Making the Dance I’ve Not Made Before

As an artist it is easy to explore and re-explore a structure, topic, theme, motif, etc.  And, there is tremendous value to this deepening of the creative experience surrounding a single concept.  When we dive again and again into the waters of a single idea, we see new light, new shade, new nooks and crannies of potential. It is a beautiful practice.  The challenge in the dance world is that our field has been consistently fascinated with that which is new.  Dance makers are often seeking something new and different from their work.  There is a common striving for continual reinvention of aesthetic.  And, yet, it is hard to escape ourselves.

And, we often end up making the same dance over and over. Maybe different costumes or music or lighting, but essentially the same thing over and over. 

Tough.

So, as I reflect on my newest creative endeavor, I am wondering do I try to create something new? Do I deepen something I have explored before?  And, more importantly, how do I know if I am doing what I set out to do?  Either approach is fine, but what I don’t want is to create the same dance again thinking that I am being innovative when I’m not. 

So what do I do? Where do I start?  I know some of my favorite choreographic devices. I know them well.  In fact choreographic structure, use of theme and form are strengths of mine as a choreographer. I like looking at the arc of a piece, the sense of wholeness, and the overall effect of the structure for a narrative or aesthetic purpose.  I notice that I like introducing dancers in the same way. I like grouping them on the stage in certain ways. I like balancing unison with counterpoint.  And, I love front facing and diagonal front facing (mostly for the narrative or human component of the work—after all, comedy doesn’t work quite the same when turned away from the audience).   

Now, what do I do with this information?  I want to make a new dance.  I don’t want to see myself pull out the old tricks again. At least, not this time.  So, I am dedicating myself to avoid these patterns at all costs.  I force myself to do something else. Anything else!

The dance I want to make next has the working title of Dances to Heal the Soul. Each section addressing a different style and aesthetic to serve a goal that touches the spirit, heals the soul, soothes the heart. 

Maybe, I will resort to my old ways. The comfortable habits of creation.  But, maybe I will find something new in the process.  Maybe the dance will root itself in a new value, in a new structure, or in a new aesthetic.  I can only hope. 

In the meantime, as I allow all of this to incubate in my brain, before I get into the studio, I will dream the new dream. 

Musing on being a dancing mama poetess

It’s been an exceptionally long time since I have posted.  I blame it on my being pregnant. That's right, in this time I have had a baby! And that. . .

Changes. . .

Everything.

While pregnant, it was tough to contemplate much else, and I was too superstitious to blog about my being pregnant for fear it might not work out.  Plus, it took all my energy to be pregnant and survive teaching a full load.  But, I made it through and even fulfilled my goal of performing while pregnant. Once at 4 ½ months and again at 6 months.  It was a hoot.

So, what did I learn during this past year, now that I have a 5 week old who is just learning to nap long enough for me to write this post?  I have learned that dance making (art making) can happen under all conditions and the artist never goes to sleep even when the body is transforming on a daily basis.  I danced through the pregnancy which joy and allowed myself to dance differently while experience the changes happening to my physically and emotionally.

In many ways being a pregnant dance maker was a piece of cake.  Now that the bun is out of the oven, I have many more challenges as my schedule revolves around caring for this new life I have created.  So when and how do I makes dances now?  Patiently, sporadically, theoretically while dosing off into a nap. I recently wrote a friend about dance making:

Dance making is a fascinating way of life. And, it is interesting who perseveres and how they persevere in the dance making process.  It seems that those of us who embed our lives and our learning in our art making seem to have a more sustainable time of it. . . Our creative energies have so many outlets and they all feed each other in the end as they all feed us. When we work honestly it flows out of us like a source energy.  That energy and our lives that swirl around it are the research. . . The journey continues in all conditions and we experience the ebb and flow as we ride the wave.   Mine includes the creative practice of raising a newborn.

I was pleased to get back into the studio last week, a trial run for my body and for babysitting! It went as well as I could expect, and tomorrow I head back into the studio again. I’m not sure where the next stage will take me as I am living moment to moment, hour to hour, nap to nap.  But, I do so with hope and joy.  When things get tough, I surrender myself to the challenge, weep as needed and move on.  We can’t plan for perfection, and I believe it is a mistake to expect it.  Dancing and art making will happen.  It is meant to happen as it happens.  And, therefore, I will stay true to my belief and practice of making dance under all conditions. 

