Life as a Modern Dancer

Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time (Leah Cox)

A recent conversation with a theater colleague inspired this series of questions and posts. Please join us!

Questions and wonderings include:

• What is your studio practice?
• Is your studio practice tied up/intertwined with an actual production on the books?
• When do you have time for noodling around, improvising, and playing without product? Is this with other dancers, or mainly yourself?
• The fine line - and intersections - between self-care and creative work, exertion and recuperation, training and art making
• Do you consider being in class part of your practice? Teaching as part of your practice? Basically….what falls under the category of “studio practice?”
• If your answer is NO at the moment to a studio practice, what do you aspire to create or make happen in your artistic life in the near future?
• And, does the topic of studio space play into this? Do you have regular access to a space (free or for a fee)?

Plus,

• What does my body need today?
• Where does my creative spirit + curiosity take me today?

Today we hear from Leah Cox - Dean of the American Dance Festival and an Associate Professor at Bard College.

 

Photo: Jim Lafferty

 

For me, studio practice is a container that can hold practices that further a dancer's way of knowing and that cultivate knowledge and habits of being in the world that directly stem from being a dancer.  Here, I take ownership of the title of dancer as a way of being in the world that has many more expressions than performer and which is a specific way of entering roles that might be primary for other people, such as choreographer, administrator, or teacher.  Studio time is the time I use to allow my dancer self to emerge and practice her ways of being.  This does not include the kind of formal upkeep known as training, nor does it include time to complete work that’s required of me, such as preparing for classes.  It is not rehearsal.  Studio practice is the time I use to further my understanding of dance’s power, and to enact it and allow it to take hold of me.  It is a form of open-ended to focused research.  It might reveal something that moves into a creative process and ultimately becomes a piece.  Then I’d say that studio practice diminishes to allow time and energy for a creative process, and the research and inquiry of studio practice continues in a more abbreviated format that supports the creative work at hand.  Differentiating these terms might seem like splitting hairs, but I find that doing so honors the different ways I use my body, time, and space.  

 

I am fortunate to be a faculty member at a college, which allows me to have access to space for no additional charge.  I do not know what I would do if I had to pay for space, not only because of the cost, but what the expenditure often prompts in me: the need or expectation to not waste time or to be productive in each session.  Often, studio practice doesn’t yield anything immediate and sometimes feels frustratingly unproductive, its fruits being felt much later down the line in un/expected ways.

 

Studio practice is essential for me.  For many years, I did not prioritize it, letting semester after semester go by without engaging in it.  Looking back on that time, my spirit really suffered, and I grew hard.  I lost connection to ways of knowing that I valued and to a whole self—my dancer self.  Dancing as a way of being in the world must be kept present through dedicated time devoted to it on a regular basis.  Studio practice is my time to do that life work.

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Related posts:

 

Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time (Rebecca Stenn)

Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time (Wendy Jones and Pamela Shoebottom)

Featured Artist on the Blog: Leah Cox

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One Good Quote: fey/done/a/weigh with the Wax Poet(s)

In Fall 2017, Life as a Modern Dancer launched a new concept for post-performance discussion and writing. The goals are multi-fold:

• What are new ways to invite post-performance writing (since so few publications now print dance reviews, and there are fewer and fewer dance critics in the United States)?
• How can choreographers hear and read more from audience members about their impressions and experiences of dance events?
• Can we offer new mechanisms for choreographers to gather language about their work, to further their work and to promote their work? 

The premise is simple. If you experienced the Wax Poet(s) in fey/done/a/weigh at ODC Theater in San Francisco March 15-16, 2019, please take a few minutes to leave a comment. Write down images, impressions, appreciations, and questions from the performance. These can be words, phrases, or a few sentences. 

We thank you for your time, support, and thoughtfulness. Here's to more dialogue, more reflection, and more writing on the dance performance experience. As choreographer Mariah Steele noted, we are "democratizing dance criticism."

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Tension Remains after Nevertheless

Tension Remains after Nevertheless

By Sarah JG Chenoweth

ka-nei-see | collective and Cat Call Choir produced an adaptation of their 2018 success, Nevertheless, at Z Space last weekend. The show—expanded from its premiere to include new sections, additional performers, and a visual art exhibition in the lobby—was condemning but not cathartic. Certainly the aftermath of sexual assault is many-sided within a single person, and also diverges from one person to the next. Nevertheless characterized a few justifiable responses: a “fuck you” from the choir, a crisp plea for communal reflection from the art pieces, and a touch of misery from the dancing. 

