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Liz Brent-Maldonado is a multi-disciplinary creator of art, writing, and holistic educational experiences. Originally from Colorado, she attended the University of Colorado at Boulder and lived in Kyoto, Japan before moving to San Francisco in 2009. Liz loves design, research, travel, colors, and coffee. Whether curriculum or comics, her favorite projects feature magical realism and the everyday infused with otherworldly or surreal elements. For more: www.sparkle.vision.

The post Infused with the Otherworldly appeared first on Stance on Dance.

I love interviewing dance artists. It allows me to speak with someone I normally wouldn’t and ask them directly about their inspirations, perspectives, and goals. I’ve been doing interviews for more than a decade, and I’ve come to love platforming artists.

When putting together this issue of Stance on Dance, I was tickled when several writers pitched interviews, profiles, and conversations with artists they admire. When I recruit contributors for each issue, I essentially give them carte blanche, asking them to write about their own work, a phenomenon in the field, or another artist they are interested in. While there is immense value in all the above, I like when contributors opt to cover other artists because it gives readers a glimpse into the minds of both the writer and their subject. It’s two for the price of one.

I’m also delighted about the various genres included in this issue: swing, body music, vogue, physical theater, flamenco, bharatanatyam, contemporary, belly dance, ballet, pole, and somatics. I’m proud to see Stance on Dance covering so many facets of the dance ecosystem.

This issue includes Bonnie Eissner’s interview with Caleb Teicher of Sw!ng Out, Ana Vrbaški’s essay on the New Balkan Rhythm Festival in Serbia, my interview with vogue and physical theater artist Willyum LaBeija, Shebana Coelho’s meditation on connecting dance with Urdu poetry, my interview with Leslie Streit and Robin McCain about the historical significance of the Harkness Ballet, Jill Randall’s conversation with Darrell Jones about endurance, longevity, and rest, Nikhita Winkler’s interview with tribal fusion dancer Alhazar, Julianna Massa’s profile of her pole dance teacher Irlanda, and my interview with fat somatic practitioner Jules Pashall. Magical realist illustrations are by Liz Brent-Maldonado.

As always, copies of Stance on Dance’s print publication are donated to college dance programs and other dance learning spaces around the US. To date, Stance on Dance has partnered with faculty at 25 programs to help ignite interest in the possibilities of dance journalism. And even though I’ve been running Stance on Dance for more than a decade, my own understanding of the possibilities of dance journalism is always being augmented too!

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To learn more or get your print copy, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

Cover art by Liz Brent-Maldonado

The post Expanding the Possibilities of Dance Journalism appeared first on Stance on Dance.

This year marks Stance on Dance’s 10th birthday. In honor of the occasion (and a bit of a coincidence as well), I am pleased to announce that Stance on Dance has become a nonprofit and received 501c3 status. Stance on Dance’s nonprofit mission is to educate the dance community and wider audiences about dance from the perspective of underrepresented voices and access points. One way my board and I are fulfilling our mission is by launching a twice-yearly print publication that features and supports more dance writers and thus shares more perspectives. We will also distribute copies to dance educational institutions and to our donors who make this possible.

Allow me to wax philosophic about how Stance on Dance got to this point. I started Stance on Dance as a blog in 2012. As a freelance dancer in the San Francisco Bay Area at the time, I felt frustrated with the ways dance was written about. It was often written about by people without a deep knowledge of the artform, it was often review and preview oriented (and the show is but the tip of the iceberg), and it tended to follow the money and cover major ballet and modern companies while overlooking the varied world of freelance artists who pour their energy (and often their earnings) into making their art exist.

My idea was simple enough: I would publish interviews with fellow dance artists in the San Francisco Bay Area as well as solicit and edit content from colleagues. The blog often had a tone of being “on the ground,” as opposed to the more formal reviews and previews I contributed to various publications around San Francisco. I took pride in it being by and for dance artists. I published content once to twice a week, and it generally consisted of interviews conducted by me, essays by various colleagues, cartoons drawn by my roommate Maggie Stack satirizing the dance world, and music recommendations by my friend Jake Padilla. As time went on, my friend Ryan Kelley wrote drink recommendations to pair with various shows, a calendar listing with a twist.

From the get go, I loved producing content about dance and organizing an editorial calendar. And while the bawdy cartoons and drink recommendations were fun, it was the interviews with various dance artists that gained the most traction. I had an affinity for writing, but I was by no means a trained journalist. I was a dancer. As a result of Stance on Dance’s growth during that first year, I started to look into graduate programs in arts journalism. Around the same time, the cost of living in San Francisco started to skyrocket due to the tech bubble, and I felt trapped as a dancer barely making ends meet. I decided my time in San Francisco had come to a close.

In 2013, I entered a master’s program in Arts Journalism at the University of Southern California on scholarship and, through moving to Los Angeles, Stance on Dance began to cover artists beyond the Bay Area. As I developed a more journalistic tone, the blog became more professional in its coverage, transforming from a site that was mostly circulated amongst colleagues, to an online publication that was beginning to command a serious readership. My master’s thesis was a redevelopment of Stance on Dance with a sleek redesign, a more engaged social media presence, and employment of metrics to track and understand readership.

In 2013, I also began working on what would become the book Beauty is Experience: Dancing 50 and Beyond, where I interviewed more than 50 dance artists over the age of 50 up and down the West Coast. I worked with Portland based photographer Gregory Bartning, who beautifully captured each interviewee. Our goal was to showcase the beauty and form in a dancer of any age, as well as to demonstrate how artistry enrichens with time. The compilation was published as a hardcover book in 2017.

After graduate school, I had the amazing opportunity to travel to South Africa to cover the National Arts Festival for Cue Newspaper, a printed daily arts newspaper that existed for the duration of the festival. Aside from the experience being a cultural whirlwind, I also began to appreciate for the first time how different print is from online content. Instead of an endless vertical scroll, themes could be developed across articles with the aid of good design. The reader’s attention is also different, with more sustained focus, as opposed to distraction after receiving notifications on a device. One day during my time in South Africa, I outlined a plan for a print version of Stance on Dance. Of course, I had graduate school debt, no job, and I didn’t even know where I would live next, but the seed was planted.

Upon returning to the states, I moved to Santa Fe, NM, and took a job as the editor of Fine Lifestyles Santa Fe, a glossy magazine that covered restaurants and shops in town. I didn’t care much for the content, but I relished the experience of working closely with a team of writers, photographers, sales reps, and designers to produce a print magazine. I took careful notes on the process, always having in the back of my mind that one day I might apply these skills to a print version of Stance on Dance.

Throughout grad school, my time in South Africa, and my time in Santa Fe working for the magazine, I continued to produce weekly (and often bi-weekly) content for Stance on Dance. As a result of working on the dancing over 50 book project as well as through my various experiences post graduate school, Stance on Dance increasingly became devoted to elevating the voices of those who are often marginalized in the dance world. These include older dancers, dancers of color, dancers who identify as LGBTQ, dancers who have a disability, fat dancers, dancers who live outside major metropolitan areas, women in leadership positions, dancers working outside well-funded institutions, and dancers who practice forms outside the Western canon. Through focusing on perspectives that have traditionally been marginalized in dance journalism, Stance on Dance found its footing as a journal where ideas and ways of working that challenge the status quo are covered and celebrated.

In 2017, I embarked on a second book project, this time in collaboration with Austin/Finland based dance educator Silva Laukkanen, interviewing professional dancers with disabilities. Breadth of Bodies: Discussing Disability in Dance came out this spring 2022 and features 35 professional dancers with disabilities in 15 countries. Through our interviews, Silva and I deepened our knowledge of problematic stereotypes, barriers to education, access issues, and terminology preferences. These interviews are accompanied with whimsical illustrations by San Francisco based artist Liz Brent-Maldonado.

That brings us to the present. After years of publishing weekly online content covering dance artists from many practices and places, Stance on Dance is excited to announce the launch of a twice-a-year print publication that will further promote dance and the many perspectives of its practitioners. This first issue features an interview by Sophia Diehl with dance movement therapist Giulia Carotenuto, an essay by Katie Flashner on relocating her life and dance practice from southern California to Maine, an essay by Cherie Hill on advocating for equity in dance spaces, an essay by Bhumi Patel on decolonizing praxis, three original dance inspired illustrations by Camille Taft, and an interview by Nikhita Winkler with French dance artist Illan Riviere. I also have contributed an interview with Miami-based choreographer Pioneer Winter on his intergenerational and physically integrated dance company, and an interview (translated and facilitated by Lorie House) with Colombian butoh artist Brenda Polo and her collaborators who are studying the effects of butoh on the brain. We will eventually publish all this content on stanceondance.com, but I believe the design and opportunity for more sustained reading brings the content to life in a different, hopefully more enjoyable, way.

Where will you read your copy of Stance on Dance? And will you share it with your friends?

I hope you will consider supporting Stance on Dance in this exciting new format by helping spread the word or becoming a donor/subscriber. Many thanks to those of you who have supported and followed Stance on Dance in its many iterations over the past decade!

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To donate to support dance journlism and recieve two issues of Stance on Dance in print a year, visit stanceondance.com/support.

To learn more about the Spring/Summer 2022 issue or to order a single copy, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

The post Stance on Dance’s Journey to Print appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Mary Verdi-Fletcher is the founding artistic director of the Dancing Wheels Company & School in Cleveland, Ohio, and has been a pioneer in physically integrated dance for four decades. After starting the Dancing Wheels Company in 1980, Mary saw a need for more access to dance training, which led to the creation of the School of Dancing Wheels in 1990. Also an arts administrator and advocate, she has contributed to the development of state and national programs for arts and disability service organizations. She has worked to help pass significant legislation, including the Americans with Disabilities Act. 

Listen to the audobook recording of Mary Verdi-Fletcher’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book, visit here!

Image description: Mary is depicted standing mid-frame with her arms extended above her head in the shape of a V and her head tilted to the right. She appears standing in a white dress apparatus with several hoops and ruffles. Diagonal lines of blue energy extend off her waist along with the quotes, “I happen to be disabled, but first and foremost, I’m a dancer and artistic director.”

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

I grew up in an artistic family; my mother was a dancer and my father was a musician. I was born with my disability, but my mother fostered my desire to follow in her footsteps. She would tell me bedtime stories of when she and my dad would travel across America in a vaudeville group. I used braces and crutches at the time, and my mother would put together little dances on me and my brother in our family room.

I just wanted to move, and I would break my brace all the time. My parents kept repairing it and finally got me a really strong brace. Then I broke my leg three times. At that point, they told me I had to use a wheelchair, so I started using a wheelchair when I was 12. I loved to watch American Bandstand and would groove to the music, and before long I broke the wheel off my wheelchair. Even to this day, I have a hard time watching dance because my body wants to join. If I go to a ballet, I twitch through the whole thing. I did back then as well.

In the early 70s, there was a resurgence of community dances. It was the beginning of the disco days. One day, this guy came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance. I said, “I don’t know if I can,” but we started experimenting and my wheels started gliding. I was doing the same partnering as the standup girls but using my wheels. It felt natural and unique, like skating and dancing at the same time. It had such a fluidity and speed to it.

I got hooked and started looking at how I could do various dances. I was going to different clubs, and soon everybody wanted to partner with me. My best friend’s husband was a good dancer, and we started to partner together regularly. We got very good.

Dance Fever was a competition show like Dancing with the Stars that was going around the country. The producer would travel to different states to select dancers to be on the show. I called up and asked to participate, and they took our names down to audition. We showed up that night and they were floored that I was in a wheelchair. They didn’t know what to do. We had put together a routine with a smash ending. My partner had been a gymnast, and at the end of our dance he would take a flying leap from across the stage, jump onto my armrests, and over my head. The crowd went wild. There were 2,000 people in the audience, and we got a standing ovation. Looking back now, there are so many more dance moves we could have done, but at the time we were blazing the trail.

We were chosen as alternates to be on the show. Interestingly, the producer said to me, “You know, this was really difficult. If I didn’t choose you, they would have said it was because you’re handicapped, and if I chose you, they would say it’s because you’re handicapped.” I had never thought about it that way. This was before the Americans with Disabilities Act.

We started to get on a lot of different television shows, and then we were chosen to be on a Walt Disney show that highlighted all kinds of acts. There was even a dog act. I was talking to the dog’s mom who was telling me he performed all over the country. I thought, “If that dog can do it, then so can I.” She told me how her dog was sponsored by a dog food company. So I went to a wheelchair company, Invacare, and pitched my idea of doing shows and talking about their wheelchair if they gave me a new one, and the traveling would be paid for by their sponsorship. And they went for it. We did 72 shows a year all over the country. Before you know it, we got on bigger shows like CNN and Good Morning America. People saw us and wanted to be a part. Dancing Wheels was born.

