Monthly Archives: February 2011

February 21, 2011 · 1:04 pm

Part II: The Body Re-Members

An authentic autograph- one of the best birthday presents my husband has ever given me.

 

I wrote “A Passion Observed” over a month ago although it was only recently posted. Last week, Bill T. Jones was interviewed by Tom Ashbrook for NPR’s On Point radio show.  I always love the show, but when my favorite liberal artist/choreographer in on….I REALLY love the show.  (Last week also featured a show on knitting…another score for me!)  We listened to this on our drive to Ann Arbor to see the Merce Cunningham Dance Company’s Legacy Tour.  What a wonderfully dance filled Saturday.

One of the things Tom Ashbrook was perseverant in getting Bill T. Jones to answer regarded the significance of dance; why use dance as a vehicle for expression instead of literature, poetry, etc.  Mr. Jones commented with a few, well-selected words:  “it’s real people, in real time, using the most basic of instruments.”   He explained that this is the power of live theatre- “the exceptional moment.”   He likened dance to life by outlining the journey of birth, growth, and death.  Essentially, it is what we all have in common and dance may serve as a metaphor of that.  Hmm.

The body tells our story, whether we like it or not.  It relates us to one another in a way that language and culture can often fall short. Dance is visceral, kinetic, and binding.  In watching dance, we respond first instinctually and then intellectually.

In watching the Merce Cunningham Dance Company on Saturday night, I was keenly aware of the body- the isolation of it, the explosiveness of it, the control of it, and the development of it.  At times, I was also aware of the absence of these things.  None where more noticeable, however, than the absence of Merce Cunningham or at least his critical eye and the coaching that inevitably would have followed.  I enjoyed the performance and I thought the choice of program was insightful.  Yet, something was missing.  It was a little as though the glue holding these elements together was a little less gripping than it used to be.  It seemed to me that liberties in movement were taken.  Some personalities shined through while others felt a little dull.  For me, the latter were dancing bodies not necessarily engaging fully in the “exceptional moment” and I had never seen that happen in a Cunningham performance before.

Appreciating Cunningham’s movement, for me, has been a journey of an acquired taste.  Yet, his methods for dance making and commitment to longevity had me from the beginning.  In watching Squaregame (1976) and Splitsides (2003), I recognized his ability to reflect and redirect without sacrificing any of his integrity in movement or commitment to his philosophy.  He seemed simply to be able to change with the times and continued to explore and develop his work accordingly.  I hope when I am approaching 90, I am able to be so open and yet still so focused.  He seemed to see his dancers for who they really were, physically, and put their strengths to use.  Don’t get me wrong, a Cunningham dancer will still stand out as a Cunningham dancer in a studio of branded and non-branded movers, but he seemed to embrace their cross-training in his later work more than I think he would have in his beginning.

What I appreciated most, however, was our collective sense of mourning.  If I can read into the patchy personal performances, I would be inclined to think that by now, this tour must be brutal.  I wonder if, in an act of self-preservation, some of the dancers have started to emotionally separate themselves from the work.  Performing these dances without the motivation of having Merce’s approval and winding down to the end of it all must be excruciating.  Dancing for people that are attending because it is the last chance rather than a brave new start as a Cunningham supporter must be difficult.  After seeing the company in 2004, I can safely say the wind has been taken out of the sails.  But we were there in the theatre together, remembering.  Dance brought us together again to recall, reflect, and re-inspire.  Dance allowed us to re-member our Cunningham community, our dance community, a facet of our greater arts community.  I needed it.

On our drive home, we listened to the remainder of the Bill T. Jones interview. At one point, a caller relayed something that Bill T. Jones had said in a class she was attending at The Ohio State University in the 1990s.  He apparently seemed frustrated with the class and sat the dancers down.  To paraphrase, he told them they wouldn’t all become dancers. But regardless of what they did do, if they dug deep and kept true to what dance requires, they would still be dancers.  If they went to places that challenged them, where they were uncomfortable, but were fully present, they would still be dancers.  This touched me.  Hmm.

As I think about it that was exactly what happened in the theatre last night.  Cunningham allowed us that.  I had been looking for the “exceptional moment” to happen under the lights but it happened in the dark.  It was my “exceptional moment.”  It happened in the attendance of live theatre.  To Merce, his dancers, and the rest of our community, Bill T. Jones and the OSU grad included, I am forever thankful.

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February 20, 2011 · 2:01 pm

The Body, Part I: A Passion Observed

Woman watches a stage full of eccentricly collected performers saturated in power, expression, individuality, character, and grace.

