Sometimes I don’t articulate myself well… that happens to all of us.  What I mean isn’t always what I say, so here’s an attempt to elaborate on what I meant in the last post…

1) There is a difference between what I mean by “discomfort” and “routine”.  Creative people must have routine.  Every morning Twyla Tharp gets up at the crack of dawn to go work out.  That’s her routine.  But, on those cold New York mornings where the bed is more appealing than lifting weights, I can assure you that going to work out is not “comfortable”.  That is Twyla’s discomfort.  I,too, have my routines.  I go to class at the same times every week at the Suhaila Salimpour School of Dance, but I can assure you that being in class is not a physically comfortable experience.  As artists we must regularly show up at the page or the studio, but what we create or how we practice isn’t necessarily a pleasant experience.  Sitting at home in my cozy robe on the couch with a cat on my lap is way more comfortable, but that’s not going to be at all conducive to my art as a dancer.

2) The 8-5. Here I mostly mean contemporary cubicle life, and, yes, this does work for some people.  I would say that this is one of the ways in which they are not comfortable.  It was mine for a long time.  Sometimes we need that in order to kickstart us into our true calling.

3) Where we make art must be nurturing, safe, and, yes, comfortable.  The studio is a place where we should feel free to make things without criticism, even self-criticism.  We must have the right tools and guidance available to us so that we can make art to its greatest potential.  But in order to find inspiration and new creative material, we can’t stay in the safety of our studio.

4) Hardship often does make great art, but we must revel in the beauty of the world, even when our times are tough.  Inspiration is everywhere, but you’ll never see if if you stay comfortable all the time.

Does that make more sense?

Art can’t be created in comfort.*  Art is made in times of strife, of loss, of longing, of pain.  Artists are the ones who buck the system, the ones who say that there must be another way beyond the 8-5, beyond the cubicle, beyond what society expects of us.  Art is not created by obedient drones.  Art is created by misfits who never sit still.

This isn’t to say that you should revel in strife.  There are those who love to tell their friends about how much they’ve suffered to get where they are, but I say the more you wallow in your hardship, the more hardship will fall upon you.  Don’t wade in your self-pity.  Just keep moving.  If you’re in a creative swamp, the only way to get out is to move.  You might be more comfortable standing in that murky water, but don’t tell me that you can’t get out.  It might be a long hard slog to get your boots out of the mud, and your feel will get blisters, and you’ll be tired and thirsty and sore… but you’ll have at least fought your way out of the swamp.

*And after a thoughtful comment from Christina of Sihaya Designs, I think what I really meant is “safety”.  Art isn’t ever a safe venture.  But I do believe that discomfort and strife make good art, even the art that is rooted in happy times – because how can celebrate our happiness through art without having first traveled through the awful times?

Imagine this:  A budding violinist with a lot of potential but not a lot of training decides that she really, really wants a Stradavarius.  So, she goes and purchases one for herself (remember, this is a hypothetical situation).  But, no matter how lovely or exquisite that instrument is, it’s not going to make her a better player.   It won’t improve her sight-reading or her bow-work.  Only years of training and practicing and studying will make her a better player.  An instrument of that caliber in the hands of an expert will sound magnificent, but in the hands of a novice… it will still sound like a novice is playing.

So, if this is the case, why do we see similar things happening in belly dance so often?

Let’s replace the hypothetical situation above with a dancer and a top-of-the-line costume.  Just as the instrument does not make the musician, the costume does not make the dancer.  No matter how well a dancer costumes herself, a costume will not make up for a lack of training, strength, conditioning, flexibility, emotional expression, choreography, or technique.  A costume can not hide the absence of these essentials, and without these elements, the dance can easily become a fashion show.

Of course, a dancer’s costume must match her performance in theme and style.  It must fit her well and be made of good quality materials; it must allow her to move and express herself without restraining or distracting her.  As dancers we must look good on stage.  Dance is a visual art, and the costume is an essential part of the performance, whether it’s a classic beaded bedlah for oriental style, or coin bra and tassel belt for American Tribal Style, or a unique creation sewn by the dancer herself.  The costume is part of the experience, especially for theatrical performances.

