Dance is Not Comfortable

We have cycled through various choreographers during the last 2 months of the DanceJerusalem program as we prepared two different works. One is part of a piece called...by Vertigo. The other is part of Kamyot by BatSheva. This has been interesting, as we have received very different interpretations of the pieces we are in. Sometimes confusing, as this will often change the directions, but overall very enlightening.

The other day, we had a choreographer come in who was part of BatSheva for 10 years and just recently left. He was by far one of my favorite choreographers. The BatSheva piece that we are working on has often felt very peaceful. It was much easier for me to learn than the Vertigo piece because each movement is very specific and is part of a new story. However, this new choreographer refused to allow us to settle into the piece. He pushed us to go further into it, to really challenge ourselves and I LOVED it. He spoke to us as my coaches used to when I played field hockey. Usually, when we finish this piece, we are all fine, not breathing too heavily, ready to do it again and to correct what needs to be corrected. But, under his direction, we were all panting at the end of the piece. He would accept no less than this complete throwing of ourselves into the movement.



So, from him, I give you some wisdom from the dance world/some wisdom about the dance world/some wisdom about the world from dance:

Dance is not comfortable. If you want to dance, go find a different art form.


In each movement, you must go further, push yourself, for that is all that distinguishes your dancing from the dancing of anyone who walks into the studio off the street.


Dance takes strength. If you do not have that strength, you must work until you do.


Push yourself, always. Most people only take risks in rehearsal, in the studio. That is the easy place to take risks. But that is not why people watch dance. They want to see you challenge yourself, to throw yourself into a movement and almost fall. "I am not afraid of falling." You must take risks always, especially in the performance. You must go as deep into the movement as you can. 

With this choreographer's intensity, our piece became one to watch. It was a piece we DANCED, not just PERFORMED.

Tomorrow marks the end of this crazy 2 month-long process of private DanceJerusalem classes. We will be performing for all the other dancers at the Academy of Music and Dance.

A friend asked me today if I feel I have changed at all in my time here. "No," I responded and began to cry. If anything, I feel I have only more deeply adhered to who I have always been. I have sought out that what makes me me in a new place. And that made me sad. "Maybe," she suggested "You don't know yet how you have changed."

I have thought a lot about my involvement in dance recently (among other things). After being taken out of a piece that I have worked hard on for the past two months, I experienced a feeling of dual emotions. Half of me wanted to cry and stomp my feet: I HAVE WORKED SO HARD! YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE ME OUT?!" The other half of me knew that I, as a choreographer, as a creator would have done the same. As I sat on the side and tried to smile away my bitterness, I found myself becoming entranced with the dance. I began to pick up on things that the choreographer was trying (struggling) to fix. I noticed why certain sections were not completely in unison, why certain people moved slower than others, where the aliveness was missing from certain parts. And I recognized within myself that love.
The love of watching, of observing, of tweaking and creating.

Conversations with my father enlightened me as to the power that exists in this ability. While I have been focusing for two months on my inability to fill this role of aspiring performing dancer, he reminded me of the importance of a good teacher. The importance of someone who can see the whole picture, can put different pieces together. Suddenly, I feel soothed. Honestly, I don't care about my performance tomorrow. I will be glad when it is over. I love moving but I do not love, nor am I good at adhering to the movement someone else gives me.

And here I have found, once more, that fundamental part of me. The part that is so attracted to Cultural Anthropology. I love watching people. I love observing their quirks, their reactions to different situations. I love trying to unravel them, to understand their motivations. I have enjoyed choreographing in the past because it allows me to play with these observations in an artistic form. But I do not have to be confined to this. I can use this ability to teach, to write, to create art. It is something that shines through in every situation, I am finding.

So, I begin my Academy classes tomorrow. And, honestly, I am planning on enjoying them. But I am going to try not to allow myself to get too caught up in this competitive, aspiring-professional dancer world. I am going to learn as much as I can simply because I can. The advice given to us by the choreographer applies to everyday life. One must constantly through oneself headfirst into every new situation. One must do it with passion, with integrity, with strength. Even when it is difficult.

Here are videos with excerpts of the dances that I will be performing in tomorrow.

"Mamootot" by Batsheva Dance Company. We are doing the very beginning, unison part. 

"White Noise" by Vertigo. 

I leave you with the principles of Gaga, a movement language created by Ohad Naharin, artistic director of Batsheva: 

"Gaga challenges multilayer tasks. It is fundamental for Gaga users to be available for this challenge. 

At once we, the users, can be involved in moving slowly through space while a quick action in our body is in progress. Those dynamics of movement are only a portion of what else might go on at the same time. 

We are letting our mind observe and analyze many things at once, we are aware of the connection between effort and pleasure, we connect to the "sense of plenty of time," especially when we move fast, we are aware of the distance between our body parts, we are aware of the friction between flesh and bones, we sense the weight of our body parts, we are aware of where we hold unnecessary tension, we let go only to bring life and efficient movmeent to where we let go...

We are listening, seeing, measuring, playing with the texture of our flesh, we might be silly, decorating our inside, we can laugh at ourselves. 

We learn to love our sweat, we discover our passion to move and connect it to effort, we discover both the animal in us and the power of our imagination. 

We learn to appreciate understatement and exaggeration, we discover the difference between joy and pleasure and use both to protect ourselves from injuring and hurting our body, we learn to apply our force in an efficient way and we learn to use "other" forces. 

We become more delicate and we recognize the importance of the flow of energy and information through our body in all directions! 

We discover the advantage of soft flesh and sensitive hands, we learn to connect to groove even when there is no music. 

We become more aware of the people in the room and we realize that we are not in the center of it all. We never look at ourselves in a mirror, there are no mirror. 

We become aware of our form. We connect to the sense of the endless of possibilities. 

We explore multidimensional movement, we enjoy the burning sensation in our muscles, we are ready to snap, we are aware of what we are made of, we are aware of our explosive power and sometimes we use it. 

We change our movement habits by finding new ones, we can be calm and alert at once. 

We become available..."

-Ohad Naharin, March 2008

What a beautiful way to interact with the body, to move through life.