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.

Modern dance/belly dance fusion by The Power Company of Columbia College and Natalie Brown, director of Delirium Tribal Belly Dance Company, with live music by Raquy and the Cavemen:

Modern dance fusion by Urban Tribal Dance Company:

Professor Donna Mejia at TribalCon, performing her impeccable blend of belly dance and… everything. (Embedding disabled, click the link!)

Brittney Laleh’s hip hop/contemporary/belly dance fusion, performed with the Suhaila Salimpour Repertoire Ensemble:

Colleena Shakti’s flawless classical Indian-belly dance fusion:

Sera Solstice performing her blend of belly dance, modern, contemporary… with a touch of martial arts.

Theatrical fusion by Anasma of New York City:

The one and only Ebony of Washington, DC, performing her urban fusion style:

Shakra’s industrial, African, bellydance, gothic fusion:

…that’s just a small list of fusion that I like. These dancers know what they’re doing, respect the cultures and subcultures from which they pull, and they create with integrity.

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?

“Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark. In the hopeless swamps of the not quite, the not yet, and the not at all, do not let the hero in your soul perish and leave only frustration for the life you deserved, but never have been able to reach. The world you desire can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours.”  – Ayn Rand, from Atlas Shrugged

Some people have questioned why I am a fan, of sorts, of Ayn Rand, particularly as her philosophies have been hijacked by people calling themselves members of the modern-day “Tea Party” movement. (Her political and economic policies advocate laissez faire capitalism, which, I think if there were no greed on this Earth, might be able to work.  In this world, alas, greed is everywhere, as well as people and organizations to seek to take advantage and harm others.)

Well. Her fiction calls on the power of the individual to follow his/her calling according to his ability, which lies within his/her competence and knowledge.  Her heroes are strong, empowered individuals who fight against collectivism, the naysaying of trends and the masses, the mediocre and the apathetic.  Her heroes strive for knowledge; they ignore those who tell them what they’re doing isn’t “acceptable”.  They march to the sound of their own drum.  Her philosophy also advocates that one must not harm another in their pursuit of their vision.  To harm another means to mooch off of them; to have a victim means that you’re taking from that victim and not working on your own accord.  This aspect of her philosophy appeals to me very much.  Work hard, make money doing what you do best, and don’t harm others in the process.  Sounds like a good way to live, yeah?

If you know anything about me at all, you’ll see why these stories have inspired me so much.  My tattoo, the star in the circle, is not only a derivation of a logo used by the band Rush, but also a visual manifestation of these ideals.  The band’s drummer created the symbol to represent the masses, the collective, the mediocre, the naysayers – I put it on my back to remind me that I have a duty to myself to push ahead on my own, regardless of whatever obstacles come before me.  I am my own leader, and I will follow my vision.

Herein lies the issue.

What does it mean that I, at 5’2″ and 130 pounds, am getting comments on my performance videos that I “look like [I've] had a baby”, or that someone on a popular bellydance forum suggested that I am a “larger” dancer?  I am secure enough in my own self-image that I’m only mildly offended by these comments, but the implications of the comments really bother me.

Why is it that if someone is 5’2″ and 130 pounds that she is considered “larger”?  Seriously.  What is wrong with our own self-image as women when a we see little belly jiggle in a fellow dancer and consider her, for lack of a better term, “fat”?  As I sit here in my Size Small shirt and my Size 6 Short jeans, I wonder, how damaged are we as a gender?  And when will we stop projecting our warped view of the women’s bodies on our peers, teachers, and mentors?  No WONDER there is an epidemic of skewed and negative self-image among women in this country (I’m in the United States, so international readers might have a different perspective).

On one hand, I am appalled.  I am appalled that I am considered “large”.  I am not large. I know I am not conventionally skinny, but I am not large.  And if you think that I am large, then I seriously suggest that you re-evaluate your perception of the female form.

On the other hand… if I am considered to be a “larger” and still internationally-known performer and instructor, maybe that can inspire my fellow dancers, give them hope that you don’t have to be 100 pounds or less to be a success.  For some reason, some dancers see me as some anomaly, the “normal”-sized dancer who made it big.  Frankly, I never even considered this concept to be unusual at all.  I dance, and I want to dance well.  I teach, and I want to teach well.  Isn’t that what matters?

I am hardly a scholar of women’s studies, so I understand that this topic runs deep… but if you ever looked at me, or any other dancer and thought, “she’s larger…”, please catch yourself, reflect on your reaction, and ask yourself, “why do I think this, and [more importantly], why do I care, and how is this perception affecting my like or dislike of this dancer?”

And with that I leave you a video of Miasia, a dancer who will rock your socks off…. and who does happen to be larger.  And I don’t care, because my jaw is on the floor every time I see her dance.  Watch and let your body-image issues melt away….

We’ve all seen it: Someone posts an unsuspecting dancer’s performance on a bellydance discussion forum and other dancers jump right in to badmouth the performance as if the dancer in question has no access to the forum, and as if she or he would never hear that other dancers are trash talking about her.

The internet, with its convenient anonymity and inherent distance between users, is no excuse for demeaning or insulting language.

Under the guise of “protecting traditional bellydance” or “starting meaningful discussion”, I’ve seen conversations turn into bash-fests.  Just because you don’t know a dancer and you think her performance was not good, lacking taste, or otherwise offensive, that does not mean that you should insult her on the internet in a forum in which she can read the comments.  In my mind, this behavior is akin to schoolyard drama between pre-teen girls.