But… if we spend more time worrying about costuming ourselves than we do actually in the studio or our dance rooms training, we hold back our beloved art.  No matter how good we look on stage, if we don’t have the movement to back it up, then the performance will fall short.  The costume is only one part of a complete performance.  There’s a reason that if someone says, “Well, she had a great costume”, it’s often because her performance was lackluster and her costume was the only thing that stood out.  A dancer’s costume shouldn’t upstage the dancer herself, and we should be spending more time and money on our training and the development of our choreographies than we do on our costuming.

Another way of putting this is: You can buy the best paint brushes, the finest oils, and the top-of-the-line canvas, but unless you practice your brushstrokes and actually learn how to use your materials, you won’t become a better painter.

If you take away your costume, can your choreography speak for itself, or are you relying on your costume to speak for you instead?

So… The Artist’s Way started getting more and more personal, but I do have observations on that process that I would like to share. But first, something that really isn’t that unrelated…

Opeth. Best known for being a Swedish death metal band who has had one foot firmly planted in the world of modern progressive rock for quite some time.   But their most recent album, Heritage, is not death metal. At all. And they didn’t play any songs with growling death metal vocals at their absolutely stunning live show here in San Francisco.  Heritage is a tribute to the bands’ influences, to metal and progressive rock of the 1970s, but with a personal, modern, and truly unique approach.  It blends classic heavy metal with quiet acoustic interludes and even a Swedish folk song played in a jazz style.

What makes Heritage so brilliant, though, really?

One:  It is not a hackneyed attempt to revive the musical trends of the past. It is a showcase of technical and emotional musicianship and a clear understanding of the music that paved the way for bands like Opeth to form and gain worldwide fame.  These five men are masters of their art, tip their hats to the past, and make emotional songs.  There is a fresh passion in their work, even as it references sounds from nearly 40 years ago…. and music even older than that in their reinventions of Swedish folk melodies.

Two: The lead singer makes no apologizes for any changes in the band’s musical style.  Ever.  In fact, he says that if someone doesn’t like it, they can fuck off.  Death metalheads lament the lack of RAWR in the recent album and tour setlist, but Opeth stands firmly by their creative decision to showcase more mellow and melodic songs from their already diverse repertoire.

Honor the past.  Know your roots. Be a master of your instrument (whether that’s your paintbrushes, your guitar, your words, or your body). Create honest art.  Stand by your creative decisions.

Wise lessons to live by, I’d say.

Weeks 3 and 4: Recovering a Sense of Power and Recovering a Sense of Integrity.

Last week was a bit of a scheduling mess, so this time I’ll be writing about two weeks’ worth of TAW.

Insights:

The Morning Pages and the Artist Dates are a creative cleanse for my spirit.  If creativity is like water, then maybe this analogy will make sense: When water is still, it becomes stagnant, and stagnant water becomes spoiled.  When water flows, it stays fresh and clear.  The MP are the draining of the stagnant water; by writing three pages of stream of consciousness, I’m able to get rid of stale ideas, negative self-image, and thoughts that hold me back.  The Artist Dates help me refill that metaphorical river with fresh, clean water.  The two tools really do work together.

What surprised me about the past two weeks is that a writing assignment for my Arabic class inspired me revisit a story that I started to write in high school.  I never thought I’d finish writing it, but now I think that it would make a very good Young Adult novel, aimed at young women.  I re-read the chapters I had written years ago, thinking that they would be terrible, but I was surprised at how sophisticated and well-written they are.  And, even stranger, is that I have started writing more of the story in my Morning Pages; it just happens.  I’m writing and writing and BAM. Scene from the story is out on the page.  The process is really quite amazing.  The hardest part is trusting it.

