How can slow movement improve technique?

How can slow movement improve technique?

When we whip through a move or combination at speed, when we do it the easy way, we limit our progress. We might cut corners, or miss small errors, particularly in areas that are difficult or in the outer fringes of our physical abilities. The circle isn’t really circular; the curve has a divot in that area where our hip has a little hitch. The little hunch in our shoulders, the glitch in our balance as we turn goes unnoticed.

Slow movement, movement at a speed Dunya describes as “glacial,” allows us to deeply inhabit every moment of the shape we create. We engage and focus our attention at each moment, feel intimately each tiny increment. Where we might skimp at normal speed, we can anticipate hitches, see them coming, and adjust our trajectory, slowing down even further, so we slip unobstructed through the straits.

When we go slowly enough, we are less likely to trigger pain, so we can complete the arc more graciously. When we find a trouble spot, we can hold it like a pose, motionless, while our bodies sort out balance, line, reaching like flowers for the light of openness and effortless lilt.

We also build myelin, the neural manifestation of skill. Myelin (skill) is an insulating substance that wraps neural circuits and grows according to certain signals (Coyle). And one of those signals is slowing things down. We learn faster and improve more quickly by slowing down. Myelin reinforces the neural pathways that we use—the definition of skills development. So whatever we do, that’s what gets reinforced. If we skimp, that’s what gets reinforced. If we make beautiful, elegant arcs, that’s what gets reinforced.

Breaking things into small chunks and practicing them out of sequence also builds myelin. Taking small, disconnected chunks of technique, feeling them deeply, inhabiting them, slowing them down, making them into a series of elegant poses, that reinforces those neural pathways. Doing the power poses regularly reinforces those neural pathways. And we need those certain signals. Doing things mindlessly doesn’t get us there. We need to be in the sweet spot at the edge of our abilities.

The brilliant thing about this practice is that we are always at the edges of our ability. We are always searching, discovering, intent, focused, spreading our feelers out from every inch of our consciousness. So don’t worry if this is hard. Hard means you are learning. It means you are building myelin. We focus now so we can let go later. We build skills now so that on stage, they will be there for us. Through effort, we attain effortlessness.

Love,

Alia

How to Fall Off the Stage (and how to get back up)

Vegas, baby

Yep, I fell off the stage at The Las Vegas Belly Dance Intensive.

I stepped back one time too many–and down I went. I knew it wasn’t too far, so I grabbed the curtains-and they went right down with me. It was an epic fail.

So what did I do? 

I jumped back up on the stage–laughing. “That’s going to look great on the video,” I said, and went on with my show.

Yes, I was lucky. It was only about 3 feet. I had already been back there, so I knew where I was going. It was Thursday night, so the audience was minimal. Yes, I could have asked them to stop the music. I could have started over. I didn’t feel like it. I just kept going.

And people loved it. Because I laughed and kept going.

And that was Vegas. Intense.

I had never been there before. I had never even been in a hotel as big, cheesy, or loud as the Flamingo. The line to check in was WAY over 50 people–and this was a Wednesday. It took 40 minutes. The lobby is a cross between an large airport shopping mall and a casino. Oh, wait–it IS a casino! Yes, slot machines clatter and jangle every moment.  The Strip is like Times Square on crack with slot machines. Every possible way of squeezing more money out of the marks is in overdrive. A coffee in the lobby costs $3. A banana is $2.75. For the first few days, I was in shock. I did not like Vegas. Not one bit.

Then I started to get the hang of it. I laughed and kept going.  I got to hang out with old friends–Nadira Jamal, Rosa Noreen, and Dhyanis among others. I got to see a show–Nadira and I went to see Cirque du Soleil. I got to meet cool people I know from FB–Treasure Marshall, Mahin from DBQ, and Ustadza Azra. My class went well and everyone was happy. I took some wonderful classes, in particular Jill Parker’s Dancing Warrior. And I saw some performances that totally, completely blew me away. Silvia Salamanca’s triple sword, a virtuosic display of excellence, Helena Vlahos’s gracious radiance, and the best thing I just about ever saw in my life, Nicole McLaren’s Sufi whirling piece–which garnered a standing ovation.

And everyone associated with the Intensive is adorable. Samira Tu’Ala is a doll. Now I know why everyone loves this event.

Overall, it was a helluva good time.

 

(And the fountains at the Bellagio are pretty cool, too.)

Recommended.

thumbsup

 

 

How I learned to Improvise Part II

How I learned to Improvise Part II

Dave Chapelle thought all the standup comics he saw just made up their stuff on stage—that they improvised. So that’s what he did, too. Yeah, he went out there and made stuff up, on the spot (his record is over 6 hours of straight improv).

