges, absorbing and amplifying the sage teachings of their mentor.

From here, the piece surfs the rhythms and tones of Davis' poetic sung and spoken text made of anecdotes, observances, and lessons learned. Accompanying herself on keyboard, she answers the question, "Can you be Black and not perform?", so tersely that those in the know gave a hearty laugh at Davis' response. Throughout the evening, that question will be altered with simple stagecraft into varying themes and statements.

"Blackness minus narrative equals our music," they resolve, while considering the erasure of African stories, perpetuated by both the slave trade and the indifference of America's white majority. ("Oh! The South lost the war but they won the narrative? Oh! The slaveholders are the victims?") This "Blackness minus narrative" theme is repeated multiple times, adding up to varying sums.

Even those who try and uplift can get it wrong. "Remember. We can't train you in Blackness. We're white. You'll have to do that for yourself," instructs an acting teacher trying to get Davis not to "perform" as Maggie in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, but who criticizes when her acting doesn't fit their vision of Blackness.

"Essentialism is licking honey off a switchblade. Tastes sweet but you might lose your tongue," she explains while considering the comfort of being accepted versus the truth of uniqueness. "A soul is an essence that's only mine. It can't place me in a category."

Despite the subject matter, there is very little anger on display in The Essentialisn't, a piece dominated by its graceful poetics, sardonic humor and, most significantly, encouragement of self-celebration that sends the audience out with a melodic message of love. But don't leave too quickly after the show or you may miss the final visual on display in the lobby.

Naturally, not every nuance of what Davis is communicating would be clear to this white male theatre journalist, and I'd advise seeking out the reactions of Black women for a more educated reaction, but dealing with societal expectations based on appearance is a universal theme that I daresay could be related to by nearly everyone to some degree. And while your life story may vary, heightened awareness of the differing experiences of others is a quick path to empathy.