The ever expanding rider of a professional bellydancer - contracts and clauses

When I started out as a new dancer, I joined an online forum called Bhuz, where bellydancers gathered to chat, to exchange information and to learn. Bhuz had a whole section about professional and legal issues, and at the time it seemed kind of ridiculous that turning up and dancing should involve contracts and all kinds of legal wrangling. After all, you show up, you dance, they pay you, everyone's happy. Right?

Oh poor naive past me. What she had to learn....

After hearing lots of horror stories, I realised that it was necessary to have a contract. Too many dancers were being cancelled last minute, without having taken a deposit, or even sent home from a gig (after or without performing) without full payment for various reasons. A lot goes into preparing even a short performance, so losing the gig fee is fairly devastating.

I started out with a cut down version of Michelle Joyce's sample contract. My contract looks a little less formal, because I send it out very early in my conversation with a new client and I wanted a "friendly" approach.

However, as time, and shows, have passed, my contract has grown. For the most part because I have discovered that things that seem basic and obvious to me as a dancer, don't always occur to the client, but also because of some ridiculous, and often hilarious positions that I have found myself in.

This post is a brief compilation of some of those additions, based on the experiences of myself, and other dancers I know. Some details are changed to protect the innocent.

The monies

On the Bhuz pages, it was always the money side that caused the most issues. Common problems include being asked to reduce the fee for various reasons, some of my favourites on the bellydance grapevine:

• "it's my birthday"
• "It's only half an hour"
• "not everyone likes bellydance"
• "it's fun for you"
• "it will be great exposure"

I used to be shy about stating my fee, but now I make it very clear at the outset. Some people will be put off, but they will be put off whenever they find out the price, so let's not waste anybody's time. An easy mistake to make when starting out is not wanting to "put off" potential customers, but it really is OK to let an enquirer know if it's not going to work for you.

Deposits. Again, my serious clients have never taken issue with a deposit to secure the booking. It's important because you can end up turning down work because you are already booked, then being cancelled at the last minute. 

Workshop teaching has a whole different pricing structure. While I generally quote a flat fee, it has become increasingly common within the dance community for teachers to work for a percentage of the class takings. At best, it means you can earn slightly more for a popular class. At worst it means that the host is protected from making an unaffordable loss - many workshops just wouldn't happen in the UK right now otherwise, the risk is just too great for the host.

Most of the time it works out just fine, because dance teachers aren't generally out to fleece each other; hosts tend to work very hard to populate classes, and if they can't they tend to be honest and cancel. But there was an occasion where I offered this pricing structure to an "outside" client, who then did not publicise the class, or tell me that there were only two participants, and I lost a lot of money on expenses. Because of this I now include a clause for a minimum number of participants, or a minimum fee.

Changing space.

Almost every dancer I know, who has performed at some point - whether as a pro or a student has encountered this one.

A brief rundown of the top 5 changing spaces:

• A food storage cupboard in a restaurant
• The back of a van with no internal light
• A tent with no standing room.
• A single toilet cubicle, which was the only toilet for the venue.
• A shower room with a wet floor.

From a dancer's perspective: Most bellydance costumes are not travel friendly. They have fringe, heavy beading, delicate crystals. They are not designed for being sat on. They are also generally difficult to wash so we want to wear them for as short a period as possible and not anywhere that the hem might be soiled on the ground. They are also complex to get into, we need space and we don't want to drop the end of our belt in a puddle. Even the skimpiest costume often involves a lot of layers, fastenings and pins. And we need light, and preferably a mirror. We know this can be a tough call for some venues, but if it really is impossible to provide a decent changing space, it's best that we know in advance so we can work with that and arrive partially dressed at least - and it might mean that there is no costume change between sets.

Show timings

My terms always state when I will arrive, when I will leave and how long I will dance in between. I often get people asking me to dance for an unrealistic period - like 2 hours straight.

Dancing, full tilt, registers on my Fitbit as an Aerobic workout, but I have to do that without appearing to exert myself excessively. Because nobody likes a bellydancer dripping in sweat and heaving for breath over their dinner. Most dancers consider 20-30 minutes to be a reasonable set length. 

While it might be possible to tone it down and dance for longer, most Western audiences couldn't really handle that. We don't really have a culture where people are comfortable sitting back and being lightly entertained, we want big, in your face... until our concentration span runs out. 