Chapelle had no idea that most of the comics scripted and honed their material over weeks and months, often delivering the same show night after night in different venues. Impressive, huh?

It was the same way for me and dance. For one thing, I grew up in NYC during the 60s and 70s. The music scene was bursting with creativity and the great jam bands were very much an influence. The highly constructed, heavily produced music that we have today was unknown at the time.

These guys played all night—we left the Fillmore and the sun was coming up. Likewise in jazz and every other kind of popular music. We saw everyone, from Sun Ra and Pharaoh Sanders to Big Mama Thornton and Captain Beefheart, plus the Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers, with Frank Zappa and Miles Davis for good measure. (We had great drugs, too—but don’t tell anyone). All this music begged for movement. It was a wild and crazy time!

I saw Zappa’s ensemble improvise an entire piece from a comic book. Yes, the musicians all had the comic book on their music stands. We, the audience, even had a role to play—we made some of the big sound effects—KA-RUNCH! Zappa conducted the comic book, and signaled us when it was our turn. (To see this show, I missed a high school band concert in which I was supposed to play. My band teacher never forgave me and later refused to write me a college recommendation. I still don’t regret it.)

Graffiti was reaching the heights of art. Catching a subway in the morning with a freshly-painted masterwork exhilarated all who experienced it. So much was going on everywhere.

So, to me, great art was improvised. When I started in Oriental dance, it was improvised as well. I had no dance training before I began belly dance, so I had no habits of choreography to unlearn. I remember hearing the ballet dancers in Bobby’s classes talking about how hard it was to relax the glutes. Not for me. I was 16 and tabula rasa.

Back in the day, there was a lot of live music in Oriental dance as well. And yes, all of it was improvised. There were songs, and they had a structure, but the musicians played what they felt. Heterophony (the musician’s license to ornament the notes and play around the melody) was in full force. Simple songs became elegant masterworks of ensemble feeling. Polyglot immigrant musicians drenched themselves in their love of their homelands, playing music together and celebrating this love with their audiences—and the lucky dancers who performed with them.

So this is where I come from, in the dance and the music. This is what has shaped my understanding. This is why I can do what I do—let the music in through my ears and transform it into movement with my body.

But it’s not the only reason. With live music I was great, but recorded music was another matter. I knew the zone existed, but with recorded music, I couldn’t reach it consistently. I did pretty well, but it was frustrating to so often feel locked in my thoughts and unable to meld with the music. And we have so much recorded music. It’s not the same thing at all. The brilliant process of discovery and collaboration the informs live music is dead and gone by the time it’s recorded.

Or is it? Like Dave, after a while, I needed more. 

Finding Dunya and Dancemeditation™ made all the difference in the world. Through Dunya’s Sufi practices, such as breathing in time with the music, I learned to open the door to the zone much more easily and consistently. Awareness of breath and an ability to go inside and find my space revolutionized my dance.

And there is even more. 

Tarab, according to Dr AJ Racy (a brilliant teacher, musician, and composer), is captured in recordings. It is still there. Maybe not as strong as during the live performance, and maybe not as intuitive on 34th hearing, but it is there. And this is what we have to do: Find music that speaks to us. Music that has soul, that continues to give us that love. Even if we know every note, we can still regain the feeling of grace the music contains. If it doesn’t move us, we don’t move to it. Look for heterophony. A lot of bands do not understand this principle. The music is empty. There is nothing but the melody—no ornamentation, no richness of interpretation and artistic feeling.

Favor the rich, nuanced, soul-filled songs and you will dance better, and enjoy it more.

Learn to find the zone. It is always there, and you can go there, even to recorded music.

Welcome to the joy!

Love,
Alia

Effortless Improv registration closes Sunday, Oct 19th….

Why the feeling is vital

Why the feeling is vital—and how to find it

People love belly dance all over the world. Yet many dancers see only the shiny costumes and sensual movement. They often dismiss—or never discover—the dance’s ethnic roots, its core values. There is much more to the dance than steps and bling!

Traditionally, the feeling is more important than the steps. Intuitive response, close contact with the audience, and physical enjoyment of the music are prized. A dance is never done the same way twice—each performance is a unique expression of the artist’s feeling in the moment.

In contrast, dancers today learn choreography and stylized movement. They often perform a dance exactly the same every time. Many do not compose their own dances, only learning from others. Many dancers never even learn how—or are afraid—to improvise.

Dancers like choreography because it is familiar. It frees them from responsibility and creates a sense of security. Everything can be prepared in advance. There is no onstage decision-making or risk.

