Failure: Making it Look Good

All artists fail. I know. Nice opener. Not exactly an easily apparent selling point. Here's another statement. Fewer artists are failures. Let me explain starting with an example.

I study Classical Indian Dance forms. Beginning in my undergraduate years of college I took up research and training in various Indian dance forms. What I first noticed is how much of a failure I was at the forms. As a life-long dancer I was bewildered at how challenging the learning process was for a form culturally so foreign to my background. I was passionate about not only learning the form but understanding the form. Then in my quest to understand the form, I realized that my failure was the lesson. Over time, I did get better. I have performed in professional settings in various venues, and yet, what I value most are the learning lessons I have about what I fail at in the form. For me, the areas of the dance that I fail in are the most rich in knowledge and understanding of the dance forms and how they reflect the values and daily practices of the culture in which the dance form was born. Basically, where the failure occurs points to where I differ in bodily knowledge and understanding and culture from the form of dance I am learning.

Take for example the ability to "sit." In Bharatanatyam and Kuchhipudi in particular (Odissi to a lesser degree) it was extremely difficult for me to sit in the position very similar to Ballet's demi-plié for the duration of various items. But my failure to do so was an invaluable key to the puzzle of understanding an aspect of the dance form and the culture out of which it grows. It gave me a valuable clue to asking questions about the relationship to the earth in Indian and Indian diaspora culture. So instead of seeing failure as the final result, I found the value of seeing failure as the generative seed of curiosity and eventual knowledge.

This is one small example of the value that so many artists know and get drawn in by in the art-making process. The artistic process' ability to not only introduce endless moments of failure but to enable wonderful, rich, critical, profound discoveries from these failures is what so many artists respond to in making work. And for those that push forward beyond the failure with inquisitive imaginative minds, failing does not result in the artist becoming a failure but instead a success if not in the eyes of others than at least to those involved in the creative process.

So what about dance? What makes failure unique in dance is what happens when your very vehicle, or vessel that makes you alive and expressive fails you. In dance failure is oftentimes not a failure of technique, or speech, prop, or visual appearance. It is often a failure of the body itself. No matter how much technique or how eloquent one may be in the written or spoken word, the momentary failures and missteps of the body are inconsolable. It gives rise to the constant reminder that at every moment there is room for error, room for the body to do less than what we expect or intend. And the missteps that result in injury not only remind us of our chronic fallibility but also of our mortality. No matter how talented, how experienced, dancers do make mistakes and are constantly aware of the constant possibility of momentary mistakes. Also, when dancing, mistakes are certainly relative to bodily expectations and awareness of the dancer. So what some might consider a flawless execution of physical expression, dancers can often think things like, "I could have reached my arm more on that move. I should have embodied more Lightness on that move. I could have made a better decision in that moment of improvisation." And yet we still dance through the failures. Not only do we dance through the failures, we often learn about the state of the human condition and how to cope with that condition.

While some of us live a tortured life never feeling fulfilled or perfected, some of us learn how to learn from the failure of being in a body. We learn how to cope with the failure of being physical, mortal beings. We learn how to learn from the failure that come with being physical, mortal beings. We learn how to maintain curiosity, diligence, honesty, and ownership of failures. In dance correction and learning has to be momentary so as not to repeat the mistake in the next run of the movement material. So we must constantly question how to improve and correct at every moment. We have to avoid the trap of giving up falling into the trap of debilitating self-deprecation and instead push past the error into the next run of the movement phrase. In order to correct, we have to really be honest about the source of the mistake. We have to self-correct when necessary and learn to communicate in a generative way to other participants if success depends on some change on their part. That means owning up to failures that we are solely responsible for as quickly as possible. To do anything else in the way of making excuses causes everyone to lose valuable rehearsal time.

