This one will be difficult.
Let's start with an anecdote.
The other day, a friend of mine and I were comparing notes about how when we engage in different movement disciplines, we feel as though we have a different body. She is currently in an intensive program for aerial dance, and yet her previous movement experience has been in interpretive and American forms of belly dance, and earlier in her lifetime, marching band, and ballet. Aerial dance requires different abilities, flexibility, and kinesthetic qualities than all of the forms she has engaged in previously.
I have had similar experiences. For me, I come from training in a technique-based method of belly dance, and before that, I figure skated for 14 years, and yet for the last six months, I have spent four mornings a week in modern dance classes. This change of kinesthetic awareness feels as though my physical self has been displaced. I build new neurological connections, new prioproception, new technique and still, and yet, I feel disoriented. When I return to my more familiar form of movement, I feel comfortable again. When I am taking a belly dance class, I feel, yes, more embodied, more connected to my physical self. When I am in modern class, I feel disconnected, like I am watching myself from afar, that somehow an essential part of my being doesn't quite fit into my limbs, much like I imaging an ill-fitting wetsuit to feel like.
Of course, there are overlapping skills, but I'm more interested in the sensation of disconnect from the body rather than the places where the sensation overlaps.
How is that that someone can feel as thought they have multiple bodies? We are still the same flesh and blood, regardless of the movement discipline.
If we think of dance as language (and in that, we are assuming it is a form of communication, it has grammatical rules, syntax, and implicit order, which is debatable), then when we transition from one technique of movement to another, we must engage in a kind of translation. Our bodies relate to the new movement in relation to a similar movement already in the "muscle memory." Perhaps that movement is a kind of knee bend. A ballet knee bend in turn-out (lateral rotation) is quite different from a knee bend in many modern forms in which the feet are parallel and a little wider than hip distance apart. The sensation is familiar and yet foreign.
How long does it take to become fluent in a new movement form? Is such an achievement possible?
I also think about what it means when we move from one form to another. Do we always dance with the accent of the first movement form we learned?
In all of this, I think of Sondra Fraleigh's romantic and sentimental notion that the "dancer is the dance," somehow devoid of self-expression and only dancing for some aesthetic value. I have to say I disagree. Because what is the "dance," but the individual physical body of the person doing the movements. That dancer is the dance if we look at the dance as the physical forms of the bodies in motion. A dance changes when performed by different bodies. I think of my mentor Suhaila Salimpour and how she teaches a choreography very specifically, and yet, so few of us are about to actualize and realize her vision of what the choreography should look like. We are, if we are doing well, close approximations. There are certain technical abilities, courses of training and experience, musical and intellectual knowledge, and emotional relation to the music that Suhaila has that no one else will ever have. Because of not only our physical experiences, but intellectual and emotional ones, we each physicalize movement in our own individual ways. In that, we are expressing our self, if the Self is the culmination of our essential physical, mental, and emotional knowledge and experiences.
If the dancer were "the dance" then we we would be exact replicas of the choreography in question, but we aren't. Each of our bodies have limitations (in this I agree with Fraleigh in that she says that a dancer will never do anything she cannot do), different anatomical dimensions and anomalies, varying degrees of flexibility and injury. Every dancer will perform the same choreography quite differently, and in that, she makes the choreography her own (sometimes much to the choreographer's dismay).
If I return to my first idea of feeling disembodied when experiencing a newer form of movement, then how do we feel totally embodied in our work, especially when doing the choreographies of others? Is it a matter of time in the studio, of hours of practice and rehearsal? What about limitations in flexibility and strength? (I've never been able to to the splits, and I suspect that I never will.) I would like to believe that all things are possible in time and dedication, but I suspect that they aren't. I will never be six feet tall. I will never be pigeon-toed. My arm span will never be taller than my height. I cannot erase the fact that I have torn my left biceps femoris hamstring twice. All of these things, and many more, impact how I move, and how I look when I move.
And yet, we can reshape our bodies to some degree by doing new things. A body-builder knows this fact well. Every moment is an opportunity for choice, an ethics of physical body. How I sit at my computer (confession: my shoulders are rounded way forward and I don't have proper support under my feet) affects how my body will be shaped tonight and probably tomorrow in my Pilates teacher training program. My intensive study of modern dance has, according to my body worker, changed the shape of my quadricep muscles. My experience in figure skating has damaged my left hip socket more than my right after years of landing on that side, left femur parallel, right femur externally rotated. William James was right in saying that we make choices every moment of every day, and in that we shape our personal ethics. This idea certainly applies to our physical selves.
Here's another idea.... Our physical selves? Does this imply a separation from mental and emotional selves, or any other number of infinite divisions that we can superimpose on our Selves? Why must they be differentiated? As indicated above, we make decisions (mental, sometimes emotional) about how to use our bodies. These decisions change the shape of the body, and then, as recent studies in posture and body language have shown, loop back to the brain and release certain hormones that affect our emotions. Not one part of us exists in a vacuum, whether or not we choose to divide ourselves into mind/body or physical/mental/emotional.
Perhaps the answer is to be present. When in class working on technique, or running a combination, all of us know intellectually that we must not overthink it. We should just do. In doing, we build new connections, pathways between body parts and brain. We reshape our bodies as we reshape our brains and our neural pathways. In this, I feel, we are truly embodied.... and perhaps that sensation of dissociation will dissipate enough that we no longer feel as though we have multiple bodies with specialized skill sets.
Monday, April 6, 2015
Monday, March 16, 2015
Observing Bodies - A Weekly Journal
Monday, March 16: My own body.
Confession: Today all I wanted was to stay home. The weekend left me exhausted. A full day on Friday of teaching and dress rehearsal, and then a full Saturday... teaching and two performances. I'm exhausted. I can feel illness knocking at my door. So... it is time for self care. To feel healthy, I need solitary quiet time, sleep, and nourishing food. I managed to get some sleep, probably not enough. I am getting solitary time now. My partner made a nourishing meal. To feel full, healthy, and energetic, I tend to turn towards the holistic approach. Food is medicine in our house, and after a healthful meal, I'm starting to feel better. Our apartment is a sanctuary apart from the activity, action, and noise of the world (although our upstairs neighbor seems to be hammering away at something). This space is familiar. The two tabbies are dozing in their favorite spots on the couch, and I'm in my pyjamas. These small comforts, nourish my mind and my body. Later, I will have my nightly mug of tea.