At first we were just a dance company that got paid to perform. I wanted to reach more people who couldn’t necessarily afford to pay us and go to schools, so in 1990 I turned Dancing Wheels into a 501c3 and licensed and trademarked it. I was connected with Cleveland Ballet, and they were looking to expand their outreach and educational programs. They bought the license to be called Cleveland Ballet Dancing Wheels. In doing so, I told them they had to hire me to manage and develop their program. I worked there for 10 years.

By that time, we had really grown. We went from a small group to a full company of eight to 10 dancers. I started producing and commissioning pieces. I hired Sabatino Verlezza from New York to be the associate artistic director, and his wife Barbara Allegra Verlezza ran the school. They were with Dancing Wheels for almost 10 years. Sabotino did beautiful choreography and had amazing vision.

Dancers have come and gone over the years. Some have been with me a very long time. I have several dancers who I am still really good friends with. Our repertoire has over 72 pieces in it now. It’s hard to believe it’s been 40 years.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

The company takes class everyday Monday through Friday. Typically, it’s ballet, modern, or contemporary, and we also have a conditioning class. Our 12 to 3 p.m. time slot is always immersed in restaging works or the creative process of developing new works. The dancers are full time, so they work 12 months out of the year and have paid vacations, holidays, and sick days. Nobody gets paid a tremendous amount, but it’s consistent. The dancers can rely on that base salary, and then they get paid extra for performances and teaching.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

What I love is when parents tell little kids at a show, “You know, she’s a dancer.” The kids will cock their head. You can see they don’t want to be rude, but they don’t know what their mother or father is talking about. Then I do a little twirl with them and they start to get it.

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

The number one thing is they think that if they’ve seen one physically integrated dance company, they’ve seen them all. That’s an issue with presenters too: “Oh, we presented Dancing Wheels, so we don’t need to present AXIS Dance Company,” or vice versa. I’ve found over the years that attitude has narrowed the opportunities for touring. Presenters will book several modern or ballet companies, but only one physically integrated dance company. They think it’s all the same.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

More and more now, integrated companies are providing training. They almost all have summer intensives. Compared to when I started dancing, there are leaps and bounds more training opportunities, but not at the university level.

We did our first level one certification of the Dancing Wheels teacher training method recently and learned a lot by doing it. We’re offering another level one certification soon. I notice that a lot of people in other countries revere our company and our teaching process more than people in the US.

We’re always going to be at a standstill at the university level as long as dance faculty are saying it’s too cumbersome and takes too much time to teach students with disabilities, or it’s going to negatively affect the non-disabled students. It doesn’t have to if you know the technique of translation. Ours isn’t the only one, but teachers need to understand there are ways to do it.

Sometimes I just want to throw my hands up. I’m tired of preaching this.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

It is in the mainstream in that Dancing Wheels competes with other dance companies for opportunities, whether they’re disabled or not. We’re in showcases and mainstage concerts. It’s a competitive field, and we participate in the mainstream in that way.

There’s a whole split where it seems like the younger mindset wants to put their disability first. They are proud of their disability and want to be known as a disabled dancer or disabled choreographer. But then there are mindsets like mine where I happen to be disabled, but first and foremost, I’m a dancer and artistic director. I never say I’m a disabled artistic director.

I go back to the African American community. How many say, “I’m a Black choreographer”? People know they’re Black. Seeing is believing. If you’re a dancer, you’re a dancer. You don’t have to make your identity so in-your-face all the time. But those people have a right to their opinion, and I have a right to mine.

If a presenter brings us in, we’re going to put on a high-quality show that happens to have some wheelchair dancers and standup dancers working together. It will be artistically high level and entertaining. For me, entertainment means we impact people, and the audience will have a feeling, whether it’s sorrow or joy.

What is your preferred term for the field?

I use “physically integrated dance.” It’s a much broader term that connotes more than just wheelchair dancers and standup dancers. Our company is integrated in a lot of different ways beyond disability: gender, ethnicity, age. When I explain to kids what “physically integrated dance” is, I break it down. I ask them what “integrated” means. It means being together. What does “physical” refer to? The body. We’re all different bodies moving together. And then the kids get it.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

Academia is not, and I think presenters are afraid. I think presenters are afraid of dance in general. It’s far more expensive than presenting music or theater. Our heyday in terms of touring was before 9/11. Now, presenters want to know if we’ll sell seats like Alvin Ailey.

The amount of integrated companies, as well as dancers and choreographers with disabilities, really has improved. They are taking hold and developing themselves. But they are still not a commodity. I go to hire a wheelchair dancer and it’s like pulling teeth. And then I often have to train the wheelchair dancers from scratch. It takes a long time to develop a dancer.

Photo courtesy Dancing Wheels
Mary Verdi-Fletcher is in profile under a spotlight onstage. She is sitting in her wheelchair with one arm raised and her face lifted. She is wearing a white dress.

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To learn more about Dancing Wheels, visit dancingwheels.org.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was conducted in April 2020.

The post Mary Verdi-Fletcher: “Blazing the Trail” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Jung Soo “Krops” Lee is a b-boy and DJ in Uijeongbu, South Korea. He joined the breakdance crew Fusion MC in high school, becoming its youngest member. During his first year with the crew in 2012, he won his first world competition, Chelles Battle Pro, in France. The following year, he won Battle of the Year in Germany. In November 2013, he landed on his neck during a practice and became paralyzed. After strenuous rehabilitation, he has continued to dance as well as DJ for Fusion MC. He also performs with ILL-Abilities, an international crew comprised of dancers with disabilities.

Listen to the audobook recording of Jung Soo “Krops” Lee’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book, visit here!

Image description: Krops is depicted laying on his shoulders with one foot in the air and the other on the ground in front of his shoulder. His right hand reaches up to touch his foot. He is wearing gray. On the side encircled in red ribbons of energy are three smaller blue depictions of Krops in various breakdance moves. The main image rests on red energetic lines with the quote, “We show that dance can change the world…dance is a common language.”

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

I started to breakdance when I was 11. I saw a video online of one of the biggest b-boy competitions called Battle of the Year and said, “Whoa that’s crazy.” I tried to learn the moves from the video. I kept practicing and when I was 16, I joined a crew called Fusion MC, which is one of the biggest b-boy crews in Korea. When I was 17, I won the world competition called Chelles Battle Pro in France. The next year, I participated in Battle of the Year, the competition where I first saw breakdance, and won. I was one of the youngest highlighted b-boys in Korea.

Later that year, I was practicing a windmill for a competition. I was supposed to do a flip and land on my back and go into a spin. I fell and landed on my neck, and my spine was damaged. My body was totally paralyzed. I went to the hospital and was in a coma for a few days. In Korean hospitals, there is a room where patients go before death. When I woke from my coma, I was in that room. My doctor thought I wouldn’t wake up and would die soon. He thought I needed several surgeries to stay alive.

A miracle happened. I didn’t even need surgery. My doctor said rehabilitation would take five years in the hospital, but it took only one year. Basically, I’m handicapped, as I will never be cured 100 percent. For example, I still don’t feel temperature when I touch hot things. But in Korea, there’s a law that you need to have surgery in order to be considered handicapped and get money from the government. So I’m considered a normal person in Korea even though I have a handicap. I don’t get any support from the government. After one year in the hospital, I went home and continued my rehabilitation on my own.

My crew Fusion MC had a donation to help pay my hospital fee. Many fans and fellow dancers donated. I’m not rich, so I felt that all I could do to give back to them was get back to the stage.

After my rehab, I went to the gym and danced some simple steps. One time, I played the music for the crew, and I felt like they were dancing for me, so I decided to be a DJ. I loved contributing to the crew and it also helped my rehabilitation. When you have a spine injury, the most important thing to do is give sensors to the lost parts of your body, especially fingers and toes. DJing was helpful for me, especially playing the keyboard. It became a new goal.

I can only dance 20 percent of what I could before. I liked to do a lot of head spins and windmills before my injury, but I can’t do those anymore, so I’ve changed my style. In breakdance, there’s a step called threading where you make a hole with your body and thread your limbs in or out of it. I focus more on that now. It’s more detailed and not as active.

My spine injury is an invisible handicap. For example, when I’m dancing, I feel like something is stopping me. If I send a message to my right hand to raise it up, sometimes it works, other times it’s like something blocks it. My handicap is affected by weather and temperature as well.

In 2017, one of my friends in Europe invited me to judge a competition. That’s where I met Redo, a member of ILL-Abilities. I already knew about ILL-Abilities, and I really wanted to join the crew. I felt like the only way for me to give back to all the donations I’d received while I was in the hospital was to go back to the stage, and ILL-Abilities was all about achieving the impossible. I did a workshop with Redo. After that I met Kujo, another member, and they both agreed I could join.

Each show and tour have been unique and epic. After the shows, the audience cries and gets emotional, but every country has a different vibe. For example, when we went to Japan, we taught a workshop where everyone was really strict and focused, but after our show they were laughing and crying. In Mexico at our last show, people got up and started dancing with us.

We show that dance can change the world. Whether you are handicapped or not, dance is a common language.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

I dance for six or seven hours a day with my home crew, Fusion MC. That includes stretching, free form, and practicing routines for shows. I don’t battle anymore, but I teach workshops and perform.

ILL-Abilities and Fusion MC are my family. That’s the most important thing. Because of them, I dance the best I can, always.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

“Why are you fat?” In Korea, people think b-boys should be in really good shape. My injury is invisible, so people don’t know about it.

It’s weird because I am a young person, but I’m considered a part of the older b-boy generation. I won world competitions when I was 16 or 17, which is unique. The older b-boys still see me as a fellow b-boy, but the younger generation only knows me as a DJ.

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

When I got injured, many people sent me donations. When I woke up and finally left the hospital, they said, “Yeah Krops is back! He made it!” But because my disability is invisible, some of the people who sent donations said I was acting just to get money. It made me depressed and I needed medicine every day. A good friend finally asked me, “Why are you giving time to people who don’t love you? Don’t try to change the people who dislike you. Just give back to the people who love you.” After that, I changed my mindset and did my best.

Another thing that bothers me is that some people think I’m the DJ for ILL-Abilities. They don’t realize I have a disability and I’m one of the crew. They see me as a normal person, thinking that handicapped people need wheelchairs and crutches, but disability isn’t only what you see. That changed when we started to introduce ourselves as part of the showcase. When I tell my story, everyone 100 percent changes their mind.

There are a lot of people who have an invisible handicap, not only in the body but also in the mind. That’s become my own mission: to educate people about invisible handicaps.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

There aren’t dance opportunities for people with disabilities in Korea. Besides me, there’s only one other b-boy with a disability in Korea; he is missing a leg. I’ve been trying to do free workshops for people who have disabilities. I have a contract with an education company. In Korea, people wonder why handicapped people need to breakdance. Since it’s very active, they think we will get more injured. Koreans are more open to people with disabilities learning to paint or sing, but not dance.

There is one place in Seoul for young people with disabilities to learn dance, but it’s not big. It’s a company that works for the government. In other cities they might be able to go to a private dance studio and learn, but there’s no specific place where handicapped people can go and dance. I know some Korean people are trying to do events for people with disabilities, but it’s still less than other countries.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

Yeah, for sure. Dancing is a common language; everyone can dance. I am crossing my fingers that there will be more options for handicapped people to dance in the future.

I think dancers in general don’t care if someone has a disability. In Korea, artists are more open than the general public. When I go to competitions or events, everyone thinks ILL-Abilities is one of the best crews, not because we have disabilities, just because of how we dance.

What is your preferred term for the field?

Korean uses Chinese symbols to describe words. In English, there is a difference between “handicapped” and “disabilities,” but in Korean, they’re the same symbol.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

I think it all depends on what I do. If I make a good path, maybe things will change. We don’t have much history with disability in Korea. I hope handicapped people will see me, and then maybe they will change their mind and start to dance. I really want to show people that anything is possible, but Korea isn’t open yet.

Since I wasn’t born with a disability, I wasn’t interested in handicapped people until I got injured. I thought everyone could access dance and had good opportunities. Now I know that handicapped people don’t have many systems to support them. My goal is to make more opportunities.

Any other thoughts?

While sometimes I get depressed about my dancing because I can’t do what I did before, I’m trying to do my best professionally. I’m trying to show people that anything is possible, but it’s still hard for handicapped people in Korea. I’m crossing my fingers that we will overcome this situation.

