I haven’t touched watercolors since high school.  I took a course in oils in college, and I’ve been using pencil and ink on and off over the years.  But watercolors had been my media of choice back in the day…

You see, I used to draw and paint almost every day.  When I started to prepare for college and then actually go to college, my desire to create visual arts waned.  I hardly made anything.  I felt so out of place at my university–I was one of the few students there who had attended a large California public high school whereas many of my classmates had attended East Coast private college prep schools–that I wasn’t inspired to draw or paint.  I felt dry.  I felt dry for a very, very long time.  My inner critic had my inner artist by the throat and choked nearly every idea I had before it even had a chance to make it out on paper.

After I moved to Columbia, I decided that it was time for the critic to go away.  I wanted a space in which I could create without judgement, a little creative sanctuary.  I set up my drafting table in my bedroom, under a window as it used to be in my high school room.  I bought a swingarm lamp with a clamp that attaches to the edge of the table so I can work late into the night if I so want.  I stopped in at a newly opened art store here in Columbia, S & S Art Supply, and bought a set of fine-line rendering pens, because I love detail work.

Yesterday, I treated myself to a set of tiny water colors and a pack of nice synthetic hair brushes.

For the first time in a while, my inner artist is very happy.

And since this blog is about making myself say and express things that I find a little scary to share, I’ve posted photos of my recent art.

Untitled.

Untitled.

Flower

When I was a figure skater, I entered local competitions in which boys and girls competed in the same categories, against each other.  It never failed that regardless of a boy’s skill, the judges would place him higher in the results than girls who were better skaters.  The judges wanted to encourage him, to make sure he didn’t quit skating, because there are often so few boy skaters and so many girls.  This phenomenon frustrated me.  And I think it would have frustrated me equally if the genders were reversed.  Skill is skill, regardless of gender, regardless of chromosomes (females having two X chromosomes and males having an X and a Y.  Other than that difference, male and female genetic make-up is fundamentally the same).  Why place someone higher in the results if they’re not actually worthy of that medal or if they have certain “bits” (as the Brits would say)?

Now, as a belly dancer, I’m seeing something similar.  We don’t have competitions in this dance (although sometimes I think mandatory competitions might be a good thing for this dance form, but I just don’t know how they’d be structured), so the question of “judgement” is left to the audience.  But it seems to me that male belly dancers, because of their rarity, are often put up on proverbial pedestals, with seas of screaming female audience members at their feet.  This is not to say that there aren’t male belly dancers who deserve such praise; Rashid from Bal Anat and John Compton of Hahbi’Ru being the first two who come to mind.

I think there are a few things at play.  (Again, I am not a gender studies specialist, and I know that many of you readers are more experienced in that field that I am, so please chime in.)

One is the encouragement of males in a female-dominated field.  Clearly, there just aren’t many men in belly dance right now.  It seems that we want to encourage the few men who do take a chance and try belly dance.  What’s wrong with that, you ask? My problem with this is that I feel like we should encourage anyone who wants to study this art form, regardless of chromosomes.  We shouldn’t be giving more praise and encouragement to one gender or kind of person over another.  It’s not just to give preference to one gender over another, not in belly dance, not in the workforce, not in art. Period.

The other is sexual repression on the part of the screaming women in the audience.  Have you seen the audience at a festival when a male belly dancer is performing?  I’m almost embarrassed for my gender at moments like these.  The screaming is so loud and fervent that it seems to verge on sexual abandon.  Maybe I’m sensitive, but I’m seeing this as akin to a group of men hooting and hollering at a female exotic dancer, telling her to “take it off”.  How would the women on stage feel if the men in the audience screamed with such abandon?  I have a feeling that many of the women would be offended, claiming, “this dance is an art and not for the sexual fulfillment of men!”  (We’ve all heard that line, yeah?)  Seriously.  Listen to the audience next time a male dancer is performing.  This is not to say that there’s anything wrong with sexuality or with male belly dancers, but take a moment, if you will, to reverse the roles. I’m just asking for a sense of awareness…. are you aware that the sentiment of the crowd changes when a human with an X and a Y chromosome takes the stage vice a human with two X chromosomes?  Or are you going along with the wave of excitement and screaming along without a moment of self-reflection?

