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.

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.

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."

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. 

Here's a little KQED Spark episode on Anna Halprin and her work. 

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.