When I was in college, some of my favorite classes were my composition courses. It wasn’t just for the ability to explore new movements, but for finding ways to be inspired to create those new movements. One of my most memorable projects was creating a piece junior year by going to the Hartford Atheneum, picking out my favorite piece of artwork, and basing a 3 minute dance off of that. In a more conservative college setting, I was the girl who picked the Andy Warhol painting, chose Trans-Siberian Orchestra music, and choreographed a piece about views on death. It wound up being one of the most debated pieces that year. I loved that, because essentially as adult choreographers, isn’t that what we strive to do?
However, the point is not that I created a debatable piece, but that I found inspiration in a painting that very few thought even counted as a painting.
I love museums in general. I could probably go every week to museums and spend entire days in there and never get bored. Last week, I dragged my poor boyfriend through 2 of our favorite museums in the course of one day. He likes museums, too, but he also works in one, so the guy gets tired of them real quick. I’m very lucky to be able to live in an area where I have a museum down the street from me, and multiple museums only a half hour away in Boston. It gives me the opportunity to go whenever I feel the desire.
It’s amazing to me to be able to find certain rooms or artworks where I can sit in a gallery and just stare for hours, and feel completely immersed in its purpose. For example, when I went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, they had a gallery in the Art of the Americas wing based on George Washington. There was a MASSIVE (and by massive, I mean it took up a whole wall) painting of George Washington on a hill looking out over a battle. I don’t remember the name of the painting, or who painted it, but I stepped back from it, and just stared at it. I studied the expressions on the faces, and noticed the anguish on the soldiers’ faces. I began to wonder what George Washington was thinking at that moment, and how heavy his decisions must be weighing on his mind. I wondered if he was thinking about the well-being of his soldiers, or if he wasn’t thinking, and just soaking in the scene in the few seconds before charging into battle. For a moment, I could feel myself there in the excitement, sadness, glory, and anguish of a war.
When something like that happens, that begins my thought process for movement. In this particular artwork, I did not think of movement, since only 2 years ago I created a piece called “Battle Faces” and the feelings and emotions were the same evoked from the painting. However, there were plenty of other exhibits that sparked interest. From paintings of children sitting and/or playing in fields to the stoic reverence of the imitation of a Buddhist temple, I felt as though I could’ve plucked any of those ideas out of the museum and choreographed them for a stage. I became immersed in the universes of these moments captured by artists.
I love how my composition courses taught me to find inspiration in anything. The purpose of dance has evolved over centuries, but it has remained as an outlet of expression. Expression is something that we all experience on a moment by moment basis, so it is largely relatable. It also gives choreographers the accessibility to create anything from anything. Inspiration can come in the form of sitting in a museum, or it can come from watching a person walk down the street. Personally, I found inspiration in certain paintings at the museum. Some ideas I’ll spare my students from. Others, I can’t wait to get to work on!
Thanks to the Museum of Fine Arts Boston for the lovely experience!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Woman In the Mirror
Every dancer I’ve ever known has had a love-hate relationship with the mirror. On the positive, it serves as a great tool for students to fix corrections both in a singular manner, and as a group. On the negative it can provide a major distraction to adults and children alike. Older students tend to scrutinize their image, while the little kids tend to play with their hair or their leotards. How many of us, though, have had to come face to face with ourselves in the mirror as part of a combination?
I have.
In my previous blog, I described a improvisation class that involved learning a sequence of steps without music or counts. We were asked to use the emotion in the music to drive us. Part of what I did not describe for sake of space was having to run to separate walls in the room, then walking to the mirror and staring straight at ourselves. What I never imagined was what that would do to me.
When I danced, I was allowing a year’s worth of bad luck, bad situations, frustrations, and unpurged feelings to seep out into my movements. A lot of that, admittedly, also involved a situation dealing with a lack of self-esteem and confidence. After the teacher told us to trust ourselves and push our limits, it really hit home. Not just a realization, but a true hit-me-in-the-gut, pulled-at-my-heartstrings kind of feeling. To go from that on the dance floor, to suddenly facing it in the mirror brought tears to my eyes.