Sunday, March 15: Joffrey Ballet.
Today, my mid-day is spent at Zellerbach Hall, on the UC Berkeley campus. The company is full of bodies at the top of technical form in the ballet mode: lithe, flexible, strong, and conditioned. They are also fully aware of the audience at Zellerbach Hall. The audience is there to be entertained, but also to feel/be part of what they perceive as elite American culture. There is a sense that the dancers are somehow dehumanized by the audience, because the bodies there to be observed and appreciated, but we know nothing about them as people: their personalities, their personal struggles. They are figures molded by choreographers and company directors; they are not presenting their own work. One could switch out a principle dancer for another principle dancer, and the audience might hardly perceive the difference. And yet, they are there by their own agency; these bodies have worked intensely, probably for several decades, to be on that stage, in front of a crowd of thousands, to pursue their calling as dancers. They choose this lifestyle, and as well they should. They have earned this opportunity to tour with a top ballet company, showcasing new choreographies throughout the United States.
Saturday, March 14: Rakkasah West - Performances
Rakkasah West is the longest running bellydance festival in the world. Billed as a "Middle Eastern Dance and Fantasy Festival," it offers an open stage for anyone who can make it through the "Call-in": would-be performers call one phone number, and whoever gets through on the line gets a performance slot. Many of these dancers are amateurs; they also began dance in any form as adults. Backstage, many of the dancers are adults, way into their 40s and 50s. Many of them are slightly overweight, but in defiance of cultural norms, they bare their torsos. They dress in a variety of elaborate costumes, with silks, satins, sequins, and velvets. They paint their faces in ancient Egyptian-inspired style, with long lines from the outside of their eyes to the tops of their cheekbones. They wear sparkling headdresses and curl their hair. The aim here is to feel a sense of glamour; I suspect many of them work unfulfilling dayjobs. Belly dance offers an escape. Only a few seem to feel some connection with the culture from which belly dance comes; an imagined East is the name of the game. Technique, training, conditioning, and professional performance is not the goal for many of these dancers; they want to feel beautiful in a society that tells them every day that they are fat, old, and ugly.
Friday, March 13: Rakkasah West - Workshop
I accompanied my mentor and teacher Suhaila Salimpour to assist at her workshop on Friday morning as part of the Rakkasah West bellydance festival. It is the longest running bellydance festival in the world, yet the economy and the cyclical pattern of trends has meant fewer participants in recent years. The intrepid women (and one male-bodied dancer, probably self-identified as male as well) who come to our 9:30am workshop are mostly older with little intense dance training in any form, Western or not. The youngest is in her late 30s, if that, is a runner, and suffers from patellar tendonitis/IT Band Syndrome. When we ask if anyone has any injuries, the usual ailments surface: lower back, knees, shoulders. All maladies suffered by the contemporary office worker. These participants (other than the runner) have low stamina, and want to have fun... but Suhaila is a task-master, and today she offers a workshop in layering. Layering is the belly dance equivalent of patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time.
I lead them through a relatively intense warm-up of conditioning and stretching, and they hold their own. Some who know their bodies sit out and observe; I appreciate the care they take in doing so. We ask them to do some very difficult drills: walking on 1-2-3-4 (right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot), while alternating squeezing their glutes on 1 and 3 (right glute, left glute), with alternating torso undulations on 1 and 3. This material is new for many of them, and they are out of their element. And yet, their body language is never defeatist. They persist. Some of them appear to be having fun; many are smiling and eager to learn. They enjoy the challenge. I suspect those who have a good time are excited about the possibilities within their physical forms, and that they can do so much with this meat and bone thing that we call our body. For many participants, not only at this workshop, but bellydancers in general, this dance form offers a means of (re)joining mind and body. It is physical exercise, a way to (re)build self-esteem, a means of finding community with like-minded people, and also a way for them to feel beautiful (whatever that means for them), and a way for them to feel connected with their physical selves. Many of them (re)discover parts of their psyche that they might have pushed aside to take care of families and/or hold down a day job.
Thursday, March 12: Dance in Iran.
Today, Aisan, a 2nd year MFA, spoke at our Dance Cultures class. She presented a history of Persian New Year traditions and rituals, including their Zoroastrian roots. I appreciated that she opened her talk saying that Arabs and Persians are different cultures, even though they use the same alphabet. What was most fascinating, however, is her first-hand experience of being a dancing body in Iran. Dance is illegal in the Islamic Republic. Many dancers run underground, unlawful dance studios, teaching what they can glean from YouTube videos. Injuries are common, because teachers don't have the resources on how to teach mindful and healthy alignment. They see a dancing with 180° turnout and force that in their students without understanding how harmful that can be for most people. In Iran, the body is shameful. The body is policed. Especially female bodies. Women live their lives under the shame of "honor." Virgin brides are considered the best, but any woman with enough money (and it's not much) can have her virginity "restored" by a plastic surgeon. In Iran, the people find ways around the regulation, under the noses of the Islamic police state. The body will always find a way.
Wednesday, March 11: Library bodies.
The Mills College library is a lovely space. A large north-facing window stretches up 2 storeys, and my favorite place to sit is at this window. Around me, however, there is a sensation of stress. It's Midterms. Papers are due. Tests are approaching. Deadlines loom. As we activate our cognitive and mental capacities, we sit still at our books and computers. The bodies I see here are not passive in any way; there is an energy emanating from each of them, even as they sit still. Brows are furrowed, heads crooked forward towards glowing screens. While the major muscles are mostly passive, the brains are working overtime. Bodies in this place, however, are expected to be relatively passive. Libraries are places for sitting, studying, reading. Large movement would be out of place, just as would be loud noises. In this context, nearly stationary bodies are normal, but if we could see the mental activity, it would be an active and noisy place.