Instead of seeing each detail, woman feels her way through the action, the story, the statement.  The experience transcends vision, permeates the body, infects the core, stops and starts the beating heart.

Unable to speak, tears brimming, woman witnesses the creator take the stage and command his dancers to proceed, recede, bow, and exit.  The show is over.  The impression made, is not.

Eleven or so months later, woman watches the creator’s intensity as he feels his way through the exerpt of this powerful work as he is recognized with one of the nation’s highest artistic award, the Kennedy Center Honor.  As soon as the movement begins, tears start streaming down her face.  She immediately re-enters the “place” she was in when watching this moment of this piece live, but this time there are pregnancy hormones to contend with, accounting for her tear soaked shirt.  The man is Bill T. Jones. The woman, of course, is me. The piece was Fondly Do We Hope…Fervently Do We Pray. 

I first considered calling this piece, “The One” but I thought that might not sit that well with my husband, although he is fully aware and supportive of my feelings for Bill T. Jones.  So maybe, “The Other One.”  Or, “The First One” since I did discover Bill T. before Scott D.  Nah,…better to preserve feelings and marital bliss.  (Honey, you’re the real deal.)

Bill T. Jones changed my life.  I had appreciated his work upon introduction through a 20th century dance history course.  But it was watching the PBS Bill Moyers documentary about Still/Here in a Senior Seminar class that really rocked my dance existence.   Bill T. Jones scared me in the most exciting and positive way.  His work spoke to me aesthetically, but more importantly demonstrated the power of physical, non-verbal communication and the responsibility of the dance artist to guide others through this process.  I became very aware of my comfort in pretty, visually interesting but “safe in meaning” movement.

Still/Here, Jones’ work referencing terminal illness, struck/strikes a personal chord for me.  My mother passed away at the age of 48; when I was 13.  She had severe asthma and emphysema and in the years she was ill, I remember the frustration she could not verbally express. Language simply didn’t cover it.  While her body would not have been helpful, she was winded after walking from one end of our small ranch-styled house to the other, I can’t help but think structured movement in a contained way, may have offered some form of emotional relief.

As an adult, I realize that dance may not have served as an outlet for her, but it certainly did for me.  I have always easily recognized that dance has been my constant.  In a life full of change and multiple directions, dance has always been there.

As a dancer, I am familiar with muscle memory and the ability of the body to recall movement.  After researching the role of the body in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (and the success of using structured movement experiences to alleviate the physical symptoms of PTSD) I also understand the ability of the body to recall emotion.  Having these two elements present themselves through two bodies over the same experience, was striking to me.  In watching the Kennedy Center Honors, I had an emotional recall response while watching Bill T. Jones have a physical recall response to the performance of his dancers.  Once again, I am reminded of the power of dance.  I am aware of the prism that dance provides: opportunities to see, to feel, to consider, to live.

In a recent interview with Tom Ashbrook of NPR’s On Point, Bill T. Jones discusses briefly the state of our current union, citing his feeling that we are in “an undeclared civil war” with no clear boundaries or sides.  I agree.  Often in the last few weeks/months, I have felt the world has lost its mind.  Much of what my husband and I count on- in our community, in our careers, and in our consciences- seems under attack.  Our perceived road to stability never felt fully paved, but feels more and more like a dirt road filling with potholes.  Maybe those pregnancy hormones are getting to me again, but this is certainly an interesting and sometimes disconcerting time to live.

Ironically, in some ways, this brings me back to my constant:  dance.  For the first time, perhaps ever, dance has not been the first constant in my life.  Over the last two years as my career has suffered some bullets, as programs or hours have been re-organized offering a sense of instability and related anxiety.  But, in hearing Bill T. Jones express in words how our current world relates to the dance he created about our world’s past, I am comforted if not encouraged.  He articulated physically and verbally, my emotion.  He found the language I was seeking. It explains my response when seeing the work live, and again on TV.  Once again, the power of dance prevails.  This time, however, it didn’t have to be my physical body in control in order to make peace.  It was done through bodies I’ve never met but understand on an intrinsic level.  Bill T. Jones continues to change my perspective and thus change my life.

