Once upon a time there was a character named Jack Skellington.

Jack was very very good at Halloween. Everyone looked to him for leadership because he was so good at it.

As time went on, Jack became bored of Halloween. He kinda felt like everything that could be done had been done, and he really wanted to try something new to spice things up.

He stumbled upon a town which celebrated something called Christmas. "What's this?!" he exclaimed joyfully. It was something really different, and it looked fun and interesting. On the spot he decided to give that a try.

He took Christmas back to his friends, none of whom knew anything about Christmas. Jack himself really didn't know much except what he thought it should maybe look like a bit (from his brief visit to the town), and some general ideas about the traditions. Armed with this spare information, they set to work on their version of Christmas.

They took it on with gusto! They trusted Jack's instincts, and despite reservations and confusion, they plowed ahead with their attempts at something new. They did random experiments to try and see what it all meant, mixing and matching this and that to try and see what it would result in. They were scratching their heads, but kept pushing forward with innocent curiosity. "Making Christmas; time to give them something fun they'll talk about for years to come!" It was all done from a place of genuine enthusiasm and desire to do something spectacular. They poured everything they had into it. Jack even had a friend make him a version of a "Sandy Claus" costume for him to wear. Now that was authentic Christmas right there!

When all was said and done, things were kind of sort of vaguely something like Christmas, but really it was just this strange kludging together of Halloween and Christmas that didn't quite work. In some ways it was completely horrifying how things were misinterpreted and misunderstood! But having done this from such a place of ignorance, they had no idea how wrong they were. And off Jack went in his sleigh to excitedly share his interpretation of Christmas with all the families of the Christmas world!

And it was a disaster. People were confused, terrified, and offended. And Jack and his minions couldn't figure out why! They had read some books, made some costumes and toys, and decorated to a T (with rats and bats, even! Who doesn't love rats and bats?!)! What could they have done wrong with all those bases covered...?

Perhaps it was just a basic understanding of the material?

Hrm...sounds so familiar...Can't quite put my finger on it...

All the way back in May, I was pondering the collision of modern media and the organic process of artistic creation. In that post I wrote:

"A sculpture or a painting--even a piece of music or a video--is not expected to change, and is appreciated for its unchanging beauty. It is it's solidity that is part of its appeal, in a way. We see the same piece over time, and instead of expecting it to change or adapt to us, our perspective adapts and changes. We see it (hear it, experience it) from different angles, in different lights, in a different environment, our attitudes change, our perceptions change; and we find that our appreciation deepens and becomes richer and more multi-faceted as we take the time to consider the piece from all these perspectives. The work to appreciate that art day-to-day is in our hands as the viewer."

Behind the cut below is a vintage video which discusses a related topic: that how classic art is viewed today is so radically different from how it was when those works were created. One of my favorite quotes:

"As you look at (the art) now, on your screen, your wallpaper is around them, your window is opposite them, your carpet is below them. At this same moment, they are on many other screens, surrounded by different objects, different colors, different sounds. You are seeing them in the context of your own life. They are surrounded not by gilt frames, but by the familiarity of the room you are in and the people around you.

Originally paintings were an integral part of the building for which they were designed. Sometimes when you go into a Renaissance church or chapel, you have the feeling that the images on the wall are records of the building's interior life. Together they make up the building's memory, so much are they are part of the life and individuality of the building. Everything around the image is part of its meaning. Its uniqueness is part of the uniqueness of the single place where it is. Everything around it confirms and consolidates its meaning."

Which made me think about different pieces of dance performance art, and how for me it is ideally a reflection of the dancer's (or dancers') "interior life". And that sometimes, that context is so integral to fully appreciating the performance, yet we don't often have that piece of the puzzle. We are viewing it and assessing it "in the context of (our) own life", as an audience, by the familiarity of the room we are in and the people around us, no less! How much of the backstory is necessary to make a concept piece really effective for our audience, and how much is it lost if we just put it out there without our audience having any perspective on the creative roots from which the concept has sprung? When they go "huh", is it the audience's lack of vision or personal context, or did we fail as performers to make our intent and creative vision clear? And even further, how much does venue play a part of such a performance?

