Carnival: Come to Me
From the collective joy of Caribbean carnival to the stage of Dance Theatre of Harlem, Domeka Ward explores adornment, ancestral knowledge and the ongoing pursiuit of black queer freedom.
By Dorneka Ward
From the collective joy of Caribbean carnival to the stage of Dance Theatre of Harlem, Domeka Ward explores adornment, ancestral knowledge and the ongoing pursiuit of black queer freedom.
By Dorneka Ward
My first time ‘playing mas’ (being a participant in carnival masquerade celebrations) was in August 2010, at the age of 7 in the Leeds West Indian Carnival.
Alongside my mother and pregnant aunt, I felt excellently glad to be outfitted in a costume made by a close Elder of mine - a dazzling headpiece made from silver sequins, glittering clear diamontes and rhinestones, and the most gorgeous blue-green tassels that hung from my shoulder pads.
The wears carried this faint smell of baby-powder and evening sun, likely from the fabric freshener spritzed very lightly on the garment after its construction, a process that then and now is both highly demanding and sacred.
Dazed at the sheer scale of the event, I would roll the tassels from my costume in between my fingers to calm myself, looking at each strand.
The weaving of the fibres mirrored the way in which the twisting coils from my scalp made a single braid in my mother’s fingers, or how troupe members gathered together under one banner in matching costumes; each troupe potently distinct from one another, together functioning - breathing as a holistic collective of proud carnival-goers.
A grand body, of multiple organs.
In the fete, worries that were typical to our living situations - work, school, bills, police and poli-tricks, madness and mess had disappeared.Joy, and desires that we had tucked away for ‘special occasions’ reared their heads and bellowed away into the blue day.
Alongside my mother and pregnant aunt, I felt excellently glad to be outfitted in a costume made by a close Elder of mine - a dazzling headpiece made from silver sequins, glittering clear diamontes and rhinestones, and the most gorgeous blue-green tassels that hung from my shoulder pads.
The wears carried this faint smell of baby-powder and evening sun, likely from the fabric freshener spritzed very lightly on the garment after its construction, a process that then and now is both highly demanding and sacred.
Dazed at the sheer scale of the event, I would roll the tassels from my costume in between my fingers to calm myself, looking at each strand.
The weaving of the fibres mirrored the way in which the twisting coils from my scalp made a single braid in my mother’s fingers, or how troupe members gathered together under one banner in matching costumes; each troupe potently distinct from one another, together functioning - breathing as a holistic collective of proud carnival-goers.
A grand body, of multiple organs.
In the fete, worries that were typical to our living situations - work, school, bills, police and poli-tricks, madness and mess had disappeared.Joy, and desires that we had tucked away for ‘special occasions’ reared their heads and bellowed away into the blue day.
In the fete, we be feeling free.
The days of this season are marked by the coming of ‘the Firebird’ - a feathered spirit archetype that signifies principled transmutation, that also is the title of a contemporary ballet, imbued with themes of love, ownership, magic and feminine freedom.
Like the Firebird, it is time to employ our aptitude for benefic destruction.
We must leave cages of old for bright, blue skies anew, where we can share creative, musical and structural personal talents and skills, in order to build new ways of living and celebration that work for us.
In this brief, honorific commentary delineating the interspecies transformation that occurs as part of British-Caribbean carnivalesque culture, I venerate the Queer, Black children of the Liminal - those who dare to be joyous about their ‘in-betweenness’ - remaining unconformable, always seeking and embodying growth, never-slowing, forever flying.
May we never be weary.
These methodologies are ‘cultural cores’ - structured rituals designed by our forebearers to nourish and protect us both through general life and crossroad events.
Crossroad events are occasions where an individual or people exist at a particular personal, cultural, societal or spiritual intersection or transition.
Primary crossroad events can be pregnancies, births, puberty, menstruation, relational breakdowns and makings, emancipatory happenings (for example, The Brixton Riots, or the Berbice Rebellion of 1763) and/or the occasion of death.
Secondary crossroad events relate to the anniversary or ‘rememberance’ of a primary event, thus stimulating, venerating and adding to the original energies and story of the primary event - a funeral, for example, brings a death into greater consideration.
Carnival does so too.
The knowledge necessary to maintain these rituals have historically been distributed, through a range of methods revolving around oral teachings and demonstration.
These methods may be (and are not limited to):
- day-to-day elder-to-youth or peer instruction.
- organised mas camps (Kale, 2019)
- training programmes aimed at refining general fine art, theatrical and design skills.
- learning ‘on the job’/directly with little prior experience, under the watchful eye of a wised-up mentor figure.
Many devotees to cultural cores and their related artistic aspects have grown through a multitude of these learning methods, where they grow and refine a personal specialism that melds well with their own beauty.
With regards to costuming, these may include storytelling and drafting the context of a band’s theme, designing, material organisation, creative assistance and direction, general troupe organisation or photography/set design - to name only a few.