In learning how to make these negotiations without the potential scape goat that written word, speech, technical know-how, or tools may offer other art forms, dance offers a primal truth in its failures. There is very little to mask the truth of how a dancer deals with failure, errors, or mistakes. And for that dancers must be brave enough to keep moving after the errors, curious enough to solve what's causing the errors, honest enough to look inside to understand the errors, and humble enough to listen to the potential wisdom that each failure offers about self, relationship to others, and the environment. Even in moments of failure the body doesn't lie. It instead offers infinite opportunities for wisdom. Are you brave enough to move and fail?

Fela, Art, and Activism

Last weekend I went to see the Broadway musical Fela! The performance was an amazing celebration of dance as an expression of so many varied facets of life and a historical narrative about the life of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. I came back from the musical with many curiosities. While most were historical about the life of Fela and world historical events mentioned in the musical, I also came back with a larger philosophical question about dance and activism. What is the relationship between dance and activism?

A quick search of the word "activism" at www.dictionary.com results in the following definitions:
1) the doctrine or practice of vigorous action or involvement as a means of achieving political or other goals, sometimes by demonstrations, protests, etc. 2) a theory that the essence of reality is pure activity, esp. spiritual activity, or process 3) a theory that the relationship between the mind and the objects of perception depends upon the action of the mind

The first two definitions really resonate with my dancing, moving body. Activism's root being "active" really speaks to exactly what dance provides for the dancer. Dance can even be seen as a form or practice of "pure activity" in line with the definition of activism. As a dancer I feel the truth in that from an experiential place. I feel the closest to this particular idea is the field of movement therapy or some forms of somatic practice where people use their own personal movement style and individuality or specific somatic techniques to better understand themselves as a whole person, strengths, weakness, and all.

My issue with that is whether this personal process of developing movement should be presented as a performance for general audiences. For the audience members, those not actively or physically participating, I question the validity of dance as a form of activism.

For me it was very apparent in the audience participation scripted into the musical. I've seen it before. Asking people to get up and act can be like pulling teeth. People are so often no longer experiencing their lives from a fully embodied place. I find general populations are far more comfortable talking and thinking than they are moving their bodies in an expressive way or moving their bodies in a way that will fulfill what they dream about or are truly passionate about. Are we as dancers still activists if we don't require a physical experience for our audience members? And if not a physical experience then must there be at least some clear, coherent, choreographed concept that may have blossomed or presented itself in our physical soul searching if we are to call our work a form of activism for our audiences?

Now I have to admit. I have my own personal value system and background when it comes to discussing the role of dance as activism within society. The connection for me between activism and dance is an intimate one. It is no coincidence for me that "movement" is a term we use to describe the format through which activists convey their message (ex. political movement.) But in terms of my personal bias, I don't often find dance for dance's sake an activist event for audiences. I gravitate toward making dances that examine some quality, phenomena, or oddity of the human experience or our current society/culture. I avoid making work that is solely about the movement itself. In the play Kevin Mambo (playing Fela) explains Fela's journey from wanting to make good music that can really move the audience to wanting to make good music that not only moves the audience but also expresses the sociopolitical dilemma's of Africa at the time.

I have heard dance professors suggest that dancers not choreograph unless they have something to "say" with that work. And I have to admit I can feel a bit annoyed when I attend a dance performance where dancers are truly enjoying performing the movement but not at all conveying some coherent concept that really speaks to a specific phenomena occurring within human experience. While I am well aware of my own proclivities, I certainly do not hold others to my own value system and am curious to hear thoughts from others or any arguments that support dance for dance's sake as an activist event for audience members.

Not Exactly a Review of "yellow" by Diana Crum

I just viewed Diana Crum’s site-specific work, yellow, at the Main Library here in Salt Lake City. I was particularly excited about this performance due my recent interest in how environments affect our behavior, our interactions with spaces, and our interactions with others.

For those not familiar with the main library, the entrance is an expansive vestibule with small shops on one side and the library on the other. When you walk in and look up, you see up at least three stories and then out skylights into the sky.

The performers were eye-catching in their unseasonable bright yellow costumes—a great contrast to the huge windows and skylights in the main area of the library, which cast a grey shadow with the rainy, cool weather.

