ANTIMORTEM, 2023
19 minutes, 39 seconds
In 1947, my great uncle Luther Fontaine Riggins, Jr. was born in Kansas City, MO. Here, he would begin his dance career in local cabarets alongside my grandpa, Errol E. Riggins, Sr. Six days after graduating high school, Luther moved to NYC to pursue “show biz”. A year after my birth, we lost him to cancer.
Still from ANTIMORTEM
Ever since I was a child, my family would pass down stories of “Uncle Fontaine” to me, oftentimes at family gatherings alongside salmon patties and collard greens. These stories were spirited, they were vibrant, and they teemed with the kind of pride that could immortalize a person as a superhero in a youthful mind. The highest honor was always when such memories were often followed by “you remind us of your uncle so much.”
Yet, while these stories satiated my curiosity for a long time, a budding desire for more arose in me at around the age of 20. The stories that I had grown up on contained no want of grandeur, but they also contained very little granularity. I realized that I had little knowledge about the consciousness that drove Luther, the social totality of Luther. If I couldn’t truly understand him, how could I understand myself?
ANTIMORTEM follows my personal search for these answers. I came to this work anticipating to focus on “life” as I understood it at the time. Yet, my work quickly turned into a meditation on death—a concept I have, in turn, been forced to reconsider my relationship with. What differentiates the death of one’s physical body and the death of one’s spirit? How do you look for the presence of an ancestor in the context of today? In what ways are we memorialized, and how do we memorialize ourselves?
Clip from ANTIMORTEM
These questions are the heart of ANTIMORTEM. I search for their answers by engaging with the materials that Luther left behind in his personal archive. Placing his materials in conversation with my own original footage, I forge fertile liminal space between ancestry and the present, the vision of our forebears and the fruit of their labor.
ANTIMORTEM is also a conversation between the different dance forms that are fundamental to the Black American dance tradition. Luther was deeply engaged with both performing and teaching the disciplines of tap dance and West African dance—two distinct forms with varying levels of empowerment and fraughtness for an African American man from Missouri. I probe not only how Luther personally related to each form, but what that means in the context of black life and black death more broadly.
Above all, my work is a provocation to deeply (re)consider the potentiality that exists within personal family archives. By shifting our focus to the knowledge and knowledge production beyond the mainstream, I argue that we are able to excavate rich blueprints for today. By leaning into vernacular Black culture, I explore what new traces emerge. By writing his story antemortem through a shrewd, unlikely archival practice, I reflect on whether Luther (and therefore we) can refuse death as it is understood in western contexts. That is, if we can develop a practice of ANTIMORTEM.
Still from ANTIMORTEM
Still from ANTIMORTEM