The Place of Dance. Andrea Olsen
our attention affects what we perceive. As dancers, we attend to the body as the medium through which we experience the world. As we open our senses to the world outside and to the world inside, we come to recognize them as one. From this perspective, without changing anything else, we are dancing in a new place. And there is no prescribed response; new forms, new visions, will emerge.
Experiential knowledge of body is essential in this time of disembodied rhetoric and environmental destruction. My hope is that we can and will inspire each other to keep going with our investigations, to connect knowledge of body systems with Earth systems, to see what comes, and to articulate our findings. Like climbing a mountain for a larger view, dancing offers the opportunity to feel refreshingly small while engaging with something grand. Locating ourselves in place, we can appreciate the moment, recognize what we have to offer, and step forward to face the challenge through dancing and dance making.2
Andrea Olsen
About This Book
Paul Matteson in studio
Photograph © Bob Handelman
This is an experiential text in which time and space are integral. The goal is that you think and move. Each chapter is short, with time to do both. Through our words, we hope you will find deeper connection to your own creativity, engaging whole-body learning while honoring the historical lineage of embodied artists who have investigated dancing and dance making before you.
The thirty-one “Days” in this book lead you through multiple processes of dancing: moving, making, collaborating, and living a life. In this way, the structure is applicable to students studying creative process; technique; composition and choreography; improvisation and performance; and somatic practices, including health, healing, and environmental dimensions. Each day, or chapter, offers information based on scientific research and experiential views. There’s a lot to know about dancing—a lifetime of investigation.
The “To Do” sections in each chapter have three themes: a somatic practice, a dance exploration, and a writing prompt. If you engage all three, by the end of the book you’ll have refined embodied awareness, created a dance for personal pleasure or performance, and filled a writing journal, clarifying personal voice and artistic aesthetic.
The studio notes are drawn from workshops, classes, and lectures by a variety of artists. I’ve always been interested in how dancers use language to evoke an experience, create a learning environment, or point to the mystery of art making. These handwritten notes are about “catching” direct lines from the artist-educators themselves. It’s how I learn—not transcribing every word or the full progression of thought, but collecting kernels to provoke inspiration and evoke investigation. Due to the nature of perception, these kernels inherently blend my ways of interpreting what I hear with the specific intent of the artist.
You will see that as a teacher, I tell stories. Sometimes they are the most efficient way to communicate complex ideas, by synthesizing multiple layers into a cohesive whole. Emotions are evoked as essential links to engagement. An anecdote is the shortest story you can tell with a beginning, a middle, and an end—it’s the story you tell over and over to help you understand something, until it’s honed down. Hearing and reading stories encourages you to remember and tell your own, connecting memory and imagination to amplify the present.
Somatic investigations invite the body’s intelligence—you are your own laboratory and teacher.1 The experiential exercises may seem opaque, but let yourself explore. Engage the “theater of your imagination” and allow the words to be a sound score. You can read through the whole exercise, record yourself reading, or partner with a friend. Or, you can enter the experience simply by moving and then notice and reflect on what happens. There’s no “right way” to begin. Mind affects movement, movement affects mind. Allow your curiosity to be your guide.
Photographs are partners to dance, outliving the life of performance. Some are works of art in their own right, both documenting and transcending the specificity of the moment. A good image does much to make a page of writing come to life, by coupling the visual imprint of a moment with the ephemeral art form of dance, and allowing repeated viewing.
As far as I know, everyone engaged in the studio notes, photographs, and anecdotes has been consulted, participated in editing, and said “yes” to their views as included. Sharing material reflects the generous nature of the arts. Ideas, exercises, favorite quotes, and images to inspire are passed from one to another—sometimes losing the source.
In this era, we are fortunate to have available many training techniques, somatic practices, and spiritual modes of inquiry. One of the challenges is choosing what’s useful to your development at this time and committing to a practice. Dancing plays many roles in one’s life. Choosing what training pathways will enhance personal growth invites discernment and authenticity—a willingness to listen to your deepest longing.
Learning is not a linear progression. Like dancing and dance making, it can be fun or irritating or both simultaneously. Bringing anything complex toward a unified view, through the matrix of your own body, life, or pen is challenging. You will find that there’s room for error and for discovery.
What You Need
Find a studio. Identify a studio for consistent movement inquiry. Sweep the floor, remove unnecessary objects, and establish a level of privacy so you can investigate without inhibition. The studio doesn’t have to be perfect, but it requires attention. You are developing a relationship to your self, your work, and the space that will support your process. Developing a robust studio practice informs your investigation and inspires high-impact dancing.
Choose a writing journal. Engage writing as an exploration; consider narrative as a form of movement in time and space. Throughout this book, a progression of writing prompts encourages capacious themes—large enough to take anything you can throw at them! Put your pen to the page or fingers to the keypad and start writing. The suggested time length is for spontaneous writing: if you find a rich vein, write for as long as it takes. Choose a simple field journal—easy to carry with you—and not too precious. Write freely, “waste” pages, and risk discovering something new.2
Dedicate time. Show up! Consistent studio practice and journaling require a clear intention to value creativity in your life. You can move through the thirty-one days or chapters at your own speed, or give yourself a month to explore the whole.
What You’ve Learned
When I asked author Satish Kumar about his criteria for selecting articles for Resurgence magazine, he said, “They need to have both scientific rigor and wisdom.” It’s not enough to just offer the facts; we need to know what you’ve learned from your life.
Introductions
Writing colleague John Elder tells me that you can do anything in your writing as long as you say what you’re doing in the introduction. I hope he is right. I’m inviting you, the reader, to share my complex view of the world, interdisciplinary and holistic. It’s too much, and, I hope, just enough to evoke your imagination and encourage participation.
Part One
MOVING
DAY 1
Tanztheater Wuppertal
Choreographer: Pina Bausch
Nelken (Carnations) Performer: Julie Anne Stanzak
Photograph © Jochen Viehoff
Basic Concepts
Dance is a way of living in the world.
—Lisa Nelson, interview
Dance is