The show pointed strong fingers mostly at verbal abuse and arrogant handsy-ness of (assumingly) men. At one point the choir went as far as telling a story about a group attack on a college student. At another, they sang, staring zombie-like at us, about bashing in a woman’s head. Throughout the show, the choir sometimes spoke as the oppressor, sometimes the oppressed, sometimes omniscient narrators. These singers’ delivery ranged from stoic to slapstick. Delightfully grotesque and unapologetically hammy in their warping of actual statements from actual people about tit size, ass grabbing, internalized misogyny, and other aggressions, they grounded the performance with real talk. It was hilarious because it lampooned the idiocy in what has become commonplace; it was awful because we were reminded of the idiocy that has become commonplace. The choir was pissed-off and despairing in the same breath. In both aesthetic and deed, it attractively nodded to the Greek chorus—a collective voice commenting on staged scenes, often representing the attitudes of the viewers. But here the cat callers expanded on the Greek form by participating in the action and dramatizing society’s most vile behavior. Using sweet harmonies, cheeky lyrics, flamboyant groping, and rhythmic gesture, the Cat Call Choir made a stinging mockery of the “locker room talk” that pervades our culture. 

While the choir chewed up the topic and spit it back out, the dancing left it floating in some somber cloud. Much of the dance was a sad soundtrack to the horrors described by the choir. The ensemble both supported and trashed one another. Dancers literally held each other up and then got in each other’s way. Mangled figures emerged from the onslaught. Chianese’s choreographic mastery shone with the quartet, “You Bitch.” Four dancers swam and shoved their way in and out of unison trios with an ever-changing opposing soloist. The timing and spacing of the transferred solo were surprising and savory, and in a way they echoed the timing and spacing of sexual assault: we never know who will be next. 

In the beginning of the piece the movement, as necessitated by the theme, felt more contained and writhing than some of Chianese’s past work. Various soloists seemed to dance inside of themselves, twisting and squeezing perpetrators’ badgering out of their bodies. As the piece progressed, the movement became more extended and explosive. Correspondingly, the dancers became equally more frayed and more powerful—the exhausted, “persisting” survivor. 

However, the movement was overall too virtuosic and sophisticated for the filth of the content. Aside from some befitting motifs (breast swipes and forced smiles), such gorgeous dancing disagreed with the subject matter. Only one or two moments stung with the discomfort of sexual violation. The most effective was when three dancers, facing upstage, legs spread wide, bent forward and clutched their crotches, one palm over the other. The gesture was simultaneously protective and scared and defiant…and fleeting. The majority of the movement had less impact. 

So, while funny, beautiful, and theatrically flavorful, Nevertheless did not relieve the deepest tensions left after brutal assaults. It did tap into a collective desire to shout, to pierce through apathy with in-your-face dialogue. It did hint at how these offenses diminish their recipients. But, two years into the Me Too movement, we are ready for higher stakes. Christine Blasey Ford bore all to a hostile Congress and national audience. Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib publicly called our abusive president a motherfucker the evening before she was sworn in. The now moment has adapted for more brazen action.

 

Sarah JG Chenoweth is a dancer, teacher, and writer based in Oakland, California.

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Related posts and writing:

How to Persist: Nevertheless with ka·nei·see | collective and Cat Call Choir (on diydancer.com)

One Good Quote: Nevertheless (March 2019)

Artist Profile: Tanya Chianese

Reflections from Nevertheless - Molly Rose-Williams (May 2018)

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Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: One Day until fey/done/a/weigh with the Wax Poet(s)

From Blog Director Jill Randall:

I recently got to catch up with artists Garth Grimball and Heather Stockton of the Wax Poet(s) as they prepared for the premiere of fey/done/a/weigh at the ODC Theater in San Francisco March 15 and 16, 2019. Today they share about the theater space, dream of the audience, endurance/exhaustion, and risk taking with the project. fey/done/a/weigh tackles fitting in, conformity, and the potential sense of deformity with fitting in. Grimball and Stockton take the stage together alongside musician Charles Peoples III. 

Why the ODC Theater? Why this space, this venue?

Garth Grimball: Easy answer -  the Rainin Opportunity Fund. We applied and received it. It is an incredible opportunity. Not just to perform in a theater the size of ODC with its capabilities, but the fund allows artists a full week to be in the theater.

On endurance/exhaustion/moments of recuperation to do an evening length duet:

Garth Grimball: For my first solo, I choreographed the beginning to expel nervous energy. Our first duet begins seated and close to each other so we can really tap into our shared energy to keep focused and steady. We have a multimedia element that propels the arc of the show and allows us some rest. For Heather's second solo, she is focusing totally on breath. The finale is so joy-filled that no matter our exhaustion we make it through.

On risk taking, vulnerability, and the dream of the audience:

Heather Stockton: Risk taking is at the crux of creating - if you’re working from an honest place. I teach the art of choreography to 5-14 yr olds, and I can observe their creativity by the risks that they are taking. Garth and I have placed risk and vulnerability at the very heart of this dance. We have written love letters to ourselves and to each other. The final piece to this story is sharing with an audience, so, the dream therein lies in the witnessing.

 

Purchase your tickets today through the ODC Theater. 

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Related post:

Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days until fey/done/a/weigh with the Wax Poet(s)

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Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time (Wendy Jones and Pamela Wong-Shoebottom)

A recent conversation with a theater colleague inspired this series of questions and posts. Please join us!