But with great risk comes a miraculous reward—the soul of the dance.

Belly dance is magical. It bestows limitless artistic, physical, and spiritual gifts. How do we find these gifts? Embrace and celebrate the soul of the dance:

  • Improvise.
  • Breathe in time with the music
  • Revel in the movement
  • Take risks on stage.
  • Love the audience and love yourself.
  • Embody the music. Bask in it.
  • Practice these things.
  • Bring them into your heart.

In this way, we find our selves, our dance, and our joy.

Two more weeks on the Kickstarter. The book is going to be beautiful. And the rewards are pretty good too. A dollar keeps you in the loop. Ten gets you the e-book—twenty five for a printed book. Check it out—you will be glad.

http://BellyDanceSoul.com

Love,

Alia

Rote Movement

Here’s a new sample from my forthcoming book, Midnight at the Crossroads: Has belly dance sold its soul?

 

Rote Movement: Why it’s not your friend

How do we bring this ancient heart into modern times? The reality of the day is that we often perform on large stages in front of many people with recorded music. As teachers, we have students who want to dance within the security of a group. How do we reconcile these elements with a tradition of solo extemporaneous dance to live music?

The first thing is to step back from the focus on highly stylized, memorized, step combinations, away from rote movement and towards functional movement.

What is this Rote? Rote means “mechanical or habitual repetition of something to be learned.” Rote learning is flashcards, times tables, any kind of memorization-based learning. Rote movement applies to activities we do in a mechanical, repetitive way. Running, for example. Or calisthenics. Or choreography. Six hip drops, turn left on seven and and pose on eight. Great. Why are you doing that? Because the teacher said to. Huh?

The purpose of rote learning Rote learning can really stick in the brain—my mother, with fairly severe dementia, can still recite from memory most of the poem Jabberwocky. We remember what letter comes next in the alphabet by singing the alphabet song. We know how many days in a month by reciting 30 Days Hath November, and we can do simple calculations quickly because we have drilled them, over and over in grade school. We don’t have to think and discover, we can just remember, because we repeated it so many times in the past.

What’s wrong with that? For many things, like the times tables, or French verb conjugation, rote learning is perfect. For others, it is not. In Bloom’s Taxonomy of Learning, memorization is the lowest level of knowledge. But it’s not the memorization factor that is the problem. We all have stuff we need to know. It’s the mindless, mechanical aspect that is the problem.

When we do things in real life, those movements have a purpose. They are functional. We open doors, pour coffee, etc. But when we run for exercise, or do calisthenics, there is no real, immediate function to those movements. We are doing them because of some abstract goal. We can run on a treadmill with our earphones in while watching TV. This is the poster child for rote movement. This is mindless repetition to the max.

Look, actors need to know their lines. But those lines have a function—they drive the plot forward, they reveal character. If the actors do not understand the meaning of their lines, and embody that meaning with every fibre of their being, who’s going to watch them? By the same token, dancers need to know their choreography—but if there is no purpose to the movement, it’s just a lot of meaningless flailing.

The problem with rote teaching of choreography is that much of the time, the dancers have no reason to do any of the things they are doing. They don’t always understand the connection of the movement to the music—in fact, there often isn’t much of one aside from the most obvious rhythmic connection by which they count. Even so, most student dancers of belly dance can be seen counting their steps as they dance alongside the music, while trying to remember which step comes next.

Over-drilling, over-stylization, removing the motivation of the music from the move, these are how we lose the feeling. These are how we hide from the joy of dance. Making the body do stuff is just another layer of control, a way to keep ourselves from feeling. Stylization is control. Repetition is control. All of these are intellectual pursuits that prevent the body from directly experiencing and responding to the music.

Besides, mindless repetition is how we get hurt. RSI, anyone? Carpal tunnel? Doing things past when the body starts to complain, over-practicing moves that in performance would only be done one or twice, can cause series damage to the body. Most classical dancers are not in touch with their bodies—they are in control of them. They make their bodies do things that normal bodies would not do. Utter control, practicing until the toes bleed, that is success? Not in my book.

In the martial arts, you rarely see students aimlessly stumbling through their katas. No, because katas are the epitome of functional movement. You are blocking someone here, punching another person there, kicking someone else through the door in the next move. There is purpose in every step, every moment. We dance teachers need to build this level of involvement into our student dances.

Create characters, backstories, motivations for the action of your dances. Tie each move inextricably to the music. Articulate the connection. Sing the steps to the tune of the song. Give your students multiple mnemonics to make the dances easier to remember, more memorable to watch. Engaged dancers who believe their stories, create heart-rending beauty on stage.

Give us more than a pretty container.