The performance began with the dancers being seemingly blown in—traversing the long space between the two sets of entrance doors at either end of the space. Eventually ending in a long line across the vast space of the vestibule, the dancers began a slow, leaning, and backward descent into the floor.

For me, this section was the most engaging. I was drawn in by the spotted contrast of the yellow costumes to the grayness seen through the windows, the grayness of the steel beams, and the stone floors. They dancers were like beams of light in an otherwise desolate landscape, the landscape of the library.

Part of the reason I was drawn to this section was that it allowed me to view how the people using the library (hereafter refered to as the “people of the library”) interacted with the dancers. Many of them wove a curvilinear path that avoided the dancers without ever acknowledging their presence. It was as if the dancers conflicted with the people of the library’s sense of who or what “belonged” in the vestibule, and they choose to pretend that the dancers didn’t exist. Instead of investigating what was happening, these “onlookers” chose to continue on their way—even though the very nature of their changed path was as a result of the encumbrance of the dancers in the space. Why?

When we enter a library, we expect certain things: books, quiet, and people looking at books or studying. We certainly don’t expect to see dancers in yellow slowly falling to the ground or being blown by an invisible wind.

This piece challenged the people of the library to question their assumptions of the use of the library space. What else don’t we do in this space? And why not? If nothing else, it made the people of the library go out of their way for a moment—change their pattern. It would be interesting to do a study on this kind of work and catalog how many different kinds of behaviors a piece like this might elicit—from ignoring, to a side-ways glance, to standing to watch. And—I wonder if there is any way to motivate more people toward the standing to watch end. Or would that even be preferable?

Thoughts?

Bump and Grind: Dances of the Youth

"Fear and restraint of buttocks power, especially the dancing buttocks is a fundamental component in Christianity's dialectic on the corporeal capacity for sin. In an essentialist fashion the early church differentiated itself from 'pagan' practice by its radical stance regarding the (dancing) body." - Brenda Dixon Gottschild

"Perhaps in common with many other women, my butt memories take me into the larger cultural arena where women are ogled, commodified, and categorized according to degree and volume of 'tits and ass.' How can I explain, or explain away, that backward but primal female desire to attract that, scurrilous though it may seem from a position of critical distance, at a certain tender adolescent age seems to celebrate and affirm one's entry into the mysteries of womanhood? It is a craving to be included in the culture's contexted narrative of femininity. . . ." - Brenda Dixon Gottschild

As a recent chaperon of a dance held for teenagers, I realized I'm officially old. But in addition to any personal nostalgia and realizations, there has been debate and discussion about the "quality" of the dancing with teenagers. Various adults find the dancing offensive and inappropriate for teens. My first reaction is: "Well I was that kid that had to be pulled apart at dances and at that point had yet to even have a first kiss." It has never made sense the presumption that risque dancing is a "gateway drug" to more inappropriate sexual behavior. It certainly wasn't true for me. My experience was that those few hours of risque behavior were in a way carnivalesque. Dances allowed me to express and release the first feelings and urges of sexuality. These dances allowed me to explore, in a safe space, urges that I had little to no experience acting out. It gave me a moment to purge pent up sexual energy and explore the burgeoning womanhood into which I was blossoming. These dances were moments wherein I could express a side of myself that was inappropriate to express at every other setting in my life. It also gave me a power of a fuller knowledge of self and voice in terms of how I chose to dance and with whom I chose to dance. For me, my upbringing as a southern belle dictated that I did not speak unless spoken to. I did not assert myself too forcefully but instead acted with grace and decorum. Until these moments of powerful expression at social teen dances, I had not experienced the courage and power to either accept, reject, or influence the interest of males. It was deemed inappropriate no matter what my hormones were telling me at that age.