At first glance at myself in the mirror, I remember being taken aback by my face. It was contorted. My brows were furrowed, I was frowning, and my jaw was taught. It looked like I was about to cry. Granted, I felt like I was, but I couldn’t believe that my face was so telling. The next thing I noticed was that my breathing was labored. It wasn’t from physically being out of breath, but rather from the exertion of emotional energy. My final observation was my eyes. I previously mentioned in a blog about how the eyes are the gateway to the soul. My eyes showed so much pain and sadness, and that upset me. Maybe I was more troubled by these parts of my life than I had thought.
I didn’t realize it until the second time, until I really looked at my eyes again that the pain and sadness was being pushed out by confidence and hope. Yes, I was experiencing at that moment some lingering aspects of my life that had been less than satisfactory, but I was also experiencing the release of it to the point where I knew I would be able to move on. At that point, it allowed me to push myself even more, so in the final moments of class, I was able to shove the emotions OUT of my body and into the world.
To deal with that release after a year is almost like dealing with a loss of sorts. It’s no longer with you, therefore, a part of you that you have become accustomed to is not there. After that improvisation class, I was taking a ballet class. My emotions were still heavy until the second barre exercise. It was so hard to dig so deep, and then just let it go. By the end of the day, I was feeling fabulous again, and even better than before. That intense experience expelled all the bad in my life, and actually kept me on a natural high for at least a week after.
I just couldn’t believe how having to face oneself in a mirror could affect a person’s being so much. Not only did I emote out on the dance floor, but I was able to face those emotions head on, in quite a literal sense. The harmony between that dance and the mirror coincided perfectly. As Martha Graham said “Dance is the hidden language of the soul of the body” and the act of the mirror exemplified this.
My natural high may have worn off now, but the class, and the teacher, will be held in my memories and my heart forever.
I have.
In my previous blog, I described a improvisation class that involved learning a sequence of steps without music or counts. We were asked to use the emotion in the music to drive us. Part of what I did not describe for sake of space was having to run to separate walls in the room, then walking to the mirror and staring straight at ourselves. What I never imagined was what that would do to me.
When I danced, I was allowing a year’s worth of bad luck, bad situations, frustrations, and unpurged feelings to seep out into my movements. A lot of that, admittedly, also involved a situation dealing with a lack of self-esteem and confidence. After the teacher told us to trust ourselves and push our limits, it really hit home. Not just a realization, but a true hit-me-in-the-gut, pulled-at-my-heartstrings kind of feeling. To go from that on the dance floor, to suddenly facing it in the mirror brought tears to my eyes.
At first glance at myself in the mirror, I remember being taken aback by my face. It was contorted. My brows were furrowed, I was frowning, and my jaw was taught. It looked like I was about to cry. Granted, I felt like I was, but I couldn’t believe that my face was so telling. The next thing I noticed was that my breathing was labored. It wasn’t from physically being out of breath, but rather from the exertion of emotional energy. My final observation was my eyes. I previously mentioned in a blog about how the eyes are the gateway to the soul. My eyes showed so much pain and sadness, and that upset me. Maybe I was more troubled by these parts of my life than I had thought.
I didn’t realize it until the second time, until I really looked at my eyes again that the pain and sadness was being pushed out by confidence and hope. Yes, I was experiencing at that moment some lingering aspects of my life that had been less than satisfactory, but I was also experiencing the release of it to the point where I knew I would be able to move on. At that point, it allowed me to push myself even more, so in the final moments of class, I was able to shove the emotions OUT of my body and into the world.
To deal with that release after a year is almost like dealing with a loss of sorts. It’s no longer with you, therefore, a part of you that you have become accustomed to is not there. After that improvisation class, I was taking a ballet class. My emotions were still heavy until the second barre exercise. It was so hard to dig so deep, and then just let it go. By the end of the day, I was feeling fabulous again, and even better than before. That intense experience expelled all the bad in my life, and actually kept me on a natural high for at least a week after.
I just couldn’t believe how having to face oneself in a mirror could affect a person’s being so much. Not only did I emote out on the dance floor, but I was able to face those emotions head on, in quite a literal sense. The harmony between that dance and the mirror coincided perfectly. As Martha Graham said “Dance is the hidden language of the soul of the body” and the act of the mirror exemplified this.
