How long does it take to dance for 30 minutes?

I've found there's a real art to getting myself ready to go out and perform. Whether it is a hafla or a wedding reception, putting on a performance can be quite a palava!

Preparing the dance for a performance is a process in itself, from conception, to banging my head against the wall to meticulous rehearsal. But preparing to perform is about a whole load more than having the choreography polished.

Sometimes a potential client will ask me to perform at a reduced rate and only perform a single set, instead of two, or for 10 minutes rather than 20. In reality I can't offer much discount for this, because the part that people actually see is only the tip of the iceberg. Being performance ready involves continuous commitment (like drilling, conditioning and developing material) and a solid investment of time beforehand, specific to that gig.

As a professional performer I do believe it is necessary to have the ability to drop everything and dance at short notice. I always have costumes on the hanger, generic sets compiled and regularly rehearsed etc, so that if I get a last minute booking, or another dancer calls and asks me to cover for her, I can roll up with a few hours notice and put on a fabulous show. But from my own perspective, I know that I do my best work when I have had the opportunity to tailor my performance to the client, venue and audience. I also know I am in my best headspace for performance, and give my absolute best, when I can be totally confident that everything is in place and is going smoothly.

Recently I was making small talk with the mother of one of my childrens' friends. I told her what I did for a living and she was rather surprised, "I'd never have guessed" she said. "Yeah" says I "it takes quite a lot of work to turn me into a bellydancer"....

T - at least 1 week. Finalising the playlist.

 I'll usually check in with my client about now too, and confirm any music requests. Finalising a week in advance means that I can guarantee myself rehearsal time in a large studio to run the entire set (I have space booked for one session a week by default).

I will likely have rehearsed each track separately many times, but I think it is important to rehearse a whole set from start to finish at least a couple of times. That 6 minute drum solo might feel fine as a standalone piece, but can you still dance it with as much energy after performing 15 minutes of upbeat pop?

T- 2 days. Costume alteration time.

There's no point in doing this too early, because the fit on my costumes has to be exact and a tiny fluctuation in weight can be the difference between a good fit and a potential mishap. Sometimes I will be wearing a costume that I haven't worn for a year or so, and you can't just get those out of the wardrobe 3 hours before a performance and hope they will fit! 2 days is a good timeline to get it done, without it being too last minute and with time to buy in supplies if repairs are needed.

I make the vast majority of my costumes myself, and when I do, I keep adjustability in mind.

There's a balance to be set between the ease of getting into a costume and versatility in sizing - especially with costume bras. Some of my bras have long straps that are tied in a knot or bow, and reinforced with a safety pin. This makes them really adjustable, you can get the band and shoulder strap length spot on every time, but they have to be tied right; usually they need to be tied, left to settle, then adjusted. My modern Orientale style costume bras are usually based on the hard "Dina" bra bases. These tend to fasten with hooks (I use trouser hooks, which are bigger and stronger) they are great for quick changes but the hooks have to be taken off and resewn in order to adjust them.

When I make skirts or pantaloons I always make the waistband accessible and easily adjustable.

T- 24 hours - putting together the costumes

At this point I gather together all the separate components. I tend to store complete sets on the same hanger, but some items go with more than one costume. The complete costume might also include shoes, bodystockings, tights, hairbands/flowers. I also always include a cover up, because I almost always need one at some point. I always lay everything out before I pack it so I know exactly what I have and can pack it efficiently.

For most commercial bookings I will be dancing 2 sets, which means 2 full costumes, often with a change of accessories (I try to make them starkly different so I often change my hair and everything between sets).

T- 23 hours - packing the bag

THE BAG has consistent components that I will always need, and changable components. The night before a performance I will check the stocks on things like hairgrips and pack the costumes and props into the bag carefully. Once it's set to go I try not to interfere with it at all, in case I accidentally take something out and forget it. I'm quite particular like that.

I also always pack at least 2 copies of my music. Usually I have my ipod, my phone and a CD of the whole set. There are some things you just don't take chances on.

T - 3 hours, the final countdown

On the day of a performance I try and make sure I have a couple of hours before I have to leave set aside for getting ready. I try to give myself more than I need because rushing is the sort of thing that gets eyelashes glued to your ears.

First thing I do is eat. Something proteiny so it's filling but not stodgy. Dancing on a stodgy meal is not good. Sometimes when I perform at a restaurant they will offer me dinner, which is frankly awesome. The tough bit is waiting until after I have finished dancing to take them up on it.

There was also the time when I told my husband not to worry about me for dinner, because I was dancing later. He took that as meaning I wouldn't have time to eat, so he boxed up a whole homemade pizza for me. I had a 2 hour drive ahead of me with this pizza smelling amazing on the passenger seat. I planned to eat it on the way home. Most of it didn't make it that far.

