A midweek rendezvous, to consider how we move and how we're moved by what we do.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Leg Crazy

Most showgirls come to work in jeans, but they all change into fishnets and sparkly G-strings. G-strings arch upwards and make for longer legs.

How far up do your legs go?

That question sounds simple enough. But, one day, when we were asked it, in class, everyone else did the same things as I. They ran their fingers up and down their sides, hesitating here and there. They peered down, searching for a place to stop, and smiled, sensing a paradox.

Surely the length of our legs doesn't depend on whether we're sitting or whether we stand. Or, on jeans, Bermuda's or tights. Yet, the way we conceive 'leg' is largely visual. And, those visual references can leave us confused. At least, in terms of the best way to move.

Slide your hands up the side of your thighs, until you find that bumpy spot where the thigh bone stops. It's roughly marks the level of the hip joint. Turn your legs, in and out. Lift your knees and let them down. Feel how the tip of the thigh bone pivots around and how much lower it is than we would expect.

Visually, the leg line might go further up -- to the top of the butt or, even, the ilium crest -- but we have legs and a hip. I had danced professionally for many a year before this distinction was made perfectly clear. Before then, I was trying to involve muscles that weren't implicated -- or, better said, that were implicated, but in much different ways. In a world of relativity, for something to move, something must stay. Things can resist and, still, work together.

The moral to the story: There's the pleasure of looking and the pleasure of doing, and they, both, are valid and real. But, if you want to move more deeply, a body is something you should take time to feel.
(And, please, take that anyway you want.)

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Happy Zombies

It's the season for strikes in the City of Lights.
Retirement reform has got Paris churned up and grinding down, again. And, although it could turn into a much bigger mess, there's always something inspiring about social unrest.

Take the strikers, for example. They leave their houses well before dawn, stand for hours in the drizzly cold, and, only then, do they march (or block railroad tracks and refineries). Keeping that up takes a lot of fortitude. Serious non-working is no picnic.

And, of course, with such uncertain commutes, working isn't easy, either. But, somehow, the French stay good-natured, on the whole. They seem to accept that, given their traits: solidarity, critical-thinking and a love for debate, big social movements are simply inevitable.

But, last Saturday, things turned dark and ugly.

Out of nowhere, a few hundred zombies invaded the center of town. Screaming and shrieking with mouths red with blood, they attacked everything and everyone. The government, large industry, pollution, declining health care and junk food were among the victims. One of the signs they were carrying summed it up perfectly. It said: We Want More Brains!!

Now, these are serious times; there's a lot at stake. But, someone thought that, as the French love to gripe -- and they do and they admit it, too -- why not bring all sides together for one afternoon? A protest, for anyone, about anything at all. The perfect French reunion party.

So, the zombie-band played loud and beer splashed out on the crowd. Even little old ladies laughed as the street came alive. And, intelligence danced in everyone's eyes with naivity.

Parisians tend to be overly sophisticated and hardly spontaneous. But, when inspired, they make art out of paradox.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Bit by Bit, the Pieces Fit

A teacher, once, told me to not focus on steps. Dance is all about transition, she said. It worked! I, immediately, became more fluid.

There's something particular to movement: You can take a great image that works well for you, stand it on its head, and that can help, too.

Let me give you the reverse-version, now.

Last year, I was rehearsing an old piece with two good friends. We were really happy to be back together, again, but something went wrong. We were open and vibrant, but our dancing had become self-satisfied and insipid.

It was Phillipe who figured it out. We started the piece too comfortable, he explained to Paola and me. We eased through it, with memories of simplicity, and forgot how demanding it was for precision. We can't linger or anticipate. We have to be at the right place, at the right time, putting our entire selves into the act at hand, then the next, then the next, then the next....

After all, what is a line, but a series of points?

And, because that image worked, too, I assume, in my heart, that they're both equally true. (Dancers see the world in terms of complementary opposites.)


Recap #1: Segment Exercises

1) To coordinate, we first must be able to differentiate.
2) Differentiation -- the recognition of segments and parts -- comes to us through sensations.
3) The amount and quality of our sensations depend on our ability to feel.
4) The ability to feel is born out of a state of relaxation.
5) Relaxation comes when we open up to the pull of gravity.

P.S. With this different way of looking at it, why not go and give those segment exercises another try?

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Here or There

Warm it up. Rev it up. Slip it into high gear.

We often talk about the human body as though it were a machine. It's not the most flattering image for a complex organism, but, if it works, why not? Any metaphor that gets the job done is a good metaphor, as long as we don't start taking it for reality.

When we move, there are parts of our body that lead and others that follow along. Of course, it's not as cut-and-dried -- not as mechanical -- as it sounds. After all, in complex organisms, everything participates and adapts on some level, all the time. But, let's stick with the image, anyway. It'll get us somewhere, despite its shortcomings.

