THOUSANDS OF SEEDS

Of Us, a new dance piece created and performed by local performers Jenna Eady and Tariq Mitri, is a deceptively simple and honest evening that is in turns moving, heartfelt, vigorous and delicate, but often all at once. Both Eady and Mitri have deep familial connections to the Palestinian region—a region that has been very much in the news since October 2023, and that still weighs heavily on the collective imagination… along with every other thing happening right now.

Clearly, the horror we’ve witnessed in the aftermath of that tragedy created the desire to speak to the nature and identities of Eady and Mitri’s Palestinian heritage. The creators even openly say as much in a text, spoken in Arabic and translated for the program: Of Us is their attempt to “[honor] the beauty of Palestinian existence— its joys and tensions, its struggles and truths.” Elsewhere in the program, the artists tell us that they sought to “remind everyone of the devastation that happens in Palestine at every moment.”

Of Us succeeds at meeting this intent, but what makes the performance especially noteworthy is that—despite the sensitive nature of the subject matter—Eady and Mitri do so with a passion and plainspoken nature that, rather than preaching to its audience, simply asks the audience to bear witness. This is not to say that there aren’t pointed moments in the evening, but they are used sparingly, making those moments all the more powerful when they do arise, trusting that the audience will make the necessary connections and emotional bonds from their presentation.

The piece begins in stillness. The duo is found seated and embracing each other, as though they went to sleep in this somewhat awkward but trusting way. Slowly, we start hearing the muttering of the musicians, Hanna Eady (Jenna Eady’s father) on the oud and George Kassis on the darbuka. Eventually, the morning call to prayer is heard, and our duo starts to embark on what seems to be a loose and abstract representation of a day in modern Palestine. Traditional folk movement is blended with more modern dance flourishes, establishing a sense of the Palestinian culture and the expressive subjective dynamism that Of Us is filled with.

Mitri rises and slowly begins to perform a stealthily muscular solo that also feels both lived in and casual, as if to highlight that this dexterity has been earned and not just simply inherited.  After limbering up, Mitri displays intricate footwork followed by truly impressive leaps, tucking his feet underneath him and landing as if it required no effort; not even a grin of the humblebrag, just simply moving on to the next set of intricate footwork. Along the way, he slyly acknowledges Eady, who has been watching this display along with us, and the implied connection between the performers is confirmed. 

Eady’s solo soon follows. Eady begins by pouring out an entire twenty pound bag of sunflower seeds onto the floor—a symbol of hospitality and friendship between peoples, as well as Palestinian rebellion. Thousands of tiny seeds form a mound on the stage. Eady’s dance echoes Mitri’s casual physicality, and this first movement culminates in a pas de deux displaying joyful camaraderie and playful chemistry in spite of the sunflower shells that now litter the space. They successfully persevere right up until the accompanying pre-recorded music is suddenly slowed down, disrupting the energy and flow of the moment. For the first of many times, the pre-recorded soundscape seems to become an unseen force that is trying to smother the proceedings, adding an unexpected presence for Eady and Mitri to work through.

The disruptive soundscape and sunflower seeds are representative of the sort of grace notes found in the production, seemingly tiny touches that greatly enhance one’s experience. The way the soundscape starts to distort and later overwhelms the playing of the musicians, for example, conjures the way the media misrepresents the nature of the Palestinian struggle; or how the musicians move about the stage like they are used to being shuffled around by forces beyond their own could be likened to the endless cycle of displacement that refugees continue to live under. Taken at face value, these are just minute details; taken as a part of the whole production, however, gives these little details added weight and resonance, and vice versa.

Eady and Mitri press on through the interference, however, and sit at a dining table, along with the musicians, across the room from where they started. Covered in sunflower seeds and atop a patterned rug, the area becomes an intimate domestic space. The chemistry between the two amplifies, and the dance becomes more playful than before. As they cavort atop the chairs and table, the energy between them feels more intimate and charged, more free and expressive. Their spirit is engaging, their smiles infectious.

And then the unseen force is no longer satisfied with just getting in their way. It becomes truly and explicitly violent.

The moment arrives bluntly, in the middle of a dexterous sequence between our performers, Mitri’s torso stiffens and his limbs forcefully splay out for a moment—the result of a gunshot? An explosion? The cause doesn’t matter because the result is the same: what was filled with vim and vigor a second ago is no longer there. Mitri stumbles forward, lands on the table, breaking it and spilling the seeds on the floor and underneath his broken body.

The final third of the performance lives in the aftermath of that trauma, and what were once fluid and graceful motions are now more abstract and halting. What was once half-folk/half-modern dance is now purely subjective and modern. Eady lowers themselves to the ground, becoming more introverted, keeping their head down and obsessively pushing the sunflower seeds to one side of the stage. Mitri, on the other hand, is still trying to make progress, but his movements are painful to behold; strangled, hemmed in and repetitious; any forward momentum is halted so that he is made to return to the torturous position he seems forced to endure.

The duo’s presence is a stark contrast to the energetic auras they previously radiated. The musicians play on, but the soundscape barely allows them to be heard. Whereas the piece begins with our duo together, supporting each other, it ends with our duo in their separate painful realities, with seemingly no way to reconnect.

All of these moments are simply presented for the audience to witness, delivered without editorial commentary. As curtain call begins, the details of what you’ve just seen, the seeds of the ideas Eady and Mitri convey, are laying dormant within you. It is only as you retrospectively think about Of Us that meaning begins to flourish, becoming clearer and more pronounced the more you examine them in the weeks and months to follow. Leaving you more aware, more connected to the plight of the Palestinian people.

Co-Presents, in partnership with Dunya Productions, produced Of Us by Jenna Eady and Tariq Mitri at Cherry Street Village April 11-12, 2025. Program information can be found HERE.