Questions and wonderings include:

• What is your studio practice?
• Is your studio practice tied up/intertwined with an actual production on the books?
• When do you have time for noodling around, improvising, and playing without product? Is this with other dancers, or mainly yourself?
• The fine line - and intersections - between self-care and creative work, exertion and recuperation, training and art making
• Do you consider being in class part of your practice? Teaching as part of your practice? Basically….what falls under the category of “studio practice?”
• If your answer is NO at the moment to a studio practice, what do you aspire to create or make happen in your artistic life in the near future?
• And, does the topic of studio space play into this? Do you have regular access to a space (free or for a fee)?

Plus,

• What does my body need today?
• Where does my creative spirit + curiosity take me today?

Today we hear from artists Wendy Jones (San Francisco) and Pamela Wong-Shoebottom (Toronto).

From Wendy Jones (San Francisco):

Working in an empty studio is very special. I love stepping into a quiet space, a clean slate to play, practice, and investigate my work and its potentials.

As a dance educator on sabbatical, I am reflecting back on my studio practice during the academic year. I wouldn’t define it as a practice. My “practice” as an educator is getting work done, creating technical combinations and choreography for the five classes and company repertory I teach. Although I keep up with the rigorous schedule, I feel that my movement choices are not as investigated as they could be. Hence the sabbatical.

This year I have tried to rent space and take the time to live in my body. I find that I need at least an hour and a half to “get to the meat” of the material. I am learning that the short sessions at Lowell High School are fine for “getting things done” but not valuable for the development of my work.

In this exciting time in my dance practice and artmaking, I’ve learned that my studio practice is fueled by a production or clear project. When on a deadline I crave as much studio practice time as I can get. However, I am trying to make short goals to keep me practicing even when there isn’t a deadline.

When I transition back into the academic schedule, I aspire to find more time for solo practice. Although my choreography is usually grounded in dynamic group work, I understand the importance of practicing for myself. I’ve learned that my body needs to be fully connected to the work I present to my dancers. Time spent in dance classes and workshops is also very important for my own training as well as inspiration.

From Pamela Wong-Shoebottom (Toronto):

Studio time to practice teaching, performance or choreographic material is time I try to be as efficient as possible. I do not noodle freely in that time, in an effort to be cost effective. Though, there are times when I hit a creation-block and I do enjoy improvising for the remainder of the booked time in the studio. I consider a large part of my studio practice to happen in my home, as I often move furniture to improvise, create teaching material and do conditioning work.  

With Director Kenny Pearl, I help run Great Moving Dancers in Toronto. This subsidized open contemporary technique class is available to professional independent dance artists and is taught by a rotation of established local choreographers, performers and teachers. This has been what has made it possible for me to keep an affordable and committed studio practice for nearly a decade. In Toronto there is ample access to affordable studio space, but it is still a challenge for local artists, myself included, to fund this over a length of time, without grants and awards to do so. I aspire to spend more time bodystorming in the studio to independently explore and clarify my movement vocabulary. I believe this type of practice would also fuel creative release and my love for dance. 

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Related posts:

Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time (Rebecca Stenn)

Artist Profile: Wendy Jones

Inspiration: One dance word a day with the 365 Dance project

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Dreaming/Preparing/Dancing: Two Days until fey/done/a/weigh with the Wax Poet(s)

From Blog Director Jill Randall:

I recently got to catch up with artists Garth Grimball and Heather Stockton of the Wax Poet(s) as they prepared for the premiere of fey/done/a/weigh at the ODC Theater in San Francisco March 15 and 16, 2019. Today they offer a peak into the work and working together. fey/done/a/weigh tackles fitting in, conformity, and the potential sense of deformity with fitting in.

5 words/phrases to describe the show:

Garth Grimball (GG): Bodies, pop culture, vulnerability, joy, queer imaginary

Heather Stockton (HS): Queer, exposed, joyful, fat pride, love

On friendship + collaboration:

GG: Heather and I became friends by happenstance. We met each other being in the same department at Mills College, but had shared few, if any, conversations. We found ourselves alone in the student lounge on a Friday afternoon in early September 2011. I mentioned to her I wanted to see the Ryan Gosling movie Drive. She said she did too, and we decided to go together. We took two buses across Oakland from campus to the Jack London theater. From that day, and that movie on, our friendship blossomed.

During our two year shared tenure at Mills, it often felt like we were the only two single people in the department. So, we went on many dates with each other. Almost every Friday night you could find us at the Grand Lake Theater watching movies, or waiting for the 57 bus to get home from the movies.

HS: In 2013 I was commissioned by Les Stuck of the Mills College Center for Contemporary Music to create a dance piece to his music. My time at Mills collaborating with musicians, visual artists, poets and fellow dancers (and best friends, including Garth), provoked me to envision what it would be like to create a collaborative dance collective. The commission seemed like a great jumping off point, so we began our collaborative practice, Wax Poet(s). In six years we have made 17 dances and collaborated with 19 musicians, 3 visual artists, 2 film artists, 1 poet, and upwards of 20 dance artists. Six years later we continue to bring the love in our friendship to the love of working together and creating.

