Bellydance - the art of femininity?

For a while I have been trying to wrap my head around the issue of bellydance and femininity.

I know many teachers advertise their classes using this term. "Try this beautiful, feminine artform". "Discover your femininity". And it gets me wondering what this means. Or whether it means to me the same as it means to the teacher, or the women who see the ad. Or indeed the men - because to me, there is plenty of scope for dancers of all genders in our artform.

And then I start to wonder if bellydance *is* a feminine artform, and if so, how. And what does that even mean?

When I typed "feminine" into my usual stock photo source, it gave me this, which is kind of apt for where I'm going now....

When I was a little girl, my mum insisted I kept my hair cut in a fairly short bob style. She told me that while I needed her help to wash, dry and style it, I would have to have a style that made this easy for her.

I hated this and often begged my mum to let me grow my hair out. Because girls have long hair, obviously. I also recall refusing to wear trousers in case people thought I was a boy. Being a girl was an important part of my identity and how I perceived myself. While a child's gender might arguably be an unnecessary consideration for those around them (does it really make a difference if a child you glance at in the street is male or female?), it does often matter to the child. I wasn't really a pink and princessy type of girl, though I "understood" that these were the girl things that girls liked and I should probably aspire to because I was a girl. I knew my own gender identity and wanted to express this in the manner I had learned was appropriate.

I was about 10 when my mum finally relented and let me grow my hair. As I've grown up I've done all sorts of things with my hair. It's been everything from very long to pixie cropped, I've shaved bits off, put dreadlocks in it and dyed it all the colours. This isn't because my understanding of my gender has changed, it is because I have discovered that there are many ways to express femininity beyond the Disney princess stereotypes. Women, and indeed femininity in those who don't identify as women, are complex and multifaceted, there's a lot more to women than being doe-eyed and conventionally "pretty".

So back to dance.

I recall a dancer I know posting on her Facebook page to say that she was painting her nails bright pink and how she loved bellydance because it was a great excuse to "be girly". That's great if that's your bag. I know plenty of dancers who love the prettiness of the costumes, who are light, elegant, bubbly and dance with maybe just a touch of coy flirtation. It suits them, because that is how they connect with themselves as women. Personally manicure duty is my least favourite part of preparing to perform - although I appreciate the aesthetic of well groomed hands (not pink polish mind....)

I've often witnessed ATS and other group Tribal style performers refer to each other as sisters and present a rich earthy aesthetic while dancing in a powerful style with the joy of togetherness. Undoubtedly feminine, but totally different. While a "cabaret" style dancer usually caters to a commercially acceptable aesthetic, other styles often ignore or shun the male gaze, or media-endorsed ideas of beauty.

One of my favoutite  dance friends recently prepared for a performance saying "I'm not going to do fancy make up, I'm doing ugly today" while applying fierce warpaint. But her performance was beautiful and touching - it gave me goosebumps. In fact when I look around my circles of dancing friends, I see all kinds of people, expressing themselves beautifully in unique and diverse ways. It's wonderful, but it doesn't really help in my quest to find out what it is about bellydance that is feminine.

Is it wearing floaty chiffon skirts and rhinestones? Is it push up bras and layers of hipscarves? Is it being comfortable enough in your natural woman's body to shun convention and dance with unshaven underarms? Is it baring your soul in a tender and emotional dance? Or is it showing strength, pride or sass? Is it flirty? Is it, as Ava says "sexy by accident"? Or is it not at all because being a woman isn't about what men think of you? Is is smooth, soft, gooey hips? Is it elegant lines? Is it explosive locks and isolations?

I think it's probably any, all and anything else you can think of.

I don't believe the dance itself is inherently feminine. Dance is a route to self expression, each dancer gets to choose how they wish to express themselves. We tell our own stories. We can choose to present a character, who might be fun or liberating to play. Or we can be raw and authentic. And maybe the audience never really knows which is which.

I don't doubt for a minute that many women discover bellydance as a safe space to find and express their femininity. Whether that means dressing up, or learning to feel good moving their body. I came to dance after an acute illness that left me feeling broken and out of sync with my body. Bellydance is accessible to women of all ages, body shapes and sizes, and so many find self acceptance through the realisation that their bodies can do amazing and beautiful things. Women coming through traumatic life events often find their joy and learn to express it through dance. I've spoken to a few trans-women who have found bellydance helped them discover how to move in their female identity, and I am not sure whether that is purely an act of physical instruction, or whether dancing and being accepted in a community of women is the perfect confidence boost.

Learning about ourselves through dance is an ongoing process. I always feel immensely privileged to hold space for dancers who come to my class, for reasons they might not tell, dealing with issues I may never hear about, then slowly but surely bloom, as their true self begins to surface and shine.

If you are interested in exploring your own ideas of authentic self and what femininity means to you, do check out my Dancing with the Red Goddess immersion, taking place on the 6th August.

Reflecting on an intense year of dance.

So I've been a bit lax with this blog, and that's because I've just come to the end of an amazing chapter of dance.

I've had a phenomenal year which has involved multiple workshops, intensive instruction from Ashley Lopez and Ava Fleming, and the opportunity to participate in Alexis Southall's Tribal Fusion Education Programme.

I've really struggled to write this post and give everything the attention it deserves without going on too long, so I've reminded myself that most of these topics will get their own post in time. Now is a quick overview!

Working in a group

It's been a long while since I have worked consistently with the same bunch of people, as I have not been part of a troupe, or attended weekly classes for several years.

There is something really special about shared experience, knowing there are others working through the same material, preparing for the same goals. Being part of a collective can be restrictive in some ways, but it also gives you space to breathe and grow with the support of your peers.

Being back in a tight, shared dance space with lovely, talented dancers has been really refreshing. So much so that I decided to apply for this year's Juniper Project. And I was accepted, so I am really excited to have a group project, with a shared performance, on my training schedule for this year.

Diversity is amazing

One thing that really struck me was how different all of the dancers in the cohort were. We all came from different backgrounds and different influences, but everyone had something brilliant to offer and to be inspired by.

There's a lot of diversity in traditional Arabic dance as it is, but when you get fusion performers bringing in influences from other styles, along with their personality and aesthetic, the possibilities are endless.

One thing I have learned from bellydance is to see and appreciate something in everyone's dance, every individual has something worth watching. Working with the TFEP group I saw this phenomenon, but massively inflated. At the final showcase I was blown away with the high calibre of all the performances, though each one was vastly different from the next.

Seeing through others' eyes

Feedback is a super important part of improving your dance, but good feedback can be hard to come by. Much of the feedback I get for my dancing isn't true feedback, it's niceties, or its accurate, but not backed up with the information that helps me understand *exactly* what it is that made that feel that way, or what I have to do to improve.

With Alexis as a mentor I have had some really useful feedback, but in the course of our studio time we also got feedback from the other participants, and that was really useful too.