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February 5, 2011 · 11:22 pm

Finding 1st

I do a pretty funny impression (if I do say so myself) of a favored former professor of mine, in which I circle myself for a couple loops as if casually chasing my tail, finally locating my final destination and carefully placing myself accordingly:  1st position parallel.  Essentially, it is the same position I was standing in before the skit begins, and yet, the arrival marks a change in mental place, as well as physical placement.  Nearly every time I think of this woman, I hear her voice calling “Let’s start in 1st.” and envision her looking at her feet (as if her class ever started in any other way). I cannot help but smile.

In my philosophy of dance, I state that I teach dance from a liberal arts perspective. What this means to me, is that instead of expecting my students to come to dance with a sincere and devout interest, I take dance to where they are, first.  I most often find myself, regardless of venue, working with dancers that may never be “real” dancers but for one reason or another have decided to give movement a chance.  Whether as an elective, for the fulfillment of a graduation requirement, or simply recreational pleasure, most of my students have a reason other than burning desire when coming to me to learn about dance.

In practice, this generally means that instead of one thread of consciousness (dance for dance sake), I need to be aware of multiple threads (dance for multi- or inter- disciplinary sake).  This does not, however, mean I need to be an expert in another field.  It just means that I need to be able to explain dance in multiple ways, accomodating for varying learning behaviors (if you don’t know about genius Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences, look into it!) and encourage students to be the “experts” in their fields (college students) or their other classes (K-12).

Once one learns to question information, investigation, and relating concepts, it is amazing how quickly one can apply these skills to other subjects, even those in which one is not an expert.  It is precisely why I feel the arts and humanities are critical in the preparation of our youth for the future. Yes, science and math will be important, but without creativity and critical thinking, our students will not be able to sufficiently problem-solve in new and innovative ways.

Here is where I rethink the point of dance education in many contexts, particularly public education and propose that others do the same.  Most people expect arts classes to inspire an appreciation for the arts.  This is true, they do.  But, it isn’t all they do.  With intentional thought and responsible teaching, the arts introduce and expand vocabulary, introduce methods for creative analysis and problem-solving, allow for individual voice which leads to confidence building, and let’s not forget create opportunities for effective collaboration.

I think it is important for my students to understand the culture, history, and profession of dance from a realistic and artistically relevent perspective.  Yet, I also realize that these kids need help in life, first.  My intent is to teach practical skills through the medium of dance.  I have distilled the discipline of dance down to its essential elements and present them for maximum affect.

Here are some samples:

Technique

When discussing core elements of dance technique, emphasize non-technical vocabulary that is relevent to the field (manipulation, articulation, oppositional force, gravity, lateral, distal,…), basic principles of physics, anatomy/kinesiology, the list goes on and on.  These are more likely to appear on standardized tests than say, rond de jambe.  And they provide a connection between the students’ interest and their core classes.  Dance allows them to access the information in their core classes and put it to use in a unique way.

The best compliment I had last week occurred while inviting my advanced class to do some slides across the floor.  I was explaining how to distribute their weight and where they needed to be placed in order to use momentum to their advantage. One student said, “what, is this, phyics?” Well, yes.  Several light bulbs went off and we had a great conversation about shared principles.  It wasn’t long and several students tuned out but real learning occurred for some.  Authentic connections were made.

Composition

A similar approach can be explored in dance composition.  I am not convinced we can “teach” choreography, but we can inspire creativity and offer tools for clarifying ideas and adding visual interest as well as offering perspective in interpretation of questions and answers posed in movement and followed in critique.  Using tools such as embellishment, retrograde, reversal, inversion, and more allow students to gain insight into pattern development and how play with audience expectations, again for maximum affect.

Theory

Working in concepts rather than steps, also opens the door for learning that embraces emotional as well as intellectual response and therefore longevity within the lessons.  Learning to analyze dance through a variety of lenses such as ethnicity, gender, ability/disability, and other cultural contexts provides a greater understanding of our own environments, biases, and relationships.  Having a safe place to discuss some of these subjects is also crucial.  Given that dance tends to be physical, and therefore personal, often this is an ideal setting for such dialogue.  Once collaborative relationships have been forged, trust tends to follow, and again allows for more open conversation among students than may be possible in the classrooms of other disciplines.  And for students that don’t consider dance to be their first language, this can be a direct path for deeper engagement when you return the focus to the studio and the physical act of dancing.

I came to dance first as a mover and later as a generalist.  I tend to interpret the world through movement and in color/texture.  I am a visual and kinesthetic learner, who in high school could manage in a traditional school setting but would have been so much more successful if I’d had opportunities to learn as I am inclined and not in how I was expected.  I am fortunate to have learned how to learn later and have the natural curiousity to be a life long learner.  That is what we dance educators should, in my humble opinion, be offering more universally.  Again, dance for some is a way to live but for more can be another method for divising a living, even if it is outside the arts.