So once I have eaten I will usually have a shower and start looking at getting ready proper. If I'm using my real hair, I will usually dry it at this point and set it in velcro rollers or large pin curls to keep it out of the way while I do my face.

T- 90 minutes - Beat that mug

I give myself an hour for stage makeup, it actually takes less, but various other things tend to be going on as well which I can't really quantify - like painting nails. Taking time to lay down a good base and contours makes all the difference in a solid, lasting look.

Things like false eyelashes need a steady hand and time to get right, it really is a case of more haste, less speed otherwise.

T-30 minutes - Hair

Hair is always the last thing I do before leaving the house. It usually involves messing around with some kind of hairpiece and loads of bobby pins.

T - 15 mins - clothes

I rarely travel to a gig in costume. Most of my costumes are not comfortable to travel in and many could potentially be damaged. They just aren't made for sitting in. They also aren't made for being chucked in the washing machine if I get splashed by a puddle or catch the skirt in the car door. I usually wear something like a jersey maxi dress that I can step into to avoid hair and make up issues.

Time to go!

Grab the gig bag and off I go!

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.

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.

It's not personal. It's bellydance

As previously promised, I want to look a little into feedback/critique. This week we are going to look at taking it, and next week at giving it, because that's only fair.

Getting better at bellydance, using your ears.

Nobody likes criticism. Absolutely nobody. But, like it or not, it is a valuable part of your toolkit for becoming a better dancer. So let's have a look at a few things that make putting your big girl/boy pants on and hearing the truth more useful and more palatable.

Tuning in to the right channels.

The first thing to consider, is who you are receiving feedback from. Everybody has an opinion. Not every opinion is useful or valid for you, in this context, in this moment.

The first criterion for receiving feedback is wanting to receive it. If you are not comfortable welcoming that input, then you don't have to hear it, and it is entirely possible it is not great feedback anyway, because people who give good, constructive advice usually understand when it is appropriate to do so.

You need to be in the right place to hear critique, especially the thorough, dance improving kind. It's OK to decide that now is not the right time and just enjoy your dance until you feel less delicate.

A teacher or fellow dancer who understands your level, is aware of your goals and has an interest in seeing you meet your potential as a dancer is a good source of useful critique.

Someone who sees your performance out of context does not have the frame of reference to give you the most helpful advice.

Someone who is competitive or more focussed on their own outcomes, is unlikely to be all that helpful. Someone who does not understand the technical process of learning dance is unlikely to pick out the best things to work on.

Be vulnerable around positive, encouraging, supportive, but honest people. Use your diva nerve on everyone else.

The last thing to mention in this section, is the people who pay the piper, well, the dancer. As a performing pro, you sometimes need to get feedback from the guys who pay your bills, but as a freelance dancer, you have a certain amount of leeway to choose those people.

When asking for feedback, be specific

If you find yourself approaching someone asking for critique, let them know exactly what you need from them.

Are you feeling fragile and just looking for general reassurance you didn't completely suck? Or do you want the minutiae dissected out so you can absolutely nail that choreography?

Were you trying to tell a story or express an emotion? Ask them if they saw it? When did it come through? Was it enough or could you push it further?

Have you been working on a technical issue? Let them know and ask if they are seeing an improvement.

Listen

Seems obvious, but let's go back to that bit about how everyone hates feedback.

Good feedback will be a mixture of observations about your strong points and areas for improvement.

Everyone hates hearing negative things about themselves, and areas for improvement are often received as negative criticism. When we hear them, we shut down, we disagree with it and argue (maybe just in our heads, but we do, it's natural) or we feel miserable about our apparent "failings" and shut ourselves off.

Be mindful of this. You will do it, you have to consciously rally against it. A sympathetic reviewer will cushion the blows, but you still need to focus on the fact that this is a route to improvement. Not an end point.

If you are told that your arms are flailing like a giant orangutan, well firstly ditch your reviewer because that's just shady; but then remember that even if this is true, it is only true at this point in time. You are not condemned to permanent ape-flailing. You are already taking the first step towards beautiful, graceful arms, right now.

Listen to the good stuff too. It can be overwhelming when you are suddenly presented with a whole bundle of things to work on. Exciting sometimes too, but there's so much to do and  after a particularly meticulous critique, you can be left feeling like you can hardly dance at all. So remember the good stuff. When we shut down to protect ourselves from the "negative" side, we often shut out the compliments too.

If your reviewer hasn't pointed out a few things that you are absolutely rocking, or have made a lot of improvement upon, then they are not doing their job.

Feedback in a wider context.