Last week for my Artist Date I took myself to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which has always been a place of endless inspiration for me.  I brought my sketchbook just in case, and as I took my time observing each tank, each creature, each display, and even the tourists and visitors themselves, I was inspired to sketch a seahorse and a few of the cuttlefish. The cuttlefish seemed just as interested in me as I was in them.  Tomorrow I think I’ll visit the Pacific Grove natural history museum for my Artist Date.

The other thing that happened these past few weeks is an interesting realization about what I should study in graduate school.  And, again, an assignment in my Arabic class inspired me to return to a period of history that I have always loved, but have never studied enough: Ancient Egypt’s New Kingdom.  Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to have just a few academic interests, because I have so many!

These past two weeks I’ve realized that the hardest parts of being creative, at least for me, are: 1) the feeling that whatever it is I’m creating isn’t good enough.  Good enough for whom, I have no idea.  And 2) the feeling that whatever I’m creating isn’t sophisticated or “grown-up” enough.  Like, somehow, after we reach 18 we’re no longer allowed to dream or make up fairy tales or play make-believe, but make-believe was my favorite childhood game.

But, really, why can’t we play make-believe as adults?

Week 2: Recovering a Sense of Identity has been interesting. As I work through the morning pages (MP), I am digging in the dirt of my self-doubt.  I also had a revelation about how I spend my time.  I thought back to my high school days when I would go right to skating practice nearly every day and somehow I had the energy for it.  Of course, I was younger then, but I realized: I didn’t take a break between the end of school and the beginning of skating practice.  I never let my momentum lapse, and I realized that’s what’s dragging me down.  I take a break after Arabic before I start (or try to start) my dance practice at home.  I need to come home and immediately start my practice.  No breaks.  Also, I’ve been going to bed way too late, which means I’m not getting enough sleep, and that’s having a negative affect on my mood and motivation.  On Thursday night, I decided to head to bed at 9:30pm.  I spent about an hour in bed reading, and I fell asleep at 11pm.  On Friday I felt about 75% better, which was amazing!  If I can get myself to bed by 11pm every night, I will have more energy to train and dance in the afternoons after my Arabic class, and I will feel better all-around.  I’m not sure why it took me so long to figure out these things, but at least I did!

On the positive side of things, I feel like I am more observant, and I am less numb to potential inspiration.  My boyfriend and I took a trip down to Big Sur and back, and my gawd.  No wonder that place has been the destination of so many artists.  The redwoods are so beautiful, the coast line is awe-inspiring, and the hillsides are jaw-dropping.  How could one not feel inspired in the midst of such stunning nature?  What’s funny is that I have been on that drive before, but I was younger, and I had not yet moved away from California.  I took California scenery for granted, and it was just another part of my life.  After having been away for so long, I missed it to much.  I realized just how much magic this area of the world holds for me, and that’s one of the many reasons I decided to come home.

How could I have ever taken this for granted?  Silly me.

Morning Pages: The morning pages have been helpful in clearing out much of the gunk in my head, but they’re bringing out negativity.  As you go through TAW, you’re supposed to use these negative thoughts (which Julia Cameron calls “blurts”) and turn them into affirmations.  What’s difficult is facing the negative thoughts in the first place, but in order to find the light, we must journey through the dark.  Getting up in the morning is still a problem, especially when Fanty, one of my two half-Siamese cats, decides that as I am writing my MP that is the perfect time for him to snuggle with me in my lap.  After all, who doesn’t like morning snuggles?

Artist’s Date: I took myself out to lunch (in my Arabic program we have an hour and a half for lunch, which is just enough time to have a small adventure) to an absolutely amazing Indian restaurant with a fountain outside, a huge statue of dancing Shiva, and some of the most tasty Indian food I have ever had.  I wanted to slow down and really savor the flavors (unintentional rhyme!) of each dish.  I opened my ears to the sounds around me, the various conversations of people at nearby tables, the gurgling and splashing of the water in the fountain, and the din of dishes and flatwear.  On that day, the fog decided to melt away, and the sun shone brilliantly in Monterey; this is my favorite weather.  It doesn’t seem much to take oneself out to lunch, but doing so really helped fill my creative well.   I also discovered a cute little gift shop in which carries cards, knick-knacks, and jewelry, most of which I really liked.

