nighttime railing improv
From the time I started dancing in early 2018 to March 2020, taking dance class was a ritual I engaged in almost daily. I loved everything about taking class. I loved walking in the door and seeing familiar bodies warming up. I loved sprung wood floors beneath bare feet. I loved the focus and energy of an entire room of dancers on learning and improving, just for the sake of it. I loved the resonant, synergistic joy between the teacher and students. I loved the feeling of a new pathway in my body suddenly making sense. I loved that this strange laboratory of movement existed, every day, dynamic and breathing, but always there.
On a Thursday in mid-March of 2020, I took Kristin Damrow’s class at ODC in San Francisco. It kicked my ass, but that wasn’t unfamiliar. Kristin’s material is demanding and energetic, and most of the other dancers in the class were pros in their 20s. Still, I left with a twinge of frustration, mitigated by the unconscious reminder that I could give it another go the following week. But in just another couple days, everything changed.
My daily ritual, such a staple in helping to maintain my sanity and wellbeing, was suddenly gone. I felt it like heartbreak. Many of us did, I imagine. Over the days, weeks, and months that followed, I found new rituals. One of them that took hold almost immediately was nighttime outdoor improv. The cover of darkness was a salve to the prying eyes of bystanders. I could pass for drunk (which I often was) or just harmlessly artistic (which I still often am). No one bothered me, for the most part, and some people even took the time to offer compliments or their own dance stories.
One thing I discovered during these improvs is that I particularly enjoy finding interesting ways to share weight with objects and structures. Just before the pandemic, I was excited to begin learning how to partner with other dancers. I didn’t (and don’t) have much experience in this area. But the universe had other plans, so I began to explore what I could with non-human partners. Tricycles, buildings, trees, bike racks, fountains, benches, fences, hammocks, chairs, dumpsters — all move with gravity and other physical forces in unique ways and as a result can make interesting “dance partners”.
As I write this, the dance studios are opening back up, and human beings are coming back into physical contact with one another. My own dance practice is shifting again, this time less abruptly and with more agency on my part. I’m not sure yet how these improvs will fit in or what they’ll morph into next.
This improv with the Grand Staircase railing at Haas School of Business in Berkeley felt nice in my body and turned out pretty well on camera, too. The music is Carnival of the Animals, R. 125: The Swan performed by Camille Saint-Saens, Phillippe Entremont, and Yo-Yo Ma (I don’t own the rights…I’m working on it).
