The Brooklyn Rail

Black Aesthetics, curated by Malcolm-x Betts and Arien Wilkerson, is an ongoing experimental dance series in residence at Judson Church. Betts and Wilkerson focus their curatorial practice on presenting Black, queer, nonbinary, and trans artists in an effort to dismantle hierarchies and lessen the forces of gatekeeping in the dance community. To date, the series has produced over twenty evening-length performances from artists like Jordan Deal, Elliot Reed, Crackhead Barney, Chloe Marie, and, most recently, Dominica Greene, with an eye toward curating artists rather than a particular work of art.

A new season of Black Aesthetics began on February 12, with Trinidadian artist Fana Fraser, and continues bi-monthly on Wednesday nights through the end of 2025.

Betts and Wilkerson are both multi-hyphenates, working as choreographers, dancers, and multidisciplinary artists, alongside honing their burgeoning curatorial practice. I caught up with both of them on Zoom in the early days of 2025, a week before Betts and Nile Harris premiered Temporary Boyfriend at the Chocolate Factory, and while Wilkerson was preparing for upcoming performances of CHARITY STARTS AT HOME NADINE RUFF at Vox Populi in Philadelphia. We spoke about the origins of their friendship and curatorial partnership, staking out a unique claim in New York’s dance scene, and the ideas that motivate Black Aesthetics.

Candice Thompson (Rail): How did you two meet?

Malcom-x Betts: We met in dance camp at Earl Mosley’s Institute of the Arts at Hofstra University on Long Island. It was my first introduction to any type of dance outside of hip-hop and it was one of my first times out of the city. I was so isolated, but certain people made me feel present. Arien was one of those people. It was like a University of the Arts pipeline, or Ailey pipeline, and anything outside of those movement styles wasn’t validated. I felt like we were both outside of that box.

We kept in contact, mostly online, and I was always looking at their work and being so inspired. When Arien performed through the Pioneers Go East Collective at Judson, we reconnected in person. The relationship started to develop. I curated them at Judson through the first Black Aesthetics in November 2022, and then I asked Arien to be a part of the New York Live Arts piece, which you saw [Niggas at Sundown, June 2023, as part of Fresh Tracks]. Our connection grew. Toward the end of the Fresh Tracks residency, I asked Micah Bucey [Senior Minister of Judson Memorial Church and Artistic Director of Judson Arts] for a year of programming, and then I asked Arien to be a part of it. When I’m in space with them, it’s not a performance, or an ego thing—that speaks to who Arien is as a person. When I’m away from them, I think “What would Arien do in this situation?” We balance each other out pretty well.

Arien Wilkerson: What Malcolm’s not saying is that by the time we realigned with each other in the world, he was this big shot in New York, you know? I was in New England building my radical lore and doing things like going to Tel Aviv in 2014 to study at Batsheva with Shamel Pitts, starting my company, writing grants, winning awards. But we were both experimental girlies without realizing that arc until later.

I moved to Philadelphia and by the time that Malcolm and I connected again, I was removed from the New York City dance world. But I always followed what they were doing in New York and at Judson. Malcolm is one of the most generous artists, collaborators, friends to know. He has this ability to see things in artists that they haven’t seen in themselves yet—that sense of, “Oh, you can do this, anybody can do this,” which is such a relaxing, refreshing thing to hear in a world where everything is based off of merit, who you know, and skill.

If I had to describe our yin and yang: Malcolm brings generosity, a lot of kindness, and levels the playing field, and I’m supporting that while also looking for radical ways to make some shifts. We help artists we work with see themselves in the dance community: what they’re contributing to, what they’re not contributing to, and if they realize that as dancers, we live in a classist system.

Rail: Do you view what you two are doing with Black Aesthetics as an integral part of the New York dance fabric or as outside of it?

Wilkerson: I think we are shifting a lot of the conversation. We don’t really care about changing the integral fabric, not unless the care is with the way institutions build their relationships with artists. The problem with New York is that there are ten million artists in New York and New York can’t see beyond itself, right? We think about geography and access and the ways in which folks are always being curated. What I mean by that is we know that the top five Black artists who are being booked for shows are based in New York and we don’t want that to always be the case. Thanks in part to Judson, we have this program where we get to use their historic platform and credibility to push the needle forward a little bit.

