Taylor 2 Master Class: An Embodied Experience

I have never felt so simultaneously at home and in a foreign place as I did this afternoon in a modern dance master class given by Paul Taylor 2 this afternoon at my school, Gonzaga University. A curious thing always happens when I enter a room with professional dancers present, even if it is my home studio. Anticipation of the wonderful and groundbreaking learning that is about to take place and nervous thoughts like “am I going to do a good job and catch the teacher’s eye? Or will the movements be so unfamiliar that I will stumble clumsily through the entire class?” swirl through my mind and course through my body simultaneously, the energy feeding my readiness to move. As I anxiously wait for class to begin, I study the members of the company here to assist the class as they warm up. Doing so is like watching an Olympian train: each has their own silent, solitary, nuanced routine that oils their dancing machine and gets it ready to rev up. Lying in various shapes and positions on the floor and staring introspectively at the ceiling, each dancer is wrapped up in both their warm cover-ups of varying fashion and their own little world. I join them on the floor and pretend like I know what I’m doing, stretching but not really getting warm as I continue to observe what I believe to be movement geniuses preparing to work. My mind flits back to my younger days auditioning for summer intensive training programs at world-renowned ballet schools across the country, recalling how my competitors and I would attempt our most impressive stretches while crammed in a small, stuffy studio space waiting to enter the audition class. I’ve since matured and reminded myself that such showiness is not a healthy approach to these situations, and began doing jumping jacks in an attempt to distract myself and actually prepare my body to move.

 This interesting interaction between my old and new dancer self (which I have experienced in the years following my hip replacement at 16, causing me to gracefully retire my dream of becoming a professional ballet dancer and my body to change significantly) continued through the rest of class. Around me, I saw pieces of my old self: my beautiful, lean, muscular, technically gifted, attentive classmate to my right reminds me of myself when I was at my peak, as does my classmate to my left, with what I call the “academic,” “I just came from ballet but watch me also slay at modern” dance look (a high-quality leotard with black leggings worn on the outside, no tights). And then there’s me, with vestiges of my rigorous ballet training shining through my port de bras (arm movements) but a new softness to my muscles and more moments where I am not “on my leg” (dancer-speak for off-balance). Do I miss my old, conditioned dancer’s body? In instances like this where professionals are watching and I am learning a new dance style in which being in tip-top shape would really help, yes. But I am increasingly appreciative of my more mature dancer mind and body that has developed over time. Old ballerina Kaylee would push herself to unhealthy limits (ie over-stretch, not eat a proper dinner before dance class so as not to look and feel heavy in a leotard), but new Kaylee is ok with not being perfect and is thus exposing herself to many new ways of moving, allowing herself to learn and absorb more information instead of obsessing over little things (ie “Angela did more pirouettes than me today, she’s probably going to get Clara in the Nutcracker instead of me ugh”). She is also a lot happier and having way more fun. 

The first few warm-up exercises we completed together felt like I was speaking the same language than the teacher, but in a different dialect. I was very “at home” in the pliés (knee bends) and tendus (stretching the legs with pointed toes), but felt myself entering another realm of movement each time a contraction of the spine or swoop of the torso was thrown in to accompany familiar movements and threaten my balance and perception of myself as a relatively good dancer. A lunging, rounded pose with a contracted core,pelvis, and spine and the outside hand on the thigh was pointed out to be extremely “Taylor,” as was the tendency to make fast movements look slow (it was at this moment that my brain exploded. Oh, the endless possibilities of movement!). Realization struck: different forms of dance have different movement vocabularies, which was contributing to my paradoxical feeling of being “at home” in certain movements due to muscle memory developed by sixteen years of ballet training and feeling totally alien at the same time. One particular part of the Taylor movement vocabulary that intrigued me was the constant looking and/or angling upwards, perhaps to a higher being. In my Dance History class this semester, we have been talking about the church’s evolving view of dance. As a result of the barbaric spectacles of Roman theater, dance has been lowered in the eyes of the Catholic church and has thus evolved outside of it. Strangely enough, ballet in particular has evolved to aspire to the heavens, with ballerinas striving to appear as ethereal beings onstage. Their pointe shoes don’t just elevate the feet alone; rather, they represent the ballerina’s elevated spirit and aspires toward heaven. I wonder if Paul Taylor was striving for the same feel by using the upward focus in his choreography (weird for the modern style, which is usually grounded…)...but enough of my nerdy dancer musings.