Tuesday, March 10: Teaching Class at the Salimpour School.
Every Tuesday night I teach a Level 1 class at the Salimpour School. It's in the Jamila Salimpour Format, the first codified system of belly dance steps ever created. Long story short, many belly dancers use the names that Jamila Salimpour used to describe belly dance movements, without even realizing that Jamila gave those steps those names. The class itself is more like a Level 1.5; we require that students have knowledge in the Suhaila Salimpour format before taking a class in the Jamila format, because there are certain technical elements that we just don't have time to break down in the Jamila classes. The class requires stamina, discipline, and a sense of polyrhythm within the body, as we ask students to also play specific finger cymbal patterns while dancing. At the end of class, I led a structured improvisation with my students. I always sense a feeling of either relief in some students or terror in others when I say we're going to improvise. I put on a slow piece of music, and call out a movement for them to do. They can do it at their own timing, in their own way; the fact that I give them a movement to do helps quell the fear in the terrified ones. As I call out to change from movement to movement, I can see attention spans waxing and waning. I see moments of clarity and moments of ambiguity. These dancers are learning control over their bodies, and not just their bodies, but their rib cage and pelvis: power points in the body. Most of our organs reside in the torso, and being able to manipulate them in time and space, to music, seems to impart a sense of empowerment in my students. I think of the Yogic Chakra system: originating at the base of the spine and tailbone, then to the reproductive organs, the solar plexus, the heart center, the throat, the third eye in the frontal cortex of the brain, the crown of the head through which all dancers lengthen. They start to settle into the exercise. The students explore different ways to vary a movement: levels, energy, facings, timings. When I teach, I always find that belly dance in particular is important for its practitioners because we move body parts that are so close to the center of the body's vital organs. Even if the students themselves are unaware of this, I suspect that's one of the reasons they keep returning.
Confession: Today all I wanted was to stay home. The weekend left me exhausted. A full day on Friday of teaching and dress rehearsal, and then a full Saturday... teaching and two performances. I'm exhausted. I can feel illness knocking at my door. So... it is time for self care. To feel healthy, I need solitary quiet time, sleep, and nourishing food. I managed to get some sleep, probably not enough. I am getting solitary time now. My partner made a nourishing meal. To feel full, healthy, and energetic, I tend to turn towards the holistic approach. Food is medicine in our house, and after a healthful meal, I'm starting to feel better. Our apartment is a sanctuary apart from the activity, action, and noise of the world (although our upstairs neighbor seems to be hammering away at something). This space is familiar. The two tabbies are dozing in their favorite spots on the couch, and I'm in my pyjamas. These small comforts, nourish my mind and my body. Later, I will have my nightly mug of tea.
Sunday, March 15: Joffrey Ballet.
Today, my mid-day is spent at Zellerbach Hall, on the UC Berkeley campus. The company is full of bodies at the top of technical form in the ballet mode: lithe, flexible, strong, and conditioned. They are also fully aware of the audience at Zellerbach Hall. The audience is there to be entertained, but also to feel/be part of what they perceive as elite American culture. There is a sense that the dancers are somehow dehumanized by the audience, because the bodies there to be observed and appreciated, but we know nothing about them as people: their personalities, their personal struggles. They are figures molded by choreographers and company directors; they are not presenting their own work. One could switch out a principle dancer for another principle dancer, and the audience might hardly perceive the difference. And yet, they are there by their own agency; these bodies have worked intensely, probably for several decades, to be on that stage, in front of a crowd of thousands, to pursue their calling as dancers. They choose this lifestyle, and as well they should. They have earned this opportunity to tour with a top ballet company, showcasing new choreographies throughout the United States.
Saturday, March 14: Rakkasah West - Performances
Rakkasah West is the longest running bellydance festival in the world. Billed as a "Middle Eastern Dance and Fantasy Festival," it offers an open stage for anyone who can make it through the "Call-in": would-be performers call one phone number, and whoever gets through on the line gets a performance slot. Many of these dancers are amateurs; they also began dance in any form as adults. Backstage, many of the dancers are adults, way into their 40s and 50s. Many of them are slightly overweight, but in defiance of cultural norms, they bare their torsos. They dress in a variety of elaborate costumes, with silks, satins, sequins, and velvets. They paint their faces in ancient Egyptian-inspired style, with long lines from the outside of their eyes to the tops of their cheekbones. They wear sparkling headdresses and curl their hair. The aim here is to feel a sense of glamour; I suspect many of them work unfulfilling dayjobs. Belly dance offers an escape. Only a few seem to feel some connection with the culture from which belly dance comes; an imagined East is the name of the game. Technique, training, conditioning, and professional performance is not the goal for many of these dancers; they want to feel beautiful in a society that tells them every day that they are fat, old, and ugly.
Friday, March 13: Rakkasah West - Workshop
I accompanied my mentor and teacher Suhaila Salimpour to assist at her workshop on Friday morning as part of the Rakkasah West bellydance festival. It is the longest running bellydance festival in the world, yet the economy and the cyclical pattern of trends has meant fewer participants in recent years. The intrepid women (and one male-bodied dancer, probably self-identified as male as well) who come to our 9:30am workshop are mostly older with little intense dance training in any form, Western or not. The youngest is in her late 30s, if that, is a runner, and suffers from patellar tendonitis/IT Band Syndrome. When we ask if anyone has any injuries, the usual ailments surface: lower back, knees, shoulders. All maladies suffered by the contemporary office worker. These participants (other than the runner) have low stamina, and want to have fun... but Suhaila is a task-master, and today she offers a workshop in layering. Layering is the belly dance equivalent of patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time.
