You've fallen in love with Belly Dance. It speaks to you. You've been inspired by a teacher & a community of dancers. You want to take it as far as possible, maybe be a professional, or a serious hobbyist who performs often. I am thankful for you. There's nothing I love more than to share this passion of mine with others who are motivated to learn. But so often I find myself licking the wounds of students who find their hopes dashed by the harsh realities of dance. I've personally licked my own share of wounds & would like to share the wisdom of my experience. This is geared towards the American dancer, but no doubt stands true for many other countries.
Let me say right here & now. Dance is NOT fair! ...And belly Dance is no different.
1. The rules of normal life, the cliches we see on memes, do not necessarily transfer to the laws of dance. "If you work hard you will achieve success" might be true in other life pursuits, but it doesn't mean a lot in dance. Hard work will be rewarded for some who also have other desirable dance assets, but for others, hard work needs to be for the love of dance only, not for the possibility of working or being chosen for a dance company or performance.
2. You will see dancers who have put in minimal effort rise to enviable heights. This is so frustrating for long time students who have put in blood, sweat & tears learning the intricacies of Belly Dance, only to see some young beautiful upstart come in for a few months & start being wooed into companies or hired for jobs. Stop trying to figure it all out. It is what it is, plain & simple, no complexities.
3. If your teacher said you can be any size, shape, & age to Belly Dance, she is telling the truth - if your desires are to enjoy the process of learning, form friendships, perform at haflas & amateur showcases. If you take the teacher's word to mean anyone can be successful as a professional or in demand Belly Dancer, you might be very disappointed & confused.
4. Yes, looks & youth can trump talent & experience. Belly Dance training may not even be necessary for some troupes to hire a dancer. There are professional Belly Dance companies who actively recruit jazz & contemporary dancers rather than look to the belly dance classes. They are looking for uniformity, beauty, youth & the ability to learn quickly.
5. You may be a whizz at learning choreography, & congratulations for a having a great skill! But often a student who feels they know a choreography really well, may not be executing the movements well at all. They often feel confused about why they may not be chosen for a company when they know the dance well. Knowing what step comes after what is only a small part. It's how you do the steps that counts more.
6. You may be the most reliable person in the world. You may always be at the beck & call of the director or teacher, to the point of even obsequiousness. Then why do you see the flakey dancers who are never on time, or generally give the director headaches, be chosen over you? Who cares if they are talented as hell, it's not fair! Well there you go, truer word was never spoken.
7. Or the flip side - you see the student who is a brown noser & you find it extremely annoying. She may even resent you or sabotage you because you are looking like a threat. You see her getting jobs she doesn't deserve, because she knows who to butter up. But - this one won't last, no need to fear. If you are good enough, she'll eventually be on the losing end of this scenario.
8. Competitions are subjective. They will never be fair, unless you're the winner.
9. The sleazy girl, who no dancer likes or respects, is getting good jobs. You know she's undercutting, she's being less than decorous & the rumors are flying. Yet she's on the hot list for the clubs & parties. Maddening, irritating, but chances are there's nothing you can do to change it.
10. You may be a victim of racism. Yes it is rampant, no matter how much we'd like to think otherwise. Your race or ethnicity alone might keep you from those coveted jobs.
11. If you are already a professional dancer, there will come a day when you dance better than you ever have. You will finally feel your dancing is the way you've always wanted it to be. On that day you will probably be too old. Suddenly the jobs start drying up & troupes stop asking for you to perform. Belly Dancers are a little more fortunate than others. A beautiful dancer who keeps herself in shape can easily last through her mid 40s. Even then, she will often be overlooked & replaced.
12. You are a respected teacher. You've paid your dues, you've got a lifetime of experience to share, but you can't get on that good workshop circuit. You see a dancer video go viral, sometimes warranted, sometimes not, & suddenly she's out there as a "master". You see teachers short on talent, but long on self promotion become a hot item for the name recognition. You may be deluding yourself about your abilities. You may not come across well in videos, or just never have anyone discover them. You may hate to promote yourself, suffering from a bit of "Tall Poppy" syndrome. You just can't get a break.
And this is where I leave it, because, yes even after close to 40 years making a living as a dancer, I have had my share of rejection. At different times I've been too skinny, too tall, too old, no name recognition, not attractive enough & the list goes on & on. Yes I still have dreams & goals for dance, but they may never materialize. And after all I've done it just doesn't seem fair. Point well taken.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
The Movie "The Turning Point", & the Joy of Being a Mentor
One of my favorite movies is "The Turning Point" from the '70s. Not only because of the magnificent dance scenes with Mikhail Baryshnikov, but the timeless theme of the sacrifices dancers make. For so long I related to the Shirley MacClain character - becoming a wife & mother to the detriment of devoting a life to dance & the possible successes that could have been achieved, but at times I suppose I more resembled the Anne Bancroft character - the professional performer who milked every drop out of a fading career. But recently watching the movie, I realized I had crossed a new threshold when I related to the older, respected ballet coach, Madame Dakharova. Young, up & coming dance stars sought out Madame for one to one coaching - & one scene showed exactly why: a seemingly simple step was being shown with a nuanced tilt of the shoulders, & the budding pro ballerina was struggling with getting it right. Madame looked natural, mature & refined doing this movement - yet when we see the student, resplendent onstage, performing with American Ballet Theater (played by real life ABT ballerina Leslie Browne) she still doesn't get the shoulder movement correctly, giving her a coltish, immature look, as technically glorious as she was. And this was not intentional, but a real life example of the difficulty of nuanced, mature dance.