The time window is also important. Firstly because, as Michelle puts in her contract, often a performer has other gigs to get to, so it's not acceptable to postpone the performance at the last minute.Or maybe you need to get home to a babysitter, or before you turn into a pumpkin. Another issue that seems common for festivals and conventions, is that they expect all the team to be on site for the duration. This means that you might get paid for an hour of your time, but you lose 6 hours of your day. That might be OK if the event is of interest to you, and you get to spend the day watching bands or perusing interesting merchandise, but if you are going to be losing the opportunity to work elsewhere, then it is reasonable to charge a waiting fee for your on-site time.

Show content

It's really important that clients know what to expect from a show, I usually have videos and music samples, and that goes into the initial agreements so it's super clear.

A couple of other useful things....

"The show will be culturally sensitive" - which is a really nice way of saying "no, I'm not going to dress your uncle up as a "harem girl" and teach him a dance to humiliate him, but I will gladly do some audience participation that is respectful of the culture I am representing"

"I will choose who to invite for audience participation". I stole this from another dancer. While sometimes it's cool to be asking the guest of honour up to dance, it's preferable and "safer" for the performer to choose participants herself. Then she can choose people who look keen (because embarrassing people isn't usually actually fun) and avoid people who might cause issues (like the guy who strips off his shirt and wants to rub up against her while she dances. This has happened to dancers I know. It's gross and unacceptable).

"The show will be family friendly". This eliminates some of the wierd preconceptions some people still have about bellydance and sexuality. 

On a related note, here is the moment for a story from a friend of mine who is a burlesque dancer. She and a colleague were booked to perform at a corporate event. The organiser came to see them just before, in the dressing room and said "just to be sure, you're not going to be doing anything *too risque* are you?". Well. The problem is, that they were. As strip tease artists, that was exactly what they had planned, and while they had alternate acts in their repertoire, they hadn't brought the costumes and props for those. It seems the client had booked performers who were known to be good at what they do, without properly checking what it was that they do.

Often our clients aren't used to booking performers, and they don't know what questions to ask. The performers on the other hand are so used to what we do, that we often forget that some things aren't obvious to an outsider. This is why I like to keep it all written down in a standard document, that I can quickly customise and send out.

A safe space to dance

Another one for a list of ridiculousness, I have experienced....

• Wet tarmac
• A slope of about 30 degrees
• Deep sand
• A rolled lawn, which disguised uneven ground underneath (I broke a toe on a turn)
• Grass with thistles in it

Often an event organiser will think about space, but not think about the floor, which is the most important aspect of the performance space. The only way to overcome this is to be really prescriptive, and include the caveat that says you won't dance but will require payment if the area is unsafe. It sounds harsh, but it's not as harsh as losing a month's dance income due to injury and I've never had to follow through on this as clients tend to be brilliant once their attention is drawn to the right areas.

The green room

OK, so now we get into diva rider territory! I always put into my terms that I will require access to drinking water. It's easy to get stuck backstage, with nothing to drink and performing is a hydration heavy occupation. If there will be substantial gaps between my teaching or performance slots when I am expected to stay on site then I need a rest area (green room) with bathroom access etc. No peeled grapes and blue M&Ms, I promise. I just don't want to be left sitting on my suitcase in a corridor!

Tech requirements

This one is super important. Music is absolutely crucial to a dance performance and I cringe every time I hear the story of a dancer who had to dance to the client's playlist, to their phone speaker or nothing at all. I clear up the sound system requirements straight away and offer up my sound rig if they need it. Then I bring an MP3 player and a CD of just that set. I also bring cables to connect my MP3 player via phono, analog and USB. Then I put my Minirig in my bag. Just in case.

This isn't because I am super awesome, it's because I have had to run out for a new cable 10 minutes before a performance, or got to a venue and found their sound system is too quiet. Also there was a time when I decided to charge my iPod on my laptop, but it synced with iTunes and erased the playlist that I had compiled on the device. I only realised when I arrived at the venue and went to soundcheck. Always  soundcheck.

I also ask for someone to be on hand when I arrive and, if relevant, when the performance/class starts to help with tech setup (and if it's a class, registering etc). The story behind this came from an event where I had arrived first thing in the morning, but was teaching after lunch and inbetween times, the location of my class was changed. To a cinema. Which had no accessible music system. And was playing adult films. Clearly this is not an acceptable situation, and none of the organisers or support staff were anywhere to be found. I had to delay the class by 15 minutes while I ran around trying to find a tech person to sort it all out. So now my contract is set up so that sort of thing doesn't end up being my responsibility.

