By Naya Clark
Inspired by the Christian Dior Fall 2023 Show.*
A-Ka-Ding-Nam-Nam-I-Go-Tak-Go-Ka-Ta-Ka-Ta-Ding
A woman introduces herself through lights. Articulating hands-on drums. Speaking rhythms. Chatting out beats, suspending the backdrop of women walking
The archway is jeweled in flowers, a palm tree, quilted in mandalas, and rounded geometric arches of patterns within patterns.
Another woman in black emerges
Ta-ka-ding-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka-ta she keeps going
Violins swell
the conductor guides the orchestra
The woman in black’s flips flops carry her flatly against the brownness
Another woman has gold embroidered on her back, the jacket draped across her shoulders
ta-ka-da-da-jung-da-jung-ta-dtha-jung
Another woman is simple. White tank. Black skirt. Layered pearls.
Black dress. Pearls.
Pearls. Black jacket, gold embroidery.
A tiny lion roars in the arches.
Ta-ka-de-ting-ding-na-taka-de-toong-de-taka-dun-ne-dun-nuh
A black shirt sarongs against hips
pearls hug necks
long silhouettes
in black and white. A trench. Flat shoes.
A-line maxi.
Beige can shimmer with a clear sequin overlay and moaning violins
the depth of blackness can come forward with drapery
beige and black can be colorful among flowers too.
The woman singing her rhythms starts drumming like water now
water being plunged into
Water hitting buckets in the summer
A hot yellow sun coming from overcasts
Burning the rain before it hits the ground
Making the puddles that tried, dry
Making flowers that hang heavy from the rainfall unto them
Yellow and magenta puddles
Mark the brown dirt
A tiger walks the path
The brown dirt, a silken beige with moisture
The drumming woman is smiling with vigor as pink emerges
The truest pink bounces best with a sitar
turning it hot magenta.
While the sitar, violin, and drum interrupt each other in tandem, making sense as a song
Magenta firmly sits on top, striking eyes
And dazzles with gold on the bottom
the structural changes in many forms
Until the deepest plum covers a woman, her sweater a prune
So striking that darkness can be bright
darkness can reflect into glitter
Mud can reflect into silver-white flecks with Micah
There’s a white purity that reflects from the mud that is no different than the blackness
The water still bounces in buckets way after the rain
While women sing songs to Shiva
All the women walk tall
Their eyes all perimeter-ed with black mascara. Hair is short, black, and slick.
The woman on the drum laughs she leads the intensity.