But that was my own personal experience. I would not expect or demand that my experience be the rule. So beyond my personal experience, I had curiosities about how to talk about this phenomena of adults objecting to and feeling uncomfortable about the dances of young teens. My first thought is that the phenomena is part of some sort of cultural cosmic order in which teens push the limits and adults establish where that limit should be. Is this sort of issue a sort of social yin and yang in which adults and teens keep each other in some sort of balance by pushing against each other? By objecting do adults simply make the actions more appealing to youth? Where is an appropriate boundary and how do you articulate or define that boundary for kids? Are children challenging us as adults to define and articulate our own sexual boundaries to then expect them to abide by the same?

In asking myself why I found this particular topic so fascinating, I realized that it was part of my research interests around dance, religion, and society. Much of what I hear as the issue of concern from adults is that teens are expressing publicly with their bodies ideas, urges, and curiosities around their bodies as sexual objects. But what I think is important to understand is that our ideas about sex and ways of expressing one's sexuality are culturally relative. Each individual's way of expressing themselves with their bodies (sexually or otherwise) is dependent one's culture, personal experiences, personal preferences, and family upbringing. I think there are some adults that are under the assumption that their expectations of propriety and how one expresses themselves are static, clear, and universal. I think some may be unaware that even one's expectations of how one expresses their body differs from household to household, from culture to culture, from country to country. The expectation of appropriate dance may vary from a conservative Muslim Moroccan-American household, to a catholic Latin-American household, to a Protestant French-American household.

What I find valuable about this dialogue on teen dance is the potential to learn about various points of view, various thoughts in terms of the causes and effects of risque teen dance, and various connections to each individual's personal values around dance, the body, and sexuality. In this discussion what I think is most important is to realize that each person's value and expectation is culturally specific and not necessarily the belief of others. So should we tell teens to avoid provocative dancing as a way to avoid unwarranted advances, or should we tell teens to practice taking ownership and responsibility for their corporeal voice, values, and expression? I don't know. But I find the discussion to be a valuable one.

Embodiment in Screendance?

             For the past several weeks I’ve been debating whether or not to pursue a certificate in Screendance. While the I love the process of making a screendance, I’ve had some doubts—mainly centered around the idea of embodiment. For me as a dancer, embodiment of my art form is very important to me.

            In deciding if and what type of graduate degree I wanted, I went back and forth between a PhD and an MFA. I love writing about dance. I love dance theory and dance history, but I eventually decided that I wanted to get my MFA. The crux of my decision had to do with embodiment. I realized that embodiment of my art and the theory of my art was still very important to me.

            Now, I don’t mean to imply that those with PhDs in dance are disembodied or that they don’t value embodiment. Because that is not the case. However, when I looked at the course loads for PhD programs and MFA programs—there were more opportunities for the practice and embodiment of the art in MFA programs. And so, here I am—an MFA candidate at the University of Utah.

            Which brings me back to my original dilemma—where is the embodiment in the making of a screendance? Certainly, in the shooting stage of a dance video, the camera is apt to a partner, as is the person shooting the film. That part of the dance film is certainly embodied—especially by the cameraman. Unfortunately, though, the shoot takes much, much less time than the edit.

            And the edit is where my main contention lies. In the last dance video I made, I spent about two hours shooting and then almost twelve hours editing. One night I even sat in my chair without getting up (literally!) for five hours. All for a two minute video dance.

            I guess that’s where I’m having trouble. If I sit for almost twelve hours manipulating images on a screen, how am I furthering my goal of embodiment? I love making screendance, but am I selling out? Or is it that the goal of the screendance is to make the audience feel as if they have just embodied the dance screen? Or, to make the audience want to move?

            What are your thoughts?

The Perils and Power of Improvisation

As an expert or enthusiast in any topic, it may be difficult to fully get a sense of just how much knowledge you may have gained along the way from novice status to experienced participant. I've been working with students recently with movement improvisation. In working with the group, I've been confounded on just how difficult the process has been in facilitating improvisation experiences. Improvisation has been such a staple in my creative process for so long that I feel I have lost touch with what it felt like in the beginning, to feel the challenge that improvisation first presented for me.

