Digging in the dirt...

When Kajira asked me to teach a "gothic" workshop at Tribal Fest this year, I didn't really know what to offer. I don't consider myself just a gothic bellydancer, although that seems to be the label that others often put on me. I don't mind, really; I do tend towards darker themes and costuming, so the label is understandable. However, despite being attracted to the darker side of things, I think my style encompasses more than "gothic". And as far as teaching any sort of authoritative workshop on gothic styling, costuming, or music, I could name several dancers and artists who are much more qualified to do so. I think the reason Kajira asked me to teach a "gothic" workshop is because my performance at Tribal Fest 8 last May was quite dark.

That performance was rooted in a lot of personal anger and frustration that I had been dealing with as an artist and as an individual. In order to perform that piece, I did a lot of introspection and soul-searching. The specific meaning behind the piece is, of course, personal. I had to face my fears, my insecurities, and my ever-present and often destructive Ego in order to work up the gall to share that with the world. I often describe that piece as "One girl confronting and conquering her demons."

Demons...

The concept of personal demons has fascinated me since high school. Personal demons are the aspects of our own selves that we fear, that we don't want to accept, and that we don't want the rest of the world to see. They are our ugly parts, our sources of shame, anger, and fear. They are remnants of our past that we'd rather not remember, that we'd rather just push away. All of us have them, but only some of us choose to face them, and even fewer use them in our art. And the more you push them down, the stronger and less controllable they can become.

I believe the best art is made from the deepest and darkest demons. So, just as I had to reach deep inside my psyche to present my TF8 performance, maybe I can help others face, confront, and tame their darker sides, their Jungian Shadow archetype. I've also confronted (but by no means have I fully reconciled it--I'm not sure one ever does) my Demons and Shadow face-to-face several times in Suhaila Salimpour's workshops, particularly this past August during the Level III weeklong. I think I have some insight on how to use the darker aspects of ourselves to create a more powerful, more emotional, and more honest performance.

If we can't face the dark sides of ourselves, we will continue to never fully recognize our complete emotional range... and if we can't recognize our emotional range, how can we ever present a compelling performance to an audience who, whether they know it or not, are desperately seeking a connection with the artist on stage. The more you can face your demons, the more you can not only connect with yourself, but with every single person who sees you perform. And isn't making that sublime connection with others something that makes art ART?

Today, I'll leave you with this excerpt from Jung's writings on the Shadow.

We know that the wildest and most moving dramas are played not in the theatre but in the hearts of ordinary men and women who pass by without exciting attention, and who betray to the world nothing of the conflicts that rage within them except possibly by a nervous breakdown. What is so difficult for the layman to grasp is the fact that in most cases the patients themselves have no suspicion whatever of the internecine war raging in their unconscious. If we remember that there are many people who understand nothing at all about themselves, we shall be less surprised at the realization that there are also people who are utterly unaware of their actual conflicts.

"New Paths in Psychology" (1912). In CW 7: Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. P.425

Dance as language.

I've been encountering the metaphor of dance as language recently... Mira Betz told us during one of her workshops here in DC that performing is like telling a story. Every movement should add to a cohesive whole. It's one thing to have beautiful technique, but if the movements don't flow well together and if they don't fit the music, then all you're speaking to your audience is gibberish.

Performing lots of beautiful technique without a story or without flow is like going up to someone and saying, "Conceptual lucrative implement ameliorate."

WHAT?

Sure, those are all difficult words that are cool on their own, but when you put them together, they don't mean anything. They're just a string of difficult words.

It seems that recently in the tribal fusion community dancers have been praising other dancers who speak individual words very well (i.e. executing particular movements cleanly and precisely) without tying all of them together into a larger, complete performance. It's like applauding someone giving a speech because they said, "ameliorate" really really well. But what did the word "ameliorate" have to do with anything they were saying? Were they saying anything at all?

This is, of course, not to say that clean technique isn't important. Of course it's important. But technique alone is not the essence of dance. One must look at their performance as a whole, a complete presentation that flows seamlessly from beginning to end.

I leave you with two articles from two dancers and artists I respect very much: Shems and Tempest. Both have written eloquent articles on the importance of a cohesive performance.


"Learning the Language of Belly Dance" by Shems

Learning to belly dance is like learning a new language. Just like a baby learns how to shape her mouth to create new words, a dance student learns how to shape her body to express herself through dance. A child masters language as she grows and as she matures to adulthood eventually uses language to communicate more fully and even inspire.

"The Age of Storytelling" by Tempest

Really, it comes down to every dancer has a story to tell. And if they can stop for a moment and consider what it is and what it means to them before they get on that stage, then it will show in their dancing.

Having a good vocabulary is one thing... knowing how to use it is another thing entirely.

