So... I thought writing here once a month would be a good goal. Attainable. Maybe not high-quality, sensible writing all the time, but writing. Something is better than nothing, right? But, it turns out that last month I chose nothing. Time slipped away along with a job change, a longer than expected visit from someone, travels home, and the pure lackadaisical energy that came with a total of four St. Louis snow-days. I'd like to promise to be "better," but I really wouldn't be promising to anyone but myself, a person who is ultimately not affected by the outcome of me choosing to write or not write. I digress! This is where I stop being a productivity snob, and instead shift the focus to talking about what it means to be a dance snob, inspired by an encounter I had last weekend.
Last weekend, I traveled to Bloomington, Illinois, to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the infamous IHSA State Dance Team Competition. The arena had that specific haunting feeling experienced only by ex-dancers... the smells, the feel of the carpet under your feet in the lobby, the way that you can feel your heart stop when your team takes their places on the floor to compete. But while the haunting is uncomfortable, the sense of pride you feel for your team is much greater. You feel it your body. It is present in the way that you leap to your feet when the team lands a group skill, in the way that you sit on the edge of your seat waiting for the Top 12 teams to be announced, and in the way that your vocal cords take the entire week following the competition to recover. Not to mention, the dancing is incredible. That is, if you're brave enough to call it dance.
On the second day of the competition, I stayed later to watch the 3A teams compete. For context, my former team is in the 1A category, which are the smallest schools in the state. 2A schools are slightly larger, and 3A is the largest. If you are a private school, the number of students in your school gets multiplied. So, naturally, the 3A schools tend to have the best teams. Their synchronization is robot-like. They can turn seemingly without flaw. Sometimes more than half the team can do aerial cartwheels. And often times these teams are huge. If I remember correctly, up to 24 dancers can take the floor. And in those groups of 24, not a single dancer is put to waste. The thing about dance team in general is that the dances are constantly moving, guiding the audience eye through space to watch not only incredible tricks, but unreal precision and athleticism. Following awards, I walked out with an old friend who I knew from the studio I danced at, and what she had to say really stuck with me: "I'm so glad Lake Park won. They were almost as good as a studio!"
"Almost" as good? Girl, what?? We went to the same studio growing up, and I don't think one person could do an aerial cartwheel, let alone sixteen people at the same time! Granted, dance is not, and was never, about how many people could do an aerial cartwheel. But how can you watch these athletes perform these hardly-human routines, like little wind-up robots moving in exact synchronization on the floor, and think of a single private studio that could do better? All of this got me thinking... all dancers (and ex-dancers) have a tendency to be snobby about our craft. What's the point?
My friend is a snob about private studio vs. dance team dance, thinking that dance teams will never be quite as good (she never competed on a dance team). I'm a snob, because my immediate response to that is that I have never, ever, seen a studio compete with that amount of attention to detail, not to mention the way that studio performances are often packed with the most ridiculous bad acting and framed by the most literal props (I tell myself I have more credibility since I have competed in both situations).
On another hand, most people I know from college or in my professional life are snobs about professional modern dance vs. any kind of competition or showstopper-style dance. I'm guilty of playing into that too. I'm a modern dancer, and I perceive modern dance as "higher art," the least superficial and most deep of all forms. However, I can't help but admit that modern dancers are the absolute worst at any sort of synchronization, holding formations, or precision. We're just allowed to call it "avant-garde," or pretend that we're accepting that different bodies move in different ways. Somewhat true, but nevertheless a lazy approach.
But clearly, all of these niche areas of the dance world serve a different purpose. I learned how to perform for an audience when I competed with a studio. I learned how to perform as a member of a team, and how to really focus in on the details by competing with a dance team. And I took these skills with me when I learned all of the things that performing modern dance has to offer (which is a lot of things, but rarely synchronization and precision, lol). So, if as investigative post-modern dance artists, we can call making coffee or walking down the street a dance, then we should call other dances what they are too. That includes the hyper-precise dance team jazz with a million turns in second, and the cheesy sad lyrical number by your local dance studio that begs me to hate it.
While I can't say that being a snob serves no purpose - it helps us decide what we like and dislike, what kind of art we care about making or watching, etc. - maybe we should think twice about what is good, or about what is even dance. I used to think that dance team was just dance as an art form turned into a sport, laced with acrobatic tricks and other impressive team skills. But every time I watch my former team (and many other teams perform), I see it as an art form of its own. The art form doesn't appear in the same way as modern dance, where it makes you feel something or challenges the way you think. The art form appears in the way that a team can perform as a single entity and bring a song to life by drawing attention to each of its musical bits. And there's art form in private studio dance too, the snob in me just has a hard time finding it.
My point? Let's start letting go of our inner snob. Let's see things as what we are more or less interested in, rather than what is "good" or "bad" dance. Let's see dance as something for everyone, whether it be the post-BFA modern dancer, or the high schooler joining a team or a studio just to experience the joy of being part of something. Studio competition dance may not be a cup of tea, but it's a fair assumption that studio competition dancers may laugh at the sight of me walking through space making meaningless gestures and calling it dance. We dance for the joy it brings us, for the connection with our audience and community, and for the deep emotional release that it offers us the opportunity to feel. And that is something all dancers are deserving of.
I'm pressing "publish" without proofreading, because that is how I express my art.
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Go Forth and Create!
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