In helping the students discover the power of improvisation, I've rediscovered that power for myself. Working with this group has brought me an empathy for the students in how potentially challenging the world of improvisation can be. I can remember the feeling of discomfort. As a young woman who was coming out of a culture of "universal" rights and wrongs when it came to being expressive with the body, it was a huge challenge for me. Coming out of a culture of ballet, beauty pageants, and dance competitions, improvisation was a huge and challenging breakthrough to the world of individual voice and choice. It was a discovery a place where experience was valued over product, where risk and exploration were valued over safety and protocol.

Working with this group has reminded me of the power inherent in improvisation. As I facilitated the class I found myself speaking aloud the virtues gained from improvisation, partly to spark an interest in the students, partly to remind myself. I mentioned the power of moving and being in your body with no apologies or judgment, with no cultural or social expectation being imposed. Improvisation is also a practice in exploratory rebellion, a rebellion that moves one closer to their unique stylistic identity and movement or conceptual fingerprint. No improvisation session is ever the same. And each individual experiences their own process of discovering movement ideas or conceptual ideas differently.

I spoke about how improvisation is about pushing the borders of the rules established in the improvisation score. Take for example, my direction given to do something that feels both important, impulsive, true, and uncomfortable or unusual for you as a mover. A student then asked me what would happen if that for her meant leaving the room. I explained to her that if I did not dictate the class remaining in the room, she was totally entitled to leave the room as long as she has a clear intention or curiosity she has committed to exploring. I hoped to provide a space in facilitating these improvisation scores that provided a safe space for the group to explore movement they dare not do in any other circumstance. I hoped to provide a space where their bodies were safe to physicalize whatever it was their bodies chose to purge or express. I hope to provide a space where it was okay to step outside of the boundaries and expectations of their other classes.

The fear of stepping outside of the bounds of conformity and expectation through improvisation is a place of power for me. It is a skill necessary for the creative ingenuity and innovation on which our country prides itself. It is a rebellion against our culture of testing, competition, productivity, and benchmarks wherein a person is free to be exactly what they are in every moment of the movement. The world of improvisation is not however a place of indulgent sensation with no critical motivation or processing. Instead it is a research process that requires people to create their own "scientific method." It is a rejection of the idea of being trained to conform to someone else's movement or someone else's expectation of productivity. It is a recuperation from the high stakes that our students often face with the pressures of school these days. But whether you are a student or an adult, I think it is a recuperation from what we currently value as a country. It is a rejection of thinking en masse, of idolizing the famous or powerful, of self-loathing, of looking to others to validate us. Instead, improvisation allows a person to think for themselves in every moment, to celebrate and to appreciate their own personal expressivity, to value who they are just as the are, and to look inside ourselves to discover our unique worth.

I would like to thank the students I teach. They have reminded me of just how powerful and yet foreign improvisation can be to the novice. The challenge that improvisation presents only confirms for me the value it provides in the lives of those who experience it.

Psychology and LMA

 

            Psychology and Human Behavior

Recently, I’ve been taking a psychology class on how human behavior affects the environment and how the environment affects human behavior. I’m learning many different approaches or models for studying the exact same situation or person. So far, I’ve found each of them lacking the kind of depth and breadth found in the LMA system. In LMA, we try to take into account the many different layers of context—both for the environment and for the person or persons we are studying.

The best compromise I’ve been able to come is a combination of ecological psychology, cognitive psychology, and behavioral psychology. I feel that all three aspects would be important to gaining a full picture of the information I am gathering and that without one of those layers, I would be losing something. For instance, while an individual’s perception of himself or herself is very valuable information (cognitive), when that individual is placed in an actual situation, they may not act congruently with how they believe they will act (behavioral).

The Grandmother and the Punk: A Surprising Story

 For instance, I remember my grandmother always complained about the “punks” she saw at the mall, on the street and in the grocery store. She would tell me that if she ever ran into one, she would give him or her a piece of her mind. However, one year, I went to prom with my friend Tony, a “punk” with a bright red mohawk. My parents asked that he come to my house to meet them before the big night.

