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

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

Insights:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, however, I am making it public.

I am doing The Artist’s Way.

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

—

Week One: Recovering a Sense of Safety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…I don’t like Middle Eastern music.”

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.

I sometimes joke that as a belly dance teacher I wear many hats in varying capacities: physical therapist, counselor, drill sergeant, friend, lecturer, DJ, and trainer…  and many more.  Being able to be all of these things carries with it great responsibility.

As an instructor, I feel a great duty to my students.  For many of them, I am one of their first belly dance teachers. This means that their first impressions of belly dance from here on out are in my hands. I am responsible for their education.  I am responsible for showing them how to better take care of their bodies.  I am responsible for not only making sure they execute moves correctly and safely, but also for making sure they know when they’re performing a movement well.  I am responsible for critiquing them without damaging their self-esteem.  I am responsible for ensuring that they retain the information I give them, and for sharing that information in a way that is entertaining and memorable.  I am responsible for teaching them the history of belly dance (what we know of it), and that they know who has been influential in belly dance throughout the years.  I am responsible for introducing them to Middle Eastern music, for making sure they know the core instruments and sounds.  I am responsible for teaching them Middle Eastern rhythms.  I am responsible for teaching them basic music theory, how to count music, how to find the downbeat, and how to be a percussionist with finger cymbals.  I am responsible for giving my students the most accurate information I can about all aspects of this dance.

As an instructor, I must be an example.  An exemplar.  A model that my students can be proud to follow.  When I became a teacher, I didn’t realize I had all of these duties, but the more I teach, the more dedicated I feel towards the education of my students.

I teach because I love sharing knowledge.  I teach because I love that moment when a student finally executes a movement she’s been having trouble with for months.  I teach because I love the light in my students’ eyes when I tell them about the history of tribal belly dance.  I teach because I love seeing my students transform into more confident and self-assured human beings.  I teach because I believe there are things that students of belly dance should know.  I teach because I love it.  I know I don’t have all the answers, but if you have a question I can’t answer, I could probably direct you to someone who can answer you.

I believe all teachers have a great responsibility to their students, and not all teachers feel the same.  There are the teachers who teach because they want attention, they want to feel in control, they want to feel important, they want to boost their own egos.  There are teachers who feel like they should, but don’t necessarily love sharing information and knowledge with their students.  There are those who feel threatened by their own talented students.  There are those who cut down other dancers and teachers in front of their students.  These behaviors only hinder the development of newer dancers, setting poor examples for the belly dancers who will carry the torch when we have left the scene.  Thankfully, there are many instructors out there who understand that they are mentors and guides, and that the education of their students is in their hands.

I teach because I feel I have a duty to give my students the knowledge that I have collected, because if I don’t synthesize my knowledge and offer it, what good is it doing for me alone?

As a teacher, we all have a responsibility and duty to our students.  We must provide them with the best knowledge we have, and we also have a duty to continue our own training.  We must be humble, ever gathering more information not only for ourselves, but for our students.  As teachers, we are charged with handing down the legacy of this dance to our students.  For someday, some of our students will be teachers as well, and we need to make sure that their knowledge of this dance has a sound and solid foundation, and that we instill the love of learning and growth and training in them.

As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we pigeon-hole ourselves as belly dancers into a particular stylization of belly dance.  I pigeon-holed myself for a while, and I’m seeking to break free of my self-imposed limits.  Others have most definitely labeled me as a certain style of dancer (I usually get labeled as “gothic belly dance” or “dark fusion”, but I’m not sure what you’d label my recent performance to “Lama Bada Yata Thanna”, a medieval Andalusian song).

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?

My dear fellow belly dancers,

Just because a dancer’s style does not fit into your idea of “cabaret” or “traditional” belly dance, this does not mean that her style is “tribal” or “tribal fusion”. Sometimes a dancer is some other variety of fusion. See Anasma (NYC) or Ebony (DC) for examples.

Also, if you identify yourself as “tribal fusion”, please be able to perform oriental style.

It makes me sad when dancers box themselves into a style, especially new dancers.  It’s like a ballet dancer saying that she only wants to perform contemporary pieces but never wants to perform in The Nutcracker or Swan Lake.  Belly dance is, at its heart, a Middle Eastern art form,  and yes, I do expect those dancers who perform primarily tribal style to be able to perform cabaret and oriental styles.  You don’t need to be a master at oriental belly dance, but I do want you to be able to interpret the music of Umm Kalthoum or a really hot tabla solo.

While I’m at it, I suggest to the oriental dancers out there to try out ATS, particularly if you work in a troupe.  The ability to follow your troupe-mates body angles and lines is essential to any dancer working in a performing company, and ATS will help you improve your peripheral vision by leaps and bounds.  Personally, I’ve learned a LOT about how I present myself as a soloist by working in an American Tribal Style company.  ATS will also help you clean up your arm carriage, and it might even help you get rid of that unconscious flippy left or right hand (you know the one I’m talking about).  Also, the improvisational essence of ATS will help you think on her feet should anything go wrong in your performance, such as music or costuming mishaps.

Love,
Me