I lead them through a relatively intense warm-up of conditioning and stretching, and they hold their own. Some who know their bodies sit out and observe; I appreciate the care they take in doing so. We ask them to do some very difficult drills: walking on 1-2-3-4 (right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot), while alternating squeezing their glutes on 1 and 3 (right glute, left glute), with alternating torso undulations on 1 and 3. This material is new for many of them, and they are out of their element. And yet, their body language is never defeatist. They persist. Some of them appear to be having fun; many are smiling and eager to learn. They enjoy the challenge. I suspect those who have a good time are excited about the possibilities within their physical forms, and that they can do so much with this meat and bone thing that we call our body. For many participants, not only at this workshop, but bellydancers in general, this dance form offers a means of (re)joining mind and body. It is physical exercise, a way to (re)build self-esteem, a means of finding community with like-minded people, and also a way for them to feel beautiful (whatever that means for them), and a way for them to feel connected with their physical selves. Many of them (re)discover parts of their psyche that they might have pushed aside to take care of families and/or hold down a day job.
Thursday, March 12: Dance in Iran.
Today, Aisan, a 2nd year MFA, spoke at our Dance Cultures class. She presented a history of Persian New Year traditions and rituals, including their Zoroastrian roots. I appreciated that she opened her talk saying that Arabs and Persians are different cultures, even though they use the same alphabet. What was most fascinating, however, is her first-hand experience of being a dancing body in Iran. Dance is illegal in the Islamic Republic. Many dancers run underground, unlawful dance studios, teaching what they can glean from YouTube videos. Injuries are common, because teachers don't have the resources on how to teach mindful and healthy alignment. They see a dancing with 180° turnout and force that in their students without understanding how harmful that can be for most people. In Iran, the body is shameful. The body is policed. Especially female bodies. Women live their lives under the shame of "honor." Virgin brides are considered the best, but any woman with enough money (and it's not much) can have her virginity "restored" by a plastic surgeon. In Iran, the people find ways around the regulation, under the noses of the Islamic police state. The body will always find a way.
Wednesday, March 11: Library bodies.
The Mills College library is a lovely space. A large north-facing window stretches up 2 storeys, and my favorite place to sit is at this window. Around me, however, there is a sensation of stress. It's Midterms. Papers are due. Tests are approaching. Deadlines loom. As we activate our cognitive and mental capacities, we sit still at our books and computers. The bodies I see here are not passive in any way; there is an energy emanating from each of them, even as they sit still. Brows are furrowed, heads crooked forward towards glowing screens. While the major muscles are mostly passive, the brains are working overtime. Bodies in this place, however, are expected to be relatively passive. Libraries are places for sitting, studying, reading. Large movement would be out of place, just as would be loud noises. In this context, nearly stationary bodies are normal, but if we could see the mental activity, it would be an active and noisy place.
Tuesday, March 10: Teaching Class at the Salimpour School.
Every Tuesday night I teach a Level 1 class at the Salimpour School. It's in the Jamila Salimpour Format, the first codified system of belly dance steps ever created. Long story short, many belly dancers use the names that Jamila Salimpour used to describe belly dance movements, without even realizing that Jamila gave those steps those names. The class itself is more like a Level 1.5; we require that students have knowledge in the Suhaila Salimpour format before taking a class in the Jamila format, because there are certain technical elements that we just don't have time to break down in the Jamila classes. The class requires stamina, discipline, and a sense of polyrhythm within the body, as we ask students to also play specific finger cymbal patterns while dancing. At the end of class, I led a structured improvisation with my students. I always sense a feeling of either relief in some students or terror in others when I say we're going to improvise. I put on a slow piece of music, and call out a movement for them to do. They can do it at their own timing, in their own way; the fact that I give them a movement to do helps quell the fear in the terrified ones. As I call out to change from movement to movement, I can see attention spans waxing and waning. I see moments of clarity and moments of ambiguity. These dancers are learning control over their bodies, and not just their bodies, but their rib cage and pelvis: power points in the body. Most of our organs reside in the torso, and being able to manipulate them in time and space, to music, seems to impart a sense of empowerment in my students. I think of the Yogic Chakra system: originating at the base of the spine and tailbone, then to the reproductive organs, the solar plexus, the heart center, the throat, the third eye in the frontal cortex of the brain, the crown of the head through which all dancers lengthen. They start to settle into the exercise. The students explore different ways to vary a movement: levels, energy, facings, timings. When I teach, I always find that belly dance in particular is important for its practitioners because we move body parts that are so close to the center of the body's vital organs. Even if the students themselves are unaware of this, I suspect that's one of the reasons they keep returning.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Meta and Micro History - A Weekly Journal
Rough thoughts on meta and micro history for one of my classes...
Wednesday, February 11.
When thinking about meta and micro-history, I can't help but think of the ways everything is connected. Today it's easy to find examples of meta and micro history, especially in the context of writing our Masters theses. On a micro level, each of my colleagues' lives will be transformed by the research and writing of our theses. Every day will be affected by the fact that we have to create this work in order to graduate. If someone were to document our collective thesis-writing experiences on a micro level, there would be many a tale of walking to the library, logging on to a computer, searching for a new book or article, walking up the center stairs and finding the relevant section, retrieving the book from the shelf... and so on. But on a macro and meta level, some of these theses will then be submitted to dance conferences, and many of us will enter relevant communities of discourse surrounding our topics. We will be bringing a new perspective on our chosen topic to an existing community, and through doing so, will (hopefully) affect the viewpoints and collective knowledge of that community (or those communities).
Thursday, February 12.
Today, Peiling Kao spoke to our Dance Cultures about Chinese folkdance, specifically dances from Taiwan. Peiling, herself Taiwanese, shared with us videos and brief histories of several Taiwanese folk and indigenous dances. On a micro-level, each of in the class added to our own knowledge of these various and diverse dance styles. On a macro-level, however, we were made aware of how Chinese imperialism, beginning in the 17th century, has negatively affected aboriginal Taiwanese culture, language, and dances. And because the Chinese government, even today, lays claim to Taiwan, it attempts to repress the celebration and learning of Taiwanese cultural elements such as music, dance, and language. This centuries-old imperialism then affected us in the classroom, by way of Peiling. She was born and raised on the island of Taiwan, but as a child never learned first-hand many of the native Taiwanese dances. On a micro level, it would be difficult to document how each Taiwanese student has been affected by colonial Chinese designs, profiling their daily school and dance lessons, noting what dances they learn and how, but on a meta level, it is easier to see how mainland China has been able to eat away at Taiwanese culture, and thus exact political influence on the island and its people.