Pictured: Krops, Photo by BAKI
Image description: Krops is balanced on his head and one arm with his legs and other arms bent above him. He is wearing black pants and shirt, tennis shoes, and a cap. The photo is in black and white.

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To learn more about ILL-Abilities, visit www.illabilities.com.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was originally conducted in July 2020.

The post Jung Soo “Krops” Lee: “Disability Isn’t Only What You See” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Hai Cohen was born in Jerusalem and became paralyzed from the chest down after jumping into the shallow water of a swimming pool. He became a music editor in the army radio station and studied Philosophy. Hai graduated from the Sam Spiegel Film and Television School and went on to create documentary films. He is a dancer, teacher, and co-manager with Tali Wertheim at Vertigo Power of Balance, which operates out of Vertigo Eco Art Village near Jerusalem. He has practiced contact improvisation since 2000 and leads workshops and projects in disabled and non-disabled contact improvisation in Israel and abroad.

Listen to the audobook recording of Hai Cohen’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

לקריאה בעברית נא לגלול למטה. (To read in Hebrew, please scroll down.)

Image description: Hai is depicted facing back with his arms extended to the sides. His wheelchair is blue, he is dressed in gray, and he casts a large red shadow of his image as if he is facing a wall. The quotes, “It’s about creating beauty in the world” and “It doesn’t need to have relevance to others” hover around him.

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

I was injured when I was 13. I jumped into shallow water in a swimming pool. I got back to so-called “normal life” in high school. In Israel we have the army so, after high school, I volunteered for the army and became a music editor at the army radio station. After that, I studied film for five years and ended up making documentaries as well as experimenting with video. While doing some research for a film in 2000, I met a dancer who invited me to an integrated dance workshop. I said no, that it was not my interest, but she insisted so eventually I joined. The workshop was through Vertigo Dance Company and hosted by Adam Benjamin for the creation of a new piece. The workshop was three days long and was very powerful for me.

After the workshop, Adam went back to England and then came back to Israel to start working on the piece. It was two or three months of rehearsal and, a year after the workshop in 2001, we premiered the piece. There were four participants with disabilities who joined the original cast. The name of the piece was Power of Balance. We performed it for three years.

At the same time, I was researching contact improvisation with Tali Wertheim. We wanted to figure out how to continue integrated dance in Israel. One year into performing Power of Balance, I began teaching. It was the start of a branch of Vertigo Dance Company, also called Power of Balance, that is an integrated dance center for people with and without disabilities.

Tali and I taught workshops and created some works for the stage, including a duet and a trio with another dancer, Maya Resheff, who is not disabled. The trio, 11,711 Stone Steps at Nikko, was a highlight for me because it incorporated haiku. I try to incorporate haiku into everything I touch. When I worked in film, I tried to create cinematic haikus, and with this piece I was trying to make a dance haiku within the structure and spirit by using contact improvisation.

I’ve also been part of the Israeli contact improv association that has been around for many years. I think the first festival was around the time I started dancing, and it grew slowly over eight or nine years. It is very significant for our work, which is not only directed to the integrated dance field but also to the contact improvisation field in Israel and around the world.

As far as other highlights, in 2007, Alex Shmurak (a dancer and a friend) and I did a collaboration with a company in Ethiopia where we choreographed Adugna. I also made a documentary about the project. In 2013, we did a co-production with Gerda König called HOMEZONE. Now, we’re in the middle of a new process by choreographer Sharon Fridman, who is originally from Israel but lives in Madrid. It’s his first time working with an integrated cast, but he’s a rising star in the dance world. I’m not actually dancing in this piece, but I’m helping to manage it, so I’m very much involved. The piece has 10 dancers, five with disabilities and five without.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

I teach with Tali a training for integrated contact improvisation. The course is a full day once a week, and it’s a two-year program. Of course, it’s integrated for participants of all kinds of abilities. We’re trying to make the model co-teaching in an integrated team, one teacher with a disability and one without. That has a lot of power. This is our main practice for the past four years. We also do one-time projects and classes, like with a dance department in a high school together with the special education kids, or offering professional development for teachers in integrated dance so they have the tools to work with any kid.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

Many people think I’m joking, and then they see I’m not smiling. Usually I don’t have the energy to explain. Most people just have a question mark. Some ask, “With your wheelchair?”

When I teach, there are people in the class who at first don’t know I’m the teacher. I sense that they think I’m something exceptional but they still see dancing with me as an option. Maybe because the contact improvisation world is more open, dancing with someone with a disability is more of an option.

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

When I go into a restaurant and there are stairs, I don’t get mad. I ask someone to help me up the stairs. I don’t have the energy to get angry. Of course I believe that integrated dance should be much more supported, and I hope that in the future we can teach anyone who wants to dance. I feel like I have two worlds; I really believe in this when I teach and present work, but when it’s personal, I find I’m not as involved. It’s more enjoyable not to be angry so much.

I’m not so interested in what people think about the choreographed work. There are so many opinions in the world. Some I believe; many I don’t believe. I’ve learned how to look at the creation process from my own point of view, from what I wish to see in dance or in film. For some, my films are slow and boring, but it’s something I like to see, like an endless shot where nothing happens. I like to see time as the value of discovery.

Maybe it’s different when I think about participants in my classes. There’s a variety of experiences within the same class. Some enjoy it, some not. I am giving a class though, which is different than giving a performance. I don’t give a performance for the audience. It’s more about creating beauty in the world. It doesn’t need to have relevance to others. But when I’m teaching, it matters to me what the students’ experience is. If I see someone suffering or having a hard time, I feel responsibility. But at the same time, I can accept that people don’t always enjoy my teaching. It’s fine.

As for the press, this new piece we’re working on has got me thinking a bit different than I was before. Before, I would have said to try and see it as professional dance. Now I think it’s more about the approach of the integration. In this new piece, Sharon is a bit brave. He is putting disability onstage and showing it as something weak and at the same time showing its power. He has managed to show these two qualities that actually everyone has. People with disabilities sometimes need more help. This is a reality and not something we need to hide or wrap in beauty.

For example, one of the dancers has cerebral palsy and walks with crutches. He can also walk without them but his balance is not good and he has a funny walk with short steps. In the piece, he walks without the crutches. It’s very powerful to see the weakness and difference, to see the naked walk without the crutches. The crutches hide the original walk. They not only help him physically, they also help to normalize him. But if he walks the way he does, without crutches, I can see it, feel it, and benefit from it. Appreciating this kind of detail is something different than what I thought before.

The press should understand that disability in dance isn’t something to portray as something that it’s not. Still, see it as a professional act. And of course, it should not be portrayed as charity or therapy.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

Of course not. Every studio, after school program, and university program should have the ability to accept anyone with any disability. But of course, there is a lot of work to be done. What happens sometimes is people open their doors to disabled students without the ability to teach them. You need the knowledge to understand how to work with a diversity of bodies and abilities before you open the doors. Many difficulties and frustrations can arise.

We need teacher trainings to start with. And then I would prioritize the schools. It should start from the beginning, even for students without disabilities to be open to this from a young age and see students with disabilities as participants.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

Yes, of course. It should be treated the same as other dance fields. It should be expected to be as good and as professional and be given the same space and recognition. Saying that, I’m not sure how I feel about integrated dance festivals. They can offer options that other festivals can’t. But at the same time, it can feel like a ghetto with an inner dialogue only within the community.

I would like to see good dance, period. If it’s integrated dance, then maybe I would be happier because I’m closer to it. But I would just love to see a good performance. I don’t want integrated dance to be promoted just because it’s integrated dance. It should be good. There’s still not enough good dance.

What is your preferred term for the field?

I’m really tired of dealing with terms. In Hebrew, it’s even worse; it’s much easier in English. In Hebrew, the word “disabled” is like an insult. I used to not answer when people used that word. Over the years I’ve gotten tired and now I use it myself and I don’t mind. Still, I agree there’s a lot of meaning behind the words we choose. At Power of Balance, we’re using “integrated,” but “inclusive” is also great. “People with diverse bodies” is also strong.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

Of course, yes. I think there are big steps. I can see development from our center in Israel and more support from the government. There’s still a long way to go, but it’s really different from what it was. There are more audiences and disabled participants who want to experience this.

Hai Cohen, photo courtesy the artist.
Image description: Hai is facing the back wall with outstretched arms. A standing dancer is behind him reaching toward him. Both of their shadows project on the wall.

~~

To learn more about Vertigo Power of Balance, visit vertigo.org.il/en/power-balance.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was conducted in April 2020.

~~

חי כהן: ״אני רוצה לראות מחול טוב, נקודה.״

מאת סילבה לאוקאנן; עריכה ע״י אמאלי ווידרהולט

חי כהן נולד בירושלים והפך למשותק מהחזה ומטה בעקבות קפיצה למים רדודים בבריכת שחיה. הוא היה עורך מוסיקלי בגלי צה״ל ולמד פילוסופיה. חי הוא בוגר בית הספר לקולנוע וטלויזיה ע״ש סם שפיגל והמשיך בעשיית סרטים תיעודיים. הוא רקדן, מורה ומנהל שותף יחד עם טלי ורטהיים את ורטיגו כח האיזון, הפועל בורטיגו כפר אמנות אקולוגי לא רחוק מירושלים. הוא מתרגל קונטקט אימפרוביזציה משנת 2000 ומנחה סדנאות ופרוייקטים לרקדנים עם וללא מגבלה, בישראל ובעולם.

~~

איך התחלת לרקוד ומה היו נקודות עיקריות בקריירת המחול שלך?

נפצעתי כשהייתי בן 13. קפצתי למים רדודים בבריכת שחיה. חזרתי למה שנקרא חיים נורמלים בתיכון. בישראל, יש לנו צבא, לכן, אחרי התיכון התנדבתי לצבא והייתי עורך מוסיקלי בתחנת הרדיו הצבאית. לאחר מכן למדתי קולנוע חמש שנים שלאחריהן עשיתי סרטים תיעודיים ווידאו נסיוני. בזמן תחקיר לסרט שעשיתי בשנת 2000, פגשתי רקדנית שהזמינה אותי לסדנת מחול משולב. אמרתי לא, זה לא מעניין אותי, אבל היא התעקשה ולבסוף הצטרפתי. הסדנה היתה דרך להקת המחול ורטיגו בהנחיית אדם בנג׳מין לקראת יצירה חדשה. הסדנה ארכה שלושה ימים והיתה מאוד חזקה עבורי.

לאחר הסדנה, אדם חזר לאנגליה ואז חזר שוב לישראל להתחיל לעבוד על היצירה. אחרי חודשיים שלושה של חזרות, ושנה אחרי הסדנה, ב 2001, העלנו את הפרימיירה של העבודה. ארבעה משתתפים עם מגבלה הצטרפו להרכב המקורי. שם העבודה היה ״כח האיזון״. הופענו איתה במשך שלוש שנים.

באותו הזמן, חקרתי קונטקט אימפרוביזציה עם טלי ורטהיים. רצינו לגלות כיצד אפשר להמשיך לרקוד מחול משולב בישראל. שנה מתחילת ההופעות של כח האיזון התחלתי ללמד. זו היתה תחילתו של ענף בלהקת המחול ורטיגו, גם בשם כח האיזון, שהוא מרכז למחול משולב לאנשים עם וללא מגבלה.

טלי ואני לימדנו סדנאות ויצרנו מספר עבודות לבמה, כולל דואט וטריו יחד עם רקדנית נוספת ללא מגבלה, מיה רשף. הטריו, ״11,711 מדרגות אבן בניקו״, היה אחד מהשיאים עבורי בגלל שהוא התבסס על הייקו. אני מנסה לבסס על הייקו כל דבר שאני נוגע בו. כשעבדתי בקולנוע, ניסיתי לייצר שירי הייקו קולנועיים, ובעבודה הזו ניסיתי לייצר מחול שמתבסס על הרוח והמבנה של הייקו, תוך שימוש בקונטקט אימפרוביזציה דוקא כצורה מקובעת.

אני גם חלק מעמותת הקונטקט אימפרו הישראלית שקיימת כבר הרבה מאוד שנים. אני חושב שהפסטיבל הראשון התקיים קרוב לזמן שהתחלתי לרקוד, ולאט לאט גדל במשך שמונה או תשע שנים. הוא מאוד חשוב לעבודה שלנו, שמכוונת לא רק לשדה המחול המשולב, אלא גם לשדה של קונטקט אימפרוביזציה בישראל ובעולם.

