As I perused the TDM website at the beginning of last week and discovered that we’d be studying dance, I prepared myself for an exciting academic journey. I felt as though I was a traveler entering into uncharted territory. As someone who identifies largely and primarily as a musician and theater artist, the realm of “dance” has always seemed entirely foreign to me. My experiences with formal training in dance are minimal - a little musical theater here, a children’s ballet class there. However, as class progressed and we began to discuss the history of dance, I began to realize that, perhaps, I was not as far removed from this art as I had thought.
The first realization came as I delved into the week’s readings. Overall, I gained a broad history of the various aspects of dance. I found the discussion regarding gender representation in dance incredibly striking. As a 20-year-old female in American society, I’ve become quite familiar with the detrimental effects of the patriarchal society on the female image. However, I’d never considered how the social norms and stereotypes created by the patriarchy come into play when interacting with an artform as body-centric as dance.
This surprise and interest bled into our class discussion when someone asked, “Why do little girls all learn ballet?” At that moment, I was thrown back into a memory full of pink tutus and tiny ballet slippers - I suddenly recalled that I, too, had been subject to a beginning girls’ ballet class as a child. Throughout our conversation last Tuesday, I realized that ballet epitomizes femininity not only in its expectations regarding technique and style, but also regarding body image: the female dancer is lanky, elegant, delicate, and flawless.
Another epiphany occurred during Veronique Doisneau’s performance as she discussed the feeling - her hatred, specifically - of becoming a human tableau, and serving as a set piece. This sentiment can apply to anyone. For example, although I have never performed in a ballet, as a violinist and past member of several orchestras, I understand. I’ve always dreaded moments in orchestral pieces, for instance, in which the violin section plays a single note, held, for extended periods of time. Of course, as a contributing member of the orchestra, I serve the overall purpose of the piece and help to create the atmosphere. However, as an individual, I feel useless, powerless. I felt this deeply in Doisneau’s performance.
I’ll never be a dancer, and I’ve never had any interest in becoming one. However, I learned from the readings, the class, the performance, and our fascinating conversations that there is much to be gained from studying dance. The arts are all connected. Each art form serves to convey an aspect of human life that all people experience. Each art from serves as expression. And each comes with its own problematic elements, as well.
Hi Julia,
It's so interesting that when I asked you to describe a "dance" that happens either in Batsheva or in Veronique Doisneau, you don't really engage with the moment to moment physical movement. Instead, you use the performance as a memory prompt, to put together the ways in which you became "gendered" and also taught to properly participate in the collective to support a solo. Of course all dance isn't constructed in this manner -- just like all theater isn't either. But dance, as well as theater, has been organized so that everyone understands the hierarchy -- and the limits of one's place in that hierarchy. What you point to in this is the way in which Jerôme…