My natural high may have worn off now, but the class, and the teacher, will be held in my memories and my heart forever.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Emotional Vs. Technical
Okay, confession time- I’m terrible about taking class. I know that it could help my career as a teacher, and can only benefit me as a dancer as well, but I’m really awful. Between my never-ending schedule of two main jobs, and always picking up little things when the opportunities arise, and my budget of trying to save, and my overall laziness without the luxury of a car, I tend to slack in that area. When the opportunity arose for me to take a few classes in the past two weeks through the studio I teach at, I jumped at it.
There are three classes that stood out in my mind- two of which are the topic of today’s blog. I happened to take two classes from two different guest teachers that were supposed to be similar in structure, but turned out completely different for me.
Both classes were improvisation based. They both started out similar- feeling the space in the room, and moving around in it in order to get a sense of where you were and how to use the space around you. Both teachers asked us to move in the space. There were two big differences between their approaches. In the first class, our eyes were open, and we were asked to move as different creatures about the room. The teacher would say “Now move as if you were a turtle!” So I moved as a turtle would- I balled myself up on the floor and took slow-motion steps. In the second class, we were asked to close our eyes, and feel where we were heading. We were asked to trust ourselves, and if we bumped into someone, we were to improv with them, moving and flowing with their bodies (at this point, I managed to hook someone’s neck in my arm. To that person- I apologize for partially choking you!).
The second half of both classes differed greatly. In the first one, we continued with a structured improv. We were broken into groups and asked to perform certain things- such as pausing for 5 seconds- while improving to and from the mirror. I loved this exercise. It worked for me because as a control freak, and a ballet teacher, I was able to freely move within the restrictions of rules. As I danced, I remember thinking about what I had to do. I remember thinking about how I had to move and thinking about what I had done after. I remember thinking about the technical aspects of the improvisation.
The second class worked much differently. We were taught a series of movements. It was not to counts or music. It was just steps that we learned in sequence. The teacher put on music (Adele! LOVE!) and told us that we could start whenever we wanted, moved however we wanted, and could improv with others if we were to come in contact. The teacher even came around and initiated contact and movement within specific dancers. What I remember the most from this class was the emotion that we were asked to feel. As dancers, we were asked to listen to the music’s message- being hurt by someone, but finding someone better. A year’s worth of my emotions, frustrations, and aggravations came out onto the dance floor. Heck, I almost cried (but I will talk about that specific experience in another blog). It was so powerful that it took me until the second barre exercise in ballet class afterwards to come out of that place.
Both of these classes were incredible, but it made me think about the aspects of emotional dancing versus technical dancing. Obviously technique is the basis for all dance. Otherwise, we’re just flopping around out on a stage. When we think as technical dancers, we think of the lines, the posture, the pointed toes, etc that we’re supposed to be doing. We think in a linear manner. “I must get from Point A to point B.” Our bodies and brains work in sync to create perfect positions and do what is asked of us. In the first teacher’s class, this is how I thought. I thought about how my body was moving and what it was doing for the specific exercise. I could probably tell you half of the moves I did, because even though I was letting my body drive me, my brain was still thinking about the movements.
Emotional dancing is very different. In emotional dancing, typically dancers do not think about the technical aspect of the dancing. Instead of “my body is contracting in a deep Graham position”, we as emotional dancers think “my body is contracting because I can feel it’s supposed to in my gut.” While I can remember some of the steps that were in the sequence of movement that we learned, I can tell you that I do not remember a lot of what I did when I improved. What I do remember is the feeling of release of pain that I had been harboring for over a year. Points A and B- don’t remember them. All I know is that the mood of the music took over my body , and I felt free to move.
I find it so intriguing that both classes had such similar ideas, but left the dancers with such different experiences. While both were improvisation based and designed to pull the students out of their comfort zones, one left me thinking and the other left me feeling. In the first class, I remember feeling pretty good and comfortable about the exercises. In the second class, it took me a while to warm up to the exercises. I enjoyed the first class, but the second left me with a lasting impression. Perhaps that is why I enjoyed the second one so much- I achieved a place of conquering that which did not feel comfortable. I overcame that sense of awkwardness and fell into my own skin.
This is the advantage of students being able to take from different teachers- they get more than one side of a particular genre. They are allowed to experience more than one way of teaching, which aides them later in life as to what they particularly enjoy most. This in turn helps them to decide which path they will prefer to take in the world of dance, if they so choose to pursue dance.