Would you encourage that dancer the same way if he were a she? Or if she were a he?  Are you judging a dancer on his or her skills, not on the his or her gender, appearance, race, or ethnicity?  Are you aware of what your own personal evaluation of a dancer actually is?

I just want dancers to be evaluated on their skill, their presence, their technique, their emotional expression… not their gender.  Not their race.  Not their sexual orientation.  Not their ethnicity…  not their costume, not their music, not their gimmick.  Give me honesty. Give me dance. Give me art.

What bores me?  I don’t like watching a dancer who has no story to tell.  I don’t like watching a dancer who is just showing off technical skill with no meaning behind it all.  I often find performances that are just energetic and fun dull.  Performances that have put more thought into their presentation than the overall idea of their performance leave me cold.  What’s the point?  What are you trying to tell me?  What is your story?

I want a connection.

Art is about being raw.  Art is not always about being pretty.  Art is not just about having fun.  Art is about expressing your inner Shadow, your demons, your scary secrets in a way that not only provides you with catharsis but also helps others cope and deal with their own demons.  Art is about making a connection beyond, “wow, that performance was really fun!”, or “wow, did you see that girl’s isolations?”, or “did you see that girl with three swords on her head?”.

At the end of the day, I am a dancer because I want to make art, and I want to express my ideas, my demons, my dark elements in a way that feels natural to me.  I practice my technique because my technique is my medium, my paint and my brushes that I use in my performances.  I might not physically practice for 6 hours a day, but I think about dance and art from the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep.  I am not a dancer because I just want to have fun.  I am not a dancer because I just want to show off an aesthetic or my new dance tricks.  I am a dancer because I have things I want to say and ideas to express that I don’t know how to express by any other means.

I think I have figured something out, and of course I reserve the right to alter my conclusion at any time.  At the end of the day, I am an amateur philosopher.  I spend more time in my head than I do in my body.  I am a dancer, but without my musings on expression, art, and integrity, my dance is nothing.  Dance is a vehicle for my ideas, a means to express my ideals and my internal self. My body is a vessel for my contemplations.

My roommates, however, are much more connected, I think, to their bodies as BODIES, as physical beings.  When the three of us were talking about what we’d like done with our bodies after we have passed away (a morbid and yet fascinating conversation), they said that they’d like to be buried, particularly my dance partner Natalie Brown.  I’d rather be cremated. I’d rather return to the spiritual world, whereas they would rather continue to inhabit their bodies even after death.

Megan and Natalie often wake up and want to dance.  I wake up and want to think… and I’ve been thinking about my place as a dancer, as a physical being with a brain that won’t stop.  When I see my roommates just dance and enjoy the act of dancing without analytical thought… and I wonder, “how can I get there?”  And should I get there as a dancer? Or are my reasons for dancing just different, and should I just embrace my motives as they are and build on them?

I love the feeling of being lost in dance, but it is a rare moment when my frontal lobe takes the back seat and just lets my body do a majority of the work.

Is this a good thing or a bad thing, or is it just a thing?  Does this make me any less of a dancer? And what does that mean that I would rather embody my thoughts than my physical self? Does this harm my position as a performer, does it enhance it, or does it just make me different?

I’ve known for a while that my personality type is rare, especially for women.  In the Myers-Briggs lexicon, I am an INTP: The Architect.  The very first line describing my type on this website says:

As an INTP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things rationally and logically. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in primarily via your intuition.

The second line?

INTPs live in the world of theoretical possibilities.

If you read the rest of the article, you’ll see where this conflict between my body and mind arises.

But is it a conflict at all… Maybe as a dancer, I am meant to inhabit my head and my ideas, whereas my roommates are meant to inhabit their bodies more.  What does that mean? Maybe that’s a post for another day.

In the world of tribal fusion belly dance, dancers have been taking every possible dance form and trying to “fuse” it with tribal style belly dance, or at least with belly dance.  I’m not sure why, but I suspect that most of this fusion is driven by a desire to come up with the next “new cool thing.”  (Of course, I could be totally wrong!)  We, as tribal and fusion dancers, almost take it for granted that we can take any other dance form in the world, mush it into a choreography, and present it at a fusion dance festival or show.  But what if we took our fusions to the dance communities from which we are pulling?