Another aspect that was fun, and revelatory, was the exercises where we got to evaluate each other's dance styles. I've been told before that my style is "distinctive" or "quirky" or all kinds of things, but I've never really understood what that meant until other dancers sat down, watched me then listed all the traits they saw that made my dance "me" (and I got to do the same in return). This brings me back to the last point, understanding how two dancers, dancing the same style, even taught by the same teacher, can be quite distinctive. It also helped me understand a very important point of artistic angst, the "what am I doing that everyone else isn't doing? Why would anyone want to watch *me*". Which brings me to my next point...

Self doubt is part of the process

I've talked to a lot of dancers this year, from international master teachers to dancers preparing their first solo, and I've come to realise that every one of them has moments of wondering why they are doing this to themselves, whether they can pull it off and whether it is worth it. This isn't just normal, it's vital if you want to keep your feet on the ground. Sometimes the answer is what you need to get you to put your big girl pantaloons on and get up there. Sometimes the answer is to sit this one out because it's not right, at this moment, and that's ok too, as long as it's authentic and honest.

Vulnerability is powerful

At Majma last year, I asked Ava how she managed to bring the raw emotion in her fusion pieces (like Too Close and Roxanne), which she explained always come from real, personal experiences, to the stage. How did she present her heart on her sleeve with such vulnerability? How does she get up there and take that risk?

Her answer: You just do it.

So at first that didn't seem all that helpful, but then I decided to take it as advice. At a friendly, local hafla, I took a track that touched me, but which I hadn't choreographed or rehearsed to the point where technique starts to erase the feels. And I just did it.

And no one laughed, or criticised the technical flaws, or threw things. In fact I got a lot of very good feedback. I didn't record it, because sometimes you don't need to sit there and cringe and dissect things, some things just have to live and die in the moment.

What I took away from that performance, was a little more confidence in allowing my dance to come from the heart. And every time I do that, it gets a little easier.

Don't be afraid to be a dancer

I've always had a certain amount of self conciousness about doing "dancey" things. There's bellydance moves, and that's fine because I'm a bellydancer, but some movements, gestures, delicate turns etc. Moves which have evolved from ballet or contemporary dance. They just feel a bit silly. Well they did, until I realised that what I had to do was just commit to them and remember that I am a dancer, so I better dance like one!

I realised through rehearsal, recording rehearsal, performing and recording performing, that sometimes I hold back, and actually I dance better without the audience, because I'm not afraid of looking daft. But of course the fear of looking daft, the holding back, that's what makes you look daft.

Or to make decisions

This seems like a small thing, but it's made a tremendous difference to my dance time. Alexis made us choreograph on a very tight time limit, and I learned to make snap decisions. To just put in something that is about 80% right to get that section choreographed and move on. You can always change it or embellish it later. Recent new work has shown that this just about halves my choreography time, giving me more time to actually perfect it.

A supportive mentor is priceless

Alexis has been great this year. I can't really explain quite why, but having a teacher who is genuinely invested in your progress makes a huge difference, even when they aren't doing anything. I suppose it's a bit like a doula, it's what they are as much as what they do, and knowing they are there makes all the difference. So I have to say a massive thank you to her, because she is fantastic.

The result

So I'm pretty proud to be able to present the video of my final performance at the Vernal Equinox showcase. It represents the culmination of a great year of growth in my dance. If you would like to see the work of some of my peers on the course, they are also available on the same channel.

Reflecting on the sword

Sword is one of my favourite props. It's not a particularly culturally authentic prop, which is to say that while some Middle Eastern and North African dances do involve swords (or in some of the updated versions, rifles) the way that bellydancers use the sword in the west is not recognisable within the frame of MENA dance.

However, it is a very popular prop, it's flash and impressive, balance feats involving swords have a frisson of danger about them and audiences love that. There is also the advantage, when not attempting to create an accurate representation of a cultural dance, that we have the freedom to play, experiment and express our art however we wish.

Some dancers use weapons to create martial arts based pieces, Morgana is a great example of a dancer who blends her martial arts background with dance on stage.

I have also heard people criticise dancers for not doing this, for not "wielding" the sword "correctly" in their dance for instance. I think this criticism comes from a lack of consideration of what the dancer is trying to say with their dance (or perhaps what the teacher they learned from was trying to say), and I wanted to write a little about how we use weapons in dance, not to represent violence, but to subvert it.

I have martial arts training. I fought competitive, full contact Tae Kwon Do and I've trained in Western swordplay. When I dance with a sword, I'm not a fighter, I am a dancer. I don't hold my sword like a weapon, firstly, because it's not balanced like one, it's balanced to sit on my head, but also because part of the purpose of my dance is to take the sword as a classic symbol of violence, death and brutality, and subvert it as something delicate, graceful, even sensual.

Tech rehearsal for Juno's show in 2009

I've heard reports more recently, mostly from dancers in the USA, that they are being asked not to dance with a sword when booked for a performance, the reason being that it might remind people of the atrocities committed by Dae'sh extremists in the Middle East.

It makes me intensely sad that anyone would connect a beautiful performance with such things and moreso to see another way that terrorism creeps into our everyday lives.

As a counter to this I would suggest that artistic expression, dance, music and particularly the freedom of women to openly participate in the same, are all anathema to these extremists' ideals. Perhaps we are reaching a point where a woman, dancing, in public and subverting the symbol of the scimitar is becoming an act of defiance and ridicule against the perpetrators of violence.

Pushing our limits and the problem with comfortable

A few things have happened recently which got me thinking about comfort zones and learning, potential and achievement.

- I took a workshop with Heather Stants, who teaches very contemporary influenced fusion, a style which I find challenging to the point that I had previously concluded it "wasn't for me".

- A new student told me that she struggled with footwork and stated that she was slow at learning it.

- A prospective student asked if she would be able to perform in future.

When I started bellydance, one of the reasons I chose this particular form was because I believed that I had two left feet. I thought I couldn't handle footwork and I thought that bellydance didn't involve footwork.

I was wrong on both these counts.

It's taken years, but the greatest obstacle has not been my physical capability to move one foot and then the next without tripping over, it has been the mental understanding that it is OK to not get it first time, or second time, or the 50th time...

Dancing in Heather's workshop, I was trying to get my head/body around a combination that was all arms and legs and totally outside my comfort zone. I found myself thinking "this is hard", "I'm not good at this sort of thing", "I'm not getting this".

Then I mentally slapped myself around the face with a wet fish and told myself to sort it out. What I was experiencing wasn't being unable to do something, it was being unable to do something YET, and we have all experienced that with absolutely everything we can now do and take for granted. Every dance step we know, walking, talking, breathing. Not being able to do something does not mean never being able to do it, and it is not a good enough reason to give up.

If it frightens you, do it - Amanda Palmer

Your comfort zone is not where the good stuff happens. If you are comfortable doing something then you already know how to do it, so you aren't learning, you aren't progressing, you aren't growing.

It's OK to be uncomfortable. We live in a privileged world with constant progress towards making our lives easier, more convenient, more comfortable, and I think that sometimes we forget what it means to fight for something, to suffer because we know the reward will be worthwhile. There is not instant gratification for an artist, you have to sweat through the process.

