flow... ... . . . ... . . . . .

I was in one of my favorite parts of Columbus, leaving a coffee shop walking to my car when it started to rain. I quickly threw my bags into my car, dropped off some valuables, threw off my shirt and lept out into the storm (and I mean storm...raindrops the size of tennis rackets, people.) I ran around the little cobblestone village for a fair amount of time until the rain died down. I continued my walk, away from the car, until it started to pour even harder. This was getting pretty ridiculous, it was getting late, and I was getting to a not as nice part of town. I speedily turned to head back, badgered by the intense amount of water hitting my face. About half way to my car I fell upon a spot. I was drenched, the cobblestone lay unevenly below my feet, and little surrounded me other than the brick houses that sheltered all others from the rain. I stopped. I looked around. and I danced...I danced for quite some time. I did just that, doing little more than simply letting all my senses activate...

Raindrops fell like gravity was turned up times two, the lampposts burned as glowing spheres ignorant to the downward flow of water, the houses that lined the alleyway sat as unique as anything that is born in its natural environment, and the cobblestone...the cobblestone was the best part! The cobblestone jutted in every direction, refusing to be stagnant and predictable. I constantly had to reevaluate my footing while taking in my surroundings (both internal and external) and whipping through it all while I flew between over thinking my movement and finding moments of flow. The kind of flow that negotiated all that was being experienced without much consciously directed thought. I was surrounded by energy of all kinds, and was having a damn good time.

Guerrilla Dance Writing #4

...continued from #3

and we danced, and enjoyed ourselves, and affected those who watched, and didn't affect some, and (it seemed) most importantly we spread dance. It was good.

But I knew something wasn't quite right. I felt good about the process, and it seemed to be fulfilling the goals I had set out to achieve. Yet it rarely felt really good like I thought it would. I felt unsatisfied with the process somehow, and I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't really put a lot of thought into it - the actual act of making dance happen everyday of the week was more than enough to keep me occupied - I didn't have much of a choice.

At the end of last quarter, all the dancers involved in the project and I had a talk. The topic of connecting with viewers came up. They felt we had brought the fourth wall of proscenium performance with us to our everyday "stage."

As a result, I attempted to approach this Winter quarter differently, using social dance (that which might be done at a club, wedding, party, etc) mixed with a touch of studio movement, with the hope that this would be more inviting to the audience. It also made the focus automatically (albeit consciously) switch to fun. Which, I didn't notice it at the time, had been the original focus all along.

I wrote up a set schedule, found a set place to dance, made sure set people were assigned to each day, and we began...

Day-Write #1

As part of the work on my senior "Guerrilla Dance" project, I am going to regularly be blogging about my day to day experiences within the project. These will be very casual, sort of free writes more than anything. Here's iteration one of that process.

January 22, 2010

The energy felt when another dancer is completely released from any sort of pre-conceived notion or pressure, it's completely contagious and inspiring. I've noticed that I tend to not have that reaction unless someone is not a technically trained dancer. Not always the case, but in the most extreme circumstances, it is for me. Infectious energy. What is that? Life? Something inherent in dance that needs to be unlocked by each individual in their own way, or simply an expression of some sentiment that just happens to come out nicely within dance?

Obviously whether a dancer is trained or not is not the catalyst. However, since I tend to notice it more often with untrained dancers, maybe it is an issue of control. Trained dancers are so aware of what they are doing, constantly evaluating movement, or at least being aware of how their movement fits into the "world" of dance and technique.
A thought could be that simply because we are so aware of the context within which we dance, it is difficult to let go. Letting go may then be the reason for this release of energy: an unpolished expression of one's self.
Yet this hypothesis doesn't account for the dancers you watch who have this type of energy, and are expertly trained. Have they found a way to consciously tap into this energy, is it simply inherent in them, or is it simply a skill that can - like many others - be practiced and perfected?