Friday, February 13.
My partner enjoys cooking (and he's very good at it, if I do say so myself). Home-cooked, low-fat, whole-food, plant-based meals are a staple in our home. Today, he cooked a Levantine shakshuka (similar to ratatouille) with spiced rice.We eat this way mainly for health reasons; there are numerous studies showing that eating a whole-foods, plant-based diet can help prevent a multitude of illnesses, or at least make one less prone to them, the most obvious being heart disease, but also includes various cancers, type-2 diabetes, chronic acne, rheumatoid arthritis, and other ailments. We also choose to eat this way because of how it affects our planet. On a micro-level, we eat plants because we believe that it makes us less prone to certain diseases (it is also great for keeping off weight), but on a macro level, if we look at the history of animal product consumption around the world, one finds a legacy of environmentally harmful practices. Cattle (raised both for meat and milk) are the worst offenders of carbon emissions on the planet. It also takes billions of gallons of water to keep and raise all livestock, especially cattle. One couple refusing to eat beef then means that we have consumed that much less water, which is particularly important as we live through another drought (my partner and I both lived in California during the drought 30 years ago). If more people were to curb their consumption of beef and milk alone, and if that consumption were to put a dent in the amount of beef and milk produced, then we could all save billions of gallons of water, and maybe even change history on a macro level.
Saturday, February 14.
Ahh, Valentine's Day. We don't usually do anything, but it's a gorgeous, sunny day here in Berkeley. The previous entries have been very much about systemic cause and effect. I wonder how many people think about the systemic effect of their actions on their communities, cities, or even the world. I think about it quite a bit. I recently read Steven Johnson's book How We Got to Now, a sort of Connections for a new generation. In it, he leads us through six histories: Cold, Time, Sound, Glass, Clean, and Light. In each, we learn of the small innovations by individual tinkerers and how their explorations and inventions eventually lead to modern technologies, such as electric light, Wi-Fi, safe drinking water, and even the bikini. When thinking about meta history, I find it difficult to discount the importance of these chance moments. The printing press was inspired by a wine press... and today my partner and I went to our favorite Oakland wine shop for a tasting. But we wouldn't have known about the tasting without the shop's newsletter, which is only possible through modern technologies of the internet (microchips and computers rely on Clean in order to be made), and Glass, which is on every electronic device with a screen. These huge concepts affect us every day, and we hardly appreciate them if we never look beyond the micro level of our day-to-day lives.
Sunday, February 15.
Today I signed up for reduced-cost healthcare through Covered California. For many of us, the ACA is a blessing. It's a chance to have what many in pretty much every other developed country has: affordable healthcare. Many of my friends who have previously been unable to afford healthcare (because, really, $300 a month for healthcare is hardly affordable for anyone making under $30,000 a year) have expressed great joy and relief that now they are able to have either private insurance that is within their budgetary restraints or Medi-Cal which offers the bare basic healthcare coverage. On a micro-level, the ACA has improved the lives of many of my friends. One recently had necessary ankle surgery to replace several ligaments; without the ACA or Covered California, she wouldn't have been able to afford the surgery or rehabilitation costs. I, too, have signed up for Blue Shield for a fraction at the cost I was paying before this year. On a macro and meta level, this is a historic achievement for the United States, and (in my opinion) a somewhat embarrassing one. Why did it take us so long to offer to citizens and residents of the United States an affordable means of visiting the doctor, getting routine check-ups, or major medical operations - this is something that other people in other countries (I'm looking at you Canada and the Scandinavian nations) have enjoyed as a right? Finally, we can take our place in history as a semi-civilized country that sometimes takes care of its people, even if we still have to pay something out of pocket.
Monday, February 15.
I finally made my way up to the Temple of Wings today. The Temple of Wings, once an open-air neo-classical structure with Corinthian columns where Florence Treadwell Boynton (a friend of Isadora Duncan) once taught dance classes, is now a private home in the Berkeley hills. Out of curiosity, I went up there to take a look. This structure is a part of American and modern dance history, as Boynton was inspired by Isadora's approach to movement. Here is a building that is a physical link to Isadora, an actual thing that remains from her lifetime. In the grand scheme of things, this building is a remnant of those early days of modern dance, when women would dress in Greek-inspired tunics, dancing from their solar plexi, and experiencing a new-found freedom of movement. On a small scale, it's currently someone's private home, with a beat-up "Private Property: No Trespassing" sign outside the driveway (which is lined with Belle Epoque street lamps). Alas, I could not get very close to the Temple of Wings, but knowing that it is there, right up the hill from where I live now, is still a very powerful sensation.
Wednesday, February 11.
When thinking about meta and micro-history, I can't help but think of the ways everything is connected. Today it's easy to find examples of meta and micro history, especially in the context of writing our Masters theses. On a micro level, each of my colleagues' lives will be transformed by the research and writing of our theses. Every day will be affected by the fact that we have to create this work in order to graduate. If someone were to document our collective thesis-writing experiences on a micro level, there would be many a tale of walking to the library, logging on to a computer, searching for a new book or article, walking up the center stairs and finding the relevant section, retrieving the book from the shelf... and so on. But on a macro and meta level, some of these theses will then be submitted to dance conferences, and many of us will enter relevant communities of discourse surrounding our topics. We will be bringing a new perspective on our chosen topic to an existing community, and through doing so, will (hopefully) affect the viewpoints and collective knowledge of that community (or those communities).
Thursday, February 12.
