Originally, Parallels took place at Danspace Project in 1982, and featured post-modern African- American choreographers, artists who didn’t identify with the traditional “black dance” as defined by the mainstream Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Thirty years later, Houston- Jones challenges a new generation of choreographers asking, “In a time when the President of the United States is the progeny of a Kenyan and European American, what real meaning do the terms ‘Black,’ ‘Afro-American,’ or ‘African American’ hold? Does ‘outside the mainstream’ have the same resonance that it had three decades earlier? How have new generations’ ideas evolved from the time of the first Parallels?”

On Friday, March 23rd, each dance presented answered Houston-Jones’ questions with an enthralling variety of opinions, emotions and attitudes.

In the first performance of the night, choreographer and performer Samantha Speis attacks movement with an animalistic intensity and a sturdy desperation. Dozens of clothes are sprawled across the room as if a hurricane has torn through Spies’ closet. She manipulates and struggles with the clothing. After layering multiple pieces on her body, she contemplates her newly acquired state, soon recognizing that she will have difficulty finding freedom.

A battle between Ms. Speis and her clothing ensues until several articles are condensed into a large pile. Finally, even as Speis walks away from her pile of fabric victorious, she remains bound by the layers encompassing her body.

Here…, choreographed by Marjani A. Forte, brings the audience on a historical journey. Four dancers in antiquated clothing eye each other with caution. The inspirational words of Malcolm X and Mos Def reflect their distress-filled movement. At the tail end of the piece, Ms. Forte, a modern woman, joins the dancers on stage, imitating the movement, perhaps signifying the progress of America.

Kyle Abraham’s Boyz N’ The Hood: Pavement stole the night.  The audience is captivated by the sensation of experiencing real life in real time. Never do the dancers appear to be acting, the emotion is incredibly authentic. The artists embody the struggles and emotions of the dance as if their own, evoking a sense of honesty. Honesty in the movement, honesty in the ideas and honesty in the emotion. Mr. Abraham touches on modern topics: violence, gender, sexuality and equality, which allows us to really connect deeply with his work.

Abraham and his fellow dancers jog in a giant circle, as if running an Olympic race. A white dancer takes the lead for quite some time, but he is soon passed by a black dancer. In perfect unison their feet stomp on. Could this circle be a reflection of the civil rights movement, the struggle for equality?

The musical score intensifies the movement presented. Haunting narratives and police sirens send chills throughout the audience. As the movement becomes more violent, fights breakout between not only enemies, but between friends and brothers.

When defeated, the loser of a fight is pinned to the ground. First one man then two (both are black). Then a white man joins, lying directly on top of the black men. They breathe together, they are connecting. Several other men and a woman join, stacked on top of each other in separate piles. All is silent. All is still. There is only the sound of the breath in unison.

Violence is blind, it sees no color. It will wind up hurting us all.

The final moments of Abraham’s piece evoke a sense of hope. Black and white bodies, intertwined, breathing together.