Don't be afraid to get uncomfortable, you are safe. It's OK to be frustrated, it's OK to feel like your brain is overloaded, its OK if your muscles are struggling, if you are out of breath. It's all part of the process, this is what really living feels like.

The vast majority of my beginning students tell me that they are no good with footwork. I'm not sure why this is the case, perhaps it is because so much of the raqs sharqui vocabulary is so alien to those from a Western background, that they have no preconceptions, or take it for granted that it will be a struggle, but the feet? They assume that you either have it or you don't.

I have seen students begin the term falling over their own feet, but in 6-10 weeks, their grapevine, step touch and rocking step is second nature. If you can nail any one of those, you can nail any other step pattern. It's just a question of doing it over and over, slowly until it gets into your body. It will always be hard to start with, it will be automatic by the time you are done. Just don't give up before you get there.

The answer to the potential student's question is yes. You will be able to perform in time, if you put the work in. It may well be a couple of years, and I know that is daunting. When I first started out, I remember reading somewhere on Bhuz that one can expect to be at beginner level for around 2 years. A beginner? For 2 whole years? That seems like a long time when you have been dancing for 2 whole months! Well, time has flown and the more I dance, the more like a beginner I feel, and that's a good thing because it is merely an indicator of the immense amount of amazing dance experiences there are out there for the taking.

I do push my students, I am fairly unapologetic about it too! I won't throw them in the deep end (although I might encourage them to try the water just so they know how it feels), and I won't ask them to do anything they don't have the technical foundation to attempt safely. But I'm definitely not going to let them come back week after week dancing the same old material without testing their boundaries and trying new things. It's my responsibility as a facilitator of their dance journey to give them opportunities to test their limits and grow to meet their personal potential.

Naturally, I have to set the example by trying new styles, techniques and concepts. And when the going gets tough, I'll grit my teeth and get stuck in.

Reflecting in the aftermath of Tribalgate

Those who are part of the global Tribal Fusion community, will be well aware of the enormous controversy and upheaval that has been happening in the last week, since the release of this statement, and subsequent responses.

I have been hanging back for a few days, digesting the information and giving those directly affected an opportunity to speak and be heard on the subject. I've never been a part of Tribal Fest (although I would have loved to attend at some point) and I think it is important to hold space and support those at the centre of the turmoil as things were coming to light. The noise to signal ratio in situations like this can become unworkable, especially in this age of social media where everyone has an opinion and a right to publish it.

That said, the whole situation has brought into the spotlight some really important issues and that is what I would like to write about today.

Our safe space.

The bellydance community is an amazing place for women. At its best it is a place where we are free from the pressures of the modern/media ideas of beauty, femininity, fashion or social mores.

It is no coincidence that the first session of my Red Goddess course focusses on Inanna and the shedding of societal expectations and masks in order to dance as our true selves. That's not something I can take credit for conceiving, it is a part of being an artist in the bellydance community.

Within our community, at haflas, festivals etc, we have the freedom to dress as we will, to express ourselves as we will, to be "unladylike" without judgement, to be in our own skin with confidence, to be sensual without inviting sexual objectification, to be primal without inviting disgust. There is so much power and importance in this.

As a teacher I count myself among the guardians of this safe space. Safeguarding the dancers who bestow me with their trust means so much more than keeping their personal details safe and the studio floor clear.

First and foremost it is about having respect for the individuals and their journey. The understanding that dance, for every committed participant, is life altering on some level and scale. It is my responsibility to keep the environment uplifting and positive and to exclude damaging elements. The safety of the bellydance bubble is part of its appeal and one of our community's greatest strengths. Because of this I stand by the teachers who have chosen to remove themselves from Tribal Fest, for the safety of their students and fans.

The male gaze in bellydance

Unless you are completely unfamiliar with bellydance, you will be aware that, contrary to popular myth, it is not a dance of titillation for men. Sure there are times when it is sexy, but as Ava Fleming put it, it is sexy "by accident".

Tribal fusion takes a step further back again, consciously distancing itself from the male gaze and focusing on an almost completely female centred model.

When I perform in public, I usually ignore the men and keep my focus and eye contact for the women and children in the audience, it's about sharing the joy of the dance. But when a performer chooses to dance in public, they understand that they are exposing themselves to the opinions and misunderstandings of that audience, it's something we are aware of and have ways to deal with.

When a dancer performs at a hafla or festival, for an audience of fellow dancers and dance community members, they shouldn't have those elements to worry about. It allows us to be free in our artistry, it also allows beginners to feel safe when they dance with their midriff uncovered for the first time, or tentatively demonstrate months of hard work to an audience for the first time.

There are men in our community, but, for the most part, they are respectful and understanding of the hard work we do and the privilege they have of bearing witness to our heart and soul on stage.

The male allies in our community

While the bellydance world is dominated and managed by women, there are men among us who are important to us and loved by us. Male dancers, teachers, photographers, musicians, DJs, webmasters, event organisers, husbands and boyfriends all have their part to play in our ecosystem.

As the Tribal Fest scandal has unfolded attention has, quite rightly, been focused on the female victims and maintaining the community as a safe space for women. I hesitate to bring this up, because very few feminist discussions are improved by a bout of "what about the men?", but I'm going to say this:

I've seen some amazing responses by male allies in our community over the last few days. Men with integrity and respect for the women they work alongside, coming forward horrified at the breach of trust that has been uncovered, reaffirming their support for the women affected and their commitment to the safety of the community. I am grateful for them.

I am sad that we will now find ourselves second guessing the motives of the men around us, and I am sad that these decent people will be subject to that, as a result of the disgusting behaviour or a couple of individuals.

Strength and conviction

I am so proud by the overwhelming show of strength from the dancers at the centre of this. Many bellydancers have strong convictions about their individual lifestyle and political issues. I might not always agree with every one, but it is good to be surrounded by strong women of substance.

When teachers and traders came out in support of the public statement, they were putting themselves on the line. They will lose income, they could have lost reputation and professional currency coming out against the biggest festival in the Tribal world, but they did what they felt was right.

It sends such an important message to step forward and state "we will not tolerate this".

Solidarity as dancers

In response to this message, for the most part a closing of ranks was witnessed. So many dancers came out in support of those affected.

Sometimes dancers refer to each other as "sisters", I'm not entirely into that for reasons that I might cover another time, but if you wanted to call it sisterhood, I would agree with the sentiment for now because I am finding it almost impossible to put together words that convey the immense power and solidarity I have seen in the past few days.

I have no doubt that our community will bounce back from this blow. We are strong, resourceful, united, and I am inclined to say unbreakable.

Tribal or technical? What forms the borders between bellydance styles?

A decade or so ago, when I was first taking note of the world of bellydance and its "politics" I heard of the Tribal/Cabaret divide. You see apparently there were "Cabaret" dancers ("traditional", oriental, raqs sharqui - many consider "Cabaret" to be an inappropriate or derogatory label), who were Barbie dolls in sequin 2 pieces who were bubbly and flirtatious; then there were the Tribal girls, who were goths in too much kuchi who were culturally inauthentic and weird.