What was the choreographic moment which inspired and started this particular work? 

GG: It wasn’t as much a choreographic moment as a response to a choreographic moment. After our last show, we received many versions of the comment, “The two of you should make work about the two of you.” Not us in service of a greater concept. So we took that feedback and danced with it. Come see the show to find out how!

 

Purchase your tickets today through the  ODC Theater. 

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One Good Quote: Nevertheless, with ka·nei·see | collective and Cat Call Choir (March 2019)

In Fall 2017, Life as a Modern Dancer launched a new concept for post-performance discussion and writing. The goals are multi-fold:

• What are new ways to invite post-performance writing (since so few publications now print dance reviews, and there are fewer and fewer dance critics in the United States)?
• How can choreographers hear and read more from audience members about their impressions and experiences of dance events?
• Can we offer new mechanisms for choreographers to gather language about their work, to further their work and to promote their work? 

The premise is simple. If you experienced ka·nei·see | collective and Cat Call Choir in Nevertheless at Z Space in San Francisco March 7-10, 2019, please take a few minutes to leave a comment. Write down images, impressions, appreciations, and questions from the performance. These can be words, phrases, or a few sentences. 

We thank you for your time, support, and thoughtfulness. Here's to more dialogue, more reflection, and more writing on the dance performance experience. As choreographer Mariah Steele noted, we are "democratizing dance criticism."

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Dancing Around Race Public Gathering

Reflection: Dancing Around Race Public Gathering 

By Bhumi B. Patel

On February 28, 2019, dozens gathered at a gallery space in San Francisco’s Mission District to participate in the final of three public gatherings for the Dancing Around Race Residency. Lead Artist Gerald Casel was joined by scholar Thomas DeFrantz and the cohort of co-interrogators that have been working with Casel for the last year: Sammay Dizon, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, Raissa Simpson, David Herrera, and Yayoi Kambara. Dancing Around Race is a program of Hope Mohr Dance’s Bridge Project.

The room sizzled with an appropriately uncomfortable air -- the majority of folks in attendance were white, and for most white folks, the discussion about race creates a deep anxiety and uncertainty. I felt a kind of stubborn rage that wouldn’t settle. To me, it is an indirect ask for the oppressed and marginalized to create comfort for those in power through their uncompensated labor.

That isn’t the labor I showed up to do.

Can this be me-centered if I’m the one that experienced it?

Who am I?

I’m a daughter of immigrants, a queer femme, a dancer, a choreographer, an educator. I bring that lens into every space, and I bring it with me even more so into spaces that are meant for discussions around race and equity. So, rather than trying to explain every facet of the discussions that took place that evening, I will share with you what I came away with.

White curation and white ownership are bedrocks in the very foundation of the Bay Area dance landscape. How do I know this?

Pause. Name 5 well-established organizations that present dance AND were founded and/or are currently led by people of color.

That’s sort of a semantical exercise though, isn’t it? Because even if you can name 5, you had to think about it, and all of the major organizations that immediately come to mind are run and have been run by white folks who haven’t yet shown that they’re willing to give up some of that power.

More importantly is that we are still thinking in the same model that hasn’t been working. We are never going to fit equity into an oppressive system; you can’t fit a square peg into a round hole. Handing leadership to a POC isn’t the solution. Reimagining the institutional structure is the only way out of the this oppressive hole. To reimagine the institutional structure, we have to reimagine ourselves. We have to look at the contradictions and impossibilities of being ourselves. And we have to do this without the expectation that POCs are going to understand both everything about whiteness and everything about our own cultures.

I am a first generation South Asian/Indian who has spent a great deal of time assimilating to some hodge podge of white culture. Even more because I so badly want to fit in. To blend in so that I won’t be seen as different, so that I won’t have to wear the “loud, angry brown person” hat in rehearsal when I call out microaggressions, so that I will get hired.

But what I’ve discovered is that as a queer South Asian woman, my cultural landscape is complicated and often I am not afforded control of my own narrative. Many POCs are not afforded control of our own narratives. Our telling of personal violence often gets buried by white supremacy in the service of its racist and imperialist agenda. This is because the cultural logics that help maintain structural racism are stronger than our individual stories. What has become evident to me is that my narrative cannot pierce through the white logics of orientalism which continues to find ways to position brown folks as less developed than the Western world. When we cry, or yell, or speak directly about the harm that is being caused we are not speaking “nicely” and we are not making our hurt “palatable." White folks, you must find your inner stamina for these conversations.

We must continue to mobilize in solidarity with other oppressed peoples and address prejudice within our own. And I intentionally say “we” as a non-black POC who constantly works to combat rampant anti-blackness in our communities. Surely we are all still trying to figure out the best strategies to do this work and to still remain safe and secure. Surely we are going to fuck up. Surely it’s some of the hardest work that we can do because our validation often relies on approval from the very people who may deny us. But this type of work feels important nonetheless to so many of us. And there is power and politics in that feeling.

I’m left with questions that may or may not have answers.