Give us heart and soul.

Give us art.

Check out the Kickstarter for Alia’s book,  Midnight at the Crossroads: Has Belly Dance Sold it’s Soul?

Why meaning creates emotion

Here’s a new sample from my forthcoming book, Midnight at the Crossroads: Has belly dance sold its soul?

Why meaning creates emotion (and how functional movement creates meaning)

Imagine a real smile, crinkly eyes and all. 
Those crinkles are so remarkable, they even have a name—and they are very difficult to fake. You must mean that smile to get the crinkles. What’s more, when you see a real smile—even a picture of one—instinctively, you smile, too. A real smile. The meaning in a smile creates an emotion in the viewer. Their emotion inspires their smile. Meaning creates emotion.

What does this have to do with dance? 
Humans make meaning. No matter how random and unpredictable life might really be, we humans are out there creating scenarios that imbue its events with meaning. It’s what we do. So when we see art, we look for meaning. When we dance, we make the music visible—but the music exists on deeper levels than just notes and rhythm. The music has those emotional timbres. We feel the emotion, and we make meaning with it. We radiate this meaning, and help the audience to feel the emotions.

Does this mean we have to smile all the time? 
No. But it does mean we have to be fully engaged, authentic, and honest. If we just make a face, or place ourselves in a an empty arrangement, the audience will feel this dishonesty. The secret ingredient is our willingness to open ourselves emotionally to the music and the audience.

Dance is an interpretive art. 
We convey to the audience what we feel from the music. If it is a joyous song, then we will smile. But the brilliance of Oriental music is in the infinite shades of emotion. In the dialectic between pleasure and pain (and every moment of song, every inch of movement is a microcosm of this most fundamental spectrum), there exists every emotion, from love to hate, anger and joy, fear and comfort. As we train ourselves to respond in the moment to these timbres, we create rich tapestries of meaning.

Even negative emotions have power to unite. 
Most of us feel so alone in our pain. We turn inwards and waste away. When we see the pain of human existence expressed as art, we feel our connection to the world. We know we are not alone. Every member of the audience has felt sorrow, sadness, loss, grief. Negative emotions in art allow us to see that we are not alone. When we express these emotions in the context of art, we unite the audience. The love and camaraderie of the world help us to bear our burdens, to access our buried feelings, and maybe even to let them go. Art is a catalyst for catharsis, the “purification of emotions that results in renewal and restoration.”

The rise in theatrical approaches to belly dance have taken it far afield from the dance of joy and celebration at its heart. Many dancers explore what I will call dark themes: from anger, power, and tragedy, to vampire fusion and other esoteric themes. As artists, it our privilege to explore the themes that draw us, those through which we may express that which tugs at our souls. Some of it is in fun and some in earnest; what’s important is that we invest our work with genuine emotion and have at its core the determination to bring the light.

Yes, there are artists who seek dark and terrible places, born out of their own tragedy and damage. They desire company in the crevices of their ravaged souls, glorifying illness and presenting it as health, glorifying self and presenting it as service. Beware of this, in yourself and in others.

As dancers and artists, we are in service to art, in service to love, and in service to the world. 
We make the party. We give the audience permission to enjoy themselves. We create meaning, make space for emotional release, and open the way for joy and love. This is our job as artists. Even if our art is dark and ferocious, when we present it with humbleness and in service to love, we help ourselves and others feel connected, release pain and suffering, and walk in the light.

This is our highest calling as human beings.

Please check out and share  the Kickstarter for this book: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/alia/midnight-at-the-crossroads-has-belly-dance-sold-it

Thank you!

Four Problems of Precision (and one solution)

Here’s a sample from the book Midnight at the Crossroads: Has belly dance sold its soul?

Four Problems of Precision (and one solution)

There is nothing wrong with being precise; generally, it’s a valuable asset. But there is a danger in valuing certain kinds of precision to the exclusion of elements that are more central to the ethos of Oriental dance.

1. External: Memory and retrieval
The focus on choreography shifts the dance from one that is improvised and created in the moment to one that is created off stage and recreated later. While it is true that we have more recorded than live music, and it makes sense to pre-record our dances as well, the current trend values memory over feeling. Too often this means the dancer is not in the moment at all, but is working hard to remember and recreate the dance that, sadly, she may not have even made for herself, but which is often created for her by a teacher or choreographer. So the dancer’s agency may be stripped away as well as her discovery of the music in the moment.

