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?

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?

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

I hear this all the time.  Honestly, every time I hear it, my heart breaks a little.  It’s a bit like hearing, “I’m a ballerina, but I don’t like classical music.”  Or, “I’m a jazz dancer, but I don’t like Duke Ellington.”  You can be sure that a ballerina who hates classical music has learned to love it, or at least like it.  She’s going to be dancing to it nearly EVERY DAY.

Maybe this all-too-common sentiment makes me sad because I do love Middle Eastern music.  I admit that I don’t love all of it, but who loves everything in a particular genre or style of music?

But I wonder, why would you self-identify as a belly dancer if you don’t like dancing to Middle Eastern music?  It’s one thing to experiment with non-Middle Eastern music.  It’s another to eschew it completely from your performance repertoire or to say that you dislike all of it.  If you’re not dancing to Middle Eastern music, I really don’t think you can call yourself a belly dancer.  There.  I said it.

Belly dance is inherently Middle Eastern.  Whether it’s Turkish oryantal, Egyptian folkloric, Lebanese-style cabaret, Moroccan Shikhat: It’s all Middle Eastern.*  One might argue that belly dance as a genre is at a developmental crossroads, with Westernized belly dance being one branch of its evolution and Middle Eastern belly dance being the other branch.  I don’t think that we’re quite to that point, nor do I think that this argument (or any argument) is an excuse that allows for ignorance or dismissal of the historical and regional roots of this dance.

As Westerners (I’m an American, and many of my readers are also non-Middle Eastern), we are intuitively drawn to music from our own culture.  This makes complete sense.  (You all know that I’ve danced to crazy breakcore, arty electronica, and progressive rock–all of which are not at all Middle Eastern. But I’ve also danced to medieval Arabic muwashahat, Egyptian taqsasim, and drum solos)  We want to dance to music that moves us, and rightfully so.  We want to be able to give an honest performance to music that speaks to our hearts and souls.

I also think (and I do hear this quite a bit) that many of us are afraid that we won’t be able to do Middle Eastern music justice.  That somehow, because we’re not experts on how they dance “over there”, we’ll disrespect the music and the culture.  That we’ll misinterpret the song and do something offensive and uncouth. I know that I feel this way sometimes…  BUT: If you research the song’s meaning and history, and you go into your new choreography with awareness and understanding, you won’t be disrespecting the song or its mother culture.

I’ll recount a little anecdote from a Level III workshop I attended with Suhaila Salimpour a while back.  Before the workshop, we were required to create a work-in-progress choreography, using the feet and body placement only.  No belly dance moves, no hip work, no arms.  Just feet.  One incredibly talented student had completed the assignment using a French tango of sorts: slow, languid, and sexy.  Suhaila said, “OK, your choreography is lovely, but this isn’t Middle Eastern music.  The assignment was to choreograph to Middle Eastern music.”  She then asked this student, and the rest of the class, what sort of Middle Eastern music would have the same sentiment as this non-Middle Eastern piece that the student had selected.  Many of us answered that a nice chiftetelli would work, but then Suhaila said to the student, “Actually, while a chiftetelli would work, this needs to be a debke.  A really HOT debke.  Go find a debke song and come back tomorrow with the SAME choreography, but to the debke.”  The student was skeptical, but completed the assignment, performed the same choreography to the new song the next day, and DAMN if that wasn’t the HOTTEST fricking debke I had ever seen!  It was “Village Girls Gone Wild”, and it was astoundingly brilliant.

I learned a lot as I observed this dancer complete this assignment:

• You can use Middle Eastern music and put your own sentiment into it.
• The movements you put to Middle Eastern music don’t necessarily have to be what they do “over there”.
• You can learn to love the music if your choreography and emotional perspective are precise and clear.
• You won’t be disrespecting the music if you choreograph outside the traditional “box.” (In fact, you’ll probably be even more creative in the process!)

If we are to continue to call ourselves “belly dancers” we must absolutely know how to perform to Middle Eastern music, and… we must learn to love at least some of the music from that region of the world.  Chances are that we won’t love all of it, and that’s fine!  I admit that I just don’t love Arabic pop, and shaabi music just gets on my nerves.  I’m not a big fan of most of the “made for Egyptian bellydance” compositions (frankly, to me, they often lack emotion and start to sound all the same!).  But I love Umm Kalthoum.  I love a good drum solo.  I love a beautiful ‘ud taqsim.

If you all were my students, I would give you an assignment:

Find a song you like.  ANY song, regardless of regional origin.  Choreograph 16 counts of 8 (or equivalent) to that song. THEN find a Middle Eastern song that has a similar sentiment or feeling.  Take your choreography and set it into the Middle Eastern song without changing any of the steps.  Does it work?  What would you change?  What would you keep?  What did you learn in the process?