What are you doing when you bash a dancer on the internet? You’re probably trying to validate your own dance by putting down someone else’s performance.  Instead of spending your time on the internet looking for what’s wrong with someone else’s dance, I say go work on your own.  If there’s something about another’s performance that bothers you, and that person hasn’t solicited feedback directly from you or the internet forum in question, please don’t talk about that dancer as though they’ll never read it.  And if it bothers you, don’t do it yourself.  If you’re an instructor, you can teach your own students to avoid dancing like the dancer in question… but please don’t mention the dancer by name.

This sort of behavior does nothing to lift up this dance form.  It isn’t professional. It just isn’t nice.  I believe it does more damage to the reputation of the dancer doing the badmouthing than the one being badmouthed.  But maybe that’s just because I don’t like bullies.  And I know we’re not all nice all the time, but at least try when you’re speaking in public, especially in a forum that is searchable, archived, and available for anyone to read.

Recently, I’ve seen a few performances that seemed to be more about the dancer showing off a series of “tricks” than actually dancing, expressing, and emoting.  You know those performances… the one where the layback/backbend into a drop is gratuitously placed in the set, or the dancer does several drops in one performance (and I’m not talking about FatChanceBellyDance, or the other master dancers).  Or the one where the dancer is ticking, locking, and popping all over the place, but lacks any sense of expression or grace.  Or the one where the dancer shimmies her way through a 10 minute set when she could be accenting her very interesting music in very beautiful ways. So, you can move your body in fascinating ways, but what about that makes you a dancer and not a contortionist, acrobat, or just another entertainer?

Now, I’m certainly not saying that a dancer shouldn’t have a few tricks up her sleeve.  I love showing off my backbends, belly flutters, and shimmies. Those moves are crowd pleasers, and I’m totally aware of that.  As dancers we also must entertain, and frankly, it’s fun to show off our tricks.  But when the performance becomes all about the tricks and less about the dance, then I begin to wonder, “who is this dancer? What does she have to say? And why isn’t she showing us what’s really inside her?”

I think the use of tricks indicates a few things about the dancer: She’s afraid to dance as herself, and she’s hiding behind her “Wow Factor”; she’s not aware that dance can be an emotional outlet as well as a physical one; she believes that the tricks will gain her more recognition, praise, and attention (which, sadly, is often true).  What really bothers me is that after seeing a performance composed mostly of tricks, there will be a host of audience members lavishing praise on that dancer, telling them how amazing they are.  Seriously? Is that what this dance, particularly in the vein of that which we call “tribal fusion”, become? A series of crowd-pleasing movements set to electronica or neo-Balkan brass? I certainly hope NOT.

I ask of you, dear readers, that the next time you find yourself out at a bellydance show, ask yourself, “is this performer really dancing, or are they relying on their tricks?”  And a few tricks are fine, and some take great skill (balancing and layering, for example), but don’t let yourself be tricked by the tricks.  Each of us has so much to say when we’re on stage, and I believe that we must start saying it, even if that means that we won’t be as “impressive” to the layman viewer.  Dance is not a series of tricks set to music. It is moving art, and moving art can also be dynamic entertainment.

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.

On one hand many of us paint ourselves as artists, as on par with the dances found in theaters and concert halls.  “Belly dance is just as valid as ballet or modern,” we say.  We say, “belly dance belongs on the stage next to other high performance art.”

On the other hand, we struggle with being entertaining.  Those of us who dance in restaurants and nightclubs must be entertaining.  The clientele isn’t paying for high art; they’re paying for a fun night out with their friends.

So… what are we?  Artists or entertainers?  Do we have to make a decision?  Or is it a matter of knowing how to be both, and being able to present an appropriate performance depending on the venue and crowd.  But if we tailor our performances depending on the client, are we compromising our art for the sake of entertainment?  Where do we draw the line?

For me… I consider myself more of an artist than an entertainer.  But, in being an artist, I can’t forget that I’m also a performer, and performance is entertainment.  How entertaining an audience finds a performance depends on the person and their expectations of what they’re going out to see.  But I won’t perform a piece solely for the purpose of entertaining the audience.  I don’t perform in order to elicit positive reactions from my viewers.  I have to love the song, the performance, and the piece itself.  Personally, I also no longer dance at private parties or do regular restaurant gigs, because those weren’t the right environments for what sort of dance I want to do.  Those audiences want to be entertained and to have fun, not to see something they might not understand.  I’m glad that I have taken those gigs in my early days as a working dancer; for one, they were great experience in dealing with apathetic and some times even rude crowds.  Those gigs also taught me that I’m not meant to be a bellydancing entertainer.  And I don’t see anything wrong with those performances or the dancers who take those gigs.  They just weren’t for me.

I feel most at home on the stage, in a concert hall, or at an event populated by other dancers.  Sure, this narrows my reach, but if I were to perform my style of bellydance at a private birthday party, hired by someone looking for a bellydancer, I think they’d be quite confused.  The private parties and Middle Eastern restaurants are not where I’m meant to perform.

I think it’s important for us to think about where on the spectrum between entertainment and art we want to sit.  We don’t need to choose a single point on this scale.  We can move between the two sides, and ideally, we should aim to find a balance between both that doesn’t compromise our personal vision.

How have you tried to balance art and entertainment?