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Dance |
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Sometimes
small and still is a powerful and beautiful dance. It can be an
incredibly effective expression that arises not from athleticism,
virtuosity or rehearsed repertoire but rather from intention, awareness
and focus. A person may say “I can’t dance” or “I can’t
sing” but in reality can do so if the choice is made to adopt a
different state of mind. Twice
yesterday I saw examples of unexpected dances being born and delivered
into the world as unselfconscious expressions of beauty. In the first
instance, an old woman in a wheelchair told me explicitly that she could
not dance to my violin music. “My body,” she told me, “would not
do that.” Fortunately I did not accept her answer. I gave to her one
end of a long shimmering purple strip of sari cloth and delivered the
other end of the fabric to a standing woman who had already been up and
moving with the music for some time. I showed the sitting woman how
small movements with her hands holding the cloth translated into larger
waves in the undulating fabric. I assured her that she could pass the
cloth to her seated neighbor at any time she wanted but encouraged her
to play with it for a while. Then I began to play a waltz. Throughout
the room other people were moving with large red and white pieces of
fabric. A riotous scene unfolded before us as the seated woman
tentatively began her dance and then enthusiastically expanded it. It
was a gift to see her discovery unfold. Although we thanked each other
multiple times afterwards it wasn’t really until later in the evening
when I was responding to another dance that something clicked in my mind
and I remembered and felt once again the joy of those earlier moments of
spontaneous expression.
Later we discussed the dance and one of the core dancers told of her experience so different from that which she normally lives. She expressed her amazement and joy for the dance that had arisen and in whose creation she had participated. It was in that moment when I remembered the earlier dance of the seated woman and made a mental connection between the two dances which both brought new discoveries to light. Knowing that I had been there--it made me feel glad to be alive. Anthony Hyatt, AFTA Artist |
The
other dance was very different in character from the first. It was
marked by connection to deep stillness. It happened in the Wednesday
evening improvisation class. We started as a circle of eight people. We
were fresh and empty from our stretching and breathing activities. We
focused our awareness on our internal environment, our connection to the
earth, and in a gentle and unfocused way to each other. The dance was
born in silence. Some of us moved out into the space around a slow
almost unmoving core that coalesced around one dancer’s amazing inner
stillness. That stillness grew, enfolding the neighboring dancers into a
living embodiment of connection to an almost imperceptible rhythm; a
rhythm that exists but which is often hidden under the rush of life’s
motion in our modern world. Even as some of the other dancers found and
connected to a faster audible rhythm of footsteps on the floor and slaps
upon thighs, the central core of still dancers stayed with their focus.
(In fact they later reported that they had not even heard the other
rhythm which swirled for some time around them.) It was that focus which
remained and continued to develop after the surrounding more frenetic
dancers had slowed to stillness and shifted into the role of audience.
Meanwhile the center trio had found physical connection with one another
and through small and deliberate gestures their unified consciousness
found its voice in the movement of a hand and the subtle shifting of
weight. The world held its breath until we found a collective sigh of
appreciation for the moment.