Neither group seemed to like the other very much or have much respect for what they were doing.

Now, I am not sure whether this divide has diminished, whether it never really existed apart from in the minds of a few vociferous individuals online or if I am just surrounded by the most awesome community of dancers who are wonderful and supportive of each other; but the truth is, that I don't really encounter it so often anymore. Occasionally I come across the misconceptions and sadly it seems to be the newcomers and visitors to our world who are exposed to them.

A well respected dancer commented on a discussion a few months ago, about writing a piece comparing Oriental and ATS (American Tribal Style) to help beginners understand the differences. She listed some possible ideas for differences. Almost all were not very flattering to ATS and every one was over simplified, over generalised or just inaccurate.When  pointed this out, and suggested that there were differences between American Cabaret, Modern Egyptian and Turkish Oriental styles that were just as pronounced, she suggested I wrote my own piece. So here it is.

I suspect it will be controversial in places, I can live with that.

I'm not going to write a straight comparison that says one style is always this while the other is always that, because that would not do justice to the dances, the dancers, or you as readers. I am going to start though, with some of the misconceptions:

There is no musicality in ATS

Erm, nope. Slow ATS can be dripping with musicality and expression. Fast ATS steps tend to follow the beat rather than the melody, however, even I, as a very clumsy beginner in this style, can recognise that a good lead will choose steps that fit the music and there is real skill in having a group of dancers improvise in a way that really works with the music. It's one of those things which appears effortless when it is done right, but obviously jarring when it misses the mark.

Cabaret dancers don't learn precise technique

A dancer once said this to me, knowing that I have a background in Egyptian Oriental. It surprised me to the point that my only response was "erm, no....". It probably should have been "have you heard of Aziza?". I have spent as much time breaking down and drilling techniques, from the basics up, with Oriental style teachers as with Tribal Fusion teachers.

It is true that there are bellydance teachers who don't break down or correct technique, and expect their students to follow them and dance along. Some of these classes are fun and informal, some a poor value and unhealthy. Before the Tribal styles became popular, it stands to reason that these would have all been "cabaret" style classes. Times have moved on, classes like this exist in all styles now, it's the teachers, not the dance style. I don't teach like this because I feel it creates a ceiling, where the serious dancer will stop progressing and have to go right back to basics before they can reach a mid-improver to intermediate standard.

Tribal Fusion dancers only dance to Western music

They dance to any music they choose! That is the joy of fusion, could come from one origin, or the other, or both. There are many Tribal Fusion dancers who perform to Middle Eastern music (often in a folkloric style).

Raqs Sharqui is not modern or evolved

I'm going to leave this one to Rasha Nour...

ATS dancers don't engage the audience, are haughty or never smile.

None of these are absolute truths. Again, this is something you may see from individuals or groups, but it is not a universal rule for the style.

Check out all these happy faces:

There are immense technical differences that make it impossible to dance multiple styles well

The big one here is posture. Tribal dancers bend their knees deeply and hyperlift their chests in a posture that is very stylised and different from that of Oriental dancers. Tribal dancers also dance with flat feet while folkloric MENA dances are also flatfooted, but the stage versions are danced on the balls of the feet.

That last paragraph was not true.

Last summer I was lucky enough to take an ATS class with Kristine Adams - A teacher from the FCBD mother studio who is currently travelling the world like an ATS missionary, putting us all to rights. We spent a lot of time on posture. She pointed out that the stereotyped ultra high chest is not good form, and not part of the FCBD ATS canon. With the chest too high, you can't properly execute chest movements and it also leads to a swayback which is a whole pandora's box of not OK. Knees too, soft, not straight, not bent by default. As she broke down and corrected everyone's posture it became very clear to me that this posture was actually no different to good, safe, basic posture as taught by any good Raqs Sharqui teacher. Arm positions are different, and that gives a different look to the body, but the alignment of the pelvis and spine has to be healthy, in any style.

This is an issue close to my heart, because for years I have had Oriental teachers tell me that I am a "tribal dancer" (when in reality, I was an Oriental dancer first, and have much more training in that style). Several teacher wrote off issues with my posture as a result of me cross training with Tribal styles and adopting "Tribal posture". 

They were wrong. I realised during an extremely geeky practice session, where I spent around 2 hours examining my posture in various moves, that I had a problem keeping my pelvis neutral when my legs were straightish (i.e. soft knees). I had to bend my knees to drop my tail down. This is not a result of tribal training. I spent a lot of time stretching my hip flexors, my lower back, lying on the floor, standing up against the wall, engaging various muscles, and then I saw a physio. It turned out that my legs were slightly inwardly rotated, you can't see it, my knees weren't knocking, my legs looked fine, but the angle of my hip in the socket was preventing my pelvis from dropping into neutral. It's a combination of femoral torsion (bone confirmation, not correctable) and weak hip rotators (correctable, thanks Mme physio). 

I said it was geeky.

Anyhow, the outcome of this story is that I corrected my posture issue, well it's a work in progress, and I started looking more carefully at how my students were standing too, because it's very easy to get "lazy" and let your gluteus medius take over the job of the small hip rotators and mess up your pelvic alignment. The moral is that it's also very easy to "blame" your students' issues on something you don't understand.

So getting down to it, are there many differences in the fundamentals of Tribal Fusion and "Cabaret"? In my book, not so many. I would say there is a crossover of about 80%. There are major differences in stylisation, aesthetic, which moves are used more heavily than others etc, but when it comes down to how movements are executed, notsomuch. I know I'm not alone in this, because of the number of times I have seen an Oriental teacher suggest Rachel Brice's Tribal Fusion DVD as a good beginners' drill option.

So how do we explain the difference to our newbies?

It's difficult to condense the nuances of different bellydance styles into a short statement which is accurate, fair and accessible to the new dancer. Sometimes as teachers and ambassadors for bellydance, we have to do this and when we do, the most important thing is to be straightforward, and to try and put aside bias or personal agendas. I keep YouTube playlists with examples of different dance styles for my students to refer to, because a 4 minute video can communicate the essence of a dance far more clearly than any worded explanation.

It's also really important as a teacher to understand and admit to our limitations. If you haven't trained beyond beginner level in a style, you can't be expected to speak as an expert on it. As a secondary school teacher I have learned that there is very limited, negative even, educational value in bluffing your way through a question you can't really answer. There is a lot of educational value in saying:

"I'm sorry, that is beyond my field of expertise, but I am so glad to see you being inspired by this; why don't you find out more, then share it with us next time we meet - here is a good place to start"

The Jerry Springer moment...

The more I learn and understand about different styles, following the threads back to their origins, exploring the family tree of bellydance, dancing different styles and getting right down to the nitty gritty, the more I suspect that the divides in our community are not about technique. Perhaps they are not even stylistic or even about values or cultural interest. I think much of what divides us is tribal. Not Tribal bellydance tribal. The natural, deep seated need to belong to a strong, supportive community,  the natural competitive urge between tribes and exclusion of that which "does not belong".