On being a performer.

A stream of consciousness post for a Sunday morning...

I think the hardest part of being a dancer for me is also being a performer. I get a little self-absorbed, and not in a "I'm so awesome" kind of way, but in that I forget that there are others watching me perform. If I'm not in the right headspace, I don't project as much emotion to the audience as I should or could. And then the audience doesn't follow me on my journey on stage.

I am an introvert. I have a hard time connecting with people in general, and when I'm putting myself on stage, expressing very personal elements of myself as a dancer and artist, I feel very vulnerable.

What really helped open my eyes was taking a workshop with Sera, formerly of Washington DC and now in New York. She said that when we're on stage we must "give our throat to the wolves" - basically we have to forget our fears and open ourselves up to the audience, no matter how cruel or aloof they might be.

I've always been a technical dancer - the skill of dancing has come rather easily to me, but connecting with the audience has always been a challenge. I think it's a challenge for most dancers who aspire to also be performers. It's much easier to go out there, do some tricks, and then walk off stage... but to really connect with the audience, to give them a piece of yourself, your soul, is so much different... and it's scary!

What I see in a lot of newer dancers is that they have not yet learned how to project, to give themselves to the audience. Being able to project means being confident in your technical abilities that they become second nature... it's like an actor knowing her lines so well that she doesn't have to think about them anymore and she can become the character that she's portraying.

Recently I've been focusing more on getting into that emotional place than on drilling technique, so that I can just dance "in the moment" and yet still give myself to the audience.

What has really helped me is eye contact. I used to be so afraid of looking people in the eyes, even when not on stage. Honestly, sometimes I fake eye contact when on stage. I'll look between people, and not really at anyone, but it looks like I'm staring someone down. I'm trying to get better at this and really look right at people in the audience. It makes them smile, and it makes me smile. Both good things when on stage!

I also try to spend some time alone before the performance, getting into an emotional place. If I don't have that time before a performance to settle into my "character", the piece isn't going to be as successful, and I have a harder time controlling my emotional projection on stage. When creating a piece, I try to have a particular mood or character that I'm portraying, and these are always a part of myself. I never portray a character that isn't inherent in my own personality.

And while I'm on stage, I have to believe and know that I am in control: of my movements, my expression, and the audience. They are my captives... otherwise they wouldn't be there. It's a delicate balance... because if you try too hard for their attention, it will slip away. The audience will know that you're trying to hard and then they won't take you seriously. But if it's obvious that you're enjoying yourself and loving what you do up on stage, they'll go along with you for the journey. It's very zen. It's trying without effort.

The most useful way to become a performer is, of course, getting performance experience. Nothing will teach you most about being on stage than actually being on stage. You can read all about emotional expression all you want, but if you don't actually perform, none of that intellectual knowledge will do you any good.

Where are you in this process? Is connecting with the audience something that comes naturally for you or not? What do you do to help you with this aspect of performance?

Darkness and Light.

I was talking to a fellow dancer yesterday, and we were talking about emotional expression and crying in dance workshops... I said this:

We go into this dance thinking it's all fun and light, but if we really want to get something out of it, we have to face the dark within ourselves.

Some of the best workshops I've ever taken are the ones that have made me cry.... Not because the instructor was mean or overly demanding, but because the dancing has been so physically intense that I let down my emotional guard and the demons that I usually suppress from day to day come knocking on my proverbial door. When I take a moment to cry out my frustrations with myself and my expectations, I realize that I have broken through yet another emotional wall. I emerge victorious, ready to face the world again, having confronted painful memories and conquering them.

So much of our emotional existence is like that of the life of the Phoenix... we constantly immolate ourselves in our self-made fires, only to be reborn, stronger.

Music Aesthetics

Using your music as a springboard to creating an aesthetic for a performance or several performances.

Music is the base of all of my performances.

The songs I choose help me determine the movements I use, the costuming I wear, and the mood that I convey.

Costuming:

I really believe that your costuming should reflect your music in some way. One wouldn't wear a tutu while performing an Irish step dance, so why would a fusion bellydancer wear a full out cabaret costume? If your music is fusion, your costuming needs to fuse. I know it's difficult as someone new to performing to have a costume to reflect all the different styles of music to which you might want to dance, so I find it absolutely imperative to buy or make costuming pieces that are versatile and modular, meaning that you can mix-and-match your bras, belts, cholis, and pants. I also think that too much attention is paid to costuming in the tribal fusion world, at the expense of actually dancing well, so make sure that your costuming is appropriate, but not upstaging your dance.

