Early on in a video from their work non-binary pussy (2019-23), Anh Vo appears in the nude, wearing nothing but a dance belt. Hilariously edited, the video soon multiplies countless Anhs across a black screen, who earnestly chant “Our vag has seized the means of production.” Later in the video, Anh’s vigorously shaking butt—which is slathered with a syrupy red liquid threatening to drip between their cheeks—is overlaid with a black-and-white photograph of Ho Chi Minh as Anh raps: “All these incels what to do now / Imma fuck them that’s what I do (ah) / Imma fuck fuck for the revolution / Uncle Ho Uncle Vo the solution!” Performed totally deadpan, this scene is emblematic of Anh’s practice; by referencing Ho Chi Minh in this manner, Anh simultaneously exalts and undermines the cult figure, filling and emptying the signifier. Bringing together Vietnamese history and folkloric traditions with highly theoretical ones, Anh’s practice interrogates our notions of “authenticity,” toeing the line between irreverence and reverence, the artificial and the real. An absurdist line runs through their artistic investigations, in which humor and the ridiculous also function as very serious questions and pursuits.
Though Anh and I have known each other for eight years or so, our collaborations as dance artists officially began in 2021, when I invited them to be in my work REPOSE. In the years since, we have continued to work with one another: Anh joined the cast of my work Remains Persist in 2022, and the following year, Anh’s work Two Little Kids was part of Dance and Process at The Kitchen, curated and mentored by myself and Yve Laris Cohen. Some ideas within my practice that we share commitment to and obsession with include: questions about the body and power; methods of how to work collaboratively and relationally with others; choreography beyond the choreographer, especially when dancing activity produces choreographic structure; considering for the whole means of production behind a project, not just the show; dancing activity and the unruliness of the body; the pursuit of dance beyond the visuality of the body; and trusting that the imperceptible can produce material consequences. By now, we have spent countless hours together in—and out of—rehearsal and performances. Anh is hardcore, sweet, and deeply perceptive. This is reflected in the way they dance, with a kind of relentless yet gentle rigor and an unyielding sense of humor.
Early this summer, ahead of Possessed by Capital, Anh’s unsanctioned performance at the Downtown Brooklyn Apple Store, we met and discussed self-mutilation as inherent to dance’s physical demands, the importance of putting our “bodies at risk” alongside others, and Anh’s proclivity for nudity.