Where is the anti-racist work happening in the Bay Area?

Where do I direct well meaning white folks for support in doing the anti-racist work?

Can’t y’all find each other?

What do I do when I watch the white folks that I trust reveal themselves as racist?

Who am I addressing when I make art?

What are the repercussions of not code switching for institutions?

Are choreographers/art-makers allowed to call their companies diverse if all the bodies move and are colonized by the same western forms of training?

I will continue to work through these questions. I will continue to ask the folks I surround myself with to ask these questions as well. I will continue to do the labor that I am able to, and turn it over to other folks when I am too tired to continue doing the labor.

I leave you with this: If no one sees your anti-racist work, will you continue to do it?

Bhumi B. Patel creates queer, feminist movement art that holds the focus of creating movement at the intersection of embodied philosophy and dynamic sensation taking precedence over stagnant form. To move through the world as a queer artist of colour, the pursuit of collective safety is both an act of labor and of necessity. Making art is her way of coping with the world at the moment.

Blog Series: Studio Practice/Studio Time

 

From Blog Director Jill Randall:

A conversation this week with a theater colleague inspired this series of questions and posts. Please join us!

Questions and wonderings include:

• What is your studio practice?
• Is your studio practice tied up/intertwined with an actual production on the books?
• When do you have time for noodling around, improvising, and playing without product? Is this with other dancers, or mainly yourself?
• The fine line - and intersections - between self-care and creative work, exertion and recuperation, training and art making
• Do you consider being in class part of your practice? Teaching as part of your practice? Basically….what falls under the category of “studio practice?”
• If your answer is NO at the moment to a studio practice, what do you aspire to create or make happen in your artistic life in the near future?
• And, does the topic of studio space play into this? Do you have regular access to a space (free or for a fee)?

Plus,

• What does my body need today?
• Where does my creative spirit + curiosity take me today?

I then think of some concepts from somatics and make a poem for today.

Somatic Words for a Studio Practice

Allow

Notice

Soften

Slow down to feel

Support

Yield

Whole.

I also pulled Using the Sky: A Dance (by Deborah Hay) off of the shelf today. Resonating and intersecting words include:

"What if where I am is what I need?" (page 121)

"When I notice my whole body there is a sense of weightlessness to my experience. I imagine the brevity of a single note to describe how I notice, a buoyancy that lands nowhere. In contrast, focusing on my body feels dense. It draws my attention inwards, making it cumbersome to focus elsewhere when the choice arises. It is as if focusing is bound by time and space and noticing is not." (page 29)

I want to thank Rebecca Stenn for diving in and sharing her thoughts on Studio Time and Studio Practice. Stay tuned for future posts in this series from other artists.

Megan Williams and Rebecca Stenn

I have always maintained some kind of a studio practice – for the last 30 years or so, I have found myself consistently drawn to the studio, to be alone, to experiment, research, play, listen and make. I almost always start my creative process alone, in the studio, by myself – the music, space and actually, sometimes the mirrors, my only companions. I think every project I’ve ever been involved with has, in some way, started this way.

My studio practice is almost always tied up or intertwined with an actual production on the books. I find it very difficult to make or work if I don’t have some kind of deadline in mind. It can be loose and it can be very far off in the future, but for me, this has proved to be important. I think the idea of time factors into making for me, and somehow fires me up. I also really like what happens to the process when there is a deadline and it approaches and the energy ramps up and studio time becomes exciting, scary, fraught, meaningful, completely frustrating and fulfilling at the same time.

Studio time and the practice of being alone in a studio becomes for me a form of self-care. I don’t make a distinction between self-care and creative work; they seem to be one and the same for me. I don’t consider being in class part of my creative practice. A different part of my mind is working as I take class. I do however think that teaching has become, over the years, a part of my practice, in that I bring to my students a choreographic question or moment I am wrestling with, as much as I bring to the studio a question or idea that came up with my students. What falls under the category of “studio practice?” Going into a studio on a regular basis (at first alone and then after a while with the dancers I am currently working with) and paying attention, committing to an idea, trying something over and over and over, and unraveling a thought process.

Interestingly I have also, more recently, developed a studio practice as a painter.

The topic of studio space played directly into this because as I began to become more serious about painting, I began to yearn for a studio space that I could dedicate solely to this practice. I wanted a more consistent practice! I finally saved enough money that I could purchase a very small garden shed, that I have turned into a painting studio (it is 8ft by 12ft – perfect for my canvasses, easel and paints). It has truly changed everything for me, to have a dedicated space to work in.

-Rebecca Stenn

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Related posts:

Artist Profile: Rebecca Stenn

Rebecca Stenn writes about her new book, A Life in Dance: A Practical Guide

More about A Life in Dance: A Practical Guide

Artist Profile #168: Tanya Chianese (Oakland, CA)

Photo: Rob Best

Hometown: Los Angeles, CA

Current city: Oakland, CA

Age: 30

College and degree: University of Oklahoma: BFA in Modern Dance, BA in Art History

Website: www.kaneisee.org

How you pay the bills: Choreography commissions, teaching dance to youth and adults, Summer Dance Lab Manager at Shawl-Anderson Dance Center

All of the dance hats you wear: Choreographer, teacher, company manager/administrator (which includes everything from social media marketing to budgeting to grant writing to booking space to editing music), dancer (less recently), mentor

Non-dance work you do or have done in the past: House cleaner, bartender, server, and clothing retail.