How old are you now?

I had another blog lined up to share, but a dear friend asked me to post something regarding a conversation we had surrounding age and old thinking habits.  So, this is for Kathy and for anyone else who has ever found themselves acting like a juvenile when they are 30 (or 40, or 50, or 70!).

I'm 33 going on 34.  But this past weekend I found myself feeling 14!  And, not in a good way.  If I took an objective snap shot of myself at 14, things would look pretty good. I was tall, slender, talented, smart, accomplished, well spoken. . .  and horribly insecure.  I just wanted to feel pretty. I just wanted to feel smart. I wanted people to gush over how wonderful I was.  (Man, this is embarrassing to admit).  I wanted to be the best, and I wanted to feel like the best.  I wanted to feel like enough.  But of course. . . I didn't.

So, on Sunday I hosted a preview of my dance company's newest show "Dance Adventures in Stripes and Dots" in order to get feedback from a small test audience and see how the show worked as a whole.  The evening went well.  People enjoyed the dancing. I was able to actually perform (last year I was injured, and I really haven't danced that hard for 2 years!). It was a success.  And, my 34 year old brain new that.  I knew that it was a huge deal that I was able to dance fully for the 55 minute show and not end up crippled in back pain!  This was great!

And, yet.  It wasn't enough.  

The 14 year old inside me was not satisfied.  I wanted people to gush over me! I wanted to feel amazing and beautiful! Instead I felt insecure.  I wanted overwhelming praise, and I wanted it now.

Knowing something in our head doesn't made it easier to know it in our heart. The only way I know to process through these moments of old thinking is to feel them fully, to feel them in a way that I didn't let myself feel them when I was younger.  And, then get to the root and dig it out.

In my case, I want people to praise me because I want proof that "I am good enough." I wanted people to tell me I amazed them so I could feel like I had met my goal and accomplished my dream.  But, of course the reality is that no matter how good I am, the 14 year old belief set won't let me believe it.  Somehow at that point in my life I had already convinced myself that only praise from others was going to convince me that I was good enough.  I don't know exactly how I arrived at that conclusion (that part doesn't really matter), but the reality of those feeling were there.   

And they will continue to live inside me until I change my 14 year old way of thinking and feeling.  Until I believe I am enough (pretty enough, talented enough, creative enough) I will continue to encounter the irrational thinking of the 14 year old girl.

So, I get to start on the path by first confessing here in public that this is going on.  It isn't pretty, and it isn't fun, but it is honest.  And, by sharing this truth it demystifies it for my nervous system and its grasp on me loosens just a touch.   This is where my 34 brain gets to help me out. My 34 year old self gets to watch with love and compassion as my 14 year old comes barreling into the picture unannounced.  I will observe myself, see the hurt, fear and grief that I experienced before (as irrational as it seems now) and let it dissolve.  The grip will loosen a little with each moment, with each encounter, and, once I own that I am good enough, it will disappear all together.

But, I can't rush the process. I can't intellectualize my way out of it. I can't stuff it back into the closet or sweep it under the rug and expect change.  I get to own my story (as embarrassing as it is at times), and heal.

Beth

Last Birthday in my Year to Live

Yes! I am 33!

And, I am still working through my Year to Live reflective practice loosely based on Stephen Levine's book.  

I am roughly on day 186.  Officially at the half way point week. And, it just so happens it is also my birthday.  Yikes.  That is a lot to take in.  

So, I asked myself what I want to do for my "last" birthday, and I decided I want to make a dance for myself.  A solo made for me right here and now, reflective of this time and place in my life. And, this time and place is not perfect as far as a dancer is concerned.

I have been working with a back injury for that past year.  I have had a history of back issues as I have blogged about in the past (see About the Back and How to Heal), but this one has been the same injury (on and off again-- but mostly on) for the past year.  Only recently, when I began a new mind body practice called CFR, have I started addressing the nature of my injury and the consequences of my habitual patterns.  It has been an eye opening journey.  