Perhaps my favorite part of class (if it’s even possible to choose) was when we learned a combination to a sultry, melancholy song that is to be performed by the company at our very own Myrtle Woldson PAC. After learning the steps and dancing to the live pianist’s rendition of the music, the teacher went into greater detail about the inspiration behind the piece, which became even clearer when the true track was turned on. The Argentinian-influenced piece was full of longing, desperation, loss, and desire, and the teacher described the scene onstage: a woman soloist in the center dancing yearningly toward male dancers situated in each corner, each one rejecting her as she approaches. She urged us to summon memories to help us empathize with the character she painted, and having just gone through a breakup, a sudden surge of desirous angst emitted from my every limb, my facial expression the epitome of hurt and loss. The teacher picked up on my revelation and gave me that “yes” so coveted by all dancers, regardless of what kind of class they are in. It was in that moment of validation and deeper understanding of the meaning of the piece that I remembered how healing the art of dance can be. As a chronically ill, type-A college student, a large part of my experience is colored by stress of some sort, and often the last thing I want to do is hoist myself up from my desk or bed and trudge through the cold to the studio. In that moment of peace and satisfaction, however, I vowed that no matter how bad I was feeling, I would make it a point to get myself in the studio to experience the healing that dance can bring more often. The teacher then stopped the music to give us more feedback. I’ll never forget what she said next. She noticed that many of us are ballet dancers and were struggling with some unfamiliar movement patterns. She said, in effect, to make our stumbles part of the dance by infusing intention and emotion into every step. As we ran the dance again, I no longer felt clumsy or inferior. Rather, I felt like an artist.

Something that really struck me was the fact that even though these professionals could be seen as intimidating, unfamiliar, and taking over our space, each group (the professionals and GU students) welcomed each other and wanted to learn as much as possible from the other.If this approach was applied to society and politics, I think the world would be a more tolerant, placid place. One cardio intensive, jumping across-the-floor exercise showed me where I still need to work on getting more comfortable operating in a group setting. There was a lot of running in different patterns and traveling movements involved, and my anxiety surrounding whether I would have enough room to dance my best had me running on my short legs out in front of the group every time, leaving me exhausted and confused while executing the steps (which deviated from ballet just enough to take up a lot of my brain-power as I fought my muscle memory). That sort of anxiety has been a lot more prevalent for me this semester as I take on new leadership roles. I often dash out ahead of everyone, doing every little administrative task on my own rather than delegating them, leaving me tired and bewildered by the volume of work I must complete. I have to get used to running, dancing, and working alongside everyone if I do not want to physically or emotionally collide with another dancer. 

Through the excited chatter and breathy gasps of sweaty bodies all packing up after class in the cubby room, one of my classmates’ comments stood out to me: she said, “I almost didn’t come because I had homework, but this class reminded me that it’s always worth it to go dance.” That sentiment followed me to the acting studio, where my inspiration high helped me finish choreographing a piece  I had gotten stuck on. As I floated home, my creative kick continued as I began typing this blog on my rooftop, so full of important little nuggets of wisdom that I never want to forget. For the first time in a while, I felt completely in my element and comfortable with solitude. As I finish writing this piece today, the soreness that is penetrating my lower back and hip flexors more and more as I type away serves as a reminder of the beautiful work I had the privilege of engaging in yesterday. As I stand up momentarily to stretch the lactic acid buildup out of my muscles, only one word comes to mind: grateful.