Here in my second half of life, I have the good fortune to have attained a position of Dance Mentor & Coach to many of LA's most promising professional young dancers, as well as to dedicated students with a passion for our dance form. It is an honor I don't take lightly, & with my always shaky feelings of self worth, an honor I am not sure I'm worthy of. I often tell myself, if you stick around long enough, you'll gain respect. Perhaps it's my overabundance of maternal instinct or possibly some overactive nurturing hormone or gene that draws me to this position, or possibly draws dancers seeking me out for council. Whatever it is, I am more than thankful for the opportunities it has rendered.
I am so impressed with this new generation of dancers. Let's face it - it's now a whole lot more complicated than it was when I was in full professional mode:
1. There's the videos opening up the whole world, where we can see every style of dancer from every country with a click of a button. To be an original in this day & age is near impossible, when it's all been done before.
2. The jobs are few & far between & usually require a dancer to form or join a troupe, & almost always clever choreographies are required.
3. A dancer now needs a lot of training. Cross training, refining, perfecting technique. These dancers are better than their predecessors.
4. Competitions are often the doorway to a successful career. The stress, the preparation, the thrill of victory & more often the agony of defeat have made dance a sport, requiring not only the artistic values, but the values required of the athlete.
The young dancers that seek me out have their eyes wide open. Their good training is firmly in place, & even more importantly, I feel blessed to work with dancers with unique styles & a true passion. I often wonder what I can offer, not wanting to disturb the balance these talented dancers have developed. Most often my advice is something to the effect of "Be yourself. Stay yourself. Continue to grow, but don't change because you think another style you've seen might be better, or that you feel you should dance like 'so & so'. Cut your own path."
I have choreographed for troupes, although I warn them I am not a commercial choreographer & my style is probably too quirky & theatrical for mainstream parties, etc. I remember an interview I heard with Elvis Costello, how he would be embarrassed to bring new songs to the band, wondering if they would snicker, or if they were too personal to be shared. I get that, I relate. Showing choreographies to talented pros can scare me to death. Will they look at me blankly, thinking "this is total crap"?
And the one thing I've realized I can't offer is the choreographed solo. To me Raqs Sharki, or the Belly Dance solo is a personal journey, optimally improvised. 99% of the time a solo choreographed by someone else doesn't look right. Isn't entertaining. I could make more money if I could offer this skill, but it's almost an ethical issue, showing my age I suppose.
Yet still they seek me out, & I adore them. And like Madame Dakharova in "The Turning Point", I believe I do have something to offer - those subtle things only fully seasoned dancers have achieved & the (hopefully) sage advice of someone who has been there & done that. Perhaps a mentor is a motherly figure, someone to help navigate the journey through this daunting profession.
But how fortunate for the older dancer to have respect of the younger ones. I think my generation regarded elders as the enemy (a holdover from the 'don't trust anyone over 30' era). How lovely that these new generations have somehow been instilled with such a high regard for experience & for artistic styles of the past. Like the Millennial musicians who still revere the Beatles, or the blues, I have been so impressed with the new generations. And what keeps an elder dancer more on her toes & more engaged than a talented young dancer seeking out some knowledge? They are my muse, my reason for not giving up.
This has been a gift and a blessing, & possibly the most rewarding part of my career. To be the best I can possibly be for these trusting proteges, I will continue to learn and grow, to try to stay one step ahead. To understand the new world of dance & not be stuck in the past. The rest is all there inside me, from the decades of blood, sweat & tears, & I am most happy to share this. In this way, perhaps a little piece of the past, & selfishly, a little piece of me will live on. What more could a dancer hope for?
Here in my second half of life, I have the good fortune to have attained a position of Dance Mentor & Coach to many of LA's most promising professional young dancers, as well as to dedicated students with a passion for our dance form. It is an honor I don't take lightly, & with my always shaky feelings of self worth, an honor I am not sure I'm worthy of. I often tell myself, if you stick around long enough, you'll gain respect. Perhaps it's my overabundance of maternal instinct or possibly some overactive nurturing hormone or gene that draws me to this position, or possibly draws dancers seeking me out for council. Whatever it is, I am more than thankful for the opportunities it has rendered.
I am so impressed with this new generation of dancers. Let's face it - it's now a whole lot more complicated than it was when I was in full professional mode:
1. There's the videos opening up the whole world, where we can see every style of dancer from every country with a click of a button. To be an original in this day & age is near impossible, when it's all been done before.
2. The jobs are few & far between & usually require a dancer to form or join a troupe, & almost always clever choreographies are required.
3. A dancer now needs a lot of training. Cross training, refining, perfecting technique. These dancers are better than their predecessors.
4. Competitions are often the doorway to a successful career. The stress, the preparation, the thrill of victory & more often the agony of defeat have made dance a sport, requiring not only the artistic values, but the values required of the athlete.
The young dancers that seek me out have their eyes wide open. Their good training is firmly in place, & even more importantly, I feel blessed to work with dancers with unique styles & a true passion. I often wonder what I can offer, not wanting to disturb the balance these talented dancers have developed. Most often my advice is something to the effect of "Be yourself. Stay yourself. Continue to grow, but don't change because you think another style you've seen might be better, or that you feel you should dance like 'so & so'. Cut your own path."