Each of these specialisms, outside of specific practice, are additionally developed through daily domestic labour and social processes necessary to facilitate living; work often performed by women.
For many people of Caribbean heritage, who could not and can not be involved in the ‘arts’ as a classical ‘profession’, the skills contributing to one’s creative practice could be built in the daily labours burdened upon them as daughters, wives, mothers, and aunties.
Caring for families, leading community clubs, organising meetings, protests and events, preparing for hall parties and dinner dances, creating clothing, maintaining food, doing makeup for a night out or special event are all examples of acts that have been utilised by Black gender marginalised people, women and girls to nurture ingenuity.
The ways in which gender roles and oppression have inhibited personal development can not be overstated.
But in a world that has systematically failed to allow Black self-actualisation to be (especially for the gender marginalised), daily commitments have become a medium to partly express one’s unique and unbridled spirit.
Carnival can thus be considered to be a sequential devotion to one’s personhood that occurs before, during and after live events.
Its purpose in the Caribbean context is distinct from Mikhail Bakhtin's own conception of carnival, where a carnival event facilitates only a temporary inversion of a society’s hierarchy.
For us, the work that is done and the enjoyment experienced contributes to a life-long undulation towards freedom. What we ‘see’ and recognise as live carnival occasions are in fact ‘bloom events’ - the culmination and celebration of millions of creative actions, learnings, progressions and birthings.
This undertaking is primarily exemplified through the physical transformation of dressing, animated further by song, collectivity and dancing to sweet music collectively, like migrating birds.
Transitioning into this adorned, hybrid state provides us with an opportunity. From a truly uninhibited place, we are in the free energy necessary to explore moving on from the societal limitations that impede natural expansion, and ways of working that encourage it.
The preparation for carnival requires working together with our individual, unique skills, teaching the Youth how to find their own, breaking away from discriminatory beliefs per gender, complexion, race, ability and class, exemplifying true beauty and most importantly, moving towards an aligned, curated and grounded vision for our lives.
The Firebird at DTH
In 1982, the Dance Theatre of Harlem (DTH) first presented an adaptation of the classic Russian ballet, ‘The Firebird’ - choreographed by John Tapas, and scored by Igor Stravinsky (to Firebird Suite - the accompanying musical composition).
The costumes and sets for the original production at the company were designed by the late Geoffrey Holder, a multidisciplinary Trinidadian-Barbadian artiste, and actor, who was renowned for his ability to translate his vast knowledge of art history and Caribbean flair to dance, theatre and film projects.
At centre stage were women of magnificent strength, beauty and skill, including Stephanie Dabney (the original DTH Firebird), Christina Johnson, Bethania Gomes and presently, Alexandra Hutchinson - the chosen few who have danced in the titular and principal role - The Firebird.
A tale oriented around themes of possession, love and magic, ‘The Firebird’ begins with the trouble of a handsome prince or young man (as per the most recent adaptation). Lost journeying through a magical forest, the young man stumbles upon a mystical creature - that is part bird and part woman (The Firebird) - dancing alone.
He initially captures her, yet soon comes to the realisation that she is not meant to be possessed.
Upon her release, the Firebird gives him one of her magical feathers, which later enables the young man to release a princess (whom he falls in love with) and her maidens from the hold of a malevolent magician.
This story has been shaped into many versions, danced at many different ballet companies.
However, the version formulated by Dance Theatre of Harlem retains significance both due to its revival in spring 2026, after an almost 25 year hiatus and the lesson of Black reconstruction the renewal embodies.
With further creative input from numerous artists and creative professionals such as Iyun Ashani Harrison, Naimah Kisoki, Leo Holder, UNCSA and Gateways Festival Orchestra, ‘The Firebird’ dances again at a multi-location tour with dates in April 2026 at New York’s City Center (following on from appearances in Paris and Virginia).
The enchanting Misty Copeland briefly performed as the Firebird in Sinners’ live performance at the 2026 Academy Awards, during a re-enactment of the iconic ‘juke joint’ scene - where Sammy (the central character of Sinners) conjures a field of unseen ancestors through the vibration of his voice and instrument.
Choreography for the 2026 DTH version was configured by Kisoki and Harrison’s research into past performances - from cell phone recordings and a VHS tape dated to 2004. This was combined with oral retellings of the ballet’s multiple choreographies over the years and dance re-development with UNCSA dancers. (Lakin, 2026).
For the audience and those that have danced as Her, Firebird represents the fullness of transformation and divestment from patriarchal encapturement.
With her red-purple plumage, she whispers to us:
“Clothed in magic, we must become free and continue to find more freedom after captivity, until we touch the Limit of what Is and Is Not.”
Freedom requires work, and is never defined by a singular moment. It forever undulates into a greater version of it itself, perhaps to no end.
Just like Carnival.
Just like our dedication to our gifts, communities and histories.
Just like the Firebird.