I am pretty sure that there will be a style of Middle Eastern music that will speak to you, too, but maybe you just haven’t found it yet.   Take the time to explore the many styles of the region’s music, and don’t limit yourself only to recordings that are labeled “Belly Dance”.  Middle Eastern music is more than just belly dance music.  It is rich, varied, and it can be hauntingly beautiful.  Saying, “I don’t like Middle Eastern music” is like saying, “I don’t like Western music.”  There is SO MUCH variety in one region’s musical landscape.  And if you find a song that does speak to you, and you dance to it from your heart, you won’t be disrespecting it or the culture.  I promise.  As non-Middle Easterners, we have to take some of our own culture with us into our choreographies and performances.  How could we not?  But we must also respect and research and honor the region’s history and arts.  And, I am absolutely not saying that you have to dance to Middle Eastern music all the time; but being able to enjoy doing so is something I hope that every belly dancer can and will do in the course of her creative journey.

*I like to include North Africa–Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria–in with the Middle East region because of the similarity of customs, language, and culture.

A lot of students of belly dance like to be able to identify what style we want to dance right when we start taking classes, whether it be cabaret, oriental, raqs sharqi, Turkish, Egyptian, Lebanese, tribal, tribal fusion, American Tribal Style, Improvisational Tribal Style, fusion, gothic… you get the idea.  We also pigeon-hole our peers into a particular style by expecting them to dance in a certain way, wearing a particular kind of costume, and performing to a certain kind of music.  I’m sure you’ve heard someone talk about a dancer, saying, “Oh, she does tribal style” or “Oh, she’s a cabaret dancer”, and usually these sorts of talks aren’t the complimentary kind.  I’ve observed that when a dancer defies expectation and changes one of these elements, her fans and friends sometimes express a feeling of betrayal.  I’m sure you’ve also heard, “Oh, she’s ‘gone tribal’” or “She’s ‘gone cabaret’.”

Why do we box ourselves into particular styles?  Why do we limit ourselves, and we do we insist on placing these stylistic limits on others?  Why is it such a shock when a “tribal” style belly dancer dons a bedlah?  And why is it a big deal when a cabaret dancer wears a coin bra (no to mention the fact that before the 1990s, coins were hardly a tribal-only costume element)?

Are we seeking an identity in a particular style of belly dance, and if so, why?

I know why I feel pressured to dance a certain way.  When dance becomes your job, your sole source of income, you want promotors to hire you (so you can, you know, pay the rent and pay for groceries).  If you made your initial foray into the touring and festival circuit as a “dark tribal belly dancer” and now you perform a more oriental or cabaret-influenced belly dance, those seeking a dark tribal belly dancer aren’t going to hire you.  The oriental promotors might not hire you either because they know you as a fusion dancer (or, worse, they don’t know you at all).  People often get frustrated when they can’t label something or categorize it (which is so very Aristotlean), so they might hire someone else who they can put into their own personal categorizations of belly dance, i.e. “We want a gothic belly dancer for this festival, so we’ll hire ______”.   And suddenly what style you perform becomes a matter of putting food on your table… or does it?

Let’s bring it back to ballet for a moment.  Ballet dancers learn their technique.  They practice their barre work every day.  They train the basics over and over again.  When they are cast in a production, sometimes they are expected to do “character work”, such as “Arabian Coffee” or “Chinese Tea” in Tchaikovky’s Nutcracker.  Now, imagine if a ballet dancer told the company director, “Oh, I don’t want to dance in ‘Arabian Coffee’, because I do ‘Chinese Tea’ style ballet.”  WHAT?  She’d probably lose her job.

When it all comes down to it, don’t we want our peers, colleagues, and instructors to be well-rounded?  As a performer, I want to be versatile.  I want to be able to execute various styles of belly dance.  To limit myself to one style is to limit my creative and expressive freedom.  Some dancers say that they find more freedom in belly dance fusion (and, oh yes, I used to think the same), but I believe that fusion is the hardest kind of belly dance; not only must you be an accomplished belly dancer, but you must also be accomplished in the style of dance that you are fusing into it.  I also feel that the more styles of belly dance I learn, the more I can pull from to create my own personal stylizations.  I love the grace and fluidity of oriental dance, the fire of Turkish oryantal, and the strength and power of American Tribal Style.  The more I study the many varieties of belly dance, the more I have in my creative toolbox.

Those of you who have labeled yourselves, why have you done so?  Those of you that expect others to belly dance in a particular style, why are you doing so?