I would love to see less examples of how different we are from each other, and more celebration of our common ground. We are a small community of people who are passionate about bellydance. We might have different aesthetics, different artistic ideas or priorities, but we have more in common than we often admit.

Dancing with fire

Fire props in bellydance

I am getting very excited right now, about teaching a workshop this weekend for bellydancers who are interested in fire props.

I love fire dancing, I actually began as a fire/circus skills performer before I really got into bellydance. I found fire poi first, after watching a friend perform. There is something magnetically hypnotic about the combination of sound, light and movement and I knew it was something I had to have a go at.

I started out, as any reasonable person would, with the non-firey kind. Sock poi, tail poi - that sort of thing. I practiced obsessively, studying books, videos and participating in forums. My internet was tuned into Home of Poi for months on end. I expanded my repertoire out into flags and meteors. I tried a bit of staff too, but that never really took for me.

My first fire poi were a standard rolled wick set, from which I graduated to cathedral heads and double heads. The cathedral poi are my favourite, they don't burn quite so long, but their flame is immense.

The old adage "If you play with fire, you'll get burnt" is absolutely true. It is impossible, in my experience, to train in firedance with the frequency and duration it takes to become accomplished without taking some damage along the way. Lighting up, hot metal fittings, even the most well-rehearsed tricks sometimes fail - but that's all part of the journey.

I once read a saying about dance "Don't practice until you get it right, practice until you can't get it wrong". That goes double for anything involving fire. Most of my fire performances are improvised, but I still don't perform any steps or tricks with fire that I haven't completely nailed in cold practice.

I began bellydance classes because I felt that I wanted to get more dance into my fire dance. For many performers, particularly of spinning acts like poi and staff, the focus of the performance is the prop, I wanted to bring out more of a dance element. Unexpectedly however, I found myself loving bellydance in it's pure form, and for a long time I didn't want to detract from my dance with a prop. It is very easy for a dance performance to become all about the prop, when dancing with something impressive like Isis wings or sword, set something on fire and that effect is magnified. I wanted to be absolutely sure I was not going to end up a "lazy" performer, relying on my props, so I didn't "cross the streams" between fire dance and bellydance for several years.

As I begin fusing fire and bellydance, I also took on new props. Bellydance with poi is entirely possible, but as the poi are a very "busy" prop, too much dance in there can make the performance confusing. You want to be able to flow around the performance area, make good lines, deep backbends etc, but nothing too complex. As I was also beginning to fuse some burlesque into my dance style, I decided to start working with fire fans, which are a lot more versatile in terms of energy and lines. I came to fire palms last. Fire palms are a versatile prop that can be used quite subtly and is easier to wield indoors and in smaller spaces.

I'm always keen to perform with fire, though at a professional level there are quite a lot of hurdles and red tape! Open air concerts and festivals are often willing; indoor shows are a bit trickier, as it requires permissions and insurance from the venue and many theatre and club venues won't allow candles, let alone paraffin-soaked kevlar!

Safety is a major issue with fire performance. My insurance stipulates a 2 metre marked clear zone, suitable extinguishing equipment and various preparation and packing up protocols. It's important to have these in place, regardless, at any performance no matter how informal, as these are the simple measures necessary to best ensure that not person or property is harmed by fault of the performer. Of course this isn't going to stop the occasional random numpty from walking into you (though hopefully your spotters will), but it does make it easier to prove that it was their fault, not yours if they sue you (and the insurance makes sure you can afford a lawyer to help with that).

But once you've cut through all that, you're left with music and movement and flames. The thrill of the intense spectacle of fire performance, whether I am watching or dancing, never goes away for me.

Become a top bellydance critic in 5 easy steps!

It was a happy coincidence last week, when shortly after writing the first installment of this pair, that I came across this article. It conveys an artist's frustration towards people who wish to offer constructive criticism in the wake of a performance. There are 2 types of post-performance feedback, only one is a reasonable choice.

The first is the criticism mentioned above. Don't go there. Even if you are the performer's official high critique officer, you need to let the dust settle. Don't kill the post performance high, or fuel the adrenaline fueled anxiety. I am usually rock steady before I perform, but I get nervous afterwards, dwelling on every perceived shortcoming. What I need at that point is someone to tell me I did OK, not a technical breakdown of the minutiae I need to work on!

The last, and only acceptable immediately post-performance feedback is brief, authentic and positive.

"I really enjoyed your dance tonight, your expression touched me". " I just wanted to say your performance was spectacular! Your choreography is really innovative"

All that said however, good, constructive feedback is a vital tool for any dancer who wants to get better. As teachers, mentors and peers we are often in the position to provide this, and help our fellow dancers strive for the next level. This is an enormous responsibility, so now lets look at a few things to help you along your way.

Metaphorical stock photo.

Are you sure you are the right person to do this?

OK, so the feedback police aren't going to cart you away, but to do justice to your fellow dancer's work, the first thing you need to do is decide whether this is the right route to be taking.

The first clue that you are in a good place to be giving critique, is that you have been asked. See, I said this was going to be easy! Critique has to be welcome, or you are wasting both your time. You don't always have to be asked, you can offer, and don't be downhearted if they decline, there's a lot of reasons why this might happen, few are personal. If, for instance, a dancer is working on the piece under the guidance of a particular teacher, seeking feedback from a third party mid-process can cause them to lose focus.

The next thing to consider is whether you have the technical/artistic understanding to give the kind of feedback in question. Do you understand the style well enough to know whether a move is executed with the appropriate nuances? If not, then perhaps focus on another angle that you feel you can comment upon with authority. Not sure if you can? Here is my acid test:

a) Can you see what they are doing right? 

If you can't find something to positively comment on the perhaps take a step back.

b) When you see that something is "wrong" or sub-optimal, can you clearly explain what they would need to do to improve or correct it? 

There is absolutely no point in calling attention to a problem if you cannot offer a solution.

That's in bold because it's important. It is absolutely crushing to be told something is not right but be given no hope of overcoming it. The perceived flaw becomes a part of the dancer's self-identity, a ball and chain that they feel they are stuck with, and then it becomes even harder to work through, even under proper guidance.

Consider your bearing towards the dancer, can you give fair critique? Do you have a vested interest in their progress? I have met teachers who teach for financial or egotistical reasons, and I have met those who teach because they genuinely want to help others get better. Those teachers, the ones who are not threatened by the "risk" of a student who might get better even than themselves, those who get a kick out of sharing their students' triumphs, are the ones I would book a private lesson with and gladly trust to take my dance apart and put it back together. 

The last point is one of etiquette. If you are in a dance class, and you are not the teacher, you are never the right person to give feedback. Apart from being really rude, you are likely to be disrupting the teacher's carefully considered plan for that student's progress.

If you aren't sure if you are the right person for the job, that's fine. It's better to take a step back and say so, than to thrash around in the dark. It is a really helpful and supportive thing to be able to say "you deserve more than I have to give".

Is this the right time?