I am certainly feeling that I am making creative and artistic progress.  It’s difficult to not feel inspired when I’m surrounded by beauty all the time.

Yes.  I admit it.  I have never actually finished all of the exercises or the entire 12-week program of The Artist’s Way.  The last time I tried it, however, I started to see and feel progress.  I was drawing more. I was creating more. I was dancing more just for the fun of it… and then I started traveling and touring again, and I fell out of the habit of writing the Morning Pages, taking myself out on Artist Dates, and completing the exercises in each chapter.

This time, however, I am making it public.

I am doing The Artist’s Way.

And I will complete it.  And each week I will keep all of you, dear readers, appraised of my progress.  See?  Now I’m accountable.

—

Week One: Recovering a Sense of Safety.

Last week was the first week of the 12 weeks.  I have already seen shifts in my thinking and focus, as well as my need to be creative.  One of the essential tools in The Artist’s Way is the Artist’s Date.  I love the Artist’s Date.  In fact, I think I might take too many Artist’s Dates.  I think I took three last week.  The big one, however, was driving to Pebble Beach on the 17-Mile Drive.  The Central California coast will inspire a sense of awe and wonder in even the most bitter soul.

Dear Julia: You want me to take myself out alone and just take in the world, observe, and be me?  Sure thing.

The Morning Pages, however, are a bit problematic.  Three pages, longhand, single-sided, 8.5″ x 11″ paper, stream of consciousness writing.  The writing itself I don’t mind.  I used to journal all of the time in high school, writing whatever came to mind, albeit in a bit more formal manner than the Morning Pages are supposed to be.  What gets me is that I have to get up even earlier than usual to write them.  I am not a morning person.  Not at all.  And last weekend, I admit, I completely forgot to write them!  If it weren’t for the little reminder on my cell phone’s alarm, I’d forget during the week, too.  So, that just means that I need to remind myself every morning.  Simple enough.

As far as my own issues… well, all of us have issues.  I have just as many as the next creative person, but I think my biggest issue is that I don’t think I’m good enough (or creative enough or prolific enough or talented enough or trained enough or dedicated enough) to be a true artist or true dancer.  Where does this negative idea come from?  I am inherently hard on myself, but I think, also, it comes from this idea I have that because I didn’t go to art school or because I’m not a formally-trained painter or visual artist that somehow I am undeserving of praise or that I’m just not that good.  The same goes for dance.  Of course, there are other demons lurking behind these thoughts, but those are too personal to share on a public blog.

But… I AM drawing again.  It comes in little spurts.  I treated myself to a new sketchbook with paper made especially for ink, but it works well for pencil, too.  Here are two sketches of a bit of the Pacific Grove coast.  Rocks, water, and coastline are not at all what I’m used to drawing, which is why I’m making myself do it.

Tune in next week as our heroine journeys into Week Two: Recovering a Sense of Identity.

I’m sitting here in a lovely little sublet in Pacific Grove, California, which will be my home for the next two months.  It’s chilly and foggy outside (a typical Monterey-area summer), Rush’s Vapor Trails is on the Bose iPod dock, and I’m drinking my French press coffee… and I’m catching up on a week and a half’s worth of internet.

Instead of trying to write something really profound, which I probably couldn’t do right now after driving across the country with two cats, I’m posting someone else’s work. This article by Kitty Kohl busts many of the myths about what we know as “bellydance”.  In order to build respect and knowledge about our art, we must consider many points of view.  I just happen to really like this one.

“Like People in Prehistory”:  An article by fusion dancer Kitty Kohl.

Enjoy!

People have asked me, in response to my often overly-analytical blog posts, “If you’re so critical of this community, what about it do you like, anyway?”

