on the technicalities of technique

the question about what technique is, what sort of technique to have, and how to gain/maintain it has been coming up a lot lately. it's something i think about a lot because over the years, i've had several revelations about technique. 

when i was little, i basically confused "technique" with "facility."  i thought i had questionable technique because i don't have very open turnout or very flexible ankles or a very long neck.  (thank goodness i got past that phase early!)  in college, my first radically different dance experience, i realized that i indeed was rather technically trained, but technical training is not only ballet and ballet-based jazz.  (this was shocking at the time.)  it was also fascinating to me that i could be a "good dancer" but i was really lost in a graham-based modern class or heaven knows a jump rhythm jazz class.  so i passionately set myself to learning all of the different ways of moving (the "techniques") i could get my hands (toes?) on.  all of this was in the effort to be an utterly versatile dancer.  i wasn't a "tapper," i wasn't a "trina," i wasn't a "downtown modern dancer," i wasn't a "competition jazz kid," but i was kind of all of the above.  (this quest for ultimate versatility is also an overarching theme for my life so far, but that's a different - and much larger - post.)

for dance, the purpose of technique is to assume certain forms and use the body in certain ways to produce certain aesthetic results.  different "techniques" definitely have different aesthetic results in mind, and since my early teens i have been under the personal opinion that ultimate technique educates you enough that you are free to make any choice.  embody it, throw it away, articulate it, disregard it for a moment.  that seemed to be creativity to me.  technique is about teaching the body to be a clean slate to make any choice to portray whatever idea the choreography and your dancing is meant to express.

on tuesday night, in a small modern dance class in new york city, hawkins-trained dancer/choreographer/teacher gloria mclean started talking about the idea of technique and the choices of various generations of dancers regarding said technique.  she grouped her generation (the end of the era of modern dance and the beginning of the postmodern movement) as seeking technique to create fresh natural movement.  erick hawkins saw natural human movement as a series of undercurves and overcurves, for example, and his technique is training the body to make use of those curves to "construct" natural movement.  (in contrast, another inspirational technique that i've studied is billy siegenfeld's jump rhythm technique, which is based on the pure expression of rhythm.  the body is taught to engage only the necessary muscles to move only the necessary bones - those two scapular plates on your back - to explosively express rhythm from the ground through your body.  all of this because billy sees natural human movement as rhythm.) gloria was asserting (and i agree) that all choreographers, in some way, want to put together something that appears fresh.  everyone is trying to put together movement in a new, fresh, way, be it in a "natural-looking" way (isadora duncan, some postmodern work), a "natural-feeling" way (release technique modern), an idealized visual way (ballet), or even in a style that is considered desirable, "sexy," entertaining, or at the very least visually pleasing (fosse, giordano).  

i define "good technique" for myself as being able to portray the desired aesthetic.  if i see a ballet, i don't want to be distracted by someone in the corps whose feet are sickled.  when i saw molly shanahan/madshak at the joyce soho a few weeks ago, i was struck by how the energetic forms of the body (not necessarily the shapes, although in some way that follows form) were so together, so in sync - although it is a released technique, the unison movement was no doubt very technical.  or to use the jump rhythm technique example again: the actual shapes of the body (which arm is where, how bent the leg is) might actually be pretty different, but the energetic paths through the body and the rhythm of the dancing is crystal clear and in unison (or at least in clarity, even in counterpoint).  the mastery of each technique allows the dancer to express the choreography fully without his body getting in the way as a sort of distraction for himself or for the audience.

gloria further asserted that my generation of dancers put much effort into staying "natural" and "fresh" by not training. there's something to that - dancers are glorified for their raw talent, their untrained animalistic movement, sheer creativity, etc.  she is of the opinion that young dancers are afraid of being "labeled" as one thing or the other, so they end up being not really anything at all.  i think i'm a case study in having that fear of being labeled, but by going at it a different way - by learning, accepting, and trying desperately to be good at each thing.  no, i don't really want to be labeled, but it's because i want to be thought of as someone who can do it all.  i have often wondered if my tendency to do everything is holding me back (in a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none kind of way).  

the jury's still out on that one.  but hindsight is 20-20, and now that i've discovered my passion for the creation of movement is separate and perhaps livelier than my passion for performing movement, it seems logical that i wanted to try everything i possibly could to give my brain new pathways to use to find and create movement that is "new" or "fresh" in a modern (postmodern? contemporary? jazz-funk? millenial-dance?) fashion.  i feel like having as many influences as possible will somehow allow my creative brain to make connections between the influences that i wouldn't have already discovered. 

thoughts?

"real" artists

i was having a conversation today.

it was a conversation that, in many variations, has happened more or less daily since i began dancing in new york.  it has the key ingredients of "callback," "type," "actually have technique," "prepared," and is peppered with questions, advice, and commiserating.  often with a twinge of bitterness.  with varying degrees of ironic self-awareness.

there exists in this city, more than any other environment i've been in, a sense of the musical as the holy grail - and broadway as the ultimate goal, of course - but the musical in general automatically trumps any other sort of performance or art.

i kinda think it's bullshit.

don't get me wrong - i am dazzled by the stage.  there is incredible work being done there, and if someone handed me a contract to dance in a broadway show i'd take it in half a heartbeat.  but i just can't subscribe to the view that THAT IS IT.  that's the only thing worth shooting for.  (granted, that's the only thing you really get paid well for, but that's another issue entirely.) and i definitely cannot subscribe to the view that real artists, real dancers, are the ones who are busting their butts in dance calls every day.  that's a tough lifestyle and an incredible lifestyle and i know so many people who are doing just that because they love it.  and i can't support them enough!  but the truth is, there are real dancers at auditions, there are real dancers in shows, on tours, on cruise ships, in class next to you, in a loft in the west village improvising, in music videos, backing up pop stars, showing work in a janky festival in brooklyn, etc etc etc.

the prevailing view of the broadway stage as the only worthwhile endeavor is really hard to resist sometimes - it sucks dancers in, and the lame part is that it's bound to make you feel bad.  almost every day, every time one of these conversations come up, i hear the buzzing in my brain asking why i didn't go to that audition, why haven't i pushed myself like that, i've never gotten a job from an audition, am i wasting my early 20s?  and that's where the artist's fight comes in (complete with a quote from that book you all know i'm obsessed with):

The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, 

which dictates that the  battle must be fought anew every day. 

(Stephen Pressfield, The War of Art) 

the battle we're talking about is the battle of creating.  of being a self-assured working artist. the self-doubt that comes with that "i'm not doing the right thing" attitude is just not helpful to anyone.  the facts for me are: i've performed more often than i've auditioned since i moved here.  creating work in my bedroom is more fulfilling to me as an artist than nailing down the best vocal coach.  i personally would rather soak up as much as possible from dance artists around me in classes, auditions, workshops, and playing in the studio than tour with a new musical. i may not ever dance on broadway.  and that's actually just fine; it doesn't mean that i am, or anyone is, more or less an artist or a dancer than anyone else.

here's to the whole artist - the artist you are in class on tuesday afternoon, the artist you are over a glass of wine with friends, and the artist you are when you're in your second callback for a regional tour.