THE HIGHER ED VOICE

It's Dance – But Is It Choreography?

By Tom Ralabate

 Mentoring the student choreographer

“I never in my life set my feet on a stage without thinking of its magic and my destiny.”

Ruth St. Denis wrote these words in The Art of Making Dances, and I connect to their power. As an artist and educator, I view the stage as a magical place that ripples movement across a specific landscape, allowing a journey to another place in time for both dancer and audience. And I view the dance studio as sacred ground, a working laboratory in which the seeds of this magical journey are planted. Teachers are responsible for conveying to their students that the studio is a glorious and miraculous place where skills are developed, where creative dialogue and movement can be explored. Here, we have the potential to create a work of art through the process and labors of choreography.

In my work as an adjudicator for dance competitions, I hear many young teens express an interest in choreography. These young studio choreographers can find opportunities to showcase their work in recital concerts, school activities, or competitive venues. At this level, students assimilate much of the craft through their own performance experiences and their work with teachers and choreographers.

In our dance-boom culture and the age of “reality” TV, young people experience dance in a variety of ways, from the elegance and traditionalism of ballroom dance to the energized expression of hip-hop movement as seen in music videos and films. Concert dance is presented on many arts and cable networks, and dance competitions offer a mixture of dance genres. In general, exposure to Broadway-style dance and concert dance plays a less significant part in the dance experience of today’s youth. Students are inspired by what they see on TV and at competitions, and they return to their studios to attempt to incorporate the latest trend or fl ash/trick movements into their dances. But can we, or should we, call this exchange choreography?

Concert dance vs. competitive dance

Unlike choreography for concert dance, which employs a broad-range approach to the development of a work, choreography for the competitive arena has evolved into a specific set of criteria that is needed in order to take home the prize. Stylized and innovative dance skills, combined with gymnastic dynamics, set the pace. Competitive dance has definitely raised the bar in terms of technical skills. However, in composing dances for these competitive performance arenas, could we possibly be distracted from the essential idea of what dance is? When inspiration comes from seeing a specialized skill performed in a reality show or dance competition, are we redefining and reinventing movement or merely copying it? What choreographic discoveries are teachers and students making in their laboratories?

I view choreography as a personal experience in the creation of art. Teaching choreography involves opening an expressive dialogue between instructor and student that encompasses an understanding of the craft of choreography and allows for a creative miracle. This process may begin with an inspired idea, a piece of music, or a unique movement phrase, but it must be further articulated by examining many possibilities and making choices that lead to the realization of a concept. Many of those who teach and choreograph, in both higher education and the private sector, would agree that one does not learn how to choreograph by reading about it or by viewing dance; one learns by experiencing and doing it, and by being around people who do it well. There is no single formula or method. A piece that is void of intent, motivation, and process, one that is dictated only by a run-on sentence of steps reflecting the latest dance trends, weakens the art of dance and choreography. But how does one discover that intent and process? Before embarking on a choreographic endeavor, consider these questions:

• What is the purpose of the dance?

• What do I want to say?

• In which specific arena will the dance be performed?

• What chances would I like to take with the work?

• What first impression do I want to convey?

• What does the body of the work say?

• What is the last impression of the work?

• Have I noted the compositional problems?

• Where did I take shortcuts?

• Have I created a run-on sentence of steps/movements?

• Do I understand the limitations and strengths of the dancer(s)?

• Is the dance too long? Have I gone beyond what I intended to say?

• Have I remained committed to my ideas?

• Have I examined all the choreographic possibilities?

Higher-education approach

In higher-education environments, young choreographers receive both academic and emotional support. Courses include both theory and practice, requiring students to read extensively about choreography and employ the principles of dance composition in practical experimentation. This educational component augments the students’ experience by allowing them to apply what is known (the principles) to the unknown (the process of experimentation). “Book choreography” exposes students to many principles, formulas, and elements for consideration—the dancers, music, movement approach, themes, design, stage area, and theatrical elements. Teachers augment the book learning by asking questions such as: “Have you considered level? How about shading? What about the dynamics? Do you want that negative space? Where are the high points?” These tips are not axioms; in fact, they can even inhibit a creative flow.