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ka·nei·see | collective in Cookie Cutter. Dancers Emma Salmon, Vera Schwegler, Rebecca Morris, Ali Weeks, and Mallory Markham. Photo by Rob Best.

The first year after college:

I had two full-time jobs and taught dance classes on the side. I chose to stay in Oklahoma for one year (where I had gone to college) before moving to the San Francisco Bay Area. I worked regular business hours (plus performances!) for the Oklahoma City Ballet as a general administrator, which was invaluable in my journey to becoming an AD. There I learned how to do everything from making budgets, to planning fundraising galas, organizing costume inventory, working box office during the busy Nutcracker season, etc. At night and on the weekends I worked as a bartender where I not only had a blast and worked for marvelous owners, but was able to save enough money to pay off a hunk of my student loans as well as backpack through Europe for two months (which is when I met my now husband). During that same year I taught at a local dance school one night a week, and eventually implemented a ballet program implemented by Oklahoma City Ballet for blind and visually impaired children and adults. After that sleepless year I moved back to California, where I hoped to pursue being a dance artist.

Five years post-college:

After 4 enlightening, scary, educating, creative, poor, and eye-opening years in the Bay Area full of freelance dancing, various arts administration jobs, and building my teaching curriculum, I launched my company ka·nei·see | collective (inspired by the words “can I see?” and the phonetic spelling of my last name) with my closest friends. The company’s first home season premiered January 2015 to sold-out houses and generous press. From there we jumped in. At the time I was teaching 6 days a week, dancing in 2-3 various projects, taking class almost daily, and figuring out how to run a dance company. It was during this time I started to back away from performing in order to invest more time and energy into choreographing. This is also when I finally understood that the spoon fed version of “success” in dance was relative, and that instead there are infinite definitions of success!

Now:

Still bouncing between my many roles, still taking stabs in the dark and learning new things every day. Overall, my teaching and administrative work is consistent while my choreographic projects (either with the company or commissions elsewhere) come and go in waves, bringing me in and out of the many stages of the creative process. No two months are the same.

Major influences and inspiration:

At risk of sounding cliché, there are too many to name! Some include: all forms of art (hence that degree in art history...); stories of perseverance and compassion; my family, friends, colleagues, and mentors; nature and non-humans; a long, ever growing list of dance movers, makers and teachers.

ka·nei·see | collective in Nevertheless. Dancers Clarissa Dyas, Rebecca Morris, Mallory Markham, Madeline Matuska, and Vera Schwegler. Photo by Robbie Sweeny.

What is on your calendar for 2019?

Having just been named one of Dance Magazine’s “25 to Watch” for 2019, I’m feeling a strange mix of giddy excitement and crippling fear. So far in 2019, the company is producing a large performance piece and art gallery about sexual harassment in collaboration with Cat Call Choir, March 7-10 at Z Space (San Francisco); we are going on tour to Seattle, WA this June; I am a choreographer in ODC/Dance’s Sandbox Series program; I have a consistent teaching schedule throughout the school year; and I am directing the summer programming at Shawl-Anderson Dance Center. As is the norm in this career, I am continually applying to and seeking out opportunities - so we shall see what else arises.  I love choreographing for college dance programs, and I hope to cultivate more of these experiences this year - this is me putting this dream out there!

What is the role of teaching within your dance life? What do you love about teaching? What does the phrase “teaching artist” mean to you?

I could write a novel in response to these questions! Most of my income is from teaching dance, and I adore it. I used to teach upwards of 18 classes a week, but recently only 7-10 a week. Teaching helps me stay grounded and in reality. Because I have the pleasure of teaching a large age range (age 3-adults) I get to explore dance from all sides, ranging from focusing on the placement of our scapula bones to telling stories via creative movement. Each age, level, and context has taught me so much - both as an artist and a human.

But most importantly, teaching is not about me! It is about sharing this transformational practice in order to teach students a variety of lessons including how to take ownership of their body, how to express themselves, how discipline and respect will move them through life, how to be compassionate in the world, how to release stress and anxiety, how to work as a community, and so much more.

Can you talk about building your dance company? When did you know you wanted to start your own company? What does a typical week look like with your work with the company (choreographing, rehearsing, arts admin, fundraising)?

I have always wanted to be a choreographer: one of my first dances was to Madonna’s Borderline where my sister kindly lay on the floor and I continually jumped over her, the “borderline.” Innovative, I know...ha! Years later when I was ready to start presenting my choreography professionally I knew I didn’t want to present under my name. I wanted to create a cohort, a family of artists who felt proud of the collective work we developed together. Hence, ka·nei·see | collective.