Although the above applies to most feedback situations, it is most valid on a specific, one-on-one basis, such as a performance critique or private lesson, but for most bellydance students, the most common arena for feedback is your weekly class.

I try to ensure that I have given every dancer a little bit of individual attention every lesson, but the logistics of getting around a larger group, along with my consciousness to avoid bogging a dancer down with too many things to work on at once, means that my in-class individual feedback manifests in small, palatable chunks.

So I tend to give a lot of feedback to the group. I'm going to talk about giving feedback next week, where I will go into that more. As a student, in a class listening to general feedback, any piece of information from your teacher could be corrective, informative, or complimentary, which makes it a little easier to process.

When your teacher flags up an issue, it may be because they see something that needs improvement, or it may be something you need to be mindful of in general - if you are getting it right today, best be aware that you are lest you miss that crucial bit of technique next time.

Processing this kind of feedback is a skill in itself, and it is teaching you to assess and make judgments on your own technique. So when an issue is flagged, check in with yourself, can you improve, or do you just need to consolidate the picture perfect job you are already doing?

Work on it.

Listen. Accept. Act.

Your feedback has hopefully flagged up some areas to work on. If not, ask for them.

If a teacher has flagged up a gap in your technique, then ask for drills or conditioning to improve it. Critique should be constructive, so if someone is qualified to critique you, they should be able to tell you how to improve. Otherwise they are just being unkind and undermining.

Feedback is useless unless it is acted upon, so now the baton has been passed to you. Go forth and improve!

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".

Hitting the wall

I've been reflecting a recently on the process of building a performance, or more specifically, a point in the process which I like to call "sitting on the floor crying". I've mentioned it before and upon encountering it again recently, I decided to look a little deeper into it.

Now, I'm not saying that literally sitting on the floor and crying is a necessary part of my process, it's more a descriptor of what it feels like than what happens. What I am referring to is the point where at about 60-80% of completion, I hit a wall and just don't know how to continue. I might decide I hate the music and don't want to dance to it at all. I undoubtedly start to doubt my ability. I may even start contemplating giving up and not doing this performance at all, or any more ever! A friend recently described it as when the dance behaves like a toddler who sits down in the middle of the supermarket and refuses to budge.

A couple of years ago I  began to recognise this as an inevitable part of preparing for a performance. More recently I have begun to recognise it as a necessary part of preparing for a great performance.

Creating a new performance is a learning experience. Or it should be. Every new performance should push you, technically, artistically or both. If you aren't pushing your boundaries you aren't learning. If you aren't learning, you aren't growing. If you aren't growing then you are dead in the water. There is only a limited opportunity to keep dancing the same dance before  you or your audience start to tire of it.

If you really challenge yourself, then there will come a point when the learning curve becomes so steep, so intense, that it feels like a wall. A dead end. You can take a step back and trot along at a more comfortable level, or you can push through it. Pushing through it is when the magic happens, but it's never easy.

In my experience, at this point I usually go into extra technical mode. I start thinking in beats and bars and which steps will fill the void that stares back at me unblinkingly every time I try to dance. The result of this is usually a bit bland and clinical, as you might expect.

It was at this point recently when a friend suggested I rewatch this video, so I did. I would recommend that you do too.

It reminded me that I was getting wrapped up in the wrong things, thinking about the performance, the audience, the technique, whether the music was right, the deadline, rather than just... making good art.

So I sat down and I thought about what I could do to put the focus where I wanted it to be, on the message, the story, the emotion of the piece. I wrote a list of things to try, to help me get through the barrier and keep on dancing. Here they are:

Watch dancing. Similar and different performances for inspiration. How have other dancers expressed similar ideas? Don't overanalyse, binge on dance videos for an evening and let it soak in and inspire you.

If you have a tendency to try and pile in all your complicated technique in a tight spot, try reprioritising.

Sit down and dance the music just with your upper body and expression.

Choreograph some really simple steps or footwork first, then put expression and arms on top. No fancy hips or layers. You need your feet in place so you don't fall over, but after that concentrate on arms, face and bearing. Once you've nailed that you might want to put something more complex on top, or you might find it's pretty powerful as it is. Don't always feel you have to fill the silence.

Listen to the music. Properly. Concentrate on what the drums are doing. Listen again and concentrate on what a particular section of the melody does. Slow it down (there's some great apps like Audipo or The Amazing Slow Downer that help with this) and see if there is anything subtle in there that you are missing. Sometimes a subtle drum embellishment  or variation in the bass line will give you something to put your layers to that isn't so obvious or expected.

Get feedback. Ask a dance friend or teacher to appraise the work you have done so far. Or try a community like Bhuz.com and post a video. A good critique will include advice about what is working, as well as what isn't. Sometimes what it really takes to get past a block is reassurance that actually, despite what you think, you are on the right track.