Teachers search not only for talent but also for risk takers who dare to break the book-learned rules; sometimes rules need to be broken in the quest for creativity. However, we must consider whether merely breaking rules can result in creativity. This is both the dilemma and challenge for educators—no two of whom will teach a choreography class the same way—in the academic setting, which provides a unique situation for making dances. In this setting the student choreographer is able to concentrate purely on the choreographic process, without having to worry about professional or commercial risks or even winning a trophy.

Mentoring and coaching

University educators have the opportunity, through a carefully designed curriculum, to be teachers (facilitators of knowledge), mentors (confidants/ friends), and coaches (assessors of movement). In a sense, mentoring and coaching are teaching, and vice versa. Good dance teachers impart knowledge, share experiences, assess movement, and give guidance like a trusted counselor.

In turn, choreographers need to articulate their ideas and develop trust with their dancers. Both educated guidance and trust are demanded in a mentoring and coaching situation. Mentors must not impose their own artistic judgment, rules stated in books, or opinions expressed by established choreographers on a student’s work. Nor should they condemn movement choices and offer their own ideas as replacements. Instead, they need to be open to what the student is trying to express, sense, and feel. Ultimately, these inner sensations will come to fruition in the outside world, where the dance will come to life. Mentors should be trusted guides of the students’ expression, like parents who guide their children from guttural sounds to words to sentences.

One such mentor is assistant professor Melanie Aceto, who teaches dance composition at University of Buffalo (UB). She tells her students that “choreography is hard work” and views her role as a mentor as one of partnership. “I give suggestions and offer options to their own creative discoveries. I want them to stay true to their original concept, finding appropriate movement vocabulary to realize their ideas,” she says.

At UB, dance majors who excel in composition class and show promise with creative assignments can participate in the Young Choreographers Showcase (YCS). Faculty mentors guide the students as they audition dancers, select a cast, and present their work in a concert setting. The student choreographers are required to submit a written abstract, keep a journal, meet with their mentors to discuss their ideas and concepts, and allow periodic visits by the faculty mentor to view the work in progress. This guided approach works equally well in both academic and private settings. YCS’s founder, clinical professor Tressa Gorman Crehan, feels that her role as a mentor is “to guide students through the mysteries of choreography.” She encourages young choreographers to find their own answers through her suggestions, reminding them that “there are no absolutes” and counseling them to “weigh all considerations and make it your own choice.”

Students expect guidance, trust, and objectivity from their teachers. Richard Ashworth, a dance major at UB, says, “A mentor to me is someone who can act as a third party and remain objective during the whole creative process. I would expect my mentor to use his/her experience, observations, and objective view to steer me toward a direction where I could better make my own decisions.”

Heather Acomb, a dance minor at SUNY Geneseo, expects a certain level of understanding from her mentor, with guidance through the process since she will be taking risks. Another SUNY Geneseo student, Caitlin Buschner, also looks for objectivity. “Through the process, an identity to my work takes shape as an objective perspective from my mentor leads me to stay connected to my original idea or take an appropriate shift in direction.”

An exciting world of creative discoveries awaits young choreographers. The right mentor can give them a pathway to knowledge along with the artistic support that will allow them to give shape and form to movement. In turn, the mentors often find themselves refreshed by the passion of youth. But what happens when, after reading, experimenting and making choices, spending time with a mentor, and receiving positive reinforcement, choreographers still do not find the solution to a creative problem? My advice for breaking through a creative block is to find the answers in silence by listening to the call of one’s heart. Silence can open the mind and spark intuitive feelings that, in turn, can lead to a creative miracle.

In order for choreographers to be innovative and develop new directions in choreography, they must embrace the history and tradition of choreography. I encourage teachers to schedule viewings of recorded dance classics for students. The experience of absorbing these treasures will inform the young choreographers of the 21st century. This expanded approach and perception of all that movement can be allows us to engage in an ongoing healthy debate about the state of choreography.