Douglas, Georgia–born choreographer Trajal Harrell is known for exploring speculative histories, imagining encounters between contrasting dance styles ranging from voguing to early postmodern dance, and even Japanese butoh. Yet while his 2021 work Monkey Off My Back or the Cat’s Meow—one of his first during a now-concluded five-year tenure as artistic director of the Schauspielhaus Zürich Dance Ensemble—retains some of his stylistic signatures, like runway aesthetics and frequent costume changes, it eschews a defined theme. Receiving its North American premiere at New York City’s Park Avenue Armory September 9–20, the piece features 17 diverse performers, each given their moment in the spotlight. This embrace of individuality, Harrell notes, has even prompted audience members to ask to join the show.

What was the initial inspiration for Monkey Off My Back or the Cat’s Meow?

I was at the Schauspielhaus Zürich in this quite luxurious situation as the new artistic director. I didn’t have to write a proposal for a piece, and I had a lot of resources. I went into the studio with the dancers with no theme. After a while I realized that I had to problematize this luxury. What does it mean to have this kind of artistic freedom?

A portrait of Trajal Harrell. He looks seriously at the camera, hands in his pockets, while standing in front of a patch of blue tiles on a blue-painted wall. He wears an orange-brown jacket open over a plain black shirt.Trajal Harrell. Photo by Bea Borgers, courtesy Park Avenue Armory.

You reread the Declaration of Independence while visiting your family for the 4th of July during that process. That experience influenced your meditations on freedom.

These men were really putting their heads on the line. This kind of writing was so beautiful, and yet we know that it had its limits. It didn’t include people of my skin color, or women. Still, I thought there was something to take from this.

Then I was reminded of the people I saw when I first arrived in New York—vivid East Village characters who came alive around 7 pm, walked their dogs, went to Veselka for coffee, then hit the bar or club. You don’t see them anymore.

There were other influences, too, but I didn’t feel the need to make sense of them. I had this enormous freedom to just make.

What kind of movement did this provoke?

I made different sections, one referencing birds. I just wanted to make birds. Really stupid, right? There was music I just wanted to dance to: Terre Thaemlitz, Steve Reich. Then I wanted to make a big, communal folk dance at the end. The final thing I wanted was an elongated bow.

Somehow, it all didn’t work. I realized someone always had to be on the runway. The circulation on it couldn’t stop until the end. Once I had that, everything connected.

You’re talking about the long, runway-like floor in the piece which resembles a Mondrian grid painting.

I remember seeing Yves Saint Laurent’s Mondrian dress and thinking, That would make a great floor. That was about 10 years before I was able to bring it to life.

Atop a spotlit, minimalist table, a performer in heels, a short dress of layered tulle, and multiple knit garments layered over their shoulders poses with one foot extended side at forty-five. They look over their shoulder toward their extended foot, hands drawing back to their hips.A performance of Trajal Harrell’s Monkey Off My Back or the Cat’s Meow in Bolzano, Italy. Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo, courtesy Park Avenue Armory.

Fashion references are a trademark of your work. There are 60 different outfits in Monkey, ranging from Comme des Garçons pieces to Walmart T-shirts.

In the German-speaking world’s state-theater system, the majority of money normally goes on sets. I spent more on costumes, which is unheard of. The mostly female costume department was happy that someone was finally saying their work was important.

We all know how to read outfits because we all participate in fashion. Most of us have to put on clothes, so we become experts in using them to facilitate how we want to relate to society. It’s very subtle, but it’s deeply ingrained in how we navigate daily life.

Monkey’s concept of artistic freedom stands in stark contrast to what many creatives are facing in the U.S. right now, with censorship and funding cuts. How do you think Monkey will be received in this context?

Good artworks carry resonances beyond the artist’s original intention. Ideally, they speak to people across different times and contexts. Monkey will have a certain resonance in New York, but we’ve also done it in Vienna, Switzerland, Italy…

The hope is that the work exists only in this night, in this moment, with these people—each bringing their own concerns, histories, feelings, doubts, fears. That’s how art should be.