You know what I like? Actually. No. Let me rephrase that. You know what I LOVE?

I love dancing. I love creating. I love teaching. I love seeing smiles on my students faces when they understand or appreciate a movement, a concept, or idea that I’ve offered them. I love that people appreciate what I appreciate. I love that I can teach a workshop on the history of tribal belly dance and more than 90 people show up because they want to learn. I love that moment when I’m creating a new piece when a segment of choreography falls perfectly into place. I love that flash of inspiration for a costume for a new choreography, and it makes me want to sew all day and night to get it finished.

I get frustrated with the belly dance community because I love this dance. I get frustrated because I see people who profess to love it, too, but they don’t seem to take it seriously. Some think that they can use belly dance as a means to act out fantasies on stage without understanding the dance’s history. I love the history of this dance, and I hope that others feel the same. I get annoyed with people who ooh and aah over dancers who lack technical skill but have beautiful costuming or wonderful music, or over dancers who rely on gimmicks and schtick to increase their popularity… I get annoyed because I and many other dancers insist on dance for dance’s and art’s sake, not for the applause of the crowd or increasing the number of views on our YouTube channels. I get annoyed because I love this dance, and I take it very seriously… and it is only natural to be protective of something you love.

For the record, I wouldn’t be dancing, teaching, or blogging with the dedication and passion that I do if I didn’t love belly dance.

I do not blog about things that bother me out of spite. I do it to educate, to help dancers see things another way, to enlighten, and to work out my own issues. I do it because it scares me; it scares me to click “Publish” every time I post something because I fear that the dissenters will emerge with equal passion. And if they disagree with me, will they tell their friends and, ultimately, will I still get work? Will I still be able to do what I love for a living? But the world doesn’t end when I click the publish button.

This is one of the few things in my life that brings me great joy. It is one of the few things about which I am truly passionate. I wouldn’t have quit my dayjob, knowing I’d make tens of thousands of dollars less a year, sacrificing financial security, a retirement fund, health insurance, life insurance, and paid sick and vacation days if I didn’t love teaching and performing.

And, you know, I love the belly dance community. There are so many of YOU who bring me joy. I love seeing so many of your faces at festivals and workshops. I couldn’t do what I do without you, and you are creative, inspiring, and beautiful.

So, the next time someone posits that I, or anyone else, is just analyzing the love out of their passion, remember that we’re probably analyzing our passion out of our love for it.

First of all, I love reading everyone’s responses to my blog posts.  ESPECIALLY when people respectfully disagree.  I am not set in my opinions, and I love hearing different perspectives.

I do want to encourage dancers to find Middle Eastern music that they like, even if it’s a few songs or just one style.

One of the things that came up in the responses to the last blog is the idea that dancers want to perform to music that is culturally more familiar to them than Middle Eastern music.  I completely understand.  BUT I want to add that one can become acclimated to, appreciate, and learn to understand music that is initially unfamiliar.  Chapter 8, “My Favorite Things: Why Do We Like the Music We Like” in Daniel Levitin’s amazing book This is Your Brain on Music speaks about this very concept.  I’d give you some excerpts here, but a friend is currently borrowing my copy.

I remember the first time I heard Venetian Snares’ crazy breakcore.  I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how to listen to it.  But the more I listened to it, the more I appreciated it… and then I decided to dance to it.  I think one can do the same with Middle Eastern music.

Also, I am hardly a member of the “Ethnic Police”.  Seriously.  I dressed up as H.R. Giger’s Alien and danced to Autechre’s “Second Bad Vilbel”; how could I EVER say that one should only dance to Middle Eastern music?  I’d be a raging hypocrite!  I do, however, aim to educate.  Part of my job as an instructor is to bring up issues that might be uncomfortable, so that my students and readers can continue to learn and educate themselves.  There are so many dancers out there without mentors, and I strive to be a little beacon of light for those dancers who might not have someone of which to ask questions.