Charles "Teenie" Harris' photos speak for themselves

Charles "Teenie" Harris (1908-1998) was a Pittsburgh photographer who chronicled life in his city's African American neighborhoods from the 1930s through the civil rights era. A small exhibition of his work — selected from an archive of more than 80,000 images — closes this Sunday at the Henry Art Gallery, and it reveals a whole world.

There, in the steel town's streets, were moments of high style, deep community cohesion and, as the 1960s approached, dignified protest against racial segregation. Harris's portraits of his city's citizens and its visiting celebrities (especially jazz celebrities) were warm and candid, qualities that may have come from his click-the-shutter-and-run technique.

"They called me 'One Shot,'" Harris once explained, " 'cause that's all I ever took." "One Shot" is also the name of the new dance piece by Brooklyn-based Ronald K. Brown / Evidence, A Dance Company. On Friday night at the Moore Theatre, against a changing backdrop of Harris photographs, Brown and his eight fellow dancers twirled, leapt, shimmied and generally stayed very busy.

Maybe a little too busy.

Brown's dance vocabulary — with its jittery jumps and jabs — was so jam-packed with movement that it sometimes felt at odds with the photography to which it was paying homage. Sure, it had energy as it blended swing-dance fever with African tribal moves. But couldn't it have used more quiet reflection?

One passage at the opening of Act Two got it just right. To a trio of Lena Horne songs, three snazzily costumed couples — Clarice Young, Tiffany Jackson, Shani Collins, Juel Lane, Keon Thoulouis and Otis Donovan Herring — played out lovely, flirty duets while images of elegant nightlife slid across the backdrop. The match seemed perfect.

Elsewhere, the photography-dance link felt more tenuous. Act One's finale juxtaposed the entire troupe (dressed in something resembling army fatigues) with a Harris group-portrait of civic leaders holding some kind of meeting. Huh?

Brown's own solos — with their bunched-up slicing and dicing at whiplash speed — seemed similarly disconnected from the photographic matter at hand, at least to my eye.

But the audience, filling roughly half the Moore's main floor, was vocally enthusiastic, with many rising for a standing ovation at show's end.

Michael Upchurch: mupchurch@seattletimes.com