The cyclical history of my injury is such that I haven't created a dance for myself in a long time.  I create pieces for others, and I have created dances in which I also perform as part of the ensemble (often in a limited way), but I haven't created something just for myself in over a year.  And, primarily because of my back injury.  Every time I made an effort to create something or to "get back into shape," I would reinjure myself. This was the cycle.  So, I basically stopped making dances for me.  

This year to live has reminded me that I should not wait for "complete healing" or "getting back into fighting shape"  or "until I am able to recapture my lost technique."  I can't wait.  

The challenge is accepting the fact that this solo won't look like my former solos. It can't because my former solos in fact what lead me to injury (not them exactly but the former choices surrounding their creation).  Also, I won't look like I did in my former solos.  I have a different shape than I did before this sequence of injuries.  Those are the facts.  

The movement can't be the same. I am not the same.  Whatever ever types of movement and choreographic sequences I made before are basically out of the question now.  I can't wow people with my extension or leaps. I won't be able to roll and get up with speed or force.  I have to make different choices. I have to make the effort to break the injurious habits and form new patterns in my way of moving, in my way of working and most importantly in my way of thinking. 

I need to make a dance that will serve me now.  One I can perform now.  And, I have to trust that I can enjoy a dance created under these circumstances.  And, it can be worthy of being performed for an audience.  It is strangely scary. Like I am choreographing for the first time.  

But, this needs to be my birthday gift to myself.  Because in my Year to Live this is my last birthday, and it can't wait.  

Dancing on,
Beth

Artistry in the Jazz Dancer

I had the lovely opportunity to meet and work with a phenomenal group of Jazz dance teachers and dance theorists this past weekend.  We were sorting out and preparing a presentation on Jazz dance technique and composition for NDEO this October.  Super exciting!

Since then, I have had a continued discussion with Paige Porter from Loyola Marymount University on the specific issue of artistry in Jazz dance. Very interesting and timely stuff for me,  and my mind is still whirling so I thought it was about time to put some of my thinking into writing to be shared with my dance interested readers.  So, thanks to Paige who asked this question and got me thinking!

On the first day of my level 2/3 Jazz dance class this semester, I asked my students:
 
What makes a good dancer? 

Their responses included naming things like dedication, technique, and expression.  Only 2 out of about 8 groups identified creativity as an essential component of a dancer.  Only 1 group identified musicality and no one specifically named artistry. 

Interesting.

… and good for me to know as a teacher.

Anyone who has taken a dance class knows how important it can seem to "get it right." 

"Step on count 2!  Leg at 45 degrees! Higher! Release your head!"

And, even in my classes, I stress the need for precision and accuracy in performance.  However, I don't want to do this at the cost of stripping the dancer of his or her sense of being an artist.

Like actors and singers, dancers are a living medium for art.  Dancers are not lifeless clay on a wheel, paint on a canvas, or musical instruments that can be manipulated without feelings or sensitivity.  The magic of being a dancer is that the dancer is both the medium and an artist.  The non dancing choreographer is just a visionary, an artist without a canvas or paint set.  Sometimes, it can seem that all the creativity is coming from the choreographer, but that is hardly true!  The choreographer relies on the dancer's artistry to bring to life his or her artistic vision. 

As an artist, the jazz dancer is a conduit, a craftsman, a technician, a medium, and a human. Sometimes dancers forget how important the human component is to being a true artist.  Dancers must challenge themselves to be authentic in their performance, to make the movements and expression true and real. They are honoring the choreographic vision, by bringing themselves to the table and putting more of themselves into the dance. (Side note: I very much dislike the song "Are we human? Or, are we dancers?" I want to shout at the radio: Dancers ARE human! That is what makes us special!)

It is still the jazz dancer's job to be precise. And, here is the dilemma for many jazz dancers I know. It can seem contradictory for a teacher or choreographer to ask a student to be specific in her performance and yet include herself in the dance. 

How can there be room for both precision and self expression?  

The artist hones the craft of dance, studying the movement in a clinical way at times to discover the palette of expression that lives inside her body.  In other words dancers must hone their craft so that they can work beyond the technique. 