Specialised tuition. Ask your regular teacher, or another teacher whose performances you admire, for a private lesson. They can support you through the process, teach you some new steps or even choreograph a little to give you a leg up.

Sometimes the block is technical. Sometimes the only way to make the performance meet your vision for it is to raise your game technically. So take some time out, go to classes, workshops, dance DVDs, you may already have something in your collection that you could revisit.

Most of all, don't give up. Take a break if you need, but come back to it, and own it like only you can.

Finding the balance in bellydance performance.

Being a performing bellydancer means fulfilling a complex set of requirements. As performers we are entertainers, our job is to use our skills to bring joy to the audience, to make their event better, or their evening more memorable.

However there is a whole lot more to it than that. We are also artists, we tell our stories, express our interpretations of the world, sometimes we even challenge our audiences and hope they come away with a new perspective.

Then, as skilled practitioners of Raqs Sharqui, we are custodians of an art that, for most of us, comes from a culture different to our own. We become implied ambassadors for Middle Eastern art, culture and music, and the impression our audiences take away from our performance, will undoubtedly influence their overall impression of our artform and its origins. Through this we have a unique opportunity to educate our audiences, and eradicate (or inadvertently perpetuate) harmful stereotypes.

Artist, entertainer or educator?

To an extent individual performers choose where they lie on this spectrum. Some dancers are avid students of Middle Eastern culture, the visit regularly, study with local teachers, they learn the language, they learn to play Arabic instruments, when they dance, they dance as much like a dancer from their style's country of origin as they can, in the most authentic costumes.

Some dancers are aiming for Tarab, that perfect sychronicity of movement, music and emotion. Some are more focussed on being authentic to themselves, telling their own stories. Sometimes this means deviating from cultural authenticity, perhaps fusing Middle Eastern dance with Western danceforms. Sometimes this means pushing the boundaries and challenging audiences in a way that provokes thought and invites criticism.

Entertainment is our last dancer "class". Whether the dancer gets her greatest satisfaction from bringing the party, or because she finds this to be the best way to ensure  a solid income as a professional performer. Being an entertainer means knowing your audience and tailoring your sets to excite and impress them.

Finding the balance by knowing your audience.

Of course in reality no one fits neatly in any of these categories, and the savvy performer will learn how to adjust their sets to fit an appropriate balance for each occasion.

I came to this as a stark realisation when performing at a public event. It was one of the first I had done as a solo professional, after previously preparing performances under the guidance of my teacher. Feeling full of the awesomeness of Raqs, I opened with a bit of Classic Orientale piece, to an instrumental version of an Oum Kalthoum song.

I didn't get far into the performance before I realised my mistake. In this public setting with the audience essentially being passers by, a more subtle performance was unlikely to grab their attention.

A promenade performance needs to be eye catching, your audience is not likely to stop and watch for the full set, so I needed to prioritise being dynamic and conveying a simple message, over  indulging my artistic side. Cultural integrity is great in this setting, it would be a missed opportunity to reach out to an audience who wouldn't normally be exposed to Arabic dance, but I had to get their attention first.

Now, for contrast, sometimes I go into schools to teach and perform. In this setting I have a captive audience, I don't need to work so hard to encourage them to engage with my performance, though I do need to hold their attention. My function in this setting is to provide a cultural education, so I am likely to be performing at my most culturally authentic, probably in a folkloric style. There is a little room for personal flair, it wouldn't be a performance without it, but it is my responsibility to make sure that my audience comes away with an accurate idea of what Middle Eastern dance is all about.

As a final example I am going to take a performance at a niche, dance event, such as Gothla. The audience will be dancers, in the vast majority, who will generally have a good education in the dance and it's origins. They have seen  a lot of performances, authentic, and less so, and this is the ideal forum for individuality and innovation
I know that no one in the audience is going to go home thinking that my performance is an accurate reflection of Egyptian culture, and this is the appropriate forum to dance the material that might be misunderstood in a more conventional setting. However when I dance in a fusion style, I always do so with mindfulness of the foundation, and respect for the danceforms that I am working with, so a touch of the education/culture portion remains.

Every performance will have different requirements, and every dancer will make their own judgements about how they will play their balance for that situation, while others will specifically pick their performances to fit their personal preferences. I'm happy to dance with fire fans to Western music at festival, others market themselves solely to more traditional/culturally authentic settings. Some restaurant dancers aim to give an accurate Cairo nightclub experience, while others invest more energy into interacting with the audience and raising a party atmosphere on more Westernised terms.

Bellydance is a complex and varied artform, with niches for all kinds of performers and all kinds of audience. I love this diversity of opportunities and expression.