The Arts of Performance Dance
When I was a little girl, I thought of both my parents as "artists." My mom, painter, drawer, and otherwise picture-maker was the "artist." My dad, photographer (picture-TAKER) was the "photographer." I had a hard time understanding why they objected to me telling my friends or my friends parents that that's what they were. "My mom's an artist and my dad's a photographer." It took a few years for me to understand that the information my friends parents were looking for when they said "What do your parents do?" was "My mom's a childcare provider and my dad works for a software company."
Somehow, I never applied this line of reasoning to myself. It took my mom's words "Look how you sacrifice for your art" (after I'd broken a foot during a dance practice) to even make me aware of the possibility that I was an artist. And it took 3 years of choreographing, coaching dancers, and producing my own performances for me to really begin to look at myself from a standpoint of art criticism.
And now that I am, a few things are occurring to me. First, dance is weird. It's weird because none of the other animals do it the way we do, yet doing it well is satisfying on a very primal-feeling level. It's weird because it's a performance art; when it's over, there's nothing to show for it. And it's weird because, unlike any of the other arts, dancing requires a finished work of art to precede its birth. (I'm talking, of course, about music.) So, one of the arts of performance dance is the music. Some dancers cross over into musicianhood, but it's certainly not necessary in order to be part of a great performance. As long as SOMEONE produced a quality track, you're set to go.
Then comes choreography, and this what feels the most like a labor of love to me. The dance part, relatively speaking, is easy (more on this later). But choreography takes brain power. It takes an open mind, an immunity to frustration, and a willingness to take risks. In a way, choreographing a song is like photographing a person: The result should show people how YOU hear the song (or in the case of the photograph, how YOU see the subject). It can be very difficult to actually capture that unique point of view. Part of the problem is vocabulary. You've got body movements in your mind, but sometimes the music says something you just don't have a movement for. That's where the real opportunity for creativity is, and the real challenge as well. On the opposite side of the spectrum, there's the risk of saying too much. A movement for every nuance of the music is overwhelming and noisy, and obscures your statement as effectively as no movements at all.
So once the piece is choreographed, (or, oftentimes, in parallel with that effort) it's time to think about costumes. Costumes are the audience's first impression. They're important, and they can just as easily ruin a performance as they can improve it. I am a total novice when it comes to costume design, but I feel the pull to improve at it in order to improve the overall quality of my work.
Then, finally, comes the performing. For me, this part is pure joy. I love the thrill of an audience, the chance to show off, the in-the-moment nature of performance art. It is the Christmas morning you've been working towards for many long weeks or months. Only unlike Christmas morning, when it's over, you feel even more amped up and empowered than you did on the stage. Performance dancing gives something back to the performers that's indescribable. To say the least, it provides enough motivation to sign up for another long period of work to create the next piece.
I wanted to flesh this out a bit more, but I'm in a rush. I would rather publish it than forget it, though.
Somehow, I never applied this line of reasoning to myself. It took my mom's words "Look how you sacrifice for your art" (after I'd broken a foot during a dance practice) to even make me aware of the possibility that I was an artist. And it took 3 years of choreographing, coaching dancers, and producing my own performances for me to really begin to look at myself from a standpoint of art criticism.
And now that I am, a few things are occurring to me. First, dance is weird. It's weird because none of the other animals do it the way we do, yet doing it well is satisfying on a very primal-feeling level. It's weird because it's a performance art; when it's over, there's nothing to show for it. And it's weird because, unlike any of the other arts, dancing requires a finished work of art to precede its birth. (I'm talking, of course, about music.) So, one of the arts of performance dance is the music. Some dancers cross over into musicianhood, but it's certainly not necessary in order to be part of a great performance. As long as SOMEONE produced a quality track, you're set to go.
Then comes choreography, and this what feels the most like a labor of love to me. The dance part, relatively speaking, is easy (more on this later). But choreography takes brain power. It takes an open mind, an immunity to frustration, and a willingness to take risks. In a way, choreographing a song is like photographing a person: The result should show people how YOU hear the song (or in the case of the photograph, how YOU see the subject). It can be very difficult to actually capture that unique point of view. Part of the problem is vocabulary. You've got body movements in your mind, but sometimes the music says something you just don't have a movement for. That's where the real opportunity for creativity is, and the real challenge as well. On the opposite side of the spectrum, there's the risk of saying too much. A movement for every nuance of the music is overwhelming and noisy, and obscures your statement as effectively as no movements at all.
So once the piece is choreographed, (or, oftentimes, in parallel with that effort) it's time to think about costumes. Costumes are the audience's first impression. They're important, and they can just as easily ruin a performance as they can improve it. I am a total novice when it comes to costume design, but I feel the pull to improve at it in order to improve the overall quality of my work.
Then, finally, comes the performing. For me, this part is pure joy. I love the thrill of an audience, the chance to show off, the in-the-moment nature of performance art. It is the Christmas morning you've been working towards for many long weeks or months. Only unlike Christmas morning, when it's over, you feel even more amped up and empowered than you did on the stage. Performance dancing gives something back to the performers that's indescribable. To say the least, it provides enough motivation to sign up for another long period of work to create the next piece.
I wanted to flesh this out a bit more, but I'm in a rush. I would rather publish it than forget it, though.