Today, Peiling Kao spoke to our Dance Cultures about Chinese folkdance, specifically dances from Taiwan. Peiling, herself Taiwanese, shared with us videos and brief histories of several Taiwanese folk and indigenous dances. On a micro-level, each of in the class added to our own knowledge of these various and diverse dance styles. On a macro-level, however, we were made aware of how Chinese imperialism, beginning in the 17th century, has negatively affected aboriginal Taiwanese culture, language, and dances. And because the Chinese government, even today, lays claim to Taiwan, it attempts to repress the celebration and learning of Taiwanese cultural elements such as music, dance, and language. This centuries-old imperialism then affected us in the classroom, by way of Peiling. She was born and raised on the island of Taiwan, but as a child never learned first-hand many of the native Taiwanese dances. On a micro level, it would be difficult to document how each Taiwanese student has been affected by colonial Chinese designs, profiling their daily school and dance lessons, noting what dances they learn and how, but on a meta level, it is easier to see how mainland China has been able to eat away at Taiwanese culture, and thus exact political influence on the island and its people.
Friday, February 13.
My partner enjoys cooking (and he's very good at it, if I do say so myself). Home-cooked, low-fat, whole-food, plant-based meals are a staple in our home. Today, he cooked a Levantine shakshuka (similar to ratatouille) with spiced rice.We eat this way mainly for health reasons; there are numerous studies showing that eating a whole-foods, plant-based diet can help prevent a multitude of illnesses, or at least make one less prone to them, the most obvious being heart disease, but also includes various cancers, type-2 diabetes, chronic acne, rheumatoid arthritis, and other ailments. We also choose to eat this way because of how it affects our planet. On a micro-level, we eat plants because we believe that it makes us less prone to certain diseases (it is also great for keeping off weight), but on a macro level, if we look at the history of animal product consumption around the world, one finds a legacy of environmentally harmful practices. Cattle (raised both for meat and milk) are the worst offenders of carbon emissions on the planet. It also takes billions of gallons of water to keep and raise all livestock, especially cattle. One couple refusing to eat beef then means that we have consumed that much less water, which is particularly important as we live through another drought (my partner and I both lived in California during the drought 30 years ago). If more people were to curb their consumption of beef and milk alone, and if that consumption were to put a dent in the amount of beef and milk produced, then we could all save billions of gallons of water, and maybe even change history on a macro level.
Saturday, February 14.
Ahh, Valentine's Day. We don't usually do anything, but it's a gorgeous, sunny day here in Berkeley. The previous entries have been very much about systemic cause and effect. I wonder how many people think about the systemic effect of their actions on their communities, cities, or even the world. I think about it quite a bit. I recently read Steven Johnson's book How We Got to Now, a sort of Connections for a new generation. In it, he leads us through six histories: Cold, Time, Sound, Glass, Clean, and Light. In each, we learn of the small innovations by individual tinkerers and how their explorations and inventions eventually lead to modern technologies, such as electric light, Wi-Fi, safe drinking water, and even the bikini. When thinking about meta history, I find it difficult to discount the importance of these chance moments. The printing press was inspired by a wine press... and today my partner and I went to our favorite Oakland wine shop for a tasting. But we wouldn't have known about the tasting without the shop's newsletter, which is only possible through modern technologies of the internet (microchips and computers rely on Clean in order to be made), and Glass, which is on every electronic device with a screen. These huge concepts affect us every day, and we hardly appreciate them if we never look beyond the micro level of our day-to-day lives.
Sunday, February 15.
Today I signed up for reduced-cost healthcare through Covered California. For many of us, the ACA is a blessing. It's a chance to have what many in pretty much every other developed country has: affordable healthcare. Many of my friends who have previously been unable to afford healthcare (because, really, $300 a month for healthcare is hardly affordable for anyone making under $30,000 a year) have expressed great joy and relief that now they are able to have either private insurance that is within their budgetary restraints or Medi-Cal which offers the bare basic healthcare coverage. On a micro-level, the ACA has improved the lives of many of my friends. One recently had necessary ankle surgery to replace several ligaments; without the ACA or Covered California, she wouldn't have been able to afford the surgery or rehabilitation costs. I, too, have signed up for Blue Shield for a fraction at the cost I was paying before this year. On a macro and meta level, this is a historic achievement for the United States, and (in my opinion) a somewhat embarrassing one. Why did it take us so long to offer to citizens and residents of the United States an affordable means of visiting the doctor, getting routine check-ups, or major medical operations - this is something that other people in other countries (I'm looking at you Canada and the Scandinavian nations) have enjoyed as a right? Finally, we can take our place in history as a semi-civilized country that sometimes takes care of its people, even if we still have to pay something out of pocket.
Monday, February 15.
I finally made my way up to the Temple of Wings today. The Temple of Wings, once an open-air neo-classical structure with Corinthian columns where Florence Treadwell Boynton (a friend of Isadora Duncan) once taught dance classes, is now a private home in the Berkeley hills. Out of curiosity, I went up there to take a look. This structure is a part of American and modern dance history, as Boynton was inspired by Isadora's approach to movement. Here is a building that is a physical link to Isadora, an actual thing that remains from her lifetime. In the grand scheme of things, this building is a remnant of those early days of modern dance, when women would dress in Greek-inspired tunics, dancing from their solar plexi, and experiencing a new-found freedom of movement. On a small scale, it's currently someone's private home, with a beat-up "Private Property: No Trespassing" sign outside the driveway (which is lined with Belle Epoque street lamps). Alas, I could not get very close to the Temple of Wings, but knowing that it is there, right up the hill from where I live now, is still a very powerful sensation.
Friday, October 31, 2014
On taking classes in Cunningham technique...
My first exposure to the work of Merce Cunningham was in college. I was in an introductory dance class, which was mostly modern technique, and mostly from the Graham technique. I admit, the first time I was introduced to the work of Merce Cunningham I ... didn't like it. Intellectually, I think maybe I understood what he was going for, but given a choice, I wouldn't choose to watch his work. There is little, if any, emotional expression. Much of his work is not about making music visible, which, as a 20-year old, I just didn't understand. It is dance for dance's sake.