Is this part of the key in the proliferation of poor fusion out there? Lack of context? My very rambling stream of consciousness behind the cut...

Is it the crux of the problem that new and blossoming dancers are viewing fusion of another artist--a fusion which sprung from that artist's personal context, which the viewers are not privy to in any detail--and then parroting that style or creative choice without any personal context?

And then we have to ask, is it a failure of the performer to really access and present a honest "interior life" (rather than a contrived or copied one) in the work?

Or is there simply a lack of an understanding, on the part the audience, of an expression which is coming truly from within the dancer on stage?

Certainly the latter seems to be the cry of the struggling artist. I find that most often when dancers are challenged on their artistic choices, the volley back is "You just don't get it!" Soon followed by "I will do whatever I WANT. I am an ARTIST!!" The insinuation is that it is entirely on us, the viewer, to do the work of understanding and appreciating, and none of that rests on the performer themselves. That their job is only to do whatever they feel, whatever they think makes sense in the context of their life (even if it is sometimes a completely superficial copy of someone else's choices) without consideration of their audience. But I would argue that we are not just visual artists as dancers; that as performers, we are also necessarily entertainers. And while part of our job is an internal struggle to create something genuine from within ourselves, the other part is translating it into something for others to consume. If your work is truly from within you, and you want to put it out there for others to share in, the next step is to consider how you will best convey your message so others can appreciate it.

So following this train of thought, I ponder many questions...

How much of copying another's style is a stepping stone to a more personal expression, and how much of it is a crutch to avoid the real work of personal development?

How much of the responsibility to make any performance piece understood is in the hands of the performer versus the eye of the beholder? And what role to we performers have in helping the latter along? Is it creative sacrifice or creative consideration to change our original vision in any way to be more palatable to our audience?

I recently had a discussion with Read My Hips' director Stephanie Barto about the effect of the internet and on-demand media on the natural organic progression of art. I think performance art struggles in particular in the new millenium, victim of the "glazed over eyes after 60 seconds" and "that was so 5 minutes ago" attitudes, in a way that visual art does not.


Here is a snippet of what she shared (which is in part a discussion she was having with another dancer), and my thoughts in return:

Dancer A: "The internet has so much influence over the spread of tribal belly dance. i wonder if the internet just kills everything because it doesn't let it grow naturally."

SB: "It's also interesting how tribal bellydance in the days before social
networking and YouTube was a much smaller world, and did tend to evolve in a more organic ways. (My troupe) is an example ... I started with Carolena's foundation, and the ways I changed it were all about making it more "me" and/or being inspired by the skills of the people I was working with. What I arrived at felt honest, even if it wasn't anything shockingly innovative or spectacular in the big scheme of things."

My response to these observations after the jump.

A sculpture or a painting--even a piece of music or a video--is not expected to change, and is appreciated for its unchanging beauty. It is it's solidity that is part of its appeal, in a way. We see the same piece over time, and instead of expecting it to change or adapt to us, our perspective adapts and changes. We see it (hear it, experience it) from different angles, in different lights, in a different environment, our attitudes change, our perceptions change; and we find that our appreciation deepens and becomes richer and more multi-faceted as we take the time to consider the piece from all these perspectives. The work to appreciate that art day-to-day is in our hands as the viewer.

Our art as performers exists in a finite amount of time, and is never the same twice--no matter how we might strive for consistency, we are not carved of stone or molded metal. As a moving, living, breathing conduit of our art, we are always changing so our art is always changing. Unlike visual art--where once the piece is complete and the artist has put their stamp on it, most would agree it is up to the viewer to interpret and decide what the piece provides them in the way of entertainment or food for thought--with performance art, and even more starkly in recent years in tribal bellydance, the expectation to impress/entertain seems to fall squarely on the performers, with the audience taking little to no responsibility for their part in the equation. Audiences expect us to deliver an emotional response to them like so much cheesy pizza, while they sit back and wait for it to fall in their laps. And if we don't hand it to them as "promised", they find fault with us as performers. Add to that, when we take our art from one venue to another, somehow the expectation is that it should have changed and evolved significantly in the time between, however short. If they see "the same thing", instead of feeling a responsibility within themselves to try to see it in a new light/from a new perspective/with a richer understanding/with fresh eyes, they chalk it up to the performer failing them for not bringing them something "new and cutting edge".