It also helps the teacher, like me, that gets caught up in life and doesn’t take class. To these teachers that I took from in the past couple of weeks- I thank you. You were inspirational, thought-provoking, and simply wonderful!
There are three classes that stood out in my mind- two of which are the topic of today’s blog. I happened to take two classes from two different guest teachers that were supposed to be similar in structure, but turned out completely different for me.
Both classes were improvisation based. They both started out similar- feeling the space in the room, and moving around in it in order to get a sense of where you were and how to use the space around you. Both teachers asked us to move in the space. There were two big differences between their approaches. In the first class, our eyes were open, and we were asked to move as different creatures about the room. The teacher would say “Now move as if you were a turtle!” So I moved as a turtle would- I balled myself up on the floor and took slow-motion steps. In the second class, we were asked to close our eyes, and feel where we were heading. We were asked to trust ourselves, and if we bumped into someone, we were to improv with them, moving and flowing with their bodies (at this point, I managed to hook someone’s neck in my arm. To that person- I apologize for partially choking you!).
The second half of both classes differed greatly. In the first one, we continued with a structured improv. We were broken into groups and asked to perform certain things- such as pausing for 5 seconds- while improving to and from the mirror. I loved this exercise. It worked for me because as a control freak, and a ballet teacher, I was able to freely move within the restrictions of rules. As I danced, I remember thinking about what I had to do. I remember thinking about how I had to move and thinking about what I had done after. I remember thinking about the technical aspects of the improvisation.
The second class worked much differently. We were taught a series of movements. It was not to counts or music. It was just steps that we learned in sequence. The teacher put on music (Adele! LOVE!) and told us that we could start whenever we wanted, moved however we wanted, and could improv with others if we were to come in contact. The teacher even came around and initiated contact and movement within specific dancers. What I remember the most from this class was the emotion that we were asked to feel. As dancers, we were asked to listen to the music’s message- being hurt by someone, but finding someone better. A year’s worth of my emotions, frustrations, and aggravations came out onto the dance floor. Heck, I almost cried (but I will talk about that specific experience in another blog). It was so powerful that it took me until the second barre exercise in ballet class afterwards to come out of that place.
Both of these classes were incredible, but it made me think about the aspects of emotional dancing versus technical dancing. Obviously technique is the basis for all dance. Otherwise, we’re just flopping around out on a stage. When we think as technical dancers, we think of the lines, the posture, the pointed toes, etc that we’re supposed to be doing. We think in a linear manner. “I must get from Point A to point B.” Our bodies and brains work in sync to create perfect positions and do what is asked of us. In the first teacher’s class, this is how I thought. I thought about how my body was moving and what it was doing for the specific exercise. I could probably tell you half of the moves I did, because even though I was letting my body drive me, my brain was still thinking about the movements.
Emotional dancing is very different. In emotional dancing, typically dancers do not think about the technical aspect of the dancing. Instead of “my body is contracting in a deep Graham position”, we as emotional dancers think “my body is contracting because I can feel it’s supposed to in my gut.” While I can remember some of the steps that were in the sequence of movement that we learned, I can tell you that I do not remember a lot of what I did when I improved. What I do remember is the feeling of release of pain that I had been harboring for over a year. Points A and B- don’t remember them. All I know is that the mood of the music took over my body , and I felt free to move.
I find it so intriguing that both classes had such similar ideas, but left the dancers with such different experiences. While both were improvisation based and designed to pull the students out of their comfort zones, one left me thinking and the other left me feeling. In the first class, I remember feeling pretty good and comfortable about the exercises. In the second class, it took me a while to warm up to the exercises. I enjoyed the first class, but the second left me with a lasting impression. Perhaps that is why I enjoyed the second one so much- I achieved a place of conquering that which did not feel comfortable. I overcame that sense of awkwardness and fell into my own skin.
This is the advantage of students being able to take from different teachers- they get more than one side of a particular genre. They are allowed to experience more than one way of teaching, which aides them later in life as to what they particularly enjoy most. This in turn helps them to decide which path they will prefer to take in the world of dance, if they so choose to pursue dance.
It also helps the teacher, like me, that gets caught up in life and doesn’t take class. To these teachers that I took from in the past couple of weeks- I thank you. You were inspirational, thought-provoking, and simply wonderful!
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