We, dancers, can't let a lack of technique get in the way of our expression as artists.  Art exists in an artist's ability to choose.  A jazz dancer must make expressive choices in performance, thus embedding his artistry in the performance as well. We must enliven the dance with ourselves.  Our artistic voice is the animating spirit of performance. 

Now, where does musicality fit into all of this? Coming from a family of musicians, musicality lives in my bones.  I sense and feel music very intimately, and music is a strong influence in my performance quality.  However, I need to clarify what I mean by musicality.  In the music world, musicality refers to the artistic process of making music (producing sound that is expressive and artistic).  Musicality in dance refers to the dancer's ability to relate to the music in performance in an expressive or artistic way. 

These are not the same. 

Dancers need a word that represents their ability to infuse a dance with their artistry while they are dancing (just like musicians).  I suggest dancecality.  We need a word that reminds the dancer that he  or she is creating art in the specific and expressive performance of the choreography. Dancecality like musicality should refer to the performer's ability to bring nuance and expression to the performance, because that is the artistic experience of being a dancer. 

It is the artistic responsibility of jazz dancers to tell the human story through their movement.  The dancer is responsible for connecting with the audience and transporting them into the human condition.  There is magic in this process and no amount of "technique" can replicate it.  It must come from the artistic spirit of the dancer. 

Lastly, I need to address the Jazz dancer as a choreographer.  Jazz dance has not given itself a universal, useful framework for teaching young jazz dancers how to create jazz dance that is fresh, personal and unique while still remaining under the jazz dance umbrella.  Laura Smythe's (Laura was another participant in our jazz dance think tank weekend) Master thesis addresses just this, and I am so excited for her research!  Jazz dance is such a rich practice in American dance and dancers deserve to feel creative within their own art form.  My hope is to draw inspiration from Laura's work and implement a choreographic component into my classroom that feeds the dancer's artistic spirit from a compositional perspective. 

I want 100% of jazz dancers to feel creative and artistic in the performance of jazz dance.

I want 100% artist 100% of the time.   






Dance on.

Ego vs Artist

(I wrote the first draft of this blog 2 weeks ago while I was up in the Bay Area... I never actually posted it, so I am sharing it now with some current additions. Enjoy!)

I attended the San Francisco Zen Center yesterday evening.  I had a wonderful time sitting in the location where Shunryu Suzuki first established the Soto Zen practice in the United States.  I had read his biography over a year ago, The Crooked Cucumber.  It, in combination, of Natalie Goldberg's books (on Zen and Writing) were the two influences that prompted me to delve into Zen Buddhism. 

Now, I try to go to the Northridge Beginner's Mind Zen Center when I have time and sit occasionally at home or in other meditation groups some of which are not necessary Buddhist but fill my need for sangha (like minded community). 

My current question is centered around my experience as an artist and how to navigate the dance making process while not succumbing to the whims of the ego (a big No No in the Buddhist world).  This line of questioning actually started about a year ago, when I first created this blog.  The challenge of being a performing artist is inherent in the art itself. Dance is a live art form dependent on others.  If I were just a poet, I could feasibly write and write and write without ever having to show anyone and then allow my work to be found in a trunk after I am gone, not caring whether they publish a series of books from the vast amount of writing or simply stick it in the recycle bin.

Being a poet seems like it would be so much simpler in that way.  I wouldn't have to be around when others read it, I wouldn't have to worry about renting a studio or theater or gathering dancers to volunteer their time and talents for my vision.  A poet can work alone, at any time, day or night without hindrance. 

But, I am a performer and a creator of performance.  And, here is the crux of my suffering, I want people to want to see my work and (gasp) like the work. 

But, why???

I haven't quite sorted that out yet.  In the worst case it is because I am egotistical.  The best case is that I have a mission to bring joy and mindfulness to the world through dance.  The trouble comes when I can't tell which is the driving force. 

Trouble. 

Am I merely a self centered egoist? Or am I the ultimate altruistic artist? 

Why am I driven to do what I do? 