2. Excessive: Too much, too fast, too hard
With the focus on choreography, we also have the tendency to make the dance as hard as possible to demonstrate the ability of the dancer. A dance steeped in sensual abandonment and enjoyment of the music becomes a vehicle to showcase athletic ability. The feeling of the music becomes superseded by a determination to articulate every single note, ornament, nuance, and trill, a game of how many moves can one dancer cram into 8 counts. The audience can’t relax and enjoy the dance when every moment is filled.

3. Exclusive: Step up or get out
Valuing memory plus athletic ability raises the bar for excellence to a superficial level. Because Western dancers are trained to remember choreography, stylize their movements for accurate repetition, and display dizzying feats of physical prowess, Eastern values are left in the dust. Visual perfection in body, face, costume, and execution become the stock in trade; qualities of content, richness of emotion, stillness, and simplicity are scorned. It’s not just the dance is evolving—every living art will. It’s the willful disregard of the elements that make this dance special and great that is so sad. The dance welcomes all body types, all ages, genders, and ability levels. These new values disdain these qualities, and seek to turn the dance into one more competitive arena for perfectionist overachievers. Everyone else can go to hell.

4. Extreme: Make your body do stuff
And here we come to the saddest and most destructive of the new trends. One of the most brilliant, beautiful, magical elements of oriental dance is the training of the body to respond intuitively to the music. Sure, you have some vocabulary to learn, and that takes some effort. But the basic vocabulary is fairly simple. What takes one’s entire life is the level of artistry that is attainable with these few movements. To hear improvised music and to express physically the texture, pitch, speed, and emotional timbre is a stunning accomplishment. We give our lives to this. But it is not just artistry.

Current research shows that trauma resolution is largely accomplished through allowing the body to move as it wishes. When a dancer is in the moment, allowing the music into her body, allowing her body to respond intuitively, the dances magic suffuses her body and soul, bringing with it healing, radiance, and joy.

The focus on recreation, stylization, repetition, and precision movement destroys this magic, and with it the mystical, healing, spiritual heart of the dance.

With mystical heart as a value, where do we put our attention? How do we aspire to greatness? There is one kind of precision to which we happily aspire: Timing.

Timing is the bleeding edge of superior precision. This is what we practice to achieve greatness in Oriental dance. Yes, we need beautiful lines, posture, strength, presence, endurance. And we practice them. But timing is the queen. And it must be intuitive, open and fresh, ready for anything. Our hearing is one of our fastest senses; the body is capable of responding to what it hears almost before we are aware w shave heard anything. In the wild, back in the old days, intuitive response to sound saved many a life. In the dance, we hear and let the body respond, let the body choose the movement. We practice and practice to have the physical skill so that the body can execute whatever it needs to articulate the music in the moment.

This is the heart of the dance.

(and back later with a few more kinds of precision ; )

 

 

Check out the project! And please share.

http://BellyDanceSoul.com

Got Jitters? (and how to cure them–quickly!)

Getting on stage is always a thrill–but sometimes it’s a bit scary, too. Whether as dancers, public speakers, or just getting up to recite nursery rhymes for friends, some days can be harder than others.

Whether you have stage fright, some nerves, or just want to go into the performance mindspace, here some things to help.

  • Rescue Remedy: This is Elena Lentini’s go-to solution for any kind of pre-show anxiousness. It’s flower essences, very gentle. Every health food store and a lot of drug stores carry it. Try it in advance first, though, just so as not to be surprised.
  • Dunya says, Breathe. Slow down: Inhale to the count of 4, exhale to the count of 8. It won’t take many breaths before you feel calm and centered.
  • Put one hand to your forehead and one to your chest. Sit quietly and feel the energy. After a while, change the hand from your forehead to your belly. Just breathe and feel the energy connection.
  • Run in place. Breathe in time with your running. Exhale with each step.
  • Tap with your hands all over your body to ground in the present moment.
  • Remember what you are here for. Alli R said, “Today my husband is having one of his MS flare ups (he is already in a wheelchair) and I was saying, “I wish I could find something helpful to feed you, to do for you.” He replied, “Well, you can do your dance practicing, so I have something to watch, ‘cus I enjoy that.” I have been drilling and rehearsing next to his chair daily (while I thought he was watching TV) and I skipped today because I was feeling down because HE was feeling ill. He has been a huge inspiration for my dance already, but man… Next time you need a reason to push you to dance, think about dancing for those who can’t!”

This is the gift we bring to every audience. This is the level of love that underpins our performances. Remember, every time that you  go out to dance is a gift to the world. This is the light you shine into the darkness. The right people will be there, and they will see it. It will be a beacon to them.

 

 

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THANK YOU, JACK!

Jack Godfrey of Sunrise Yoga dared me to make this blog. Without him, it would not have happened for a long, long, time. Jack, you made this possible.

THANK YOU!