I AM NOT OK (2022)
Brooklyn Artists Exhibition
The Brooklyn Museum
Brooklyn, New York
October 4th 2024-January 26th 2025
Choreography by Gabrielle Lansner in collaboration with the dancers
Dancers: Pat Hall and Dahsir Hausif
Direction and Editing by Gabrielle Lansner
Director of Photography: Berbie Leung
Director of Documentary Photography: Erica Lansner
Music by Philip Hamilton and A.T.N. Stadwijk
Narration Written and Performed by Tiffiney Davis
Kristen Hedberg
Gabrielle Lansner’s I AM NOT OK immerses viewers in a mother’s emotional response to the killings of Black Americans amidst the backdrop of protests that followed the death of George Floyd. The award-winning 12-minute film, originally released in 2022, has received acclaim for its essential truth and stunning sensitivity.
Since 2010, Lansner’s narrative dance films have captured accolades at numerous film festivals worldwide. She was one of 200 artists selected from over 4,000 applicants for the Brooklyn Artists Exhibition, a major group show at The Brooklyn Museum highlighting the creativity and diversity of Brooklyn-based artists. The exhibition will run from October 4th 2024 – January 26th 2025, opening on The Brooklyn Museum’s 200th Anniversary.
Pat Hall and Dahsir Hausif
on the poster for “I AM NOT OK”
A film by Gabrielle Lansner
I AM NOT OK’s opening percussive music swells in momentum. Close-up views of internationally renowned dancer/ choreographer/ teacher Pat Hall, her strong gaze fixated forward, alternate with a circulating scene of the studio she stands in with dancer Dahsir Hausif. Images of signs protesting the murder of George Floyd and the killing of Breonna Taylor briefly flash on screen.
Tiffiney Davis’ narration – a Facebook Live recording posted at the time of George Floyd’s death, a plea to protect the lives of Black children – begins as the music fades: “When my son got to go out there and put his life on the line to protect his own kind…I am not okay. I am not okay.” Hall lowers her gaze and bends her legs, her torso rippling as she breathes life into the earth.
A scene flashes to Hall embracing Hausif as the narration reads, “…I don’t understand how some people don’t realize the pain and suffering that we are facing.” Hausif sinks to the ground in front of Hall. “How do you sleep? How do anyone sleep, knowing that lives are being taken because of their skin color? Don’t let nobody tell you that you can’t be frustrated about the situation.”
Hausif, standing again, shifts into a lunge while raising his arms widely. His confident stance melts as his hands wrap around his shoulders, his gaze lifting skyward. He turns and elevates his arms once more, standing behind Hall, who opens her mouth as the narration reads, “We have to protect our children. Our children are angry. We as adults, we understand how to deal with our emotions and come at it from different angles. Our children don’t.” When Hall cannot extend her energy any further, she hurtles herself backwards in a skitter, her arms pushing forward. Hausif whirls himself around in a series of turns. An image of Hall flickers, seated on the floor curled up like a ball, rocking side to side.
Both the rapid and the gentle scenes capture the mother and son’s frustration. Their energy bounds between momentum and pause, between frustration and love.
“Their brothers and sisters are being stolen and taken. Their fathers are being killed – by the hands of the same people who took an oath to protect and serve. I am not okay,” voices as Hall lays herself down on the floor, her arms spread widely. Hausif bends his legs in a wide stance, lifting his chest towards the sky.
The narration describes the killings of George Floyd and others, emphasizing that everyone could see exactly what happened by the hands of the police. A call for justice rings: “Say his name. George Floyd. Say his name. Sean Bell. Say his name. Mike Brown. Do I need to go on?” An image of a notebook appears, listing the names of Black and Brown individuals killed by the police. A cycle of pictures skirt the screen: images of Kendrick Johnson, Alejandro Vargas Martinez and Breonna Taylor, a poster reading “I Can’t Breathe,” and flowers. The narration cries, “Eric Garner, say his name. Do I need to go on? What are we gonna do?”
Pat Hall
from the film “I AM NOT OK”
The opening music returns as Hall’s and Hausif’s movements heighten in earnest. Hall strikes her palm to her chest, repeating the action faster and faster until she staggers backwards. She shifts from side to side as she continues to carry her hands to her chest. Hausif extends his outstretched palms sideways, pressing the space away from him. The pair melts to the floor as the music fades. Images of police standing by a trail of blood on a street appear on screen. “If I could write this shit in fire, I will write this shit in fire.”
Hausif, laying down flat on his back, heaves in his chest. Reverberations spread through his body, the camera capturing the duo from the ceiling. Hall lays in stillness. The narration speaks of the gratitude Hall feels when her son returns home safely each day, after fearing that the worst could happen to him.
“We have to start something, and we have to do it now, because I’m not okay.” Davis’ voice rings. “We are not okay. We can’t breathe. We cannot breathe.” As Hall begins an adagio, balancing on one leg in slow, sustained movement, multiple images of Black and Brown individuals allegedly murdered by the police quickly cycle. The music, now a melancholic piano score, feels reflective.
Hall and Hausif approach each other, mirroring one another’s arm gestures. Their eyes connect and they smile at one another. They dynamically strike their arms straight sideways as they focus upwards and outwards, before rippling through their torsos together. “We all feeling this pain, and it is emotional,” the narration reads. “It is beyond emotional and frustrating that my skin color is intimidating to a lot…Why am I a threat? Why is our children a threat?”
Gabrielle Lansner’s I AM NOT OK powerfully combines dance, narrative, music and photos to convey the crucial, gripping rage. It is a lament of love and frustration, of action and grief. As Davis’ final narration conveys, “Invest in your children before the system do. They’re not making it out alive. Protect them.”
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