But this semester I have had the honor of taking classes in the Cunningham technique with Holley Farmer, who was in Cunningham's company for over 10 years. I have technique class with her twice a week. At first, I wasn't sure if I would like it. It seemed to me to be sterile and without expression.
Now, however, I love it. I find it to be meditative, even when we work quickly and vigorously. We work so finely on each body part: the feet, pelvis, spine, arms, (with curves, arches, and tilts), and head. Cunningham's technique truly focuses on the architecture of dance and the human body, and I am honestly surprised at how much I am enjoying the technique. We have nothing to focus on except our own body in space and the instructor. In these classes, each body part has something very specific to do, even if it is remaining still. Each class begins with the spine, curving forward, and tilting side. Then we move to the feet and legs, focusing on stabilizing our pelvis without gripping or adding any unnecessary tension. In each class, I feel longer, that I have better balance. In Holley's classes, I feel like I have truly made progress as a body moving in space and time... which is what a dancer is.
Sadly for us, Holley is returning to New York after the end of this semester. This just means I'll have to go to New York and take classes at the Merce Cunningham Trust some time.
I'll leave you with an interview with Cunningham, in which he speaks about how we can change our opinions.
But this semester I have had the honor of taking classes in the Cunningham technique with Holley Farmer, who was in Cunningham's company for over 10 years. I have technique class with her twice a week. At first, I wasn't sure if I would like it. It seemed to me to be sterile and without expression.
Now, however, I love it. I find it to be meditative, even when we work quickly and vigorously. We work so finely on each body part: the feet, pelvis, spine, arms, (with curves, arches, and tilts), and head. Cunningham's technique truly focuses on the architecture of dance and the human body, and I am honestly surprised at how much I am enjoying the technique. We have nothing to focus on except our own body in space and the instructor. In these classes, each body part has something very specific to do, even if it is remaining still. Each class begins with the spine, curving forward, and tilting side. Then we move to the feet and legs, focusing on stabilizing our pelvis without gripping or adding any unnecessary tension. In each class, I feel longer, that I have better balance. In Holley's classes, I feel like I have truly made progress as a body moving in space and time... which is what a dancer is.
Sadly for us, Holley is returning to New York after the end of this semester. This just means I'll have to go to New York and take classes at the Merce Cunningham Trust some time.
I'll leave you with an interview with Cunningham, in which he speaks about how we can change our opinions.
Monday, September 15, 2014
On being a perpetual beginner... and jumping in.
In the belly dance world, I'd consider myself an intermediate-advanced dancer. I recently earned my Level 4 certification in the Suhaila Salimpour format and the Level 3 certification in the Jamila Salimpour format. These are not easy. I have injured myself, cried, lost sleep, and sweat buckets to earn those accolades, and I am very proud of the work I have done.
In the Western dance world, though... I am certainly an intermediate-beginner. Last week in my modern technique class, the instructor taught a combination so fast that I hardly had time to even understand what was happening. I flailed in the back knowing that we'd return to this combo next week, and that once my no-longer-21-year-old-brain had some time to process it, it would feel less foreign. Despite knowing that we'd do it all again in a few days, I felt discouraged and frustrated that I could not just pick up the combo and rock it like so many of the other students in my class. (Being a bit PMSy didn't help either.)
But in these situations, I do not blame the instructor. She is there to guide us, challenge us, and help us expand our kinesthetic and technical knowledge in a modern dance context. She is not there to make us feel good about ourselves. She is not there to give us work that is easy. And she is a fantastic teacher. My ego, my frustrations, my self-pity really aren't her concern. That's my sh** to deal with as a student. If I am injured (I couldn't do part of a combo today because of an injury to one of my ribs this summer), that's another matter, but still it is my job as a student to ask for a modification or figure it out on my own.
It's also my job as a student to jump in, flail, and give it my all. As dancers we have to attack a movement, like a cat pouncing on its prey. Even if we miss, if we step on the wrong foot or raise the left arm instead of the right, we still need to jump in. I'm still trying to learn how to do that while turning off the little voice inside my head that says, "You're doing it wrong."
In the Western dance world, though... I am certainly an intermediate-beginner. Last week in my modern technique class, the instructor taught a combination so fast that I hardly had time to even understand what was happening. I flailed in the back knowing that we'd return to this combo next week, and that once my no-longer-21-year-old-brain had some time to process it, it would feel less foreign. Despite knowing that we'd do it all again in a few days, I felt discouraged and frustrated that I could not just pick up the combo and rock it like so many of the other students in my class. (Being a bit PMSy didn't help either.)
But in these situations, I do not blame the instructor. She is there to guide us, challenge us, and help us expand our kinesthetic and technical knowledge in a modern dance context. She is not there to make us feel good about ourselves. She is not there to give us work that is easy. And she is a fantastic teacher. My ego, my frustrations, my self-pity really aren't her concern. That's my sh** to deal with as a student. If I am injured (I couldn't do part of a combo today because of an injury to one of my ribs this summer), that's another matter, but still it is my job as a student to ask for a modification or figure it out on my own.
It's also my job as a student to jump in, flail, and give it my all. As dancers we have to attack a movement, like a cat pouncing on its prey. Even if we miss, if we step on the wrong foot or raise the left arm instead of the right, we still need to jump in. I'm still trying to learn how to do that while turning off the little voice inside my head that says, "You're doing it wrong."
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Anna Halprin
I admit that I had never heard of Anna Halprin until a few weeks ago. She is a pioneer of post-modern dance, and at over 90 years old, is still dancing and teaching workshops.
A native of Marin County, California, she and her late husband worked with a kind of structured improvisational approach to dance: RSVP cycles. Resources (what the performers will use), Score (instructions for the performers), Valuaction (how the creator of the score changes it according to what kind of outcome they wish to see), Performance (the doing of the score). Her husband developed this approach to creating work through his job as a landscape architect, and he wanted people to be able to work together. In Anna's performances, Anna wanted dance to be authentic movement, and she wanted people to be able to move without stylization. She has created scores for many kinds of people, including those that we might not immediately think of as dancers, such as the elderly, and those who have been marginalized, like those who are HIV+. Because these scores are not set choreography, the performing of them changes every time.
