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 Choreographing
from the Inside Out
By Cathy Roe
A new way of thinking about competition choreography
I can imagine what you’re thinking: “Choreographing from the
inside out?
What the heck is that?” It may be easier to think about what
it isn’t.
The effect of what it isn’t is plowing its way through dance
competitions all over this country. It is leaving our young
dancers with a microcosmic impression of what dance is about.
Instead of reflecting an innovative art form, the dances
created for competitions have become, for the most part,
cookie-cutter and predictable. I can understand why, and I
empathize.
About 10 years ago, a teacher I met backstage at a competition
summed it up. She said, “I don’t choreograph like this for my
recitals; it’s just not me. But this is what wins, and I don’t
want my students going home without trophies. And if I don’t
have trophies in my lobby, parents won’t bring their kids to
me. Who wants their kids taking classes from someone who isn’t
a winner?”
The trophies in the lobby had a profound effect on this
teacher’s livelihood. And that is true for many of us.
Therefore, “what wins” becomes the standard. But
unfortunately, choreographing to that standard means that all
the dances start to look alike. On stage after competition
stage, we see the same dance moves, the same songs, the same
costumes, the same content—just set on different dancers.
Changing the status quo is risky. But no risk means no
innovation; no innovation means no change; and no change means
no visionaries. How can the art of dance ever move
forward without visionaries? Dance needs visionaries. They are
precious, necessary pathfinders who carve a path for the soul.
Trophies are a dime a dozen, and here’s the real truth about
them: They have little to do with tricks.
The truth about trophies
I have watched more than 12,000 dances in the last four years
at my competitions. And I can tell you what wins trophies.
Here is what the judges really base their scores on.
•
Technique. There is no substitute for technique. Having
good technique means taking class (especially ballet), and
lots of it. If dancers want higher scores, it is technique
that is the number-one trump card.
•
Precision. That means rehearsal, hours and hours of rehearsal.
Clean is the name of the game. Soloists need clean body
shapes, line, and focus. Groups need even more rehearsal for
added cleanliness in their staging.
•
Stage presence. Stage presence is about communication, about
being alive and expressive and transporting the viewer
vicariously into the realm of the dancer. And here we see the
intoxicating characteristic of confidence. And get this: It is
technique and rehearsal that create the combustion that fuels
confidence.
So why are tricks winning trophies? Because there are hardly
any dances without tricks for judges to choose from! And the
dancers with the best technique, stage presence, and precision
also happen to be doing tricks. But it is their technique
that allows them to win the platinum. If they left out the
tricks, they would still win the platinum—and they would
receive more enthusiasm and appreciation from the judges. And
the choreography would stand on its own.
Throw away that checklist
To choreograph from the inside out, you must throw away your
checklist. You know the one. It reads like this: “Fouetté
turns, turns in second, illusions, switch leaps, etc.” All
those tricks you think your dancers must do to win. But art
doesn’t have compulsory movement, like gymnastics or skating
do. That is why those are sports and dance is art.
Art has no checklist.
Dance what you know
Every successful author knows the first rule of literature:
Write what you know. And choreographers will find that their
vision unfolds when they apply that rule to dance, because
then their work will be authentic. For instance, I know about
Cat Stevens. I grew up with his melodies seeping into my body,
with the philosophy of his lyrics forming my thoughts, with
his optimism shaping the vision of my teenage world. His
music, poetry, and ideas live deep in my psyche. So to
choreograph a Cat Stevens suite is to manifest through
movement something that I unravel from deep within.
I also know firsthand that moving to a fabulous song (even one
I have never heard before) is so elating and fun that my
enthusiasm can’t be contained. I know about turning and
jumping and kicking and exploding and collapsing, all riding
on that wave. It doesn’t need a storyline. I know how it
feels, and I ride that wave and can take the audience and
dancers along for the ride.
I know how it feels to have my mentor, Earnest Morgan, die
from AIDS and have him ask me to keep his memory alive through
my dances. I know the essence of his life, his sense of humor,
the way he wants to be remembered in celebration and love.
This is the epitome of choreographing from the inside out,
because when it happens, I can feel every movement, every
gesture, every nuance. And I know it comes from a private
place that only I fully understand.
Choreographing out of your own experience and imagination is
like jumping off a cliff and not knowing what is at the
bottom. It means not using movement you’ve seen before. It
means inventing and experimenting and just letting it rip.
What comes out of you will probably surprise, delight, amuse,
and inspire you beyond description. Because when you create,
you become an artist.
Let your dancers dance about what they know
In a basic psychology class we learn that there are stages of
growth in a child’s development that are indicative of
chronological age. Children discover the world, understand
life, and learn to separate fantasy from reality in a
sequential growth pattern. Knowing this, wouldn’t you think we
would support the idea of letting children remain children for
as long as possible, of letting them develop a wholesome,
healthy, optimistic view of life? We have all heard the
statistics on teen drug use, pregnancy, and suicide—so why on
earth do we allow our children to dance to “Don’t Cha [Wish
Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me],” “Me and a Gun,” or
“Concrete Angel”? Of course kids are exposed to these ideas,
since they blast from the media everywhere. But as life
mentors as well as dance teachers, maybe we can offer them
alternative ways of thinking (and seeing the world), at least
for the few hours we have them in rehearsal.
Moving forward
Some people argue (believe me, I have received hundreds emails
about it) that competitions are about the kids and their
skills, not the choreographers. True, they are about the kids.
But here is what is really happening for the kids: They grow
up thinking that competition dance is the only kind of dance.
They go off to auditions or colleges and are stunned at what
is expected of them. The real dance world and its
expansive content are so much more anomalous, so much richer,
so much more artistic, so different than the world of
competitions. And the myopic view of what is “win-worthy
dance,” of what is valuable and successful, is a far cry from
the artistic demands of a professional career.
The world is going to change. It is the nature of life that
things change, morph, transition. We, the teachers, are the
ones who instigate those changes. We are the leaders, the
pathfinders. Sure, it is a risk to dump your version of
“Carwash” and choreograph a piece that might make your
students look at you like you have two heads. But tell them
about the morph; include them in the crusade. Explain to them
that fascinating ideas come to life for those who dare to be
different. Then when you take the leap, you take it with the
future artists who will emulate you throughout their lives,
who will thank you for not telling them what to think,
but how to think. And it won’t stop at dance.
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