לגבי נקודות עיקריות נוספות, ב 2007, אלכס שמורק (רקדנית וחברה) ואני ייצרנו שיתוף פעולה עם להקה  באתיופיה ליצירת כוריאוגרפיה ל״אדונייה״. אני גם עשיתי דוקומנטרי על הפרוייקט הזה. ב 2013, קיימנו שיתוף פעולה עם גרדה קניג ב ״הומזון״. כעת אנחנו באמצע תהליך חדש מאת הכוריאוגרף שרון פרידמן, במקור ישראלי, אבל חי במדריד. זו פעם ראשונה עבורו לעבוד עם הרכב משולב, אבל הוא כוכב עולה בעולם המחול. אני לא רוקד ביצירה הזו, אלא עוזר לנהל אותה, כך שאני מאוד מעורב. ביצירה הזו עשרה רקדנים, חמישה עם מגבלה וחמישה ללא.

כיצד היית מתאר את עיסוקך הנוכחי במחול?

אני מלמד עם טלי מסלול הכשרה לקונטקט אימפרוביזציה משולב. הקורס הוא יום מלא פעם בשבוע, וזוהי תכנית דו שנתית. כמובן, התכנית משולבת עבור משתתפים עם יכולות שונות. אנחנו מנסים לייצר מודל של הוראה משותפת בצוות משולב, מנחה אחד עם מגבלה ואחד ללא. יש לזה כח גדול. זו הפרקטיקה העיקרית שלנו בארבע שנים האחרונות. אנחנו גם עושים פרוייקטים חד פעמיים ושיעורים, לדוגמא שיתוף של מגמת מחול בתיכון יחד עם נוער מהחינוך המיוחד, או מציעים התפתחות מקצועית במחול משולב עבור מורים כך שיהיו להם כלים לעבוד עם כל ילד.

כשאתה מספר לאנשים שאתה רקדן, מה התגובות הנפוצות ביותר שאתה מקבל?

הרבה אנשים חושבים שאני צוחק, ואז הם רואים שאני לא מחייך. בדרך כלל אין לי כח להסביר. לרוב האנשים פשוט יש סימן שאלה. חלק שואלים, ״עם כיסא הגלגלים שלך?״

כשאני מלמד, יש אנשים בשיעור שבהתחלה לא יודעים שאני המורה. אני מרגיש שהם חושבים שאני יוצא דופן, אבל הם עדיין רואים את הריקוד איתי כאפשרות. אולי בגלל שעולם קונטקט האימפרוביזציה הוא פתוח יותר, ריקוד עם מישהו עם מגבלה יותר אפשרי.

מהן הדרכים בהן אנשים דנים בריקוד בכל הנוגע למגבלות שאתה מרגיש שיש להם השלכות או הנחות בעייתיות?

כשאני מגיע להכנס למסעדה, ויש שם מדרגות, אני לא מתעצבן. אני מבקש ממישהו לעזור לי לעלות במדרגות. אין לי כח להתעצבן. כמובן, אני מאמין שמחול משולב צריך לקבל הרבה יותר תמיכה, ואני מקווה שבעתיד נוכל ללמד כל אחד שרוצה לרקוד. אני מרגיש שיש לי שני עולמות; אני באמת מאמין בזה כשאני מלמד ומציג עבודות, אבל במישור אישי, אני מוצא שאני לא כל כך מעורב. זה מהנה יותר לא לכעוס כל כך.

אני לא מתעניין כל כך במה שאנשים חושבים על היצירה הכוריאוגרפית. יש כל כך הרבה דעות בעולם. לחלק אני מאמין; להרבה אני לא מאמין. למדתי איך להסתכל על תהליך היצירה מנקודת המבט האישית שלי, ממה שאני הייתי רוצה לראות במחול או בקולנוע. לחלק, הסרטים שלי איטיים ומשעממים, כמו שוטים אינסופיים ששום דבר לא קורה בהם, אבל זה משהו שאני מחבב לראות. אני אוהב לראות את הזמן כערך של גילוי.

אולי זה אחרת כשאני חושב על משתתפים בשיעורים שלי. יש מגוון של התנסויות בתוך אותו שיעור. חלק נהנים, חלק לא. למרות זאת, כשאני נותן שיעור זה אחרת מלתת הופעה. אני לא נותן הופעה עבור הקהל – זה יותר קשור ליצירת יופי בעולם, זה לא חייב להיות בהקשר לאחרים. אבל כשאני מלמד, זה משנה לי מהי החוויה של התלמידים. אם אני רואה מישהו סובל או מתקשה, אני מרגיש אחריות. אבל יחד עם זאת, אני יכול לקבל שלא תמיד אנשים יהנו מההוראה שלי. זה בסדר.

לגבי העיתונות, איזו עצה היית נותן לכתב שאינו מתמצא בכתיבה על אמני מחול עם מוגבלויות?

היצירה החדשה הזו שאנחנו עובדים עליה גרמה לי לחשוב קצת אחרת ממה שחשבתי קודם. לפני כן הייתי אומר לנסות ולראות בזה ריקוד מקצועי. עכשיו, אני חושב שזה קשור יותר לגישת האינטגרציה. ביצירה החדשה הזו שרון קצת אמיץ. הוא מעמיד על הבמה מוגבלות, מראה אותה כמשהו חלש ובו בזמן מראה את הכח שלה. הוא הצליח להראות את שתי התכונות הללו שלמעשה לכולם יש. אנשים עם מוגבלות לפעמים זקוקים לעזרה רבה יותר. זו מציאות ולא משהו שאנחנו צריכים להסתיר או לעטוף ביופי.

לדוגמא, לאחד הרקדנים יש שיתוק מוחין והוא הולך עם קביים. הוא יכול גם ללכת בלעדיהם, אך שיווי המשקל שלו לא טוב ויש לו הליכה מצחיקה עם צעדים קצרים. ביצירה הוא הולך בלי הקביים. זה מאוד עוצמתי לראות את החולשה וההבדל, לראות את ההליכה העירומה בלי הקביים. הקביים מסתירים את ההליכה המקורית. הם לא רק עוזרים לו פיזית; הם גם עוזרים לנרמל אותו. אבל אם הוא הולך כמו שהוא הולך, ללא קביים, אני יכול לראות את זה, להרגיש אותו ולהפיק מזה תועלת. הערכת פרט מסוג זה היא משהו שונה ממה שחשבתי קודם.

העיתונות צריכה להבין שמוגבלות במחול אינה דבר שאפשר להציג כמשהו שהיא לא. עדיין, לראות אותה כפעולה מקצועית. וכמובן, לא לתאר אותה כצדקה או כטיפול.

האם אתה מאמין שיש אפשרויות תרגול מתאימות לרקדנים עם מוגבלות? אם לא, באילו אזורים היית רוצה במיוחד לראות שיפור?

ברור שלא. לכל סטודיו, לכל חוג, ולכל תכנית אוניברסיטאית, צריכה להיות יכולת לקבל כל אדם עם מוגבלות כלשהי. אבל כמובן שיש הרבה עבודה. מה שקורה לפעמים הוא שאנשים פותחים את דלתותיהם לתלמידים עם מגבלה ללא יכולת ללמד אותם. אתה צריך את הידע כדי להבין כיצד לעבוד עם מגוון גופים ויכולות לפני שאתה פותח את הדלתות. קשיים רבים ותסכולים יכולים להיווצר.

אנו צריכים הדרכות מורים מלכתחילה. ואז הייתי מתעדף את בתי הספר. זה צריך להתחיל מההתחלה, גם עבור תלמידים ללא מוגבלות, להיות פתוחים לכך מגיל צעיר ולראות תלמידים עם מוגבלות כמשתתפים.

האם תרצה לראות מוגבלות בריקוד נטמעת במיינסטרים?

כן כמובן, צריך להתייחס אליה כמו לתחומי מחול אחרים. צריך לצפות ממנה שתהיה טובה ומקצועית, ולתת לה את אותו מרחב והכרה. אחרי שאמרתי את זה, אני לא בטוח מה אני מרגיש לגבי פסטיבלי מחול משולב. הם יכולים להציע אפשרויות שפסטיבלים אחרים אינם יכולים, אך יחד עם זאת, זה יכול להרגיש כמו גטו עם דיאלוג פנימי רק בתוך הקהילה.

הייתי רוצה לראות מחול טוב, נקודה. אם זה מחול משולב, אולי הייתי שמח יותר כי אני קרוב אליו יותר, אבל אני פשוט אשמח לראות הופעה טובה. אני לא רוצה שמחול משולב יקודם רק בגלל שזה מחול משולב. זה צריך להיות טוב. עדיין אין מספיק מחול טוב.

מה המונח המועדף עליך לתחום?

נמאס לי באמת להתמודד עם מונחים. בעברית זה אפילו יותר גרוע; זה הרבה יותר קל באנגלית. בעברית המילה “נכה” היא כמו עלבון. פעם לא עניתי כשאנשים השתמשו במילה הזו. לאורך השנים נמאס לי ועכשיו אני משתמש בזה בעצמי ולא אכפת לי. בכל זאת, אני מסכים שיש הרבה משמעות מאחורי המילים שאנחנו בוחרים. בכח האיזון אנחנו משתמשים ב”משולב”, אבל ”הכלה” זה גם נהדר. “אנשים עם גופים מגוונים” זה גם חזק.

מנקודת המבט שלך, האם התחום משתפר עם הזמן?

כמובן, כן. אני חושב שנעשים צעדים גדולים. אני יכול לראות התפתחות במרכז שלנו בישראל ויותר תמיכה מצד הממשלה. יש עוד דרך ארוכה, אבל זה ממש שונה ממה שהיה. ישנם יותר קהלים ומשתתפים עם מוגבלות שרוצים לחוות זאת.

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The post Hai Cohen: “I Would Like to See Good Dance, Period” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Isabel Cristina Jiménez is a plastic artist and butoh dancer in Bogotá, Colombia. Isa graduated from the Academy of the Arts Guerrero-Bogotá in 2014, where she studied plastic and performative art. She was introduced to butoh in 2010 by Ko Murobushi, and has studied with Brenda Polo, director of Manusdea Antropología Escénica. She has participated in various butoh laboratories including, in 2014, a residency at Casona de la Danza. In 2016, she won the Bernardo Páramo prize. She also participates in solo and collective art exhibitions; in 2017, her work was exhibited in Pascual Noruega.

Listen to the audobook recording of Isabel Cristina Jiménez’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

Para leer en español, desplácese hacia abajo. (To read in Spanish, please scroll down.)

Image description: Isa is depicted lounging on her side propped up on her right arm in a hillside of red which she is painting with a paintbrush in her right hand. Her left hand holds a blue fan to her chest. The quote, “Prefiero que se respete a todas las personas por igual; es simple, somos todas personas” (translation: “We should respect everyone equally. It’s that simple; we’re all people.”) sits on the red hills.

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

I took my first butoh workshop in 2010 with Ko Murobushi at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia. The workshop was called El Poder Oculto de la Memoria (The Hidden Power of Memory). In the workshop with Master Ko, we jumped, fell on the floor, laughed, and hugged each other. I especially liked the exercise called “the feline,” where everybody walked around as if we had one eye in our heads. In another exercise, we dropped to the floor as if dead, and then watched each other from the viewpoint of death. Many of the exercises were hard for me, but I did them the best I could.

In 2012, I participated in another butoh project called Chaturanga Hamlet at the Academia Guerrero. We started the creative process with Professor Juan Manrique by drawing on square pieces of wood in black and white ink. Then we assembled a chessboard out of the drawings, which we used in the dance. Each one of us moved on the chessboard like the different chess pieces. We used white makeup on our faces and hands – Professor Adriano applied it with his airbrush. It tickled! Professor Ximena Collazos did our costumes, dressing us in black plastic with red tulle on our heads.

In that project, all the women played the role of Ophelia. Ophelia throws herself to the floor, opens her jewelry box, and begins putting on her jewelry. There were a lot of movements associated with the jewelry scene. Ophelia hides her face with her Japanese fan. We (the Ophelias) said: “I’m crazy with love,” and, “They have broken your heart,” as we pulled our hair with our hands and ran around the stage on tiptoe. My hair was short, so I pulled it as much as I could. Then we fell, as if fainting, and our princes cried for us. Sixteen of us participated in Chaturanga Hamlet. It was a wonderful process. A lot of us fell in love – me with Caliche (Carlos Rojas) for example. In 2013, Carlos and I got more serious, and we’re still together.

Chaturanga Hamlet was presented in Bogotá in the Academia Guerrero at the Teatro Libre. I was a little nervous; it was my first time in a theater. But my co-performers and I pulled together and concentrated, and when we entered the stage and began to move, the nervousness left me completely. We also presented it in the Zona T – a street in Bogotá – and in the Teatro del Ágora in the Academia Guerrero.