Because, I have to say it: Many fusions I’m seeing aren’t well-researched, deeply-studied, or solid… and I wonder why some are created in the first place because they just don’t seem to fit together well.  Some fusions I’ve seen are like watching a fish trying to ride a bicycle; sure it would be a cool sight to see, but why even try?

There.  I said it.  Sue me.

What if we took a half-assed fusion of, say, Hawaiian hula and belly dance and took it to a respected hula festival?  What if we took our “interpretations” of Indian classical dance and showed them to an audience of respected Indian gurus?  What if we took our strange blend of vaudeville, cabaret, and vintage dance and performed it for an audience of true stage performers and actors?  I might be going out on a limb here, but I suspect that those communities would react in several ways: They would probably be offended, confused, and might respect our already ill-respected belly dance community even less.  They might ask, “what on Earth do they think they’re doing?” They might also laugh at us.  (And this is not to say that all fusion is bad fusion.  There are some remarkable blends of belly dance with other world and Western dance forms.)

I’m not sure what the solution or approach is to mitigating this issue.  I understand that as artists we reserve the right to experiment, play, and try new things.  I’m not calling on people to stop having fun.  I am, of course, a fusion dancer: I consider my primary fusions to be tribal belly dance, oriental belly dance, and a bit of modern club dancing.  I’m currently in an ATS basics class; dancing regularly with two amazing breakdancers; and continuing my study of oriental dance, music, and culture. And I will say this: my fusion has been a completely organic process.  I haven’t tried to force any sort of styling into my dance for the sake of being “cool”, “different”, or to gain attention from the wider belly dance community.  And I’m not saying that all fusionists blend dance styles just to get noticed, but that certainly does happen.

I’ve been saying this for a while: there are some fusions that work and others that don’t.  To put it another way, peanut butter and chocolate might not appeal to everyone, but for the most part, it’s a really good blend of flavors.  Peanut butter and anchovies, though?  I’m not sure that’s a fusion we really need to have.

We have a responsibility to truly respect the cultures from which we are pulling when we fuse.  What I feel like I’m seeing in this community is a lot of, “Oh that’s cool! Let’s blend that with belly dance!” and not much more consideration before putting that new fusion on a stage.  Maybe, just for a moment, think of how members of that community from which you are pulling will react to your fusion.  Will they ask, “What on Earth are you DOING??” or will they compliment you for your tasteful blend of something that’s near and dear to their hearts with something that’s near and dear to yours?

My first Saturday on the continent included teaching two workshops in the small town of Lotzwill, Switzerland, where a very dedicated and hard-working group of participants took four hours of workshops with me in both technique and choreography. The Swiss take their extra-curriculars very seriously.  Every single student put in their all, and not once did they complain about their arms, their thighs, or anything else for that matter.  They were clearly there to learn, take it all in, and practice once they got home.

When I got to Italy the week after, I found a lot of the same work ethic in the students not only from Italy, but also in those who came in from Spain, France, and the United Kingdom.  On Friday night, I performed in the professional gala, and although I didn’t get to see the performances, I did see the amazing and creative costuming of my fellow dancers.  On Saturday night, I attended the “open stage” show, where students and semi-professionals showed off their recent routines and performance pieces.

Something struck me as I taught these European dancers and watched them perform.  These dancers have fewer resources, teachers, costumers, and venues, and yet their drive and creativity was off the chart amazing.

I think in the United States, we’re a little bit spoiled, particularly those of us who live in large metropolitan areas.  In Washington, DC, there are two studios dedicated to teaching only belly dance and its related art forms.  There are several annual festivals within reasonable driving distance.  We bring in multitudes of instructors every month to the area. The European dancers don’t have nearly as many events and resources, and yet many of them are beautifully costumed, creative, unique, and driven… dare I say, more so than many of the American dancers I’ve observed.

I think there’s a connection here.

