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

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

There.  I said it.  Sue me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think there’s a connection here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you do when you’re feeling stuck?

The Yiddish word schtick means a comic theme or gimmick. The word schtick, having been applied to show-business and the entertainment world for over a century, has a connotation of a contrived and often-used act—something done deliberately, but perhaps not sincerely.

I’ve been in the performance world since I was six years old, and believe me: I’ve seen a lot of schtick.  Most of the time this schtick is used to gain the judges’ or audience’s attention by using something other than technical or dramatic skill.  Schtick is also often used by performers to cover up a lack of mastery of the main skill being demonstrated, a distraction from the fact that the performer is really only mediocre or just not accomplished at her craft.  This might mean flashy or strange costuming that doesn’t fit with the performance, unusual props that the performer hasn’t mastered, the act of stripping off an article of costuming (I admit, I did this once as a figure skater: I removed a big fake mink stole as I skated to “Take Back Your Mink” from the musical Guys and Dolls).

Why are some belly dancers using schtick?  One reason is that I think it’s to cover up the fact that they’re only average dancers and performers, and they feel like they need something else, something extra, something that no one else has… but more often than not, these little extra things have nothing to do with bellydance. What does stumbling around on stage with a wine bottle have to do with bellydance, a dance form that comes from an area of the world where the main religion, Islam, bans alcohol? (Think about that one for a bit.)  What do fishnet tights, short skirts, and ruffly bustles have to do with bellydance, a dance form from a region with plenty of rich textiles and jewelry in which we can find much inspiration?  Why must a dancer don a plain costume, only to strip it off and reveal her beaded and sequinned costume underneath?  Is this what bellydancers have resorted to in order to be noticed by the event producers in order to be offered a coveted teaching position at next year’s event?  And you all know that I am not the ethnic police, but I’d love to see more deference to the original art form that we call “bellydance.”

I also suspect that many of the performances that use what I call “gratuitous fusion” (fusion for fusion’s sake, not because the elements being fused work together or should be put together) are a way for the dancers to act out their unfulfilled fantasies, and belly dance is just one means for them to be something they’re not in their day-to-day lives.  There are times and places for people to act out their fantasies, but I really don’t think that the stage at a bellydance festival is the place for a dancer to pretend she’s a can can dancer, saloon girl, or burlesque dancer… unless she’s fusing some damny good bellydance in with that routine, and performing whatever she’s fusing in an accomplished, respectful manner.  Unfortunately, more often than not, accomplished dancing is noticeably lacking in such fantasy performances.

Of course, professional dancers with years and years of training can get away with a little schtick.  But even they get bored with their own routines.  And frankly, I’m bored with the schtick, particularly schtick labeled as “fusion”.  Seriously, ladies (and gentlemen):

• You don’t need to imitate Vaudeville routines.  Frankly, you shouldn’t unless you’ve had some serious acting training.
• You don’t need a gimmick.  If you think your dance alone isn’t memorable, maybe you should work on finding your voice as a dancer.
• You don’t need a costume that cost you more than you spent on training in one year.  In fact, I highly recommend you spend more on your training than your costuming.  Otherwise you’re just a pretty girl on stage.
• You don’t need to dance with the latest prop, and if you do use a prop, be a master at the prop.  Don’t bring a sword, veil, water pot, snake, basket, fire, or anything else on stage with you unless you really know how to use it.  Frankly, I’m not impressed by the mere presence of the prop on stage with the dancer.  I want to see that dancer really integrate that prop into her performance so that she is one with that prop, whatever it might be.

This isn’t belly fashion, belly comedy, belly acting, belly gimmicks, or belly schtick.  It’s belly dance.  So, please, for the sake of the future of this dance form, go learn technique, culture, and history; master your craft; and master your dance if you’re going to continue in the belly dance world.

This year, Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love (which I admit I have not read) gave an inspirational and moving presentation on creativity and following your bliss.  I had tears in my eyes at the end.