In 2014, we did a nine-month butoh residency and performance called Odds (which stands for “opportunity” or “advantage”) in the Casona de la Danza in Bogotá. We worked with Victor Sánchez, Lorna Melo, Ximena Feria, María Teresa Molina, Nicole Tenorio, Fernando Polo, and Brenda Polo. The training was very difficult. I often got up at 4:30 a.m. in order to get to the studio by 7:00 a.m. We jumped, did turns in the air, practiced the “prayer,” the “egg,” and the “worm.” We fell to the floor. We explored what it was like to disappear into the windows. We experienced the feeling of being trapped. We sweat a lot during the practices!

The residency was hard for me, but I didn’t give up. My colleagues helped push me. But in fact, I didn’t want to stop. Every day I felt better. I loved jumping, feeling the tremble in my body, feeling good energy, concentration, breath. I felt free. We left each practice exhausted and sweating, but happy with what we’d done. The residency was also good for my work in the plastic arts – I painted two butoh dancers during that time.

In 2017, we did the performance La Metamorfosis with a grant from Bogotá Diversa for the group En-Trance. There were 30 of us – different ages, from different areas. There were even some children from a foundation. And a lot of people with diverse abilities. We helped each other constantly. There was always someone to help a person in a wheelchair by carrying them up to the third floor (there was no elevator), or helping those who had visual impairments climb those stairs each day.

We’d arrive at practice and immediately make a circle on the floor, each one of us in a star position (arms and legs extended) with feet touching. We’d breathe deeply together. There were people in wheelchairs, people with crutches, people with visual impairments. It was wonderful dancing with them and learning from them. For example, I used a blindfold in order to move without being able to see. I felt dizzy, and a little scared, but not much. With my eyes blindfolded, I could actually feel more.

We did our first performance in front of the Museo Nacional de Colombia. Later, we performed in the Plazoleta of the Universidad de Jorge Tadeo Lozano. The freedom I felt when we performed in the street was wonderful. There were so many emotions at once: moving my body, feeling the space around me, being outside, and performing alongside my friends. We all felt so happy doing this creative work together!

Our next project is called El Agujero Negro. We’re going to start it online at first, because of COVID-19. I’m anxious to move again and to feel that freedom again!

How would you describe your current dance practice?

I practice butoh with Brenda Polo. I also draw and make paintings. For me, both are important. Dance is a form of therapy for my body, because it makes me feel more alive, energetic, and free. And then I like to express those experiences by painting the human figure – nudes and dancers, and my life in Colombia. In my work you can see a lot of paintings of dancers, especially women.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

People congratulate me. They say: “What beautiful dancing. I like your dancing!”

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

If I see a person dancing in a wheelchair or with crutches, I think, “These people can dance. They can feel their arms, their bodies.” Seeing people with different capabilities dancing is cool. It inspires me to continue my practice.

People who don’t know anything about dancers with disabilities might be surprised to see them dancing, but they’ll also feel proud. They might feel freedom. They’re going to have positive responses.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

There aren’t many in Bogotá. I think we need more classes for people with different abilities – for example, those with wheelchairs, those with visual impairments. And I think classes should be for everyone together, regardless of different abilities, not separated into this or that group.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

Yes. Having mixed groups enriches everyone. I also think that grants and scholarships should be for everyone, regardless of ability, and that everyone participates together. What’s important is the person, and what she wants to achieve. People with different abilities and no money can also dance and achieve their dreams with much success.

What is your preferred term for the field?

I don’t like “disabled” [“discapacitada” in Spanish]. I’m a normal person like everyone else, so I don’t like that word at all. We should respect everyone equally. It’s that simple; we’re all people. I prefer “diverse capabilities,” or we can call it “inclusive dance.” I don’t like terms like “lame” or “crooked” either. They’re horrible. I don’t like the discrimination I feel in those terms.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

Yes, there are more opportunities than before, but I wish there were even more.

Any other thoughts?

For me, drawing and painting are like therapy. But dancing is different. Dancing is feeling my body, feeling the vibrations. Dance is freedom. It’s a unique sensation. Now that we’re unable to go out and dance together due to the quarantine, I really feel that need.

When I can’t dance, I feel discriminated against. It’s like a form of bullying – it makes me feel trapped, like I can’t move. There’s no movement in my body, no vibration. When I can dance, I feel space and freedom.

Isabel Cristina Jiménez, Photo by Ernesto Monsalve
Image description: Isabel leans into the frame and smiles. Her face is painted white and she has a big red bow tied atop her head. Other people and lights are blurry in the background.

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To learn more about Manusdea Antropología Escénica, visit www.manusdea.org.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was conducted in March 2020.

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Isabel Cristina Jiménez Tenorio: “Bailar es Libertad”

Isabel Cristina Jiménez Tenorio es una artista plástica y bailarina de butoh ubicada en Bogotá, Colombia. Isa (nombre artístico), se graduó de la Academia de Artes Guerrero-Bogotá en 2014, en donde estudió artes plásticas y performativas. Se introduce en la danza butoh en el año 2010, con el maestro Ko Murobushi, y ha continuado sus estudios con Brenda Polo, directora de Manusdea Antropología Escénica. Isa, ha participado en varios laboratorios y obras de butoh, incluyendo, en 2014, una Residencia Artística realizada en la Casona de la Danza. En 2016 fue ganadora del premio Bernardo Páramo con la obra “Secuestrados y Mujer Desplazada.” También ha realizado varias exposiciones de arte individuales y colectivas, en el 2017 expone en Pascal Noruega.

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Por favor, cuéntanos un poco sobre tu historia con la danza. ¿Cuáles fueron algunos de los puntos más memorables de esta historia?

Mi primer taller fue con el maestro Ko Murobushi en el año 2010, en la Universidad Nacional de Colombia. El taller se llamó, El Poder Oculto de la Memoria. En el taller hicimos varios ejercicios de butoh, como caminar muy lento, brincar, hacer caídas. Nos reíamos, nos abrazábamos. Me gustó mucho el ejercicio del “felino” – todos caminamos como si tuviéramos un ojo en la cabeza. En otro, caímos al piso como muertos y nos miramos del punto de vista de un muerto. Muchos ejercicios eran difíciles para mí, pero los hice como pude.

En el 2012, participé en otro proyecto de butoh que se llamó Chaturanga Hamlet en la Academia Guerrero. Primero hicimos un proceso creativo con el profesor Juan Manrique, dibujando con la tinta china negro y blanco sobre pedazos cuadrados de madera. Ensamblamos un tablero de ajedrez con los dibujos, y lo usábamos en la obra. Cada uno caminaba como un personaje de ajedrez diferente. Nos maquillamos de blanco la cara y las manos; el profesor Adriano de aerografía nos maquilló a todos con su aerógrafo. Fue divertido, hacia cosquillas. A nosotros nos vistió la profesora Ximena Collazos con el plástico negro y el tul rojo en la cabeza.

En el Chaturanga Hamlet, todas las chicas hicimos la persona de Ofelia. Ofelia se tiraba al piso, abría su joyero y se empezó a colocarse sus joyas. Había muchos movimientos acerca de esta escena de las joyas. Con su abanico japonés, Ofelia se escondía el rostro. Decíamos: “Estoy loca de amor,” y “Te han roto el corazón.” Nos cogíamos los cabellos con las manos hacía arriba y corríamos de puntas por todos lados. Yo tenía el cabello corto y también lo estiraba para arriba. Después, nos desmayábamos y nuestros príncipes lloraban por nosotras. Éramos 16 compañeros de la Academia quienes participamos.

Fue grande ese proceso. Varios compañeros nos hicimos novios—yo con Caliche (Carlos Rojas). En el 2013 Caliche y yo ya fuimos más serios. Hasta ahora (2020) somos novios.

Chaturanga Hamlet fue presentado en Bogotá, en la Academia Guerrero, en el Teatro Libre. Yo tenía un poquito de nervios; era mi primera vez en un teatro. Me fui a concentrarme junto con mis compañeros. Cuando entré en la escena y empecé a moverme, se me acabaron los nervios. También nos presentamos en la Zona T—es una calle de la ciudad de Bogotá—y en el Teatro del Ágora de la Academia Guerrero.

En 2014, hicimos una residencia de butoh de nueve meses que se llamó “Odds” (que significa: oportunidad, punto de ventaja), en la casona de la danza en Bogotá. Trabajamos con Víctor Sánchez, Lorna Melo, Ximena Feria, María Teresa Molina, Nicole Tenorio, Fernando Polo y Brenda Polo. El training fue muy duro. Madrugaba mucho a las 4:30 a.m. para llegar a la casona a las 7:00 a.m. Brincabamos, hacíamos giros saltando. Practicábamos la plegaria, el huevo, el gusano, y las caídas al piso. Explorábamos desaparecer en las ventanas y sentirnos atrapados. ¡Sudábamos mucho en las prácticas!

Fue duro para mí, pero no me rendí. Mis compañeros me animaron, y yo tampoco quería dejar mis prácticas. Cada día me sentía mejor. Me encantaba hacer los brincos, sentir el temblor del cuerpo. Sentía la buena energía de la concentración y la respiración. Me sentía libre. Salíamos cansados y sudando, pero contentos de haber hecho esta práctica. La residencia también fue bueno para mí creación en las artes plásticas—incluso pinté un par de bailarines butoh.

En 2017, hicimos el performance Las Metamorfosis, con la Beca Bogotá Diversa del grupo En-Trance. Fuimos unas 30 personas. Veníamos de distintas partes y éramos de edades diferentes, incluso habían niños de una fundación. Y personas con capacidades diversas. Nos ayudábamos unos a los otros—siempre había alguien para cargar a un compañero y su silla de ruedas hasta el tercer piso (no había ascensor), o a ayudar a los compañeros invidentes a subir al tercer piso.

Cada día cuando llegábamos, hacíamos un círculo tendidos todos en el piso, en posición de estrella (con brazos y piernas abiertas), todos conectados hasta los pies. Respirábamos hondo, juntos. Había gente con silla de ruedas, con muletas, invidentes. Fue lo mejor bailar con ellos, y aprender de ellos. Por ejemplo, yo usaba la venda (en los ojos) para andar sin poder ver. Y sentía mareo, y un poco de miedo, pero muy poco. Teniendo los ojos vendados yo podía sentir más.

Hicimos el primer performance en frente del Museo Nacional de Colombia, y luego en la Plazoleta de la Universidad de Jorge Tadeo Lozano. La libertad de salir a la calle para la performance era genial. Me sentía muchas emociones a la vez, moviéndome el cuerpo, sintiendo el espacio, estando allí con mis amigos. La pasábamos felices por el encuentro y el trabajo creativo.

Mi próximo proyecto se llama El Agujero Negro. Y vamos a iniciarlo en línea debido al COVID-19. Porque quiero moverme, ¡quiero esta libertad de nuevo!

¿Cómo describirías tu práctica del baile actual?

Practico el butoh con Brenda Polo, y también soy artista plástica. Dibujo y pinto cuadros. Para mí, las dos cosas son importantes. La danza es una forma de terapia para mi cuerpo, porque me siento más activa, enérgica y libre; mi cuerpo se siente más vital. Me gusta expresar estas experiencias pintando figuras humanas, basadas en el desnudo, en bailarines, y la vida que tengo en Colombia. Entre mi obra tengo muchas mujeres bailando.

¿Cuáles son las respuestas más comunes que recibes cuando dices: “Soy bailarina.”?

La gente me felicita. Me dicen: “qué bonito danza. Me gusta su danza!”

¿Has encontrado problemas con la manera en que la gente habla, o ve a las discapacidades en la danza?

Si, yo veo una persona con alguna diversidad física en el baile, como una persona en silla de ruedas o muletas, yo pienso: “estas personas pueden danzar. Pueden sentir sus brazos, su cuerpo.” Y ver a estas personas bailar es chévere. Me anima a seguir con mis prácticas.

La gente que no sabe nada de las discapacidades, tal vez van a estar sorprendidos viendo estas personas  bailando, pero también orgullosos de verlas. Pueden sentir una sensación de libertad. Este baile va a tener respuestas positivas de la gente.

¿Crees que hay oportunidades suficientes para el entrenamiento de bailarines con discapacidades? Y si no, cómo se puede mejorar?

No hay muchos lugares en Bogotá para eso. Yo creo que debemos tener más oportunidades para tener las clases, para gente con capacidades diferentes—por ejemplo las personas con silla de ruedas, o invidentes. Y pienso que estas oportunidades deben ser para bailar juntos, no separados.