Betts: When we were initially having conversations, it was: how can we change the conversation around this very postmodern, post-Judson Dance Theater dance space? There are a lot of Black improvisational dancers—elders—who get lost in the wake of that dance history. I had conversations with Micah about how Judson can rectify that. That was my proposal for the first year of programming, and then we just kept on having that conversation. For me and Arien, it is a question of what we can offer to artists that would make them feel most supported. What if we just give the artist their own night?

The question is even in the title Black Aesthetics—people come and be like, “Oh, what is a Black aesthetic?” They have to question that. I’m just thinking of how Blackness is always evolving, and how it’s so multifaceted. I’m also thinking about how when you take whiteness out of the room, it takes away some of that internal conflict, that feeling that something is going to go awry and then you will be gaslit. I wanted to avoid that and hold people accountable if they take up too much space and they’re not Black. Many of the artists have said they felt fully supported and I guess that’s because of how hands-on Arien and I are.

Rail: How does this curatorial practice feed you as artists? Or is it more about giving others an experience you haven’t always felt?

Wilkerson: It’s a sense of visibility for me. I’ve always felt invisible in the dance community, even though I’m a really good dancer and make really interesting work. Sometimes I feel like we say these things about whiteness, but then we don’t realize that within our own community, Black folks are the hardest on each other. And I feel like this is a way to address that, because the Black dance that we grew up learning had this Christian, heteronormative, gendered way of thinking that largely stems from Black folks’ fear of homosexuality or of being othered.

Growing up in New England, people assumed that as a Black person, I was always listening to Black music. But I was listening to so many different genres, and also I enjoyed things that were deemed not Black. I identify as someone who is in the punk community. Getting older, we’re realizing how all that shit is a fallacy and Black Aesthetics is a great reminder for other Black artists and folks not to be that way, too—not to be stuck, not to be fearful, not to invite the old rhetoric. We are reminding people of the work that they have to do: who, if we just turned our heads, is visible around us?

Rail: This past fall, more trans artists and female-identifying artists were included in the program. I also really enjoyed the intergenerational aspects—I loved Niala’s DAWTA and how the dancing lineage passed from mother to daughter in their show. But even with all of that inclusivity, did you find new gaps you’d like to fill or things you’re thinking about exploring in this upcoming season?

Betts: We realized we were curating a lot of Black cis males in the beginning and Arien was like, let’s push the envelope and change our perspective, curate more Black trans artists.

Wilkerson: Yeah. I think what we’re struggling with is how not to be just another New York program that shows only New York artists. It is frustrating though, when we want to get someone from out of town, because of housing and transportation. But I keep stressing the importance of that work, because it also teaches us as curators and presenters how to really facilitate something. Next season, you’ll see how malleable we have become.

So many people say, “newness” and “forging.” But I do feel like Malcolm and I are really forging a new identity for presenters, for curators, for artists, and for a community and audience to see modeled in an institution.

Betts: People get to see us differently outside of our personal work, which feels nice, and they say, “Oh, it’s different from a Monday night” [in reference to Movement Research’s longstanding Monday night programs at Judson]. That’s reassuring.

Rail: I’m curious where you get inspiration from, or who your leadership mentors are?

Betts: Is it corny to say Arien? [Laughter] They’re my number one inspiration. I wish I was as fearless, as talented.

Wilkerson: Awwww, I wish I was as fearless and talented as Malcolm…

Betts: Well, not tripping, the trajectory of their work is in the future. I’m also a big fan of Ishmael Houston-Jones, obviously.

Wilkerson: I’ll shout out my mentor, Deborah Goffe, who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. If you haven’t looked her up, look her up. That’s my everything. She was my first real friend, dance teacher, and collaborator. I’ve known her since I was twelve. Her wisdom has been the thing that has kept me going, especially because we’re so not like each other at all.

We also gotta give a shout out to Micah. Micah has worked so hard at Judson to bring artists and art there, is so smart and wise, and makes me feel very seen and validated. I have a lot of respect and admiration for Micah and for what he does, not just for us, but everyone at Judson. He’s always been supportive and willing to make it happen. We’ve not only proven to him that we can do it, we’ve achieved greater things with him in our circle.