People have signature moves, which collapses the argument that you can’t or don’t dance. There’s a proscenium that is not a dance floor––it’s wherever you exist in space, with weight, timing and energy. Rudolph Laban codified these four aspects of human movement in his theory of Effort/Shape: use of space is indirect or direct, sense of weight is strong or light, timing is quick or sustained, flow is free or bound. During my dance therapy graduate studies at NYU, we hit the pavement in Greenwich Village to watch people walk and do ordinary things––through the lens of Laban’s theory. Later, we would apply this lens to special populations in places like Bellevue Hospital, Bronx Psychiatric Center, and the Lighthouse for the Blind. Charles Simic observes like a dance therapist in this poem (from Classic Ballroom Dances published by George Braziller):
Classic Ballroom Dances
Grandmothers who wring the necks
Of chickens; old nuns
With names like Theresa, Marianne,
Who pull schoolboys by the ear;
The intricate steps of pickpockets
Working the crowd of the curious
At the scene of an accident; the slow shuffle
Of the evangelist with a sandwich board;
The hesitation of the early-morning customer
Peeking through the window grille
Of a pawnshop; the weave of a little kid
Who is walking to school with eyes closed;
And the ancient lovers, cheek to cheek,
On the dance floor of the Union Hall,
Where they also hold charity raffles
On rainy Monday nights of an eternal November.
Coincidentally, the poem’s first verb “wring” is one of Laban’s eight “Efforts”, characterized by indirect, sustained, strong and bound movement. Germane as it is to human action, it can also be laden with emotion. In a written scenario, it gives a visceral response. And what about the Flamenco version of “wring” in this photo of my friend Gabriela Granados, director of American Bolero Dance Company?
Look through the technique and virtuosity of the art form––the expressivity that is dance has subtle beginnings, inherent to being human.
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