Monday, April 24, 2006

Veil dancer


Fluidity of motion or symbol of cultural oppression.

I'll dance with veils if a song I love seems suitable.
I often use veils if I'm unsure of the audience's ability or comfort level of staying focused on my body for the entire time I dance.

The beautiful silk offers a different focal point, a bigger more dramatic dynamic, but also poses a double entendre.

I can consider it a display of air swirling and making graceful sweeps, a dance partner who may get caught on my head but who will never trod upon my bare feet, but I teach my students the necessity of remembering there are those women without the luxury of removing their veils.

With this in mind I'll pretend I have wings.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Wilder-ness

Ferocity becomes her.

Once a man lamented his favorite local dancer had become too tame, too civilized. He wistfully said, and his voice took on the half whisper-growl of intentional theatricality and his tongue curled around the most important word, Years ago she was wild.

But refinement does not always mean lost intrigue of unrestraint, although the degree of turbulence gains subtlety.

I love the unruly, ungovernable, rebellious dancers, but I appreciate them even more when they infuse their motions with accuracy and perfection of controlled, learned, practiced movement.

That is the best of both worlds.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Beginning


More than a full class last Saturday and I couldn’t quite get the feel, too many breathing bodies, too many souls reaching out and trying to catch how I was moving. The motion of bodies can be exhilarating and fascinating and frightening too, so much effort, direct focus and concentration.

Bodies are powerful things, stuffed and packed with energy, strung together with sinew and muscle and blood and bone to facilitate that energy. Making the connection between mind and body manifests itself in dance, especially when the dance requires sincere control of weight shifts and isolations of muscle groups. It is not as simple as it looks.

I arrived early but not early enough, no time to sweep the floor, and then I discovered that the stereo was not working, it wasn’t reading any of the discs I put into the contraption. Yadona saved me by getting her portable stereo; she also gave me a gift of home-baked bread, which I have been savoring. The crust is thick and chewy, the inner texture is light and perfectly suited to olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Ayeshteni, Yadona.

We talked posture, balance, placement of feet and hips. Many women stand with their feet too wide apart, leaning forward slightly off balance, knees locked against falling. Many women release their abdomen muscles, let their guts spill out and crush their lower spines. Many women hunch their shoulders, self-conscious of their breasts.

Feet beneath your hip bones, I say. Relax your knees, I say. Squeeze your buns, I say. Roll your shoulders back and down, let the sun shine on your heart, I say. Breathe, I say.

And they do it, and then they follow me through a half hour of grueling isolations and sit ups and push ups and lunges until we’re all loose and stretched and sweaty and they feel better than they have in years.

When we start it’s always the same, basic foundations, find your center, bring it inside, your focal point is just below your belly button. Step, hip. Step, hip. They follow me and I count backwards with the music 4,3,2,1 switch feet, 4,3,2,1.

Narrowed down and more controlled, soon they’re halfway between anxious and fatigued, comfortable with the repetition, relaxed. This is when I tell them, as we step, hip, step, hip, moving forward, Ladies! You are dancing! And I avert my eyes from their faces reflected in the mirror but I know the shock and amazement and laughing pride they try to conceal. Delight in motion becomes tangible energy.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Guedra

The guedra trance dance comes from the Tuareg “blue people” from southern Morocco and the West Sahara.

The name guedra comes from a big cooking pot, covered with an animal skin to make a drum, an essential element of the dance. With a slow heavy drumbeat, the veiled dancer flicks her fingers and slowly unveils her head, revealing a myriad of tiny braids, some formed into a crown, and all decorated with shells, agates, and other talismans. As the tempo increases, she begins to toss her head to the beat of the drum, following the clapping and the chanting of the tribe.

The intensity and her entrancement increases until, unconscious, she falls to the ground. From the Egyptian zar to the leilat of the Gnaoua of Morocco, trance rituals release evil spirits, or dispell bad energy and restore harmony of balance.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Poetry


A craftsman pulled a reed from the reed bed,

cut holes in it, and called it a human being.

Since then it’s been wailing a tender agony

of parting, never mentioning the skill

that gave it life as a flute.


- Rumi

Monday, April 03, 2006

Grace

Re-vamping my lessons, attempting to add a level, keep it simple but make the difficulty appropriate. I've been busy, not busy enough. My thoughts stick on preparatory exercise, and there's no way to make sit-ups fun. I can elicit chuckles and giggles with grunts and groans, and by saying, "Alright, that is enough of those." Even though it's not enough by half, and I could spend a whole hour doing sit-ups, push-ups, jumping-jacks, punches, lunges, stretches. Dancing takes strength, strong legs, strong lungs, strong body. I do love belly dance because it is a dance for all women, regardless of age, weight, or body type. Athleticism is appreciated, be it fluid and light, or solid and powerful. Strength is grace, grace is strength.

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Location: Pecos Wilderness, New Mexico, United States

This is the time and the record of the time. I'll avoid definition as much as humanly possible. We can never step in the same river twice. Cold mud and fast currents and rocks and roots entangle, hot and fecund in the summer and frozen slow in the winter. Subject to change. I dream of Paradise.