I have choreographed for troupes, although I warn them I am not a commercial choreographer & my style is probably too quirky & theatrical for mainstream parties, etc. I remember an interview I heard with Elvis Costello, how he would be embarrassed to bring new songs to the band, wondering if they would snicker, or if they were too personal to be shared. I get that, I relate. Showing choreographies to talented pros can scare me to death. Will they look at me blankly, thinking "this is total crap"?
And the one thing I've realized I can't offer is the choreographed solo. To me Raqs Sharki, or the Belly Dance solo is a personal journey, optimally improvised. 99% of the time a solo choreographed by someone else doesn't look right. Isn't entertaining. I could make more money if I could offer this skill, but it's almost an ethical issue, showing my age I suppose.
Yet still they seek me out, & I adore them. And like Madame Dakharova in "The Turning Point", I believe I do have something to offer - those subtle things only fully seasoned dancers have achieved & the (hopefully) sage advice of someone who has been there & done that. Perhaps a mentor is a motherly figure, someone to help navigate the journey through this daunting profession.
But how fortunate for the older dancer to have respect of the younger ones. I think my generation regarded elders as the enemy (a holdover from the 'don't trust anyone over 30' era). How lovely that these new generations have somehow been instilled with such a high regard for experience & for artistic styles of the past. Like the Millennial musicians who still revere the Beatles, or the blues, I have been so impressed with the new generations. And what keeps an elder dancer more on her toes & more engaged than a talented young dancer seeking out some knowledge? They are my muse, my reason for not giving up.
This has been a gift and a blessing, & possibly the most rewarding part of my career. To be the best I can possibly be for these trusting proteges, I will continue to learn and grow, to try to stay one step ahead. To understand the new world of dance & not be stuck in the past. The rest is all there inside me, from the decades of blood, sweat & tears, & I am most happy to share this. In this way, perhaps a little piece of the past, & selfishly, a little piece of me will live on. What more could a dancer hope for?
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Is Improvisational Belly Dance Obsolete?
I've been thinking about this - does improvisation have a place in this
day of belly dance competitions & Youtube? There is no denying that it's a
new world, & our dance is transforming, as the stage for performance
changes. What makes a good performance, & what doesn't? What makes one
competitor better than another? Can one go out there & wing it anymore,
hoping for the best when one really only has one shot?
Improvisational Oriental Dance was the hallmark of the 1970s club days. A dancer typically performed to live music 6 nights a week, and possibly several shows a night. A dancer had to be ready to perform to any song & any style; to good music & bad music; to make it look natural, beautiful & entertaining. Improvisation was the skill that allowed the dancer to walk out the door with dance bag in hand & be automatically prepared for anything the night might hold.
And there was an element of uncertainty & even audacity about each performance. There was always that possibility of magic, what some call "tarab" or athletes might call "being in the zone". Like jazz musicians, we had our own little jam sessions nightly, smoky rooms with dance intertwining with music - perhaps a moment of weightlessness as the music seemed to carry you like hands on a ouija board.
Not to say that euphoria happened with every show. For each performance where it all came together, there were probably ten performances that were total bores. Not to mention nights where one seemed to have two left feet, or shimmies that just wouldn't materialize properly. But the beauty of improvisation in those days was that there was that possibility, & if it didn't happen one show, well there were twelve more that week where it all might come together in breathtaking harmony.
I must admit I am woefully set in my ways when it comes to an Oriental solo. I cannot do a choreographed one to save my soul. Even to a canned song I've heard a thousand times I would never think of going out there & doing the same movements to it time after time. But this is where I'm falling behind in the performance space of today's online & competitive dance. The choreographed solos look better on video.
If you only have that one shot in a competition, or you have that one performance that will inevitably show up on Youtube & define your ability, does one really have the luxury of improv when one could possibly fall flat on one's ass so to speak?
Doing what comes naturally
Today's dancers have every gesture, every hand movement, every nuance choreographed, & the result is a polished, professional look. If you want your name known by your videos, it's important that you bring on your best stuff, no leaving it to chance. Improvisational dance to canned music just doesn't seem to translate as well to video because it is a medium of imperfections. In an intimate live setting with musicians those imperfections are forgivable because the dance is a process, not a finished product.
As I browse through videos of competitions & performances, I see beautiful young dancers with impeccable technique & clever steps. I like what I see, even though something is missing. I guess what is missing is what Oriental dance used to be - not so much clever & crisp, but free form & fluid - amorphous. But who has time anymore to watch a 45 minute Belly Dance solo develop? Four minutes is pushing the attention span of most video browsers. So I totally see the need to pack your best stuff into those four minutes - don't miss a chance to hit that beat with a new & innovative move. Make sure your dance is practiced & perfected.
So if a slight hint of insolence is detected on my part regarding the slick new style of Belly Dance, I admit I have a kind of love/hate relationship, but that's ok. Time marches on & I'm not one to fight it - it's a global stage & the competition is fierce. I've talked to younger dancers who say they wouldn't stoop as low as to dance in a club or restaurant - that they are stage performers, & that makes sense to me in a way. It certainly brings our dance form into the realm of serious art. And as much as I'm sounding like an anti-choreography curmudgeon, in actuality I produce yearly theater productions entitled "A Choreographers' Collective" & "A Choreographers' Eclectic" featuring group choreographies by some of the finest in the business, & I teach a weekly choreography class.