¿Entonces prefieres que los bailarines con capacidades mixtas se asimilen más en el “mainstream” (baile “convencional”)?

Sí. Tener grupos mixtos es enriquecedor para todos. Y yo prefiero que las becas para talleres, etc., sean para todos y que participemos todos juntos. Porque, lo que importa es la persona y lo que ella quiere lograr. Hay gente pobre y con capacidades diferentes en todos lados y también ellos danzan, cumplen sus sueños y triunfan con mucho éxito.

¿Tienes un término preferido para la escena de la danza con discapacidades? Y, por otro lado, hay términos que no te gustan?

No me gusta la palabra “discapacitada.” Soy una persona normal como otras, y no me gusta que me digan nada de eso. Prefiero que se respete a todas las personas por igual. Es simple; somos todas personas. Prefiero, “capacidades diversas.” O pueden decir que nuestro “baile es inclusivo.” No me gustan términos como cojo, tuerto, chueco. Son horribles. No me gusta la discriminación que se ve en estos términos.

En tu opinión, ¿está mejorando la escena de la danza con respeto a las capacidades mixtas?

Sí, hay más oportunidades ahora que antes. Pero me gustaría si fueran más todavía.

¿Hay alguna otra cosa que quieres decirnos?

Para mí, dibujar es una terapia total, lo mismo que pintar. Pero bailar es distinto. Bailar es sentir el cuerpo, sentir la vibración. Bailar es una sensación de libertad. Es una sensación única. Y ahora que estamos súper encerrados (por la cuarentena de Covid-19) con mayor razón quiero danzar.

Si, yo no pudiera bailar, me sentiría discriminada. Es una forma de bullying—el pensar que no podemos mover nuestro cuerpo. Me hace sentir atrapada, como si no hay movimiento en mi cuerpo. No hay vibración. Cuando bailo, siento que tengo espacio y libertad.

Foto de Ernesto Monsalve

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The post Isabel Cristina Jiménez: “Dance is Freedom” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Nastija Fijolič is a Slovenian photographer, vlogger, and competitive ballroom dancer who competes in World Para Dance Sport. She was born with spinal muscular dystrophy and uses a wheelchair.

Listen to the audobook recording of Nastija Fijolič’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book, visit here!

Image description: Nastija is depicted seated in her wheelchair facing front. Her right arm is extended to the side, and she is looking directly right over her arm. She is wearing a gray dress with a light gray scarf in her hair. Red strokes of energy curve around her with the quotes, “They still don’t include us. We always have to push them…” and “Is this dance hall accessible? Are there toilets for wheelchair users? Where will we have room to get dressed?”

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

When I was young, I thought dance was so girly. I studied photography and filmmaking, and I ended up making a promo video for a para dance club. I said, “Man, that looks fun, I bet with a trainer I could dance a little bit.” I tried it and stayed and started to compete. It’s been eight years now. I was hooked immediately by the music, the movement, the energy of the competition, the drive. And the people became like family. When I go to competitions, I know almost everybody even though it’s like 150 dancers.

I dance ballroom, mostly Latin. I have a walking dance partner. We call this combi because it combines one person in a wheelchair and one standing dancer. We also have single, which is a dancer on their own, and duo, which is two dancers in wheelchairs. There are three basic categories, which includes Latin and freestyle. And in all that, we have class one and class two. Class one is people who are more disabled, like they have a spinal injury. Class two is people without an arm or leg. I am class one because I use an electric wheelchair in everyday life, but I use a manual wheelchair when I dance. That’s a rough description of para dance sport.

A highlight was placing second in the European Championship two or three years ago with my wheelchair dance partner, so in duo. That was quite surprising because we didn’t expect it. There were a lot of people competing in the Latin and freestyle category, and we took second place.

If I’m honest, competition is really hard for me because there are people with different kinds of disabilities in the competition. I have spinal muscular dystrophy, which means my muscles are not strong enough to push myself really fast or do the same move 10 times equally. I can do it maybe three times, but I compete with people who don’t have that kind of disability. They might have a spine injury from the waist down, but they have normal hands. I go, do my best, and see what happens. That’s why second place was surprising, because I didn’t expect it.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

Before the pandemic, we had group lessons two times per week for everyone in the dance club. It was to improve the movement and to physically get stronger and more prepared. When I dance, I mostly use my upper body, so I have to get physiotherapy one or two times a week for my legs and my spine. And then, from time to time, my partner and I work with a trainer to improve the choreography and make some movements better. Being physical four to five times a week is the maximum for me. I cannot do more because my muscles need time to rest. Two or three days before a competition, I do not train. It took me like three years to figure that out. We used to train extra before a competition and then I wouldn’t be able to move my arms. I decided maybe I needed to rest beforehand, and it was better.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

People still don’t accept para dancing as a sport. Have you seen the dancers in our competition? They’re really good. They do stuff that dancers in standing competitions do. I think people will eventually start to see it as a sport, but there’s not that mindset yet. When people see a dancer in an electric wheelchair, they’re like, “Oh, he or she is dancing, let’s clap.” Can I just punch those people in the face? That dancer in the wheelchair dances as much as he or she can. You have to be an artist to understand that. It’s the same with judges in competitions. They put me in fifth place because I’m not fast. I feel the music just as much as the person in third place. Para sport will never be fair because it’s not two people competing with the same injury or disability. But for the people who think para dance is not even a sport, I hope they figure it out.

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

When people say, “You’re so inspirational,” I’m like, “Really? I feel sorry for you if I am an inspiration for you.” When I started dancing, I felt like everybody clapped for me because I’m in a wheelchair. I wondered: Did they see my dancing, or did they just see my wheelchair? That’s why I love to compete in para dance even though I know I will not win because I know they will judge me as a dancer, not as a wheelchair dancer.

The biggest “come on” moment is when I see the title of an article like, “She’s in a wheelchair, but she’s still dancing.” Maybe they could write, “She’s dancing, and she’s in a wheelchair,” or just, “She’s dancing.” I work in media, so I know the title has to be something that people will click and read. I get it. But see the person, not the thing they move with.

Another problem is we have these competitions all over the world, but we travel to a hotel that has two rooms that are accessible, and we have 100 people in wheelchairs. In the bathtub or shower there is a step. I’m like, “Shit, what now?” Some people in wheelchairs can move themselves with their arms, but I can’t. We somehow manage. Paula is one of the dancers who always gets the accessible room. I ask her if I can shower in her room because the shower is accessible. That’s what I love about our competitions: We can help each other and still be competitive.

In Slovenia we don’t have funding, and my dance wheelchair is the first thing I need to dance. I can still dance without my fake eyelashes, but I cannot dance without my wheels. In the Netherlands, if you compete in a sport for the country, you get new equipment every three years, like a new wheelchair or new skateboard. I bought my manual wheelchair and that’s it for life. And it was not cheap.

Those are some of the biggest problems in para dance sport, but mostly, I would really love to see all the people clap for me because of my dancing, not because of my disability.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

No, of course not. In my country we have one dance club that teaches para dance sport. Some people would say dance is dance so every club should teach para dance sport, but there are specific things that standing dancers don’t understand, like how to turn your wheelchair or how to use your body to make a roll. I live close enough to the club in Ljubljana that it’s not a problem, but for people who live two hours from here, they will not drive that far every other day to train.

The other thing is studios are not accessible. Where we train is only half accessible; I cannot go to the toilet, for example, because it’s too small. In Slovenia I haven’t found any studio that is totally accessible. This is another reason why we cannot train everywhere.

For three or four years now, para dance has been included in national competitions, but in January there was a competition and we were not invited. Our trainer said, “What’s the problem? We are part of your dancing community and a national sport. Why were we not included?” They said, “In the rules it’s written that only athletes can dance.” Our trainer was like, “Are you joking? They’re para athletes, so therefore they can compete.” They still don’t include us. We always have to push them. We always have to say, “Is this dance hall accessible? Are there toilets for wheelchair users? Where will we have room to get dressed?”

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

We would love to be included. We would love for standing people to know we exist and dance the same and train. This is getting better every year because from time to time, our coach and the standing coach meet, and they make one big training with all the standing dancers and para dancers together. We all dance to the same music on the same floor at the same time.

But I still think it has to be separated because we are rolling, and they are walking. These are two very different things. I would prefer to separate into disabilities even further because if I know a dancer’s disability, I can tell a lot about how they will move best. If I see a person with cerebral palsy, I know they cannot make gentle moves. They will have spasms, so I cannot expect them to be really smooth. That’s why I think it’s important to know what disabilities people have.

Like I said earlier, in competitions we have class one and class two. Before every competition, there are four or five judges who ask us to put our hands in the air or do rotations, and they give us points. In the end, how many points you get determines which class you get put into. They put me in class two three times because I can put my arms up, but I cannot do it fast. They are like, “Can you do it, or can’t you?” If I say I cannot do it, and they see me do it on the dance floor, I will be suspended. Eventually, they understood and put me in class one.

What is your preferred term for the field?

Five years ago it was still “wheelchair dance sport,” but now it’s “para dance sport.” I think “para” is the best word. It sounds more professional. I would like to avoid “disability,” “handicapped,” or “wheelchair” to describe our dance.

It would be awesome if there was just “ballroom dancing,” but para dance is different than walking so it must be called something else. We did this project with Toyota a few years ago and they had this quote: “Make your disability ability.” I was like, yeah! Though I generally avoid words like “disability” because it has the association of pity.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

Of course it is. If it’s not getting better, then why are we doing it? Every year more people are included. More people know about our club or para dancing in general. Slowly we are getting there. With the coronavirus, I think it went five steps back, but it will get better. It has to.

Nastija Fijolič, Photo courtesy the artist.
Image description: Nastija, in her wheelchair and in a purple dress, and her partner, standing and in a black suit, dance with an open embrace in competition. Another couple dances behind them and judges watch in the background.

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To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was conducted in February 2021.

The post Nastija Fijolič: “Judge Me as A Dancer, Not as A Wheelchair Dancer” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Lusi Insiati is a member of Nalitari Dance Troupe. She joined Nalitari, the only inclusive dance organization in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, when it was first established in 2013. Initially an art spectator and enthusiast, she became actively involved in dance after attending Nalitari’s very first workshop. Lusi continues to dance with Nalitari and has appeared in several performances, both in and out of Yogyakarta. She passionately continues expressing herself in art as an effort to increase public awareness of a more inclusive society.

Listen to the audobook recording of Lusi Insiati’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

Untuk membaca dalam bahasa Indonesia, silakan gulir ke bawah. (To read in Indonesian, please scroll down.)

Image description: Lusi is depicted sitting in a blue wheelchair facing the left corner of the frame on the diagonal. She is holding in front of her what appears to be two large red feathers. She is wearing gray and has intricate designs painted on her face. Red flames of energy erupt from her chair along with the quote, “Untuk menjadi benar-benar inklusif, itu harus lebih dari itu. Itu harus berarti semua orang” (translated: “To be really inclusive, it has to be more than that. It has to mean everyone.”)

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

Initially, I was just an art enthusiast. I’ve always liked things related to art. When I saw my niece learning and practicing Balinese dance, I thought it would be fun to be able to dance.

I joined a pantomime group in March 2013. The pantomime event was for the anniversary of the city of Yogyakarta. Many organizations and communities were invited to perform, including a disability organization that I was part of that put on the pantomime performance. That same year, a friend from the pantomime group invited me to join Nalitari’s dance workshop. I’ve been dancing there since.

Every performance is a highlight. I had the chance to join a two-week workshop with Introdans from the Netherlands in 2014, and the last day we held a performance together. The experience was quite new for me at the time. I was excited to be selected to represent Nalitari in the collaboration. The dance foundation in Indonesia is traditional, but the dance foundation at Introdans was ballet. I was shocked. All the workshop participants learned a little about each other’s dance forms, and after that we created a collaborative dance that everyone could do. We weren’t forced to master anything, but instead use the knowledge to explore what we could do. The theme was “move!”

Once, Nalitari danced in the center of Yogyakarta under hard rain. It was terribly cold and my teeth were clenching, but that was okay. None of us called it quits. We kept dancing in the rain.

One piece I especially loved was called Circle of Life. The dance represented the circle of life from birth to death. We explored movement on that theme.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

At Nalitari, the teaching and practice method is adjusted to people with disabilities. Any movements we can do, that is what we do. At rehearsal, we don’t make a distinction between the people with and without disabilities. All the movements depend on interpretation.

Once we enter the repertoire, we learn what the dance is about so the dancers can learn how to express the idea. After that, there’s a part of the dance where dancers can explore the idea by ourselves and a part where there is a guideline for movement, but it doesn’t have to look the same.

