Throughout the weekend, one theme that kept popping into my head: the importance of play in the creative process.  As adults, we sometimes lose touch with our childlike selves, giving in to pressures of being “mature” and “responsible”. (Those aren’t unnecessary quotation marks.) But, if we are to be consistently creative beings, we must remember this is supposed to be FUN goddamnit!

On one side of the creative process is the refinement of technique.  Of dedication to our craft from a methodical, habitual, and dedicated practice.  That would be attending drills and technique classes; learning about rhythm and meter; looking up lyrics to songs; and building strength, flexibility, and stamina.  Without this hard work, we have no platform on which to present our creativity.

On the other side, which is equally as important, is the development of the creative self.  Allowing ourselves to have fun, to be whimsical, to let go and just dance in the privacy of our living room or home studio, of going on small adventures, of going out with friends and being silly.  The Artist’s Way emphasizes the development of diversion as a positive and nourishing activity through the weekly Artist Dates, where you take yourself out, alone, on a date somewhere: a garden, a walk, a movie, a museum, an art store, or anywhere else that might be outside your regular routine.  Observing children can also be a huge inspiration.  I love watching and talking to children between the ages of 5 and 12 because they still have that sense of uninhibited whimsy, yet they’re developing their own distinct personality.  They are instinctual beings, and aren’t yet terribly self-conscious or likely to feel embarrassed about what they like or say.  They inspire me to do the same.  I also love the activities in Twyla Tharp’s book The Creative Habit and the fun and freeing movement explorations in Blom and Chaplin’s The Intimate Act of Choreography.

I’ve realized that I’ve been serious for much too long where I didn’t need to be so.  I am still very serious about my dance practice and attending classes, but the veil of self-consciousness that I have worn for years is worn and tired.

It’s time to shed the facade of seriousness and go have a good time…. and not care what people think about you.  If you follow what brings you joy, you will find more joy, and you’ll find plenty of people with whom to share it.  I certainly did this weekend in Providence.

In my past life, as some of you know, I was a competitive figure skater for 14 years.  Through most of those 14 years, I had a primary coach who was my teacher, my friend, and a mentor.  Of course, I trained with other coaches as well, but I would say that of all of my teachers, I would only call two of them mentors. They looked out for what was best for me, and guided me through tough times, worked with me and my strengths and pushed me when I needed pushing.  I trusted them, even when I had bad days, when I fell on every jump, and when I didn’t even want to be at the rink.  And in the figure skating world, if you are competing and you don’t have a coach (something that usually only happens at the Senior/International/Olympic level), it’s a very odd thing indeed.

Why do we lack this phenomenon in belly dance? It’s certainly not as if we don’t have dancers and instructors who have decades of experience to impart on newer and younger generations of dancers.

First of all, I don’t think it’s in our community’s culture.  We aren’t told from the beginning that such a relationship is important or valuable.  We take classes with a local instructor, and they are our teacher, but usually not a mentor. Second, many teachers in this community aren’t trained as teachers, so many teachers haven’t had concrete guidance on how to impart their knowledge to their students.  (I know I had to wing it for a long time before I even felt I had a handle on the teaching thing, and I even had past experience teaching skating.)  Third, we have a culture of “workshop learning”, where we take lots of workshops from different teachers (which is awesome, and I wholly support this!), but rarely do we connect with just one teacher and go to her for personal guidance.  And fourth, I believe that because so many of us come into this dance as adults that we are less likely to seek out a mentor or think that we might need one.  It might be more natural for a child or young adult to find a mentoring relationship natural or acceptable than for a grown woman who already has children or is married or has been living on her own for many years.

And not every teacher has to be a mentor, but I think a mentoring relationship is incredibly important to a dancer’s technical, professional, and emotional development as an artist and performer.  The mentor is an archetype in all cultures and societies because in order to grow, we must find our guru, someone whom we can trust, even when she puts us in uncomfortable situations.  The mentor appears throughout mythology, ancient and contemporary. One of our earlier mentor characters is, of course, Mentor in Homer’s Odyssey, who guided and taught Odysseus’ son Telemachus while Odysseus struggled to find his way home to his wife and child.  The mentor also appears in contemporary myths, such as Star Wars, where Luke Skywalker seeks the guidance of Obi Wan Kenobi and Yoda, even if he doubts himself in the process of becoming a Jedi and even when Yoda puts him through what seem to be impossible tasks.

We can all benefit from such a relationship, regardless of our age or experience… Even mentors have mentors.  Having a mentor teaches us not only more about our art and its history and culture, but also gratitude, humbleness, and respect.

Of course, my advice to all of you would be to find a mentor.  Find a wise instructor not only whom you trust, but also will take you under their wing and guide you.  Your mentor doesn’t even need to live in the same area as you; many of us have mentors who live quite far away, but of course learning from them in person is imperative.  And remember, everyone has different needs and goals in this dance form, so make sure you find a mentor who understands what you seek but will also guide you in directions of which you might not have previously considered.  A true mentor will look out for what is truly best for you, even if that means being in uncomfortable situations or being a bit scared.  How else would Luke Skywalker have become a Jedi if it weren’t for Obi Wan Kenobi and Yoda?

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.