We have been creating our own scores, using task-oriented performance. The score must start with a task—a thing to be doing. Move chairs around the room. Close the blinds. Sweep the floor. Open and close (whatever is in the room). One of Anna's task-based scores is to tear paper, and another is to take off one's clothing and put it back on again, both of which have appeared in her Parades and Changes since the 1960s. In this, we are discovering what we value as dancers, audience members, and choreographers. Do we wish to see more order in what we create? Do we wish to see more chaos? How can we make our score more complex... and is that the same as complicated?
We have also began exploring the idea of getting emotion into our scores.... how can we evoke a certain emotional response in both the dancer and the watcher without saying, "Do this task while feeling sad"? Our scores must be objective: Carry this chair and sit in it for 10 seconds. Anna Halprin believes it is a cycle of a mind-body connection. Her work with cadavers, exploring the kinesthetics and mechanics of the human body have given her great insight on how the body moves physically, but she has also explored the distinct relationship between the postures we take and how we feel. She writes her scores objectively, in that she does not prescribe an emotion or feeling for her dancers; she gives them body positions, tasks, and stage directions (or just directions, and many of her works are site-specific). From those instructions, she lets the dancers feel their own emotions according to the actions and physical positions they take. Our feelings can inform our body positioning and of course, our body positioning can inform our feelings. A gesture, such as putting one's face in one's hands can evoke a feeling of shame... but a feeling of shame can cause someone to put their head in their hands.
Personally, I value seeing honest emotion on stage. The emotional work I have done for dance before this has been quite intense and transformative. Anna's approach seems simple, and yet it's very difficult. Some emotions are scary and seemingly uncontrollable. In order to be authentic with the audience, one has to be authentic with oneself.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
What does one need to dance?
One of the courses I am taking this year is a two-part class on dance pedagogy. We're currently focusing on teaching Creative Dance, and exploring what that means. Last week we discussed what we thought "creativity" meant, and this week, one of my assignments is to write about what someone needs in order to dance.
Dance can happen at any moment and in any location. It is any motion that goes beyond the pedestrian day-to-day movements of every day life, and even that is negotiable. We see repeated actions of certain animals and call them "dances," such as the directional gestures of the honeybee—after looking this up, I learned that it is called the "Waggle Dance"—or the mating rituals of various Bird of Paradise species in New Guinea. For these creatures, the dance is instinctual and second-nature. Even though these performances of the animal world are meant for an audience, human dances can take place alone in the living room to our favorite piece of music.
So, what does one need to dance? At first I thought, well, one needs a body in order to dance. (Their own body, not someone else's, because that would be weird and disturbing and probably illegal.) Dance is the action of moving through time and space at various rhythms, tempos, and intensities. For me, it is an intensely physical experience. It is sensory and tangible, and allows me to feel connected to my body.
Yes, one needs a body to dance. And not even a complete body or a conventional body with two limbs, two feet, and ten toes. I'm reminded of a video that circulated around social media recently of a quadruple amputee who has no limbs at all who is certainly still a dancer. She is shown performing the same choreography as a classroom of people at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York with more complete bodies, and yet, she is executing the movements in the same sentiment and timing as the rest. No one can deny that she is dancing.
One must need more than just a body to dance. I think someone also needs imagination. Whether it's through visualization—the amputee dancer says that she imagines that she does indeed have complete arms and legs when she dances—or through the act of creating dances through choreography. If one can not imagine themselves moving in a manner outside of the pedestrian, then I don't think they would be a very successful dancer. And by successful, I don't mean being a professional or earning money; just being able to move through space on various physical planes at different timings and using different energy levels.
What else? One needs a physical space, but it need not even be very large. I could dance in my chair right now by moving my body. And as many a modern and postmodern dance has shown, one doesn't even need music to dance.
What do we need in order to dance? A body. Imagination. A place to move. Yep. I think that's about it.
Dance can happen at any moment and in any location. It is any motion that goes beyond the pedestrian day-to-day movements of every day life, and even that is negotiable. We see repeated actions of certain animals and call them "dances," such as the directional gestures of the honeybee—after looking this up, I learned that it is called the "Waggle Dance"—or the mating rituals of various Bird of Paradise species in New Guinea. For these creatures, the dance is instinctual and second-nature. Even though these performances of the animal world are meant for an audience, human dances can take place alone in the living room to our favorite piece of music.
So, what does one need to dance? At first I thought, well, one needs a body in order to dance. (Their own body, not someone else's, because that would be weird and disturbing and probably illegal.) Dance is the action of moving through time and space at various rhythms, tempos, and intensities. For me, it is an intensely physical experience. It is sensory and tangible, and allows me to feel connected to my body.
Yes, one needs a body to dance. And not even a complete body or a conventional body with two limbs, two feet, and ten toes. I'm reminded of a video that circulated around social media recently of a quadruple amputee who has no limbs at all who is certainly still a dancer. She is shown performing the same choreography as a classroom of people at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York with more complete bodies, and yet, she is executing the movements in the same sentiment and timing as the rest. No one can deny that she is dancing.
One must need more than just a body to dance. I think someone also needs imagination. Whether it's through visualization—the amputee dancer says that she imagines that she does indeed have complete arms and legs when she dances—or through the act of creating dances through choreography. If one can not imagine themselves moving in a manner outside of the pedestrian, then I don't think they would be a very successful dancer. And by successful, I don't mean being a professional or earning money; just being able to move through space on various physical planes at different timings and using different energy levels.
What else? One needs a physical space, but it need not even be very large. I could dance in my chair right now by moving my body. And as many a modern and postmodern dance has shown, one doesn't even need music to dance.
What do we need in order to dance? A body. Imagination. A place to move. Yep. I think that's about it.
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