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Stray

Tags: dance
Do you remember the last time you picked up a cat? As you cup a cat's stomach and lift him up, his body just hangs in your hand. His legs dangle down, ruminating over the ground.

Cats rarely clutch to new situations. They're hard to convert or rally to your side. And, anyway, once they come and all the rallying's done, they'll never get quite as giddy as you think they ought to get.

Cat's are sleek and slick.

Sure, they may rub up against you and purr, for a while. But, they might just back off or continue on their way. Cats are all about choice. They step solidly from one option to the next. And, because of this, they pass through the day gliding like shadows, shifting furtive as shade.

Watch a cat roaming about your house or neighborhood. Watch him sprint like delicate lightning or twist, as he falls, to land on his feet. For that matter, watch him sitting there quietly, his four feet tucked underneath...

How can so much force come from something so loose? What kind of tension allows both flexibility and support?

Focused and open, strong and soft, here and elsewhere, social and not... the cat seems to arch his back and bridge the difficultly reconcilable.

Lots of dance students I see only connect tight, sore muscles to stiff, bandaged knees. And, though they slam into their limitations, again and again, what they've heard about dance says to never give in. In movies and on TV, the world of dance is largely lopsided.

Passion, determination, sacrifice for fame... fierce competition and 'No pain, no gain'... triple-threats, sweat, submission and discipline... a corps being honed and led into perfection...

Are we talking about dancers or an elite military strike force in training?

I got off lucky. I've had a diverse career, starting out in Florida, in a theme park parade, and ending up in France, in a modern ballet. In between, there was jazz, folk dance, musicals, cabaret and opera.

But, there were periods of great frustration and conflict, too. Times when nothing that moved me moved from within. Times when I tried and I tried, only to feel knotted and tied.

I was brought to reconsider my approach to dance.

Our consumer-oriented society values enthusiasm and bright, chipper smiles. And, as markets open up and competitors grow, we're pushed to let our deep caring show and show, no matter how crisp it becomes.

Distant just doesn't sell. It's got a bad name. It has been put in the lot with haughty, cold, indifferent and lame.

But, we need a certain distance. It's the first step towards autonomy. And, afterwards, it lets us stay healthy and free, even following teachers or programs, expectations or dreams. And, though it's hard to sell contemplation, patience and risk in a market full of contests, high-kicks and splits, teaching distance is a major way to help inspiring artists.

Dance needs incertitude and questioning. Dance needs the intrigue that gets us to stray until we stumble and tumble upon something innate: our body's natural knack for choosing the right way to move.

Dance also needs to be reminded of a basic truth: The indirect is as pertinent as the direct, and artistry comes as we find how they connect.


This post first appeared on A Dancer's Guide To Wading Through The Universe, please read the originial post: here

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