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February 1, 2011 · 2:32 pm

Bird

Morning doves by Hazel M. Vaughan

My mother painted birds. My English mother came to the US with her English husband and two small English children, a passion for art, and raw skill. One Christmas, my father bought her a set of paints and she set to work. She was drawn to nature and specialized in birds and flowers. Watercolor was her medium of choice. The most striking element of her work is the detail in the feathers and, to me, the dew drops on the flowers. She received a fair amount of local notoriety for her art and instilled in us- her two English born and one American born kids- a love of art that has continued long after she has passed away.

I am the American born child of this arts-loving English couple. I have letters from my Nana, my mother’s mother, referring to me as the “American doll.” As a kid, I was often aware of the difference in my upbringing because I used words that the other kids thought were funny. For example, we said it was “spitting” out instead of “sprinkling” and I wore “knickers” instead of “underpants”. But then there were the words that my creative father made up and passed off as common language, which I later found out didn’t exist in either English or American English. Being from Merseyside, he also told me he went to school with the Beatles but didn’t know why they stopped calling him. (My mother did watch the Beatles at the Cavern Club, probably around the Pete Best era). And I got my own back….after seeing Ringo in Rockefeller Center while I was living in NYC, I called my Dad and told him that I saw Uncle Ringo but he acted as if he had no idea who I was. My dad rolled and rolled in laughter.

Where am I going with this? Art making: specifically, my mother’s attention to detail and my father’s creativity. I find it fascinating how or where people place value on a ‘finished’ product.

It seems to me that dancers that are trained from an external perspective- those taught to imitate line and shape instead of re-creating it for themselves, place importance on synchronicity and clarity of execution. There is value placed on the cleanliness of the group rather than the detail of an individual movement and the opportunity to see this movement become unique as performed my multiple bodies. I am all for clean dancing. I am all for pretty pictures. Yet, I find art making to be in the exploration of these possibilities and not necessarily the drilled, machine-like demonstration of skill. I once had a student that watched Paul Taylor’s Promethean Fire and commented that she thought it was messy and should have been cleaned before they taped the performance. I think my mouth may have fell open. I realize not every dance speaks to every person but I was surprised that she had not been moved by the music, the movement, and relationship between dancers due to some discrepancy in degrees angles of the arms, and so on. In considering her background and resulting aesthetic preferences, her comment should not have surprised me. And, had we had more time to work together, I hope her view of ‘quality’ dance would have expanded.

When dancers are encouraged to shed this initial regimented impression of the creative process and are invited to explore movement, detail can be just as clear but with potentially more meaning. Even when working in a line-concentrated medium (say, jazz or ballet), the approach to the movement and the nuance found within is what brings the choreography to life. Sometimes we need to momentarily leave behind what we’ve been taught and focus on what we can create, even if it defies our personal definitions of dance. Then, if needed, we can marry these two concepts and find brilliance in what may ordinarily be ordinary dance. In my view, this is the source of artistry.

This is precisely why I feel improvisation should be used in all kinds of dance classes, especially dance technique classes offered through private studios and in public schools. If not allowed to ‘create’ movement, it is difficult for budding dancers to claim movement as their own and can be more difficult for audiences to connect with them as performers beyond the admiration of physical skill. Dance is an incredible physical discipline that can feature athleticism but we need a distinction between sport and dance. This is expression and communication. How can we cultivate new voices if never allowing these young artists to figuratively clear their throats?

As educators, we need young dancers to understand how their bodies work. I think it is a shame that by the time they get to college, a dancer may be able to whip off multiple pirouettes but cannot balance on one leg. They may expend way more energy than should be required because they have no sense of true placement and need to adjust position before entering a movement. They’ve been taught to imitate and not re-create.

As I have said before, I like to work conceptually first and physically second yet that hasn’t always been the case. As I develop as an educator, I embrace the abstract and move to fill in the detail. We need to shift weight before we may dance.

My life is full of the abstract and preparation for detail as we expect our second child to arrive this April. As she moves and rolls, bumps and delivers quick jabs to my ribs, she moves from an abstract idea of “having a girl” to distinct ideas of what her personality may be like. I feel our identities taking shape. I am eager to share with her our family history, in creativity and detail. She’s our little bird and she’s a work in progress. Though, aren’t we all?

An experiment in pen and ink by Hazel M. Vaughan

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