A time and a place for everything. I said last week that processing critique is hard and today I've said that immediately after a performance is not the time to get the most out of it.

A dancer once advised me to wait a few weeks after a performance before watching it back on video. I don't always do this. Sometimes I film a performance or practice session specifically to look it over and make improvements in time for the next performance. I do agree though, that given a little breathing space, it becomes a lot easier to see the good and be proud of the result.

My favourite official critiquer will always approach me and ask if now is a good time to go over my latest offerings. It gives me a chance to make sure I am in a positive and receptive place.

Know what you are looking at

"The premise of post-modern dance was that it required a style of viewing very different from ballet or early modern dance - and every other dance genre also proposes its own way of seeing. If audiences are not meant to look for flying jumps and romantic agonies in 60s realism, they're also not intended to expect raw emotion or realistic drama in the ballet repertoire of the nineteenth century" Judith Mackrell - Reading Dance.

Just like Western dance forms, different styles of bellydance need to be viewed with a different eye. Elements that are desirable in one form might be inauthentic or inappropriate in another. So consider the style the dancer is aiming to convey.

Also consider the dancer's level. What are they working on? What have they asked you to look at?

Then there is the context. If you are looking at a dancer's first solo, then you can expect to see the product of nerves and anticipation, that is something that is likely to improve over time, through increased confidence which you can fortify with empowering feedback.

Specifically you might choose to focus on any or all of the following:

• Stage presence/audience interaction
• Technique
• Musicality
• Stylistic authenticity
• Choreography (in terms of the writing or interpretation)
• Costuming/presentation

The good stuff

As a school teacher, I was taught to write reports as a "praise sandwich". Begin on a good note, move on to points for improvement and leave them with something positive that motivates them to pick up your advice and get better. Even if your subject understands this concept, it still works.

It's really important to include positive points. For a start it lets the dancer know what works so they can do more of it, this is the first step towards developing their own style around their strengths. It's also just really important not to leave them thinking they sucked, because they didn't. Whatever they produced, it's theirs

Room for improvement

Last of all it is time to think about the elements that need work. This is a really important part of the critique, as it is where the most potential for growth lies, but it is also a treacherous rope bridge over a swamp of negativity.

Choose your areas of focus carefully. Often when I am teaching I look at a student and my brain comes up with a dozen small adjustments they could make to perfect their technique; but if I stood there and reeled them off they would at best be overwhelmed and at worst run sobbing from the class never to return!

Instead I prioritise. Top priority goes to anything that might actually damage their body - so creating and maintaining a good dance posture, especially in the low back, knees/ankles, neck and shoulders. After that I look for the elements that would make the biggest improvement with the least effort. I usually leave regular students with one or two things to work on, a private student with notebook in hand will get enough material to work on for a couple of month's practice.

Focus on the solutions, not the problems. Instead of "your arms look like spaghetti" go with "I'd like you to focus on keep energy in your arms, especially when they are in this position, try working with these drills and imagining you are projecting through this part of your hand..."

In closing

Critiquing other dancers is not just a skill for teachers, it's also a skill that will help you to use other people's performances to improve your own dance. Tactful and helpful feedback, and those who can give it, are an asset to the dance community, so go forth and spread the love, with permission of course.

May is EDS awareness month, so this seems like a time to write a bit of a post about dancing in a less-than-perfectly-functional body. I wrote a post a while back, originally for Yahoo Lifestyle, limited by their requirements, so I'm welcoming an opportunity to return to the topic from another perspective.

EDS is an inherited disorder that affects the soft tissue. I have Hypermobility Type which is a milder version characterised by extreme flexibility and therefore instability in the joints. There are various effects on the nervous system, digestion, skin etc, but the most noticeable effect is joint pain, frequent dislocations and fatigue.

While my previous focus was working around physical limitations, and staying healthy while dancing, today I want to focus on the psychological side. It is well understood that dance can do wonders for our psychological well being, from body confidence, to warding off depression and mental health issues.

Living with chronic pain or physical restrictions can be a war of attrition against your self esteem. It's very easy to become hung up on the things you can't do, or the times when your body can't meet your aspirations. Of course this can happen to anyone, regardless of their state of health,  but the more often it happens, the more frustrated you become and the more averse to trying again.

I grew up unable to consistently participate in sport, in a culture where athletic prowess was social currency. I spent my teenage years taking painkillers and throwing myself into endurance sports, where grit and determination would get me through. It made me tenacious, but it also left me with a lot of sprains and subluxations, because that's not what I'm made for.

Discovering dance was another matter. The great thing about Raqs Sharqui is that the movements, when executed with good technique and mindful alignment, are not damaging or extreme. The core stability afforded by regular training helps me to stabilise my joints, so this dance is physically good for me. There are some aspects I struggle with, you'll rarely see me use very deep level changes for instance, but I don't need to, the beauty in the dance doesn't come from increasingly challenging physical feats but through connection and expression with the music.

Learning to dance gave me an opportunity to feel good in my skin, which is an incredible blessing when your body feels like an inconvenience the rest of the time. As part of Dancing with the Red Goddess, I encourage dancers to do an exercise/meditation in body positivity, where they come up with a list of things their body can do. Dance is something my body can do, and I do it every day,  to keep strong and healthy, but also to remind myself that I can.

It restores the balance. I can't do some things most people can do, but I can do this one thing, with my body (besides the hilarious party tricks involving joints that move in entirely the wrong direction) that most people can't. There is satisfaction in that. It reminds me that differently able does not mean lesser.

There is enormous freedom and triumph in dancing despite the pain and fatigue.There is enormous therapeutic effect in finding artistic expression, strength and beauty through a medium that should be my most restrictive. Every movement is a poke in the eye for a condition that still makes it hard to move off the sofa some days. Dancing has taught me to care for my body better, because I need to be on my best form, because it is worth taking care of.

I have met some amazing people in the dance community. People who remind me why I need to keep dancing, people who keep it fun, and people who show me how to enrich my life through dance, even when I am not dancing.

I teach dance to all kinds of people, with all kinds of ability levels. I teach general classes, but also classes and workshops for pregnant, elderly or disabled dancers (including chair based dance). I do this because I truly believe that the benefits of dance, physical and psychological are something that everyone deserves to access.

Baby steps - Starting bellydance as a beginning dancer

What's it like being a beginner, stepping into your first Raqs Sharqui lesson? 

For me, as a teacher, this is something I try hard not to forget. It's easy to get wrapped up in your own dance place, the excitement and joy an experienced dancer feels when they get a chance to discover something new, or even just to dance again. I have to be aware that the new dancers crossing the threshold of the studio for their first class, may well be feeling something entirely different.

My first proper class was the climax of several years trying to find the right teacher, and several weeks waiting for a space to open up on her beginner course. When I started I fell for the dance hard and fast, it turned my world upside down, much for the better.

I'm not the only one, I often meet dancers who arrive at my class happy and relieved to have found a way to begin (or continue) their journey with bellydance. Some students are more nervous, and it can be a big deal to put yourself out there and try something new, but given the right support, they bloom in confidence and reap immense rewards from their involvement in class and dance community events.

