Dito van Reigersberg, community member / elephant
When I heard the news that Dito van Reigersberg had passed away, my brain kept circling around the same odd thought: “it’s like all the elephants have gone extinct.” Thirty minutes later it would wail the same thing. I wanted to text everyone I knew, “all the elephants are gone”, but I didn’t want to explain anything. Dito dying felt as unacceptable, as wrong, as the complete and abrupt disappearance of all the elephants on the planet would be. Like Dito was a keystone species unto himself and we didn’t even realize it. I experienced Dito primarily as a beloved member of the Philadelphia performance community, this beautiful, hard-to-measure, diffuse, sometimes possibly imaginary, sometimes stunningly real community.
I love my country of Philadelphia, as they say, and Dito was a national treasure for sure. Philadelphia seems a little less itself without Dito and a considerable bit less charming and bright. He managed to be so quintessentially Philadelphia and also active in New York and with a history of national and international touring, beloved everywhere I think it’s safe to say. In July I saw Megan Kiskaddon, Executive Director at Seattle’s On the Boards where Dito had performed with Rose Jarboe and Cherdonna; she and her staff had been devastated to hear the news as well. This was somehow comforting. Dito’s artistic life was in these other places as well, of course, and I was glad that they knew about elephants in Seattle.
And that’s part of why I’m writing to you too. If you knew him, you know. But I want everyone to know about him. I want everyone I know to know about this massive-hearted, tall, hairy, drag queen roaming around South Philadelphia, spreading queer joy, and quizzically raising his eyebrows at you. He was a performer, but also an observer, a reader, a noticer. He loved horses and poetry.
My first encounter with this luminary was shortly after I moved to Philly in the fall of 2014, in what felt to me, even at the time, like a golden and glorious time. In my first weeks in the city, I attended a work in progress showing at the Pig Iron studios of Underground Railroad Game, a work that would go on to win an Obie and tons of other accolades, and a performance of Nichole Canuso’s The Garden at the Power Plant, in Old City, that blew me away with its imagination and particular atmosphere, immersive work that lived up to the promise of the form. Fringe, then called Philly Live Arts, I think, was opening its brick and mortar space on Columbus Blvd. I got a part-time job working with Nichole Canuso as her General Manager and part of the job included helping to revamp the company website, which meant going through lots of production photos, often for shows I would never get to see, like Wandering Alice and TAKES. I had pored through images from TAKES, a duet for Nichole and Dito, featuring their expressive eyes and embodied communication, so I recognized Dito when I saw him a few weeks later at a South Philly coffee shop close to Nichole’s offices. I went over and introduced myself and he seemed thrilled and delighted to meet a stranger. This mixture of delight and charm and joy would happen every time we would cross paths over the next 12 years.
I love this video that we made as part of A Period of Animate Existence while I was on staff at Pig Iron. I love Troy Herion’s music and the simple choreography and Daniel De Jesus’ gorgeous cello, and Dito and his voice as simply the tallest member of the ensemble. He was so often the center of the show, but he didn’t have to be. In a gathering earlier this summer, collaborator and friend Suli Holum shared that Dito hated endings and loved beginnings, always trying to extend a hang and also thrilled to welcome new people in, which rung true to my experience. Plenty of people knew him longer and deeper than I did, but that didn’t seem to matter if we saw each other. He had a way of making you feel important and seen and celebrated – what a gift. What a crucial ensemble member.
If you didn’t know Dito in real life, I think this little 8 minute video from WHYY is a great primer. I’m partial to it because it’s from right around the time that I moved to Philly, but I think it covers a lot of ground quite effectively:
So I think that’s it for today. I know I’m going to be remembering and missing and celebrating Dito in the months and years to come, and trying to bring his spirit into my work and my life, and I’m deeply grateful to have shared time with him, as an audience member, as a friend, and as part of a community, now mourning in collective grief.
If you happen to be reading this on Sunday, September 27, there are two public events today celebrating Dito's life, and both will be livestreamed from Philadelphia. You can register for the link here if you'd like to attend virtually.