We practice twice a month with all the members of Nalitari, but if there’s an upcoming performance, we add more practices. There are about 30 people involved with Nalitari.

During the pandemic, we haven’t had any practice. I haven’t been able to see my friends, but I practice at home.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

First they are surprised. Sometimes they’ll ask a question like, “How can it be?” or “What kind of dance do you do?” Then I answer by saying that I move the body parts that I can move. I always take the time to explain.

When collaborating with non-disabled people, there are always challenges. In the beginning, they might feel afraid to get close or they act awkwardly. But as time passes, people adjust and it automatically feels easier to get closer or communicate. We build understanding.

In Indonesia, inclusive dance is starting to happen more, but it’s not common. Sometimes other dance organizations invite disabled people to participate in a workshop, but they’re not like Nalitari. We dance inclusively all the time.

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

Most of the time, comments from people who come to see our performances are positive and encouraging. They want to learn and see more. They want to know how we practice.

The concept of inclusive dance is not common in Indonesia. When we perform, people see us as a disability organization, and the way they write about us is that we’re amazing and great just because we work with people with disabilities. The comments are never about the art. Also, the non-disabled dancers are written about as supporting the disabled dancers, when in fact it is a collaboration. We work together side by side. We raise each other.

My dream is that all my disability friends can one day access dance, and that our performances are of good enough quality to be exhibited. I don’t want people to come to our show because they have pity, but because the dancing is good quality.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

Not yet, but if there’s someone who wants to do that, then why not?

There is also a limitation for people with disabilities to access traditional dance forms, but at Nalitari, we do not have those limitations because we do contemporary. Traditional dance is very strong here, especially in Yogyakarta. We have very strict standards. Even non-disabled people can’t do certain traditional dances because of their body shape. It’s a very strict culture. If you do traditional dance, you’re called a “dancer.”

For people with disabilities to follow all the rules of traditional dance is very difficult, but if institutions or universities start to understand that people have their own uniqueness, then perhaps things will one day change.

Here, we have a special school where all the children with disabilities go. We call it the Extraordinary School. Every region of Indonesia has at least one. Dance training would be especially great in those schools. They sometimes offer dance classes when there’s an upcoming competition or performance, but it’s not regular.

Nalitari has a yearly exhibition and we usually invite the teachers and students from the Extraordinary School for a workshop with us. I am one of the mentors for those workshops.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

We already are in Nalitari, because non-disabled and disabled people dance together. Outside Nalitari, one of my relatives is a dancer and is interested in dancing together with me. Regardless of disability, there is willingness. But up until now, it’s only willingness, not action. I believe that in the future there will be action, but not in the near future.

Typically, the challenges are with the stage or performance venue, that it is too high or there is no ramp. As a wheelchair user, sometimes I become a bother for people who have to carry me and my wheelchair.

What is your preferred term for the field?

In Yogyakarta, we use “inclusive dance.” But we still have people who think “inclusive” means only people with disabilities. They also think it means we only include one type of disability, like Deaf. To be really inclusive, it has to be more than that. It has to mean everyone. Nalitari has people who have physical disabilities, Down syndrome, Deafness, autism, and cerebral palsy. We only haven’t worked with blind people and people with mental disorders. But if they want to join, they are welcome.

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

Many people with disabilities are starting to come out and their voices are being heard. This is clear in the number of invitations Nalitari has received to perform. When Nalitari started, mostly just the part of the government who works with disabled people would invite us to perform. Now, non-disability related organizations are starting to invite us. Nalitari was invited to perform in a mainstream dance festival a few years ago between Indonesia, Japan, and Korea. We were the only inclusive company to perform. It was a big honor for us to bring inclusive dance to an international stage.

My dream is for my disability friends to access any type of dance and that we can be accepted as we are.

Lusi Insiati, Photo courtesy the artist.
Image description: Lusi is sitting in her wheelchair on a diagonal. Her arm is reaching sideways with her uplifted hand appearing large as it is close to the camera. She is wearing a gold smock and black. Behind her is a black background.

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To learn more about Nalitari, visit nalitari.org.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was conducted in August 2020.

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Lusi Insiati: “Untuk Diterima Apa Adanya”

OLEH SILVA LAUKKANEN; DIEDIT OLEH EMMALY WIEDERHOLT; TERJEMAHAN OLEH YOANA WIDA KRISTIAWATI; ILUSTRASI LIZ BRENT-MALDONADO

Lusi Insiati adalah salah satu anggota kelompok tari Nalitari. Ia bergabung dengan Nalitari, satu-satunya organisasi tari inklusif di Yogyakarta, Indonesia, yang didirikan pada tahun 2013. Berawal sebagai penonton dan penikmat seni, ia aktif terlibat dalam seni tari setelah mengikuti workshop Nalitari yang pertama. Lusi kini terus menari bersama Nalitari dan telah tampil di beberapa pertunjukan, baik di dalam maupun di luar Yogyakarta. Lusi dengan penuh semangat terus mengekspresikan dirinya dalam seni sebagai upaya meningkatkan kesadaran publik akan masyarakat yang lebih inklusif.

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Bagaimana awalnya Anda dapat berkecimpung dalam tari dan apa saja sorotan dalam perjalanan tari Anda?

Awalnya saya hanya penyuka seni. Saya selalu menyukai hal-hal yang berhubungan dengan seni. Ketika saya melihat keponakan saya belajar dan berlatih tari Bali, saya pikir akan menyenangkan apabila bisa menari.

Pada Maret 2013 saya bergabung dalam sebuah kelompok untuk berpantomim. Acara pantomim itu diselenggarakan untuk memperingati HUT Kota Yogyakarta. Banyak organisasi dan komunitas diundang untuk tampil, termasuk organisasi penyandang disabilitas yang saya ikuti. Pada tahun yang sama, seorang teman dari kelompok pantomim tersebut mengundang saya untuk mengikuti workshop tari Nalitari. Saya pun menari di sana sejak saat itu.

Setiap pertunjukan adalah sorotan. Salah satunya saat saya mendapat kesempatan untuk mengikuti lokakarya dua minggu bersama Introdans dari Belanda pada tahun 2014, dan di hari terakhir kami mengadakan pertunjukan bersama. Pengalaman itu cukup baru bagi saya saat itu. Saya sangat senang terpilih mewakili Nalitari dalam kolaborasi ini. Landasan tari di Indonesia adalah tradisional, tetapi landasan tari di Introdans adalah balet. Saya terkejut. Semua peserta lokakarya belajar sedikit tentang bentuk tarian masing-masing, dan setelah itu kami membuat tarian kolaboratif yang bisa dilakukan semua orang. Kami tidak dipaksa untuk menguasai apa pun, tetapi menggunakan pengetahuan untuk mengeksplorasi apa yang bisa kami lakukan. Temanya adalah “Obah!” atau bergerak.

Suatu ketika, Nalitari tampil di tengah kota Yogyakarta saat hujan deras. Saat itu sangat dingin dan gigi saya bergemeletuk, tapi tidak apa-apa. Tak satu pun dari kami yang ingin batal. Kami terus menari di tengah hujan.

Satu tarian di Nalitari yang sangat saya sukai berjudul ‘Kalang’. Tarian tersebut mewakili lingkaran kehidupan dari lahir sampai mati. Kami mengeksplorasi gerakan dengan tema tersebut.

Bagaimana Anda menjelaskan latihan tari Anda saat ini?

Di Nalitari, metode pengajaran dan praktik disesuaikan dengan penyandang disabilitas. Setiap gerakan yang dapat kami lakukan, itulah yang kami lakukan saat menari. Saat latihan, kami tidak membuat perbedaan antara orang dengan dan tanpa disabilitas. Semua gerakan bergantung pada interpretasi.

Begitu kita masuk ke sebuah repertoar, kita memahami tema tarian itu sehingga penari bisa belajar bagaimana mengekspresikannya. Setelah itu, ada bagian tari di mana penari bisa mengeksplorasi ide sendiri dan bagian yang ada pedoman geraknya, namun tidak harus terlihat sama.

Kami berlatih dua kali sebulan bersama semua anggota Nalitari, tetapi jika ada pertunjukan yang akan datang, kami menambahkan lebih banyak latihan. Ada sekitar 30 orang yang bergabung di Nalitari.

Selama pandemi, kami belum pernah berlatih. Saya belum bisa bertemu teman-teman saya, tapi saya berlatih di rumah.

Ketika Anda memberi tahu orang-orang bahwa Anda adalah seorang penari, reaksi apa yang paling umum Anda terima?                                                                                                                                                                            

Pertama, mereka terkejut. Terkadang mereka akan memberi pertanyaan seperti, “Bagaimana bisa?” atau “Jenis tarian apa yang kamu lakukan?” Lalu saya menjawab dengan mengatakan bahwa saya menggerakan bagian tubuh yang bisa saya gerakkan. Saya selalu meluangkan waktu untuk menjelaskan.

Saat berkolaborasi dengan non-disabilitas, selalu ada tantangan. Pada awalnya, mereka mungkin merasa takut untuk mendekat atau bersikap canggung. Namun seiring berjalannya waktu, orang-orang menyesuaikan diri dan secara otomatis merasa lebih mudah untuk mendekat atau berkomunikasi. Kami membangun pemahaman satu sama lain.

Di Indonesia, tari inklusif mulai banyak terjadi, tetapi tidak umum. Terkadang organisasi tari lain mengundang penyandang disabilitas untuk berpartisipasi dalam lokakarya, tetapi mereka tidak seperti Nalitari. Kami menari secara inklusif sepanjang waktu.

Bagaimana cara orang mendiskusikan tari berkenaan dengan disabilitas yang menurut Anda membawa implikasi atau asumsi problematis?

Seringkali, komentar dari orang-orang yang datang untuk melihat penampilan kami positif dan membesarkan hati. Mereka ingin belajar dan melihat lebih banyak. Mereka ingin tahu bagaimana kita berlatih.

Meski demikian, konsep tari inklusif tidak umum di Indonesia. Saat kami tampil, orang-orang melihat kami sebagai organisasi penyandang disabilitas, dan cara mereka menulis tentang kami adalah bahwa kami luar biasa dan hebat hanya karena kami bekerja dengan penyandang disabilitas. Komentar yang diberikan tidak pernah tentang keseniannya. Selain itu, penari non-disabilitas disebut-sebut sebagai pendukung bagi para penari difabel, padahal sebenarnya ini merupakan kolaborasi. Kami bekerja sama berdampingan. Kami saling mendukung.

Impian saya adalah agar semua teman penyandang disabilitas suatu hari dapat mengakses tari, dan penampilan kami memiliki kualitas yang cukup baik untuk ditampilkan. Saya tidak ingin orang datang ke pertunjukan kami karena mereka merasa kasihan, tetapi karena kualitas tariannya bagus.

Apakah Anda merasa sudah ada kesempatan pelatihan yang memadai untuk penari penyandang disabilitas? Jika tidak, bidang apa yang secara khusus ingin Anda lihat ditingkatkan?

Belum, tapi kalau ada yang mau melakukan itu, kenapa tidak?

Ada juga batasan bagi penyandang disabilitas untuk mengakses bentuk tarian tradisional, tetapi di Nalitari, kami tidak memiliki batasan itu karena kami lakukan kontemporer. Tarian tradisional sangat kental di sini, khususnya di Yogyakarta. Kami memiliki standar yang sangat ketat. Bahkan orang yang bukan penyandang disabilitas tidak dapat melakukan tarian tradisional tertentu karena bentuk tubuhnya. Ini adalah budaya yang sangat ketat. Jika Anda melakukan tarian tradisional, Anda disebut “penari”.

Bagi penyandang disabilitas untuk mengikuti semua kaidah tari tradisional sangatlah sulit, namun jika institusi atau perguruan tinggi mulai memahami bahwa masyarakat memiliki keunikannya sendiri, maka mungkin suatu saat akan berubah.

Di sini, kami memiliki sekolah khusus tempat semua anak penyandang disabilitas bersekolah. Kami menyebutnya Sekolah Luar Biasa. Setiap daerah di Indonesia memiliki setidaknya satu. Pelatihan menari akan sangat bagus apabila dilakukan di sekolah-sekolah itu. Mereka terkadang menawarkan kelas tari saat ada kompetisi atau pertunjukan yang akan datang, tetapi itu tidak rutin.

Nalitari sendiri mengadakan pertunjukan tahunan, dan biasanya kami mengundang para guru dan siswa dari Sekolah Luar Biasa untuk mengikuti lokakarya bersama kami. Saya salah satu mentor untuk lokakarya tersebut.