In dance, we refer to those parts that instigate movement as 'motors.' Changing motors is one of our ways to reorganize the body and access different qualities. Switching motors can be very subtle and, from the outside, not always easy to read. But, anybody who likes to watch people walk by has, certainly, picked up on it a bit.

Most people walk leaning forward and leading with the knees. But, we've all seen people who seem to stroll everywhere: leaning back slightly, feet pulling the body forward. And, there's the John Wayne swagger: hips advancing a reluctant body, eternally headed towards a shootout or brawl. A number of young males show how tough they are by combining systems: one side leading with the hip and the other, with the knee. It's a rolling strut that, at least, has the advantage of musicality.

But, let's leave the legs, for now, and get back to our arms.


Segment Exercise #1 (continued)

1) Revisit the segment exercises from Sunday.

2) Do the sequence again, but, this time, standing up. This time, however, there's only one puppeteer and he's floating above you (where he should've been, all along). Again, he slowly pulls on the string, setting into motion a chain of events. But, now, when your arm reaches the top, the puppeteer cuts the string and your arm flops back to your side.

While experimenting with the sequence, try and keep your stomach loose and your knees unlocked. Breathe as easily as possible. Ask yourself these questions: Is the segment with the string (the motor) really instigating the movement? Are the non-motor segments hanging from the motor segment with a real sense of weight? Given that there are different possibilities for organizing the movment, does the arm alway rise to the same height? Does it always fall in the same way? Where do you feel repercussions from lifting your arm? How far down do the repercussions go?

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Altered States

She was German and he was French and words were lost between them. But, a breeze swept off the water, fanning the warm summer night, and they followed each other, using the simplest of signs, into a world all their own. We watched, charmed by the easiness of it all.

We were, also, intrigued by their differences. Not in terms of language or culture -- they were, after all, only four years-old -- but, by something even more fundamental.

Sybille had a wide stance and often stood settled into one hip. Her shoulders slouched foreward ever-slightly. For a little girl, she looked surprisingly steady. We imagined her doing tai-chi at dawn or hitchhiking her way across Eastern Europe, with a dreadlocked head dwarfed, even more, under a giant backpack.

Vincent, on the other hand, skimmed over the floor on tiptoes. He stood perched like a meercat watching for jackals in a high stretch of grass. He, we thought, could be the prince in a ballet or flagging down a taxi on a drizzly New York day.

Sybille organized herself from the bottom-up; Vincent, from the top-down.

How we organize ourselves has to do with our character and build, which, in turn, has to do with our genes, God, karma, chance, stars or any combination of these, depending on how we interpret, analyze or perceive the universe. But, in general, if the way we organize ourselves works well for a certain activity, people just say that we have a talent. And, we assume it comes from somewhere.

But, is the idea of talent -- of innate ability -- accurate or helpful? What about our talent for change? After all, change is the one thing we've all been doing remarkably well since conception.

Here's an exercise for clarifying intention and possibilities. It's gentle on the body and, yet, has deep repercussions.













Segment Exercise #1

1) Lie down on a smooth surface, on your back, with arms by your sides. Place the bottom of your feet on the floor, knees pointing up. Feel your weight settle with each breath you take. Mentally, travel from your feet upwards, feeling your major segments and breathing. Tell yourself: My feet are heavy. My lower legs are heavy. My thighs are heavy... continuing with every segment and bit you can locate, up to your head.

2) Imagine that someone is sitting on the floor, a few yards away, in the direction of your head. He's a puppeteer and is holding a string that runs along the floor and is attached to the middle finger of your right hand. He pulls the string slowly, drawing your hand towards him. The hand moves first, then the forearm is implicated, and, finally, the upper arm and shoulder. Each segment remains heavy and drags on the floor. Verify that you aren't lifting your arms to assist. Remember: You're merely a puppet being manipulated. A heavy, happy puppet, in very good hands.

3) Now, the reverse happens. Someone's sitting a few yards from your feet and pulls the same string. Your hand's engaged, then your forearm, then your upper arm. Whether going up or coming back down, your arm finishes where it finishes. Don't reajust; don't try to make things tidy or complete.

4) Do the same thing with the string attached to the middle of your forearm and see what happens.

5) Do the same thing with the string attached to the middle of your upper arm.

6) Do the sequence again, on the left side.

It's a simple exercise that takes a lot of imagination and concentration. With practice, you can abandon your body, more and more, to the puppeteers; you can start to feel like someone else is really doing all the physical work.

As you become comfortable with the process and your newfound schizophrenia, observe how each segment of your arm is different. Observe how and when each segment engages the others, which parts slide gracefully and which ones roll and flop around in seeming-disorder. It's the same activity organized three different ways. Observe how each organization touches the rest of the body differently.

[To be continued on Thursday.]