Thinking of starting a bellydance class? Or new to class? Here is what I would like you to know.

You are welcome, and wanted in the studio

I keep saying this, because it's true: Bellydance is for EVERY body. You can be younger, older, slight or bigger, fit or a couch potato, tall or short, any ethnicity, any gender. You have a place here.

I often get calls or messages from people who would like to join the class, but are reluctant because they think they might be too old to try a new dance, or because they feel their body somehow inhibits them. This makes me so sad, for while I can try and reassure those who contact me, I know that they are the tip of the iceburg. Bellydance can be great for your body and great for your confidence. Come along, give it a go, you have little to lose and so much to gain. Many people like to come with a friend, and that's great, but if you arrive on your own you won't be lonely for long! We love sharing the dance with new people!

So what if you think you have 2 left feet! We can work around your limitations, psychological or physical! I am always interested in finding new ways to help different people access the dance I love.

There is a place for you in our community

Learning bellydance is fun! Most people who attend classes are not going to become professional performers or teachers, not because the field is cutthroat and competitive, but because most dancers who enjoy lessons get everything they need from it by attending lessons, workshops and community events.

I've written about this at length before, the bellydance world is diverse and everyone can find a niche here.

Nobody "gets it" first time

I love this skit by Galit Mersand. She is a technically brilliant dancer who I very much admire, and I recall the feeling of relief when I realised that she started out just as I did, with the flailing and the uncoordinated wobbly stuff! Everyone does, and that's just fine.

If you could do it already, you wouldn't be in the class and I know that many people who start bellydance have absolutely no previous dance experience, I didn't, and I don't expect it.

I still find myself struggling when I go to classes or workshops in other dance styles - or even just with a teacher I'm not so familiar with. It's all part of the the process.

It's hard 

Anything worthwhile is worth putting effort into. A good performer makes dance look effortless, but it's not. That's OK because the journey to getting there is  a rewarding and enjoyable experience.

There are some terrible misconceptions about Middle Eastern dance, and it's forgivable to not realise the complexity and skill that lies behind the artform, but please don't be daunted by that. There is so much richness in the learning and there is always more to learn.

You will get better

Some dancers take to new moves faster than others, but the truth is that everyone who regularly attends classes is going to get better. How fast you get better depends a little on your fitness and natural ability and a little on how hard you work at it, but it will happen, and when it does, it feels great.

It's OK to ask questions

If you aren't sure about something. Just ask. I'm immensely nerdy about all things bellydance, from tweaking your posture to recommending music to discussing the origins of the dance. This is one of the benefits of going to a class with a real-live teacher. My brains are yours for the picking.

Don't fear the feedback

This is another topic I would really like to get my teeth into properly in another post. I always give feedback in my classes, because that is one of the greatest benefits to taking a class in person. Feedback should be positive and might be corrective or just a heads up on something you are doing well. Without it, your progress would be much slower.

I know that some new dancers can get quite intimidated by direct feedback, and I understand that, I've completely lost track of what I was supposed to be doing while under scrutiny too! I do still give hints and adjustments to individuals as I move around the class, because I know that a single, precise correction can make an immense difference to your dance in an instant. Most of the feedback I give is universal though, I tend to give points to focus on for the class as a whole, so listen out for them and check in with yourself. It's a good skill to be able to assess your technique, so when I call out "watch out for...." I'm teaching you to correct yourself.

Give me feedback too

What did you like about class? What made it easier for you? What didn't you like so much? What would you like to see in future?

When I was training as a schoolteacher I was taught to consistently evaluate my teaching in order to constantly improve. That can be trickier with dance classes as adults tend to be less blunt about the parts that don't work for them! So if there is something that didn't work for you, or something that really did, let me know, because I'm always learning too!

Drop me a message via my Facebook page or email, and I promise I will keep working at it!

Evolution of a dance workshop student.

Beginning bellydance

My first "proper" bellydance lesson was a workshop.

This is quite unusual, most student dancers find a teacher first, then learn the basics in class for a few terms before they venture out into the world of workshops and dance events. It turned out however that the local teacher I wanted to learn with was nearing the end of a term, and taught her beginners in a 10 week course. I would have to wait until the next term, so in the meantime, I tried out some moves with a good beginner DVD, then went to a fundamentals workshop with Yasmin Asar.

I was a fair bit out of my depth, but it was the perfect workshop for me at the time, being technically based it gave me a better understanding of the basic moves, because while DVDs have their place, the best way to learn will always be in a class with a real life teacher.

It was only a couple of weeks after that, when I was finally able to enroll in a regular class, and my journey in dance could begin in earnest.

Attending workshops as a baby dancer

I'd been attending classes, and doggedly practicing inbetween, for about 3 months when I got to go to my first dance festival. Gothla was a gentle introduction to dance events, because I had friends who would be there, and because the booking system allowed me to book in for just a few workshops. I booked in for more when I got there too!

I practiced extra hard in the weeks before, because the prospect of dancing for 10 or more hours over a weekend was far more extreme than I had ever attempted, I wanted to make sure I didn't flake out and waste my opportunity.

My workshop choices were fairly random. Some technical, some presentation based, some choreography, some arty. I did the stuff that sounded coolest. I booked for fun.

I kept this pattern up over my next few festivals, Celebrating Dance, my first Majma - I tried out new styles, so that I could decide which folkloric dances I liked best. I trained with teachers I liked, I took workshops with titles that sounded good. I learned a lot, sometimes I learned that I should probably have chosen something else, but that's all part of the process. I was getting out and feeling like a dancer, wearing out dance shoes and making friends.

This decimated dance paw is Emma Pyke's fault.

The bellydance upstart

Then came the phase where I decided I wanted to "get good" at bellydance. To do that, I needed to be challenged. So I became quite discerning at choosing workshops that were aimed at dancers above beginner level (many workshops are "open level" which means they are attainable for newer dancers, but usually have benefits for more experienced dancers as well).

I also started looking at skills I particularly wanted to develop, prop refinement, finger cymbals etc, but I rarely took a workshop just to have a go at something new. I was narrowing my focus with the aim of improving my performance skills, rather than simply having a dance. I also stopped doing choreography workshops so much.

The purist.

I went through a year when I decided I was going to work on my improvisation to live music. In that time I only took workshops on musicality, improvisation or dancing to live bands; with the only exceptions being when I was hosting a guest teacher for a workshop in Glastonbury.

This wasn't just a workshop thing, I had a choreography ban and worked on, and performed, only improvised dances. It was a good break, I learned a lot and developed skills that serve me well as an entertainer.

It was also during this time that I became a notebook devotee. For years I had watched other dancers take notes in workshops and convinced myself that I didn't need to, what I needed to take away was in my body. Now I take loads of notes, immediately after class so I get to participate in all the dancing, but get down all the information while it is still fresh. I use my notes a lot in my personal practice, it means I can take material away from a workshop to keep working on it, thoroughly. I take notes on DVDs too. It's easier to refer back to my notebook than to dig out the DVD to find one small section; if I rent a class from RaqsTV, then it means that I have the information, long after my rental expires.