To be honest, this is part of why I love tribal group improv. Because not only does it demand a level of consistency--foundation, if you will--to be able to be strong and cohesive, it also embraces and is bolstered by organic change from show to show-- group improvisation is something different every time, which keeps it fresh for both the dancers and their audiences. And watching it, the nuances of the performance, including the different dancers from show-to-show, their chemistry and how they interact, how they use their space, how they interpret the music (even if it's the same music, it's interpreted differently each time). But now you hear comments from audiences like "They're using the same moves as last time...where are the new moves?" or "They always dance to this music. Boring..." Rather than looking to see what is new, what new levels there are to appreciate, they are expecting fast food delivery of all-new material, or else they withdraw their interest.

At home they change the channel, where there options are to watch a television show, which they recognize as unchanging once it is secured on video, like sculpture; or a reality show, which is constantly changing because of the human element, and is all of-the-moment shock-and-awe. But at a performance venue, they check out, and sometimes dismiss the performance/performers wholesale. I have seen this phenomenon increase exponentially each year I have been going to Tribal Fest--people won't even show up to watch if they don't think they are going to see something brand new. That is, with a few notable exceptions, with pioneers like FatChance and Hahbi Ru, who keep rocking their "classics", much like fans show up in droves for Kiss concerts even though they are wearing the same costumes and doing the same music as they did 30 years ago. These artists were the first, and they are authentic to who they are and what they have created, and that in itself is remarkable in its timelessness. And people respond to that in the long-term, not just the flash-in-the-pan fad following that schtick-users garners. But I digress...

Basically, no wonder performers these days are so hungrily seeking the next new fad to lead the pack with. The message being sent by tribal bellydance audiences is that if it isn't the newest, nuttiest, oddest, strangest, sexiest, most different thing on that stage, then it won't be worth trying to focus their narrow field of attention.

But what will last? Being true to ourselves. And frankly, I have found the best way to achieve that is to not create my art specifically for other bellydancers--this is where the whole inbred tribal copy-of-a-copy starts and ends. If all I am thinking about is how to impress the audiences at the next Big Festival, I am not looking inward for my inspiration, but outward. And if we're all looking to the same people and places for that inspiration and validation, what we create will all look and feel very much the same. I saw myself going down this road a few years ago, and made a conscious choice to remove myself from that endless loop for a while, and I have been much happier, and what we have been creating has never felt more right. Keeping my focus on audiences who have maybe never seen bellydance before; or on dancers who approach performance art the same way they approach visual art, taking responsibility for viewing the art from all angles and seeing the nuance and detail that goes into a strong performance--people who will be uplifted and empowered by our joyful energies--has kept my motivation strong and my creative focus clear. And keeping my mind and heart on my troupe sisters and what we want to say with our collective voice, is a surefire way to keep my own creative well overflowing for a long time. It ensures that what we create together will be authentic to us.

We slowed down a lot, re-focused our energies; and maybe we aren't creating new material as quickly as we were, or anything incredibly cutting-edge or monumental, but we are doing it all more thoughtfully and hopefully nurturing our own repertoire such that it will last us into the future. The pioneers I mentioned before, like Carolena and John, and many others who have followed since, gained their success through simply doing what they do. There weren't a lot of bellydance-specific festivals, online discussion groups, YouTube and the like, so they weren't creating their art in a fish bowl. They worked small, locally, intimately, slowly. They weren't afraid to experiment because the world wasn't watching and putting on the pressure to succeed at every turn. Dancers could take more risks, and if it didn't work out, live to dance another day. :) This is what I aspire to have the courage to do, even under the microscope of today's social media...