>Improvisational Oriental Dance was the hallmark of the 1970s club days. A dancer typically performed to live music 6 nights a week, and possibly several shows a night. A dancer had to be ready to perform to any song & any style; to good music & bad music; to make it look natural, beautiful & entertaining. Improvisation was the skill that allowed the dancer to walk out the door with dance bag in hand & be automatically prepared for anything the night might hold.
And there was an element of uncertainty & even audacity about each performance. There was always that possibility of magic, what some call "tarab" or athletes might call "being in the zone". Like jazz musicians, we had our own little jam sessions nightly, smoky rooms with dance intertwining with music - perhaps a moment of weightlessness as the music seemed to carry you like hands on a ouija board.
Not to say that euphoria happened with every show. For each performance where it all came together, there were probably ten performances that were total bores. Not to mention nights where one seemed to have two left feet, or shimmies that just wouldn't materialize properly. But the beauty of improvisation in those days was that there was that possibility, & if it didn't happen one show, well there were twelve more that week where it all might come together in breathtaking harmony.
I must admit I am woefully set in my ways when it comes to an Oriental solo. I cannot do a choreographed one to save my soul. Even to a canned song I've heard a thousand times I would never think of going out there & doing the same movements to it time after time. But this is where I'm falling behind in the performance space of today's online & competitive dance. The choreographed solos look better on video.
If you only have that one shot in a competition, or you have that one performance that will inevitably show up on Youtube & define your ability, does one really have the luxury of improv when one could possibly fall flat on one's ass so to speak?
Doing what comes naturally
Today's dancers have every gesture, every hand movement, every nuance choreographed, & the result is a polished, professional look. If you want your name known by your videos, it's important that you bring on your best stuff, no leaving it to chance. Improvisational dance to canned music just doesn't seem to translate as well to video because it is a medium of imperfections. In an intimate live setting with musicians those imperfections are forgivable because the dance is a process, not a finished product.
As I browse through videos of competitions & performances, I see beautiful young dancers with impeccable technique & clever steps. I like what I see, even though something is missing. I guess what is missing is what Oriental dance used to be - not so much clever & crisp, but free form & fluid - amorphous. But who has time anymore to watch a 45 minute Belly Dance solo develop? Four minutes is pushing the attention span of most video browsers. So I totally see the need to pack your best stuff into those four minutes - don't miss a chance to hit that beat with a new & innovative move. Make sure your dance is practiced & perfected.
So if a slight hint of insolence is detected on my part regarding the slick new style of Belly Dance, I admit I have a kind of love/hate relationship, but that's ok. Time marches on & I'm not one to fight it - it's a global stage & the competition is fierce. I've talked to younger dancers who say they wouldn't stoop as low as to dance in a club or restaurant - that they are stage performers, & that makes sense to me in a way. It certainly brings our dance form into the realm of serious art. And as much as I'm sounding like an anti-choreography curmudgeon, in actuality I produce yearly theater productions entitled "A Choreographers' Collective" & "A Choreographers' Eclectic" featuring group choreographies by some of the finest in the business, & I teach a weekly choreography class.
Choreography is for troupes
But as I've written here in this blog/memoir, my life as a dancer in the '70s, early '80s was a multi faceted one - dance as part of a real community - you were just one part of a total experience. The camaraderie that bridged cultures, rooms full of testosterone, volatility, intrigue, & glorious music. Perfection wasn't required. I bore easily these days, but I didn't back then. Those shows are still the best I've seen, even after almost 40 years.
I'm still happy I made a living as a dancer in that era. I think it fit my "go with the flow" mentality - or maybe it helped form my "go with the flow mentality". To have piles of cash, to dance every night & not have a care in the world was priceless, a great way to spend one's youth!
Friday, September 26, 2014
On being an Older Dancer, Changing Identity & Acceptance
I brought my memoirs into the present recently, but I don't want to stop there & sit in my rocking chair. There's so much I have to say about this dance, about the present & about the feelings that come at the end of an almost 40 year career.
After going back & reading my story I really regret that I only started studying Belly Dance seriously after my performing career had ended. There's something that comes with being a young professional dancer that makes them (us) feel they can put the training on pause. As a teacher I had to swallow my pride & realize there's a lot I don't know. The advent of Youtube & easy access to dancers from around the world keenly brought into focus my mediocrity.
So as an older dancer I often find myself in workshops surrounded by hobbyists & young pro wannabes. I'm the one who doesn't drop in dramatic fashion to the floor, the one who doesn't always remember the choreography, the invisible one.
The change in a dance career begins slowly - you're not even sure it's really happening. Suddenly you get passed over for a job. You hear friends whisper about a show they did as a group & realize you weren't invited to perform. You look in the mirror & notice the subtle changes, but convince yourself you still look pretty good. But pretty good isn't pretty young, & in the professional world of Belly Dance, youth is mandatory. I'm talking about parties, restaurants, nightclubs - paid work. This insidious rejection becomes more difficult to ignore, yet you fight to not succumb to the reality that your career is almost over. You are no longer young, you are no longer beautiful, you are no longer wanted.