When you have less to work with: fewer materials, classes, costumers, and instructors, you’re forced to make due with what you have.  You can’t just go out to the latest festival and buy the hottest new kind of Melodia pants.  You can’t just go on eBay and buy the hottest accessories because it’s very expensive to ship it to your home country.  You can’t attend weekly classes with a well-known instructor because the train ticket to get there is too pricey.  You have to make it up as you go along with the materials, money, and ideas that you have.  And you gobble up any resource or material you can get in order to learn and grow.  You don’t take anything for granted because it’s a lot harder to get your hands on the knowledge you need to become a better dancer.

There’s a book out now called The Toilet Paper Entrepreneur, based on the idea that if you use the restroom and there are only three squares of toilet paper left on the roll, what do you do?  You use those three squares to their fullest and you don’t waste anything!  You need all you can get!  It’s a strange analogy, but that’s what I think is happening in Europe.  They aren’t blessed with a whole roll of tribal fusion toilet paper, so to speak.  They’re working with a lot less, and yet, they are creating beautiful dancers; I didn’t see one performer at the open stage night who was trying to dress or dance like a more famous performer.

The experience made me think of how I can make more art with less… How can I use what I already have to make a new costume or create a new performance piece?  How can you do the same?

So, what’s this year’s theme, you ask?  Frankly, I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s forgiveness, compassion, gratitude, growth…  Well, all of those things are important, but one idea prevails: Trusting my gut and my intuition.  Because my innards seem to know what’s better for me than my frontal lobe does.  Trusting my gut also means trusting myself.  Why is trusting your own self so damn hard, and why is it when we do, we feel so free and liberated, but we were so scared to take the leap?

2009 helped me realize the strength in myself and my abilities… In 2010 I aim to continue my journey.

How will this year help you?

Here are a few thoughts to get you started:

….

I don’t mean commitment in a relationship sense.  This blog is certainly not to discuss those issues. But rather to committing to an idea or artistic endeavor, movement, choreography, or event.

I’m a procrastinator, and I know that the main reason I procrastinate is because I’m a perfectionist.  I wait until the “right moment” to do something – to write a new blog post, create a new workshop topic, make a new flier.  And I used to be a lot more of a procrastinator, but what I’ve needed to do is just commit.

This applies directly to dance and to art in general.  Anyone who’s read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield (read it!) knows that procrastination is a form of resistance.  Resistance prevents us from moving forward, from growing, from making progress and making art.  My hesitation to write a new blog post is not only because I am afraid that this post won’t be as good as my last posts, but also because I’m worried about making this blog post the most amazing blog post ever. Or, what if this just isn’t good enough?  If I’d just sit my butt down and write a blog post, then maybe I wouldn’t be worrying about all these things, and I’d actually write something worth reading.

When it comes to dance, these same concepts apply.  I see students in my classes hesitate in executing a technical movement, because they so want to get the movement right. (I’m terribly guilty of this myself, not only with dance but also when I was a figure skater.)  I’ll try so hard to get whatever technique correct that I won’t commit myself fully to the movement itself.  If I’m learning a choreography in a workshop and I forget a section, instead of dancing that part of the choreography at half effort–or worse, just standing there and not doing it at all–I should dance something simple with dedication and poise until I can catch up to the song again with the steps that I do know.

What we need to do is commit to the movement with the mindfulness to know when we’re doing it incorrect, but at least we’ve given it our best effort.  Rather than tip-toeing around the movement in an attempt to get it right the first time, we need to just jump right in and give it a go.

We also need a balance between gusto and perfection. While I admire a dancer who tackles a movement or a performance at full-force, such enthusiasm can also lead to a messy and unpolished performance.  But what’s worse is when an artist or dancer agonizes over one set or song so much that they never feel it’s ever right to perform, and then we’re all robbed of sharing that art.

Perfectionism is the enemy of art.  I need to remember that, and I’m writing this blog post to let you all that I am committed to writing more, even if my posts aren’t perfect.  I’m also writing this to remind you all to make art, even if it doesn’t always live up to your own personal standards.  The only way to improve is to keep creating and to learn from our own mistakes.

What you might not know about me is that this summer I have been facing a bit of an identity crisis.  The Asharah that you might hire to teach and perform in your city or at your festival is probably the Asharah of two years ago.  Angry and dark, and fighting.  But that Asharah has changed into someone softer, more delicate, and less discontent with the world.  What happens when you hire the Asharah two years ago and gets the Asharah today?  Do you appreciate the Asharah who is in your city now, or do you lament the fact that “she’s not what she used to be”?