Dance Movement:
Of course, when I create a performance, it's based in belly dance movement. But, as the music I'm using is often not traditional, I feel it's necessary to put in some non-traditional movement. Your movements should fuse, just as your costuming should fuse. For me, as I dance to a lot of electronic music, I try to integrate into my performances robotic and "electronic-looking" movements, often based in the "popping", "locking", and "ticking" dance styles of breakdancing. I feel it is important to never lose my tribal belly dance posture or arms when executing this movements - because keeping the posture of tribal while performing popping and locking truly fuses the movements. I feel that integrating appropriate movements into my belly dance performances is the only way I can appropriately interpret the music and give the music the credit it deserves for inspiring me to want to perform to it. Of course, this applies to any style of music you choose. If a jazzy piece of music inspires you, research jazz dance, and find ways to fully fuse it with your belly dance movement. If Indian or South Asian music inspires you, look into its history and into classical Indian music. What's most important that you dance to your music as though you were dancing a tribute to the musician who created it. And remember that as belly dancers, it is our duty to become the music, whichever music you choose.

Mood:
This is perhaps one of the hardest parts about performing: how to lose yourself in the mood of the music without losing control of your dance music. I believe to be able to do this consistently well takes years of training. I've been dancing for more than eight years and I barely feel like I've gotten to a point where I can truly become the music in the way I feel I should. I think there are two issues at hand here. One is that it is very difficult to reach down inside ourselves and share our raw emotions with an audience through our dances. It takes a lot of soul-searching and courage, which can take years to feel remotely comfortable doing on a regular basis. The other issue is finding music that we NEED to dance to, rather than just finding a song that's kinda cool or fun, or something to which another dancer has already performed. Personally, I used to dance to music that I thought was just kinda cool, and my performances to those songs lacked Ooomph. But when I perform to songs that I absolutely love, then that love flows through my body and out to the audience, even if the music itself is sad or angry. Now, when I choose music, it has to make me feel a strong emotion, whether it be anger, joy, sadness, frustration, or longing. The mood the song invokes in me will then be conveyed through my movements, and with appropriate movement and costuming, I can create a complete performance.

One last note on music: Never take music for granted. An artist worked very hard to create that music, and as dancers, I believe it is our responsibility to respect the work of those artists. One of the best ways I feel I can pay tribute to a musician is dancing well to their music. And this lofty goal, of course, takes years of practice, dedication, and straight up love for both this dance and the music to which we perform.

Quite the character.

Before I go into my thoughts on the importance of music, I want to share some of my personal history with you all. I swear it's related.

When I was still figure skating, I took classes and lessons with an Armenian woman, Noemi Nargizian, who had danced with the Kirov Ballet during the Cold War. She immigrated to the United States after the Iron Curtain fell and moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, which is where I lived the first 18 years of my life, and where I spent 12 of those 18 years as a competitive figure skater. Although Noemi herself did not skate, she worked with several figure skaters to improve their presence on the ice, character development, musical interpretation, and emotional expression.

She was one of the sweetest and most giving people I have known, as well as humble and incredibly talented. She was always joyful and loved sharing her secrets of the Russian ballet with us, unknown figure skaters who had little experience in the world.

At the time I was working with her, I didn't realize how much her instruction would help me later on as a belly dancer. I still use her lessons today, both in my own performances but also in my classes.

One of the lessons I learned from her was creating a character that was true to your emotional perspective. She said that for every performance I should create a story, something close to my heart that would help me get into "that place" before taking my starting pose on the ice. It had to be something I could relate to personally, and no one else had to know what it was. I loved this concept, and I ran with it. I created a personal story for every skating performance from then on. I credit my doing so, and Noemi's loving training, with winning several awards for Artistic Expression in the competitions I entered.

When I started belly dance, I was so consumed with learning the new dance and learning how to move on a floor instead of slick frozen water, that I forgot about Noemi's wisdom.

It wasn't until 2005, when I took a Level I three-day workshop with Suhaila Salimpour that I started thinking about characters and emotional perspective again. She was talking about her Level III workshops, and how it's all about facing your demons and reaching deep inside to find deep-seated emotions. Then, a few weeks later I took a workshop with another dancer I admire greatly, Sera, from New York. She said that in your performances you have to "give your throat to the wolves". Basically, you can't be afraid to make yourself vulnerable.

At that point I realized that I had lost my perspective.

From then on, I started to approach all of my bellydance performances from a deeply personal level, creating a story behind each, something that would move me and help convey my feelings from the stage to the audience. I started creating characters which were aspects of my true self. I think this rediscovery of my emotional expression helped to elevate my performances to a new level, and helped me connect with my audiences.

If you create a character that you can't relate to, it's not going to work. You have to come from something deep in you, something that creates an immediate emotional reaction when you think about it. You have to feel it inside you, in your heart, in your whole body. For me, it starts with the music. I have to dance to music that invokes a strong emotional response. From there I spin my tale, whatever it might be...