You know it's all over for you as a professional Belly Dancer when working troupes don't even pretend to be interested in having you perform with them. It's assumed by all parties that you are not working anymore. I have gradually become OK with that. Is a matter of fact the last thing on earth I want to do is go out there trying to make money performing. My last year at Burger Continental (& this was 2013) I imagined when I came into the room, finger cymbals blazing & the costume a little more modest, the audience must have thought "Yikes, this one's old". So I quit, & that part of my career is signed, sealed & gone for good.
So what do you have left if you aren't ready to hang up the old bra & belt? Teaching is the logical progression, but it wasn't something I was comfortable with, especially since I hadn't really taken classes. Jazz & Ballet, yes, but Belly Dance - not since that first year way back when. But teach I did, & it's taken me 20 years to finally figure out how to best bring this dance form to my students. The fortunate part for people like me is the dance world has changed. It's now all about workshops & showcases. The older ladies are invited to dance as the classic Divas, & that's a good thing. Our audiences are comprised of dance students & other teachers, & we/they are more forgiving of the old, the heavy, & other "flaws", considered to be repugnant by the general public.
Maybe it's harder getting older if you spent half your life depending on your looks, I'm not sure. I guess there are plenty of women out there getting their faces "fixed" who weren't in a business requiring beauty. When you age you don't realize it as much because you don't feel different. You feel 20 inside, yet the outside clashes with the inside & you can't seem to make people realize you're the same free spirited young girl. They see someone old when they look at you.
It always feels like a dream - like this is just a movie of my life & I'll eventually go back to the real me & shed this old skin. But then you come to accept that this is it. It's gone by fast, & you better make the most of this life, even as an invisible woman.
I don't want to scare the ladies who are crossing over into this older age business, but there's no denying it's not for the faint of heart. But the good part is it matters less & less. I am very fortunate to have many young friends in the business & they are respectful & genuinely interested in the knowledge that comes with years of experience. I am so grateful for that, & it's one of the main reasons I find old age bearable. Being a mentor brings me satisfaction & pride. Passages are hard, but if you're lucky you find a new & rewarding identity.
After going back & reading my story I really regret that I only started studying Belly Dance seriously after my performing career had ended. There's something that comes with being a young professional dancer that makes them (us) feel they can put the training on pause. As a teacher I had to swallow my pride & realize there's a lot I don't know. The advent of Youtube & easy access to dancers from around the world keenly brought into focus my mediocrity.
So as an older dancer I often find myself in workshops surrounded by hobbyists & young pro wannabes. I'm the one who doesn't drop in dramatic fashion to the floor, the one who doesn't always remember the choreography, the invisible one.
The change in a dance career begins slowly - you're not even sure it's really happening. Suddenly you get passed over for a job. You hear friends whisper about a show they did as a group & realize you weren't invited to perform. You look in the mirror & notice the subtle changes, but convince yourself you still look pretty good. But pretty good isn't pretty young, & in the professional world of Belly Dance, youth is mandatory. I'm talking about parties, restaurants, nightclubs - paid work. This insidious rejection becomes more difficult to ignore, yet you fight to not succumb to the reality that your career is almost over. You are no longer young, you are no longer beautiful, you are no longer wanted.
You know it's all over for you as a professional Belly Dancer when working troupes don't even pretend to be interested in having you perform with them. It's assumed by all parties that you are not working anymore. I have gradually become OK with that. Is a matter of fact the last thing on earth I want to do is go out there trying to make money performing. My last year at Burger Continental (& this was 2013) I imagined when I came into the room, finger cymbals blazing & the costume a little more modest, the audience must have thought "Yikes, this one's old". So I quit, & that part of my career is signed, sealed & gone for good.
So what do you have left if you aren't ready to hang up the old bra & belt? Teaching is the logical progression, but it wasn't something I was comfortable with, especially since I hadn't really taken classes. Jazz & Ballet, yes, but Belly Dance - not since that first year way back when. But teach I did, & it's taken me 20 years to finally figure out how to best bring this dance form to my students. The fortunate part for people like me is the dance world has changed. It's now all about workshops & showcases. The older ladies are invited to dance as the classic Divas, & that's a good thing. Our audiences are comprised of dance students & other teachers, & we/they are more forgiving of the old, the heavy, & other "flaws", considered to be repugnant by the general public.
Maybe it's harder getting older if you spent half your life depending on your looks, I'm not sure. I guess there are plenty of women out there getting their faces "fixed" who weren't in a business requiring beauty. When you age you don't realize it as much because you don't feel different. You feel 20 inside, yet the outside clashes with the inside & you can't seem to make people realize you're the same free spirited young girl. They see someone old when they look at you.
It always feels like a dream - like this is just a movie of my life & I'll eventually go back to the real me & shed this old skin. But then you come to accept that this is it. It's gone by fast, & you better make the most of this life, even as an invisible woman.
 |
| With fellow '70s dancers Zahra Zuhair & Nabila at 2012 Cairo Caravan's 1970s Bellydance Panel |
I don't want to scare the ladies who are crossing over into this older age business, but there's no denying it's not for the faint of heart. But the good part is it matters less & less. I am very fortunate to have many young friends in the business & they are respectful & genuinely interested in the knowledge that comes with years of experience. I am so grateful for that, & it's one of the main reasons I find old age bearable. Being a mentor brings me satisfaction & pride. Passages are hard, but if you're lucky you find a new & rewarding identity.