At the end of the day, I am a belly dancer.  And within the genre of belly dance are a multitude of influences, styles, music choices, and costuming choices that I want to feel that I can explore and perform.  I want to feel free to change, evolve, morph, and experiment.

Like a rock band who has changed throughout the decades, playing different sounds, and eschewing popular trends, I want to feel as though I can follow my artistic convictions without being called a sell-out, or without my audiences thinking that I have betrayed them.

For if you are a true fan of an artist, you will change with them.  You will accept their evolution.  You will learn to appreciate and love their artistic explorations.  The Beatles of the early 1960s were not the Beatles of the late 1960s, but that does not negate the fact that I find all of their music entertaining and solid.  And of course my favorite band, Rush, sounds so different today than they did in the 1970s… and yet I love all of their work, partially because they have allowed themselves to change and mature.  (Not that I think that I am nearly as popular and amazing as the Beatles or Rush… far from it!  But hopefully you get what I’m talking about…)

I would like to state for the record that I do not consider myself only a “fusion belly dance artist.”  At the end of the day, I am a belly dancer.

Behind me I have years of training in oriental and tribal styles of belly dance.  If I choose to dance to oriental music, or a belly dance drum solo, don’t accuse me of “going cabaret.”  I have not “gone cabaret”; if you look beyond my costuming, you’ll see that I’ve always been cabaret (probably more cabaret than tribal, really) and I have always blended styles to create what I want to be.  I want to dance in a way that comes the most naturally and organically to me.  What comes most naturally to me will change from year to year, as it should.  A true artist is never satisfied with their current state.  As Bob Dylan said (he’s another artist who changed through the years), “He not busy being born is busy dying.”  So true, so true.

I refuse to be stuck in a box, or to keep myself in a box.  I draw inspiration from so many sources, so many dancers, so many artists, and so many musicians, and I want to feel free to pull from all of them when performing.  To call me a “gothic belly dancer” or a “tribal fusion belly dancer” is to confine me within a certain paradigm, a certain expectation.  And I don’t want to feel like I must live up to anyone’s expectation of who I am as an artist.

And… at the end of the day, I ask for you, dear readers, to do the same.  Feel free to change and morph and evolve… because that is how great art is made.

But, I’m not freaking out about it.  I used to fret that I hadn’t had a good, new idea in weeks, months.  So, why am I not too worried about it?

• Ruts happen to everyone.  Even the most prolific artists have periods of their lives when the muse just isn’t speaking to them.  I trust that, as I have before, I will find my way out of the rut and be inspired again.
• The Universe has a way of pulling you out of your rut.  Trust it.  I know that eventually that new song will come, or maybe I’ll talk to someone and it will spark a new idea and the muse will return.
• I’m taking small measures to entice the muse back to me.  When I’m not feeling inspired in my dancing, I focus on other things.  I listen to music to which I’m not intending to dance.  I just listen and enjoy.  I’m not making new costuming.  I’m reading books that are unrelated to dance.  Creativity is the merging of two unrelated concepts or ideas, so, ideally, if I spend enough time not seeking the muse, she will return when she’s ready.
• Worry and stress will only push away the muse.  I know that if I fret, I’ll just worry myself into a stifled, uncreative frenzy, and then I’ll really be stuck.
• I’m still doing things I enjoy.  I am writing in my journals, collaging, saving images on the web that catch my eye, taking walks around my neighborhood, chatting about dance and art with my friends, watching movies with my husband, running simple errands (yes, I enjoy that), and teaching my classes and guiding my wonderful students.  I have not given up on joy.  My life is full of joy right now… and maybe the muse is just on an extended vacation.

So… when dancers ask me what I do when I’m feeling uninspired, stuck, or blah about my art, I tell them, “Just relax.  The muse will return when she’s ready.”  Trust that you’ll be inspired again.  Keep your eyes and ears and heart open for new ideas, music, costuming ideas, and dance movements.  Take time to enjoy the little things in life.

What do you do when you’re feeling stuck?