Apakah Anda ingin melihat disabilitas dalam tari berasimilasi dengan kesenian tari arus utama?

Kami sudah melakukan asimilasi tersebut di Nalitari, karena non-disabilitas dan disabilitas menari bersama. Di luar Nalitari, salah satu kerabat saya adalah seorang penari dan tertarik untuk menari bersama saya. Terlepas dari pihak disabilitas, sudah ada kemauan itu. Tapi sampai saat ini, itu hanya kemauan, bukan tindakan. Saya yakin di masa depan akan ada aksi, tapi mungkin tidak dalam waktu dekat.

Selain itu, tantangannya juga ada pada panggung atau tempat pertunjukan, yang terlalu tinggi atau tidak ada tanjakan. Sebagai pengguna kursi roda, terkadang saya merepotkan orang yang harus menggendong saya dan kursi roda saya.

Apa istilah yang Anda pilih untuk bidang yang Anda tekuni ini?

Di Yogyakarta, kami menggunakan “tarian inklusif”. Tapi kami masih memiliki orang yang berpikir “inklusif” hanya berarti diperuntukan untuk penyandang disabilitas. Mereka juga menganggap itu artinya kami hanya memasukkan satu jenis disabilitas, seperti tuli. Untuk menjadi benar-benar inklusif, itu harus lebih dari itu. Itu harus berarti semua orang. Nalitari beranggotakan penyandang disabilitas fisik, down syndrome, tuli, autisme, dan cerebral palsy. Kami belum pernah bekerja dengan penyandang tuna netra dan orang dengan disabilitas psikososial. Tetapi jika mereka ingin bergabung, mereka dipersilakan.

Menurut Anda, apakah bidang ini akan berkembang seiring waktu?

Banyak penyandang disabilitas mulai tampil dan suara mereka didengar. Ini terlihat jelas dari jumlah undangan yang diterima Nalitari. Ketika Nalitari mulai, sebagian besar undangan tampil hanya berasal dari institusi yang berfokus pada penyandang disabilitas. Sekarang, institusi non-disabilitas mulai mengundang kami. Nalitari diundang untuk tampil di festival tari arus utama beberapa tahun lalu yang merupakan kolaborasi antara Indonesia, Jepang, dan Korea. Kami adalah satu-satunya kelompok tari inklusif yang tampil. Merupakan kehormatan besar bagi kami untuk membawa tarian inklusif ke panggung internasional.

Impian saya adalah agar teman-teman saya menyandang disabilitas dapat mengakses semua jenis tarian dan kami dapat diterima apa adanya.

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The post Lusi Insiati: “To Be Accepted as We Are” appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Hanna Cormick is an Australian performance artist and curator with a background in physical theater, dance, circus, and interdisciplinary art. She is a graduate of Ecole Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq in Paris and Charles Sturt University’s Acting degree in Australia. Hanna’s practice has spanned many genres and continents over 20 years, including as a founding member of Australian interdisciplinary art-science group Last Man to Die, one half of Parisian cirque-cabaret duo Les Douleurs Exquises, and as a mask artist in France and Indonesia. Her current practice is a reclamation of body through radical visibility.

Listen to the audobook recording of Hannah Cormick’s interview here!

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book, visit here!

Image description: Hanna is depicted as if she is emerging from a blue wheelchair wearing gray burlesque attire with her breathing apparatus and oxygen tank attached. She is enclosed within a red sphere of energy with the quote, “It’s a strange contradiction to hold…to at once be at peace with my body, yet know things are also very wrong and to desire change.”

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How did you get into dance and what have been some highlights in your dance history?

My work exists as acts or embodiments. I don’t always use the word “dance,” as my work doesn’t stay inside the conventional boundaries of what that label generally refers to. I did, however, have a fairly traditional dance formation: ballet, jazz, tap, contemporary, as well as belly dance and tango. Growing up with undiagnosed hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome meant that I could do intensely flexible things with my body. This natural facility later led me to train as a circus contortionist. Back when I was young, it proved an asset.

My practice has always flowed across seemingly disparate styles, often pushing boundaries: butoh and Artaud, audience-interactive and site-specific experiments, or, with my company, Last Man to Die, exploring the interactions between the movements of my body and other artforms – computer percussion, interactive projected visuals – through the use of novel technology and artificial intelligence.

For a long time, mask was my obsession, both as a performer and as a mask-maker. I loved the total connection to the body and the intensity of the somatic trance-like experiences, as well as the physicality of carving wood and molding leather. A highlight was a year travelling between Bali and Australia apprenticing with the island’s foremost mask-maker/dancer, Ida Bagus Anom. I continued with my mask practice by moving to Paris to study at Ecole Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq and apprenticed with Commedia master mask-maker Stefano Perocco di Meduna.

Mask was the impetus for training in Paris, but I slowly fell out of love with the form. I shifted towards forms influenced by my time with Ecole Lecoq, the Grotowski Center, and other experimental practitioners. I also trained in circus arts, delving into the underground cirque cabaret scene with my collaborator Apollo Garcia, specializing in La Danse Apache, where we mixed dance forms like tango and the Charleston with circus skills, including stage combat, acrobatics, and contortion. We spent time clowning with the Sirkhane Social Circus School on the Turkish-Syrian border with young Syrian and Yazidi refugees.

In 2015, my practice changed dramatically when I became disabled. I have a trifecta of genetic disorders: Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, and Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. These cause many secondary issues such as spinal instability, seizures, dystonia, and episodic paralysis. I’m a wheelchair-user now, and my immune system behaves as if it’s allergic to everything: the odor of food, fragrance, chemicals, sunlight, and much more. I now live inside an air-sealed room. I can’t be around most people and I can’t go outside.

As a result of these restrictions, and the way in which my performance practice has evolved to accommodate them, my work now aligns more closely with live art or performance art. My coming out as a disabled performer was The Mermaid, performed over 2018 and remounted at the 2020 Sydney Festival. The piece was a physical representation of the social model of disability. In water, a mermaid can move freely, but on land she presents as disabled. Dressed as a mermaid, I was supported by my mobility aids and medical protective equipment: wheelchair, orthoses, splints, respirator mask, oxygen tank, and IV drip. Sharing the same physical space as the audience meant that I was exposed to the pollutants they brought into the space – chemicals, fragrance, bacteria – and that the performance could be interrupted at any point by allergic reactions, including anaphylaxis, seizures, or paralysis. The piece used my body as a microcosmic model of the environmental destruction we have wrought upon the planet through our actions. The fossil-fuels in an audience member’s perfume would send my body into a dystonic storm or respiratory distress, just as the country was being assailed by bushfires triggered by fossil-fuel impacts on climate.

My performance works have been a practice in confronting shame and developing pride in disability, though I still encounter internalized ableism. Part of crip politics is to reject the notion of a cure, but when it comes to chronic illness, of course I would want to be cured. It’s a strange contradiction to hold within myself; to at once be at peace with my body, yet know things are also very wrong and to desire change.

How would you describe your current dance practice?

It can be difficult to describe my practice to those who come from an arts culture in which “practice” is defined as productivity, repetition, and routine. I make space for Crip Time and non-extractivist modes of making: deceleration, pausing, irregularity, unreliability, and the radical levels of flexibility and responsiveness that are required to work with those values. Time doesn’t exist in the same way when you are chronically ill; I don’t have reliable day-to-day systems. I have limited amounts of energy, so I must be constantly aware of how much energy it takes for me to do something. Because it’s highly destructive if I attempt to push through to get things done, I’m always measuring and monitoring. There are periods when I’m able to do more and other periods when I literally cannot move. My body calls the shots, not my will-force.

My work is no longer about what my body produces; it’s not what my body does, but what my body is. My body’s inabilities or lack of agency, its rebellious uncontrolled aspects, the conflict between a space and my body, all become choreographically relevant. It centers how I am moved by the space instead of how I move within it, as if I’m being danced by the environment and my body is a stage through which the dance passes.

It’s a deeply disquieting sensation to let the moments in which I don’t have control of my body – dystonia, seizures, paralysis – become public spectacle, but it’s also empowering. These are the daily things that happen to me, and turning them into something that has artistic and political relevance reclaims these experiences from the dehumanized pathologized world of the medical, so they can come to mean more than the futility of invisible suffering.

When you tell people you are a dancer, what are the most common reactions you receive?

My immunological disability is the one people tend to focus on, rather than the physical barriers I face. For most people, the idea of living inside a bubble is so curious that they skip from, “She’s in a wheelchair; how can she dance?” to, “She can’t breathe normal air; how can she live?”

What are some ways people discuss dance with regards to disability that you feel carry problematic implications or assumptions?

The narrative of overcoming is really prevalent. On the one hand, there’s a focus on the seeming insurmountability of my barriers with people using terms to describe me like “confined,” “wheelchair bound,” and “tragic.” On the other hand, there’s the use of words like “brave,” “strong,” and “fighter.” I am uncomfortable with both, but particularly this language that glorifies strength and bravery. I am weak, my body is fragile, but are those necessarily bad things? Something I explore is the possibility of being fragile and still being a worthy artist, a worthy human.

Do you believe there are adequate training opportunities for dancers with disabilities? If not, what areas would you specifically like to see improved?

As someone who had professional training and a career before I became disabled, I’m aware of the privilege of having had that doorway into the industry. For people who either acquired their disability earlier in life or were born with a disability, it is much harder. I would like to see training programs that are accessible to disabled artists within institutions, and workshops that are accessible to people with atypical access requirements.

A lot of workshops are not accessible for someone with an immunological disability, and it’s often considered outside the realm of access to have guidelines on the pollutants brought into a space – fragrance, makeup, food, drink – even though there may be strict guidelines on the types of footwear or clothing used.

I’m exploring how to transpose the Lecoq pedagogy for wheelchair-using bodies. The teachings of Lecoq are an integral part of my artistic psyche, but it now feels inaccessible to me since so much of the pedagogy is based around the idea of a neutral body. When you look at the body through this frame, any deviation from “neutral” becomes something that is being communicated. If you’re using a mobility aid, your body is communicating disability. What if we instead viewed a wheelchair-using body, or other crip bodies, as their own forms of neutral? I want to reconcile my training with my new body, as well as make the pedagogy, which is a valuable creative framework, accessible for people who don’t have a Lecoq-normative body.

Since the coronavirus, there has been an explosion of virtual dance spaces. On the one hand, it’s great. This is access that people who are house-bound, bed-bound, or immunologically impaired have spent years fighting for. I’m excited by how the disability community has led innovation by drawing from pre-existing access tools, like creative audio description, to provide new ways of experiencing dance remotely. On the other hand, access to the virtual realm can be precarious for many disabled people, so it isn’t a panacea.

Would you like to see disability in dance assimilated into the mainstream?

Disability performance should, as a genre, retain its own identity. When working in spaces that are specifically designed for disabled people and where everyone has an impairment, there’s a certain freedom and ease of communication. But I believe mainstream dance should be accessible for disabled dancers as well, and disabled dancers, choreographers, and companies should be viewed as part of dance culture as a whole. I’d love to see dancers with disabilities get hired, not as a tokenistic gesture, but because we as artists bring something vibrant and unique.

What is your preferred term for the field?

I identify as “crip,” which is a historic slur being politically reclaimed by a subset of the disability community. I would be comfortable with a non-disabled person referring to me that way, especially if they had checked about my preferred terms. But it is not an identifier one should externally place onto others without knowing if it is preferred, as some still receive it as an insult. If I was self-describing my work, I might refer to it as “crip performance,” but if I was working with others, I might use a more widely used term like “disability dance.”

In your perspective, is the field improving with time?

To me, it seems like a sudden bloom or renaissance but that might be because I’ve only been working as a disabled artist for a few years. When I first became disabled, I wasn’t aware of the crip arts community. It has been exciting to discover subversive and bold performers creating works that are fascinating, moving, and politically provocative.

It feels like opportunities in the mainstream are improving. In the past year or two, there are more disabled performers in large arts festivals and more celebrities identifying as disabled or chronically ill, which reduces the stigma. I hope even more barriers will be removed as representation grows and culture shifts, so we can start to see true cultural equity.

Photo by Shelly Higgs, Novel Photographic
Image description: Hanna is pictured in her blue and pink mermaid costume sitting in her wheelchair with her breathing apparatus. Behind her is a concrete wall and window.

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To learn more, visit www.hannacormick.com.

To learn more about the Discussing Disability in Dance Book Project, visit here!

This interview was originally conducted in April 2020.

The post Hanna Cormick: “Not What My Body Does, But What My Body Is” appeared first on Stance on Dance.