Failure: Making it Look Good

All artists fail. I know. Nice opener. Not exactly an easily apparent selling point. Here's another statement. Fewer artists are failures. Let me explain starting with an example.

I study Classical Indian Dance forms. Beginning in my undergraduate years of college I took up research and training in various Indian dance forms. What I first noticed is how much of a failure I was at the forms. As a life-long dancer I was bewildered at how challenging the learning process was for a form culturally so foreign to my background. I was passionate about not only learning the form but understanding the form. Then in my quest to understand the form, I realized that my failure was the lesson. Over time, I did get better. I have performed in professional settings in various venues, and yet, what I value most are the learning lessons I have about what I fail at in the form. For me, the areas of the dance that I fail in are the most rich in knowledge and understanding of the dance forms and how they reflect the values and daily practices of the culture in which the dance form was born. Basically, where the failure occurs points to where I differ in bodily knowledge and understanding and culture from the form of dance I am learning.

Take for example the ability to "sit." In Bharatanatyam and Kuchhipudi in particular (Odissi to a lesser degree) it was extremely difficult for me to sit in the position very similar to Ballet's demi-plié for the duration of various items. But my failure to do so was an invaluable key to the puzzle of understanding an aspect of the dance form and the culture out of which it grows. It gave me a valuable clue to asking questions about the relationship to the earth in Indian and Indian diaspora culture. So instead of seeing failure as the final result, I found the value of seeing failure as the generative seed of curiosity and eventual knowledge.

This is one small example of the value that so many artists know and get drawn in by in the art-making process. The artistic process' ability to not only introduce endless moments of failure but to enable wonderful, rich, critical, profound discoveries from these failures is what so many artists respond to in making work. And for those that push forward beyond the failure with inquisitive imaginative minds, failing does not result in the artist becoming a failure but instead a success if not in the eyes of others than at least to those involved in the creative process.

So what about dance? What makes failure unique in dance is what happens when your very vehicle, or vessel that makes you alive and expressive fails you. In dance failure is oftentimes not a failure of technique, or speech, prop, or visual appearance. It is often a failure of the body itself. No matter how much technique or how eloquent one may be in the written or spoken word, the momentary failures and missteps of the body are inconsolable. It gives rise to the constant reminder that at every moment there is room for error, room for the body to do less than what we expect or intend. And the missteps that result in injury not only remind us of our chronic fallibility but also of our mortality. No matter how talented, how experienced, dancers do make mistakes and are constantly aware of the constant possibility of momentary mistakes. Also, when dancing, mistakes are certainly relative to bodily expectations and awareness of the dancer. So what some might consider a flawless execution of physical expression, dancers can often think things like, "I could have reached my arm more on that move. I should have embodied more Lightness on that move. I could have made a better decision in that moment of improvisation." And yet we still dance through the failures. Not only do we dance through the failures, we often learn about the state of the human condition and how to cope with that condition.

While some of us live a tortured life never feeling fulfilled or perfected, some of us learn how to learn from the failure of being in a body. We learn how to cope with the failure of being physical, mortal beings. We learn how to learn from the failure that come with being physical, mortal beings. We learn how to maintain curiosity, diligence, honesty, and ownership of failures. In dance correction and learning has to be momentary so as not to repeat the mistake in the next run of the movement material. So we must constantly question how to improve and correct at every moment. We have to avoid the trap of giving up falling into the trap of debilitating self-deprecation and instead push past the error into the next run of the movement phrase. In order to correct, we have to really be honest about the source of the mistake. We have to self-correct when necessary and learn to communicate in a generative way to other participants if success depends on some change on their part. That means owning up to failures that we are solely responsible for as quickly as possible. To do anything else in the way of making excuses causes everyone to lose valuable rehearsal time.

In learning how to make these negotiations without the potential scape goat that written word, speech, technical know-how, or tools may offer other art forms, dance offers a primal truth in its failures. There is very little to mask the truth of how a dancer deals with failure, errors, or mistakes. And for that dancers must be brave enough to keep moving after the errors, curious enough to solve what's causing the errors, honest enough to look inside to understand the errors, and humble enough to listen to the potential wisdom that each failure offers about self, relationship to others, and the environment. Even in moments of failure the body doesn't lie. It instead offers infinite opportunities for wisdom. Are you brave enough to move and fail?

Fela, Art, and Activism

Last weekend I went to see the Broadway musical Fela! The performance was an amazing celebration of dance as an expression of so many varied facets of life and a historical narrative about the life of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. I came back from the musical with many curiosities. While most were historical about the life of Fela and world historical events mentioned in the musical, I also came back with a larger philosophical question about dance and activism. What is the relationship between dance and activism?

