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.