Monday, September 8, 2014
What's Past is Past. The end of my Little Story.
I've told my story. I know there's a lot I've left out - some intentionally, some from sheer lack of memory. It's just a little story, comparatively speaking. Now Belly Dance has become global, thanks to the internet. From the USA to Egypt to Russia & beyond, we are all interconnected in a way we never dreamed of in the 1970s when I embarked on this dance journey. Dancers now make a living traveling the world teaching & reach worldwide fame from their videos & social media savvy. In comparison my little career was small potatoes.
But the 1960s, 70s & 80s were a million times more magical & mysterious than the world we now live in. The music, the fashion, the free feeling that anything was possible, & everything was allowed. What sticks with me most are the things that haunt me. A memory of driving away nightly from a Hollywood club with the windows rolled down through the empty streets - blasting Elvis Costello's Get Happy in a drunken depression, longing for a far away love. The laughs the dancers shared - ducking low in the dressing room while a riot broke out. Hot tubs & cocktails in the snow while on the road & silly inside jokes to pass the monotony. Smells, feelings, hazy dusty memories, with no photos or videos evoke such melancholy longing for something I'm not even sure really existed. And in retrospect what happened off stage meant more to me than the actual dancing. In retrospect it was a lonely life.
As much as it seems I'm pining away for bygone times like some modern day Norma Desmond, I'm actually a modernist who loves the trendy & the innovative. I think Belly Dance is more beautiful now than ever. I love finding new music & I search the net & consume workshops for inspiration, because now I'm a teacher, a mentor, a sort of life coach of Belly Dance. If you stick around long enough you eventually accrue some notoriety & respectability, but truth is I'm only a legend in LA - outside of the perimeters of this depressing city I'm known to no one except maybe the thousands of "belly" fetishists who drool over my "Man with Bogart's Face" Youtube video.
I will continue to blog about current issues. I hope to raise some questions, & perhaps the ire of others with some controversial opinions. I hope the current dancers don't forget that us old timers are a living history. We've seen so many changes, trends & styles that we have a unique & well informed take on the business. We've been the "know it all" youngsters, the "It" girls & the "work horses". We may have danced differently, had little contact with dancers in other countries & had little training outside of nightly Middle Eastern club on the job training, but I think all of us 1970s Belly Dancers would agree we wouldn't trade our experience for anything. For that little moment in time Belly Dance was a glamorous, lucrative career. It was my intention with this blog to paint a picture of the world we inhabited. I hope it means something to someone eventually, even if not in my lifetime. So "My case is closed, my case is packed".
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| Current Photos by Michelle Niellose |
But the 1960s, 70s & 80s were a million times more magical & mysterious than the world we now live in. The music, the fashion, the free feeling that anything was possible, & everything was allowed. What sticks with me most are the things that haunt me. A memory of driving away nightly from a Hollywood club with the windows rolled down through the empty streets - blasting Elvis Costello's Get Happy in a drunken depression, longing for a far away love. The laughs the dancers shared - ducking low in the dressing room while a riot broke out. Hot tubs & cocktails in the snow while on the road & silly inside jokes to pass the monotony. Smells, feelings, hazy dusty memories, with no photos or videos evoke such melancholy longing for something I'm not even sure really existed. And in retrospect what happened off stage meant more to me than the actual dancing. In retrospect it was a lonely life.
As much as it seems I'm pining away for bygone times like some modern day Norma Desmond, I'm actually a modernist who loves the trendy & the innovative. I think Belly Dance is more beautiful now than ever. I love finding new music & I search the net & consume workshops for inspiration, because now I'm a teacher, a mentor, a sort of life coach of Belly Dance. If you stick around long enough you eventually accrue some notoriety & respectability, but truth is I'm only a legend in LA - outside of the perimeters of this depressing city I'm known to no one except maybe the thousands of "belly" fetishists who drool over my "Man with Bogart's Face" Youtube video.
I will continue to blog about current issues. I hope to raise some questions, & perhaps the ire of others with some controversial opinions. I hope the current dancers don't forget that us old timers are a living history. We've seen so many changes, trends & styles that we have a unique & well informed take on the business. We've been the "know it all" youngsters, the "It" girls & the "work horses". We may have danced differently, had little contact with dancers in other countries & had little training outside of nightly Middle Eastern club on the job training, but I think all of us 1970s Belly Dancers would agree we wouldn't trade our experience for anything. For that little moment in time Belly Dance was a glamorous, lucrative career. It was my intention with this blog to paint a picture of the world we inhabited. I hope it means something to someone eventually, even if not in my lifetime. So "My case is closed, my case is packed".
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Reflections on the times 1990s - early 2000s
I'm winding down my memories. The Flowers of the Desert did their 10th anniversary show in 2005. The cast was completely different, and it was The Flowers in name only. It was hard to teach the old routines to new dancers. There was something about the original troupe that felt organic & true. The new dancers were young and beautiful, many had been my students, but it was hard to recreate the charisma of the original troupe. "Cirque des Fleurs" was our swan song. None of the original members would return for the anniversary show.