There is no typical week of company work, as it depends on the current project(s) and what stage of the process(es) we’re in. We roughly rehearse together anywhere from 3 to 10 hours a week (more for tech weeks). On my end, for my various roles for the company, I work anywhere from 7 to 30 or more hours a week. All of the collaborating artists, myself included, have a variety of jobs and projects we are involved in, so we have to be efficient with our creative time together, which can sometimes be frustrating when we’re trying to sink into the creative process. Time is a gift.

As a choreographer, questions on your mind right now:

1. I am worried about the sustainability of concert dance and am wondering how we cultivate more dance goers and lovers. The word “accessible” is really important to me. Creatively, what makes a work both genuinely accessible to the masses and thought provoking to seasoned dancers? Logistically, what programs can we continue to put into place to foster dance interest, involvement and  appreciation?
2. How do we make social change? So far for me this means either hoping my work inspires audiences to ask questions of themselves and their environment and/or brings awareness to an issue, hopefully potentially resulting in individuals feeling compelled to do something in response. But is that really successful? What other approaches are there? And what are the psychological factors that make work intriguing enough to genuinely spark change?
3. Privilege, gender, and racial equality in dance.
4. Since I cannot emotionally sustain always making work about social justice, how can I discuss the necessity and importance of work whose mission isn’t as overt?
5. Personally, how do I switch my brain while in process between a creator and the person who’s receiving the “I’m late!” texts from dancers or the emails about ticketing system malfunctions. How can I stay invested in the work and not be influenced by the neverending outside factors? I am currently practicing this.

Tanya Chianese in rehearsal with ka·nei·see | collective. Photo by Rob Best.

How do you find dancers? What do you look for in a dancer?

When I started ka·nei·see | collective, I asked my closest friends to collaborate with me. Besides the obvious, which is that they are powerhouse performers, this was the best choice because out of love they were willing to commit fully to a process with me for little money and also to compassionately stumble through things with me as I learned how to direct. Besides those who have moved away, all of these marvelous women still dance with the company and have been pillars to our success.

I am drawn in by dancers who clearly have a technical foundation but have also clearly cultivated and explored their personal movement aesthetics. Because I do so much group work they still need to be able to move as one with other dancers, but when given solo movement they can transform it into their own language. Of course, I am also interested in artists who ask questions, who invest in the process with me, who communicate, and who are both passionate and compassionate individuals.

I am still figuring out the best way to find new dancers. Auditions have proved remarkably successful for me in finding brilliant artists, however the rejection process is by far the worst part of this role I have yet to experience. Our recent audition had 67 participants, and writing 64 personalized “no” emails took all of my emotional wellbeing, especially as I cherish many of the dancers I could not afford to hire. The rejection practice in general is not how I wish to be involved in my community, though there is simply no way around it in some cases.

Asking artists directly seems like the best option, but I also only want to work with movers who genuinely want to collaborate with me, too. The best processes are conversations, and those are best had when both parties enthusiastically want to be there. If only there was Tinder for pairing makers and movers...

On finding a mentor:

Don’t be afraid to reach out to someone you admire; they are only human and are probably honored by your enthusiasm!

How do you balance the administrative and creative needs/projects for your company?

I don’t - it’s honestly a constant struggle. Over the past few years I have had to make sacrifices in other aspects of my dance identity, such as performing less or teaching fewer classes, in order to make enough space for the many aspects of running the company. I don’t regret it even a little bit; how lucky I feel that I get to do this! When I have to negotiate admin work that is no fun or genuinely horrible, I move forward by reminding myself of the end goal which is the creative work itself and its possible impact, the opportunities built for others, and the self fulfillment.

Financial advice to pass onto dancers just embarking on starting their own company:

As leaders in our field, it is our responsibility to change the trend of unpaid dance work, not the performers’. I think suggestions that imply dancers should insist on not working for free is unfair - it underestimates just how hungry and desperate dancers are to move, especially young artists. The job is not on them, it is on us. The first time I presented work publicly I paid each dancer a whopping $15 - basically their bus fare and a coffee. Fortunately I pay more than that now, but still nowhere near enough. Regardless, I have paid artists for every single show we have ever done, no matter how small, and am working hard to continually increase pay.

I have never made a single dollar from my work as director of ka·nei·see | collective, but rather, I still pay for much of it out of my own pocket. All company income (donations, grants, or ticket sales) goes directly towards production expenses and my collaborating artists. Though many have told me to pay myself, I have zero regrets. This is my dream, and the happiness I receive from making work is worth more than anything. And it is also necessary - my collaborators are still not paid enough, and monetarily supporting and thanking them is the most important financial expense. Without them, there is no art.

What does wellness mean to you? How do you support wellness for your dancers?