Back to basics

Now I have almost come full circle. I'm going back to the open level classes, looking at basics, because I know that really working hard on the minutiae in my basic technique can have an enormous knock on effect on my dance as a whole. I'm also going back to those arty workshops and looking harder at expression, musicality and storytelling. All those things are accessible to beginners, but as an experienced dancer, they are still fresh and vital performance skills.

Very recently I have started learning other dancer's choreography again. After a long stretch of concentrating on technique, creating my own choreography and improvisation, I feel ready to learn from choreography again. It helps me break out of my habits and forces me to dance  in ways I might not have thought of, or might find more challenging. In a way I am broadening my horizons again, but instead of learning a load of dances just for fun, I am finding elements in those dances to bring back to my, now firmly established, personal dance base.

The last thing I have noticed as my dance experience has grown, is that a 2 hour workshop is never enough. I am far more interested now in dancing in longer workshops, or intensives. At this year's Majma I deliberately booked all my sessions with the same teacher - 3 of the workshops were a series anyhow. I want to really get down to the nitty gritty of things, and that takes long, intensive study. I'm really pleased to have some fabulous intensives coming up this year. 

I wonder what the next phase of my dance learning will look like.

Sneaky fusion - The subtle influences that bleed into our dance.

I've been thinking a lot about fusion lately.

There is a whole spectrum of thought in the bellydance community about fusing Middle Eastern dance, both on a technical and artistic level. While some dancers believe that the dances should remain "unpolluted" for reasons of preservation or appropriation, others are more willing to mix it up. But this isn't the place for that debate, I haven't got long enough to even cover the tip of that iceberg today!!

Usually fusion, well, good fusion, means a dancer who has a solid training and understanding of 2 or more dance forms, blends them together into a performance that uses elements of both, where the origins are clear. Hopefully this is done tastefully and sympathetically, but not always, which is why people sometimes get twitchy about it.

Some kinds of fusion, like Tribal Fusion, have gained a life of their own and are now taught independently of the parent styles.

But that's still not what I want to talk about today. What I have been thinking about lately is incidental fusion. Where movement, posture, gesture, bearing or stylisation bleeds into bellydance, without really being acknowledged, maybe not even by the dancer herself.

This is a metaphor. A delicious metaphor.

Whether we like it or not, "bellydance" has been subject to fusion from the outset. Many of the "folkloric" styles taught for performance have been tweaked for that purpose generations ago and are no longer strictly authentic. Most infamously Mahmoud Reda took dances from all over Egypt and adapted them for stage and screen. He was heavily influenced by Western musical theatre and film. He even created new dances for regions that did not have a suitable local dance.

Tahia Carioca took her stage name from the Brazillian dance steps she incorporated into her shows.

Samia Gamal notoriously took ballet training which is evident in her arm carriage and graceful movement. I have never studied ballet, but I know that it has an influence on my Oriental style because Gamal's performances, along with several other ballet-influenced Oriental dancers, are inspirational to me.

Cross training in dance styles is not new in Raqs Sharqui, and allowing an "accent" to show through from this training has, in some cases, become important in a dancer's uniqueness.

I recently did a workshop with Ava Fleming entitled "Ballroom for Bellydancers" where I learned that her trademark fluid travelling technique has a strong Latin ballroom influence. 

I also noticed during these workshops, that when I walk slowly in dance, I trail my back toe, partly for balance, partly for ooze. It took me a while to realise that I learned this habit taking Argentinian Tango lessons.

Then more recently I have been working on a short choreography by Collena Shakti. There's no Arabic element in this dance at all, but I chose it specifically because I wanted to cross train in terms of arm pathways, hand awareness (crucial in the Classical Indian elements of this dance) and eyeline. The impact this has had on my Raqs Sharqui was immediate and unconscious. Which was the point. I can drill bellydance arms (and ballet arms, thanks Aziza) forever, but getting out of my comfort zone and learning something new heightened my awareness and forced the learning curve.

While teaching this choreography, Collena explains the influences. The Persian in there is very subtle, it's about posture and bodylines. I wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't mentioned it, but it makes an impact on the presentation that is unmistakable.

In short, the more you delve into it, the more apparent it is that there is more fusion in our dance than we might at first assume.

This got me thinking about how easily our dancing can be influenced. I've written before about how witnessing dance without learning or practicing it can affect our brains and our muscle memory. I wondered how many of the hundreds of performances of various dance styles I have witnessed have left a subtle impression somewhere on my dance. A little gesture here, a subtle element of musicality there.

And it isn't just dancing either. I know that I use poses, gestures, expressions etc from a variety of sources, images and non-dance performance when I create a new piece; every day all of us are exposed to a myriad of sources of inspiration, that are all adding their tiny flavour somewhere. Maybe it will come out, maybe it won't.

I try to be mindful of inauthentic elements creeping into my performance. If they are there I want to know they are there and why. But I also find it fascinating how each of us is building our unique dance fingerprint; created and continuously adjusted by how we practice and what we witness every day.

Destroying the art

A couple of months ago my attention was drawn to this interview with Sergei Polunin. In it he talks about how it was necessary to destroy, or "delete" everything he had previously worked for, in order to start afresh and remain creative.

Often artists create work that is intended to be destroyed, ice and snow sculptures, drawings in the sand waiting for the tide, installations designed to be taken over by nature and crumble into the earth. While some art is curated by people devoted to its long term preservation, other art is made through its destruction, it's impermanence being a key part of its beauty.

Performance, such as dance, often belongs in the moment. Although it may be immortalised in images or video, people often say that the energy of a dance is lost, and it's never quite as good when viewed on film.

When I perform, I usually try to capture it on video, primarily so that I can reflect upon it later and understand better how to improve for my future performances. Sometimes that doesn't happen, through logistics, forgotten cameras, technical failures or "no film" rules at particular shows.

Often that disappoints me, especially if it was an improvised performance as it really does feel lost forever. An enormous amount of work goes into a 4 minute performance (let alone a longer one) and when that is over, with nothing tangible to show for it, it can feel like an anticlimax.

Sometimes though, there is a sense of "rightness" in that. The performance stays in the moment, in the memories of a few witnesses - and never mine, because I can never recall my experience of a performance, I go into my dance-mind and effectively black out!

It also means that I can move on. I can cast aside that performance and look forward to the next. No judgement, no hangover, and with that comes an enormous rush of creative freedom.

For me bellydance is about transformation. Almost every dancer I have met came to the dance during, or in anticipation of, a period of intense transformation. This is why I created Dancing with the Red Goddess, as a way to acknowledge the personal transformative experience that often comes with the dance.

I also note that within my own dance career I have undergone a series of intense metamorphoses, and these, like all initiatory experiences, necessitate a letting go, or destruction of the previous ways and paths not taken. A system with continuous growth is unsustainable, creativity can only exist when in harmony with destruction. Or, "you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs".