When I choreograph
Oriental dance, I generally approach my work as a music
visualization, structuring my composition to reproduce the
architecture of its accompanying music. Since most traditional Oriental dance music makes use of repetition with
variation and of nested call-and-response phrasing, my choreographies
tend to take this same form. I typically show musical recapitulations
with movement phrases danced first on side, then danced in a mirrored
version on the other side.
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| I am a fan of balanced composition. |
Some dancers may
be surprised that an accomplished artist uses symmetrical combinations. At the time I am writing, September of 2014, it is not
unusual to encounter the sentiment that it is “more professional”
to construct choreographies so that they make no use of repetition,
regardless of repetition in the accompanying music. Inspired largely
by competition aesthetics, but also by influences from the greater
consumer culture, many dancers aspire to switch up to a brand new
combo at the start of every musical phrase, and do not use the
structure of their music to inform the structure of their dance.
To me,
traditional-context belly dance choreography that places asymmetrical
movement phrases on call-and-response music seems superficial and
clumsy, no matter how sophisticated the individual movements or how
beautiful the technique with which they are danced. I perfectly
understand free-form movement when a dancer is following the meanders
of a taxim. I also understand free-form movement, even to structured
music, in the context of improvised dance, when a dancer shares her
exploration of music with an audience in real time. But to me, the
whole point of choreography is not to simulate improvisation, but to show the results of
already-completed creative exploration. I create choreography to take
advantage of the additional possibilities an artist unlocks when she
prepares, with care, in advance.
So, when I first
heard free-form choreography described as “more professional” I
was bewildered, and, honestly, dismayed by what I perceived as a
slight to both my own aesthetic and to common sense. How had my
colleagues become so enthusiastic about dances that use music as
nothing more than an atmospheric metronome?
After some
reflection, though, I've now come to agree that free-form
choreography is indeed the professional's hallmark. I don't mean that
my tastes have changed; rather I've thought a little more deeply
about the terminology. The pro dancer, the wage worker who depends on
entertaining merry-makers and pleasing an employer, absolutely
demonstrates professionalism when she continually switches things up.
Having worked in
restaurants and nightclubs, I know firsthand that a relentless
barrage of novelty has the greatest appeal to the short attention
span of a typical contemporary audience in a commercial context.
(Wings! Next I'll balance a tray! How about some audience
participation? Everybody dance! And let's have some veil poi! You've
seen cane, but have you seen flaming cane? On roller skates?) I would
like to think that Middle Eastern audiences, who in theory have a
greater connection to Middle Eastern music and have historically
embraced a more subtle aesthetic, would be less receptive to
novelty-based choreography. But some of the most haphazard-looking
sequencing that I've seen recently has come straight from Egypt, and
many of today's most-admired Egyptian-style stars construct dances
around accents, spins, spine-whipping body waves, and ceaseless
shimmies, paying minimal attention to melody instruments. In the world
of Tribal Fusion, too, there's a marked increase in frenetic
showboating. With this in mind, a planned and polished atmosphere
blast may indeed be the most reliable way to win the acclaim of the undiscriminating masses and secure paying work.
But our dance
deserves to be valued for more than the wage a dancer earns. With the
greatest admiration and respect for those who succeed at the absurdly
difficult task of earning a living through belly dance, I encourage
dancers not to lose sight of other approaches and other perspectives.
Our community has a tendency to assign the highest value to that
which it considers “authentic,” so some may choose to arbitrarily
adopt Egyptian, Turkish, or other culturally-conventional aesthetics.
We also reward dance which is “professional,” too often
forgetting that image, personality, networking, and business savvy
strongly affect a dancer's success in the marketplace. But just
because a dance is authentic and professional does not mean it is an
artistic success.