I’m sure you can imagine my anticipation and worry over him meeting my grandmother. He drove me home from school one day and when we got to my house, my grandmother was sitting out on the porch, waiting.  I remember cringing and imagining the scene that would follow.

            No sooner had he parked than Tony was out of the car, up the porch steps and introducing himself to her. By the time I reached them, they were already having a friendly conversation. And, up until she died, my grandmother frequently asked how my friend with the red hair was doing.

            So, even though my grandmother expressed her own words great animosity toward anyone “punk,” she loved Tony, who was and is the epitome of the punk subculture. She considered him a great friend after talking with him for five minutes on our front porch. In this situation the cognitive and behavioral results were incongruent. The ways my grandmother claimed she would act (rude and unfriendly) and how she did actually behave (polite and friendly) were in direct opposition to one another. If we only looked at how she claimed she would act, we would say that my grandmother does not like the punk subculture and she would not tolerate any member of said subculture. If we only looked at how she behaved, we would say that my grandmother was friendly and perhaps even liked the punk subculture. Which, then, is true?

           What Do We Take from This?

            The answer is that both interpretations are true. The context, which has not been looked at yet, provides some answers as to why. People never think or behave inside a vacuum. In my grandmother’s case, she was raised in a very strict background, where putting yourself on display was considered tantamount to a crisis. When my grandmother was young, my great-grandmother slapped her across the face for wearing lipstick. Later in life, when my own mother wore nail polish my grandmother made a snide remark about my mother “wanting attention.”

            Considering that background, it is not hard to see why a subculture, like the punk subculture, which strides with a purpose away from cultural norms would ride on the nerves of my grandmother who saw such behavior as negative. Naturally, my grandmother would think her way of behaving toward someone of the punk subculture would be negative because it espouses something that goes directly against her own value system.

            However, when she actually met Tony, the “punk,” she behaved very differently. Again, the missing piece here is the context. First, she was sitting on my parent’s porch listening to the birds and watching the plant life move in the breeze—something that set her naturally at ease. Then, when Tony approached, he went to her directly and as they talked he seemed to genuinely care about the things she said. While this was unexpected for her, she followed the precedent he set and was friendly in return. They ended up developing a natural rapport and mutual respect for one another quickly. In this instance, the environment was one my grandmother was comfortable in and she was greeted in a friendly manner.

            When we put all three of these together, we get a very full picture of my grandmother—how she thinks about herself, how she behaves and how certain contexts affect her. Each has important information to tell about her, and by leaving one out, we would leave out important information.

            The LMA Perspective

            Individuals are not one-dimensional, or even two-dimensional. Individuals are multi-dimensional and so the decision-making process they use is complex and unique to each of them.

            This brings me to a paper by Ed Groff that dealt with a similar topic. The paper began with several “scenarios” like this:

A man is running, he is leaning slightly forward, reaching in large strides, arms bent at the elbow but swinging freely at the shoulders. His brow is furrowed and his face is tense. He is glistening with sweat and does not veer from his forward pathway.

This man is:

1. returning home from an evening at the opera
2. late for his bus
3. being chased by a large dog
4. on his way to the grocery store
5. crossing the street (Groff, 1989, p. 3)

I picked “B.” So obvious, I thought to myself at the time. I was shocked when the answer was any or none of the above. Groff makes the point that without the full context of the situation it is impossible to tell why the individual might be acting this way. It is a not a one to one ratio—that A always equals B—as many “body language” theories espouse. The context of the person being observed is important, just as important as what they are doing.

So, to fully analyze and understand a situation, it is necessary to understand the person or people being analyzed, what their behavior actually is, and the environment they are being analyzed in. And that, is what I believe the LMA system is all about.

Groff, Ed. (1989). Procedings from Eurolab Conference March 1989: Creative Perception: Movement and the Meaning Making Process. Berlin: Ed Groff.