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. 

What just has to go?

Today was a big day. And, an unexpected day.

I love to garden. I like the sensation of having my hands in the dirt. I enjoy pruning and replanting.  Today my "gardening" consisted of an unexpectedly satisfying task - sycamore leaf removal.

I live under a huge sycamore tree.  Thriving in the wilderness of Brandeis, this tree is formidable, despite the continual pruning we do and the occasional branch break due to high winds and rain.  It is  glorious and makes excellent shade come summer time, but it drops massive amounts of leaves. Huge leaves. Everywhere. All year long. The endless summer of southern California means endless leaf fall.   And, being the less-than-diligent yard worker that I am (I said I loved gardening, not that I did it often), these leaves get wind swept into every crevice and corner of the garden around my house. 

The leaves don't just sit on the ground, they manage to embed themselves in the other plants in such a way that you can only remove them by hand.

So, while having my morning cup of tea. I for some reason decided today was the day. I swigged the last of my tea and got to work.  Sweeping up leaves, pulling them out of the crevices, unloosing them from the grip of the jasmine vines.  Leaves leaves leaves.

And, what I noticed was that my garden is quite nice.  There are some sweet plants that are very charming, even a few volunteers that were blossoming in the spring weather.  I discovered that I had a nice garden all along, I just needed to unmask it.  The leaves were suffocating the beauty that always existed underneath. 

The metaphor slapped by in the face.  The idea that we have all that we need right here in front of us, and yet we can't always see it because it is being muddled up with the excess surrounding it.  I am in a place where I don't need to plant more, I need to care for what I have, nurture what is already growing and give it the time, attention and space it needs to blossom.  

As I raked the ground and pulled out the lodged leaves, I found beauty all around me. 

There was such satisfaction in this process that my one hour stint turned into three glorious hours of unveiling the potential around me.  And, with each sycamore leaf the reality of this process became more and more profound as a metaphor in all aspects of my life.

This was confirmed later in a discussion I was having with two students about their choreography.  I asked them what have you put in your piece that is diluting the power and beauty in your choreographic vision?  What movements are just sycamore leaves clogging up the garden and disrupting the beauty that is already there? 

I knew it before, but now I feel the gravity of this idea in my core. I now want to go back and ask the same question of each and every one of my previous dance pieces.  But, the most profound effect might be in my everyday life.

       How am I cluttering up my vision?
       What is diluting my essence?
       What is added on in such a way that it is covering up the beauty/core/root of what I want?
       How are things suffocating me and keeping me from being my clearest self?
       What just has to go?

Simple and clear.  Keeping what is vital and growing.  Discarding the excess, the weight of last season's commitments.  I am at a place right now where I am redefining what is enough and how I know I have enough/am enough.  In the case of my garden, I had life at my finger tips, but I just couldn't appreciate it with it being visually swallowed up by dry, dead leaves.  I am ready to take the time I need to give to the things that are already growing in my life. The things that are beautiful but can be easily forgotten when piled high with the excess surrounding me.

It may not be an easy process. It might be as tedious as picking the leaves up by hand. But, I can see now that this is the next step for me.  Clearing out.

Revealing lush beauty all around me.

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

Diving into the Experience

The art of craft of choreography is such an interesting practice of inquiry, trial, error and just plain old problem solving. 

After attending this year's American College Dance Festival Association Conference (ACDFA), I feel clear on the needed work for my choreography.  I need to dive in, to soak not only my feet but my entire self in the process. I need to walk straight into the waves and allow my clothes and self to be permeated by the creative waters. 

I have done this before, but it has been a long time since I have had the luxury of time, space and energy to invest to this degree.  Thinking back, the last time I got really soaked in the creative process was over ten years ago, in college and since then I have been progressively taking steps backward, away from the waves, until I now when find myself with only my feet and legs getting wet. 

Why have I refrained from the total immersion in the creative pool?

A few reasons, and good ones.  Practical ones. That should not just be tossed aside. 

1.  Choreography for art and choreography for teaching:  Part of the reason I continue with my private company Megill & Company (MeCo) is because it is meant to be an outlet for my creative voice that is not affected by my pedagogical goals.  When I choreograph for my students, I create dances that have a strong nugget of an idea, but dances that are geared toward the learning process of the student performers.  In other words, when I choreograph for my students I practice the craft of choreography.  I understand the needs of the dancers and shape the piece around that.  I believe this is a noble goal and one that I feel is needed for maximal student learning. If my creative identity gets involved it becomes too messy.  But as a result, these pieces, while they get me marginally wet, still leave parts of me dry.

2.  Time and energy:  So, if I have a clear vision for the way I choreograph for my students, how then does my work with MeCo differ?  I have creative freedom, I know that intellectually. But, in my experience I find I am not going as deeply as I want.  And, the reason is a lack of time and energy.  The creative work I do for my full time teaching position, still taxes me creatively and energetically.  So, when it comes to Sunday (today) when I gear up for rehearsal with MeCo, I am often totally spent.  I manage to rehearse for 3-4 hours and then am done.  The cup has been emptied and I am dry. 

3.  Fear:  I realize that, if I really wanted to change I could. I could make more time for the gooey, amoebic, creative flow to come out.  But, something is keeping me from doing that. . . good ol' fear.  It is possible that I don't put the time and effort I want to put into the choreographic and rehearsal process, because I am afraid it won't be worth it? Because I am afraid that the piece will not be that good and that I will have failed as a creator despite my efforts?  I know that I can create generally interesting, entertaining and semi-provocative pieces without diving into the ocean, so I often choose to play it safe and do just that.  It is possible I don't put in the requisite time and energy because it gives me an excuse in the end (especially if it doesn't work out).  I'm safe.  But, I am also not living up to my full creative potential. 

At ACDFA, I saw over 80 dances and many of them used similar movement vocabulary, similar music and similar compositional structures.  This is not bad, especially when I look at the experience through the lens of a dance educator. These are needed experiences.  But, I feel a pull to do something else.  To find my voice, refine it and see what it can really sound like.  It might be the song of a nightingale; it might be the hoot of an owl, a caw of the crow, or the call of the morning dove, but it will be better than a fearful mockingbird. 

I need to set fear aside and take the leap, off the top diving board, into the pool.  Then swim like mad and hope I reach the edge before my limbs give out.