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Dance Workshop
Jan. 16th, 2005 09:19 pmAbout fourteen years ago, I attended a big student ballroom dance competition in Florida. I was surprised that there was anything I would enjoy doing twenty-four hours a day for a solid week, but there was. We had the opportunity to take lessons all morning every day. Then there were competitions all afternoon and evening. Some nights there were social dances. If you were extremely well organized and motivated, you could also fit in eating and sleeping.
I had great fun and have been craving that kind of experience lately. So I signed up for a swing workshop this weekend. Two nationally famous instructors were here to teach swing at all levels as well as a few related dances. I dragged Robin along, too.
Friday night we started with a kind of dancing called "blues." The instructors taught each step and had us change partners often. They taught lots of steps, but taught them in a routine, so I was able to remember them later and write them down. I can see why people like these instructors; they are both just charming and obviously enjoying themselves, and they are also quite good dancers. Their teaching style was basically the old "watch me and do what I do" method, not my favorite, but they would occasionally do a step in slow motion or break it down. They talked about not only what to do with your feet, but also what to do with your hips, and often used counter-example as well as example, which I really like. They didn't teach much about leading and following, but since they taught the steps as part of a routine, you didn't have to lead or follow during class. Unfortunately, they spoke in some sort of jungle dance language.
I've noticed that most dance instructors, and teachers of physical skills in general, teach using some sort of language I don't understand. They say things like "move from your center," whereas I think that I need to use my legs. They say sing from your diaphragm, whereas I think I must use my vocal chords. They say to lower yourself into the earth, and I think that gravity gives me no other choice. I know it's really analogies that do help many people, but they don't work on me. I get distracted by the literal meaning. Well, this weekend, I got to hear a new kind of incomprehensible dance language. Dance style, which I could really use a lot of help with, was explained in terms of feelings you were trying to convey. And those feelings were explained using growls, screeches, hisses, moans, purring: all your basic animal noises. Entertaining, but unhelpful to me.
Lessons in swing, lindy hop specifically, started the next day. I've tried to learn lindy hop once or twice years ago, but I'm really only good at east coast swing (single, double, and triple-step), west coast swing, and maybe jive. But knowing these five other versions of swing were not quite enough to get me through the workshop. Although the workshop was advertised as being for people of all levels, they really meant all levels except rank beginners. Robin was lost from the beginning and had to leave. I lasted through 2 1/2 classes before giving up. I almost gave up after 1 1/2 classes, but the instructors slowed down and repeated some of the instruction for a while. When the second class started with an assumption of the Charleston-looking step, I felt I was in trouble. That move consists of a random-feeling skipping and hopping, but my hours of practicing back when I first learned it paid off, and everything was okay until they jumped past another step with no explanation.
I was taken over by the feeling that I was a poseur. Stumbling from partner to partner, my "I'm-a-dancer" disguise disintegrated. I've only been able to pretend I'm a dancer so long because my regular instructor is so miraculous. I'll have to confine myself to people who know the exact dances I know. I left the workshop shrunken and dejected, knowing that I could never get that dance-camp feeling back again. It was a nice thing that happened once, which I treasure, but now it's over.
Of course, it's not true that I'm not really a dancer. I love dancing and I do dance. I just learn slowly. And that's usually okay.
Gotta go; there's a really good west coast swing playing now.
I had great fun and have been craving that kind of experience lately. So I signed up for a swing workshop this weekend. Two nationally famous instructors were here to teach swing at all levels as well as a few related dances. I dragged Robin along, too.
Friday night we started with a kind of dancing called "blues." The instructors taught each step and had us change partners often. They taught lots of steps, but taught them in a routine, so I was able to remember them later and write them down. I can see why people like these instructors; they are both just charming and obviously enjoying themselves, and they are also quite good dancers. Their teaching style was basically the old "watch me and do what I do" method, not my favorite, but they would occasionally do a step in slow motion or break it down. They talked about not only what to do with your feet, but also what to do with your hips, and often used counter-example as well as example, which I really like. They didn't teach much about leading and following, but since they taught the steps as part of a routine, you didn't have to lead or follow during class. Unfortunately, they spoke in some sort of jungle dance language.
I've noticed that most dance instructors, and teachers of physical skills in general, teach using some sort of language I don't understand. They say things like "move from your center," whereas I think that I need to use my legs. They say sing from your diaphragm, whereas I think I must use my vocal chords. They say to lower yourself into the earth, and I think that gravity gives me no other choice. I know it's really analogies that do help many people, but they don't work on me. I get distracted by the literal meaning. Well, this weekend, I got to hear a new kind of incomprehensible dance language. Dance style, which I could really use a lot of help with, was explained in terms of feelings you were trying to convey. And those feelings were explained using growls, screeches, hisses, moans, purring: all your basic animal noises. Entertaining, but unhelpful to me.
Lessons in swing, lindy hop specifically, started the next day. I've tried to learn lindy hop once or twice years ago, but I'm really only good at east coast swing (single, double, and triple-step), west coast swing, and maybe jive. But knowing these five other versions of swing were not quite enough to get me through the workshop. Although the workshop was advertised as being for people of all levels, they really meant all levels except rank beginners. Robin was lost from the beginning and had to leave. I lasted through 2 1/2 classes before giving up. I almost gave up after 1 1/2 classes, but the instructors slowed down and repeated some of the instruction for a while. When the second class started with an assumption of the Charleston-looking step, I felt I was in trouble. That move consists of a random-feeling skipping and hopping, but my hours of practicing back when I first learned it paid off, and everything was okay until they jumped past another step with no explanation.
I was taken over by the feeling that I was a poseur. Stumbling from partner to partner, my "I'm-a-dancer" disguise disintegrated. I've only been able to pretend I'm a dancer so long because my regular instructor is so miraculous. I'll have to confine myself to people who know the exact dances I know. I left the workshop shrunken and dejected, knowing that I could never get that dance-camp feeling back again. It was a nice thing that happened once, which I treasure, but now it's over.
Of course, it's not true that I'm not really a dancer. I love dancing and I do dance. I just learn slowly. And that's usually okay.
Gotta go; there's a really good west coast swing playing now.