A quick search of the word "activism" at www.dictionary.com results in the following definitions:
1) the doctrine or practice of vigorous action or involvement as a means of achieving political or other goals, sometimes by demonstrations, protests, etc. 2) a theory that the essence of reality is pure activity, esp. spiritual activity, or process 3) a theory that the relationship between the mind and the objects of perception depends upon the action of the mind

The first two definitions really resonate with my dancing, moving body. Activism's root being "active" really speaks to exactly what dance provides for the dancer. Dance can even be seen as a form or practice of "pure activity" in line with the definition of activism. As a dancer I feel the truth in that from an experiential place. I feel the closest to this particular idea is the field of movement therapy or some forms of somatic practice where people use their own personal movement style and individuality or specific somatic techniques to better understand themselves as a whole person, strengths, weakness, and all.

My issue with that is whether this personal process of developing movement should be presented as a performance for general audiences. For the audience members, those not actively or physically participating, I question the validity of dance as a form of activism.

For me it was very apparent in the audience participation scripted into the musical. I've seen it before. Asking people to get up and act can be like pulling teeth. People are so often no longer experiencing their lives from a fully embodied place. I find general populations are far more comfortable talking and thinking than they are moving their bodies in an expressive way or moving their bodies in a way that will fulfill what they dream about or are truly passionate about. Are we as dancers still activists if we don't require a physical experience for our audience members? And if not a physical experience then must there be at least some clear, coherent, choreographed concept that may have blossomed or presented itself in our physical soul searching if we are to call our work a form of activism for our audiences?

Now I have to admit. I have my own personal value system and background when it comes to discussing the role of dance as activism within society. The connection for me between activism and dance is an intimate one. It is no coincidence for me that "movement" is a term we use to describe the format through which activists convey their message (ex. political movement.) But in terms of my personal bias, I don't often find dance for dance's sake an activist event for audiences. I gravitate toward making dances that examine some quality, phenomena, or oddity of the human experience or our current society/culture. I avoid making work that is solely about the movement itself. In the play Kevin Mambo (playing Fela) explains Fela's journey from wanting to make good music that can really move the audience to wanting to make good music that not only moves the audience but also expresses the sociopolitical dilemma's of Africa at the time.

I have heard dance professors suggest that dancers not choreograph unless they have something to "say" with that work. And I have to admit I can feel a bit annoyed when I attend a dance performance where dancers are truly enjoying performing the movement but not at all conveying some coherent concept that really speaks to a specific phenomena occurring within human experience. While I am well aware of my own proclivities, I certainly do not hold others to my own value system and am curious to hear thoughts from others or any arguments that support dance for dance's sake as an activist event for audience members.

Not Exactly a Review of "yellow" by Diana Crum

I just viewed Diana Crum’s site-specific work, yellow, at the Main Library here in Salt Lake City. I was particularly excited about this performance due my recent interest in how environments affect our behavior, our interactions with spaces, and our interactions with others.

For those not familiar with the main library, the entrance is an expansive vestibule with small shops on one side and the library on the other. When you walk in and look up, you see up at least three stories and then out skylights into the sky.

The performers were eye-catching in their unseasonable bright yellow costumes—a great contrast to the huge windows and skylights in the main area of the library, which cast a grey shadow with the rainy, cool weather.

The performance began with the dancers being seemingly blown in—traversing the long space between the two sets of entrance doors at either end of the space. Eventually ending in a long line across the vast space of the vestibule, the dancers began a slow, leaning, and backward descent into the floor.

For me, this section was the most engaging. I was drawn in by the spotted contrast of the yellow costumes to the grayness seen through the windows, the grayness of the steel beams, and the stone floors. They dancers were like beams of light in an otherwise desolate landscape, the landscape of the library.

Part of the reason I was drawn to this section was that it allowed me to view how the people using the library (hereafter refered to as the “people of the library”) interacted with the dancers. Many of them wove a curvilinear path that avoided the dancers without ever acknowledging their presence. It was as if the dancers conflicted with the people of the library’s sense of who or what “belonged” in the vestibule, and they choose to pretend that the dancers didn’t exist. Instead of investigating what was happening, these “onlookers” chose to continue on their way—even though the very nature of their changed path was as a result of the encumbrance of the dancers in the space. Why?

When we enter a library, we expect certain things: books, quiet, and people looking at books or studying. We certainly don’t expect to see dancers in yellow slowly falling to the ground or being blown by an invisible wind.

This piece challenged the people of the library to question their assumptions of the use of the library space. What else don’t we do in this space? And why not? If nothing else, it made the people of the library go out of their way for a moment—change their pattern. It would be interesting to do a study on this kind of work and catalog how many different kinds of behaviors a piece like this might elicit—from ignoring, to a side-ways glance, to standing to watch. And—I wonder if there is any way to motivate more people toward the standing to watch end. Or would that even be preferable?

Thoughts?