I need to spend a lot more time figuring this out and ASAP.  Because, in the meantime I am suffering. I suffer each time I feel a pang of envy, or a shake of insecurity.  I feel it when I bristle upon hearing of others success and in all the hours I plague myself with self doubt and dislike for the work I create.  I am suffering, and it is ugly.  I don't like admitting it.  I am embarrassed.  But, this is the truth, and I gather that this is the truth for many or even most artists. 

We may not know why we are driven to do what we do and I believe losing the context of why we create plays a large part in our suffering as artists.  I am fortunate that I make my living teaching therefore I don't have to make money with my art.  But, it still feels overwhelmingly important to me. And, I want to make sure it is important for the RIGHT reason.  Not to feed my ego but to feed my spirit and the spirit of the dancer and audience members (more on that coming soon).

Here is a list I have come up with to help me determine whether I am working from a healthy or detrimental place. Perhaps you will enjoy the list as well.

Beth


Signs that I am an egotistical artist:
-- Focus on the other:  sometimes I catch myself thinking too much about what other people are doing with their dances.  This should be irrelevant. It is one thing to observe and enjoy; it is another to use these opportunities for either self validation or flagellation. 
--Frustration with the product:  The product is irrelevant, art making is about the process. The dance should be nothing more than the residue of the creative experience. 
--Identification with the dance:  I am not the dance.  My success is not tied to the success of the dance.  There is no success to be attained. 
--Desire for validation/accolades:  This is a big one for me.  I want people to tell me it was good!  I want people to like it.  But, I need to rethink why I want a positive response. It is because I hope to create art that touches the hearts of the audience or because I want praise. 


Signs I am an altruistic artist:
--Enjoyment/witness of the other:  In watching a dance artist I am inspired to continue my path with the new insight from those around me.
--Joy of Process:  I know I am in the right place when going to the studio or rehearsal is fun! And, even problem solving is fun.
--Focus on the Message:  I create dances with a message (sometimes for me sometimes for the world).  When I am creating from this place, it takes ME out of the equation and puts the goal of the art at the forefront.
--Self care/ Self love:  I know I am working from a healthy place when I can offer myself deep compassion through the struggles that are inherent in a creative process.  When I forget to forgive myself/love myself/have patience with myself then I am in a fighting place.  I am fighting with my ego that has expectations that are unhelpful to the process. 


In short when I am creating from this place....

                                                       ... I know I am creating from the right place.

Tech Week Tantrum

Part of my job at Moorpark College is directing the fall dance concert.  As with most projects, I love-love-love the creative process. The brainstorming of ideas and excitement of new creative possibilities.  I love the promise of potential that fills the air at the inception of a project or concert.  I dream big.  I like to revolutionize myself and the process each chance I get.  I can't help but want to push the envelope, push my limits and try something I have never done before.

But, this stage of the concert process is long gone.  And, when I reach this point of no return (7 days before the concert) I can't help but think.  "What was I thinking?"

This concert I have choreographed a fun and ridiculously fast tap dance, a physically demanding and powerful modern dance trio and a crazy, large ensemble piece (complete with strange walks, trench coats, boots and screaming). 

Did I mention I dream big?

The thing that I am learning is that my creativity is in some ways its own vice.  I can't help but get excited about new ideas, creative trains of thought, and potential "awesomeness" in general.  I love to generate ideas, ways of working, aesthetic systems, choreographic projects. 

But then it comes time to do it and actually make it happen.  And, I find myself here in "Tech Week"!

For those of you outside of the performing arts, Tech Week is the time the production uses to move into the theater, set lights, practice with costumes and generally go mad from fatigue at that same time.  

Admittedly I write in anticipation.  Tech week technically starts tomorrow.  But, as always, it promises long hours in a dark theater, after which your butt is numb, and you can't quite remember what day it is, if you need to eat, nor if you went to bathroom in the last 5 hours.  It is not all that terrible. It can actually be fun. But it is (or at least has been) always exhausting.  Imagine functioning on adrenaline and caffeine for 12 hours straight but not being able to go any where or see the light of day for three days straight. 

And, who am I to complain? The technicians do this all day long each and everyday, project and project, production after production.  But, I am to a point in my life where I have become more protective of my energy and health.  I am less willing to burn myself out the way I used to.  I guess I have learned that the production "hang over" just isn't worth it.