Good dance can
come in all kinds of packages. The mainstream of belly dance is the
popular expression of our medium, something like what top-40 pop is to
music. I don't
mean to imply that all popular entertainment is necessarily
superficial formulaic fluff, only that, like music, fiction, movies,
and other creative arts, belly dance can shine in folk, commercial, and "high" art expressions. The popularity of mass-market paperbacks
doesn't diminish the value of literature. Or, to those who enjoy it,
of fan-fiction published in internet forums. The popular embrace of
slickness and novelty simply should not constrain the aesthetic of every
dance. Our “niche” products—folklore; fakelore; historic and
vintage styles from bygone eras; various permutations of “tribal”
dance with attendant acronyms; Goddess invocations; conceptual work
in and beyond fantasy, gothic, and steampunk contextual transpositions; my own idiom of
“exquisitely crafted belly dance theater”—do not each speak to
everyone, but they are cherished by their devotees, and they are the
creative wellspring on which the commercial sphere depends. An
artist is not diminished if her work speaks only to a select
audience.
I value work that
shows deftness, sensitivity, and heart. I appreciate creativity,
refinement, and rigor. I feel most proud of my most self-expressive
work, and I generally prefer to see and study with artists who
similarly invest their dances with their own distinctive signature. I
value “authenticity,” but to me this means an attraction to
artistic honesty rather than an indiscriminate embrace of Egyptian
trends.
But to each her
own. The Extreme Dance Blast has its fans. And even if it isn't my
cup of tea I do appreciate the technical skill of its presenters. I
wish more of my colleagues had this perspective. I feel like most of
those who, like me, are left flat by haphazard sequencing want to
throw the babies of technique and choreography out with the bathwater
of the latest trends. I hear from too many dancers who draw the
incorrect conclusion that choreography, by definition, is a
demonstration of having memorized a laundry list of arbitrarily
assembled movements, and that only artists who improvise have a deep
and meaningful engagement with music. I see an anti-technique
backlash too, led by dancers who seem to not understand that
technique can be cultivated as a tool, not something one might only
pursue as an end unto itself. “Just give me a dancer who does three
moves, but does them well,” they say. “These technique queens are
trying too hard,” they grumble.
As the kids (sort
of) say, don't hate the game, hate the player. Actually, don't hate
the player either. Any given three-move dancer may truly be a
delight, but complex expressions that use complex vocabulary have
equal—or, I believe, greater—potential to charm, to intrigue, to
entertain, to transport. On the flip side, I have abundant, character-building, personal experience with the potential for complex expressions to end in complex catastrophes. We're still
learning our way through this new territory. While some may prefer
to stay metaphorically down on the farm, we, as a community, have
seen Paris. I love the farm and I love visiting the ladies who call
it home, but it's absurd to tell us all that there's no point in
exploring beyond its fences. (Young people and international readers who I just lost: try this.)
Having myself
participated in more than a little grumbling over the flailings of
six-week-wonders who don't try hard enough, I won't malign any
impulse that causes a dancer to try “too hard.” I applaud any
dancer who is trying at all. I want to give particular personal
thanks to those who try hard. In fact, if you are willing to try
hard, I challenge you to try even harder. Watching belly dance grow
and change, I greatly appreciate the highly technical vocabulary and
clean body lines that have blossomed over the past decade, a
development in which I like to think I've played some modest part.
Now, I hope to encourage a parallel evolution, and inspire dancers to
put as much thoughtful refinement into the way moves are sequenced as
many of us now put into the moves themselves. Not every dance needs
to be choreographed, not every choreography needs to aspire to the
level of high art, and not every artistic choreography needs to be a
music visualization, but our skill as choreographers needs to catch
up with the new sophistication of our vocabulary. I am confident
that it will. With risk comes the potential for failure, but ars
longa, vita brevis, and you are not getting any younger. If you fail,
I'll try not to judge, and I'll try to to keep telling everyone else
not to judge you either. On the other hand, you might do something
great, and I want to see it.
Click that ►. You can get it if you really want.
Click that ►. You can get it if you really want.
