Weekend of Contact Improv

A few weekends ago I attended a Contact Improv Retreat. I had the delightful and rich experience of dancing with some people I know very minimally and dancing with complete strangers for the better part of two days.

We started with a "structured" class where the instructor, Yves, gave us some starting points to work with. We crawled, played with moving from low to upright positions. We then worked with partners, holding another's arm with our eyes closed while we let our partner lead us around. I found this exhilarating and frightening at the same time, especially when my partner pulled me while running. Flying, feeling air in my face, trusting my partner completely to make sure I didn't run into someone or something. And once that trust was there, just enjoying the ride.

Then the dance began. I danced for several hours, loved having so much room to work with, really taking up space and allowing myself to move uninhibited, dancing with people, pushing, pulling, flying, running, falling, rolling. Because of the vastness of the space we were in, I was able to be in perpetual motion for longer periods of time--to really see the flow through, to follow the momentum to its natural end, which was a new and liberating feeling.

I especially loved moving to the live music: a cello, piano and drums. Between the musicians and dancers, I was given such a rich tapestry of elements to play with and off of. Such an amazing experience that I didn't want to end.

I guess it's not news that physical contact with others can be healing. We know that babies need to be held, touched, even have skin-to-skin contact with their mother or caregiver to bond, to feel secure and to grow into empathetic adults. Giving a kid a hug can cure just about any minor ailment.

I think as adults, we forget how good connecting physically with another human being can be. We may enjoy that physical expression with our spouse or significant other (with or without the sexual component) or our children. We may hug our extended family or friends as a greeting or maybe hug someone we know is having a hard time.

But how often do we really take in those bits of affection, of connection, that we're getting? How often does it become simply obligatory or rote? While dancing in contact with others, there is tenderness, care, exploration, sensuality, playfulness and everything in between. Moments of stillness, many times taken when a position feels particularly restorative or comforting, allow time for one to really take in that connection. It is truly a beautiful practice.

Contact Improv Utopia

I recently became involved in a contact improv group that gets together to "jam". This consists of improvised dance between two or more partners who are sharing a point of contact the whole time. Not only are you touching, but you are experimenting with weight, momentum, physics. There is weight sharing, rolling, lifting.

There is something special about sharing dance with other people, especially in this context. Because it is improvised and because you are working with others, it requires you to really tune in to your body and your partner's, to respond to their movements, give your weight over to them and let them give their weight to you and the whole while, each taking responsibility for your own bodies.

I was struck at the last session just how much these dances reflect the ideal relationship. There are moments of give and take and there are moments of moving away and coming together. And most incredibly, there are moments where the two parties are giving and receiving at the same time by leaning into one another, neither one bearing more weight than the other but simply supporting each other. It is the sense of standing strong on one's own, while still providing and receiving support that makes it such a great model. It seems like such a beautiful example of a true partnership...autonomy and connection happening simultaneously.

How wonderful would it be to live in a world like that...supporting each other by leaning on each other. For me it's just another example of how extremes aren't necessary...opposites (giving/receiving) can happen at the same time, harmoniously.

Dancing in this way also reminds me of something I learned awhile ago about forming through resistance. In the womb, the baby grows and develops against the uterus of its mother. The uterus provides containment and resistance but still yields to the growing baby. In the same way, as we are dancing with the weight of our bodies against another's, I feel like we are growing spiritually, emotionally. Gently pushing against something or someone in a connected way allows us to expand ourselves and know ourselves in relation to others.

For more information on Contact Improv, go to: http://www.contactimprov.net/

Dance

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a dancer. I'd dance in the living room, on my porch...I felt so beautiful when I moved. Free.

My mom took me to an audition at a dance company in downtown Chicago when I was about 8 years old. It did not go well. I couldn't make my body do what the instructor was asking. I was off rhythm, embarrassed by my lack of grace and coordination in the eyes of my "judges". What had seemed so natural and graceful, what had given me such joy, was now something I was failing at.

Taking ballet classes didn't do much for my confidence. The dancers were all thin and tall and didn't have breasts (something I had more than my share of from an early age). My feet didn't turn out like the others', no matter how much I tried to make them. But I still danced on my own, making up routines for my sister and her friends and dancing in the living room.

In college, I still wanted to dance but had given up on being a dancer. I accepted what I thought to be true at the time...that my body was not built for a dance career. Becoming a dance minor was the only way I could take all the dance classes I wanted to, so I took those classes, purely for my own enjoyment.

I took ballet, toe shoes and all (another disaster), jazz, tap and modern. It was the first time I'd ever taken a modern class. Each modern class was different, but I soon found that in general, this was a dance style that seemed to fit my body type. Most of the movements utilized gravity rather than defy it...the instructors encouraged us to use our weight and it felt wonderful.

I read "My Life" by Isadora Duncan and was so inspired by her, by the notion of dance coming from within and it seemed to reflect my own experience with and relationship to movement. Movement from within came so naturally while echoing someone else's movements often seemed awkward and foreign...something I could get "wrong."

I went years without dancing. It's hard to believe, now that I'm doing it again, that I could go so long without it. I have rediscovered my love of moving, of releasing into a dance... I have a dance studio above my garage where I can turn on music and simply move.

It is unfortunate that modern dance is not readily available to the public and that many of us have bought into the notion that only certain bodies can dance or be graceful. Perhaps, like me, people have watched a dance performance, a ballet or a show on television and been impressed with what those performers can do with their bodies. And we should be, it is impressive. But it is not the only way to experience dance. It is not the only form that can be admired. Watching someone truly in their body, enjoying their body and its rhythms, working with gravity but not being overtaken by it...there is beauty in that.

At an unschooling gathering last year I watched my friend's son perform a dance he had created. It was nothing you'd see on television...there were no recognizable, technical moves. But the movement was coming out of him and through him and his motions were remarkably fluid and he was responding with passion to a piece of music that he loved. It literally moved me to tears.

Art, in all its forms, should be accessible to everyone. We don't need to teach people how to create art...we need to be reminded of the dances, the songs, the pictures, the stories that we all have inside of us and be given opportunities to express them. Some people like to be given a vocabulary for that expression and that's okay, too. It's a start. And of course some bodies have limitations. Certainly some people are more in touch with their bodies and have a kinesthetic intelligence that enables them to do astounding things that are amazing to watch or to express things through movement that can't be put into words. And that truly is a gift.

For me, there is such joy in moving without restriction. Listening to a piece of music that evokes some emotion or that reflects how I'm feeling and being able let those feelings move through me in a physical way is exhilarating and healing.

One of my best friends once choreographed and performed a piece about an abusive relationship she'd been in. I'd never seen anger look so beautiful. The beauty was in the movement and it was in the face of my friend battling her demons.

Now I look at my physical limitations as a gift. If I had been gifted in ballet and all of the technical ability I wanted, I may have missed out on finding the dancer within. I may have become a dance performer and lost sight of the dance waiting to emerge from each person. Every person, no matter the size or shape. There is a reason I identified so much with Isadora Duncan's words and philosophy. They mirrored my experience.

The grounding nature of some of the modern vocabulary lends itself well to the average body. If I didn't have an average body, I might not have known that or been able to share it. And that is what I want to do...help people to love being in their bodies, dancing.

Free.