What is Dance? VOLUME 1 in D.A.F.M.O.D.Q.

Stars of Bethel Park & Rec "Ballet" Class, 1981

Settle in for a brand new series called "Modern Dance Journal Prompts." No wait. That's brutal. How about "Dance Talk Real Fine, First Edition" or "Everything You Wanted to Know About Dance But were Afraid to Ask?" Let's do: "Dance A's for My Own Damn Q's." Alright then. This February I'm taking on my own assignments for a month-long bonanza of dance writing. I gave these questions out as journal prompts for my Beginning Modern Dance class last semester. I've been juggling these topics in my brain, body and jumbled notes for, oh, the last 18 years of Dance Minor-dom, Grad School-a-rama and the last many years of teaching. But I've never formally answered my own questions. I'm always asking my students about movement, be they college kids or kindergarteners. And now I'm suiting-up as a student. Here we go...a taste of my own  nerdy-ness. And remember, no right or wrongs. Also, I'm big on complete sentences and never leaving sentences dangling, but grinbearmove is nothing if not poetic license. I'll go for rhythm over grammar (gasp). 

Dance A's For My Own Damn Q's
VOLUME 1:  WHAT IS DANCE?

What is dance? How do I relate to it? How does it manifest in my life? What are my goals for this experience (in this case, a month-long bonanza of dance writing)?

Dance is movement, life, an expression beyond words.

(Hang on...I'm just getting started.)

It's when words go unrequited. It's joy and loneliness and everything in between extremes. It's what we all (all of us) do. I am a sign-toting crazy person when it comes to believing everyone is a dancer. There is dance in and because of each of us.

Dance is a spontaneous response, an outburst. Outbreak? Dance is poetry in motion, blah, blah, blah.
You've heard it all and it's all true. But how do you talk about movement? We always talk about dance in terms of other forms--poetry, theater, music, writing. What is it on its own?

Dance is a communion with what is ephemeral and eternal in the same breath; it's a celebration of what cannot last, a moment-by-moment document of an idea or emotion. It's here and now like no other. "Here today, gone tomorrow" or 10 seconds from now. You know?

Sometimes dance is a long-stifled action, something you've been holding in too long. It comes out like a landslide or a slow expiration of stale air. Something on the inside wants out. It escapes gracefully, violently, outrageously, neatly, whathaveyou. Sometimes we suppress dance--you, me. Society might squash it or at least we feel it does. Sometimes we don't welcome it unless it's on a stage or in its right place--an obligatory dance at the Oscars before the "real work" of the night is honored. Fine. Not fine. If dance is in the grocery store, it's crazy. If it's out in the woods, it's hippy. If it's a ritual, it's witchy. If it's a wedding, you must be the right amount of drunk to shake inhibitions. But what if you didn't have to be? Drink in movement all it's own. Bust a move like you're 3 years old.

A gust of uplift on Putnam Park Road

All along, dance is there, waiting. It's raw potential. It's noble and base. Up here, down there. It's inevitable. It's structured, it's wild, it's animal, it's raging instinct or quiet intuition, a heavy heart or a light mind. Maybe the other way around. Dance is when your limbs get together and rock your core. Connect directly to flow and shake off dust and demons.

"Dance it out" is a phrase you'll hear from time to time. We send something out into the ether--what it is is up to us. 

Dance is essential to be a part of yourself, to be on your side. It's a way towards (what?) wholeness. Piece yourself together. Say, "I'm here." "I am worthy."

Dance and be a part of the world. See and be seen. Bounce next to someone and smile. Be a part of history. We dance because people danced before us. The time is ripe. Jot down your story in gestures. Connect to your DNA. How does your family dance? It might be so small, you can't even see it.

Dance is everything and we forget it's even in us. It's dormant. Whatever your mobility, if you have access to your imagination, it's there. Cells leaping, nervous system sparking. A way of learning and knowing the world. An untapped intelligence for the most part. Moving is such a wonderful way into your brain, your emotional intelligence, your humanity. 

Dance is something that needs defending. We fear its full power, we push it aside. We don't talk about it, and if we did, we wouldn't know how to. Let's start. What is dance?

I am a dancer, whether I'm dancing or not dancing, judging or not judging. I define myself in movement. When I stop, I am stuck. When I start, I am here. It give me energy and purpose. I remember it's not frivolous (hear that, brain?), it is essential. A way of being, a way of life. So if I say it another way, I don't relate to it. I am it. Dance appears everywhere for me. A flock of birds organizes, two dogs sit, I fold a shirt or steer into a farmer's turn, my mother opens her arms, you can hardly sit still, we barefoot beach squish side by side.

My mom and my grandma took me to see the Nutcracker as a toddler. I'm told I was fixed, motionless on my mother's lap the whole time. A rapt two-year-old, enchanted. I don't remember it, but I bet my body does. Same with my first Park & Rec ballet class at three (I'm in the red tights and the red tutu above, all business). Dancing was unconscious in the way a child's being is all inside itself. When I did think to think of dance, I loved it. I was it. I didn't consciously choose dance until college. Oh. Here I am, all along. Now dance shows up in my everything--my writing, the way I speak. I am a dance snob, a dance nerd, a freak, certainly. 

My M.O. is more free-flow rather than goal-oriented, so I think it's a healthy thing for me to express some goals. Here we go(al). I want to publish my answers by the end of February. Hold me to it. I want to articulate my views of movement at this moment in time and pinpoint the emotions that move along with those views. I want to recharge my sleeping dance batteries and get myself back into a studio to physically answer these questions. This is a statement of purpose to begin rehearsals for a new solo. It's time. I'm looking to tap into that joy I talk about intellectually, but don't always experience. I want to remember way I started grinbearmove in the first place.

Red tights dance party (I'm the shrimp with the killer clippy belt)