After the dust had cleared and the Flowers were disbanded (dancer Dolphina likened it to the Bellydance equivalent of the Beatles breakup) I realized the sea change in the business was cataclysmic & irreversible. It was something I bucked against, but I was too old & from a different era to be listened to. With the advent of the troupe era, theater productions and charity shows I was an unwilling accomplice to the end of making a good living as a performing soloist. The mentality was different - the new dancers were willing to dance for free at any chance possible. I gave in to the unpaid shows, I broke my own cardinal rule of always being paid, because I wanted to do the fun shows & I was at the end of my performing career. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. This paved the way for the "pay to play" era that exists to this day. Coupled with the dearth of clubs & the glut of Bellydancers, there wasn't enough opportunity for all the dancers in Los Angeles who wanted to make this their career. So maybe I shouldn't feel guilty, maybe the new dancers saw the writing on the wall.
Truth was that I was totally focused on being a mom of a preteen who was very active in gymnastics, dance & an all around hard working student & great kid. I was teaching, & even still dancing at Burger Continental & a few other random places. But being a mom trumped it all, & my own wants & needs were transferred to being a mother who put her kid first, knowing it was a fleeting & magical moment that I could never again recapture.
The new version of the Flowers did have one hell of a crazy job at a giant Mexican nightclub called "El Parral". Four of us would dance several nights a week, providing a diversion while the norteño groups singing their tales of drug kingpins with their oompa bands took a break. We were well compensated for showing up, dressing in a cockroach infested dressing room with a terrible stench & doing a 10 minute schtick with group numbers. The place was jam packed with men in cowboy hats & women squeezed into tiny dresses & teetering on stiletto heels. We looked positively virginal compared to these ladies. So no one watched our show. No one. They would sit with their backs to us, chatting each other up & guzzling beer. One show we went down on our knees during a hair swinging Bandari number & my heel got caught in a cutout in my pink lycra bellbottoms (don't judge). I couldn't get up off the floor. So as my fellow dancers were up & continuing with the choreography, I was still on my knees struggling to figure out why I couldn't get up. The dancers tried to help me up & still I struggled until my foot was finally set free. We must have looked like a bunch of clowns, yet there was zero reaction from the crowd. Another time I had a wardrobe malfunction. I bent forward in the choreography & when I came up the back strap of my bra popped open & I completely flashed the audience with my bra around my neck. Again, not a blink from the crowd. We could have done anything out there. At the end of the evening we would go to the office & collect a good chunk of change & get the hell out. It always felt like some sort of front for a drug ring. Definitely one of my more unusual gigs.
I finally gave up my position as Assistant Director of the Flowers. Laura Crawford was busy with her law career & eventually the Flowers faded into oblivion for the last time.
I was having fun choreographing shows for my students & coaching them in competitions. I found that most of them went out there won, giving me a ton of satisfaction & pride. As long as I was a full time mom I was in heaven. Nothing else really mattered. But as all good things, the full time job of Mom was soon to be changing as well. I hate change. I don't do well at all with change. And I was about to enter one of the most challenging changes in my life.
After the dust had cleared and the Flowers were disbanded (dancer Dolphina likened it to the Bellydance equivalent of the Beatles breakup) I realized the sea change in the business was cataclysmic & irreversible. It was something I bucked against, but I was too old & from a different era to be listened to. With the advent of the troupe era, theater productions and charity shows I was an unwilling accomplice to the end of making a good living as a performing soloist. The mentality was different - the new dancers were willing to dance for free at any chance possible. I gave in to the unpaid shows, I broke my own cardinal rule of always being paid, because I wanted to do the fun shows & I was at the end of my performing career. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. This paved the way for the "pay to play" era that exists to this day. Coupled with the dearth of clubs & the glut of Bellydancers, there wasn't enough opportunity for all the dancers in Los Angeles who wanted to make this their career. So maybe I shouldn't feel guilty, maybe the new dancers saw the writing on the wall.
Truth was that I was totally focused on being a mom of a preteen who was very active in gymnastics, dance & an all around hard working student & great kid. I was teaching, & even still dancing at Burger Continental & a few other random places. But being a mom trumped it all, & my own wants & needs were transferred to being a mother who put her kid first, knowing it was a fleeting & magical moment that I could never again recapture.
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| 2003 From left clockwise Jindra, Emily, Laura Kali, Kamala, Katia, Irani, Princess Farhana, Erica |
The new version of the Flowers did have one hell of a crazy job at a giant Mexican nightclub called "El Parral". Four of us would dance several nights a week, providing a diversion while the norteño groups singing their tales of drug kingpins with their oompa bands took a break. We were well compensated for showing up, dressing in a cockroach infested dressing room with a terrible stench & doing a 10 minute schtick with group numbers. The place was jam packed with men in cowboy hats & women squeezed into tiny dresses & teetering on stiletto heels. We looked positively virginal compared to these ladies. So no one watched our show. No one. They would sit with their backs to us, chatting each other up & guzzling beer. One show we went down on our knees during a hair swinging Bandari number & my heel got caught in a cutout in my pink lycra bellbottoms (don't judge). I couldn't get up off the floor. So as my fellow dancers were up & continuing with the choreography, I was still on my knees struggling to figure out why I couldn't get up. The dancers tried to help me up & still I struggled until my foot was finally set free. We must have looked like a bunch of clowns, yet there was zero reaction from the crowd. Another time I had a wardrobe malfunction. I bent forward in the choreography & when I came up the back strap of my bra popped open & I completely flashed the audience with my bra around my neck. Again, not a blink from the crowd. We could have done anything out there. At the end of the evening we would go to the office & collect a good chunk of change & get the hell out. It always felt like some sort of front for a drug ring. Definitely one of my more unusual gigs.