With our current project Nevertheless about sexual harassment and assault, we have had to take lots of emotional breaks both in and out of the studio. Not only are we researching difficult stories, articles, investigations, and history on a daily basis, but inside the studio we are embodying, and swiftly shifting between, both the harasser and the victim. It takes a significant amount of vulnerability and strength. We are practicing loving touch at the beginning of rehearsal and conversation throughout the process. I make it a point to check-in (outside of the studio) with dancers when I notice them struggling. I strive to be open and approachable - I believe and hope if my collaborators know I trust, believe in, and listen to them then they are given the freedom to push themselves and the work to new levels.

Final thoughts: Hope/belief/love of the profession:

There are simply no words to express my love affair with dance - perhaps you feel the same way. Everyone dances, and everyone deserves to dance. It is never ever about perfection or about “success” (as I thought as a young dancer), but instead about the art and making sense of the world via authentic, shared explorations and experiences. It is my hope to make this creative world more accessible to the masses.

And thank you, everyone, for everything! I am so lucky to be in this family of dance with you.

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Writing on Dance: A Response to Katie Faulkner’s Divining (ODC Theater, February 15, 2019)

The Oxford English Dictionary defines divining as an intuitive, sage-like form of discovery or a power for seeing the future. It often refers to the practices that people rely on to navigate the unknown. In her notes, choreographer Katie Faulkner references these definitions, suggesting that within them “the body becomes a conduit for felt or intuited knowledge.” It is here - with the body - that Faulkner’s Divining explores human power and fragility within a stark landscape that seems to be everywhere and nowhere.

Photo: Stephen Texeira

The dance opens in stillness, in silence, in fragments. A slow humming sound accompanied various tableaus that sculpted the dancers' bodies into shapes with hands supporting or resting on each other as if to signal future intentions. Once the dancers start moving, Faulkner’s suburb movement vocabulary is on display - articulate, intimate gestures and rhythms. The dancers - Alex Carrington, Chinchin Hsu, Tara McArthur, and Suzette Sagisi - moved diagonally across the floor, mostly in unison, with feet pounding while arms and heads moved sharply. Their hunched over bodies suggested a reverence of sorts, perhaps for the practice of seeking or devotion. This reverence-without-object was a frequent tópos in Divining, a common reference point throughout the full-length piece. The dance kept drawing the audience into such moments that seemed almost other-worldly due in part to the superb music composition by Ben Juordvalkis that incorporated both familiar and unfamiliar soundscapes. Did I hear the cracking of wood burning; the sound of an airplane, crickets at night?

Carrington, Hsu, McArthur, and Sagisi danced with committed grace, displaying the complexity of Faulkner’s choreographic thinking. At one point Hsu moved in large steps around the stage, clasping her hands together, never letting go. Her body appeared both in and out of control, reflecting how it feels during times of not knowing what to do or where to turn. Similarly, Faulkner’s use of the breath reminds us of how we experience the unexpected as felt surprises. In another diagonal movement, the four dancers move backwards, holding the breath and slowing down as if caught by something. This kind of repetition is also reflective of practice - if we keep doing the same thing again and again can we gain new knowledge or perspective? Can we change? Will something else change?  Divining included many of these repeating moments that played with the multiple sensibilities of being human or other than human. All four dancers scampered across the stage in crab walks that ended up with ears to the ground, slowly moving - suffering? searching? waiting?

Photo: Stephen Texeira

As Divining came to an end, stillness returned and with it a single note. Hsu slowly goes to each dancer, looking for a way to connect. She finally does - her hand to an elbow. As this sweet moment evolves, Hsu doesn’t let go. Can an elbow be enough? Following this question, Hsu, Carrington, and MacArthur witness, along with the audience, Sagisi's bursts of laughter evolving into an overwhelming display of how an emotion, like joy, which is not singular but multifarious. Taken to the edge of uncomfortableness, this section leads into the last tableau with all four dancers leaning back on their forearms, staring up at the sky with expressions of wonder. This last scene offers hope. Hope that our bodies, for all of their faults and fits, know something about being in the world. Faulkner’s faith in the body’s resilience offers a way of seeing the future not as an object, but as a process of discovery.

The work on display in Divining - choreography, lights, music, dancing - raises important questions about how we we face the future and offers hope in the form of moving, breathing, and wondering bodies. We are definitely not alone - all we have to do is find a welcoming elbow, look up at the sky, or just breathe.

 

Michelle LaVigne is a dancer, writer, and teacher. Currently she teaches rhetoric at the University of San Francisco. Her writing/research focuses on the intersections of dance, rhetoric, and performance. Michelle is interested in how practices of rhetoric might be rethought from the movements of dance and choreographic praxis. Her current project on The Nutcracker explores what its multiple repetitions over time say about the cultural present and contemporary ballet. Michelle often presents at national and international conferences and has published reviews in the Quarterly Journal of Speech, Text and Performance Quarterly, Theater & Drama Review, and Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism. She was also a guest writer for the ODC Theater Writer in Residence Blog, Triple Dog Dare, in 2014 and 2016.  Since 2018 she has been a guest scholar with San Francisco Ballet. She blogs about dance in San Francisco at sfdancematters.

 

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Related posts:

One Good Quote: Katie Faulkner's Divining

Artist Profile #1: Katie Faulkner

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