Life goes on after a dance concert just as it did before.  Yet, the show will not make itself.  It takes time and energy, focus and patience.  It takes hope, creativity, and diligence.  Perseverance perhaps most of all. 

I want to find a way that I can enjoy Tech.  Am I crazy to think it might actually be possible to put on a dance concert and not lose my mind or sacrifice my physical health?  I have reached a point where I no longer want to push through. I don't want to just "make it happen."  I don't want to live my life wishing these next two weeks were already over, when this is what I love to do.

I want to love it while I am in it.  Not just before and after. 

It is time for me to make some changes in how I work.  I want to teach the dancers that it feels good to work, create and perform (and it feels best when you don't kill yourself in the process).  The reward needs to be in the process.  My students run themselves so ragged that I am afraid they miss the entire experience.  Sure they always "get through."  But they are sleep walking through it all. 

I know because I was too. 

It is time to wake up.

Trying out that Twitter thing. . .

It's true. I now have a twitter account and plan to use it. And I am certainly having mixed emotions about it all. One thing I do know is that this social networking stuff is hard work! Time consuming and mentally taxing if nothing else. And, I have the feeling it is harder at the beginning before it becomes a more self perpetuating mechanism. It is like having time for your friends. When you move to a new place you have all the time in the world but no friends to hang out with. But, once you get embedded in a group of friends, then your hanging out perpetuates itself and if anything you don't have enough time to see everyone you want to see.

But, I have to believe that this work will be worth it. My dance company Megill & Company takes my breath away. The dancers are unbelievably beautiful, passionate, easy to work with, funny. . . the list goes on. Bottom line is they need to be seen. They deserve to be seen and enjoyed. The more I see what is happening in the dance world the more I see that we fill a particular niche. Dance theater. Not quite Bill T. Jones. But in concept not too far. We enjoy being playful, making commentary, challenging the line between entertainment and art but working on the other end of the spectrum from the entertainment industry. We tell stories through movement (and sometimes words). Those who have seen us seem to like us. At least that is what I have heard so far.

So, I need to make the effort. Twitter here I am. Subject to your madness and hash tags (also known as a pound sign by the way for the rest of us who are not up to date on the twitter lingo). I want to get the word out, because the work is being made; it is coming together, and before we know it, we will need an audience. Someone to listen to our stories and see us give away our hearts in movement.

Dance, like ensemble music, is a communal phenomenon. It was born out of people coming together and sharing; it thrives under those conditions. Dancing can't be written down in a journal or book to be discovered posthumously. A choreographer can't lock herself up in her room to make dance after dance without any one knowing. Such dances would be lost to the world. Even a video of the dance would be a shadow of its real effect and power.

Dance is a living art and a performance art that is still largely passed down orally, an oral tradition that needs to be seen and experienced in the flesh. Where you can feel the music from the speakers, hear the breath of the dancers, hear the sound of their skin on the floor, and see the beads of sweat that even HD can't fully capture the way it really is.

So, now I tweet. At least I aspire to tweet. And if you would like to follow then I will know that all this Social Networking madness does have a purpose and will pay off in the end when Megill & Company gets to thank its audience with a bow.

twitter: BethMegill
MeCo on YouTube

A Poem for Thursday

The wise screech owls call in rasps not meant for the weak at heart.
A call to arms for the souls ready to leap
out into the dark caverns where ideas are born and pencils set down onto paper
where feet travel through the space like paint brushes soaked with black ink
treading a path forged and unforged by all who have come before.
These caverns house echos of last year's shouts and you hold your weapon ready
to defend yourself against warm gusts like belches from the earth's core.
Darkness dissolves all shape and form as no shadows can be casts in this pitch black interior.
You scoot your feet ahead in the dry earthen floor, drawing lines of uncertainty that grow bolder as you listen to the screech owls outside and press ahead toward the unknown.

A poem not meant to be anything remarkable. Just a poem to reflect the turning over of my mind. I have found the brilliance about poem writing for me, is that I am completely untrained (formally) so I can just write in a luscious ignorance that I no longer have in the rest of my life. I can't beat myself up for "knowing better" and I would like to keep it that way. For now.