I finally gave up my position as Assistant Director of the Flowers. Laura Crawford was busy with her law career & eventually the Flowers faded into oblivion for the last time.
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| Student production 2006. The Orchids Al Sahara perform with Joey Dowdy World Groove |
I was having fun choreographing shows for my students & coaching them in competitions. I found that most of them went out there won, giving me a ton of satisfaction & pride. As long as I was a full time mom I was in heaven. Nothing else really mattered. But as all good things, the full time job of Mom was soon to be changing as well. I hate change. I don't do well at all with change. And I was about to enter one of the most challenging changes in my life.
Monday, July 28, 2014
The Flowers of the Desert - the bloom comes off the rose
"Ishtar" evening performance for the "Cairo Carnival Festival" 2000
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| "Drum Chant" Jindra, Laura & Kamala at IAMED's "Rock the Casbah" |
For the remainder of the 1990s and into 2000, the Flowers of the Desert were busy creating theater productions. Another Fusion and Fantasy show in 1999 was artistically satisfying & well received. There was a mix of western and Arab audiences & no horror over fusing bellydance, no talk of cultural appropriation. It was fun entertainment. Neena & Veena had officially become the "BellyTwins" with a career of their own, so they left the Flowers. It seemed like a huge hole to fill, but we were blessed with the addition of an accomplished Ballet/Belly dancer named Jindra, & a full time commitment from Kim Murphy - an all around fabulous dancer/contortionist/actress. We had an audition & added a new dancer named Layla, who unfortunately didn't jive with a few of the other dancers, so she was cut pretty quickly. She ended up starting her own company on which I will not comment. Another extraordinary dancer named Lorinda joined, as did a very young & adorable Jayna. Both Jayna & Lorinda went on to be "Bellydance Superstars".
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| Ali Baba Samba from Fusion & Fantasy 1999 backstage at Highways Theater, Santa Monica, CA Kamala, Kim Murphy, Princess Farhana, Angell Estrada & Marci Johnson (Selena) |
We were accustomed to accomplished Bellydancers enthusiastically joining the group, but there was one dancer who politely declined. Jillina was becoming the soloist of choice in the clubs. An extremely ambitious business woman, with all the assets needed for becoming a star, she wisely put her energies into building her own empire. She had a whole different business model, one that is the standard for professional dance companies to this day. Whereas the Flowers were a bit of a ragtag group in the sense that no one matched physically, & our work was quirky & artsy, Jillina assembled a sleek & glamorous troupe. With the professionalism of a Vegas show - she was the star, supported by young back up girls of a similar look. It was commercial to the max - & they exploded on the club/party scene. Middle Eastern audiences now wanted Jillina's Sahlala Dancers, & only Jillina's Sahlala Dancers. The Flowers had our fare share of glamorous young dancers as well, & one by one they jumped ship & signed on with Jillina. No one could blame them, & I had always been told that a company director (I was assistant director at this point) should never get too attached to a dancer, because they (we) are flaneurs after all, floating away on whatever fair wind that blows - Zay el Hawa.
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| Bellydance a Go Go with Kamala, Jayna, Kim Murphy & Miriam |
The Flowers perform on the "Roseanne Barr Show"
After 9/11 it was a grim time for the Middle Eastern community & the dancers. Restaurants stopped their entertainment & places changed their names to say "Mediterranean" rather than Middle Eastern. The Flowers had already produced a lot of charity events, & we presented "Bellydance for Peace". Much of the proceeds from our shows were donated to different worthy causes.
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| Backstage at Bellydance For Peace Laura Crawford, Kamala, Dana, Jayna, Princess Farhana, Laura Kali, Lorinda & Miriam 2001 |
We still had a few regular gigs & some parties, but truth was we were just too eclectic to make it commercially. We tried our damnedest to choreograph fluffy commercial pieces, but they never rang true, like our eccentric stuff did. We did last in some form or another for several more years, & slowly the cast changed & all the old members were gone, mostly replaced by some of my wonderful students - at the time I happened to have some young beauties we could recruit. But it was never the same. The original Flowers of the Desert had a certain alchemy, a magical energy for that fleeting moment in time. Since those days there have been countless copies, & at this point not many even know who we were, & how different it was. Fusion has taken off in a huge way & creativity is thriving. My writing this story is an attempt to educate lovers of fusion Bellydance on what contribution we made. I look back with pride on this troupe. It's interesting to me how many of the original members never mention the Flowers on their resumes - dancers are a fickle lot I suppose, & perhaps to many of them it was just a blip on their roads to success. For me it was more than a blip. It was a saving grace, an opportunity to dance one more time, to be accepted. I had now been in the business for over 20 years & I was beginning to swallow the bitter pill of dancer old age & unattractiveness. Thankfully I had a growing student base & a fun children's dance company to pour my efforts into. And I was a mom - a very active, basically stay at home mom. That's what got me through this transition, as my identity for so long was shifting & fading.
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