Finally, and probably most importantly.

When I started using contracts, and to an extent still, I felt awkward about it. I worry about sounding divaish with an extensive rider, or like I have no faith in the client's ability to host me appropriately. However, I have noticed a stark difference between how clients treat me when I provide a contract, vs when I don't. The more prescriptive my terms, the more willing people are to fall over themselves making sure everything is right for me, and the whole thing goes better for everyone.

Assuming that your client isn't an expert in bellydance performance (and that's a safe assumption, because that's your job), they can't be expected to understand the minutiae of what helps you to give your absolute best. They will assume, that you have it all in hand, which rightly they should, that's what they pay you for. So if there is something that you need from them, they are going to need you to let them know or assume you won't get it.

Often a client contacts me, not really knowing what to expect, they might have a idea about what I can do, but part of my job is often to say "that's great and I can accommodate that" (or "I'm afraid that's not going to be possible") "BUT, I can offer you this.... which has worked out really well for similar occasions in the past".

For this reason, I always submit a contract for every performance or teaching booking. It doesn't matter if it is a local fete or nursing home, a charity fundraiser where I am donating my fee, or a high end ball. Even when the client is someone I know well and trust. Because without fail, every time I have let things slip and failed to provide a comprehensive set of terms at the very outset, something has avoidably gone wrong.

Here's your Jerry Springer moment. When you don't bother with the paperwork, things usually turn out OK. Sometimes they go disastrously or hilariously wrong, but that is the exception - usually you can muddle through. Paperwork fixes the problems before they happen, but what it mostly does is makes it clear from the start that you are not a rank amateur, and sets expectations appropriately. When you do everything professionally, not just how you behave and present yourself to perform, but also how you set yourself up, from the start with all the official contracts, invoices etc, clients better recognise your value and are enabled to treat you better. Not only this, but it elevates the impression of our artform as a whole.

The big November update.

I've been having an amazing couple of months, so I thought I had better do a little news post to catch up....

Dancewise my latest big thing was being part of The Juniper Project. I realised recently that this was the first time in 7 years that I have danced as part of a large troupe. The challenge of learning a choreography written by someone else (the amazing Alexis Southall), polishing to the point of uniform consistency and working with a bunch of brilliantly talented dancers was a really enriching, and intense experience. Oh. And the zills. All the zills.

We performed the piece at the Infusion Emporium show. I'm really looking forward to seeing the official videos  when they come out in January, because the sneak peeks I have seen are looking great.

Photos by Dan Fullard, here...

Infusion Emporium was also an excellent opportunity for me to get some training in. I took workshops with Piny Orchidaceae who really got me thinking about more interesting ways to move and to generate movement ideas, Amy Sigil, who I find really inspirational as an artist and teacher, and Anasma, who again was pushing me into realms of movement outside my usual repertoire. I came home after 4 1/2 hours of driving and went straight into the studio to start mixing some new ideas into my current WIPs.

Speaking of the studio, my home studio is now up and running. My Monday morning Glastonbury classes will now be taught out of my studio (no longer the Goddess Hall). I'm also getting a lot more work in, having a dedicated, full time training space, with all my props etc at hand.

The dancers of Bridgwater are shimmying on. We've been working on a party theme this term and I have been making them do more improvisation as well as getting a handle on some more social dancers. I am super proud of them for nailing some fairly challenging stuff this term. New dancers are always welcome to join this friendly and enthusiastic bunch.

The Laylet Amar Ensemble, a collective of musicians and dancers from the South West are going to be appearing at the Glastonbury Frost Fayre, Sat 26th Nov, on the Melodrome stage at 13.15. Come along and cheer us on if you are about.

Last of all, the big news is that I have now qualified as a Personal Trainer. Training and qualifying has been an extremely intense process, but it has given me a whole new skillset and understanding that is already adding new depths of understanding and tools for my dance teaching, particularly in terms of postural correction and complementary conditioning. I am also now providing fitness training through Fire Lotus Fitness, which will see me supporting individuals and groups in reaching their own health and fitness goals through in person and online personal training!

I'm really excited to see how the next few months pan out!

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.

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.

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.

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!